Silence in the City: Stories of the Sudden End of the Modern World

By Shaun Kilgore

Sudden disruptions in power and other major services sends a city into chaos. In the blink of an eye, the modern technological world fails. Is it a government plot? Experiment gone wrong? A foreign cyber attack? Alien invasion? A mystical incursion from beings beyond this dimension? Who knows? Now the noise and the bustle of the city have vanished and an eerie silence settles over the urban landscape. Within, there are stories of human violence, depravity, and desperation, but also heroism, selflessness, and sacrifice. Silence in the City is an anthology of speculative tales asking what happens when a city—and all of modern civilization—is plunged into darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Founders House Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jan 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201963958

Shaun Kilgore

Shaun Kilgore is the author of various works of fantasy, science fiction, and a number of nonfiction works. His books appear in both print and ebook editions. He has also published numerous short stories and collections. Shaun is the editor of MYTHIC: A Quarterly Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazine. He lives in eastern Illinois.

Book preview

Contents

Introduction by Shaun Kilgore

A Dark and Stormy Night by Alex Shvartsman

Boston Falls by Kevin McLaughlin

The Cloud by Joshua Palmatier

The Day of the Reaping by John Michael Greer

Everything Got Colder by Dean Wesley Smith

Gloss by D.A. D'Amico

Girlfriend Experiences by Nina Kiriki Hoffman

In the land of the blind by Kirsten Cross

The Unicorn by Annie Reed

Below by David B. Coe

The Darkening by Gini Koch (writing as A.E. Stanton)

Taking Chances by D.B. Keele

A Previous Engagement by Shaun Kilgore

Copyright

Silence in the City

Stories of the Sudden

End of the Modern World

Edited by Shaun Kilgore

Introduction

by Shaun Kilgore

THE IDEA BEHIND the stories that appear in Silence in the City is not a unique one. It’s been explored in myriad ways by authors over the years. But, like those others, I was introduced to it at a certain point in time. From then on, it had me in its grasp, whether it was a story I read, a concept explored by many of the religions of the world, or just a disaster movie of the week. The stories of upheaval, the dissolution of the status quo, the loss of technology—and the modern civilization upon which it is dependent—have and will always fascinate me.

Eventually, the name of the this anthology came to my mind. Silence in the City is an evocative title, isn’t it? Several years ago, I made an attempt to do this anthology, but I didn’t have the know-how at that point. I was just starting my publishing company and the larger world of publishing was suddenly influx by the release of the Amazon Kindle, signally the rise of eBooks. A new era of indie publishing was being born but I was not ready.

So, time passed, and I’ve published many books since then. I started a science fiction and fantasy magazine, MYTHIC, as well. This gave me the hands-on experience needed to edit a collection of short stories by other writers. At some point, I decided to do Silence in the City again. This time, I got alittle boost by using Kickstarter, the popular crowdfunding platform, used for all sorts of creative endeavors. A campaign was conducted and duly funded.

This anthology is the result of that experience.

In these pages, you’ll see a variety of takes on the original concept. I gave the contributors plenty of room to explore both scientific and fantasical visions. I hope you like this book.

I’ll close by giving special thanks to all of the people who became backers for the Silence in the City Kickstarter and those who offered other support and feedback.

A Dark and Stormy Night

A Conradverse Tale

by Alex Shvartsman

IT WAS RAINING in Brooklyn. Scratch that, it was pouring cats and dogs, raining men, drizzling grizzly bears, showering wallabies, and sprinkling an occasional elephant out there. I peeked out the window and could hardly see the street through the torrential downpour. It seemed I could take an evening off from patrolling the borough. Even monsters and warlocks generally preferred to hatch their dastardly schemes while wearing dry socks. I settled onto the couch and reached for a TV remote.

My phone rang.

Hello? I dearly hoped the unfamiliar number was only a scammer trying to sell me an extended car warranty, and not a cry for help that would result in me chasing a slime elemental through the sewers. Again.

Conrad Brent, the familiar voice grated in my ear. Beware the gathering storm. The forces of darkness are amassing in the deep. The three islands face deluge. In order to save us all you must open your heart to an old enemy.

Agnes? I asked gormlessly. The Oracle of Eighty-Sixth Street was a powerful prognosticator but she was not in a habit of unloading her often-alliterative prophecies on unsuspecting people over the phone, especially when those people weren’t paying customers.

Shush, said the Oracle. Time’s running short. You must ride a reluctant steed into battle, ally with a serpent, and when the time comes, choose the left one—

The line went dead. The lights in my apartment went out, as did all lights outside. It looked like the storm had caused a neighborhood-wide blackout.

I tried to activate the flashlight on my phone, only to discover that it was also dead. I had just charged the battery. Did the oracle’s magic somehow brick a smartphone? I thought that sort of thing only happened in fantasy novels. In the real world clapping doesn’t bring faeries back to life and technology is totally indifferent toward magic.

I reached for the lantern of Diogenes. It was an arcane lie detector, designed to flare up whenever falsehood was spoken within earshot. Under the circumstances, it would make do as a night light. I hefted the lantern and said, It’s bright and sunny outside.

Nothing happened.

Exasperated, I tried increasingly bold-faced lies. Pasadena is the capital of Maryland. Chicago pizza is superior to New York pizza. Nickelback albums are music.

The lantern remained dead as Diogenes himself. With a sense of dread I reached for an assortment of charms and artifacts on my shelf. Every one of them was equally useless, like a bunch of mundane trinkets.

Something terrible was happening. Something the Oracle had tried to warn me about. Thanks for nothing, Agnes. The trouble with prophecies is that they sound like gibberish until it’s too late. I shambled through my apartment in the dark, getting dressed and knocking into furniture. I retrieved a revolver from my night stand. Although it was loaded with silver bullets doused in holy water, the gun itself was mechanical, which hopefully meant it would still work.

There was an insistent knock on the door. I slid the gun into the pocket of my unbuttoned trench coat and answered it.

Karl Mercado stood outside. A disgraced one-time member of the Watch, Karl had gotten himself thrown out of our organization, and good riddance. He’d been making a living as a private investigator ever since. To say he hated me as much as most New Yorkers hate the Red Sox would’ve been an understatement. He was the last person I expected to lighten my doorstep with the bundle of glow sticks he was holding.

Karl was a mess. Drenched to the skin, deep shadows under his haunted eyes, stubble on his face that could’ve been called a six-o-clock shadow three days ago.

I need your help, said Karl. The words sounded like they burned his tongue on the way out, like he would rather endure several vigorous beheadings than speak them.

I resisted the urge to slam the door in his face. For all the bad blood between us, if he was a big enough man to ask for my help, I was a big enough man to hear him out. Besides, what was it Agnes had said about opening my heart to an old enemy? I had to hope Karl wouldn’t take the opportunity to stab it.

Come in, I said. I have some dry clothes you can borrow.

There’s no time, said Karl, echoing Agnes. Come. I’ll explain on the way.

He turned around and headed for the stairs.

I think you meant to say ‘please and thank you,’ I grumbled, then followed him anyway. The man had glow sticks. No one walks around with glow sticks, which meant he’d known the blackout was coming. He knew something, which was more than I did.

We walked outside and I instantly regretted not having an umbrella. I had a charm sown into my trench coat which deflected the rain, but like all other magic it was currently on the fritz. Karl marched on, heedless of the downpour.

Talk, I told him as I matched his pace. What’s going on?

This is an attack, said Karl. An invasion. There’s an ancient evil at the bottom of the ocean and it’s marshaling forces against us.

You mean like… Cthulhu? I asked.

Karl glowered at me without slowing down. You read too many comic books for a grown man, Conrad. Iku-Turso is a real and deadly threat, not a fictional character.

A what? I asked.

Iku-Turso is a sea giant from Finnish mythology. The Finns refer to it as a son of Old-age, and modern researchers believe it was a genetic experiment by the Atlanteans that survived the destruction of that civilization and thrived in the underwater ruins. It now commands an army of modified sea creatures which it sends to sink and plunder coastal civilizations. They destroyed Lemuria and Thule, and most recently Port Royal in Jamaica. And now Iku-Turso has set its sights on New York. Karl veered off the street toward the nearby bike rack.

So, Cthulhu with his Deep Ones and Shoggoths, I said petulantly.

Whatever. Karl pulled a sizable bolt cutter from his backpack and liberated a pair of locked up bicycles. The enemy forces are utilizing a powerful artifact called the Sampo to disable all magic. They’ve also somehow disabled the electrical force, which means no device that is powered by electricity will turn on, and that includes computers in all modern cars. Karl handed me one of the bicycles. We have to use these to get around.

Hey, I’ve heard of the Sampo. I thought it was a cornucopia, a horn of plenty that brought wealth and fortune to its owner?

Sure, said Karl. As much wealth and fortune as those fish bastards can plunder with the lights off. He got onto his bike. We must disable the Sampo before Iku-Turso drowns the city.

The three islands face deluge. Most people only think of Manhattan as an island, but New York City is an archipelago. Manhattan and Staten Island are smaller, while Brooklyn and Queens are both parts of Long Island, even if most New Yorkers are loathe to admit it. Not to mention a bunch of little islands like Ellis, Roosevelt, City, and more. If this Finnish Cthulhu knock-off could sink islands, the Bronx would be the only borough left standing.

We must warn the others, I said. The Watch, Abaddon, anyone who might listen.

Oh yeah? How? Cell phones are out, magic doesn’t work, cars won’t start. There isn’t time. Besides, what do you think any of them are going to do without their spells and incantations and artifacts?

"Okay then, wise guy. What do we do? And how did you know about this impending attack, anyway?"

A client of mine had a hunch, said Karl. I’ve been investigating it, but the attack came much sooner than either of us suspected. I did my best to put out a call for help, and a team will be waiting for us at the shore. We really must go; there isn’t a moment to waste.

We biked like madmen from Midwood to Bath Beach, pedaling in the dark through the rain, heedless of intersections and maneuvering around abandoned cars. Nothing else moved in the streets except streams of rainwater. The combination of blackout and terrible weather kept all sensible New Yorkers and most of the unreasonable ones indoors. By the time we reached our destination I was wetter than I had been in my entire life, including the nine months in the womb.

* * *

We arrived at the Bath Beach promenade, overlooking Gravesend Bay and Lower Bay—bodies of water between Brooklyn and Staten Island which connect the mouth of the Hudson River to the Atlantic Ocean. There, Karl’s crew was waiting for us.

A dozen beings huddled under a canopy to escape the rain. Among them were a trio of vampires, a snake-headed monster with saucer-sized eyes, a gray-haired yeti that looked like a geriatric Chewbacca, a pack of three were-jackals—smaller and nastier than werewolves—and several gun-toting humans who looked like the sort of people you would most definitely cross the street to avoid.

Are you serious? I asked Karl. "That’s who you recruited to stop an invasion? They’re the sort of beings we fight against. I’m pretty sure I busted that yeti for eating people’s pets just the other month."

Karl grimaced. It’s who I could find on such short notice, he said. They’ll fight because this city is their home, too. That’s the only qualification I care about. He looked me in the eye. "Why else do you think I’d ask you?"

We joined the ranks under the canopy. The assorted monsters and criminals eyed me with the same distaste I did them. Forget about opening my heart; those were the types I wouldn’t voluntarily turn my back on. I thought about my friends and allies. Surely they’d figured out something was wrong and were preparing for battle. But presumably they didn’t know what Karl knew. If I had to team up with were-jackals and serpents to save our collective bacon, then so be it.

Now what? asked one of the humans. An old scar made by something like a jagged claw ran down his cheek.

My associates are bringing a boat, said Karl. The Sampo has to be placed above the surface for its magic to function. We have to find the ship it’s on and board it.

There’s a lot of open water out there. How are you going to find it? I asked.

You got a better idea? asked Karl. Didn’t think so.

We cannot go on a boat, said a vampire. My kind doesn’t cross running water.

Seriously? Karl threw up his hands. How did you even come to the Americas then?

It is a complicated process that involves coffins filled with Transylvanian dirt and—

Look! A human pointed toward the water, where a rowboat was making its way from the direction of Coney Island. It was not nearly large enough to squeeze us all in.

The boat made it to a stone’s throw away from the shore. Then the water around it bubbled and lithe shapes blurred by the rain climbed on board from all sides and set upon the rowers. We heard bloodcurling screams and the sound of metal against wood, then the boat was taking on water and sinking before our eyes.

The assailants jumped into the water and swam toward the shore incredibly fast, their dorsal fins rising above the waves. Were they sharks?

The vanguard of the attackers climbed the slippery rocks onto the promenade and we got the first clear view of our enemy. They were modified dolphins, each with a tail split into a pair of short wobbly legs that would allow them to walk on the ground, with fins on the sides of each leg so they could still maneuver at sea. Each dolphin had a short sword melded to its right flipper and a barbed hook to the left. The dolphins chittered nastily and advanced toward us.

Get the fish people! shouted one of the humans. While I scoffed at his failure to comprehend basic marine biology, I couldn’t argue with the sentiment.

Scarface and his minions opened fire on the dolphins, with only moderate success. Blubber seemed to act as an effective body armor. A few of the dolphins staggered back and fewer yet fell. The rocks behind them were teeming with reinforcements.

A pack of were-jackals faced off against a pod of dolphins. In their canine forms the shapeshifters were a blur of bared teeth and bulging eyes, dodging between the larger cetaceans who, while agile and fast at sea, were less dexterous on land. The jackals went for the throats while the dolphins tried to surround and overwhelm each mutt, hacking it to pieces with their artificial appendages.

A vampire dropped onto a dolphin from behind, changing from bat to humanoid form as she went. Her sharp fangs bit into its jugular. The dolphin thrashed and went down. Reddish human-like blood trickled from the wound.

The vampire spat out reddish saliva and winced in disgust. Too much salt.

I like fish, called out the yeti as he slammed into several of the dolphins like a furry linebacker. He mowed down several opponents, grabbed the nearest dolphin and bit into its flank. The dolphin squealed in pain. The yeti mumbled through a mouth full of flesh, Mmm, sashimi.

I fired off a few shots, aiming for the heads and taking down several of the abominations. Next to me, Karl aimed and fired the largest pistol I’ve seen outside of action films. Each shot ripped a dolphin a new blowhole and tossed the carcass back several steps.

The snake-headed monster casually strolled toward the dolphin vanguard, hissing a sort of reptile melody to herself. The hiss grew louder, clearly audible above the thunderous rain and sounds of combat, until a number of the dolphins focused their attention on her forked tongue. The ones facing her froze, their attention rapt. I couldn’t see what they saw, but made a mental note never to look directly into her eyes.

The battle was a passable simile of life as it was nasty, brutish, and short. In the end, we’d lost one of the were-jackals, a human had suffered a broken leg, and one of the vampires had gotten a few teeth knocked out with a well-aimed metal hook. The rest of us had gotten off with minor cuts and bruises. The promenade was littered with enough filleted dolphin to send any PETA member into a fit of seething rage. Only a handful of Flipper’s psycho brethren remained standing, still mesmerized by the snake monster’s magic.

The last of the boat had disappeared under the waves.

What now? asked Scarface. Can we find another boat before any more chickens of the sea show up?

I have a better idea. Karl turned to the snake monster. Lucy, can you ask them where the Sampo is?

Sssssertainly, said Lucy. She addressed the dolphins in a sequence of whistles, trills, and clicks heavily accented with hissing noises. Several of the mesmerized invaders responded in kind.

She speaks dolphin? asked one of the vampires, impressed.

I ssspeak many tonguesssss, said Lucy. She turned to Karl. They wouldn’t sssay. They sssuggesssted mating techniquesss for you that are anatomically impossssible.

Wow. And to think I used to like dolphins when I was a kid, said Karl.

All dolphinsss are dicksssss, said Lucy.

Can’t you just force them to tell you what we want to know? I asked.

My ability allowsss me to control their bodiesss, but not their mindsssss, said Lucy.

Can you turn one? Karl asked the vampires. And if you do, will they tell us what we need to know?

The bloodsuckers seemed aghast at the suggestion. Preposterous. To even suggest such a thing—

Hang on, I said. Lucy, can you force them to perform any physical task? Do the hokey-pokey, dab with their murder-flippers, whatever you say?

Anythhhing that’sssss reasssonably within their physssical ability, said Lucy.

Then order those reluctant steeds to take us to the Sampo. Giddy up!

* * *

We rode murder dolphins toward the Atlantic.

The vampires and several others flat-out refused to travel via Flipper Express, which was just as well since our makeshift army outnumbered the mesmerized cetaceans. So it was just Karl, myself, Scarface, Lucy, and the two remaining were-jackals dead-set on avenging their fallen pack mate.

They say dolphins are prone to helping drowning sailors swim to shore. If any of those stories are true, they’re told by sailors who were lucky enough to be guided in the right direction. Any sailors whom the dolphins happened to have nudged toward elsewhere aren’t around to complain. In any case, those rescue dolphins probably didn’t