Moment Of Silence

What did you want for dinner?

Brooke pondered a moment before signing a response.

Chicken?

Clark beamed, he hadn’t seen his granddaughter in almost fifteen months. Not since the funeral. He was afraid she’d have a hard time with signing, but then again she had always been sharp as a tack.

How about some vegetables as well?

She wrinkled her nose and laughed at his knowing smile.

Alright, but no broccoli!

He rolled his eyes and started to turn towards the kitchen. She caught his gaze with a waving hand.

Can I watch tv?

He nodded.

I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.

Ok!

He headed to the kitchen and set a pot of water on the stove. He was no gourmet, but he could make a mean bag of frozen vegetables.

Clark hadn’t been born deaf. In fact, he could hear very well until the war. A mortar shell dropping near him had ended all of that close to thirty years ago now, and he’d been signing ever since. He absentmindedly brushed a hand along the deep, faded scars on the left side of his face before shaking his head and returning to his task.

He peeked inside the living room, Brooke was calmly watching television on the sofa. From the look of it, it was one of those late-night comedian talk shows she enjoyed so much. He found them entertaining as well, but more than once wished that punctuation and emphasis came over clearer in subtitles.

He must have made a sound, because she glanced back over her shoulder at him. She had so much life, so much vitality in her young eyes.

You ok?

He nodded again. He was so proud of the young woman she was becoming. She’d be graduating in the spring, and with an associates degree at 18 she was already a step ahead of her peer-group.

Just like Jenny had been.

He turned away so she wouldn’t see the tear in his eye. No father should live to bury a daughter.

Back in the kitchen he pulled open a can of chicken and, on a whim, started working on some boxed macaroni as well. He regretted now that he’d never learned to cook - not really anyway - but so long as Brooke’s tastes hadn’t changed too much he was pretty sure he’d be safe.

A half-hour later and he was sprinkling a little red pepper on top of the chicken to finish it and taking a deep breath. It smelled fantastic, if he did say so himself.

He made up a pair of plates and headed for the living room.

Brooke was nowhere to be seen.

The TV was still on, and an odd, bright, white and green criss-cross pattern filled the screen, flickering intermittently. The subtitles under the picture were confusing too.

[...Turn up your volume… sube el volumen… Прибавь громкости…

drehe die Lautstärke hoch…]

The screen was making his head hurt, so he set down the plates and picked up the remote. He flicked through the channels and grew increasingly confused. The signal was on every channel.

He hit the power button and the screen went dark. Then, just as quickly, it came back to life. The screen settled back into the same unusual pattern. He turned off the screen once more, and took a step back as it turned itself back on yet again.

He turned from the room, a gnawing at the back of his mind driving him to look for Brooke. He went room by room, but most of his small apartment was dark and empty.

There, the bathroom light was on.

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, of course she was in the bathroom. He chuckled at his own foolishness and went over to softly tap at the door.

To his surprise, it swung open as he hit it. He ducked back out of the way, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said, or hoped he said anyway.

But the door stayed open.

He waited a moment, then knocked on the doorframe, firmer this time.

Nothing.

She’d just have to forgive him then, he determined as he stepped out in front of the doorway to check on her.

The remote dropped from his hand and his face went white when he saw her lying on the floor surrounded by empty pill bottles.

He knelt beside her, raising her up and holding her in his arms. A dozen half-dissolved pills and a wash of foamy spittle rolled out of her mouth and on to his arms.

His brain was shutting down and he found himself back in the desert, holding his best friend as he bled out on some godforsaken oil field. Decades-old training kicked in and he shook his head to clear it. First, pulse. She had one, but it was faint and erratic. Next clear the airways. He stuck his fingers in her mouth, fishing out more pills. He didn’t have the supplies or the expertise to deal with this, frankly. Was he supposed to induce vomiting? No, that didn’t sound right for an unconscious patient.

He needed a hospital.

Clark lifted Brooke, his aged back straining, and thanked God he’d led such an active lifestyle for so long.

And that she was so petite.

He decided to forego shoes, and headed for the door immediately. He scooped up the keys to his old truck and swept out of the apartment like a tornado. His heart was pounding and he was badly out of breath by the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, but he couldn’t stop.

He had a sort of tunnel vision, and took in nothing around himself as he made a beeline for his vehicle. He buckled Brooke into the passenger seat, wincing as her head lolled slackly.

He fired up the engine, feeling it rumble throughout the whole cab, and turned his attention at last to the road ahead of him.

What the hell was going on?

Cars all along the road were smashed into each other, into trees, and into light poles and telephone poles. People were laying about on the sidewalks, in the middle of the road, everywhere.

As he looked around, Clark watched as Belinda Mores, his next door neighbor from 2C, stepped out onto her balcony.

What was she doing?

She climbed up onto the railing, her eighty-year-old frame loosely wrapped in an antique floral nightie.

Clark jumped out of the cab, waving frantically at her, but she paid him no heed. Instead, she leaned out from the railing and plummeted to the concrete below. She impacted headfirst and lay still and crumpled.

Clark felt his heartbeat throbbing in his chest and forced himself into the dispassionate, out-of-body mental state that he had taken as a combat medic years ago.

He got back into the cab and threw the vehicle into drive. The massive eight-cylinder roared beneath his feet and the truck jerked into motion.

As he headed deeper into the city, the carnage mounted. Bodies were everywhere.

More than once he was forced off the road and onto the sidewalk. He prayed for forgiveness as the heavy truck tires thudded over the bodies of the dead.

Minutes passed painfully as he made his way to the hospital. The lights were on, and for the first time he saw someone else alive and unaffected.

The truck rolled to a stop and he flagged the person down as he unbuckled Brooke.

The woman wore scrubs, and looked to be in her mid thirties. She ran over, tears streaming down her face, and wrapped Clark in a hug.

Do you sign?

He nodded, thank God, she could sign.

I do, my granddaughter needs help, please!

She squeezed him tightly, then stepped back and wiped her eyes.

Bring her inside.

The two of them got her onto a gurney by the emergency room doors and headed inside.

What's happening?

I don't know.

Every television in the hospital was broadcasting the same signal, and all throughout the halls were doctors, patients, and nurses. Some had slit their wrists, others had hung themselves. Some had syringes buried in their arms or, like Brooke, were surrounded by pills.

Inside they met a doctor, a young man who waved them into an operating room.

I found another, the nurse signed at him.

Deaf?

Clark nodded, not understanding.

Are we… are we all that is left?

The nurse and doctor shared a look.

So far.

They did their best for Brooke, truly. They worked feverishly, running throughout the hospital to fetch medicines and drag machines in, but she never woke.

It wasn't enough. Her organs had started to fail from the overdose, and there wasn't anything that could be done.

So Clark sat with her as the hours stretched on towards daybreak. Elliot and Denise came and went as a few more patients showed up throughout the night, but he paid them no mind. Clark's sole focus was his hand on Brooke's until at last her faint pulse disappeared.

After that he wandered the halls aimlessly. As dawn lit the sky he found himself in a huge, glass-walled lobby, alone.

Elliot found him there, standing without purpose or reason.

What now?

Clark ignored the doctor's question, staring instead out into the vast, silent world.