The silence thunders. Caleb and Andrew have left the apartment to find answers. Tamara and I sit on the brown second-hand chair that faces the small rectangular television in Andrew's apartment, but we face each other. The power to the apartment—and all other technology with a battery source—are dead and the only light source is the candles I've lit and put down all around the room. I don't know what I would have done had the stove been an electric stove.
The chaotic screams from down below have started ten minutes ago, and they continue without pause. We can't see anything from the window because they look out to an alleyway behind the building, and the chaos seems to be coming from the streets at the front of the apartment building.
