Cell

by Stephen King

Civilization slipped into its second dark age on an unsurprising track of blood, but with a speed that could not have been foreseen by even the most pessimistic futurist.

First paragraph

It was the voice of a boy assuring his pals that he’s not grossed out by the maggots boiling in a dead cat’s eyes . . . just before he leans over and blows his groceries.

Jordan replied dutifully, with the air of one who recites a lesson he does not understand, “All good vampires must be in before cockcrow, sir.” “That’s right—before cockcrow.

“It’s a natural outgrowth of my interest in computers and cybernetics,” Jordan said, shrugging. “Also, I read a lot of cyberpunk science fiction. William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, John Shirley—” “Neal Stephenson?” Alice asked. Jordan grinned radiantly. “Neal Stephenson’s a god.”

Alice was going to be no help—she was sitting at the foot of the staircase with her head bent, staring at that fucking sneaker like it was the skull of Yorick—but