Where were you when the world ended? As for Morgan, he was working night shift on a Thursday. He was wearing scuffed black sneakers, beige khakis, and a blue polo shirt. He also had a wide black belt holding a small radio and a keyring.

  ::SYSTEM INTEGRATION COMMENCED. BASELINE SCAN IN PROGRESS.::

  He sat eerily unmoving at the security control desk, one bite missing from his sandwich. His unfocused brown eyes looked down at a small spot of mayo on his shirt beside the embroidered black logo of an owl on the right breast pocket above the words Night Owl Security. His young, tanned face scrunched in concentration, he held his shirt with one hand, a napkin in his other hand, and he sat frozen in the act of cleaning the mayo from his shirt.

  ::BASELINE SCAN COMPLETED. BENCHMARK COMPARISON INITIALIZED…DELTA DETECTED. COMMENCING PLANETARY ROLLBACK::

  The six large monitors showing the CCTV system showed the same scene in each room. Every employee stood or sprawled unmoving on the ground, locked in the pose they were in when the clock struck 2:45 am. The main screen changed to the loading dock, where a forklift had slammed into the side of a delivery truck, the operator still standing upright with his hand on the throttle, causing the small wheels to spin ineffectually. Morgan sat there, like the rest of the world, unaware that the time was passing.

  ::ROLLBACK COMPLETE. SYSTEM INTEGRATION COMPLETE. TOTAL ELAPSED TIME 5 MINUTES 38 SECONDS::

  At 2:51, the entire world shuddered and rippled. Morgan blinked his now-burning and blurry eyes, not quite seeing the scenes in front of him on the flickering monitors before the entire room went black. Morgan looked around, shocked by the absolute darkness of the room. Feeling at his waist for the radio, he frantically squeezed the rugged plastic in his hand as he called into the radio for the supervisor, panic edging his voice.

  “Frank, it’s Morgan.”

  The expected squelch and beep of the radio was missing. He tried again with the same result: nothing. Morgan rapidly blinked his eyes; they had stopped burning, but still felt like there was grit in the corners of his eyes. He sat for a full minute, blinking his eyes and thinking. The control room should not be dark; there were no normal sounds of humming server fans or the TV from the attached break area. Even the exit sign was conspicuously dark.

  “What happened to the backup generator?” He mused as he slowly stood up, hooking his radio back into his belt with a practiced motion. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cellphone. It appeared to be dead as well, so he placed it back into his pocket. Reaching down to his left side and touching the metal hoop that should have held his heavy mag-lite, he slowly shook his head, remembering he had left it on his passenger seat. It was impossible to drive with it. Without thinking, he reached out to grab his car keys from the desk, sticking his right hand wrist-deep into his sandwich.

  Cursing again, he licked the mayo off his fingers as he grabbed his key chain from under the waxed paper. As he slid the small loop with the key fob into his pocket, he heard footsteps and saw a flicker of light under the door. Frank, looking like a hairy prehistoric caveman presenting his precious first discovery of fire, walked into the room with a cheap lighter held over his head.

  Frank was an old, grizzled-looking man. Short, around five and a half feet tall, but also an imposing four feet wide, with short salt and pepper hair that flowed into a thick, neatly trimmed beard that was more salt than pepper. He was a senior category semi-professional physique bodybuilder. He wore the same uniform as Morgan, but his work shirt was stretched to almost ripping around biceps the size of Morgan’s thighs. Seeing Morgan, he smiled, highlighting the wrinkles in his face, as he let out a sigh of relief.

  “Good to see you are alright, lad,” his loud, gravelly voice resounded in the silence of the room.

  In an instant, the smile was gone, and the determined and grizzled Frank was back.

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  “I forgot my flashlight in my...” Morgan started.

  “Don’t bother, haven’t found anything that works, prolly some sorta EMP attack those conspiracy guys on the internet have been talking about.” He pointed to the closet in the back corner, “Grab the aid pack and follow me. One of the boys down in the dock got banged up proper.”

  In the flickering light, Morgan made his way to the closet and pulled out the bright red duffel with AID and a cross stenciled in white on both sides. This bag was stuffed full of emergency supplies. Struggling, he shouldered the heavy bag and awkwardly followed Frank into the hallway.

  The wide hallway ran down the middle of the facility, connecting the offices and labs on the south side with the shipping and manufacturing on the North. The security station was on the second floor above the hallway with a small stairway down. Morgan struggled as he made his way slowly and haltingly down the metal stairs to the main floor, breathing heavily with exertion.

  A short walk later, they entered a door on the north side. The forklift operator sat legs out in front of him, leaning against a pillar beside another man, holding a balled-up t-shirt or rag against his own head. The man on the ground was the reason for the first aid bag. He had been hit by a falling pallet, filled with a thousand pounds of non-narcotic pain relievers or herbal supplements. The pallet had hit him just below his knee, and his leg between the knee and ankle was bent at an angle it definitely should not be.

  Coming to a halt near the man, Frank motioned for Morgan to place the bag on the ground. Morgan did so noisily, panting, lungs burning, and sweat beading on his face. With a cool, calm efficiency, Frank opened and reached into the bag, all the while talking low and calm to the man on the floor, John or James or something, Morgan couldn't remember.

  He had been working here for almost two years since graduating high school, but he was good with recognizing faces and knowing if he had seen that person before; names, he was atrocious with.

  A man came out of the loading dock bathroom with a candle. It was a scented one, wide and not designed to provide light, but it shone like a beacon in the eerie darkness. Thanking the man, Frank set down the lighter he had been holding over his head.

  He pulled out the collapsible splint and added it to the small pile of things he had already removed. Quickly, he explained to John/James that the bone hadn't punctured the skin, but his leg was broken. He wasn't going to set it, just immobilize the limb until they can get him to the hospital, and it was going to hurt.

  Frank was ex-military, he had said he “served a few places as a Navy corpsman, doing medic things for Marines doing heavy work,” his words. Morgan didn't know what that meant, but Frank had been working with Morgan and the other three night shift guards, who were conveniently out sick tonight, to get their Red Cross EMT certifications.

  Morgan didn't want to be an EMT; he liked helping other people, but wasn't big on the whole blood, suffering, and dealing with other people’s trauma thing. Mostly the blood. But the certification came with a rather substantial raise, and Frank was a great teacher. As he stood thinking to himself, he realized Frank had said something to him.

  “What’s next?… Morgan..Focus. What’s Next?”

  Oh, of course, Frank was turning this into a lesson; he always tried to do that. It made the shifts go by faster, but most of the time, Morgan got lost. With a quick look, Morgan assessed the man’s condition. The leg was wrapped with gauze and taped securely to the splint. The man looked pale and was sweating.

  “Uh,” Come on, Morgan, think, he thought to himself,” Check for pulse below the wrapping. Then elevate the legs to return some blood to his torso. He looks pale.” Nailed it, Morgan thought.

  “Then?..”

  “Crap…What’s next?” Thinking Morgan looked over the man once again. Name tape said George, I was close, then he just sat there for a good five seconds. Shaking his head, he gestured his defeat to Frank.

  With his normal booming voice now barely above a whisper, he said, “You got the pulse and the position, those are the most important, but we also want to cover him with a blanket or something light that won’t restrict blood flow. He is fighting the shock, but it is gonna pull all the blood to his torso, and his arms and legs will get cold. Good Job!” He said the last words with a smile. Morgan couldn’t help but smile. Damn if Frank didn't make sitting in the strange darkness over a couple of wounded men feel like a normal night on the job.

  “Let’s go see if any of our cars work. We gotta get this man to the hospital,” Frank said, putting the unused supplies back in the bag where they went. Frank grabbed the bag with one hand and then just walked down the loading dock like it weighed nothing. Morgan followed behind, shoulders shrugged, just amazed.

  “Frank is an animal,” he thought to himself.

  None of the cars started, Morgan’s flashlight didn't work, and none of the lights in town below in the valley were on. There were a few fires that could be seen, but they didn't seem to be that large.

  As the men on night shift stood in the parking lot, two lying on the ramp to the loading bay next to them, the strangest thing happened.