Free See Tom Run by Scott Wittenburg Page A

from the tunnel, he felt as
though he were driving in wet cement.
    His first observation when he suddenly thrust into
the manmade canyons of midtown Manhattan was the near total
darkness and mind-boggling silence. He had never known the city to
be dead silent. This, along with the absence of any working lights
whatsoever, made it all the more foreboding. Columbus, Ohio was one
thing. The desolate mountain highways of Pennsylvania were another
thing.
    But to be in the city that never sleeps and
experiencing this was absolutely paralyzing.
    Tom puttered east along Thirty-fourth Street with no
destination in mind, numbed by the silent darkness. He spotted the
occasional abandoned taxi or truck parked along the curb but didn’t
see nearly as many vehicles as he had expected to see. This made
the enormous cityscape seem all the more desolate.
    Nervously, he turned up the volume on his CD player
and continued driving east. Ironically, the song playing was Omega
Man by the Police. When he reached Herald Square, he slowed down to
a complete stop directly across from Macy’s.
    It just wasn’t possible, he thought. To be sitting
there in one of the most congested pedestrian venues in the country
and not seeing a single soul. He turned down the volume,
tentatively rolled down his window a few inches and listened
intently. Not a sound. He turned off the engine. Nothing but dead
silence, except for the clicking of the Jeep’s hot engine
manifold.
    Tom sighed and turned the key. The engine turned for
a moment but didn’t catch. He switched off the headlights and tried
again. The starter whined a couple of times and stopped dead.
    “Shit!” he spat.
    He tried a few more times to start the Jeep but
without success. The battery finally became so weak that and all he
got was the clicking of the solenoid.
    The Jeep was dead.
    Excellent.
    In a semi-panic, he looked around for another mode of
transportation. He spotted a couple of cabs parked up ahead near
the corner of Sixth Avenue. He could only pray that the keys were
still in one of them.
    Tom cursed to himself once more as he fumbled for the
flashlight in his duffel bag. He switched it on and stepped out
onto the street, thankful it had stopped snowing by the time he’d
entered New Jersey a few hours ago.
    Training the flashlight’s pinpoint beam along the
sidewalk, Tom walked briskly toward the first cab. He heard the
sound of his footsteps echo crisply as he glanced at the
storefronts along the way. He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks
when he noticed the smashed window of an upscale clothing store.
Looters? he wondered. If that were the case, it was the first sign
of looting he’d seen since this nightmare had begun—which seemed a
little odd, he now realized. But at the same time, it was an
encouraging sign. It meant that perhaps someone other than himself
was alive and kicking in Gotham City.
    Tom walked up to the shattered glass window and shone
his flashlight into the store. Nothing seemed to be out of place as
far as he could see in the weak light. He wasn’t about to go inside
to look any further.
    He continued walking until he came upon the first
cab. He tried the door but it was locked. He shone the light into
the front compartment. No keys.
    Frowning, he ran up to the next cab and discovered
that it too was locked and keyless. He trained the light up the
street and spotted a panel truck parked on the corner of Broadway.
He ran over and peered expectantly through the passenger window as
he tried the door handle. It worked. He opened the door just as he
noticed that the driver side window was bashed in, shards of safety
glass lying all over the front seat.
    Another looting?
    Tom stepped back to read the sign on the side of the
white panel truck: Tri-State Heating and Air Conditioning. The
address showed a Union City, New Jersey address. Tom hopped into
the truck.
    He shone the flashlight into the glove compartment,
which was wide open. Nothing much there but it was