“This day really sucks!” thought Chet, his white knuckles gripping the wheel of his classic ’68 Impala.
The engine roared as he floored the accelerator. His car tore across the California highway, unimpeded by other traffic. Normally, the freeway would be choked with morning commuters, but today he raced solo towards the coast.
His watch read 9:57 AM. He wasn’t going to make it. The last ships left at 10:00 AM promptly. No exceptions.
Approaching the curve of the off-ramp too fast, he was forced to brake to prevent flipping the car. Tires screeched in agony. Fishtailing through the gate of the shipyard, he closed in on the pier.
Chet slammed on his brakes, smoke pluming from under the carriage. He stared in disbelief at the empty loading docks. Half a mile out into the Pacific, three ships cruised away to the last sanctuary of humanity: The island city of Neptune.
Chet slowly exited the car. Sinking to his knees, fists clenched he screamed.
The wind blew warmly and not far to the east he heard the Horde. Those massive beasts that tunneled up from below the surface and devoured all of civilization. They were coming.
“This day really sucks!”
Word Count: 200
[This is my entry into the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge, hosted by Alastair Forbes. Write a short story of 200 words or less from the photo prompt provided.]