A Quiet Place

The world, it seemed, was silent,
The city was deserted.
Not a soul moved, not a noise was uttered.
Nothing but a slight breath of wind, the ruffle of a long abandoned newspaper, and the soft patter of bare feet on tile.
In the small corner shop, a little boy named Beau ran through aisles, his pompom bouncing on his head, his bored toddler fingers searching for something to do.
His sister sat, her back against a ransacked shelf, staring into space, lost in her own mind. For her whole life, all she had known was the silence. Except the one she’d known was deeper, it was real. Her fingers reached absently for her hearing aid that didn’t seem to do anything, and she sighed- a controlled sigh, her breath gentle, slow, silent as she exhaled. Even if she couldn't hear it, she knew. There were other things that could.
Other things...
A sudden movement drove her eyes up and she caught a glimpse of her little brother- her little Beau- running past.
Her heart seized up in her chest. He should not be running. It was too loud. He didn’t understand. Not fully. Silence went only so far in his toddler mind. She scrambled to her feet and tiptoed after him, watching as he disappeared around the corner, into another aisle.
She followed, and found him sitting cross legged, drawing on the floor with a marker.
She sat down next to him, and his large brown eyes found hers.
Rocketship, he spoke to her in sign language. She smiled.
Very good! He paused, looking at his crude drawing.
That’s how we’ll get away. Her smile slipped off her face. If only. Her hands began to move again.
Where’s mom?
Getting pills for Marcus.
Their mother stood behind the abandoned, half demolished pharmacist’s counter, her slender fingers carefully, slowly, rifling through pill bottles, careful not to rattle their contents, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. A child-Marcus-was at her feet, his skin a sickly gray color, his face pained. She looked up when something moved in her peripheral vision.
Her daughter approached warily, her anxious eyes resting on her brother slouched behind the counter.
How is he? Her mother glanced at the boy.
He’ll be ok, Regan. Go get Beau, we’re leaving in a few minutes. Regan nodded, casting one last glance at her sick brother. She turned, her eyes raking the shelves, searching for that little blue pompom that short little frame-
She found him.
Her heart stopped beating.
He stood on a stool, his tiny fingers reaching up, up, reaching in vain for a toy rocket ship perched on the shelf.
She watched as his fingers skimmed the plastic.
She watched as it teetered on the edge-
And it fell.
In her mind, she saw it hit the ground, a loud crash that she wouldn’t hear but she knew other things would hear instantly.
The world felt as though it was turning in slow motion as she leaped forward, her hands outstretched, her eyes shut tight in anticipation.
She felt it hit her hands. Somehow, miraculously, it fell into her grasp.
Shaking, her heart pounding, she placed it on the shelf next to her. Beau’s eyes were wide. Even he knew what he had almost done. She let out a slow, steady breath, shaking her head ferociously, then turned towards the exit where she saw the familiar figures of her father, mother, and Marcus-who was in her father’s arms. She glanced at Beau.
Come on. Her father smiled as she approached.
How’s my girl? Are you holding up- the smile fell and his face was instantly ashen, awash with dread as he stared at something behind her. Her eyes widened, and she spun around, to see her little brother, the rocket in his hands. What was he doing? Why couldn't he just understand like the rest of them?
Slowly, her father reached forward and pulled the toy from Beau’s tiny grasp. He pulled the little plate from beneath the toy. He removed the batteries. No. no, no, no, no. Not again. Too much noise. We don't make noise. Do you understand? Beau nodded, a pout on his face and his father placed the ship onto the counter next to him. He turned to the rest of his family and nodded at the door. Slowly, one by one, they filed out, careful not to jar anything, bump anything, make any noise whatsoever. Regan turned to her little brother and frowned.
When she was his age, she was free to be a toddler-noisy, curious, carefree. She glanced at the rocket. Her father had taken the batteries out… it wouldn’t make any noise… besides when was the next time he’d ever have a toy? She grabbed the rocket off the counter and placed it in his hands.
He looked up at her with round eyes.
She winked, held a finger to her lips, and walked out of the store.
They walked, barefooted, in single file past cars that had long since been abandoned, passing stores that were dark, empty, unwelcoming, and into the forest beyond.
Their progress was slow, each and every step must be deliberate, careful. No disturbing leaves on the ground.
And of course, they walked silently. They didn't dream of talking. It had been 87 days since they last spoke above a whisper- and even then, why take the chance when they could speak in sign language?
They made it to the overgrown bridge that lead to their home-a corn farm, full with rows upon rows of corn stalks that swayed in the ever-constant breeze. They were lucky yo have that food. It didn't matter how sick of it they were.
Most people didn't have that.
Most people weren't alive anymore.
They continued their walk, the sun shining brilliantly on their faces. Mother stopped to shift her pack, adjusting the straps. She was about to continue when she heard it.
When they all heard it.
Except Regan.
It was the poor quality, toy speaker sound of a rocketship taking off. It cut through the air like a siren.
Regan stopped walking when she saw her parents turn around. She saw her mother clasp her hands to her mouth, her face distraught, tears flowing down her cheeks. She saw her father drop Marcus and take off running past her. She turned around and saw Beau.
He stood far away, holding his toy rocketship out, swooping it through the air, oblivious that anything was wrong.
He had taken the batteries.
He had turned it on.
The little blue and red lights on the ship blinked as the father ran at as his son as fast as he could.
And then came the sound, off in the forest on their left, of bushes being trampled,,, trees been shaken, plants being crushed as one of Them tore through the forest, drawn to the sound. Instantly drawn to any sound loud enough for its sensitive ears to pick up.
He ran and ran, his legs burning. Fear gripped him like a vice. It couldn't get his son. Not his son. Not his son.
Flashes of its form appeared through gaps in trees as it charged with superhuman speed.
The father ran faster. No. Not my son. His desperation was intense, overriding all his senses as he raced against it. He reached his hands out, sprinting as hard as he could-
It burst through the trees, its wailing scream echoing through the air as it darted as fast a bullet, plowing into the little boy and disappearing into into the trees beyond.
All that was left was a little toy rocket lying silently on the ground.