Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Why won’t my fingers stop shaking? Okay, 9-1-1…
“9-1-1 dispatch, what is your emergency?” Masculine voice, rough yet comforting.
“I need an ambulance at 81 Dartville Drive.”
“What happened, kid?” More comfort, but not enough.
“I woke up this morning and went downstairs. They weren’t moving, I even checked for a pulse. They were gone. I don’t know what to do…” Darkness.
“Okay, kid. I need you to go to your bedroom and pack enough stuff to last you at least two days. Then you need to go hide in a bathroom or closet. Can you do that?”
“Do I have to do it right now? I don’t feel solid anymore...”
“Only when you feel up to it. But can you at least try? An ambulance is on it’s way.”
“Yeah, sure. I can try.” Stumble up he stairs. Turn left. Backpack on the hook; grab, shove.
“What’s all the noise?” Quizzical, curious.
Quietly, truthfully. “Packing.”
CDs, speakers, music books, clothes, iPod, guitar.
Done