Yes, it's me. I am going to do a 25 days of Christmas Story for you all. After reading WhoKnowsTV's latest story, I got inspired to put this out for the rest of you all. During the pandemic, I read most of the time (and since May I did no writing at all). And my favorite story was the one I am adapting for the 25 days of Christmas story with a chapter a day. The original story is After Sundown.

I have been having a hard time not just because of the pandemic, I have lost six very close family members as well as several other people in a year's time. But I started to read fanfiction over my first Thanksgiving the first one without my loved ones as escapism because my job is depressing as well, and I am excited to see those who are still writing and keeping the Samcedes family alive and thriving. This is dedicated to them, you the readers, and everybody else who has experienced trauma. I have written and researched PTSD enough to know that I have trauma. I take it one day at a time with the highs and lows but my faith, friends, and family keep me going.

Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard/Jones with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in.

Chapter One

Sam Evans snapped awake at the first sound of his alarm. He rubbed his eyes and made himself get up to look at the alert his computer was giving him. Cursing that the 12% likelihood that the rest of the world believed was a lie like he thought. He was surprised. It was 130 years since the last big one and now 60 years later proved there was a relationship with these catastrophes just like an elite group of thinkers had been predicting.

He grabbed his phone to make a call when it began to buzz in his ears. Only a few people had his number and any call coming in at 2:43 a.m. on September 5, 2019 wasn't a coincidence. It also wasn't a call he could ignore.

"Hey," he answered, unable to stop the familiar adrenaline rush he felt for the twenty years he had spent in service to his country.

"Do you see what I see?" Jake Puckerman, his friend from the military who now worked with the government in a top secret position that gave him access to classified information. People who knew secrets were invaluable in every organization, no matter how large, or how small.

"Yes. How catastrophic will it be?"

"Bigger than we ever documented, even Carrington."

"Hell," Sam said softly. The Carrington Event was a series of powerful coronal mass ejections, or CMEs, in 1859 that melted telegraph wires and set some telegraph offices on fire. Technology in the nineteenth century had been limited to telegraphs; now the majority of the world ran on technology, and the damage would be catastrophic. Satellites would be fried, the power grids—most of them, there were a few that had hardened security—would go down, gasoline supplies would vanish because the pipelines would be damaged, food supplies would disappear, and cities would become hell on earth.

Small CMEs that had little or no effect on technology occurred almost daily, but those mild solar storms couldn't be compared to what was heading their way.

"How much time do we have to prepare?"

"About thirty-six hours give or take a couple of hours. We would have had more advanced notice, but one of the GOES satellites is down for maintenance, or malfunctioned and they don't want to say what happened. It's just bad timing," Puckerman said in a low-key way which could be construed as sarcastic, given the magnitude of the impending disaster. "It's going to be a series; we've seen four so far. The first one will hit the Far East in about twelve hours, but the ones behind it are bigger, wider, and traveling much faster. The Middle East and Europe are going down in eighteen hours."

Sam didn't miss the qualifier "so far." They had expected more than four. The fourth one would hit the Atlantic, which would play hell with any ships at sea, but any CME after that would hit the American continents, making this a worldwide shit-storm. The thing with a series of CMEs was that the first one sort of cleared the way, cosmically speaking, for the ones behind it and they grew in intensity and speed.

"What are your plans?" he asked, because Puckerman had a family to take care of.

"I'm packing up Marley and the kids right now and sending them south. I want them away from the city, and as far south as possible. Probably near your family's ranch in Big Spring Texas near the Mexico border. I thought you would be there with them."

"No, after I bought the place and forced them to move there, my family thinks I am crazy. A conspiracy nut with PTSD. I stayed on the Circle E one month after we were all settled and had a farm with crops, a ranch with steer, milking cows, goats, and chickens, solar panels for energy, a well not dependent on electricity and enough salted beef and jerky to last them for whatever natural disaster may occur. Because of the hard and what they perceived to be useless work and everything else, they still haven't quite forgiven me. We both know that the farther south they are, the more survivable the winter would be."

"You have enough time to fly down and be with them or my family if you want to be in a warmer location."

"I have everything set up here to sustain me for a while. How long do you think it will take them to get the grid back up?"

"My guess it could take at least a year."

"Has the crazy commander in chief decided to give the American citizens any warning?" Sam knew that the President was delusional and probably had his intercessors praying that nothing would happen. If he had any sense he would have let the people know ahead of time to get the things they need without the rioting and looting that was going to create mass chaos and scarcity of things like toilet paper and canned foods.

"He is waiting until the last minute as usual," Puckerman said. "They are supposed to let everyone know in the morning, but it might not happen until later this afternoon. The moron might think it could be a false alarm and will wait until China is hammered. You know how he is."

He did, unfortunately. "Well, I will see you after we are one of the few that survive this."

"Take care, bro."

Sam quickly pulled up his notes on his phone and systematically went about doing what he needed to do. He texted his family and told them to protect the solar panels, videoing himself doing this as he instructed them to do the same, butcher as many cattle, lambs, and chickens as possible. He protected all his electronics including his satellite phone and ham radio that would both be worthless for a while after the CME hit; he also had to protect his generator and get it topped off with propane, get extra gas for his pickup truck and ATV.

He knew it was not possible to get enough propane and gas to last the entire time. In no way was this going to be over before a year or more. Both the corporate side and the government side had had their heads in the sand for decades, opting to do nothing because of the cost and gambling that a catastrophic solar storm wouldn't hit Earth, at least not on their watch. They were certain it was just a 12% chance. As long as it was more than a 10% chance, there should have been some kind of plan.

Because Sam in the past and Jake in the present had top security clearance, they knew many of the people who were paid to think of events like this and the likely outcomes had predicted that the worldwide mortality rate would be at ninety percent by the end of the first year. Sam didn't think it would be that bad, because people were more resourceful than the brainiacs gave them credit for being.

There wasn't much he could do right now, with dawn still hours away, and the nearest town Cosby did not have a 24 hour Walmart or Walgreens for that matter.

He'd lived here almost two years now; a military buddy told him that the mountains were a place he could receive the peace and solitude that he craved, and Sam remembered that his paternal grandparents had a cabin out in the Great Smoky Mountains. It was larger than he'd remembered, but the location was ideal, situated high on the side of Jones Cove Rd. near the mountains. The driveway, if you could call it that, leading up to it was steep and only jacked up pickup trucks could clear the big rock Sam had moved into the middle of the driveway as another deterrent. He could have put a chain across the driveway but then he'd have had to get out and unlock it every time he came and went, and for the most part he'd just be making things tougher on himself. Not many people ventured up here to go that extent anyway.

Sam relished in being alone. He didn't have to pretend to be someone he was not. After years of combat and dealing with bureaucrats who didn't know their asses from a hole in the ground but were nevertheless in charge of life-and-death decisions concerning him and his men, he was done. He got out, and now he just wanted to be left the hell alone by everyone including his well meaning family.

Because he knew of every danger and had secrets that would be worth his weight in gold, he knew he had to remain vigilant. He had a top-notch security system, monitors, alarms; he was serious about keeping people whether they were good or bad far away. A couple of times some nosy neighbors—or tourists, and he didn't know the difference because he didn't know any of his neighbors, if someone who lived over a mile away could be called a "neighbor"—had hiked all the way up here. His motion alarm had alerted him the moment they cleared the curve and set foot on the wide, flat area where his house sat, and he'd stepped out on the porch with his shotgun draped over his arm. Neither time had he had to say a word; just the sight of a big, muscular man with a dark scowl on his face and a shotgun in his hands was enough to send the trespassers the hell off his property.

Sitting here on his porch in the predawn darkness, listening to the night birds, the rustling of the trees, not a soul anywhere around him—this was why he'd moved to the Tennessee mountains. He didn't have PTSD—no nightmares, no flashbacks, no sweats of terror. Maybe some shrink would tell him that his extreme withdrawal was a form of PTSD, but that's what shrinks did: come up with diagnoses that justified their jobs. As far as Sam was concerned, anyone sane who had spent years dealing with the bullshit he'd dealt with would react the same way he had.

It wasn't that he didn't know people, or at least know their names. By necessity, he'd met some of the townspeople. People insisted on talking to him, even when he limited his responses to grunts. Once an elderly couple he'd just met had invited him to supper; getting away from old people was almost as hard as escaping an ambush, because they were persistent with their offers of hospitality. He'd felt as if his skin was being peeled away, and all he'd wanted to do was duck and cover.

He hadn't even met any women he'd been remotely attracted to. Scratch that, his subconscious immediately said. Cedes Jones, the owner of the little general store called Cedes Place on the highway . . . he'd noticed her. For one thing, she was quiet; she didn't bombard him with questions or try to draw him into conversation. He could go into her store and pick up a few items without feeling as if he were under attack. Maybe she was a little shy, because she didn't get real talkative with any of her customers. Shy was a bonus; she wasn't likely to start feeling comfortable around him and start up a conversation.

She was thick, short, with dark skin and hair, and soft brown eyes, with some serious curves that she hid by wearing too big clothes. She didn't wear a wedding ring—or any rings at all. When she wasn't looking at him, which was most of the time whenever he was in the store, he'd indulge himself by looking at her, though he was careful not to let her ever catch him doing it. That was the only time in the past three years his dick had shown any signs of life.

Maybe his momma and the counselor she made him see were right. Okay, so maybe he did have a form of PTSD. A few years ago he'd have been all over Cedes Jones, trying to get to know her; the fact that he'd noticed she didn't wear a wedding ring said a lot. Still, no matter how attractive he found those pretty brown eyes of hers, he would not allow himself near her.

Thinking about Cedes and the other townspeople made him realize just how all of their lives were about to be drastically changed. His, not as much as theirs. His income stream would dry up when the CMEs hit and he stopped writing depressing country songs for artists who wanted to pretend they could write the music they sang. He had ghostwritten for several artists and found the career rewarding not wanting fame or notoriety; he wanted to be invisible and this career allowed him to be in isolation with his guitar and he could choose when to write or not with his military pension accruing interest until such time as the government and banks were up and running again, but the hard fact was there wouldn't be any bills he needed to pay because utilities would stop working, and he'd be feeding himself with what he could hunt or grow. As an extra hedge, he had about a year's worth of freeze-dried food stored in a secure locker under the house, he had canned goods, and he had plenty of ammunition stockpiled to protect his food and property.

If the think tank people were right and only ten percent of the population survived the coming event, then he intended to be one of the ten percent.

Cedes Place was located right on the main highway, so she got good business because many people traveled the route to get to popular tourist destinations like Gatlinburg or Pigeon Forge. She would never get rich as a store owner, but she was able to live a comfortable life never having to worry about money. The gas pumps were in front of her store, in the center of the small parking lot. Inside, there were twelve rows of shelves filled with basic goods. No one would do their regular grocery shopping here, but if someone in the valley ran out of a few things and didn't want to go all the way to town, this was where they came. Aunt Roz called it the "toilet paper and canned meat" collection, and she wasn't all that wrong, though there were also chips, and cookies, and a few boxes of cereal, some canned goods, and a small section of staples such as salt, flour, and sugar and pepper. One aisle was dedicated to over-the-counter meds, bandages, and feminine products. The small floor-to-ceiling cooler in the back was filled with beer, water, soft drinks, and juice.

Roz said Cedes liked her small business because it was safe and boring, not challenging her at all. Cedes wholeheartedly agreed. Taking chances, both personally and professionally, were for people who liked living on an adrenaline rush. Cedes was an introvert who suffered from anxiety which meant she definitely wasn't one of those people.

A big green pickup truck, riding high on its chassis, pulled up to one of the gas pumps. She recognized it as belonging to the one and only Sam Evans who didn't come in all that often, though he did stop for gas now and then, and he'd run in for beer and Cap'n Crunch cereal a time or two—but she recognized him because it was impossible to ignore him. Both the truck and the man were impressive, the man more than the truck. He was big, at least six feet, with muscles that strained the cotton T-shirt he was always wearing. His arms and hands were huge. Usually he was somewhat scruffy, with at least two days' growth of beard. He almost always wore sunglasses, though he'd slide them up on top of his head whenever he came inside, and his green eyes always had a remote, don't talk to me expression. She tried to be friendly with her customers even though she wasn't an outgoing person, but with him she couldn't manage even that much with him. He was her opposite in almost every way.

Whenever he came in, her heart pounded hard and fast for at least a few minutes after he'd left.

She watched as he left the truck and headed for the gas pump, but then he stopped and looked toward the store. Cedes quickly glanced down, though she doubted he could see her through the reflection on the glass; she still didn't want to take the chance that he'd think she was checking him out, even though she clearly was.

He left his truck and came toward the store.

As usual, Cedes's heart started pounding. She concentrated on the invoices she had been working on when there were no customers, even though her eyes wanted to glance up and look at him. What straight woman wouldn't? She was definitely a woman, even if she knew he would never be interested in her.

The chime sounded, as he walked in. She wanted to ask him why he hadn't pumped any gas but she didn't. Only after he'd walked by did she finally look up, quickly honing in at his muscled back covered by a black T-shirt, all the while noticing how fine as hell this man really was. Her cheeks got hot and she tried to return her attention to the invoices.

No matter how hard she tried to, she just couldn't concentrate on the invoices. He'd picked up one of the baskets on his way in, which was unusual. He had never bought much, certainly not so much that he couldn't carry it in his two big hands.

Hell no. Was her mouth watering? It was! How had she gotten this desperate for a man? A man that she could never have. Was she delusional listening to Roz telling her to ask him out, swearing that man was craving some choco-latte?

Roz was right that he was the best looking man in the area who was single. And he could probably clear away the cobwebs that Roz insisted had taken up in her nether regions, but looks were not enough. She risked taking another glance at those looks. Those arms, that body . . . just wow. But there was also something about him that screamed damaged goods.

He was usually in and out of Cedes Place in five minutes. Evans knew exactly where everything was and walked straight to it, without fail. Today he seemed to take his time and look over every item in the store, which was weird for him. He had been bringing a basket full of toilet paper, medicines, canned fish and soup, plus brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tarts.

When he returned with another full basket, silently unloaded it, and nodded at her, she realized he was finally through shopping. For a moment their eyes met, and that was all it took for the butterflies to begin breakdancing in her stomach. His eyes were so striking, a predatory green, almost pretty in a face that would probably be pretty if he didn't have facial hair that needed trimming or to be grown out.

As always, she was the first one to look away first scanning his items without looking back up at him.

She knew she should say something, even if just "how are you doing today?." That was what a store owner did, to build customer loyalty and just basic customer service.

"Is there anything else you need?" Say me...stop thinking foolishly. She had to stop hanging around Roz so much. She didn't want to appear desperate for a man as her aunt joked about her being.

"Fifty bucks in gas."

He normally just paid for his gas with a credit card, most of the time leaving without coming in. She nodded and keyed the computer to let the pump dispense that amount of gas.

After giving him his total, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and withdrew two hundred dollar bills from a stack of bills while she bagged his items. There were a lot of bags, and if it had been anyone else she would have offered to help him carry them to his truck, not that he would have any problem at all, but if he were any other man she'd still have offered. She gave him his change, which he stuffed into his front pocket before he gathered all the bags and headed toward the door.

Cedes was happy that the man was finally leaving. What was it about him that put her on edge? She hoped she wasn't so shallow that it was just his good looks. Or his body.

Then he stopped at the door and for a split second she wondered if he was having trouble opening it; she quickly left from behind the counter, saying, "Let me get that for you," but he turned and looked at her and those piercing green eyes stopped her before she opened the door.

"You might want to put a few things back for an emergency, just in case."

Emergency? Startled, Cedes looked out the windows, expecting to see storm clouds or something, but it was a typical September day, the sky blue against the green mountains, the weather still hot, no forecast of a hurricane or natural weather phenomenon...Snow was months away.

"The news isn't out yet," he continued. His voice was deep, a little rough, as if he didn't talk much and needed to clear his throat. "But it will, maybe in a few hours, maybe tomorrow, depending on how quickly they are allowed to release the information." Small muscles in his neck and jaw clenched a little. "They're pretty much never early in releasing anything important—" He shrugged.

She still had no idea what he was talking about. "What news? What is happening?" she asked.

"There's a solar storm headed our way. A CME."

"What's a CME?"

"Coronal mass ejection." The words were clipped. "A big one. If it's as bad as predicted, the power grid will go down."

"Oh, we'll have a power outage." They lived in the mountains. Power outages were a fact of life.

A hint of impatience flared across his expression. He looked as if he already regretted stopping to talk. "A power outage that will likely last for months, if not a year or longer."

She almost drew away from him in self preservation. And there it was, the big flaw, and one she hadn't expected. Drink too much, probably had an STD, financially irresponsible, smoke too much weed—those were things she saw every day that kept her from accepting what few invitations came her way. This was way out there. He was a conspiracy theorist. No fine ass body or even pretty eyes could make up for that fault.

"Get all the cash you can," he continued, his reluctance so obvious it was as if he was having to push the words out. "Stock up on staples, canned goods, batteries." Then he'd evidently had enough because he ended with an impatient, "Just Google it."

The back door opened and behind them Aunt Roz called out a friendly "Hello." Evans's gaze flashed to her and evidently that was his cue to leave, two people being one too many, because he pushed through the front door and headed for his truck.

Well, that had been hella weird.

Roz glanced through the front window as Evans stowed his groceries in the truck cab then began pumping his gas. "Man, I just missed the hottie. I shouldn't have taken so much time with my hair." She flicked her fingertips at her short bleached blond locks and batted her eyes. And then she laughed. Roz had a fantastic laugh, she put everything she had into it.

Cedes cleared her throat. "He just told me we're about to get hit with a solar storm that might knock the power out for months."

Roz made a snorting sound as she retrieved a broom from the utility closet. She helped out at the store on occasion, usually early in the day before Bree, the fifteen-year-old granddaughter she'd raised from the age of five, got out of school. As she began to sweep, she sighed. "Oh hell. Why are all the good-looking men crazy? I should have known he was one of those when he moved into that isolated place on Cove Mountain all alone. Why? And then he installed all those solar panels, and I hear he even has a ham radio." She glanced up at Cedes. "Don't judge me. I'm not a terrible gossip, but people talk. And I just have to listen."

Cedes wasn't sure when having a ham radio had become a sign of a man being crazy; she knew at least one other person in the valley who owned one. The thing was, Evans had never seemed like a few fries short of a Happy Meal to her—the opposite, in fact. He struck her as a man who had dealt with some hard realities that left him damaged.

What if—? "What if he's right?" It was a startling idea, one she hesitated to even voice. Immediately she had to fight down a sense of panic, because she couldn't even imagine what life would be like without electricity for months. Her anxiety began to hitch up a notch.

Roz looked up at her like she was crazy. "I still have my Y2K windup radio. You were only a kid when the calendar went from 1999 to 2000, so you might not have paid any attention to all the hysteria, but seriously, there were people who thought the same thing would happen when computers tried and failed to make the switch. Banks would collapse. Power plants would go offline. Nothing happened. I'd stocked up on enough toilet paper so I didn't have to buy any for a year which didn't hurt. And I still have a nifty windup radio for emergencies, not that I've ever needed it."

Maybe she should listen to her aunt. Roz was probably right, no need to panic.

Then again . . . what if it did happen? She'd be silly if she acted on the warning of a man she barely knew and nothing happened, but if she didn't act and his warning was right on target, then she was stupid.

She'd rather be silly than stupid. Silly was embarrassing at worst, while stupid could be deadly. That wasn't a chance she was willing to take.

She grabbed a shopping basket and started filling it with a few essentials. She wouldn't clean off the shelves, wouldn't lock the front door and close for the day, but it wouldn't hurt to have a few things set back, things that she'd need anyway, even if they weren't used right away.

While Cedes was grabbing some tuna and canned chicken, Roz decided to sweep down the canned meat aisle. After watching her for a few seconds, Roz made another scoffing sound. "If you're preparing for doomsday, don't forget to pick up some pickles."

"I won't. I'm just getting what we'll use anyway. If nothing happens, then no harm no foul. I can always put everything back on the shelves."

She walked up and down the aisles, her mind buzzing. She liked to be organized and controlled, but abruptly she felt neither. Everything around her was the same, but she felt lost. She didn't know what to do, couldn't get her mind around the scope of what he'd said could happen, so she concentrated on what he'd actually said. She had some cash, but not enough to get them through a long-term disaster. What good would cash do anyway? But he'd said get cash, so she'd get cash. If the solar storm happened and the grid went down, the way Evans said it might, she wouldn't be able to access her bank. The credit and debit card charges she had in her cash register would be worthless.

"Just for today," she said in a voice just loud enough for Roz to hear, "we'll take cash only. Tell everyone the credit card reader is out of order." She hadn't taken checks for years, so that wouldn't be a problem.

"What about the gas pumps?"

She thought about it for a minute. Tourists would be headed for home, if Evans was right and an alert went out. At least, she assumed so. She would, if she was away on vacation; she'd burn the highway up getting home. The tourists would need gas. Everyone would need gas. "We'll leave them, for now." She didn't want people who didn't have enough cash to fill their tanks to end up stranded in her parking lot, or down the road. It was a decent compromise, at least for now. That would change if there really was a warning.

Again she felt a sense of unreality as she tried to deal with the realities of the possible situation. Civilization and culture as she knew it, as everyone knew it was about to be irrevocably changed. This was too big. There was not enough time to fully prepare.

She headed for the cookie aisle. Roz called out, "If anyone else had told you to prepare for the end of the world, would you have taken it seriously? Or are you stocking up for the coming apocalypse because the Trouty Mouth Hottie is the one who told you it was coming?"

"I really don't know," she said honestly. "I don't know that I believe him. It's just . . . why gamble?" She took a deep breath. "And it isn't just me, it's you and Bree, too."

That was what really terrified her, she realized. They were family, she and Roz and Bree, and they didn't have many other relatives. There were a few scattered cousins, and Bree's older brother, Matthew, who was in the military, but here it was just the three of them. If anything happened to Roz or Bree because she, Cedes, hadn't been prepared enough, she'd never forgive herself.

They'd suffered enough loss, all of it in the past ten years. Bree's parents—Roz's son and his wife—in an airplane crash. Cedes's mom and dad of natural causes—a heart attack and a quick stroke—seven and five years later. Roz's husband, Greg, had died after a battle with cancer four years ago.

She'd lost enough. She would do everything in her power to keep her remaining family safe.

They were literally all they had left in the area. They lived in a small subdivision within easy walking distance of the store and each other, in houses that were similar on the outside, though wildly different inside. Cedes was a minimalist. Roz never met a knickknack she didn't like. Most importantly, Roz wasn't prepared for more than a couple of days without power. She'd decided that she didn't need a generator, because Cedes had one, and if there was a power outage she and Bree would just stay with Cedes until the power came back on. Both houses did have fireplaces, though Roz hadn't had a real fire in hers in years. That might be about to change.

Suddenly it seemed to Cedes that she could take everything in her own store and not have enough for them, not for months. And it wasn't just Roz and Bree. What would happen when a friend or neighbor showed up, and they needed something? Her family came first, but it still would be difficult to turn people away.

She took a deep breath. "Out of everyone in this area, who would you choose to believe when it comes to surviving a catastrophe?"

The two women stared at each other, and Cedes knew they were both picturing their friends and acquaintances, and measuring them against the tough, grim, hard-muscled man whose eyes said he'd seen more than they could ever imagine, or want to imagine.

"The Trouty Mouth Hottie," Roz said reluctantly..

They shared another look, then Cedes said, "Please just watch the store for a while. "I'm going to town." She told her aunt as she put the items in her office for safekeeping.

"For what?" Roz asked.

"To get what we might need. Call your pharmacist and get refills on all your medicines, and I'll pick them up."

"It isn't time, my insurance won't—" Roz began, then said, "Oh. Forget insurance, we'll pay for them ourselves. Right? Will pharmacies do that?"

"Don't see why they won't, as long as it isn't narcotics. Please call and find out, and let me know." Cedes grabbed her purse out from under the counter and headed for the door, already compiling a list in her head: get cash from the bank, more food from the grocery store, the prescription refills for Roz, batteries, fuel for the oil lamps—more and more things occurred to her, so many she felt overwhelmed. She couldn't think of everything, she couldn't get everything . . . but everything she did get was a small step toward keeping them alive and safe.

Maybe Evans was totally wrong, maybe he was insane, or possibly a decent but naive guy who'd been reading too many conspiracy websites and YouTube videos. An image of him flashed in her mind. No, he wasn't naive. He didn't seem to be a man who trusted easily.

Someone was always hyping that the next prophecy, or random year, or a date on a Mayan calendar, was going to be the end of the world. Thankfully, they'd always been proven wrong.

That wasn't Evans. He didn't seem either crazy or easily fooled. She didn't know him, but of all the people she could think of, he struck her as the one who would know the most about what was going on in the world beyond the mountains.

He clearly was hesitant about warning her of the CME, but he had, and she wondered why. Was he telling everyone? Was he doing a Paul Revere throughout town?

"What time will you be back?" Roz asked.

"I have no idea. Just hold down the fort until I return, Auntie."