Page 1 of Sick(ness)

One

The Sound Of Silence

The world was ending, but inside Addy’s apartment, it was strangely quiet. The electric hum of the refrigerator had stopped days ago, leaving behind a hollow stillness that pressed against her ears. Outside, sirens had wailed endlessly for hours, but now even they had gone—replaced by the occasional, distant sound of something breaking, or the wind howling through the empty streets of her small Midwestern town of Gains.

Addy crouched by the front door, hands shaking as she taped another layer of plastic over the cracks. Her fingers were sore from the duct tape—she had used almost two rolls to secure every window, vent, and crevice she located. The instructions she’d read online—back when the internet still worked—had said to isolate, to stop the air from coming in, to stay put. So that’s what she did. She tugged the last strip tight and pressed it down.

Her reflection shimmered faintly in the thin plastic. Her brown hair matted, her skin pale under the harsh glow of the flashlight propped on the counter. She barely recognized herself. She stared at herself a second longer and looked away. An unsettling sensation arose from meeting her own gaze—akin to encountering an unknown person who had resigned themselves to their destiny.

She recalled—only seven days prior, her existence had been so uncomplicated. Around this time, she would’ve been getting home from work, kicking off her shoes by the door, starting dinner while music played low in the background. She’d pour a glass of wine, feed the stray cat that always showed up on her second-story balcony, meowing for handouts. She christened him Murphy, though he wasn’t truly hers. He’d come and go as he pleased, a scruffy little reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone.

Now, she hadn’t seen Murphy in days. She tried not to contemplate what that might mean.

The odor of bleach still hung heavy in the air. She rubbed her sore hands against her jeans, the skin raw from too much scrubbing, too much fear. Outside, the wind pressed against the taped windows as if it sought entry. Somewhere far off, something metallic clanged—possibly a trash can, or something worse.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the sound of Murphy’s soft paws against the glass, the way he used to tilt his head like he was judging her for eating cereal for dinner. It seemed like another life.

“Buzz, Buzz,”…. …. …. “Buzz Buzz,” … … … “Buzz Buzz,” … … ….

Her phone buzzed on the counter, startling her. The screen showed another emergency alert: MANDATORY QUARANTINE. SHELTER IN PLACE. FAILURE TO COMPLY IS A FEDERAL OFFENSE.

Addy stared at it until the screen dimmed and went dark again. She didn’t bother unlocking it—nothing left to see. Every notification identical: warnings, curfews, emergency broadcasts repeating the same cold phrases in bold red letters.

No one was calling anymore. No one was texting.

She remembered when her phone used to light up with messages from coworkers—memes, dinner plans, the usual chatter. Now all that remained was an endless stream of government alerts and silence. Somewhere in her call log, her last outgoing call to her mom remained visible. It had gone straight to voicemail.

Addy’s stomach twisted. She pressed her palms flat on the counter, grounding herself. “You’re okay,” she whispered to the empty room. “You’re okay.”

The words helped little.

Outside, the wind carried the faint wail of another siren—followed by a distant crash. The sound bounced between the buildings and faded into nothing. The world seemed to be progressively falling apart, and all she seemed capable of was hearing it happen.

She glanced at the list she’d scrawled on the envelope again: food, water, batteries. She’d crossed off “mask,” but was not entirely sure why. Nothing appeared to hold significance any longer—the rules, the cautions, the meticulous strategies she had devised when she still felt things were managed.

She looked back at the taped - up windows. For a second, she thought she saw movement behind her—a shadow shifting—but when she turned, only the flashlight appeared, flickering weakly on the counter.

Addy exhaled, long and shaky. The quiet seemed alive.

Addy swallowed hard. The authorities didn’t sound like they had things under control—more like they had lost their grip. Every hour brought fewer updates. Every hour, the world outside seemed a little farther away.

She moved to the kitchen window, peeking through a slit in the taped curtain. The street below was a mess of abandoned cars, trash bags, and the occasional flicker of movement. Someone had spray-painted HELP US on the side of the pharmacy across the street. The paint looked fresh.

She pulled back quickly, heart hammering. She didn’t want to see anymore.

Instead, she focused on the list she’d written on the back of an envelope—her survival plan.

Canned food: 14 days (if rationed).

Water: half a bathtub’s worth, bottled if possible.

Medication: running low.

Batteries: not enough.

Every creak of the floorboards, every groan of the old radiator made her pulse jump. She tried to convince herself it was the building settling, but the thought didn’t stick.

She turned the flashlight off to save the battery and let her eyes adjust to the dim glow bleeding in from the last fragments of daylight outside.