Chapter 3
The first person I spoke to in the building was a woman named Marcy who lived two doors down.
I knew her name because her packages occasionally ended up outside my door. We weren't friends.
Then voices.
I stepped quietly toward mine and listened.
"I'm telling you, my brother says they're closing roads."
A man's voice answered.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Then why would they close roads?"
"I don't know, Tanner."
I looked through the peephole.
Marcy stood in the hallway wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. A guy I assumed was Tanner stood barefoot in her doorway.
Across the hall, another door opened.
Mrs. Patel from 306 leaned out.
"Is there a fire?" she asked.
"No," Marcy said.
"Then what is happening?"
"I don't know."
Tanner looked toward the stairwell.
"I heard somebody got shot."
Marcy shook her head.
"That's not what my brother said."
"What did he say?"
"He said people were attacking each other."
Mrs. Patel made a small disapproving sound, as if people attacking each other was somehow less plausible than somebody getting shot.
I unlocked my door but left the chain on and opened it three inches.
They all looked at me.
"Anyone actually know anything?" I asked.
Three heads shook.
"Police are saying avoid Rothwell," Marcy said. "My brother lives near there. He says cops are everywhere."
"Did he see what happened?"
"No."
Tanner held up his phone.
"I found a video."
I almost laughed.
"Yeah. Everybody found a video."
He didn't laugh.
Instead he said, "This one's from the hospital."
That got my attention.
"What happens?"
"Guy gets up after—"
Marcy cut him off.
"Don't."
"What?"
"You don't know it's real."
"I know."
"So stop acting like you do."
Tanner looked annoyed.
I understood why.
But I also understood Marcy.
Everything we knew had passed through other people and an algorithm before reaching us.
Mrs. Patel looked toward the stairwell.
"I think I will lock my door."
"Probably a good idea," I said.
She disappeared.
Marcy followed a few seconds later, pulling Tanner inside with her.
Before she closed the door, she looked at me.
"You leaving?"
The question caught me strangely.
"No."
"Me neither."
Our doors closed almost together. I locked mine again.
You leaving?
Until she'd asked, I hadn't seriously considered it.
My parents' house was about forty-five miles northwest.
Mostly highway.
Then county roads.
If I left now, I could probably be there in under an hour.
The Civic had maybe three quarters of a tank. I'd filled it earlier in the week.
Good.
I looked toward the kitchen.
Food, water, a locked third-floor apartment. No reason to leave.
Unless whatever was happening got worse.
Then everyone would decide to leave, roads would clog, and forty-five miles would become much harder.
If you're going to go, earlier is better.
True.
But earlier only mattered if leaving was actually necessary.
I went back to the window.
The parking lot looked almost normal.
Fewer cars than usual now.
One empty spot where the black SUV had been.
A woman stood beside a white SUV talking on her phone. Someone walked a dog near the far end of the building. Two young guys carried beer into the neighboring building.
Normal.
Beyond them, red emergency lights reflected against the low clouds.
The dog walker stopped at something I couldn't see, pulled the straining dog close, and hurried back toward his building.
I lowered the blinds.
Stay.
Obviously stay.
I charged my phone.