Creative Writing: After High School

Storm pulled the oversize sports bag off the back seat, unzipped it and took out the two backpacks stuffed inside. He swung the straps of the three bags over his shoulder and set off up the path to the surgery entrance. At the top of the steps, he tapped the five digits into the security control keypad. The was a metallic click from the lock mechanism, the lights flashed to verify the sequence was correct, and he turned the key.
The oxygen tanks were easy to find inside the storage room, right where Franchette said they would be. It took a few more minutes to find the regulators, masks, hoses, and carry holsters. The sports bag seemed to weigh a ton as he dragged it across the floor to the front door of the reception. Much harder to locate
were the pills and lotions, the vials, the bandages, the syringes and scalpels, the stethoscope and all the other medical paraphernalia she had included on her list.
After an hour he paused at the counter to rest. It was taking longer than he thought and the room was getting hot. Perspiration dripped from the tip of his nose onto the Formica counter. He could see the droplets sitting on the polished surface. Small quivering domes.
A rumbling and whooshing came over the clinic. The sound grew rapidly in intensity. A hundred massive flaming torches traveling overhead at the same time. The building shook, the glass rattling in the frames, before the rumble faded into the distance.
He let go of the edge of the counter and picked up the phone. There was a dial tone. He hesitated for a few seconds and tapped in Martyn’s phone number.
“Mr. Boas? Martyn?”
“Hello again, Storm.”
There was no longer the familiar twang in his voice Storm had recognized earlier. He could swear Martyn now had no accent at all.
“I need to ask you a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“That light coming through the clouds. It’s all lit up. Is it a projection, like you said? I know the meteors are real.”
The line crackled. There was a delay, but the connection held.
“I have already told you all you need to know.”
The line fell silent. He waited. The air reverberated as a series of sonic booms sounded outside in quick succession.
“FUCK—are you there?”
“Yes, Storm. You are wasting precious time.”
“WHAT'S HAPPENING, MARTYN?”
“You want me to tell you this isn't real. That you are being terrorized by trickery. That everything will be alright once they turn off the sound and light show. Isn’t that so?”
“You didn't say the fucking end of the world would begin the very next day, did you? Tell me what's going on?”
“The natural defenses of this planet cannot protect it from the intruder system. Unfortunately for you all, your rulers still wish to hide this from you. I have told you this already.”
“We aren’t ready!” Storm let out a sob and ground a fist into his mouth to block it. He felt afraid. Very afraid.
Martyn was speaking again.
He pressed the receiver to his ear. “What did you say? I—I didn’t hear.”
“Have you any water close by.”
“Yes.”
The voice was gentle. Soothing. “You need to drink.”
Storm looked around.
This is like déjà vu.
“Give me a couple of minutes.”
“Put me on the intercom.”
He looked down at the small console behind the counter and saw the word 'Intercom' typed on a strip of white tape. He flicked the switch below it. A speaker in the wall above the hallway leading to the doctors' rooms crackled into life. A loose electrical connection somewhere in the circuit, worsened by the shaking.
The office opened to a small kitchen. There was a single sink in the corner. He turned the taps as far as they would go. The tap sputtered and the pipes coughed. No water came out. He walked back to the counter and gazed in the direction of the waiting room. Snug in the corner next to a rack of magazines he could make out the familiar shape.
The large upended blue flask on top of the dispenser was empty. He rocked it hard and heard the sound of liquid inside the base of the container. Holding a paper cup under under the tap, he pulled the machine twenty degrees until he had a trickle. Enough to fill the cup to the brim.
Martyn's voice boomed over the speaker. “You have to leave!”
The first gulp went the wrong way and he coughed until his windpipe was clear, spilling the water over his chest. He pulled on the machine again. This time he was only able to get a half-cup, but he managed to swallow the lot. He dropped the empty cup on the floor and ran to the phone.
“You didn’t tell me. I want to know what comes next.”
“We've been through this.”
“YOU KNOW!”
“It seems I was expecting too much of you.”
“What?”
The seconds passed.
“Hello? Hello?”
“I am here.”
“Alright, I'm slow. I didn't get that you explained everything!”
“Stop panicking. You know enough to save yourself and your group. Everyday above ground brings more danger. I am not able to tell you exact dates and times. This event is unfolding quickly. Each development has its own schedule. Do not allow yourself more than two days to find shelter.”
Storm took a deep breath and steadied himself.
“One more thing.”
“Why not?”
“Was Davenport going to make sure I never told anyone anything?
Was that the plan? I want to know.”
“There was no plan.”
“The plan to have me killed before I talked to anyone. Like what happened to the others in the observatory.”
“You're a smart boy. You have surprising gifts and talents. Now you show me you are as stupid as the rest of them—Davenport is dedicated and as such he is very useful. No, he was not planning to kill you, and I never told him to do that.”
Martyn paused again.
“His time here is almost over. Your time is not. You and I may meet again. If we do, I should think we will be near the end of both our journeys.”
After his conversation was finished Storm gathered up the backpacks. The bloody oxygen tanks! They were as heavy as hell. He shouldered the bags as best he could and launched himself through the open door. The orange light overhead reflected off the shiny white paint of the clinic and the sheen on his sweat covered arms. He dared not look up. Instead he concentrated on keeping a tight grip on the
straps.
Staggering, half dragging the bags along the path to the car he became aware of a droning he remembered hearing for the first time weeks ago.
The whole region had heard it. A sound like that made by a stick run around the rim of a large bronze bell, like a Tibetan singing bowl. A colossal singing bowl. He remembered during a science class a teacher showing them a video of one being used. But the sound he was hearing was almost a grinding groan. The frequency amplified by the firmament itself. So very loud.
His legs began to shake as he reached the car. Martyn's final words repeated in his head. “You have to keep moving. Make haste to your sanctuary. You are running out of days.”
The awful grinding around him ceased as suddenly as it began. He let the bags down as gently as he could to the ground not wanting to break the vials Franchette had him locate, and fumbled with the keys. Off in the distance came more subsonic booms. Meteors breaking through the sound barrier as they raced above the cloud mass. He lifted the bags onto the back seat and closed the door.
Champ was missing. The mutt must have slipped out the door when pulled the bags from the back seat. He slammed the door and jabbed the key into the ignition. Then he heard a wet noise under the dash, and he knew at once. The dog was curled tight against the firewall. Eyes so wide they were almost all whites stared up at Storm. Champ licked his jowls once more and gave a long and pitiful
whine.
“Hey, mate. We're going to make it out of here.”
Outside, the glowing haze of lurid orange had begun to turn pink, a permanent sunrise hanging over the town. The brightness diminishing as if something huge above the soup of vapor and chemicals had passed. Small waves were moving in a constant peeling away across the entire breadth of the sky.