Ryan Westfield - Getting Out

Max sat in his cubicle with his chair pointed to the window. He’d been staring outside for the last twenty minutes, unable to concentrate on his work. On the best days, the work seemed pointless. On the worst, it was a nightmare.

It was supposed to be a good job, decent pay, good benefits. He had a real “career,” unlike some of his friends, who were still working odd jobs here and there. If his parents had been alive, they would have been proud of him.

But it wasn’t what he wanted to do. The problem? He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He only knew that things didn’t feel right. Something was wrong with the world, and Max already knew that it wasn’t going to get any better.

“Psst, Max,” whispered Jeremy, his cubicle neighbor.

“Huh?” said Max, waking up from his little daydream.

“You’ve been staring out the window for like forever, man,” said Jeremy. “Big Tom is going to come around soon, you know.”

“Screw Big Tom,” said Max. Big Tom was the boss, a guy with a much bigger gut than a heart. Max figured him for some kind of sadist who’d happened to get into the line of work that allowed him to pursue his true passion—torturing his employees with meaningless reports and “metrics,” whatever the hell those were.

“What’s that?” said Big Tom, moving slowly into view, blocking Max’s view of the window.

“Shit,” muttered Jeremy nervously. He immediately hunched back over his desk and started working furiously on some meaningless project.

“Hi, Tom,” said Max calmly. He wasn’t in the mood today to really give a shit about any of this. Maybe he should just quit, and head up to the old farmhouse that his dad had left him when he’d passed away. Max had been meaning to head up there and check the place out for a while. The old house hadn’t been used in years, but Max had been toying with the fantasy of creating a homestead there. The only problem? He didn’t know much about homesteading, having grown up in the suburbs away from real nature.

“I heard what you said,” hissed Big Tom, leaning down towards Max, bracing his hands on his khaki-covered knees.

“Yeah?” said Max.

Suddenly, something happened.

The lights went out. Everything went out.

A tremendous silence hung in the air.

“What was that?” said Big Tom, standing up straight and looking around.

Max swiveled his chair around to face his computer again. He felt as if he was expecting something… He had a feeling about what happened, but his mind couldn’t put it directly into thoughts.

The computer was completely blank. Dead.

Max hit the power button, but nothing happened.

“Someone cut the electricity,” shouted Big Tom.

Max looked around, seeing that everyone else’s computers were dead as well. Max picked up the phone. There wasn’t a dial tone. Hastily, he took his phone out of his pocket, but the screen was black.

“It’s not just the power,” Max said.

“They’re going to pay for this,” shouted Big Tom again. “Don’t they realize how much money we’ll lose?”

Max sat still in his chair for a moment.

So it was happening.

This was what he’d been thinking about for two years now: some kind of EMP event. Max didn’t exactly understand the specifics, but he knew that, given the right circumstances, solar flares on the sun could create electromagnetic pulses strong enough to wipe out most electronics on Earth.

This was a big part of the malaise he’d been feeling for so long: he knew that something was very wrong in the world. The infrastructure was simply too fragile. Everything relied on a shipping system, and everything relied on electronics that could easily be disabled or promptly deactivated with an EMP. Or something else. There were a million things that could happen that could cause a cataclysmic shutdown of modern society, and Max had spent hours on the internet reading about them all.

That didn’t mean he was exactly prepared for an event.

But perhaps he was a little more prepared than most. At home, he had a rudimentary bug out bag that he’d started preparing. In it, he had a basic medical kit, some veterinary antibiotics, a hunting knife, an axe, and a couple odds and ends he’d assembled over the years. It wasn’t a complete kit, and when Max’s thoughts turned to it in this moment, he cursed himself for not having gone whole hog on the idea.

Max knew it was time to act.

Everyone in the office was starting to panic, as they pulled out their cell phones and realized that they all didn’t work. They realized, unlike the boss, Big Tom, that this wasn’t just a mere power outage. Soon, everyone in Claymore would be panicking, all trying to drive home. The roads would be blocked off.

Max had one thing on his mind: get home, get his gear, and high tail it to the old farmhouse, where he’d be away from the panic and chaos that would ensue.

Max was surprised how calm he felt, and how quickly his mind went right to the solution. He knew this was his advantage, and that everyone else would take days, if not weeks, to come to the same conclusion.

Max got up from his swivel chair so quickly that it slammed right into his desk, making a huge noise.

Since no machines or electronics were running, the room had fallen deafeningly silent, except for the mutterings of the boss. Everyone else sat frightened in their cubicles, unmoving, perhaps whispering to each other.

Max’s chair made a surprisingly loud sound against the background of dead silence.

“Where do you think you’re going, Max?” shouted Big Tom.

“Home,” said Max, deadpan.

“Dude,” whispered Jeremy, looking up at Max from his chair. “Sit back down if you want a job. He’s in a bad mood.”

“So am I,” said Max.

Max ignored his colleagues and darted towards the exit. It was deadly silent. No one was even whispering.

The overhead lights were of course off, natural light streaming in from the office windows.

Big Tom moved swiftly to block his way. He stood in front of Max in the doorway to the exit.

Max could feel that all eyes were on him.

One of the precautions he’d taken a year ago, when he’d started getting more into a mindset of preparedness, was to carry a few important and practical possessions with him at all times. One was his well-oiled pocket knife with a thumb stud. The other was his Glock 17, which sat hidden in his holster inside the waist band of his pants, with his shirt un-tucked and covering it. It was considered by some too big to carry daily, but Max had found that once he’d gotten used to it, he didn’t mind it. Most of the time, he knew it was there, but he liked the feeling of the weight and heft against his hip.

But Max had a calm head, and he wasn’t about to shoot his boss for merely getting in his way. He knew that Big Tom wasn’t a serious danger. He was just a nuisance. The real dangers would come in the coming days, provided the power wasn’t restored, and considering the nature of an EMP, Max knew that that wasn’t possible.

“Get out of my way,” said Max in a low and calm voice, but one that meant business.

“You walk out that door, Max, and you’re out a job,” hissed Big Tom. He tried to stand up tall, puffing up his chest. But Max wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“Don’t you get it?” said Max. “This isn’t just a power outage. Don’t you see that everything’s off? Check your cell phone. This is the end of the world we’ve been living in.”

“You’re crazy,” said Big Tom. But he sounded scared. “I’m telling you, Max. Walk out that door now, and that’s the last straw. You’ve spent too many days staring out the window. One more demerit on your record and you’re done. And forget about a recommendation.”