Robert Wilson - The Quiet

He walked up to the main front door and pulled it open. Inside the place looked as though it were any other day except there were no other people at all. Against the back wall, a single glass door hung open as if a ghost were browsing for a drink. For the first time since he woke that morning, James began to feel a deep growling in his stomach as he looked at the plastic packaged snacks covering the aisles. Even the pork rinds looked good. He went behind the counter and scrambled around until he found the plastic bags. He pulled several out and started filling the bags with a variety of unhealthy snacks. Then he went back behind the counter and tried to figure out the controls to turn on the gas for pump 6. Seemingly by accident he hit the right button and the machine beeped at him. When he came back to the car his arms were full between the bags of snacks, the two 24 packs of cola, the case of beer, and the large gas can he’d taken from the store. He put all the food and drinks in the passenger seat and started filling the gas tank. Then he filled the can. He opened the air hole on the gas can and wedged it in the trunk between a tall stack of old waterlogged magazines and a spare tire.

He closed the trunk and stood watching inside the empty gas station, his hands still sitting on the car. A gust of wind blew at him. It was strong enough that he had to grab hold of the car to keep upright. He looked at the sky above the building. Faint stars were blurred by the bright light of the gas station. In the distant sky beyond the lights of the city he could see something dark obscuring some of the stars. Probably just a thundercloud , he thought.

Once he was back on the highway headed west again, he looked in the rearview mirror to see the darkness spreading. He hadn’t seen any lightning yet, but he was sure it would come. Several minutes later he crossed the Illinois state line. He cracked open a bag of Doritos and loudly crunched on a handful of chips. A moment of anxiety came when he realized the electricity in affected places wouldn’t last much longer. He’d seen once on a documentary show that electric plants will eventually need maintenance and, without people, will shut themselves down as a safety precaution.

Two bags of chips and an apple pie later, James was nearing the I-270 junction. He still hadn’t seen any lightning. A while later, he found the lines on the road starting to blur in the fuzzy warmth of the car heater. He woke up swerving toward the right edge of the highway. Time for a wake up call , he thought. He popped open one of the energy drinks and chugged the whole thing down in one gulp. Belching loudly, he crumpled the can and threw it over his shoulder. He couldn’t help giggling afterwards. Slaphappy time , he thought. He turned on the radio, hoping the noise would keep him awake. Static. He hit the seek button. The first station it went to was a high-pitched “off-the-air” tone. Next a higher-pitched static. The one after that he hadn’t been prepared for.

Strange, guttural, almost angry sounding noises filled his speakers, nearly stopping his heart. They weren’t voices. At least he didn’t think they were. But they certainly weren’t any kind of natural radio interference, either. After a while of listening, he realized he was holding his breath and had slowed down to 15 MPH. He stopped the car, put it in park, and continued listening. The sound reminded him of growling, if metal could growl. He sat listening, trying to make sense of the various deep pitches and rhythms. Then his cell phone rang.

The air swelled as if static electricity were rising all around him. He looked at his caller ID message on the outside of the flip phone. The screen filled with strange characters. After the third ring, he opened it and before he could put it to his ear, an incredibly loud and high-pitched feedback pierced through his brain, causing him to drop the phone and hold both ears with his hands. Several bright flashes lit the world outside with blinding light. His skin prickled all over. He was sure whatever was happening was the same thing that made everything else disappear.

“What’s happening to me?” he screamed in chorus with the deafening feedback.

Grabbing the cell phone, James clamped it shut with a loud clack and tossed it to the floorboard. That horrible grumbling from the car radio faded back into his hearing. The flashes and the physical sensations continued. He hadn’t even noticed he was hyperventilating.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly and put all his concentration into catching his own breath. Looking up, another flash occurred and he could see the darkness had spread far enough that it was visible above him through the windshield. It certainly wasn’t cloud cover. He forced himself to action.

He started the car and slammed on the gas, squealing tires as he sped forward. He tried to reconcile what he saw with the same reason that failed to shed light on all he had seen since waking up that morning. The darkness wasn’t clouds, it didn’t even look like gas, it was something solid, yet translucent, reflective.

And looking all around out the windows through the flashes, James could see that it covered most of the sky. It was heading west, covering the eastern horizon as far south and north as James could see. He was gaining on 120 MPH, but the darkness was moving faster.

And those flashes. He could barely see between them and the phantom glow they left behind in his vision. Each time they started, there was that awful crispiness all over his skin. It was becoming clear to him, as the darkness spread further toward the western horizon, that driving, even driving west, would get him nowhere. He found an exit, not caring where it was, and sped through the off-ramp.

The thought of the Volkswagen came to mind as he pulled onto a road that probably would’ve been just as desolate before recent events. He wondered if the lady driving that van had managed to survive. He wondered if he was safe. Remembering that he had found someone brought him hope. Maybe there were more people like him, still alive.

After a while of driving the straight, two lane, country road for a long time, seeing nothing more than fields and farmhouses through the bright flashes, James looked at his car radio. The digital display kept alternating between 7:56 and the strange symbols just like on his phone. If his hunch was correct, it was showing the correct time.

He knew then whatever was covering the sky was blocking the sun. He swallowed as he feared the worst. What if it never went away? Tears streamed down his face. All he could think about was Joel. He drove on, weeping in the eerie light of the flashes.

James woke, lying in the front seat of the car, his legs draped over the back of the seat. Sunlight came through the windshield above him. He sat up and looked outside. The darkness was gone. No flashing, no prickly sensation. James had parked the car in an otherwise empty parking lot in front of a small town store. He vaguely remembered finding it, exhausted and unable to keep his body awake. Even then the darkness was everywhere and the flashes went on still. He wondered what time it was. The LED on the car radio was dead. It took him a while to find his cell phone. When, reaching down into the pile of trash on the floorboard, he felt its familiar smooth plastic shell, he plucked it from the mess. It was warm to the touch. Smoke puffed up from behind the blank screen when he opened it. He let out a sigh and tossed it back down.

James stepped out of the car, the rubber soles of his shoes slapping onto the warm pavement. It was the kind of morning when you woke up to the sound of birds and running cars but now the silence seemed to go on forever. James couldn’t stop staring at the surreal, silver-lined clouds swiftly moving through blue currents of sky. He closed the door of the car and it echoed back from the store. Looking around at the empty parking spaces, he wondered why there weren’t any cars. Then it dawned on him. It must have happened in the middle of the night. Small town stores weren’t known for 24-hour service.