<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/b/b5/Cal_Snyder_Avatar.jpg)</div><strong>CAL SNYDER<br/><em>Griffin Memorial Library<br/>Rockford City College</em></strong><br/><br/>After more than a few near-accidents like the one in Boyd Hall earlier, RCC's Assistant Dean, Nicole Ashworth, had devised a novel solution to the problem of crowd control on the campus:  stick them in the library.<br/><br/>Gazing down from his staircase perch at all the stranded students sitting on the carpeted floors, Cal marveled at the uncanny effectiveness of her idea.  On one hand, the big-screen TVs drew people into the building, satisfying their need for up-to-the-minute news about the freakish developments around town; on the other hand, the choice of venue fostered calmness and kept the irrepressible chatter at a tolerable volume level.<br/><br/>At least, until the mayor's less-than-comforting update.  His slightly-disarrayed hair and the circles under his eyes belied the pacifying tone he sought to convey, and the content of his statement proved even less encouraging than his grave appearance.  As soon as Haley Alls's flustered visage returned to the screens, clusters of students throughout the central library atrium got to their feet, and a fresh wave of conversation threatened to drown out the sound of the broadcast.<br/><br/>Cal wasn't prone to rash decision-making, but the news of an emergency shelter being established nearby immediately determined his course of action.  Throughout the hour he'd spent in the library, the prickles down his back that he'd felt all morning gave way to an aching feeling of rigidity from the middle of his back up through his entire neck and shoulders.  He had long assumed that he had inherited a bit of his grandmother's occasional hypochondria, but that belief failed to lessen his nervous symptoms at a time like this.  The real tightening in his back had started after Cynthia Cartwright had fixed his cell phone and he had tried to reach his grandparents.<br/><br/>Shortly after he'd arrived on campus that morning, he had realized from the ubiquitous phone usage around him that the intra-city network was still functioning, contrary to his previous assumption.  It turned out that his cell was suffering from some kind of SIM-card malfunction -- at least that was Cynthia's diagnosis, based on her two summers of part-time work in the cell phones-and-accessories department at Best Buy.  (Cal's own technological facility did not extend to cell phones due to his disdain for the devices, which he considered an omnipresent source of annoyance more than anything else.)  Cynthia managed to return his phone to working condition in a couple minutes, although he lost all his stored numbers and text messages.  Once again, however, the damn thing just brought him more aggravation instead of a sense of relief.<br/><br/>He had reached his Aunt Ginny once that morning using a borrowed phone, and she had assured him that their street was still quiet, except for a few seemingly-drunk vagrants staggering through.  He'd tried her again immediately once his own cell was working again but kept ending up with her voicemail, and she hadn't responded to his numerous messages.  Meanwhile, he called the pharmacy and learned from a co-worker that Uncle John had clocked out early from his shift, no doubt to check on Ginny himself.<br/><br/>That had been the last news he'd gathered before the anxious hour he'd spent in the library, trying his Aunt's cell every five minutes or so, while trying to comprehend the ridiculous talk from the television.  Terms from pop culture like "zombie" and "walking dead" were being bandied about among the populace, but the negative connotations (not to mention sheer absurdity) of such labels left reporters scrambling for ways to characterize the bizarre ailments of the rioters.  The latest try from RCN was "Psycho-Cataleptic Wasting Syndrome," an unwieldy suggestion from some talking-head neurologist who was brought into the studios for expert commentary.  The pseudo-scientific phrase didn't help to dispel Cal's nightmare visions of movie Deadites (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=deadites) feasting on his grandmother's corpse.<br/><br/>The slim chance that Ginny might make her way to the Mission Street aid station meant that Cal was headed there too, along with scores of other students from the south-west and south-central residential areas.  Fully two-thirds of those gathered at the library prepared for a mass exodus on foot, in hopes of reuniting with fleeing relatives or friends.  Many were ready to join the caravan just to see what was happening off-campus for themselves.<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">One student bumped right into Cal "ohh shit" he said as he nearly ran Cal over "I'm sorry about that man...can you believe all this?" he asked "And to think that before now my biggest worry was the fact that I'd fallen asleep in the library and missed a bio test." he shook his head "I'm Paul  (http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs46/f/2009/177/9/b/Alex_Mercer_by_yamiyugi.jpg)by the way" his hand was held out to shake Cal's "What about you?"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/>Just like in the days after 9-11, one of the few upsides to the mounting catastrophe was the increased openness and familiarity among strangers, united by their sense of shared misfortune and common purpose.  As Cal stood to depart from his spot on the stairs, he collided clumsily with an unusually-friendly fellow he'd never seen before.  He assumed Paul was just another stranded Rockford resident, facing the same predicament as Cal.<br/><br/><strong>"Snyder.  I mean, um, Cal -- call me Cal.  Nice to meet you.  Yeah, no kidding, this is some crazy shit.  Listen, I'm on my way out, gotta go look for my folks -- you heading out too?”</strong>he inquired, with terse politeness.  He wasn’t averse to the idea of having someone to talk to, considering all his close friends were either dorm dwellers or residents of unmolested parts of the city.<br/><br/>Then again, there was something about this guy that made Cal feel a bit wary, right off the bat.  Maybe it was the way he had the hoodie on his sweatshirt pulled down, casting his facial features in shadow, even though they were still indoors.  Cal told himself he was just being paranoid, though -- another symptom of his frazzled nerves -- so he basically invited Paul to join him for the trek to Mission Street.