72 Hours till Doomsday

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The central waterways office was filled with an ominous quiet that Monday morning. Every employee had yet to begin work; instead, they all leaned against the stained blue cubicle dividers, eyes glued to the television mounted on the wall, and although Gregor was a particularly diligent man, he couldn’t resist getting swept into the gathering.

You could almost smell the terror hanging in the stagnant air as the news reports ticked along the screen, like someone was reading off a prison sentence. Every word that emerged was a fang, all strung together into sharp and biting sentences, sinking deeper into the beating hearts of the men and women of the Battersea Water and Power.

“Gregor, hey.”

It was a familiar face, the deeply lined one belonging to his best friend Arthur. A steady hand landed on his shoulder with more weight than usual.

“Hey.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Oh, I’m okay. Did I tell you that Alice lost her job?” Arthur nodded, and Gregor continued. “Yeah, they closed the school on Friday. I’m just not sure what to make of all this, you know? I think everyone might just be overreacting.”

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