Man V. Nature by Diane Cook

Author:Diane Cook
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

IT’S COMING

The alarm goes off smack in the middle of the presentation. We try to look at each other in the darkened office, in the dim glow of PowerPoint colors; we scoff, we are stunned. Someone says, “This is a drill, right?” We look to the head of the table, where our boss usually sits, but he is not here today; another meeting, another city. Of course Roger usurps our missing boss’s authority. “Yes,” he says in a deeper than natural voice, “just a drill, people,” and we are forced to continue absorbing the presentation.

But soon we’re whispering under the drone of the presenter. Someone says, “I mean, what are the odds it chose our building, right?” Someone replies, “Well, it is the tallest.” Someone counters, “No, it’s not.” There is some whispering back and forth on this point.

At the other end of the table, someone hisses, “I always thought it would come at night, while we slept.”

“Yeah,” someone agrees, “what could be more terrible than taking out a whole subdivision of vulnerable sleeping families?”

“I know! I feel so much safer when I come through these doors in the morning.”

“Yes, it must be a drill.” Suddenly these two are holding hands and trembling.

The presenter finally stops the PowerPoint because someone is crying loudly, “It’s not a drill, it’s not a drill,” and we all kind of know the crier is right.

Then we’re moving quickly, snapping, This is it, people. We remind one another of protocol as we gather our belongings. Be professional. Focus. Just grab the essentials. You won’t care about your stupid umbrella when it’s got you by the legs. Executive chairs swirl as we pull sweaters, purses, suit coats, from their backs and pour from the boardroom.

The emergency exit is just squeezing shut; the whole floor has already evacuated, the last of them leaving an overwhelming whiff of some childish perfume. We hear the thudding stampede down the cement stairs, and we are about to follow, fling that emergency door wide again, when we hear panicked screams coming from far down the stairwell. The screams become terrible, wet and pulpy, and the stampede of feet reverses back up the stairs, though it sounds greatly diminished.

We run away from the door and pass a conference room where new hires have been ensconced in a training meeting. They huddle under the long oval table. They don’t know the office emergency protocol yet. It’s on page 140 of their manual, and there’s no way they got that far this morning. Thompson, who had been leading the meeting, is quaking under the head of the table. No doubt he hadn’t thoroughly prepped for the training session and hadn’t reread protocol; he’s a winger, not a preparer, which is sometimes advantageous and other times unfortunate. Currently, it is unfortunate; the conference room has been left leaderless. We shrug as we run by, as if to say Oops and Good luck and Don’t follow us.

Past the conference room, we whisper Parachutes extra quietly so the new hires won’t hear.

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