by Nikita Spoke
What do we do???
Jill was watching her, expecting her to have an answer. Jemma shrugged one shoulder helplessly and sat on the sofa. Her sister joined her, continuing to text, and her parents sat on the love seat.
They stared at the television for long, quiet minutes. Nothing changed. Nothing new was reported. Jemma’s heart rate was still slightly elevated, and the tension in the room was palpable. From the corner of her eye, she saw her mom trying out her voice again, with no effect.
Jemma sighed, then held her breath at the lack of usual sound. She shook her head, then got up quickly, striding toward the kitchen and retrieving the dry erase board and marker from the refrigerator before returning to the living room. Her family watched her as she scribbled on the board and turned it to face the others.
Police, doctors, news, all notified. Isn’t just us. Nothing we can do.
Jill nodded first, and her father nodded a second later. Her mother sank into his embrace.
Jemma erased the board and wrote again.
Might be temporary. Doesn’t help to panic. Distractions?
Carolyn shut her eyes for a moment, reopening them quickly as if the darkness had been too much to handle. She looked at her daughters and her husband, then nodded firmly, rising and leaving the room.
Jemma sat back down on the sofa, pulling up her phone’s internet browser. The news outlets were all reporting the same things. CNN’s headline read, “MUTE: Voices Silenced.” Reports of violence and chaos were spreading. She ran her fingers through her hair, looking up as her mother returned, a pile of board games in hand. She set them on the coffee table triumphantly, and Jemma smiled.
They sorted through the games, quickly and silently eliminating Yahtzee! and Taboo. Matt held up Monopoly, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Everyone nodded, and they sat down around the table. Jill silenced her phone when it wouldn’t stop vibrating, focusing on the game. Jemma and her mother, positioned best to see the television, glanced at the screen periodically.
When the game finished, hours later, there was nothing new to report. Jemma tried flipping through the stations. She went past stations voicelessly proclaiming the end of the world, past stations that showed a blank screen or an empty desk, until she finally reached a local news station that had set laptops in front of each anchor.
The female anchor typed, and text appeared in a square on-screen beside her head.
Theories regarding this being a terrorist attack appear unfounded.
The male anchor chimed in similarly, watching the camera when he finished typing.
The event seems to be worldwide. No city or country has been spared.
Reports of looting and rioting are already coming in from some of the larger cities, typed the woman.
These reports range from Chicago to Tokyo to New York.
The female anchor typed again, followed by the male.
We’ll bring you updates as we receive them. From News Station 5, this is Gina…
…and Rob. Thanks for watching.
***
Jemma woke, stretching to ease the ache in her back before pulling her knees to her chest. Sleeping on the love seat had been a bad idea, but when it became clear her mother wasn’t okay with everybody retreating to their own rooms for the night—the possibility of Jemma driving to her own home quickly erased from the board—she’d decided it would be best to let her parents share the wide couch. Jill had sprawled out on the floor, cell phone in hand, and was still asleep.
The television was turned off, and the couch was empty. Jemma sat up, yawning, pausing at the muted sound.
It wasn’t that she had forgotten the events of the previous night, but she’d sort of wondered whether she’d remembered it wrong, or whether it had passed. The muted sound of her yawn had dashed those half-formed theories fairly effectively.
She got up and wandered into the dining room, where her parents sat next to each other with cups of coffee still mostly full. Carolyn looked up as Jemma entered, opening her mouth to speak before closing it again. She frowned, then forced a smile, holding up her cup of coffee and nodding toward the kitchen.
Jemma retrieved a cup of coffee and joined her parents. She sat across from her mother, sipping the warm liquid slowly. She pulled out her cell phone with her free hand, pulling up various news reports again.
Many world governments, including that of the United States, have confirmed the loss of voice that seems to be apparent in each and every citizen. Japan is yet to confirm or deny…
There is no evidence at this time as to what caused the event…
Rioting in New York, Miami, and Detroit has lessened, but in Chicago…
She thumbed over to a local news page.
County police recommend no travel except in emergency. If you are without food supplies, please text the number at the bottom of this article. Emergency personnel have gathered Meals Ready to Eat (MREs) and are distributing them to those without food. No area power outages have been reported, so this will remain on an as-needed basis until the travel restrictions have been lifted.
Jemma slid her phone to her parents, showing them the article, and they nodded.
We’re okay, her mother mouthed. She looked back at the phone and jabbed her finger at the top right corner, then motioned for Jemma to wait as she stood and left the room. She came back less than a minute later holding a charger that would work with Jemma’s phone.
Thank you, she mouthed back. Carolyn smiled. Jemma took the charger and plugged in her phone before she focused on her coffee. She inhaled between sips, enjoying the quiet until she caught another glimpse of her mother.
Guilt gnawed at Jemma. It wasn’t as if she’d asked for this silence, not in a real way, and she certainly hadn’t done anything to cause it. But this quiet, at least for now, was relaxing, refreshing to her, and here she was, sitting here, enjoying something that was actively upsetting at least her family and probably most of the world.
She was glad she wasn’t alone, at least. Knowing her family was okay, having their company while this was sorted out, it helped with handling the unknown, something she’d rarely done particularly well. She had actively enjoyed research since middle school. She’d delighted in coming home, opening an encyclopedia or, eventually, an internet browser, finding her answer, filling in a gap; it was beyond satisfying.
The wordless companionship at the dining room table helped now. Even if she wasn’t particularly upset at the loss of voice at this point—she suspected even she would begin to miss speaking before long—she could empathize, at least, with some of the uncertainty her parents seemed to be feeling, and she hoped she was able to help some with her presence, too.
Footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see her sister walking into the room, rubbing her eyes. Jill stopped, seeing the adults drinking their coffees, and then went into the kitchen, coming back with chocolate milk and chocolate cereal, cocking an eyebrow at their mother.
Carolyn’s lips pressed tight for a moment. She started to speak, silent words cut short, then shrugged. Jill grinned, setting the items on the table and throwing her arms around her mom before bouncing back to the kitchen, returning with a bowl for herself and another that she placed in front of Jemma.
Jemma smiled at her sister’s exuberance and poured herself a bowl of cereal and milk. She managed one bite before her phone lit up in notification of a text from Jill.
Do we know anything yet??
Not yet, she responded. You’re stuck with me until the police lift the driving restrictions.
Mom and dad seem pretty freaked. Jemma joined Jill in looking at her parents. Carolyn and Matthew held hands, their fingers linked on the tabletop, and stared down at the wood in front of them.
They’ll be okay, Jemma reassured her sister. Jill nodded and went back to texting, though she was no longer talking to Jemma if the lack of notifications was anything to go by.
Jemma finished her breakfast and coffee, and she retrieved
the dry erase board.
Plans for the day? she asked her parents, tapping on the table to get their attention. Her mother shrugged, conflicting thoughts showing on her face. Carolyn reached for the board, and Jemma handed it over.
I have email addresses on file for the families of most of my students, she scribbled. I need to check on them. Jemma nodded, and her father gave a thumbs up. Jill, still absorbed in her phone, didn’t seem to notice.
When her parents moved to their computers to start emailing students, Jemma grabbed her e-reader from her purse and curled back up on the couch. Jill joined her in the living room, sitting in the recliner where her phone could reach an outlet. Lost in the world of her digital pages, Jemma was only vaguely aware of time’s passing. After a few chapters of intrigue, she looked up to see her parents sitting down on the love seat. Her mother picked up the remote, pressed power, and started flipping through channels. Jemma put down her book so she could watch.
Carolyn paused on the news channel they’d been watching the night before.
There is no indication of this being caused by disease. Scientists have, so far, been unable to detect any changes in genetics or in white blood cell count, or any other physical reason nobody can talk, typed the female anchor, Gina.
Further tests are being conducted, but results may be slow in arriving, added her co-anchor, Rob.
If no further information is released, expect the driving restrictions to be lifted Saturday morning and schools to resume on Monday.
Ambulances are still running, and hospitals are doing their best to keep Emergency Rooms open, typed Rob.
Nurses have reported that they are trying their best to keep Labor and Delivery staffed, but some employees are understandably shaken by the silent cries of the newborns.
Animals, meanwhile, seem unaffected, and we go now to Mike, who is on site at the zoo, where things feel largely unchanged.
Matthew picked up the board and wrote, They either type very well or it’s pre-typed and they’re pretending.
Jemma nodded, and her mother changed the channel, flipping past other news stations and channels that were off air until she found a mindless sitcom, the sound of it making each of them jump. They watched one episode, then another, the raucous laugh track repeating itself. Jemma retrieved her phone during an advertisement for a singing game, curling back up on the couch to check the news once more.
County officials confirm that schools will reopen after the weekend. Attendance will not be mandatory until the week after.
Jemma passed the phone to her mother, who nodded and passed it to Matthew. Jemma took her phone back when he’d finished, then grabbed the whiteboard.
Know how you’re going to do your famous lectures if you can’t talk, Mom? she wrote.
Her father laughed soundlessly for a moment before his face fell. He smiled again a few seconds later, looking at his wife. Carolyn was opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, eyes darting back and forth as she thought. Matt reached for the whiteboard, and Jemma handed it to him.
Write REALLY quickly? He smirked at his wife, who gave him a mock scowl. He erased the board and wrote again. No, never mind. There isn’t enough space on the chalkboard.
Carolyn elbowed him, trying to laugh but stopping as he had just done, bringing her fingers to her throat. The mirth left Matt’s eyes, the jovial moment lost. He took Carolyn’s hand, staring into her eyes, and Jemma looked away, feeling as if she were intruding.
The rest of the day passed, an unremarkable, uneventful day but for the fact that the whole world seemed to have changed. When they finally bored of television, they played a few more board games, then spent the time between lunch and dinner doing separate activities in the living room; Jemma read her book, Jill texted on her phone, Carolyn put together a puzzle, and Matt read yesterday’s newspaper.
Dinner was quiet, tense. Jemma had cooked hot dogs, and Carolyn requested the “girls” stay off their phones during the meal. With just the one dry erase board, though, conversation started slow and then petered out altogether.
At day’s end, everyone retreated to individual rooms, Jemma taking her old room, ignoring the clutter of hastily-stored items. She lay in bed, breathing in deliberately and then letting the air rush out of her, taking the stress of the day with it.
She couldn’t decide whether she’d rather be home by herself or here with her family. They helped in their ways, their presence reassuring, less overwhelming without the constant chatter. Their anxiety rubbed off on her, though, made it more difficult to pretend that nothing was wrong. If she’d been home with her phone off, would she even have realized anything had happened?
She would head back to her own house after the driving ban was lifted, but in the meantime, she wondered, how much could she help her family cope without getting overwhelmed herself? How long would the world be mute? How would this affect her job?
How long did this silence need to last before it would start to feel normal?
CHAPTER THREE:
One Week
Jemma adjusted her position in the seat she’d dragged behind the library’s main counter.
It was Friday morning. It had been almost a week since voices had disappeared, and this was her third day back at work; she’d waited a couple days for contact before emailing the main branch’s director to let her know she was going in to open up. So far, she’d been the only one here. Her coworkers hadn’t responded to texts or emails, the lack of information on the employee roster making her attempt at contact less effective than it should have been. She’d found Susan’s cell number, Cecily’s home number, and only work email addresses for each.
No patrons had arrived, either, not even the regulars she’d sort of expected to see. After a couple days of alternating standing at the circulation desk and sitting where she could see the door, she’d found a chair that was small enough to fit behind the counter. Despite being one of the smaller reading chairs with minimal cushioning, it was still comfortable enough that she could enjoy some of the books she’d been intending to read.
Her phone vibrated, and she retrieved it from her pocket, finding a text from her mother.
Half my class is still out. You still alone at work? Makes me nervous.
It isn’t much different from when I close by myself. I’m fine. I’m safe here, Jemma replied.
Her phone vibrated again less than a minute later. She sighed and put her book on the counter.
How do you know you’re safe? If someone comes in, you can’t even scream for help.
Nobody would have heard me two weeks ago when I could scream. I’m okay, Mom. Really.
Her mother’s reply wasn’t immediate, so Jemma put the phone down and picked up her book again.
Buzz.
Okay. Check in again in an hour. Jemma looked up to the ceiling, then rolled her head back down so she could look at her phone.
Will do.
Dinner tonight? Her mom texted.
Not this week, okay? Next week, though. Promise.
She put her phone away again and reached for her book, pausing when she heard the library doors open. Her mother’s warnings flashed through her mind as she stood. She mentally scolded herself. Why was she here if she wasn’t okay with anybody coming in?
The main doors were just out of sight, the view blocked by a row of bookshelves. When a person finally came into her line of sight, she felt herself relax.
Jack was a regular patron around the same age as Jemma herself, not somebody she interacted with much since he rarely checked items out, but someone she’d seen on a near-daily basis since taking the job. He usually came in around two p.m. and stayed until closing, typing away at his computer while sitting at one of the tables upstairs. He had his laptop in a bag tucked under one arm, and he smiled at her as he approached the desk.
Jemma adjusted the whiteboard she’d put out, straightening the two markers she’d put with it. When Jack reached the counter, he looked down at the board, then back up
at her, grinning more widely, his slightly-messy mop of brown hair falling forward. He brushed it impatiently away from his eyes, tapping the whiteboard before giving her a thumbs up. Jemma smiled back at him.
He looked around, taking in the otherwise empty room, then turned to her again and pointed toward the balcony. She nodded, and he made his way toward the stairs, sitting at one of the tables that overlooked the balcony instead of the one further back that he usually favored. She watched him set up his laptop, then turned her attention back to her phone, checking the news for the first time in a few hours.
People continue to find ways to compensate. Text messaging and dry erase boards appear to be the most popular, though some are taking the time to learn American Sign Language, which, though more convenient once learned…
Martial Law continues in Chicago, citizens silently protesting the strict management…
She navigated to her favorite local news site.
The majority of government offices reopened on Monday, though staffing is drastically low. For situations requiring a response, expect significant delays. City park services are working to repair damage caused by flooding after a truck drove off the road…
…west Wal-Mart has reopened with minimal staffing. Most other chain grocers remain closed, but small businesses have reopened more quickly. For a complete list of places to acquire food…
Mail delivery has been delayed. USPS says it can guarantee weekly delivery, but until more workers return…
Cox has said it has no plans to reimburse customers who are paying for larger cable packages and only receiving a handful of functional channels. It has, however, promised to continue getting as many stations back up as possible…
Jemma put her phone back in her pocket and walked around the library, straightening shelves again and checking for misplaced books more thoroughly than she usually had time for. Upstairs, Jack paused his speedy typing to give her a quick smile before he returned to what he was doing. She went back downstairs, taking her spot at the desk again, trying to decide whether she should read now that she wasn’t alone.