The Culling

We heard something. Finally, after seven months, the last survivors seeking shelter in an abandoned steel mill heard what sounded like a distant blare of a trumpet. Prior to this sound, acute deafness, blindness, and numbness spread across humanity like a plague, affecting people in different ways. All suffered from deafness, what doctors at the time called sudden sensorineural hearing loss, or SSHS. Now we call it The Culling. Some had two senses effected, and the most cursed had all three. The gifted ones were those who were already deaf and didn't suffer any other symptoms of the plague. Myrna, a twenty something female is one of the lucky ones. She stood near the southern wall of the mill where some tattered HVAC tubes and a rusted furnace offered a good source of heat. Of course, the mill has been long shut down, a victim of industrial outsourcing. But it's barebones haven't been overlooked, much like native hunters use every piece of a fallen buffalo for arrows. The furnace, what the denizens of this place call the Broiler, is our only defense from the relentless cold. When the town was booming, this furnace would melt twenty tons of iron into pipes per a week. Now it heats whatever materials the scouts bring back for fuel. Typically, downed trees, but lately we've been demolishing vacant homes for our energy source. In a way, those structures are still being used for our shelter although it's not exactly what they were built for. At least they're not going to waste.

We rigged the duct work so the heat can travel to areas in the middle of the mill, away from the steel walled perimeter. The steel sucks up as much heat as it can, one of the older scholars, Russ, calls it thermodynamics. We can't afford to lose any heat, hence why we rigged the ventilation system. Most of the heat flows toward the center of the mill, where we've built makeshift habitats. It's like an apartment within an apartment. Most are built with the construction materials from the vacant homes. Home really is what you make it.

Myrna looks around puzzled. Her eyes are always intense and analyzing and she never lets her guard down. She is lithesome yet moves with a coordinated purpose. She taught me how to sign, and for that I owe her my life- several times over. She's become one of the leaders of our group, although it's not a title she wanted. Prior to the Culling, she was Regional Vice President of Operations for a local medical device company specializing in products for deaf children. The best leaders seem to be the ones who don't want the responsibility. Despite her prior experience of leading a company, in the beginning of The Culling she stuck to herself. Despite her preference for being a loner, she handles her leadership role well. Nearly all the inhabitants trust her. I was an early supporter.

It's apparent that she couldn't hear the roar of the trumpet. I see a look of disappointment as she realized the cause for the commotion. Whatever gave us the short break from deafness didn't grace her.

Before I can sign anything, she asked me a question.

"Did you hear that?"

I answer sheepishly. "Yea, I did. It sounded like a horn. Loud. From above, but I can't be sure."

Inside the mill, prior to the soundless planet, noises would echo off the walls, bouncing and scattering in every direction. I couldn't make out if the sound came from the sky or deep within the earth.

"Let's get everyone together. We need to figure out if this is isolated, and if it's not, what do we do next? What if it's the government coming to help? What if it's another phenomenon we can't explain?"

She was moving swiftly as she was signing, forcing me add a skip to my step to keep up. I let her know I'll start getting everyone together.

In the very middle of the mill, there's a 20x20 space where the broiler pumps the heat to. Stripped drywall from our steady supply of construction materials frames the perimeter, and trusses disappear into a fluffy variety of different colored insulation. On the outside of the walls there's more multicolored insulation. Whatever we can get our hands on from the scavenging missions. Rooms branch off with different colored walls. Colors remained from whatever the room was painted prior to us removing it from the house. I tried to keep track of each wall, and the house it originated from. I would tell myself stories about what those walls had seen and who the people were that called those walls home. Sometimes I'd joke about their interior design sense. But as the Culling persisted, I lost any passion for the game. The walls of my own room came from my childhood home.

As we gather in the central conference area, the room becomes unbearably hot. I remind myself it's a discomfort I should be thankful for. The energy in the room is a mixture of edginess and excitement. We finally heard something, even though it only lasted seven seconds.

There are exactly forty-three of us crammed into the room. I sign at Eddie, the old fire marshal of the town.

"You think you could let this slide? Everyone knows where the exits are. I promise no one will yell bomb."

"I live by the fire marshal code, it ain't a party until someone gets fined for being over occupancy. I'll be sure to send you the bill." He replied, grinning before busting out into a silent chuckle.

Myrna and I are in the front of the crowd. David, Myrna's uncontested second in command, weaves his way to the front.

"How many heard something?" Myrna asks the fully attentive audience.

I begin counting hands, telling each hand to go down after I tally them. There were forty hands including myself and David's. There is only one other person other than Myrna who was deaf prior to The Culling, an artist named Andrew. The other person who remained deaf is Vince, a retired army medic whose most recent job was finishing three beers before noon at the local VFW. He's in his mid-seventies but looks younger than his age. His hearing was dwindling before our planet finally decided it needed peace and quiet. Vince looks more intrigued than disappointed that he didn't hear the noise.

"Does anyone know what the sound was, or where it came from?" Myrna asks.

The answers ranged from trumpet to buzz, and some said it sounded like a loud gust of wind or a train horn.

As a kid, I would always hear clanking sounds coming from the mill, sounding like a distant alien or the noise Galvatron would make before he transitioned from vehicle to machine. Now inside the mill, I wondered what those employees heard leaking from outside. Did they hear cars cruise by on the highway, or planes whiz by overhead? Or did they only hear the metallic sounds like that of my favorite childhood show?

At the end of the meeting, the decision was made to wait until morning to send a small scout team. There would be a stronger presence on the perimeter watch, sixteen instead of the usual ten. And instead of sleeping in our separate rooms, we would stay with at least four to a group. We also decided to go dark and covered the broiler to limit the use of fuel in case we became stranded inside the mill for an extended period. At some point, as I was huddled next to Myrna and David, I longed for that frenzied group heat from our conference room meeting.

Before the cold morning light could shine on the mill, the entire structure began to vibrate. The excitement from hearing the sound evaporated, and fear filled the void.

"We need to get everyone together. Quickly!" Myrna signed as she exited the room, heading towards the conference area.

"I'll go through the rooms. Joseph, head to the perimeter posts and see if everyone is alright. Start on the south wall, have one group go along the eastern side, and another go west. Both meet at the north. Then bring everyone to the middle." David gave the order. I hurried out of the room and into the bitter cold of the mill. I ran as fast as I could, my breath coming out like puffs of smoke, mimicking a chimney on a rolling locomotive.

Fortunately, there were no major injuries from the quake. Our resident scholar, Russ- a confident tenured physics professor, suffered a severe ankle sprain from a fall he sustained during the anomaly. Everyone else had some bumps and bruises. Mostly shock from what just occurred.

Within five minutes the conference room was filled.

"I think it's safe to say that whatever created the sound yesterday, was likely responsible for this tremor." Myrna signed confidently. "We need to get out there and see what's going on. I'm thinking a group of six. We'll make it a scavenging trip as well, so we'll bring two wagons."

"Who else wants to go with Myrna, Joseph, and I." David spoke, he already knew I was on board. I looked at Myrna with noticeable worry. I don't want her going out there, and she knows it. For scout trips she usually stays behind- she's more useful in the mill. But we all know this trip is unlike anything we've faced during the last seven months. She looks anxious, not because of what awaits, but because her patience is waning, and she wants to get out there.

Russ raises his hand and steps forward.

"But your ankle." I point at it. "We May have to move swiftly."

"Not a problem. I'll have Doc Howard shoot it up and bandage it. I'll make due." I look at him with an expression that asks if he's sure. Of course he is, and I'm thankful. We don't know what we're dealing with out there, and his expertise may be beneficial. It wouldn't be the first time we would need his brain, and I hoped it won't be the last.

Vince is next, as usual. For being in his seventies, his gray hair and wrinkles camouflage his athleticism and healthy physique. Plus, on his bad day he's a sharpshooter, and on his best day he could shoot a flea off a dog's tail. He's become a stoic and fatherly figure for the camp. It's hard not to feel secure knowing he has your back.

The last person is Doc Howard. Before the Culling, he was a dentist in the Air Force. When the Culling began, he was on leave, fresh off a deployment in the Middle East. Fortunately for us, he was trained in trauma triage, and participated in facial surgeries during his tour. Mostly broken jaws, but occasionally there was a major trauma where he worked with a team of physicians. He tells us he'll be right back, and moments later he comes with a kit for Russ, and a few extra supplies.

We put the supplies on one of the wagons. They have large wheels. The type you would take to the beach on a family vacation. Now instead of a cooler of brews, we're lugging around a cooler of medicine and bandages. There are still folks on the outside of the mill who didn't want to stay in our habitat. They mean no harm, and we don't encroach the areas they reside, but this time there may be injuries from the quake. Initially The Culling separated us, but those who survived found a greater sense of community than ever before. Most of the outsiders never learned to sign, driving them deeper into being recluses. Seclusion was what they were accustomed to prior to The Culling, and so it remained.

I wasn't sure what to expect when we ventured outside. A part of me was bracing for a reality that involved a meteor-struck earth with a dust cloud smothering the sun, suffocating us, and finally doing us in. But there was no evidence of what caused the tremor.

We venture seven blocks, where we make a startling discovery. One of the loners, Jughead Young, is lying face down in the cobble stone ally behind his home. We rush to him, Doc Howard running along the wagon grabbing for medical supplies.

There's no debris around Jughead, and no sign of anything that could have collapsed and knocked him unconscious. We roll Jughead on his back, and fear flows through us like electricity. It was the same level of fear that happened when I awoke to a world of no sound.

Jughead was barely breathing, his chest shallowly rising. He's bundled up so his face is the only visible part of his body. The skin around his eyes has flaked off, exposing raw flesh, and clear fluid oozes down his cheek bones. The conjunctiva around his eyes are so red it looks as if they are made of congealed blood. The skin on his cheeks and chin have yellowish boils with red splotches peppered around them. His lips are falling off. Blood runs out of his mouth and onto his tattered scarf.

Doc Howard is fast to work performing an assessment. His gloved hand gently feels for a pulse on his neck. When he moves his fingers away, a piece of flesh sloughs off from where his pointer and middle finger pressed.

I take a step away and double over. Amid what's happening the only thing I can think is how glad I am we skipped breakfast. I feel a hand on my shoulder and another on the back of my neck. Both hands belong Mryna. I've never seen her so worried. I want to cry, but I stifle it.

"What the hell happened to him?" I ask, hands trembling as I sign.

"I don't...we're going to find out." She replies, looking in my eyes with ferocious determination.

Vince has the butt of his rifle smashed against his shoulder, looking tensely around the alleyway, up and down the buildings. Doc Howard is signing to Jughead, hoping to get any response.

"What did this to you? When did it happen?" Doc asks calmly.

Jughead struggles to lift a hand, his breath becoming shallower. He's slipping away, and we can't do anything to help.

"The... sound" is all he was able to manage before succumbing to his wounds.

"Doc, this looks like burns. I don't know the sign for it. Energy." Russ says, looking at Myrna for help. He continues trying to sign before turning it into a game of charades.

"Radiation?" Myrna asks, looking startled.

All Russ does is shake his head. Vince lowers his guard. David, who hasn't said much during this trip, tells us all to back away from Jughead. He looks at Russ, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I'm not entirely sure. This looks like radiation poisoning. We can't touch him that's for sure. We need to get back to the mill for the monitors. If there's radiation in the air, then we're not safe. We have pills for this. I don't know the sign for it, but it starts with an 'I'."

Russ is talking about iodine tablets.

We get back to the mill and start passing out little brown pills to each person. Some ask what it's for, others take them with no hesitation. None of us tell them why. We just assure them everything is alright and that we'll return soon with more information.

When we get back with the Geiger counter, nothing registers. We question if it's defective, but we have two with us. Neither are responding to radiation. No radiation on Jughead either.

We all look at Russ, who looks defeated.

"Russ, what else could this be?" Myrna asks, her face showing reassurance and empathy for him being wrong.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. Maybe it's a virus or some sort of chemical. I don't smell anything. Maybe the quake was caused by some sort of explosive with a rapid evaporating chemical."

"If it's a weapon, then we're all still vulnerable. Should we look for others or go back to the mill?" Vince asks, scanning us before settling his eyes on Myrna.

"We're already out here, exposed. If something or someone did this, then we are already endangered. I say we keep searching." She trails off as she looks ahead in the distance, her usually olive complexion goes splotchy white as she notices something, we must have overlooked it in the chaos of finding Jughead.

At the edge of the alley, the buildings stop, and we have a good viewpoint of the river, and the hillside across the river. About a mile away on a small island at the center of the river we discover what may be the source for Jughead's painful death. It may even be a clue for what started The Culling.

We decide to climb up the abandoned building at the end of the alley to give us a better vantage point. None of us our brave enough to travel directly to what we think we saw. Best to get an idea of what this is from a distance.

Myrna looks through the binoculars first. Then passes them to Russ. He lowers them from his face, his expression full of terror, but his eyes remain analytical, as if he's saw a complex problem for the first time. He passes the binoculars to David. Same expression as the others. This must be something huge. Maybe the answer for what has caused our silent world. He passes them to me.

Before looking for myself, I look at the others for any type of clue as to what I'm about to see. They give me nothing. I eventually learn why.

When I look, I don't notice it right away. First, I see the other side of the valley. The abandoned highway, a few desolate buildings. And then, I have absolutely no idea what I'm looking at. In the high-powered binoculars, it's large, but if were standing next to it, it would probably be the size of a mattress. My hands shake as I try to keep focus on the object. It's inside the old US Steel compound.

The building was a major mystery to locals, and still is to this day. Its perimeter is barb wired with two 15-foot fences. The only way in is via boat. When it was operating, the island utilized armed guards. They looked like soldiers wearing tactile gear. We believed it to be completely abandoned.

The side of the building is blown open. Debris is strewn about, leaving the object in plain sight. It's inside what looks like the lower level. The object has two parts and looks to be made of an extremely fast-moving liquid. The outer edges swirl clockwise, at speeds which appear to be light speed. The fluid is going so fast that at times it looks like a helicopter blade spinning on video. It's as if our eyes can't process the speed at which it's moving, much like a camera can only process a spinning rotor in framed shots. The outer fluids change colors from blue to purple, then back to blue. The inner part goes from orange to yellow, swirling counterclockwise. Sometimes the inner and outer rings look to be going in the same direction, splashing and sloshing, sometimes blending the colors which results in the entire object swelling. In the very middle, there's a perfectly round circle of pitch black. Blacker than anything I've ever seen. The fluids around it may splash and blend, but the black circle remains perfectly intact.

I almost drop the binoculars, before setting them on the ledge of the brick balcony.

"What the hell are we looking at?"

"I don't want to say it, but we may all be thinking it." Russ responds, unsure and uneasy.

"Russ, does that look like a black hole to you?" Myrna asks what we're all afraid of.

"I hate to say it, but that's feasible. But if it's a black hole, why are we still here. Why are we not..." Russ moves his hands to make a motion that anyone could understand to be for annihilated, though it wasn't the correct sign.

"Yea, instead we're all deaf." I chime in.

"Should we get a closer look?" Vince asks, but is immediately shut down. None of us want to go anywhere near it.

"Do we think that's what caused Jughead's burns?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"It's possible this thing could have caused radiation. The type named after the scientist." Russ adds.

"Einstein?" Vince asks.

"No, he's talking about Stephen Hawking. Hawking radiation." David chimes in.

"That's correct. If that's the case, it's only barely been observed on earth, and it was fleeting. A decade ago, they had a..." Russ trails off, he just figured out a breakthrough, and his face shows it. "It's a sonic blackhole. A dumb hole. I read an article on it back in 2009. They were trying to replicate a blackhole on earth. But where a blackhole pulls in everything and anything, a sonic blackhole only traps sound."

"If that's the case, how would this one location cause the entire planet to lose its hearing. And some lost their sight and feeling?" Myrna asks.

"I can't speak about the sight and feeling, unless the people who had those symptoms lived near this dumb hole, if that's indeed what it is. Maybe the radiation caused those side effects. Could be there are more than one of these around the entire planet. I heard rumors about this steel mill. Weird sounds, like a low pitch hum that would rattle through your body. And I've heard of other areas across the world where towns reported similar phenomenon. But the government never pursued anything."

"If this is from the government, and it's across the world, what can we do about it?" David asks. I can sense skepticism in him.

"That's with any conspiracy. We need to investigate this. But we don't know how unstable it is. When we heard that awful sound, it could have been all the sound vibrations it collected releasing at once, like some form of an accretion disk found around blackholes. And if that's the case, that was Hawking Radiation that got Jughead. All we know about that form of radiation is it dissipates almost instantaneously. We need to take every precaution possible." Russ was in his purest form, almost lecturing us. "They may have been on the verge of cracking the code to the entire universe. This is huge. Why did they neglect their work? Where is everyone? There may be dozens of these across the world." Russ's lecture was beginning to sound like a rant.

"Russ, this isn't safe. We need to go back to the mill." Myrna interrupted, reeling Russ back in.

"I agree, and we need to find some smocks in case this radiation stuff is the real deal." Vince said, turning back to the stairs.

After collecting our protective gear, including- ironically- hearing protection, our crew set out to find an answer to our silent problem. I hated that we gathered our supplies in such secrecy.

When we get out of viewing range of the mill, we dawn our gear. Being in the desolate town wearing our radiation smocks was reminiscent of Chernobyl. Plants had already begun growing on roads and up buildings. Photons are all plants need. They communicate with the sun. We are not so lucky.

Before we could get to the alleyway where we found Jughead, a brilliant light began to emit from the location of the blackhole. There must have been a dozen beams, resembling searchlights on the Broadway Strip doing preshow advertising prior to a major event. They turned in different directions, spinning and flashing like a hijacked lighthouse, illuminating the now dusky sky. We stopped in our tracks, quickly putting on sound deadening earphones just in case there was another sonic event.

The lights grew in intensity. So bright we had to look away. We tried to run, but before we could we were swept away. A deep vibration went through our bodies, rattling and tickling our inner core. I fell forward, but before I landed on the ground my body was swept up, as if I were floating on a wave in the middle of the Atlantic. I was able to turn my head just enough to see my companions also suspended in midair, surfing up and down, slowly flowing forward. We hit the ground hard, sliding several feet. Thankfully our smocks are thick enough to prevent any road rash, but I worry I may have compromised my suit. Simultaneous to us hitting the ground, we heard a roar. When all wavelengths of visible light blend together, it forms what we see as white light. When all the sounds located in whatever sized radius this blackhole is responsible for, it is inexplicable. It's like seeing a familiar stranger. During this sound wave, I even feel nostalgia from what I heard. It's as if a vault of memories exploded, and our ears were the recipients. I heard voices in pain and sorrow, cries and laughter, applause and jeering. Some sounds from my childhood, like the steel mill grinding and shaping the infrastructure of today. Every genre of music. The sounds fly by like a freight train, moving on, never to be heard again. It's a beautiful cacophony, it's chaos but order all at once. This sound singularity burst, and we were the first to be covered in its residue.

I look at Vince, who's sitting up with his legs spread in front of him, looking around as if he'll see the source of the sound. But there's nothing, they're only ghosts.

I see Myrna, and she looks full of life. Did she hear this too?

David is on his stomach, and he's not looking well. I crawl towards him but was forced to bury my face In the ground as if I were dodging a train flying by overhead. I scream to him, I think he heard me, but my voice was carried away with the rest of noise. I can see blood running down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw. His ears are bleeding. Doc Howard was crawling toward him as well. I look for Russ and initially I don't see him. I finally spot him; he's laying against one of the buildings. I army crawl to him. He's breathing, but he's unconscious. I pray he was able to hear some of the sonic-miracle before he was knocked unconscious.

When we reach the mill, for the first time in months I hear buzzing coming from inside. For the first time in seven months we heard something, and it stayed that way.

In the immediate aftermath, there were dozens of ear drum injuries in the mill. Russ would eventually wake up, he didn't witness the cacophony, but he regained about forty percent of his hearing. Most got some of their hearing back. Myrna did not. She says hearing the sound from the sonic explosion was something she will remember for the rest of her life. In the years to come, as infrastructure rebounded, she would be one of the first recipients of a bioengineered hearing device. Some of the technology was made possible from the science behind the sonic blackhole, and Russ was a major contributor to that project. As for the blackholes, whatever remnants of our governments claimed to have degraded them. Most of the surviving world's population are now competent in sign language. Although The Culling was a great divider, those who lived through it became more involved in the community, and a lot less prejudiced. The world is less populated, and we all lost people and things that were dear to us, but we collectively became stronger than ever before.