The First Small Thing

Right then, from the direction of the cafeteria, there came a deep metallic crack. Everyone turned just in time to see the west-side sign, hanging there for years, rip loose and slam into the floor. Glass burst everywhere in a white flash. The hallway exploded. The broadcast kept going, a few beats ahead of reality like a shadow with better timing: “If you’re looking now, you’re already too late. Don’t touch the archive cabinet. Don’t let the tape leave the radio room. Tell Tobin the plug behind bay seven is empty.” Tobin went rigid. He had pulled the board apart the night before and found a blank socket behind the rack, like somebody had left a hole on purpose. “That’s not possible,” he said under his breath.