Scott Wittenburg - See Tom Run

The skyline disappeared abruptly as Tom made a wide turn and drove past the deserted tollbooths. He entered the Lincoln Tunnel and slowed down to a near crawl, still overwhelmed by the scene he’d just seen a moment ago.

This was simply too much for him to grasp right now.

Tom continued letting up on the accelerator until he had almost coasted to a dead stop, trying to ascertain what he might find on the other side of this tunnel. He had just driven ten hours alone on an abandoned highway in search of the only two living souls he’d seen since arriving home from the supermarket the day before. And now that he had finally arrived at his questionable destination he found himself clueless as to what he should do next.

He was absolutely terrified.

He stared out at the headlights as they sliced through the blackness of the tunnel and took a deep breath. What difference did it make? He was here, what had happened had happened and now he had to do what he had to do to survive. It was as simple as that.

This simple rationale rekindled his spirits a bit as he inched his speed up to forty-five and focused on the road ahead. Maybe, he thought, he would see the usual throngs of people on the streets. After all, with a population of over eight million, the odds were certainly greater than anywhere else he’d been thus far. Surely there would at least be some signs of life-the odds had it if nothing else.

Surely.

He spotted the exit looming in the near distance. Impulsively, he let off the gas and slowed down to a glorified crawl. By the time he actually emerged from the tunnel, he felt as though he were driving in wet cement.

His first observation when he suddenly thrust into the manmade canyons of midtown Manhattan was the near total darkness and mind-boggling silence. He had never known the city to be dead silent. This, along with the absence of any working lights whatsoever, made it all the more foreboding. Columbus, Ohio was one thing. The desolate mountain highways of Pennsylvania were another thing.

But to be in the city that never sleeps and experiencing this was absolutely paralyzing.

Tom puttered east along Thirty-fourth Street with no destination in mind, numbed by the silent darkness. He spotted the occasional abandoned taxi or truck parked along the curb but didn’t see nearly as many vehicles as he had expected to see. This made the enormous cityscape seem all the more desolate.

Nervously, he turned up the volume on his CD player and continued driving east. Ironically, the song playing was Omega Man by the Police. When he reached Herald Square, he slowed down to a complete stop directly across from Macy’s.

It just wasn’t possible, he thought. To be sitting there in one of the most congested pedestrian venues in the country and not seeing a single soul. He turned down the volume, tentatively rolled down his window a few inches and listened intently. Not a sound. He turned off the engine. Nothing but dead silence, except for the clicking of the Jeep’s hot engine manifold.

Tom sighed and turned the key. The engine turned for a moment but didn’t catch. He switched off the headlights and tried again. The starter whined a couple of times and stopped dead.

“Shit!” he spat.

He tried a few more times to start the Jeep but without success. The battery finally became so weak that and all he got was the clicking of the solenoid.

The Jeep was dead.

Excellent.

In a semi-panic, he looked around for another mode of transportation. He spotted a couple of cabs parked up ahead near the corner of Sixth Avenue. He could only pray that the keys were still in one of them.

Tom cursed to himself once more as he fumbled for the flashlight in his duffel bag. He switched it on and stepped out onto the street, thankful it had stopped snowing by the time he’d entered New Jersey a few hours ago.

Training the flashlight’s pinpoint beam along the sidewalk, Tom walked briskly toward the first cab. He heard the sound of his footsteps echo crisply as he glanced at the storefronts along the way. He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the smashed window of an upscale clothing store. Looters? he wondered. If that were the case, it was the first sign of looting he’d seen since this nightmare had begun-which seemed a little odd, he now realized. But at the same time, it was an encouraging sign. It meant that perhaps someone other than himself was alive and kicking in Gotham City.

Tom walked up to the shattered glass window and shone his flashlight into the store. Nothing seemed to be out of place as far as he could see in the weak light. He wasn’t about to go inside to look any further.

He continued walking until he came upon the first cab. He tried the door but it was locked. He shone the light into the front compartment. No keys.

Frowning, he ran up to the next cab and discovered that it too was locked and keyless. He trained the light up the street and spotted a panel truck parked on the corner of Broadway. He ran over and peered expectantly through the passenger window as he tried the door handle. It worked. He opened the door just as he noticed that the driver side window was bashed in, shards of safety glass lying all over the front seat.

Another looting?

Tom stepped back to read the sign on the side of the white panel truck: Tri-State Heating and Air Conditioning. The address showed a Union City, New Jersey address. Tom hopped into the truck.

He shone the flashlight into the glove compartment, which was wide open. Nothing much there but it was clear that someone had rifled through it. He moved in between the seats and shone the light into the rear compartment. He saw a few Freon gas cylinders, an empty tool belt, what looked like a couple of small air compressors and a few odds and ends. All of the items had been cased out and shuffled around hastily, or so it appeared. Whatever the thieves had chosen to take was anyone’s guess. If they had taken anything at all.

But the significant thing was what the broken store window and truck break-in implied: someone was stalking the streets of New York and had most likely done so since all of this lunacy had begun. Which to Tom was a good thing.

Could this have been the work of Kyle and Erin? he thought. Or someone else? Tom had a feeling the answer was the latter. It just didn’t seem likely that Kyle and Erin would blow into town only hours ago and randomly elect to break into a store and a truck right from the get-go. This had to be the work of someone else. And whoever that was, he hoped to discover.

Or did he?

Tom realized that the mere presence of other life forms here might not be a good thing after all. In fact, it could make his finding Kyle and Erin that much more difficult. Maybe even dangerous-especially if the unknown city stalkers weren’t particularly in a hospitable mindset.

What he didn’t need now was someone standing in the way of his finding Erin and Kyle. His plan was to save the girl and get the holy hell out of here pronto. His desire to stick around in this skeleton of a city had evaporated a long time ago…

Tom hopped out of the truck and pointed his light down Broadway in either direction. He couldn’t see any more vehicles within the limited range of the tiny flashlight. He retraced his steps to Sixth Avenue and looked north and south, but it was the same story there.

Decision time again.

He walked back to the Jeep, got in and stared out at the darkness. Should he continue looking for a vehicle or stay here and wait until daylight? The prospect of wandering too far from his only sense of security-his faithful but flawed Jeep-wasn’t particularly inviting. In fact, it would be foolish to even attempt it. He was dead tired from the drive in spite of the inert adrenalin coursing through his veins, it was dark as pitch, and his only source of light was a piddling two-AA cell mini Mag-Lite that was about as effective as a fart in a windstorm.