Motionless - Tom Poole's Office

“Tuesday, I think. Yeah…Tuesday.” Carter spoke into the microphone. “Still no sign of anyone in the city.”

Carter stood from the chair and peered out the window. He was on the 45th floor, overlooking Broad Street. Some executive’s office. Tom Poole’s office, according to the name on the door.

He looked around as he often did. Flipping the pages of the various books on the shelf and looking at the pictures of Tom Poole’s kids scattered here and there.

“Two weeks now, I suppose.” he resumed speaking into the computer. “I think I’m gonna take the Range Rover and drive over to Jersey tomorrow. See if anyone’s there.”

Carter peered out the window again. Motionless. One thing New York should never be is motionless. Still. Quiet.

A flag fluttered in the breeze on a rooftop across the street. The wind was the only thing moving in the city.

He walked over to the desk and whacked the space bar on Tom’s computer.

“See ya tomorrow, Tom,” said Carter, shutting the door behind himself.

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