Chapter 2

The TV screen flashed its vibrant, neon colors against the drab walls of the room. The occupants sat transfixed, their eyes narrowed in disbelief as their jaws hung open in shock. 

"Holy shit," Steph exclaimed, her high-pitched voice cutting through the commentary of the Anchor. Her hand stretched out, adorned with a glossy purple nail polish that stood out against her pale skin as she pointed towards the screen. The TV showed a helicopter view of the devastated area below. Abandoned trucks and cars littered the roads, while a restless crowd swarmed around a gaping hole. Some held their phones high above their heads, desperate to capture footage for social media, while others bowed in somber prayer for those lost to the darkness within the pit. The chaos and devastation were palpable even through the screen, sending chills down the viewer's spine.

"Ain't that something," Her mom's voice spoke calmly as it intertwined with the volume on the TV.

"Firefighters, cops, and ambulances have arrived at the scene and are trying to make their way through the crowd, but none of the departments are situated to handle something like this," the on-site helicopter reporter stated his hair blowing from the rushing winds outside the copter. "No one is really sure," His voice was cut off as the mother held up the TV remote, gaudy bracelets dangling off her wrist, and begun changing the channel.

"What the fuck ma, that seemed really important," George said, as he turned toward his mother with his mouth wide open.

"That's LA's problem, not ours, why should we give a shit." His mother responded her arm shaking as her fingers buckled down on the remote button as she kept trying to find a station that wasn't featuring breaking news. "What's the point of paying for Dish if I can't watch what I want when I want," the mother lamented the fact that she was missing the American Pickers marathon as she gave up on finding anything other than news. Her hand, holding the remote with a tight grip, slowly lowered onto the plush armrest of the worn gray lazy boy. Her back sank into the chair, the soft cushions enveloping her body in comfort. She stared blankly at the bright screen in front of her, displaying the chaotic destruction of the city. Despite the chaos and devastation, she remained completely apathetic, her eyes unfocused as she drifted deeper into her thoughts.

"Undo the mute Mom, I wanna see what is going on," George's voice boomed, ricocheting off the walls of the room. His hand was clenched tightly at his side, knuckles white from frustration. He could feel his agitation building, just moments away from pulling at his hair in exasperation.

"Fine, let's watch some more rich people's problems, like that isn't on the TV enough," His mother stated her thumb sliding up the remote as it squeezed the mute button, releasing the speakers from their captivity.

"This isn't a normal sinkhole. In fact, I don't think it's a sinkhole at all." A tall, crisply-dressed man in a pristine white polo shirt leaned towards his computer's microphone, his voice projecting with urgency through the Zoom call held by the news, as the station hurried to get professionals to speak on the matter at hand. "Sinkholes always have debris inside of them, soil, remnants of what was sunk. But look at this video, it's empty. There is nothing in there, just pitch-black emptiness, and we're not even talking about the subway that ran underground there yet. The real question we should be focusing on is where did it all go. The buildings, soil, thousands of people, they all seemed to have vanished." The man finished, using his fingers to slide his glasses back towards his face, as he sank deep into his chair, waiting for the others on the call to continue speculating where he left off.

"He's right," Stephanie's hushed voice fell into the room, her body contorting to face her family from her position on the ground. "There is nothing in the hole, and do you see how round the sinkhole is, nothing in nature is that perfectly circular." She spoke louder, as her body shifted back to the TV, her fingers pointing towards a particular part of the video she was talking about, her voice becoming frantic as it began to match her emotions. "You think this is some kind of terrorist attack, like another 9-11," Steph asked nervously, her fingers lowered from the air, as they rubbed against her upper arms trying to comfort herself, not wanting anyone to answer her question.

"We are getting more reports in," The news anchor stated, as the panel was cut off mid-speech and the camera went full screen on the anchor as he stared into the camera. "New sinkholes have appeared in Main, destroying a small beach town, let's check in with our Reporter Nelly at the scene."

Perched atop a sandy dune, a woman clothed in a sleek, light tan business suit clutched a microphone to her perfectly painted lips. Strands of her pale, windswept hair danced in the salty ocean air, framing her wide and astonished eyes. The gravity of her report weighed heavily on her mind, her thoughts swirling in disbelief as she struggled to make sense of it all. "This is all too similar to what is happening in Los Angeles, this sinkhole appeared only moments ago. This small town, once boasting a population of nearly 12,000 has been reduced to merely triple digits. As the small group of locals grieved for their losses on the outskirts of once a bustling town, we were able to notice an anomaly. The one big difference is what is happening with the ocean water." As she spoke the cameras zoomed past the reporter's face and onto the small coastal town that used to be there. "As you can see, the sinkhole reached far beyond the small town and has even approached the very entrance of the ocean. The odd thing about this is that the water is huddled against the edge of the sinkhole, almost as if there is an invisible wall keeping the hole from drawing in water from the ocean." The film showed the wave of the ocean as it continued to ride up the sandy slope of the beach. The water gave birth around the empty pit nestled deep within its shallow shores. The water bunched along the edge of the hole, as it grew a few feet in height before being dispersed back into the tide.

"Not just the rich Californians' problem anymore is it Ma," George snarled in irritation at not being able to see the newscast in its entirety. His eyes briefly left the glowing TV set as he peered over to his mother resting against her comfortable chair.

"Suppose not," his mother spoke letting the comment of her son roll off her back, "Thank God we're in Kentucky and not on the coast where all the sinkholes are happening." She muttered, breaking out of her enthrallment with what the news was displaying. "I'm sure the government will have it all sorted out by the time dinner's done," his mother said, her reclining chair jolting to the upright position as her hand pulled up the handle on the side of the chair. "Sounds like a goodnight for Sloppy Joes." His mother said, her voice a deep and commanding rumble as she hoisted herself out of her seat with a determined effort. The sound of her heavy footsteps echoed through the well-used kitchen.