Edward's car purred quietly along the still streets, the thud of the tires against the road almost comforting in its familiarity. His hands circled the steering wheel, drumming to a rhythm that sounded much too upbeat for the gloom still lingering in his head.
It had been another long day. More of the same. More individuals stocking up their carts with items that appeared as though they'd be useful just in case. More awkward conversations regarding the flu. But somehow the tension in the air, tenuous and ethereal, kept him on edge.
He adjusted the rearview mirror as a police siren wailed in the distance in the background. He glanced at the side mirror—merely a squad car whizzing by, not heading his way. He sighed and turned up the radio's volume.
"---new flu strain has been harder to hit than expected. Already, hospitals are seeing more cases, but health workers are still assuring this is not something to be alarmed about. The CDC has issued guidelines to—"
The announcer was abruptly cut off by static, and in her place an equally calm-sounding female took up the airwaves. Edward's gaze momentarily flashed to the radio dial, but he didn't fiddle with it. He kept looking at the road.
"—health officials continue to assure that although this new flu strain does appear more menacing than it normally does, the public is still relaxed and continues on with usual prevention methods such as washing hands and staying away from—"
Avoiding whom? Edward thought, but the sentence went on at a loss, the voice of the speaker interrupting over the static once more. The world became more and more fractured as the days went by. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a persistent doubt attacked him, and he pushed it aside. Another flu season. Same as always.
"—year. European news is saying there's an outbreak, but analysts claim it's too early to declare a new world—"
There it was again. Almost a handful of seconds before it went off entirely, with nothing but silence. Edward flipped the button on his steering wheel, changing channels with a soft breath.
On the new channel, another voice:
"Other urban centers have begun restricting mass events as more cases emerged. There hasn't yet been any verification that this type of flu is worse than the last pandemic, but the officials are—"
Edward scowled, his eyes darting to the side. A young man in a hoodie stood at the bus stop, his head dipped. Edward couldn't tell if he was coughing or just shifting his jacket, but something about him—his slow movements, the little shiver as though he were keeping something at bay—curled Edward's stomach.
The radio continued:
"Health officials urge the public to remain vigilant but not alarmed, reminding everyone that while early reports of this strain are concerning, it's still unclear whether it will escalate into anything serious. Stay tuned for updates—"
The signal totally dropped out this time. Edward's fingers gripped tighter on the wheel, and he switched lanes, turning onto the main road that led to his apartment. The roads were less jammed than usual for this hour of day, and there were fewer automobiles on the road. A part of him wanted to dismiss it—nothing was wrong. People were just being cautious, as usual.
A brief look in the rearview mirror revealed another squad car coming out of a side street, its siren flashing as it took off into the night. The familiar sound of sirens was like a background hum, something he could ignore. But today, for some reason, it sounded different. The sound stuck in his head longer than ever before.
He attempted to concentrate on the road ahead, but his mind continued to wander. The flu had been going on for centuries. Okay, so this one was a bit different—strains mutated all the time, didn't they? But the manner in which the people were behaving… hoarding things like it was the end of the world. The manner in which the customers glanced over their shoulders, muttering to themselves as they took bottles of cold medicine.
He noticed a few individuals strolling as he strode past them, all rushing, some with scarves or masks on—out of habit or necessity, he didn't know. The masks themselves bothered him. They felt misplaced now, as if they belonged to some other, foreign version of the world that was. unattainable. The past few years had conditioned them to think that they needed them even when it was for a bad cold.
His shoulders were stiff, his mind reeling from a dozen half-stated notions, by the time he pulled up in his apartment parking lot. He sat and remained in the car for a moment, motor still idling, listening to the soft whine of the engine as if it would wash away the ceaseless hum within his head.
Another siren wailed off in the distance, but loud enough still to jingle his nerves. He leaped out of the vehicle and shouldered his pack, locking it as he pulled the door shut. Cold whipped at his naked skin, colder than it ought to have been at the end of spring, the wind whipping through the strands.
As he went across the parking lot to his building, he noticed the faint light of light in the windows of a condo across from him. It was always on—today, however, it appeared like the whole complex had all gone there. He couldn't discern the figures properly, but they seemed to be groupied beside the window, gazing at something outside. Or maybe it was just the flashing of a TV.
He glanced away from it again, trying to shake the feeling that something was different. It was there—unseen, unspoken—but it was there, the calm before the storm.
Edward reached the door of his apartment building and opened it, the scent of coffee and disinfectant wafting out as he stepped inside. The lights overhead flickered, and he froze for a moment before heading towards the elevator.
The building was quiet. Too quiet.
As he jammed the button on the elevator, a passing thought came to him—something about the newscast that he had just heard. More than the flu, hadn't it been? He attempted to recall the last few words, but the break-up and static blurred everything together.
Whatever was happening, it was still too early to know. People were too used to not knowing anymore. Everything was always on the verge of happening—another pandemic, another flu, another new virus.
But this time, for some reason, it felt like the corner was earlier.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. Edward stepped inside, pressing the button for his floor.
The lights flickered once more, a brief moment of uncertainty before they returned to their usual hum.