. . . In That Quiet Earth

It's Never Too Late

Billy Preston glanced at the wall-clock, watching the second hand twitch by with a cruel slowness.  The time was 10:29, the class was Intermediate Algebra. Class had been going for twenty-nine minutes, today they were using that ugly quadratic formula, but Preston new the evacuation drill was going to take place at ten-thirty, cutting the class twenty minutes short, much to his relief. His bag was packed and he was ready to get the hell out of class and play some Counterstrike and shoot some people.

Ten-thirty arrived, but there was no alarm.  As nice as it would be, not all clocks on the college campus were set to the same time. The professor stopped talking, looked at Preston and was about to question why he seemed poised to exit the class when the fire alarm went off, releasing a combination of screeching noise and flashing neon-orange lights. Preston jumped up, slung on his backpack and beat the rush headed for the door; he could feel Professor Geier's eyes on the back of his head, but he didn't care.  All that mattered now was loading Counterstrike and joining the counter-terrorist team and killing some terrorists.

Preston was out the door before anyone else, swinging it wide and with a little too much force, as it slammed against the wall.

Feeling like the head girl who twirls her cane at the front of the marching band, Preston charged down the hall to the exit doors, feeling the tension build in him at the thought of playing his favorite game. His palms were sweaty.  Yes, he would have to wait for a shuttle first, but that shouldn't be too long, especially since he was out early. 

The six-foot, broad-shouldered boy reached the exit doors and as he pushed them open, one arm forcing open each door, he closed his eyes and breathed in the Friday morning fresh air. Once he was outside he stopped and waited, holding the doors for the next person to come out, preparing himself for the rush of people streaming on either side of him.

But they never came.

Soon his arms became tired and he let the doors go and listened to them closing on themselves with a whoosh of air squeezed between them.

Preston let his arms drop and wondered at the all-encompassing silence that had seemingly materialized from nowhere. Just seconds ago he’d been surrounded by a cacophony of voices, some talking about their past class, others talking about what they were going to do today, and others wondering if they were going to get laid tonight. Now all that was gone, there was just . . . silence.

No, it was an eerie silence.

Preston finally opened his eyes (after summing up some courage) and looked around him. Cal State Long Beach was a very green campus and from where he looked this was true: trees in every frame of vision as he spun three-sixty, yeah plenty of trees, flowers, and other foliage, but no people. Preston started, gripping the railing in front of him and sitting himself delicately down on the topmost stair, wondering where everyone was.

Everything appeared to be normal, except that there wasn’t a single person around, which didn’t make sense; the fire drill had just gone off and there should be tons of people streaming from the liberal arts buildings like unstoppable rivers, yet that wasn’t the case. No wait, there was something else that wasn’t right. There were cars along State University Drive, some close together, others further apart, as if they’d been driving to somewhere, yeah, as opposed to waiting in line. They looked like they’d been driving down State University and had suddenly stopped.

At the mention of this last word, Preston threw up his arm and managed to hit himself in the face as he tried to look at his watch. Under ordinary circumstances, he would’ve started laughing, trying not to look too stupid, but he remained uncomfortably serious. While his face stung, Preston scrutinized the dial on his watch and discovered the time to be still ten-thirty, even though five minutes had passed. The question was if his watch had simply stopped or something else was going on here.  Something bigger.