by Brian Keene
Russ, Christy, and I nodded at Cranston as he shut his apartment door behind him. He didn’t say much. Just asked us if we knew what was going on. We said that we didn’t. His curly gray hair was sticking up in every direction, and his Grateful Dead shirt looked like he’d slept in it. I guessed that was probably what he’d done.
When we got outside, he seemed momentarily stunned by the situation. He stared up at the darkness, muttering to himself. Then he turned to the three of us.
“That’s some strange shit, man.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s pretty fucked up.”
Cranston shrugged. Then he offered us a joint, and we all declined, if somewhat regretfully. Emergency or not, it seemed risky to smoke weed in the middle of the street. Plus we already had a good buzz going from the tequila and the bong. We watched Cranston puff the joint down to the roach. The tip glowed orange in the gloom. Christy licked her lips, gazing at the joint like a man in the desert dying of thirst who suddenly spots a watering hole. She’s always been like that. Smokes some weed and then wants more ten minutes later. Me, I’m good for hours. I thought she was going to tell Cranston that she’d changed her mind and ask for a toke, but she didn’t. She just shifted her weight from foot to foot and tugged at her ear. She was obviously nervous and tense.
We all were.
When the joint was spent, Cranston tossed the roach onto the sidewalk and crushed it beneath his heel. He ground his foot back and forth. I felt a pang when that tiny spark of light was extinguished.
“Think the firemen have figured out what’s going on?” Cranston asked.
“Let’s hope so,” I replied.
Russ suggested that we drive to the meeting, but I talked him out of it. We could see more if we walked, and I was curious to find out everything I could about our current situation. Apparently, a lot of other folks felt the same way. There weren’t many cars or trucks on the streets, but there were lots of pedestrians. A crowd of people headed toward the firehouse, and the four of us fell in with the procession. All the people around us were strangely silent. Despite our numbers, nobody spoke much, and when they did, it was in hushed whispers. I glanced around for familiar faces but didn’t see anybody I actually knew—just a few people I recognized from earlier that morning. Tom Salvo was among them, but he was too far away to really talk to. I nodded at him, and he nodded back. There was no sign of Dez the homeless guy, but I hadn’t really expected there to be. He definitely seemed to march to the beat of his own drum, and somehow I doubted an emergency community powwow was his sort of scene.
Unfortunately, we didn’t see much along the way that shed any light on our predicament.
Damn, I guess that was a bad pun, wasn’t it? Fuck it.
Candles and lanterns burned in a few windows, but most of the buildings were dark and silent. Muffled voices drifted from a few. Sobs from a few others. One house echoed with wild, maniacal laughter. It gave me goose bumps, and I think it disturbed quite a few other people in the crowd, but nobody went to investigate it. We heard violent shouting and the sound of glass breaking inside the two-story apartment on the corner of Pine Street, but no one moved to investigate that either. In truth, those things were a common enough occurrence at that address even before the darkness came. A bunch of white-trash meth-heads lived there. On boring Friday nights, we used to go down to the corner and bet on how long it would take for the cops to show up in response to a domestic-disturbance call.
A gray and white cat knocked over a garbage can in an alley, then ran away. A few dogs barked at us from their backyards or from inside homes. Smoke curled from several chimneys, and I found myself wishing that Christy and I had a fireplace in our apartment. It was chilly, and I had a feeling that the longer the sun was gone, the colder it would get. We passed by an enterprising teenager selling bottled water and cans of soda at five bucks a pop. He sat in a lawn chair, and the drinks were in a foam container between his feet. There was no ice inside. He was bundled up in a winter coat. The dudes who ran the Blockbuster store didn’t seem concerned about the morning chill. They had the doors propped open to let in the breeze, and some hip-hop song that I didn’t recognize drifted out into the road. They must have had a battery-powered CD player or something.
Not everyone was armed with a flashlight or candles, and I heard several people stumble and trip in the darkness. Feet shuffled all around us. At one point, many of us jumped at something that might have been a gunshot or a car backfiring or just somebody fucking around with fireworks. There was some nervous laughter when the sound wasn’t repeated. Still, despite all that, most people didn’t speak. We walked all that way in silence.
The guys at the firehouse had their gas-powered generator cranked up, and they’d set up emergency lights in the parking lot. The dazzling glow beckoned us from far off, and as we neared it, I had to shield my eyes against the glare for a moment. After walking so long in the shadows, the brilliance was almost blinding. Once we were safely under the lights, the crowd’s spirits noticeably improved. It was like somebody had flipped a switch. Voices grew louder. A few people even joked and laughed with one another. It felt more like a pep rally or a community yard sale than an emergency meeting—until you saw people’s faces and looked into their eyes. Then it all hit home.
All of them, regardless of their demeanor, kept glancing out at the edge of town, looking for lights, the sun, an airplane, or anything that was normal.
The big ladder truck was parked in front of the building, and a guy I assumed was the fire chief clambered up on top of the cab. He was a big guy and no doubt working on a heart attack or diabetes—or both. He moved slowly, and I could hear him wheezing even over the noise of the crowd. The fire truck’s roof groaned, buckling under his feet, but it held. The movement startled him though, and the chief gave a small, strangled cry as it dimpled beneath him. A few people in the throng giggled, and his face turned red. There was a sound system hooked up next to the fire truck. Another fireman fooled around with it, conducting a sound test. It reminded me of a roadie setting up before a concert.
“‘Freebird,’” somebody in the crowd shouted.
“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” someone else responded.
The man atop the ladder truck waited about ten minutes longer, and the parking lot continued to fill with people. Russ made a joke about the refreshments, wondering where they were and if there was enough to feed everybody. Cranston made a joke about Jesus and loaves and fishes. I just kept quiet, holding on to Christy’s hand and surveying the crowd. If I’d had to guess, I’d have said that about a little less than half of the town’s population was there, which made sense, given the number of people who had gone to work. Still, it was a lot of people, more than I’d ever seen gathered at one time in Walden, even counting the annual firemen’s carnival, which was always held in the very spot where we were all milling around.
Eventually, the big guy on top of the fire engine must have decided there were enough people present. He raised a microphone to his lips and cleared his throat. There was a squeal of electronic feedback. The other fireman adjusted the sound system. The feedback faded, and the crowd fell silent, waiting.
“Thank you all for coming—”
“Speak up,” a woman shouted.
“Can’t hear you in the back,” someone else added.
He tried again, this time more forcefully. “Thank you all for coming. I know that you’re all probably just as spooked as we are right now, so I appreciate the effort. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Seymour Peters, and I’m the fire chief for Walden.”
Christy squeezed my hand hard, and I turned to look at her. She trembled with suppressed laughter. Grinning, I mouthed the guy’s name.
“Seymour Peters,” Russ whispered. “See more peters. Jesus Christ! His parents must have really hated him.”
Christy snickered harder. It made me feel good to see her laughing after the morning’s strangeness. Cranston was shaking with silent mirth
as well. His shoulders jiggled up and down.
“As I’m sure you’re all aware,” Chief Peters continued, “we’ve had something of a situation this morning. Heck, I guess you can look around and see for yourself that something’s happened. Unfortunately, we don’t know what that something is.”
“Succinctly put,” a man standing near us grumbled. “Tell us something we don’t know.”
A rumble went through the crowd as people began to share their opinions and theories. The chief held up his hands and pleaded for silence, and they slowly fell quiet again. Before he spoke again, the Chief coughed several times—dry, rasping, and forceful. I made him for a smoker.
“What we do know,” he continued, “is that our community has lost all of our utilities. We’ve tried contacting fire stations and emergency services in nearby towns, but so far we’ve had no luck. Cell phones and land lines aren’t functioning. There are no incoming signals of any kind, including television and radio. That applies to all cable and satellite signals as well. There’s nothing on the emergency or citizen’s band channels either, and the ham radio frequencies have also gone silent. My men tell me that the internet is down, too. Have any of you spoken with anyone from the outside since this morning? Friends or family? Maybe a coworker? Delivery person? Anyone like that?”
Nobody raised a hand or volunteered that they had. The chief nodded. His expression was grim.
“Some of you probably had—I mean have—loved ones who went to work or traveled outside the town limits. Have any of you heard from them since they departed? Have any of them come back?”
Again, nobody in the crowd volunteered that they had.
“The crew and I have been discussing our situation. Now understand, we live here, too, and some of us have got loved ones missing as well. So believe me when I tell you that we understand what you’re going through. That being said, we think it’s best if everyone stays in their home for the time being. It’s dark out here, and we don’t need people wandering the streets. I know it’s probably tempting to search for your families, but doing so right now is only going to create more problems. We ask that you remain indoors until we are able to better determine exactly what has happened.”
“Fuck that noise,” somebody yelled.
The chief broke into another coughing fit. The fireman manning the sound system handed him a bottle of water. He accepted it eagerly, unscrewed the cap, and sipped. Then he faced the crowd again.
“I know it’s not an easy thing to ask, but I’m asking just the same. It’s for your safety, as well as the safety of my men.”
“It’s them terrorists, isn’t it? It’s the Al Qaeda?”
I recognized the speaker from earlier. She was the woman who had felt sorry for Dez.
“We don’t know what it is,” the chief responded. “But we intend to find out. Let’s not jump to any conclusions yet. We’ve decided to send a crew to the next town, Verona, to see if they can determine what’s happened and how large of an area this thing has affected. The plain truth is that we don’t know if this is a national, regional, or localized event. Meanwhile, the main thing we all need to do is remain calm. Panic leads to injury, and with the phones out, you have no way of calling 911. I would also like to suggest that we conserve our resources until we better understand our situation. Once the men have returned, we’ll inform all of you—probably by calling another meeting or going door-to-door. So until then, just stay put and again, remain calm. We’re doing our best, and we thank you in advance for your cooperation and patience. We’ll get through this together.”
“What a crock of shit,” a bald man in front of us muttered. “Who the hell put this guy in charge? He doesn’t know any more than the rest of us.”
“Hey,” Russ said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you cut him some slack? The man is just trying his best.”
The bald man scowled. “I heard you snickering at his name.”
“Maybe,” Russ admitted, “but that doesn’t mean I question his authority. If he’s got a plan—and it sounds to me like he does—then I say we respect it.”
“Who cares what you say? What—you know him or something?”
“No. I don’t know him. I don’t know you either. I’m just saying that maybe we ought to work together. That’s all. If you don’t like it, then maybe you should leave now, rather than bringing everybody else down.”
Cranston nodded in agreement. “All this negativity is no good. We need to get along.”
I thought for a moment that the bald man was going to take a swing at Russ and Cranston both. Instead, he just stared at them. His expression hovered between pissed off and incredulous. Then he turned his attention back to the chief. If he had more opinions, he didn’t share them with us.
Christy shivered against me.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’m just cold. I hope this doesn’t last much longer. It’s creepy, standing out here in the dark.”
“It’s not completely dark,” I said. “Not like over there.”
I pointed toward the shadowed horizon and immediately regretted it. Acknowledging it seemed to make it more real somehow—seemed to solidify it. At the time, I thought that was just in my head. Thought that I was being superstitious. But now I have to wonder.
Had the darkness heard me, even then? The more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to believe it might have.
Recovering from another bout of coughing, the chief then went over some safety concerns, advising people with generators to make sure they were well vented and talking about fireplaces and the hazards associated with kerosene heaters and candles. I kind of zoned out during that part of the speech.
When he’d finished with his safety checklist, the chief asked, “Are there any questions?”
There were. Lots of them. People had him repeat things he’d already said and wanted him to speculate on what he thought had occurred and wanted to bitch about the situation in general. A few seemed to consider this meeting a chance to share their personal stories, telling the chief and the crowd about their husband or wife who’d left for work or about what they were doing when the darkness came. The chief did a good job of hiding it, but I could see that he was getting annoyed. In truth, I was too. Then Russ broke the tension. He raised his hand, and the chief wearily motioned to him.
“Yes, sir? You have a question?”
“Yeah,” Russ called. “Where’s these refreshments you said you were gonna have?”
That earned a boisterous round of laughter from both the firemen and the crowd. A few people even applauded.
“Glad you asked,” the chief said. “We’ve got a buffet set up inside the firehouse. It’s not much, I’m afraid. Hot coffee, tea, bottled water, fruit, and some boxes of doughnuts. But with the power out, I imagine most of you could use a good cup of java. Brewed it myself. It’s dark and bitter, but it will definitely keep you awake. Help yourselves. We only ask that you keep things orderly. You are welcome to stay here for a while, if you like, though I imagine it will get pretty crowded. As I said before, the best thing you can do is return to your homes and remain calm. We’re all in this together, and we’ll get through it together.”
The chief turned off the public address system and clambered down from the fire truck. People gathered around him with more questions or just wanting to shake his hand. A few people headed home. Much of the crowd proceeded into the firehouse, but it was slow going and the line jammed up at the doors and spread out into the parking lot. Cranston took a spot in the procession.
“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he said. “I could use some coffee and I never turn down free doughnuts.”
Russ glanced at Christy and me. “You guys feel like standing in that line?”
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said.
“What?”
“Let’s head to the edge of town. I’d like to see for myself what’s going on.”
Christy paled but said nothing. Ru
ss shook his head.
“I don’t know, Robbie. You heard what the chief said, same as the rest of us. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” I replied. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything at this point. But with everything that’s going on, I’d much rather see what we’re up against than stand around drinking coffee and making small talk with a bunch of neighbors I don’t know.”
Russ frowned. “Why? Chief Peters said that they’re gonna send a few firemen out and they’ll let us know what’s happening.”
“Yeah, but I’d rather get a head start on that. If it’s as bad as I think it is—and let’s be honest, guys, this is some bad fucking shit—then these people are gonna find out soon enough that there might not be any more coffee and doughnuts for a while. I’d rather stock up on things we need before that happens.”
Christy appeared shocked. “You think people are going to start looting?”
I shrugged. “They’re scared. The chief’s speech will keep them calm for a while. Hot coffee and doughnuts make things seem almost normal. But eventually, they’re going to walk back outside and see the sky, and those fears are gonna come back. And who knows what will happen then? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this will all pass. But I think we need to start thinking about ourselves, just in case.”
It took a little more convincing, but both of them agreed to go to the edge of town with me. Our plan was to check things out for ourselves. If it looked as bad as we feared, then we’d come back and figure out what to do next. I hoped that wouldn’t mean stealing what we needed to survive, but if it did, then we wanted to do it before everyone else had the same idea.
We walked back home and piled into our beat-up old Pontiac, which was parked alongside the curb. Russ sat in the back. I turned the key and the engine sputtered to life. The headlights beat back the murky shadows. On a whim, I tried the radio. Maybe everybody was wrong. Maybe we’d hear something after all. Maybe we’d come across something—some broadcast from one of the nearby towns or even a barely audible transmission letting us know that things were all right and that everything would be fine. I pressed the scan button and it ran through the FM frequencies twice, but there was nothing. No static, no ghost broadcasts, no weird noises of feedback. No sound of any kind. Then I tried the AM band but just got more of the same. I switched it over to the satellite radio, which we’d had installed in the car with our last income tax return check, but the satellite bands were also silent.
