The crack of the staple gun snapping the paper to the post made him flinch, even though he was the one doing it. It took three staples to get the missing persons sign to stand upright against the wind and gravity. Ben knew that by weeks end this one too would be covered up by yet another but it was protocol by now. Might as well try.

He moved along down Main Street, past all the businesses with their shuttered front windows. It was hard to run a business with no workers or no bosses, but even harder with no customers.

Quarry was a small town before it all started, now it was more like a stage. By which I mean that if you peeked behind any one wall you’d find less than you might expect. There weren’t even enough kids to keep the school from shuttering. Whatever was doing the taking seemed to just love children.

Ben left another sign on the overtaxed bulletin board near the bus stop, and another on the fence blocking the old vacant lot. He remembered how often kids used to sneak in there to mess around. Not anymore.

Ben, passing the next alley, heard a noise. It sounded almost like a car meowing out from under something. He decided to ignore it just too late. The taker got him too, leaving a dusting of missing persons signs on the breeze.