HERE (On the Otherside Series, Book One)

PROLOGUE

Prologue

October 27, 1962

The wail of sirens pierced the air, jerking ten-year-old Tom Phillips from a deep sleep. He bolted upright, his heart racing.

He knew what this meant. For days, his anxious father had watched the evening news for the latest information about the missile crisis in Cuba.

Tom jumped out of bed and ran into the living room, the hardwood floor cold on his feet. His father stood in the glow of the console television, watching the special newscast while his mother sat on the sofa, rocking back and forth, muttering to herself.

“Dad?”

His father’s gaze turned to him, his eyes wide with fear. “It’s happening.”

“… thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” his mother whispered as she lifted a shaking hand to her mouth.

Dark circles underscored the eyes of the gray-haired news anchor. “It is advised that all citizens find shelter immediately. Again, it has been confirmed. Washington D.C. has been hit by a nuclear weapon. The number of casualties still isn’t known at this time. All citizens are advised to take cover.” He cleared his throat. “May God help us all.”

“Let’s go.” His father’s voice was gruff as he reached down and pulled Tom’s mother off the sofa.

She began to sob.

“Tom, go start getting everything ready.”

Tom struggled to obey, his fear freezing him in place.

“Now!”

His father’s shout rattled him. He never yelled.

Tom ran out into the garage and down the concrete steps to the basement. He flipped on a light and found the AM radio, turning the dial until he found a station reporting news of the nuclear attack by the Soviet Union.

“Find the lantern,” his father said as he led Tom’s mother around the concrete block barricade that obstructed a direct path to the door. He sat her on the mattress on the floor in the back corner of the basement.

Tom lit the battery-operated lantern while his father searched the shelves, conducting a quick inventory of their supplies: containers of water, canned goods, blankets, a Geiger counter, and other items to aid in their survival.

The concrete muffled the sirens above, but the blare still crawled under Tom’s skin, making his hair stand on end.

“…we still haven’t received confirmation of the whereabouts of President Kennedy.” the voice on the radio said, the words shaky. “We now have reports of strikes in Turkey, France, and this just—”

Static filled the airwaves.

Tom’s father turned the dial with trembling fingers until he found another voice. “… has not been confirmed but reports are coming in that New York City has been attacked.”

His mother buried her face in a pillow on the mattress as her body shook with sobs.

His father looked up and took Tom’s hand. His father’s eyes were glazed, but his mouth pressed in determination. “We’ll get through this son. We will survive.”

Tom solemnly nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He believed him. His father never lied.