The Sound

by James Sperl

“That's right. That's exactly right. That was our plan.”

  “But someone is here.”

  “No, I get that,” Sean said, his hands held up in understanding. “Clearly. Obviously. But even so, I wondered if there were any chance you could take us in. Just for a few days. You know, until things die down a little.”

  Andrew exploded with laughter, so hard and immediate, it made Clarissa jump. “Until things die down?” he repeated, boring into Jon then moving to the others. “In a couple of days? Is that what you all think will happen? That things are going to get better?”

  “Look,” Jon said, “all we're asking for is a couple of days. We'll leave after that. I promise. I know you don't know me or us, and that you have no reason to trust us, especially now, but I'm nothing if not a man of my word. When you say it's time to go, we go. No questions. That's got to account for something.”

  But for Andrew, Clarissa didn't think it did. He was a man with trust issues, but the issues were deeply rooted with humans as a species rather than with any one individual. And for a good reason. Humans were a violent and unpredictable animal prone to rash decision-making and unspeakable acts of unrepentant savagery. It was fair for him not to see anything but the negative. Clarissa supposed if someone she loved had met their demise in such a violent and untimely manner like Andrew's wife had, she would be quick to throw up walls as well. But he needed to temporarily ease those restrictions, to lower the gates and allow others passage. They would need all the help that they could get against Travis. How often would such viable candidates show up right at his doorstep?

  “Andrew,” she said, “can I talk to you for a second?”

  Taking him by the arm, Clarissa led him back a couple of steps. She allowed him to continue to face forward so he could maintain a watchful eye over Jon and his traveling companions.

  “Look, I know how you feel when it comes to trusting people,” she began, her voice just above a whisper “especially with your neighbors and, you know...what happened to your wife. But these people seem all right to me. Maybe you should consider letting them stay.”

  Andrew snapped his eyes to her.

  “And if I do, then what? For how long? One day? Two? Five? Are you so naive as to think they'll be willing to go once they get comfortable? If I let them stay, then what do I say to the next group that stumbles along or the one after that? This isn't a hotel, Clarissa. I can't accommodate everyone.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, crossing her arms, “so only the people you deem fit to take can stay here, is that it?”

  Andrew's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. He opened his mouth to respond, but it just hung there.

  “I'm not trying to start a fight with you,” Clarissa continued. “I'm just saying maybe it's time to consider some other angles here.”

  Andrew glanced at the group, who clustered together and talked among themselves. “Such as?”

  “Such as the fact that Travis will be back. It might be in our best interest to increase our numbers, even if some of them happen to be an old woman and a kid.”

  Andrew leveled a burning look at her. She couldn't decide which was more difficult for him: having his authority questioned or admitting that somebody other than himself saw the big picture and had a plan for it.

  He drifted to the group. They eyed him with the desperation of hopeful orphans. After a moment of deep thought, he bowed his head and allowed the rifle stock to clunk onto the wood deck.

  “Three days,” he said, punctuating his words by holding up three splayed fingers. “Three. After that, good luck to you.”

  The synchronous exhale that followed was palpable. Shoulders dropped in relief, half-smiles stretching the face of each person.

  Jon ascended the stairs and walked straight for Andrew, his hand held out in gratitude.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I mean it. Thank you.”

  “Yes,” Elenora added. “Thank you, sir.”

  Andrew took Jon's hand and shook it. “You're...welcome.” He tried valiantly to maintain the facade of a curmudgeonly loner, to uphold the virtues of a survivalist that desired nothing and needed no one, but Clarissa saw through his thin veneer of stoicism. He would never admit it, but Clarissa knew. Allowing the group to stay made him feel good. It brought him joy, and though she knew relatively little about the man who had taken her, Valentina, and Rachel in, she knew enough to recognize that happiness was an emotion Andrew Wakeland had not experienced in quite some time.

  Sean and Evan climbed the porch stairs to stand beside Jon. Cesare escorted Elenora by her arm and led her up to join the others. Sean leaned forward and offered Andrew his hand.

  “Thank you so much for this,” he said, pumping Andrew's arm. “I mean it. You don't know what this means to us.”

  “It's okay,” Andrew said with a feigned smile.

  Jon faced Clarissa, Valentina, and Rachel. “That goes for you all too. Thank you. I know this is a disruption and an inconvenience. We won't be a bother, I promise.”

  Clarissa swatted the air, as if what Jon said were the most absurd thing she had ever heard.

  “Please. Jon, is it? Don't worry about it. Really. We're happy to have you.” She caught a flat-lipped look of discontent from Andrew out of the corner of her eye but chose to ignore it.

  Jon bobbed his head curtly. “Well, we're honored to be your guests. But now that you've agreed to let us stay, I wondered if I could ask you something?”

  Clarissa frowned curiously, Andrew homing in on Jon.

  “Does anyone know what the hell is going on?”

  CHAPTER 25

  Clarissa was the fourth person to collapse contentedly back into her dining room chair. Rachel, Valentina, and Sean had all preceded her moments earlier like a row of falling dominoes, each rubbing his or her bulging belly in post-meal bliss.

  Andrew's invitation for the road-weary arrivals to stay was followed by a counter invitation from Cesare to prepare everyone a home-cooked meal in the tradition of his family's Lazio, Italy, heritage as a show of gratitude. The only thing he required was Andrew's approval and some of his supplies, both of which Andrew gave with some hesitation.

  It was a welcome break for Clarissa. She had tasked herself with preparing meals since she arrived at Andrew's home, cooking and kitchen duty simple yet familiar ways she chose to “earn her keep” around the house. No agreement had been made to do so, but she couldn't have in good conscience just laid around. Now that Cesare, Jon, and the others were here, it appeared her role over the range would significantly reduce. If Cesare's cooking was only half as scrumptious as the dinner he'd just whipped up, she didn't think anyone would disapprove.

  “Oh, my God,” Clarissa said, as she slumped further down into her chair, “that is by far the best meal I've had in a long time. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

  “Seriously,” Sean said. “Do you have a restaurant or something? Are you a chef?”

  “Me?” Cesare said through a sheepish grin from his spot behind the kitchen island. He dabbed a hunk of bread into a plate of olive oil and took a bite. “No, no. Thank you, but no. I'm not a chef. I just happen to know quite a few good ones.”

  “And who would those be?” Jon asked, leaning forward onto his forearms.

  Elenora raised a bony finger into the air. “Those would be me.”

  The table chuckled.

  “It's true,” Cesare said. “My grandmother's cacio e pepe is legendary in her hometown of Tivoli. She showed me how to prepare meals using very few or simple ingredients. Things you could easily find in the garden. Herbs, wild asparagus, mushrooms, and the like.”

  “Cesare's always been good in the kitchen,” Elenora beamed. “He was a quick learner and was never afraid to try something new.” She shifted her attention to Clarissa, Valentina, and Rachel, her bright eyes passing among them. “His cooking would make any woman happy.”

  Clarissa felt her face flush, but the heat rising in her cheeks paled in comparison to th
e look of utter embarrassment that screamed across Cesare's face.

  “Ma dai, Nonna!”

  Elenora pushed out her chin and accompanied it with a protruding bottom lip. “Well, it's true,” she began. “You're a terrific cook. You should never be ashamed of that. But what's more,” she added with a poised finger, “he's a wonderful grandson. Without him, I might still be cooped up in Parkwood.”

  “Parkwood?” Rachel asked.

  Cesare set his plate down and sauntered around the kitchen island to move up behind his grandmother. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “It's an assisted living community. Nonna's been there for about five years now, and she likes it there. But lately, well, you know how things have gotten.”

  Andrew, who had been leaning against a wall as he ate, stepped forward and set his finished plate in the sink. “Is that where you're coming from then?”

  “Yeah. I got a call a couple of days ago that the community had become short-staffed and, according to them, “unsafe.” They told me that anyone who was able should collect their loved ones.”

  “What about your parents?” Valentina said, sitting up and flipping her hair coquettishly over her shoulders. “Weren't they able to help?” She followed by leaning forward and tucking in her arms, which forced her already ample bosoms to swell like ripe melons beneath her skin-tight tank top.

  Clarissa caught daggers of rivalry leveled at Valentina by Rachel, and she totally understood why. There had been precious few eligible men to gossip, flirt, or drool over as of late, so when an Italian stud rolls onto the property escorting his adorable grandmother, what's not to swoon over? Thick, black hair, unblemished olive skin, and deep-set bedroom eyes that nearly hypnotized a person into submission? What woman wouldn't dab at the corners of her mouth at the sight of such Mediterranean perfection? Had Clarissa been able to disengage her mind from the fever dream reality of a worldwide human draw down, she might have felt similar pangs of attraction. But just because she couldn't find love in the time of apocalypse—hell, who was she kidding, she couldn't find love before the apocalypse—it didn't mean her friends shouldn't try.

  She didn't know Cesare from Adam, but every fiber of her being felt that he and Rachel would make a great fit. He had a manner about him, calm and unhurried, which thrummed on the same frequency as Rachel. If Rachel felt competition with Valentina, Clarissa didn't believe she had anything to worry about. Valentina was a beautiful, buxom woman, but Clarissa thought Cesare would no sooner hook up with her than he would date his grandmother.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Cesare said, his hands squeezing his grandmother's shoulders delicately. “Dad passed away a little more than four years ago, shortly after we set Nonna up, and my mom lives too far away. Once things started happening, it was up to me to drive down from Sacramento to get her. Now we're here.”

  “Wow,” said Rachel, “you are a good grandson.”

  Cesare gave Rachel a pursed-lip grin before looking away. Clarissa tried to contain the smile on her lips.

  “And you?” Andrew said, shifting his focus to Evan, who had uttered nary a word since entering Andrew's home. The boy looked up sharply at Andrew from twirling his pasta. “Your dad says you're all from Portland, that right?”

  Evan flashed to everyone at the table, all of whom now fixated on him. His cheeks rouged at the sudden attention. Tucking his chin into his chest, he allowed his long bangs to drape his face.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Portland.”

  “Yes,” Sean corrected. “Not 'yeah.'”

  Evan glimpsed his dad and buried his head even further. His hair was long but not long enough to conceal the deepening red that seeped over his face.

  “Oh, come on, dad,” Clarissa said, attempting to salvage the moment from becoming embarrassing. “We're all friends here. No need for such formalities. Right, Evan?”

  Evan peeked at her through a curtain of bleach blond hair. His lips twitched a hint of a grin.

  “Always a dad, I'm afraid,” Sean professed. “Isn't that right, Ev?” He curled an arm around Evan and pulled him close with the love of a devoted father. The smile that Evan had been resisting blossomed.

  “Was it bad up there?” Andrew said to Jon, stomping over the tender moment. “I haven't spoken to anyone from a major metropolitan area northwest of here.”

  Jon exchanged glances with Sean. He nodded ahead of his answer. “It was pretty bad. Lots of people ill-equipped to handle such a...whatever this is. Looting, rioting, you name it. After several families had suffered home invasions within a couple of blocks of us, we made the decision to get out of the city. We, uh...” He looked over at Evan, who raised his head. Emotions tugged at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Jon extended an arm and clamped his hand over his son's. “We're all trying real hard not to think about what we left behind or if it'll be there when we get back. If we get back.”

  “We know what you mean,” Clarissa offered.

  “I don't doubt it. We all have our stories, don't we? In any case, we ran into Cesare and Elenora on the drive down. They were stranded in the middle of nowhere. Didn't seem right to just drive by—”

  “Not to mention,” Sean interjected, “who knew what sorts of other people might come across them if we didn't help.”

  “Exactly,” Jon continued. “It's just who we are. So we joined forces and kept moving.”

  Cesare clapped Jon on the shoulder. Jon gave his hand a pat then leaned forward, Cesare moving on to clear plates from the table.

  “So have you all heard anything here about what's going on?” he said. “Anything they're not telling us in the big city? It seems unbelievable that no one knows what this thing is at this point.”

  Andrew crossed his arms. “Unfortunately, we know precious little that you don't. People disappear when they're alone, and no one's got an explanation as to who's doing it or why.”

  Evan sat up poker straight, suddenly engaged. “It's got to be extraterrestrial, doesn't it? Or some, like, government program somewhere that got all jacked up?”

  “They're as good a theory as any. But that's all they remain at this point: theories. I've heard dozens of them over the ham, and most of them sound out-of-this-world crazy, to put it mildly.”

  Jon perked up. “You've got a shack?”

  Andrew cocked his head, like a dog to a whistle. Finally, someone spoke his language. “I do.”

  “So, what are folks saying?” Jon could barely contain his interest. “Are you in contact with anyone overseas? Are you hearing anything out of Europe or Asia?”

  “Easy there,” Sean said. “Give the man a chance to respond.”

  Jon regarded the table before swallowing a lungful of much-needed air.

  “Sorry. I just haven't heard much unfiltered news beyond our borders. Social media feeds have been so congested with panic-stricken posts from friends and family checking on one another, it's been hard to glean anything useful from it. And once something does pop up that looks mildly informative, it's followed by hundreds of responses dismissing it. I don't know what to believe.”

  Andrew shook it off. “You're not alone.”

  “So? Is anyone saying anything? You mentioned there were theories?”

  “There're certainly no shortage of those.”

  “Yeah,” Clarissa jumped in, “but it's the one theory he hasn't told you about yet that's of particular interest. And it's one that's probably saved all of us.” Clarissa swept her hand past herself to include Valentina and Rachel.

  Jon's eyes flitted among his hosts. “Which is?”

  Andrew stepped closer to the table, but only looked at Jon.

  “It happens when you sleep.”

  Jon and Sean looked at each other, their faces measured with concern, and when their eyes fell upon Evan, that concern transformed to profound dread.

  Cesare let go of Elenora's shoulders. “What do you mean 'it happens when you sleep'?”

  “Just that,” Andrew said. “We've all heard h
ow whatever's going on is supposed to happen when you're alone. But from what I'm hearing, we're not getting the full story.”

  Sean sighed angrily. “I knew it. I knew we weren't being told everything. Do you think the media's withholding that information from the public? On purpose?”

  “I don't know what to think,” Andrew said. “All I know is that everyone I've spoken to who believes the theory—including us—is still around. And I believe that's due in no small part to the fact that no one has been allowed to sleep unattended.”

  Jon nodded, comprehending. “You sleep in shifts.”

  “Exactly,” Clarissa said. “First us girls, then Andrew. And now that you're all here, we can strengthen the watch even more.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Sean blurted, as he shot to his feet. His eyes were pinched together in disbelief. “What you're saying doesn't make sense. If that's truly the way to beat this thing, to...to watch over someone as they sleep to prevent that person from disappearing, why is no one reporting it? Why aren't world governments coming out in droves to announce it?”

  “We've been saying the same thing,” Valentina scoffed.

  “Believe me, I understand your frustration,” said Andrew. “The only conclusion I can come to is that the theory is so lost in a sea of countless others it can't be verified.”

  “But certainly the powers-that-be would recognize its validity when they saw that people weren't disappearing as long as they had a guardian. I mean, Jesus Christ, what does it take to keep people safe?”

  Sean's chain looked primed to slip its gears. No one could blame him, though. It was a hard thing to hear that the best defense against a mysterious force that stole away people was to employ a radio rumor no one could guarantee even worked.

  “Andrew?” Elenora said. She folded her hands demurely in front of her as if she were preparing to conduct an interview. “Has anyone on your radio said what is taking people?”

  Andrew shook his head. “That, I'm afraid, is the one thing where I haven't heard any chatter. But I want you all to listen to me.” He leaned onto his palms at the corner of the table. The simple gesture effectively brought everyone's full attention to him. “There's a lot we don't know. Just because we're all still here doesn't mean we've figured things out or that what we've been doing is the right or only way to keep from disappearing. Hell, it doesn't even mean that what we've been doing actually works. We may have only been exceptionally lucky up to this point.” Brows furrowed and faces sagged in worrisome unison. “But I don't think so. Personally, I think we're on to something. I think we're starting to learn how to deal with this otherworldly phenomena because make no mistake about it, what's happening is not of this earth.”