Jackson
A thin beam of dull orange light penetrated the darkness of the apartment as Jackson parted two shutters in the blind, his narrowed eyes watching the streets below intently. Red and blue lights, accompanied by the perpetual noise of sirens, disrupted the often tranquil area while harsh rain beat down upon service personnel. Tree branches swayed in a breeze that Jackson felt faintly upon his skin, and their leaves were caught in a frenzy of nature, littering the roads and turning them into shimmering paths of green. A smell lingered in the air, but what it was could not be defined in a single word. It was the smell of wet pavement and freshly cut grass, intertwined with the overwhelming stench of gasoline and burning wood. It was a sinister combination that made Jackson's stomach turn, yet he could not pull himself from the window. He was so close that the glass fogged over due to the heat of his breath, but nevertheless he wiped it clean and continued to watch.
Below the window that he stood at an ambulance was stationed, it's parking slightly askew, causing one wheel to ride the curb while its back end ventured into the opposite lane. Its lights cycled from red to blue and the back doors were open, but - to Jackson’s relief - no siren could be heard. On the roof leaves had already began to settle and deep puddles at the edges of the road now claimed the rubber of its wheels. If he hadn't known better Jackson may have thought that it had been there for weeks, even months. It looked abandoned in the street, left to be retaken by nature; however soon enough four people emerged from the flats next door. Between them they carried a stretcher, but the face of whoever lay on top of it was obscured by the paramedics and rain from the building storm. After hastily securing the stretched in the back, two of the four paramedics hurried to the front of the vehicle, their clothes soaked through as they hopped inside. Then, as the siren shattered what little silence there had been, it sped up the street and took a sharp right out of sight.
Jackson sighed, pulling away from the window slightly. For a moment he simply watched rain droplets roll down the glass, but soon even that began to irritate him so he stepped back and allowed the blinds to clatter back into place. His hands bawled up into fists and he hammered the wall out of frustration. In the distance another siren blared in to life, but he wasn’t interested in seeing where it came from. He scratched his head irritably and paced back and forth, his toes sinking into the fresh carpet under-foot. To his left Erica sat on the sofa watching television. The news played out, illuminating the otherwise unlit room. A man was talking on-screen, ashen faced and above all else tired looking. He described the overwhelming number of patients being reported at local hospitals, but never went into detail. Whether that was by choice or not remained unclear. Jackson watched for a moment longer, hoping to hear something more than the vague updates being spoon-fed to the Anchor. Yet more numbers were listed, but nothing that helped Jackson understand what was going on.
While he listened something caught his attention on the kitchen counter. His phone. A small red light in the top left of the screen flickered insistently; a signal that he had missed a call. He furrowed his brow, wandering who would call him at such an hour. Possibly a family member who had forgotten the time difference, it wouldn't be the first time. Hoping to distract himself Jackson made his way into the kitchen, his hand intentionally brushing the top of Erica's arm as he did so. The cold tile floor sent a shiver down his spine as he approached the counter and gripped the phone in one hand; the screen lighting up and revealing the missed call. It was from Matthew, a friend who lived only a few blocks away. He went to press on the icon that would allow him to listen to any messages left when a flurry of chilling air raced up the sleeves of his shirt, seizing his body with shock for a moment.
"Bloody window," he muttered, reaching for the window over the sink and pulling it too with force. This window faced a different way to the one in the living area, instead overlooking houses towards the outskirts of town. If anything the storm had become more vicious in the few seconds it had taken Jackson to reach the kitchen. Clotheslines could be seen in distant gardens, the wire pulled taught by the wind and the clothes on them drenched as they flailed about on the brink of coming loose. Even deckchairs and shed roofs were claimed by the gale, tumbling across gardens and splintering the wood of fences. "It's crazy out there," Jackson called to Erica, re-emerging from the kitchen a minute later with a packet of crisps in hand. “Seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if that's what all these ambulances are about."
He took a seat next to her, pulling open his packet of crisp and allowing the smell of salt and vinegar to consume the area. Then he placed his feet over on the coffee table and reclined into the soft fabric of the sofa. The same dreary looking man was still reporting on the number of casualties, the screen occasionally changing to a young woman who stood outside of the A&E department doors at a nearby hospital. The storm was obviously causing technical difficulties though, as the sound or display would often cease to work. It wasn't until a few minutes later that the screen cut to black for a moment, plunging the room into complete darkness. Jackson instinctively reached for Erica's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He assumed that there had been a power cut, but almost as soon as the thought had occurred to him a blue screen lit the room one more. Across the top of the screen it read 'EMERGENCY BROADCAST' in bold red letters, and below was more writing; smaller and gradually shifting across the screen to make way for the long string of words.
"What on earth is this all about?" Jackson said, sitting up and leaning in so that he could read what was on the screen. He had trouble though, the words disappearing off the edge before he could make sense of them. Turning to Erica he spoke, perhaps a little too impatiently. "What does it say? What does the writing across the screen say, Erica?"