13 - Sam
S AM COULDN’T JUST SIT THERE in the dark condo, so he headed downstairs to see things for himself. Forty-one flights down left him a bit out of breath. He hoped the power would be on for his way back up. He definitely took the elevator for granted.
“Everything all right, Mr. Solomon?” Raul asked as he joined Sam crossing the lobby. “You got candles?”
“I’m okay, Raul. Thanks.”
Sam wondered if aliens had anything to do with that one. “Hope they get this one fixed faster.”
“It wasn’t all bad. Nine months later there was a baby boom.” Raul chuckled. “Even my Olivia, and now she’s got kids of her own.” Raul gave the revolving door an extra boost so Sam wouldn’t have to push so hard. “Be safe out there.”
Sam waved thanks as he headed west. He hadn’t known Raul had a daughter.
And grandkids! It had never come up. And, Sam realized, he had never asked.
It made him wonder about all the other people in his life that he didn’t really know.
His teachers. His therapist Dr. Sanchez.
The people on the thirteenth floor. Even Diane at the newsstand. Did she have family? Was she okay?
He crossed between waiting cars to the south side of the street and turned east.
Diane was in the newsstand shed at the corner, a battery-operated lamp in her window illuminating the business magazine she was reading.
“Hi!” Sam said as he approached.
She held her spot with a loose S UBSCRIBE card and gave him her attention. “You staying out of trouble?”
Sam looked at the dark stoplights—traffic on First Avenue was a snarled, impatient mess, because every intersection was suddenly supposed to be a four-way stop. But that relied on everyone following the rules, and this was New York City.
“Are we calling this trouble?” Sam motioned to the blackout around them.
“Hmm.” Diane was noncommittal.
Sam wondered about her family, but wasn’t sure how to ask without it being weird. He’d known her forever, and it really wasn’t his business. “Should you get home?”
“Are you kidding?” Diane gestured to the half-empty racks of magazines and cleared-out cartons of candy around her. “With the power out, reading material is all the rage. And snacks—I guess everyone has the munchies. What’ll it be?”
Sam grabbed the last granola bar from the row of empty boxes and fished out a $50 from his wallet to hand over.
Diane made a tsk sound. “I don’t have change for this.”
“I don’t want change,” Sam said. “Thanks for earlier. For always.”
“Aren’t you full of surprises? The Benjamin before, and now this.” Diane gave him a toothy grin. Sam guessed she didn’t have dental care.
Don’t be judgy, Sam.
He pocketed the granola bar. “I’m gonna walk around a bit. See you.”
She picked up her magazine. “You be careful.”
2046
Sam headed west, and couldn’t help but stop when he got to the supermarket at the corner of Lexington Avenue.
Through the window, the moonlight helped him see the store shelves were nearly cleaned out.
Just a few people ran around inside using their cell phone flashlights, scavenging the last items.
Usually there were giant pyramids of fruits and vegetables.
Cans and boxes of food stacked so deep you couldn’t see how many there were.
Refrigerator cases packed with prepared food.
More food than anyone could eat, ever. And always restocked.
Like some magic trick that he’d never really thought about before.
But now it was nearly all gone.
Open beige shelves stretched the length of the store. Some sad flowers by the entry that no one had bought.
Right out of some apocalyptic movie.
Sam remembered the pandemic, when people stockpiled toilet paper. Like that was the thing they were most afraid of running out of.
Shaking his head at how nuts it all was, he kept walking.
2051
Sam headed south on Fifth Avenue, skirting the darkened Metropolitan Museum of Art. Three guards stood outside the locked front doors, like they were daring anyone to even think about entering.
Traffic was moving better here, and with the moon behind some clouds the headlights heading south lit his way.
At Sixty-Seventh he turned on his burner phone flashlight (he’d left the compromised one in the condo), and took the path into the park. It would take him directly to Sheep Meadow.
2102 Central Park Manhattan NY
Like a gathering of fireflies, the lights from hundreds of phone flashlights bounced around as they lit the edges of something in the middle of the snowy field.
Held back by yellow-and-black P OLICE L INE— D O N OT C ROSS tape strung from what looked like broomsticks stuck in traffic cones, people stood six deep in a giant circle.
Sam joined the crowd as they all stared at the outside parts of the alien symbol burned into the snow.
“They’re saying it was some kind of acid,” someone near Sam said.
“I wish we could get closer.” Another voice.
“What do you think it means?” a third person asked.
“That doesn’t seem friendly,” someone else said as they pushed their way past Sam to get out of the circle. “I’m getting out of the city.”
Sam wanted to disagree but couldn’t.
Thith-thith-thith.
A helicopter approached from the west, its giant searchlight sweeping the crowd around Sam and centering on the stick figure in a crossed-out circle, lighting it up.
Whomp-whomp-whomp.
The sound changed as the helicopter hovered, beating Sam and the crowd with storm-strong gusts of frigid air.
But it let him see. The symbol was huge, its circle wide as a football field.
With the snow removed, Sam would have expected the three-foot-wide lines of the symbol to be dead grass.
But what the light showed instead was a dark tar-like residue, glaring in contrast to the rest of Sheep Meadow’s snow.
No Humans . Sam thought about what it all meant.
Oh fuck. It was real.