CHAPTER 17
PRIME CANDIDATE

FOUR YEARS LATER

CORALINE had a vision of the Apocalypse six months before it happened.

She really didn't understand it at first. She had been at her job when her vision blacked out. Coraline remembered stumbling backward and running to a safe space for shelter, somewhere dark where no one could find her. She had slipped to the floor, gripping the walls around her as the vision took control of her entire body, transporting her to a future where the land was barren and the sky was dark. She remembered how she couldn't breathe in the vision. The air was toxic and heavy. Explosions echoed in her ears, and when she finally turned around, she witnessed the ground implode just feet from her. Coraline began to sprint, and as a cloud of dust prepared to envelope her, she had come back to reality.

They continued throughout the next couple of months. Coraline knew she had to do something, but she didn't know what. Who could she tell? Why would the government believe a twenty-two-year-old rambling that the Apocalypse was near? She surely wouldn't. As the visions continued, depicting a graver fate for humanity, Coraline chewed at her fingers and tried convincing herself preposterous things, like how nukes didn't exist or that God would save them all. That was her biggest mistake.

2021 was a bad year, but 2020 was even worse. On her 21st birthday, one of the most important days in a young adult's life, Coraline's father died. He had actually planned meeting up with her and her mother for dinner that night, but someone had other plans for him. As Jacob had been crossing a street to get to the bar where Francesca and Coraline sat, he was struck by a car driving over the speed limit. He was killed instantly.

After he first left them, Francesca vowed to never stop hating Jacob Avery. However, once they buried him in the ground, she clutched her chest and realized the love she still had for the man who broke her heart. It was almost unbearable to believe that he was gone, and her daughter now had to live without a father. Coraline never thought that she knew her father that well, even before he left, but now she wouldn't ever know. She wouldn't ever see him grow old. She'd just see the flowers on his grave wilt and die.

In her grief, Francesca turned to God. She had never been one to care about religion, though she had made a hissy fit when Satanists had moved to their small, California county in the past. Now, she was almost out of control. Francesca attended church every Sunday morning, bright and early, and in her best clothes. She read through the Bible when she began to think about Jacob's death. She even forced her daughter to get cross tattoos to honor him, right on their wrists for everyone to see. Coraline wasn't even sure if God existed, but she would do anything to make her mother feel better.

Jacob's whole fortune was left to Coraline, much to her surprise. However, she didn't use it unless it was truly needed. After finishing her Bachelor's Degree in Anthropology at a California state college, Coraline got into bartending. Although she had the money to pursue something greater, she wanted to feel normal, like she didn't have thousands of dollars waiting for her to inherit in her bank account, or visions of an apocalypse that plagued her every damn month. Getting a bartending license screamed normal. The money at the bank was used for more important things, like groceries and taking care of her indigent mother, who wouldn't stop preaching about God's love.

She worked most nights at the California Underground. They hired her on the spot, and Coraline wondered if it was because she purposely wore a top to her interview that might've been a bit too low-cut. Regardless, she liked what she was doing. It was the most normal thing in her life – working.

"I don't understand why you waste your time at that silly, little bar, Coraline," her mother would tsk, cozying under a knit blanket while eighty-degree weather raged on outside their chilly home. "You could be doing something with your degree. Don't you care about that, or did your father's tuition payments mean nothing? You wasted your time getting that license. Let's hope God has other plans for you."

That's if God exists, Coraline would think to herself.

But that was the whole thing: her mother would never understand. Coraline had never worked a day in her life in high school, simply because she didn't need to. She never had to deal with the struggles of retail, or being a grocery store bagger. This was her first, big normal job. But it wouldn't last forever. The California Underground was just a stand-in until she could figure out how to start her anthropology career, but that was going to be difficult.

The patrons of the Underground happened to be the best part. They were big, burly looking men, or wealthy business owners looking for a quick drink at the end of a long work day. Every once in a while she'd see someone average, someone who just wanted to sit at the bar and have a conversation. Hardly any women roamed the tiny pub. The males liked to call her, "sweetheart," or, "Church Girl," judging from the cross tattoo on her wrist. After complaining to the owner – a tall, bald-headed man named Steven Jobs, with no relation to the creator of Apple – she was told what most women were told when they were being harassed: "Just deal with it."

"Make it worth their while," Steven explained his his hands. He tended to do that a lot. "The demographic at the Underground is men, Cora. If you wanna fuck with the eagles, you gotta learn to fly. Chat them up, have a nice conversation, and you'll earn better tips. Problem solved."

The problem wasn't exactly solved, but she did her best to follows Steven's instructions, even if they did infuriate her. Eventually, Coraline realized that he had been right. A tight shirt and little flirting could do wonders for tips, and she ended up enjoying the conversations with the people she talked with.

Her biggest mistakes came in the form of blonde-haired male patrons. She tended to get close with them, especially if they were older than her. Months ago, Coraline got very friendly with a man named Gabriel Meyers. He was a twenty-eight-year-old graduate student at UCLA, who came to the California Underground every Thursday and Friday night – which were Coraline's main working days. His order was the same: classic margarita, on the rocks, salted rim. He was a slipup waiting to happen.

Eventually, Coraline found herself in Gabriel's apartment at one AM, when she finally got off her Friday shift. He first invited her to the bathroom while she was on the clock. Coraline got paid to be fingered in the dirty stalls of the men's bathroom, right up against the urinals, but she really didn't seem to care. He then drove her back to his apartment, where the invitation only continued.

Coraline liked that Gabriel had really big hands. She loved any male with big hands, bright, blonde hair, and dreamy-blue eyes. It was her ultimate weakness. Gabriel had soft lips and wasn't rough with her. Blonde boys were always gentle with her. Boys with sunshine hair and glossy eyes and straight noses. Boys that looked like they were angels sent down to Earth, but were secretly devils that would somehow ruin her.

She tried not to think that she had a type, and that her type looked like a certain boy from her past. Coraline didn't think of him often, but she was constantly reminded of the bad things she thought were for good. She helped him kill people. Most humans weren't pure lily white, but ... she had been an accomplice — a villain — in his game. The blood on her hands washed away, but there was a stain left in her brain. She felt guilty when the memories surfaced. Other times, she didn't regret a thing.

Sometimes, Coraline wanted to scream and find out where he was so she could curse him. However, she dared not to say his name, afraid he would show up.

One night, she thought he had. Coraline remembered it so vividly: she had been tugging down her shirt while filling up a glass with Blue Moon on tap. She slid the glass down to the patron in question, made sure she had enough chest showing, before walking over to the older-man and checking to see if the beer was of quality. "Same great taste, as usual, Cora," he smirked, sliding a five-dollar bill across the sleek, wooden table towards her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. It would never get old. Coraline had turned from the male and stuffed the bill in her shirt. The other employee there that night, Chrissy, sent Coraline a quick thumbs up as she continued to wipe down the rest of the tables. Coraline was finally doing well at something. She was embracing normality, as if the Apocalypse wasn't right around the corner – or was that even real?

When she heard the bell over the door ring, she turned to grin at the new customer. But no one was there. Mouth falling, Coraline's eyes shifted to the window next to the Underground entrance, and almost felt those same eyes bug out of her skull.

Sunshine hair turned strawberry blonde. Same bright, blue eyes. Tall stature. Upturned lips.

It couldn't be. But it was.

Coraline remembered jumping across the bar. She had been so scared of him years ago, but now she was running, just to get a quick glimpse of her past. Chrissy had shouted for her to come back. Coraline didn't hear her as she shoved the door open. The bell shook loudly at the impact. Coraline skidded to a stop outside the Underground, whipping her dark hair back and forth, searching for his face once again.

Nothing. She was left in the darkness and under a blanket of stars. A yellow streetlight flickered over her head. Maybe it was a good thing that he wasn't there, that he wasn't real anymore. She was getting through her visions every month. She was making good money, and was able to afford the necessities. She had a normal job and a normal life. The last thing she needed was him back in it.

He was gone. He had been gone for years and he wasn't coming back. At least, that's what she hoped.

•••

It was almost three o'clock on a sunny, Monday evening. The Underground opened at five, and Coraline was currently counting the cash drawers from last night. Chrissy straightened up the tables and turned on one her favorite old tunes: "Potential Breakup Song" by Aly & AJ. Depending on your definition of old, Coraline considered this song a blast from the past in the year of 2021. As Chrissy turned the song up on blast, Coraline was suddenly reminded of middle school dances.

Coraline looked up to see Chrissy singing along to the song. She had a broomstick in her hands that she was supposed to be using for sweeping. However, Chrissy currently held the end of the broomstick to her mouth and pretended it was a microphone. For a twenty-five-year-old, Chrissy sometimes acted younger than Coraline did.

"As much as I love this song," Coraline yelled over the music, "can you turn it down? I need to focus on counting cash."

Chrissy scoffed, but regretfully walked over to the old jukebox and turned the speakers down low. Tugging a hand through her fiery red hair, Chrissy flipped the TV to a news station. "I wonder if it's going to rain later. I've noticed that the boys tend to come in more often during shitty weather." She smirked. "Good thing I wore my best shirt tonight."

Coraline wrapped a band around last night's profit as WBN News flickered on the television. She tried not to pay it much mind while swiping her fingers through the cash again. Her math was off. She had never excelled at math, particularly, but Coraline knew this drawer was short of cash. Had someone taken money before locking up the bar?

"Hey, Chrissy," Coraline called, scrunching her mouth up, "do you know who worked last –?"

Out of nowhere, a loud horn began to blare. It was deafening sound, reaching the hollow insides of Coraline's ears. The horn almost made her dizzy on the spot, and she plugged her fingers into her ears quickly. She viewed to Chrissy then, who was pulling her phone out from the back pocket of her tight skinny jeans. Coraline rose her voice to ask, "Is that, like, a fire alarm? What's going on?"

"I don't know. It's ..." Chrissy blinked, not believing the message on her cellphone. "I just got an emergency alert on my phone."

Coraline pulled herself over the bar and sprinted to her coworker's side. Shoving her face towards the phone screen, she read:

URGENT ALERT: BALLISTIC MISSLE THREAT INBOUND TO LOS ANGELES. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

Pursing her lips, Coraline saw a multitude of visions flash before her eyes. She leaned away, still plugging her fingers into her ears, and shook her head. "This probably isn't real, Chrissy. It's like that time in Hawaii, right? Yeah, it has to be. In a minute, we'll get another alert that it isn't –"

"Widespread panic is being reported in major cities around the country," a news anchor claimed from the television. Coraline and Chrissy slowly turned to face the TV set, pulling their fingers from their ears. "We can now confirm that a ballistic missile alert was texted to the public at approximately two forty-seven PM, Pacific Standard Time. The Pentagon has not yet released a statement and there has been no word from the White House. WBN can now confirm Hong Kong, London, numerous sites in the Baltics, and Moscow have all been hit and destroyed by nuclear IBSMS."

Coraline's lip trembled as she turned to face Chrissy. She tried her best to deny the truth, even while the anchor on the TV continued to say, "We've just been told to evacuate." Coraline shook her head. Mom, she thought. I have to get to mom. Screw evacuation, all Coraline cared about was getting back to her mom and waiting out the blast. She didn't have time to reprimand herself about the visions and what she should have done, because the Apocalypse was happening before their very eyes and she knew that not even a prophet could prevent the End.

Grabbing her bag from below the counter, Coraline ran for the door as the horns continued to blare in her ear drums. "I have to go, Chrissy," she shouted. "I'm sorry. Please, just –"

Chrissy tugged her coworker back. "Cora, we're all each other have! We have to evacuate together!"

"No," Coraline shook her head, pulling the door open, "I have to get to my –"

She stopped suddenly, her chest bumping into something hard. Coraline shook her head and blinked her eyes, feeling dizzy while the horns echoed across the state. She stepped back, almost tripping over Chrissy, as two people in suits entered the bar. One man and one woman. They looked around the establishment before finally landing their stares on Coraline.

The woman stepped forward. She had slicked-back brown hair and cold, grey eyes, almost like Coraline's. With hands behind her back, she glared down at the two females. "Coraline Avery."

Chrissy grabbed onto Coraline's arm and grunted, "We're closed. For good, as of right now."

The man was suddenly in her face, tearing off the hat on his bald head. He was a hulking man, taller than most, with dark skin and a stern demeanor. "You need to come with us. Now."

"What?" Coraline stuttered out. "Go with you –?"

"You have been selected by the Cooperative," the woman explained. "We have a location prepared for you where you will be safe."

Glancing to Chrissy for a moment, Coraline turned to the intimidating duo with a raised brow. "Cooperative? What the fuck is that?" She licked her lips and shook her head, trying to decipher what was happening. "Do you really expect me to leave with a pair of strangers right before we're all burned alive? No fucking way. I ..." Coraline looked off in a daze. "I can't go with you. I need to go home. I need to find my mom. I need to –"

The ground shook, causing Coraline to instinctively press her back into Chrissy. The woman before her disagreed, "What you need to do is come with us."

"And why should I?" Coraline challenged.

"Your exceptional genetic makeup makes you a prime candidate," the male explained.

Coraline blinked. "Prime candidate for what exactly?"

"Survival."

She stood up straighter, mouth dropping slightly. Words escaped her, but questions surrounded every corner of her mind. The visions came in flashes again, reminding her of her mistake.

"How ..." She swallowed hard. "What do you mean by 'exceptional genetic makeup?'"

The woman reached for her arm. "You have to come with us, Miss Avery."

Coraline snapped her arm away, as if the female had a disease. "Fuck no!"

With a careful step forward, the man looked down at Coraline like he held her life in his hands. Maybe he did, but Coraline wasn't going to stick around to find out. "You have to believe us," he whispered, and it was hard to hear over the blaring horns. "We're the only chance that you have to live through this."

"If she doesn't come, he'll be angry," the woman breathed in her associate's ear.

Coraline's brow furrowed in anger. These people had to be crazy, even crazier than how she was perceived to be as a teenager. She had to get to her mother, who was probably hugging the Bible to her chest as they spoke.

"I don't care! I'm not going. I have to find my mom. I have to be with her." Coraline walked forward, prepared to shove them out of her way. "No, I'm not going –"

The woman finally grasped her arms, whipping Coraline around so she had her by the wrists. "We can't accept that," she replied as Coraline tugged against her tight grip.

Grinding her teeth together, Coraline wondered if kicking the woman in the shins would help. She didn't have a moment to rethink the plan, but as she lifted her shoe, Chrissy's hand shot out. Her voice was low, breathing out into a whisper, "Cora, you gotta go."

Coraline pursed her lips. "Chrissy, what –"

"Save yourself," she murmured. "There isn't much time now."

The male nodded, ushering Coraline out of the bar. "She's right. Follow us."

"NO!" Coraline shrieked, kicking the air as the woman used her muscles to lift her. She was thrashing in the stranger's hold, but it did nothing. Unknown men in hazard suits flooded the outside of the bar. Coraline continued to pull on the woman's hold as she screamed, "You can't make me do anything!"

But they could.

She was tossed into a large black van. Before she could run out, the back doors were slammed in her face. She was in the truck, in front of a barred window. Tears welled up in her eyes as she slammed her hands against the bars until bruises formed. She shook her head and sobbed harder, screaming for anyone who could hear. The trunk was soundproof. No one heard her cries.

At the Avery household, Francesca sat near the fireplace while the alarms raged on outside, unaware of the missiles heading right for California.

•••

A/N: I HOPE Y'ALL ARE READY FOR THIS BC I SURE AS HELL AM NOT

A DEFINITE MOOD FOR ACT II

Also!!!!! The rating of this story has now changed to Mature. So this is your warning now. Mature shit ahead!!!!!! I don't control what y'all do but kiddos beware!!!!!!!!!!