Every house in his housing edition had garages, but most of them probably housed automobiles. The only time so little traffic came out was in the dead of pre-dawn, before the first daily traffic rush. It must have happened all at once and likely in the middle of the night. Out of habit, he looked at the time on his cell phone. 2:30 PM. He passed the Indianapolis Airport on his right. Nothing stirred there at all. He usually saw planes either landing or taking off constantly as he drove by.
He had been worried that, once the highway slimmed down to two lanes, he would encounter more trouble with stray cars, but he found that not to be the case. As he came farther and farther from the city, he saw less cars and accidents. The once-lush fields, now stripped of everything but dirt, appeared out of place under the clear, blue horizon. James flipped on the radio as he passed the exit for State Road 39. A high pitched squealing mixed with static shot from the speakers. He moved the dial up and down the frequency band. Various other pitches of screeching and static snipped in and out as he did this. He flipped it back off and tried to focus on the road ahead. Across the median, the occasional car sat waiting for the end of the world. Or had it already happened? He found himself getting drowsy from the monotony. His eyelids drooped heavily when out of the corner of his barely-open eyes, he saw a car zoom past on the eastbound side of the highway. He slammed on his brakes and began to swerve, the car tires screeching like a banshee as the car itself started leaning. When he regained control, James blasted over the median onto the eastbound side and sped after the car he had just seen.
3
James held his foot all the way down on the gas pedal. The car looked like a dot in the distance. Whoever was driving was in a hurry, that much he could tell. He felt equal parts relief and fear to know he had found someone else. The dot gradually became a slightly larger blur. He could make out its red color now. Whatever it was, it looked boxy, very European like.
As he came closer he recognized it to be an old Volkswagen van with two things tied down to the top off it that he couldn’t quite make out. A moment more of holding the gas pedal down and he could see they were surf boards, one bright yellow and the other a dull purple. When he got close enough that he could read the license plate, he saw the face of the woman driving the van. She looked back at him in a panic. He had thought that anyone he might find would be just as happy as him to see another human being. But here he had found one and she was running away.
They were in the middle lane of the now three lane highway as they passed beside the Indianapolis Airport. The lady took another look at James and then swerved to the right just in time to get on the 465 South exit before he could follow suit. Unconcerned with traffic as there was none moving, he slammed on the brakes, squealing tires louder than he could remember. Then he slammed the car into reverse, back into drive, and spun around toward the exit. When he got onto 465 South, he slammed the pedal down and drove for some time, no moving vehicles in sight. When he got to State Road 37, he took the exit and turned back the way he came from. He drove back to where he’d entered the highway, finding no sign of the van. He pulled off to the side of the road, put the car in park, killed the engine, and sat there staring into the distance for a few minutes. He’d missed his chance, he was sure of it.
After some time sitting and feeling sorry for himself, James started the car up and drove back to I-70. He pulled onto the ramp and headed west. The sun was setting up ahead and he tried to block out the worry in the back of his mind. He couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like in this desolate new world at night. The thought gave him goose bumps and he tried to bury it in his mind. He focused on the brilliant hues of gold and lavender. The farther away he got from the city, the more pitch black outside it became. But the clear skies littered with stars were a wonder to James. He’d forgotten how magical the sight was. He had decided to spend the night driving and sleep during the day in order to quell his fears. Just the thought of closing his eyes in the dark produced images of something animated and out of focus grabbing hold of his shoulder. He shuddered. A strong wind had been pushing on the car for some time now and it was unnerving to think that all there was consisted of him, one other person, some trees here and there, strong winds, and the leftover waste of a civilization. He tried to remind himself he still didn’t know for sure how far the effects of whatever had happened extended to.
Maintaining a steady 65 miles an hour, James watched the dotted lines of the highway blur past in single file. He’d been driving for three hours and by the clock on his radio it was now 9:47 PM. His headlights reflected off a familiar green sign. It was the State Road 46 exit for Terre Haute and Riley. He checked his gas gauge. Less than a quarter of a tank. He decided he would be better off getting gas somewhere he knew rather than trying somewhere completely unfamiliar to him. So, he swerved and took the exit. He almost couldn’t make it due to the semi jack-knifed into the curve of the ramp, but he managed to get around by driving over the curb on the left side of the ramp. He took a right on 46 and swerved another right into the Pilot station. There were cars pulled up to most of the pumps. He found one he could pull up to without having to parallel park and killed the engine. The inside of the gas station was well lit and just as empty as everything else. He tried his card again and this time the machine produced an error on the screen. He sighed and looked at the ominous building.
He walked up to the main front door and pulled it open. Inside the place looked as though it were any other day except there were no other people at all. Against the back wall, a single glass door hung open as if a ghost were browsing for a drink. For the first time since he woke that morning, James began to feel a deep growling in his stomach as he looked at the plastic packaged snacks covering the aisles. Even the pork rinds looked good. He went behind the counter and scrambled around until he found the plastic bags. He pulled several out and started filling the bags with a variety of unhealthy snacks. Then he went back behind the counter and tried to figure out the controls to turn on the gas for pump 6. Seemingly by accident he hit the right button and the machine beeped at him. When he came back to the car his arms were full between the bags of snacks, the two 24 packs of cola, the case of beer, and the large gas can he’d taken from the store. He put all the food and drinks in the passenger seat and started filling the gas tank. Then he filled the can. He opened the air hole on the gas can and wedged it in the trunk between a tall stack of old waterlogged magazines and a spare tire.
He closed the trunk and stood watching inside the empty gas station, his hands still sitting on the car. A gust of wind blew at him. It was strong enough that he had to grab hold of the car to keep upright. He looked at the sky above the building. Faint stars were blurred by the bright light of the gas station. In the distant sky beyond the lights of the city he could see something dark obscuring some of the stars. Probably just a thundercloud, he thought.
Once he was back on the highway headed west again, he looked in the rearview mirror to see the darkness spreading. He hadn’t seen any lightning yet, but he was sure it would come. Several minutes later he crossed the Illinois state line. He cracked open a bag of Doritos and loudly crunched on a handful of chips. A moment of anxiety came when he realized the electricity in affected places wouldn’t last much longer. He’d seen once on a documentary show that electric plants will eventually need maintenance and, without people, will shut themselves down as a safety precaution.
Two bags of chips and an apple pie later, James was nearing the I-270 junction. He still hadn’t seen any lightning. A while later, he found the lines on the road starting to blur in the fuzzy warmth of the car heater. He woke up swerving toward the right edge of the highway. Time for a wake up call, he thought. He popped open one of the energy drinks and chugged the whole thing down in one gulp. Belching loudly, he crumpled the can and threw it over his shoulder. He couldn’t help giggling afterwards. Slaphappy time, he thought. He turned on the radio, hoping the noise would keep him awake. Static. He hit the seek butt
on. The first station it went to was a high-pitched “off-the-air” tone. Next a higher-pitched static. The one after that he hadn’t been prepared for.
Strange, guttural, almost angry sounding noises filled his speakers, nearly stopping his heart. They weren’t voices. At least he didn’t think they were. But they certainly weren’t any kind of natural radio interference, either. After a while of listening, he realized he was holding his breath and had slowed down to 15 MPH. He stopped the car, put it in park, and continued listening. The sound reminded him of growling, if metal could growl. He sat listening, trying to make sense of the various deep pitches and rhythms. Then his cell phone rang.
4
The air swelled as if static electricity were rising all around him. He looked at his caller ID message on the outside of the flip phone. The screen filled with strange characters. After the third ring, he opened it and before he could put it to his ear, an incredibly loud and high-pitched feedback pierced through his brain, causing him to drop the phone and hold both ears with his hands. Several bright flashes lit the world outside with blinding light. His skin prickled all over. He was sure whatever was happening was the same thing that made everything else disappear.
“What’s happening to me?” he screamed in chorus with the deafening feedback.
Grabbing the cell phone, James clamped it shut with a loud clack and tossed it to the floorboard. That horrible grumbling from the car radio faded back into his hearing. The flashes and the physical sensations continued. He hadn’t even noticed he was hyperventilating.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly and put all his concentration into catching his own breath. Looking up, another flash occurred and he could see the darkness had spread far enough that it was visible above him through the windshield. It certainly wasn’t cloud cover. He forced himself to action.
He started the car and slammed on the gas, squealing tires as he sped forward. He tried to reconcile what he saw with the same reason that failed to shed light on all he had seen since waking up that morning. The darkness wasn’t clouds, it didn’t even look like gas, it was something solid, yet translucent, reflective.
And looking all around out the windows through the flashes, James could see that it covered most of the sky. It was heading west, covering the eastern horizon as far south and north as James could see. He was gaining on 120 MPH, but the darkness was moving faster.
And those flashes. He could barely see between them and the phantom glow they left behind in his vision. Each time they started, there was that awful crispiness all over his skin. It was becoming clear to him, as the darkness spread further toward the western horizon, that driving, even driving west, would get him nowhere. He found an exit, not caring where it was, and sped through the off-ramp.
The thought of the Volkswagen came to mind as he pulled onto a road that probably would’ve been just as desolate before recent events. He wondered if the lady driving that van had managed to survive. He wondered if he was safe. Remembering that he had found someone brought him hope. Maybe there were more people like him, still alive.
After a while of driving the straight, two lane, country road for a long time, seeing nothing more than fields and farmhouses through the bright flashes, James looked at his car radio. The digital display kept alternating between 7:56 and the strange symbols just like on his phone. If his hunch was correct, it was showing the correct time.
He knew then whatever was covering the sky was blocking the sun. He swallowed as he feared the worst. What if it never went away? Tears streamed down his face. All he could think about was Joel. He drove on, weeping in the eerie light of the flashes.
James woke, lying in the front seat of the car, his legs draped over the back of the seat. Sunlight came through the windshield above him. He sat up and looked outside. The darkness was gone. No flashing, no prickly sensation. James had parked the car in an otherwise empty parking lot in front of a small town store. He vaguely remembered finding it, exhausted and unable to keep his body awake. Even then the darkness was everywhere and the flashes went on still. He wondered what time it was. The LED on the car radio was dead. It took him a while to find his cell phone. When, reaching down into the pile of trash on the floorboard, he felt its familiar smooth plastic shell, he plucked it from the mess. It was warm to the touch. Smoke puffed up from behind the blank screen when he opened it. He let out a sigh and tossed it back down.
James stepped out of the car, the rubber soles of his shoes slapping onto the warm pavement. It was the kind of morning when you woke up to the sound of birds and running cars but now the silence seemed to go on forever. James couldn’t stop staring at the surreal, silver-lined clouds swiftly moving through blue currents of sky. He closed the door of the car and it echoed back from the store. Looking around at the empty parking spaces, he wondered why there weren’t any cars. Then it dawned on him. It must have happened in the middle of the night. Small town stores weren’t known for 24-hour service.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his smooshed pack of cigarettes and opened it to find nothing inside but a pinch of tobacco at the bottom. A sort of rage overcame him. He flung the empty cigarette pack onto the ground like a madman and stomped on it, half yelling, half muttering. He wasn’t angry that he was out of cigarettes. He was sure he would find a way into the store and the signs of various cigarette brands with their prices listed assured him the store carried his favorite and many others. James went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He knew his tools were buried inside, somewhere. He pulled out the gas can and set it on the blacktop. Then he started digging through the layers of clothes and papers that had accumulated over the years.
The cool feel of steel shocked the tips of his fingers as he dug several layers deep into the mess. Pushing his hand in with more confidence, he gripped his fingers around the tool and felt its handle’s grainy texture. Ratchet… good enough, he thought. It took some tugging and twisting, but he pulled the ratchet free. Closing the trunk, he took a deep breath, looking at the doors and windows of the store. He put the ratchet in his back pocket and race-walked to the automatic-sliding front doors. Obviously locked, they stood completely still as James approached. He pressed up against the glass and raised up on his toes, looking down so he could try and make out the workings of the lock. It was a small gray dead bolt that matched its surrounding doors. If he busted the glass close enough and made a big enough hole, he might be able to reach in and unlock it. He took a step back, reached around his side, and pulled out the ratchet. He lifted it above his head and aimed for a spot just above the corner of the glass, next to the dead bolt. He took a breath, counted to three in his head, and swung down with all his strength. The ratchet slammed into the glass with a hollow clang, jolting and vibrating his arm while utterly failing to even scratch the glass. He let out a loud yelp from the pain.
“All right, you son of a bitch. You got that one, but this next one is all mine.” He swung the ratchet again, harder this time, and the window bit back equally hard. The glass reflected the furious look on James’s face in untarnished clarity. He bellowed a battle cry, and started slamming the ratchet into the glass over and over, letting it hit wherever it happened to land. The thick glass seemed impenetrable. But James was in a fury now, beating into the glass harder the more it mocked him with its flawless surface. His screaming had risen to a fevered pitch when the blast of a rifle abruptly interrupted him.
5
James dropped the ratchet and put his hands in the air as the metal tool jittered against the concrete. He slowly turned around, his knees buckling as he went. A large man in worn overalls stood at the far end of the parking lot. In his hands, he clutched a shotgun at an angle, pointing towards the sky. Even at that distance, James could see the smoke floating from the barrel.
“You best get the hell away from that there store, son.” The man’s voice rose in the air and then ricocheted off the wall, behind James. I’m not alone, he thought. He had been longing to fin
d someone for so long, he almost didn’t recognize the man’s intimidating tone.
“I just want some food and water, sir, maybe some cigarettes if it’s not too much to ask. I have to say it’s so nice to see someone else alive.” He could hear his own small voice echo across the lot with a short delay.
The man gave no reply.
James moved forward carefully, being sure to keep his hands up high. The man seemed to stiffen. James froze.
“I’m unarmed. I just want to meet you, sir.”
The man lowered his shotgun in James’s direction.
“You’ll stay right there if you know what’s good for ya.”
James closed his eyes and swallowed. He was about to open them when he heard movement from behind him. Before he could turn to see what it was, two men grabbed him. One was dressed in brown overalls, his dark hair greased back, the other wore a white polo and khaki shorts, the sun gleaming off his bald head. The man with the shotgun was jogging toward them. His shotgun, saddled behind him, shook with the muscular motion of his body as he ran. James could feel the cold, sharp, stinging pressure of handcuffs being slapped onto his wrists.
“We’re not taking any chances, mister. You understand, right?” a young voice asked behind James. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of pulling duct tape. He tried to get away but managed only a squirm as the cool, sticky pressure of the threaded tape enclosed his mouth.
James groaned in reply. The jolt of what was happening severed his only remaining nerve since the shotgun blast. The men pulled him toward the store as the man with the shotgun arrived just in time to open the sliding door.
The Quiet Page 2