Scott Wittenburg: See Tom Run

Because the last thing he wanted to do tonight was go to bed in utter darkness and total isolation, knowing that when he woke up nothing will have changed.

Tom exited the Williams home and returned to his home. It was pitch dark inside so he gathered up several candles and placed them throughout the house. Afterwards, when he tried the phone again only to find it was still dead, a thought suddenly came to mind: his iBook! It ran on battery power-maybe he could get on the internet!

Smiling to himself at the prospect, he went over to where his laptop computer was plugged into the wall near his fax machine and clicked opened the lid. He recalled that it had been a bit low on power that morning so he had attached it to the charger. It should be fully juiced up by now.

He pressed the power button and held his breath as the computer booted up. Once he saw the desktop, he clicked on Safari in the dock and watched the application appear on the screen. When the window opened, he clicked on the Yahoo bookmark tab and waited.

Two seconds later, a new window appeared.

You are not connected to the internet. Check your…

Tom leered at the screen. Oh, but yes I fricking am connected, you sonofabitch!

Then Tom laughed out loud lamely as he realized his folly.

But of course you aren’t connected to the internet, you idiot! Because although your ethernet cable is connected to your computer, it is connected on the other end to a dsl modem which in order to work requires not only ac power, which you ain’t got, but a working telephone line as well, which you also ain’t got Tom shut down the computer with an agonizing groan. He now realized that in spite of his impending dilemma, he was totally exhausted. He could feel the wind in his sails starting to wane.

He sat the laptop down and went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water and chugged it down. He knew what he had to do next. And he was going to have to do it now, in spite of his fatigue and in spite of the fact that the blizzard outside showed no signs of letting up.

He retrieved the flashlight and went around the house blowing out all of the candles. Then he left by the side door and began scraping the freshly fallen snow off of his Jeep. The snowstorm was really raging now.

Visibility was very poor as he drove along Hartford toward the police station. Having driven no less than ten blocks, Tom made a frightening discovery: he hadn’t seen a single soul nor a single moving vehicle since he’d left his house. Nor had he seen any lights on or any indication that there was power anywhere – not even the traffic lights were working. It was as if he were driving through a ghost town.

The cold kept him alert as he negotiated the hills and dales of Colonial Hills. The sheer darkness and lack of any movement, vehicular or otherwise, was absolutely cryptic. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was fairly certain that he wasn’t going to find anyone no matter where he went tonight. He was and always had been an optimist, but he was also a realist. The fact that he had not seen so much as a single shred of life in Worthington thus far indicated a reality that was, as impossible as it was to conceive, likely.

He nonetheless kept his hopes up as he passed by the supermarket he had been at earlier. There were still several cars parked outside in spite of the pitch-dark. Tom pulled up beside the entrance and threw the Jeep into park. He got out and approached the automatic doors, which failed to open. Inside, he saw nothing but darkness-not even the glow of emergency lighting.

He hopped back in and continued his drive to the Worthington Police department. There was something reassuring about the concept of a police force, he suddenly realized. For if anyone would still be carrying out their duties no matter how horrific or chaotic a situation might be, it would be the local police.

And he hoped and prayed that that would be the case tonight.

There was nearly six inches of fresh snow on the road as Tom swung a right into the police headquarters parking lot. Although he certainly hadn’t expected to see the place lit up like a Christmas tree, he was dismayed to find that the station looked as dark and foreboding as all of the other structures he’d passed along the way.

He pulled up beside one of the cruisers and got out. Training his flashlight along the walkway, he reached the door and was surprised to find that he was able to pull it open. But what he discovered inside made his skin crawl.

There was a single red EXIT sign glowing weakly on a far wall beyond the reception area. In the dimly lit foreground, he saw no less than a half dozen desks silhouetted by the eerie red glow, each one equipped with a standard office telephone, a computer tower with an unlit monitor screen, a file cabinet off to the side and an office chair pulled up to it. Complementing the spooky scene was a neat row of walkie-talkies lined up on the desk sergeant’s counter beside the police radio array.

There was not a single solitary living soul in sight.

Tom entered the office area. He touched a couple of the computer monitors as he made his way to the rear of the office to see if any of them were warm. When he reached one of the doors, he pushed it open and entered what appeared to be an interrogation room. He went through another door, past the restrooms then saw the entrance to the jail. He checked out the cells, which were uninhabited.

He returned to the reception area and stood for a moment, staring blankly at the deserted Worthington Police station.

So this is it, he thought. He was the only living person in town. Everyone was kaput-not just his family and friends, but his neighbors and even the entire police department!

Jesus, he thought. This has to be some kind of bad dream! It simply can’t be real!

He could see his breath in the hazy red light and realized that the police station was absolutely frigid. That was no wonder, seeing as there wasn’t any power to run the furnace. It was surely going to be a cold night no matter where he went, he thought.

Disgruntled and clueless, Tom made his way back out to the Jeep. He fired up the engine and turned the heat up to the max. Then he lowered his head and rested it on the steering wheel, closed his eyes and began to pray:

God, please – you got to help me here. I don’t know where my family and everyone have gone or what is happening. I need to know what to do. I need to know that wherever they are, they are alive and safe. I don’t want to die like this, God, never seeing Peg or my kids ever again. Please God, tell me what to do! Where am I to go?

Where can I find my family?

Tom opened his eyes. He had never been a particularly religious person but he believed that there was a God. And he needed God now more than he ever had before.

Praying helped a little. There was comfort in talking to someone-even if that someone was only a spirit or whatever God was.

But still, it wasn’t quite the same as the real thing.

He had to keep moving. He must not let this thing get the best of him. Somehow he was going to find out where everyone had gone, even if he died in the process.

He shifted into reverse and spun out of the parking lot. He headed west toward High Street and turned left, heading south toward downtown. Within three blocks, he started running through the unlit traffic lights, not even bothering to slow down as he approached them. As he cruised past Morse Road into Beechwald, the next neighborhood south of Worthington, he was not surprised to see that all of the businesses were shrouded in complete darkness. He glanced at the dashboard clock. It was only 7:00 PM. And not a single store was opened to the public.

He approached North Broadway in Clintonville and a thought came to mind. The hospital! Riverside Hospital was just a few blocks to the west. Surely there would be some signs of life there!