by Amy Cross
"Well, I -"
"Did you hear that blast out somewhere near the airport?" she continues, apparently oblivious to my attempt to reply. "What the hell's going on? It sounds like there's a god-damn war starting up".
"I don't know what that was," I say, still a little disorientated by the light she continues to shine in my face. I've got my hands up to cover my eyes. "I don't know anything. That's why I came to ask you. I just thought you might have heard something".
"I was asleep this afternoon," she says. "Woke up about five and found everything was off. Cooker. Toaster. Refrigerator. Television. Lights. Everything. No juice in any of them. It's coming to something, isn't it, when you can't even rely on the electricity company to keep the juice flowing. I don't know what they do with all the money we pay them, but they sure don't spend it on keeping things running properly. Probably goes straight in their pockets".
"The power cut out just after lunch," I tell her. "My parents are still out at the airport. I don't know how long it's gonna take them to get back here, but I think the traffic's pretty snarled up".
"Of course it is," she replies, sounding annoyed at me. "The lights are all out. No-one can see a damn thing. The whole city's probably come to a standstill".
"Just hold tight and wait it out," she says. "Aren't your parents home?"
"No," I say, "they're -" I suddenly remember that I've already told her that my parents are at the airport, so I don't see there's much point in going over everything again. This conversation is going round and round in circles. "I'm sorry I disturbed you," I say finally, stepping back from the doorway.
"Just stay calm," she continues. "Stop waiting for everyone else to solve your problems. A little darkness never hurt anyone. Hell, it might even do you good. You kids are pampered these days".
"Okay," I say quietly, as she slides the lock back across. "Thanks," I continue once I'm alone in the corridor. "Sorry to bother you. Have a nice evening". I pause for a moment. "Go fuck yourself," I add quietly.
Turning, I wander back along toward our apartment. Feeling my way slowly and carefully to the door, I suddenly hear a noise somewhere nearby. Stopping, I stare into the darkness; sure enough, I hear the noise again: it's a kind of clicking, shuffling sound, accompanied by a hushed tone that sounds like someone breathing nearby. I don't want to get paranoid, but I could swear that it sounds like someone's standing a few meters away. Frankly, with the lights out, there could be someone just inches away from me and I wouldn't know anything about it until I felt their breath on my face.
"Hello?" I say quietly, feeling stupid for even vocalizing my fear. This is just my mind playing tricks on me in the dark.
"Hey," says a male voice.
My heart nearly leaps out of my mouth as I realize that I'm not alone. That voice wasn't Henry; it sounded like an older guy. There are a whole bunch of people living in this building, but I've never really met or spoken to any of them. We tend to mostly not really talk to our neighbors. The weird part, though, is that Mrs DeWitt is the only other person who lives up here on the top floor, so I don't see why anyone else would be wandering about in this corridor at all. My mind immediately starts racing as I think of all the things this guy could be: a burglar, or a murderer, or someone with a knife, or -
"You okay there?" the voice continues after a moment. Suddenly I see a small pen-light shining in the darkness; after a moment, it flashes in my direction, as if the person is trying to get a good look at me.
"Yeah," I say, my heart still pounding in my chest. "I'm fine".
"Okay," he replies. "That's good".
I wait for him to say something else, but he just continues to shine the pen-light at me.
"Do you want something?" I ask.
"No," he says. "I was just coming up to make sure that everything's okay with you folks. With the lights out and all, you never know what might be happening".
"Yeah," I say, trying to sound polite even though all I want to do is make my way past this guy and get back to Henry in our apartment. "I'm just going back home," I explain, hoping against hope that the guy will realize that I want to be left alone. I mean, I don't want to sound rude or paranoid, but at the same time I'd really rather just get back to my brother.
"I'm just a neighbor," he says.
"A neighbor?"
"From downstairs".
"Oh". I wait for him to go away, but his penlight remains pointed straight at me.
"You're Elizabeth Marter, right?" he says.
I pause for a moment. "Yeah," I say eventually.
"Thought so. I've seen you in the lobby a few times. We haven't actually spoken, but, uh, I like to maintain a good understanding of who lives in the building at all times. Helps in case I have to spot an intruder". He pauses for a moment. "How old are you?"
"Me?" I pause for a moment. "Twenty-two," I say eventually, which is a lie. I'm almost twenty-one, but I figure I should try to make myself sound a little more formidable.
"Twenty-two, huh? Nice age".
"Yeah," I mutter, still feeling for the door. I'm starting to wonder whether I've gone too far, or not far enough; either way, all I can feel is the wall, until suddenly my hand brushes against something soft and I realize it's the man's arm. I pull back.
"You've got a brother, right?" the man asks, shining the pen-light directly at my face.
"Yeah," I say.
"How old's he?"
I pause. "He's also twenty-two," I say after a moment.
"He is? Are you twins?"
"No," I reply. "Why?"
"Just thought you might be, if you're the same age".
"We're not".
"Huh". He pauses, and then he sighs. "I don't know, I've seen the both of you about, I thought he looked a lot younger. Well, I just came up because I heard someone moving about. I figured you might be in trouble, or something, what with the lights being off and your parents being out of town and everything".
"No. I'm fine. We're fine".
"Huh. Well, that's good to hear".
I wait for him to say something else.
"I should probably -" I start to say eventually.
"My name's Bob," he says suddenly, interrupting me. "Bob Sullivan. I live downstairs. Right below your family, I think. I'm in number seven. I've seen you about. I don't mean to creep you out, but I'm the kind of guy who keeps his eyes and ears open. I doubt you've spotted me. Slightly older guy, a little overweight maybe, not quite so much hair as I used to have. I'm usually coming home about five. I wear this big military-style jacket. Navy Seals, that kind of thing".
"Sorry," I say, "I don't think I've seen you".
"That's okay. I like it that way, to be honest. Being anonymous and stuff like that. I tend to just head in and head out pretty quickly. What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you like to draw attention to yourself? Like, with what you wear and stuff? Tight clothes, jewelry?" He sniffs. "Tattoos, things like that".
"No," I say, taking a deep breath. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I really need to get back to my brother now".
"I'll help you," he replies. "This way, right?" I see the pen-light change direction, pointing down the corridor and briefly flashing across our front door at the far end.
"I..." I pause for a moment, desperately trying to think of a way to get him to just leave me alone. Finally, I realize that the best approach might simply be to accept his help and then get inside the apartment as quickly as possible. While this guy is undeniably being weird, I'm probably overreacting. After all, just because someone's a little pushy and socially awkward, they're not necessarily dangerous. My mother always tries to make me scared of people in the city, but I should try to overcome her paranoid indoctrination and accept some help when it's offered.
"Come on," he continues, as the beam from his pen-light shines along the corridor. "It's not far to your door, is it?"
"No," I say, taking a deep breath before walking forward. I head straight for the end of the light, wh
ich already seems to be dancing over the door-frame that leads into our apartment. I can sense the man walking alongside me, and I can hear him breathing, but at least he doesn't seem to be trying anything. At least with the beam of light stretching out ahead of us, I can be certain that he's not looking at me.
"Here you go," he says as we reach the door and he shines the pen-light at the bronze number. "I told you I'd get you back, safe and sound".
"Thanks," I say, pushing the door open.
"If you need anything," he continues, "anything at all, just come down to apartment seven and knock on the door. Or, you know, you could just bang on your floor and I'll probably hear it. Sometimes I can hear from below if you're banging stuff about up here".
"Sure," I mutter, turning to shut the door. "Thanks again, I -"
"Elizabeth!" Henry calls out from the front room. "Who are you talking to?"
"That's your brother, huh?" Bob continues. "You got more than one?"
"No," I say cautiously. "Why?"
"Oh, no reason. I just didn't think he sounded like he's twenty-two, that's all. Sounds more like a teenager. I guess it can be hard to tell sometimes".
"Well, that's him," I say.
"Your parents home?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say.
"Huh. I thought they were away for the weekend. I saw them leaving with suitcases". He starts to push his way into the apartment. "Maybe I should -"
"No!" I say firmly, pushing the door almost into his face. "Thanks, but we're fine!"
He pauses. "Okay," he says finally, with a shrug. "If you say so".
"Sorry, I really have to get going. Thanks for the help". Before he can say anything else, I push the door shut and take a deep breath. I hear the sound of Bob walking away down the corridor, and moments later I hear the stairwell door swinging open and then closed. Finally, he's gone. I feel kind of bad for assuming the worst about him, and I'm sure he was only trying to help, but there was still something about him that made my skin crawl. After taking a moment to calm down, I slide the chain across on the door, for extra security. Just in case.
THOMAS
Oklahoma
"He's not there!" I say, staring into the police car as we drive back past.
"Sure he is," Joe says, keeping his eyes on the road. "He's just flat on his back on the front seats. Dead as a doornail".
"No," I say firmly, turning to keep my eyes on the vehicle. "I swear, he was gone. If you don't believe me, pull over".
"Bullshit," Joe replies. "Trust me, if you'd seen how I left him, you'd know".
"It's not bullshit! He must have got out and walked off!"
"Well, I'm not stopping," he continues. "Fuck that shit".
I watch as Lydia's car continues past the scene, keeping pace with us. "I guess you can't stop," I say. "I mean, how would you explain it to your new girlfriend? Hey, darling, here's the cop car where I crushed a dying man's skull earlier".
"I knew I shouldn't have let you come". He pauses for a moment, and finally I realize he's staring not at me but at something in the distance. "Fuck, that plane's flying low".
Following his gaze, I see a large airplane traveling roughly parallel to us, only a few hundred feet off the ground. It's so low, you'd think it was coming in to land, and although it's perhaps a kilometer away, it's still the closest I've ever been to one of the damn things.
"Do you think it's okay?" I ask.
"How would I know?" he replies. "I'm not a fucking pilot".
As we keep going, it becomes increasingly clear that the airplane is continuing to lose altitude. It's still going pretty fast, and it's maintaining a course that keeps it well within sight of our truck, but this definitely isn't normal. After a moment, I realize I can just about hear the distant roar of its engines, and they sound as if they're spluttering slightly.
"There's not a landing strip around here, is there?" I ask.
"No," Joe replies flatly. He sounds worried; usually, he'd start making jokes, but this time he seems more interested in keeping an eye on the airplane as it continues to get closer and closer to the tops of the trees.
"Is it crashing?" I say.
As we continue to watch the plane, it starts to brush against the tops of the trees. The body of the jet seems to wobble slightly.
"Holy fuck," Joe says, "I think it's gonna come down".
"No way," I say, feeling my chest tighten with fear.
"Fucking way!" he shouts, just as the plane starts crashing through the highest part of the forest. It's barely a couple of hundred meters from us now, and it's starting to tilt slightly. Joe keeps his foot on the accelerator as we watch the plane start to bump a little as it continues to hit the trees; finally, it tips to one side and all we can see is a wing, before the entire plane disappears from view. There's a moment of calm and silence, and then there's a huge crashing sound, like metal and wood being ripped apart.
"Did that -" I start to say, but suddenly there's a massive explosion, sending a fireball up into the evening sky. The whole area seems to shake for a moment, and Joe's truck skids a little before he brings it under control and pulls over by the side of the road. Once the shaking has subsided, the fireball starts to dissipate as it rises higher and higher, but now there's a thick plume of black smoke coming from a spot in the forest where the airplane came down.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Joe says. "That motherfucking thing just crashed right in front of us". As the words leave his lips, there's a second explosion, almost as loud as the first. The ground shakes again. "Fuel," Joe continues. "That must have been the fuel coming up". There's a third explosion, and we sit there wide-eyed as the smoke starts to thicken by the second.
"What do we do?" I ask. My heart's pounding so hard, I reckon it could leap out of my chest at any moment, and I've got this cold sweat all over my body. "Do you think there might be survivors?" When he doesn't reply, I turn to him and see that his face is completely pale. It's almost as if he might faint at any moment. My heart racing, I turn to look back at the horizon; there's already a lot more smoke than before, most of it pitch black. Suddenly there's a banging sound on my window, and I turn to see that Lydia has come over to the truck. Reaching out, I wind the window down.
"What the fuck just happened?" she asks, still wearing her sunglasses. It's weird, but she still sounds slightly bored and whiny, almost as if she's interpreted the crash as a personal affront to her own plans.
"Well, I think a fucking plane just crashed," Joe says.
"Yeah," she replies, "I think you're fucking right". She sighs. "I guess we need to call someone. Is your phone working? I just tried mine and I haven't got any signal". She drops her cigarette and swears as she bends down to pick it up. "Fucking fuck," she mutters, grabbing a lighter from her pocket and trying to relight the tip.
Joe grabs his phone from the glove compartment and tries to bring up a number, but after a moment he puts it back down. "No signal," he sighs. "Boy, the wonders of the digital age, huh? No damn signal to be had for begging. I've always said, you can't trust modern technology, not when you're in a jam". He smiles awkwardly; it's sad to realize that even in the aftermath of a huge accident, he still seems to be trying to impress Lydia.
"Huh," Lydia replies, clearly not impressed by either of us. Her hand are trembling as she continues to try, in vain, to get her cigarette lit again. "So what are we gonna do about it? Just, like, drive on or something?"
Joe opens his door and steps out of the truck, walking around and standing in the middle of the road. In the distance, smoke is still rising up from the forest, and it looks as if there's a fire raging. From here, things don't look so bad, but it's hard not to imagine the carnage that must be going on at the scene.
"What the fuck's going on?" Lydia mutters, still trying to relight her cigarette. "It's like the whole fucking world's just falling apart today. It's just a fucking lighter, for fuck's sake". Frustrated, she throws her lighter against the side of the truck and it bounces to the ground. "You go
t some matches?" she asks.
I shake my head.
"Huh," she replies. "I guess I might have some". She turns and starts walking back to her car; moments later, however, she stops and there's a pause before she drops to the ground.
"Joe!" I shout, getting out of the car and running over to Lydia's fallen body. I remove her sunglasses and immediately see that she's sporting a massive, slightly swollen black eye. Whatever caused that, she got it long before she met us. "She was fine!" I shout, my hands shaking as I check her pulse. She's still alive, but that black eye looks alarming. "She was just going to get some matches from her car!" I tell Joe as he kneels next to us.
"It's okay," Joe he says, rolling her onto her back "She fainted, that's all," he continues. "Probably shock". He checks her pulse. "She's fine. She just needs to rest for a bit. Grab her legs and we'll get her in the back of the truck". Together, we manage to get her over to the truck and settle her flat on her back in the rear compartment. "We're gonna have to get her home," he continues. "We'll come back for her car later. Right now, she needs to get to bed. It's probably just shock from seeing a fucking plane come down, that's all".
"Shouldn't we try to wake her up?" I ask.
"How do you wanna do that?" he replies. "Stick her nose in your armpit? She'll come round when she's ready. Right now, we need to call someone and make sure they know where this fucking plane's come down. Maybe the land-line's working again".
"They'll know," I say. "They have to know. They'll have seen it on radar".
"Whatever," Joe replies, rushing back to the driver's seat. As soon as I'm back in the truck with him, he slams his foot on the pedal and the wheels screech before we head off along the bumpy road. Nearby, smoke and flames are continuing to rise into the sky, and after a moment I realize that the road is gonna start curving in the direction of the crash-site.
We carry on in silence for a few minutes, until suddenly a large piece of mangled fuselage comes into view up ahead. Joe slows down and carefully drives around what turns out to be a big chunk of torn metal, with steam rising from its surface. It quickly becomes apparent that the road is dotted with bits and pieces from the accident, although the actual crash-site is about a hundred meters to the right. As Joe picks his way between the twisted pieces of junk, I can't help staring at the flames that are raging in the forest. There's a kind of dusty mist everywhere, and small pieces of black ash are drifting down from the sky. Looking up, I see bits of metal and plastic strewn through the trees, with pieces of torn fabric hanging from the branches like macabre decorations.
