"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 1

This is the first of four installments of a short story written under one of my pen names.

"Numbers Game," by Duncan Cary Palmer, is my original work,

and was first published in a Science Fiction anthology of the Houston Writer's Guild, "Tides of Possibility," available from Amazon.

I sincerely hope you'll enjoy the story!

Take A Number; It's a Statistical World...
Photo courtesy of Paul Bergmeir and http://unsplash.com

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“Da-da-daa-da-daa-da dum. dum. dum...”

Strains of classical cello pour from my phone, threatening to stir me up from the depths of turbid dreams.

Much as I love Bach's Suite No. 1, Courante,

I am not remotely ready to hop out of bed on this particular Saturday morning. How could I have forgotten to turn off that blasted alarm?

I was up way too late last night, desperate to actually finish my marathon work-week. Damn those artificial deadlines. If I had a dollar for every time Sales makes a promise that we Engineering minions have to keep, I'd be retired by now. I'm powerful weary of this. Does Engineering ever set deadlines for Sales to meet? No, it's always the other way around.

Well, I fooled 'em this time. Delivered on their doggone promise before the weekend, so, damn straight I'm going to sleep in today...

Ah, shoot, I'm awake now.

I pick up the phone and call Susie. She's been a little miffed that I haven't taken her out this week, but Hey, work comes first, assuming I want to keep this job. I'll make it up to her – take her to brunch, then maybe a movie or a walk in the park. Buy her something nice from the jewelry store downtown. No, on second thought, I'll be lucky if I can afford Kohls.

Hmmm, the line's busy, but not your “normal” busy. I hang up and re-dial. This time I get a recording. “We're sorry, but all circuits are busy now – please try your call again later.” Another try, same nonsense. I guess I'll simply head over there. She'll be happy enough to see me after the way this week's gone so far.

I pop into the shower only to discover the water's lukewarm – and that's being generous. Most would say “cold.” Everybody must have slept in today. Well, with the raise I expect after my marathon week at work, maybe I'll move to that high-rise apartment where each unit has it's own water heater.

Drying up after my cold shower, I poke my iPhone.

“Siri, what's the weather look like today?”

“I'm sorry, Jon, but the weather servers are all giving me 504 errors. Something is either down, or a lot of people want to know if it's going to rain.”

I dress rapidly, comb my hair, and pause for a quick mirror check near the door. Not too bad for a lick and a promise; a reasonably decent looking, angular, vaguely continental, tan-complexioned twenty-something face peers intently back at me. I grab an umbrella as a precaution. Texas weather is not all that different from Mark Twain's description of New England: if you don't like the weather, wait a minute. However, this time of year, the options are hot and hotter, with the occasional chance of monsoon.

I grab an umbrella...
Photo courtesy of Yoosun Won and http://unsplash.com

Compulsively thrusting a hand into my pocket, I reassure myself that I've remembered to pick up my keys. I push the handle down with an elbow, and open my apartment door to step into the hallway.

Only to be rather startled. Looking up and down the hallway, every door to every apartment in both directions is opening; every one of my neighbors is stepping into the hallway simultaneously. Most are too preoccupied to notice immediately, but I detect signs of surprise on the faces of a few observant others like myself. I turn and lock my door behind me, and as some ten of us head for the stairway, I mutter “Good morning” to a couple of my nearest neighbors.

We reach the single flight of stairs

– my building has two floors with some 20 apartments on each – and practically collide with another stream of residents from the other side of the building, also flowing downward. Among them is Paul Banff, a friend I occasionally play cards with.

“Hey Paul, what do you suppose the odds are of this many of us leaving at once?” I ask jocularly.

Paul looks at me, then looks around. “It is pretty odd. I wouldn't want to bet a poker hand on it.”

Things get even more bizarre as we arrive in the lobby. It seems that the whole population of the building is already working their way through the door to the parking lot, like so many grains of sand through the neck of an hourglass. What the heck? The whole building? It would be bad enough if there were only singles like Paul and I living here, but many of the apartments house couples and families.

Like toothpaste, I manage to squeeze out

through the doorway with all the others, but by this time my scientific instincts and my curiosity are kicking in. Nearing my car, I pull the phone out of my pocket and speed dial Susie again. I'm slipping into the seat, and as I glance around me, I see every other driver holding a phone to his ear. At this point, it's no wonder when I get another “circuits busy” indicator.

Pulling out of the parking lot is more of a chore than usual, everyone trying to leave at once. Thank God that stairways, two floors, and a single entry door have spread out the exodus by at least a minute or two. Even so, after the weirdness of the past half hour, I am less surprised to note that each car leaving the lot is turning right, traveling north along San Pedro, further slowing my exit.

I decide not to bother trying the phone again; Susie's place is only a couple of miles away, in a slightly nicer part of town. As I drive north on San Pedro, I see not a single soul in the southbound lane; but in the northbound lane, I feel as though I'm part of a convoy, dozens of neighbors in front of and behind me. There is absolutely no southbound traffic for the five minutes it takes to reach my turn.

Signaling for the upcoming left-hand turn onto Marshall, I am incredibly relieved to observe that no one else seems to be turning left. Maybe this startling chain of coincidences has finally been broken? I make the turn without having to wait, but noticing movement southbound on San Pedro where there was nothing before, I pull over for a minute to see what's going on.

The rest of the caravan northbound from my apartment finally ends, nothing more in sight behind them. It's soon clear that the car I saw is only the first in a southbound convoy. Shaking my head, I resume my trip to Susie's, and I start to rehearse exactly what I'm going to say when I see her.

“Suze, you won't believe what's been happening this morning....”

To Be Continued....

Links to all installments of the story:
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 1
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 2
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 3
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 4

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