Apocalypse Scenario #683: The Box by Mira Grant

Apocalypse Scenario #683: The Box
     
    A ndy, where’s the beer?”
    “Look in the crisper.”
    Ryan paused before asking the obvious: “Why is the beer in the crisper?”
    “Because grain’s a vegetable,” said Elsa, sensibly enough, as she dumped tortilla chips into a yellow plastic bowl. “That means beer is good for you.”
    “I don’t even know what to say to that,” said Ryan, before digging a beer out from under a wilted head of lettuce. “Is Mike coming?”
    “Mike’s coming, Cole isn’t.” Andy picked up the tray of sandwiches, pausing to kiss Elsa on the cheek before exiting the kitchen. The tray of sandwiches was placed ceremoniously on the dining room table, next to a veggie platter, a bowl of salsa, and a second bowl filled with peanut M&M’s. He glanced back as Ryan followed him to the table, adding, “Before you ask, Sandi’s coming. She just had to stop and pick up some root beer.”
    “Right.” Ryan sat in his usual chair, cracking open his first beer of the evening. He’d stop after the third, when Sandi’s nagging became too much for him to handle. None of this was a mystery to anyone, and that was how all of them liked it. Playing the Apocalypse Game for fifteen years had transformed predictability into one of the weekly game night’s greatest attractions. Spend some time with your friends, play a board game you didn’t really care about, and plot the downfall of mankind. Pure bliss.
    Cole’s absence was the only black spot on what was otherwise shaping up to be a perfect evening. She’d been more and more scarce over the past few years, as her job—which she never described in detail, being willing to say nothing beyond “I work for the government” and “I still use my medical degree”—kept her away from home more and more often. Even saying that much made her visibly uncomfortable, until they all stopped asking.
    Still, Cole missing the Apocalypse Game was still a new phenomenon—new enough to be unnerving. Out of all the players, she’d always been the most reliable. “Remember the time Cole had pneumonia?” asked Ryan. “She missed two sessions in a row.”
    “And then she showed up for the third session in her bathrobe.” Andy laughed, shaking his head. “Mike was so disappointed when he realized she had her clothes on underneath it.”
    “Those were the days.” Ryan took a long swig from his beer, amusement fading. “This is the third session. She’s never missed three.”
    “There’s a first time for everything.”
    “I’m worried about her,” said Elsa, emerging from the kitchen with the bowl of chips in her hands. “She’s been working too much. She needs the Apocalypse Game to take her mind off things.”
    Ryan snorted. “I’m going to give you a second to think about what you just said.”
    “I stand by it. Cole started the Game. She should be able to find the time to play.”
    “I’m sure she’ll be back as soon as she can,” said Andy.
    “I hope so.” Elsa sighed. “Maybe Mike can tell us more.”
    “Maybe,” Andy agreed dolefully. Silence descended.
    Their little social group was just like a thousand others, all over the world, at least superficially: a bunch of old friends getting together to play games and talk until well after any sensible person’s bedtime. They met in high school, a bunch of strange, smart kids living on the fringes of teenage society. They clustered together in self-defense, as much as anything else—it wasn’t until midway through freshman year that they all started to actually like each other.
    The first Apocalypse Game was practically an accident. They’d been lazing around Cole’s house, bored and restless and looking for something to do. They’d tried everything from Poker to Candyland before Cole made her characteristically mild suggestion: “Why don’t we figure out how to destroy the world?”
    The first scenario was Cole’s, of course. It involved a chemical spill wiping out the world’s