Wow your continued support overwhelms me. I could have combined this chapter with the last but that would have been too many words almost a 10,000 word chapter, so I split them up. A little tenseness ahead but as always nothing bad is going to happen to any of my main characters ...yet...insert evil laugh.
Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in.
Chapter Three
Roz's house was a small two-story blue home with the added luxury of an enclosed garage. It sat almost precisely in the middle of their small neighborhood, which consisted of three narrow, short roads that connected to it. In the back of her home was a small vegetable garden that Roz pretended to take care of during the summer when she's on her compete with Orpah kick and trying to grow better vegetables than the superstar, but the plants had already ceased production and were brown and drooping.
Cedes's house was in the back of the neighborhood and was more private because of groups of spruce and fir trees that blocked most of the view of her neighbor to the left—and she had no neighbor to the right, because she was at the end of the road. It was a white ranch house with purple trim and much smaller than Roz's home, and it didn't have a garage. She did, however, have a much larger screened-in porch, one she used a lot, often having her breakfast out there where she could see Cove Mountain looming in the distance. With the way the road curved, her house was close to the store and in fact she sometimes walked there and back, using a path that was wide enough for an ATV, rather than driving; walking it was not quite half a mile, while driving meant turning back toward the highway, and added a couple of miles. The back way, as they called it, was a favorite shortcut for kids and adults alike, bypassing the highway and offering a good place to ride bikes and generally be a kid. The back way skirted properties, dipped and curved, and gave an occasional glimpse of a house. Cedes was more wary during the warm months because of the bears, as were all the locals. The Smokies and black bears went hand in hand. When it was cold, the bears hibernated and were not seen again until Spring.
Cedes and her family lived in the middle of a gorgeous, peaceful scene, which made the impending catastrophe seem like one of those exaggerated stories that the local old men might tell at the barbershop.
The three of them entered the coolness of Roz's house and, without asking, Roz got a couple of glasses from the cabinet, put some ice in them, and poured tea from a full pitcher she took from the refrigerator. All of them took their seats around the table in the eat-in kitchen.
Bree fished her tablet out of her backpack and turned it on—then she turned a stricken expression on her older relatives. "Will this still work . . . you know, after?"
They all looked at each other. Finally Cedes lifted her shoulders. "It should. I think. Except for going online. You'll be able to access anything that's already on there, as long as you don't have it plugged in when the CME hits. Make sure it's charged before then." She hoped she was right. The thing was, no one knew for sure, because a CME this powerful hadn't hit since the dawn of the electronic age.
Bree paused, then turned off the tablet and returned it to her backpack and instead got a pad of paper and pen from the kitchen counter, where Roz kept a running grocery list. "This won't run down my battery," she said matter-of-factly.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Cedes and Roz both chuckled. A lot of people would be coming to the same conclusion very soon, if they hadn't already done so.
Bree wrote a big "1" on the paper. "What do we need to do first?"
"Shelter and food are the most important," Cedes said. "And we've got that covered, as best we can. I'll get more food if I can, though. If we have enough, we'll share the rest with the neighbors."
She knew there wasn't enough food, not for the duration if it lasted a year or longer, and maybe not even enough to last until next summer when the gardens would be producing again.
"Cedes you need to move in here with us," Roz said firmly. "We'll be sharing supplies anyway. That way there'll be just one house to heat."
Roz's proposal was pure common sense, but Cedes's stomach tightened at the thought of moving in with them. She liked being alone, and liked the quiet. She'd never been a social butterfly, but since her broken engagement and parents' death she seemed to need even more alone time. Anthony's betrayal and rejection had shredded both her courage and her self-confidence; building herself back took a lot of time and thinking, of just being. For a while after returning to the mountains to live, she'd barely been able to make herself leave the house; only the necessity of earning a living had spurred her on.
She wasn't the life of the party and hated going out even as a teenager. She didn't like putting herself forward, or she would have sung the solos in her high school glee club competitions. She'd never had the yearning to do anything but live a peaceful life. Yes fame and success from a singing career would be ideal, but the stress of being in the public's eye would take all the joy from it.
Anthony had ended up feeling nothing but disgust for her even before her parents' death. They had met during college and with liquid courage she was quite the social butterfly at the parties her roommates forced her to attend. Without the alcohol, she was a totally different person, and Anthony was figuring it out. She didn't blame Anthony for leaving her. She blamed herself for being complacent. Right now she wanted to refuse Roz's invitation/command, but the truth was that as much as she liked being alone, she wasn't certain she could cope without electricity.
There was the sound of a car turning in the driveway, and Roz craned to the side to look out the living room window. "Y'all relax. It's only Carmen."
Carmen Tibideaux was Roz's best friend and had been for years, even before they had each been widowed. Carmen was a seven years older, and the two women looked as if they'd have nothing in common. Where Roz was fit, Carmen was fluffy. Roz had straight short blonde hair, while Carmen kept her graying hair in dreadlocks. Roz was stylish, Carmen was comfortable. But the two got along like a house on fire, and spent hours cooking together and gossiping and laughing. Sometimes Cedes would take Bree for a week and the two older women would take off. Bree had gone with them once, and after their return had whispered to Cedes that no matter what she never wanted to do that again, so Cedes earned bonus points from both Roz and Bree for stepping up and watching Bree while the two friends went gallivanting off on their adventures.
Roz went to the front door and opened it. "Come on in chile," she called. "We're making a list of what we need to do." Then she returned to the kitchen to get down another glass for iced tea.
Carmen's expression was tense as she came in the door. She was limping a little, and there was an elastic bandage around her left ankle. "What happened to your ankle?" Cedes asked, getting up and moving to the other side of the table so Carmen could take her chair, which was closest to her.
"Turned it this morning when I was raking leaves." She sank onto the chair and wrapped her hands around the glass of tea that Roz set in front of her, but didn't drink. She took a deep breath and her eyes filled with tears. "Is this"—she gave a distracted wave that appeared to include the universe—"really going to happen? I don't know what to do. If there's no electricity my security system won't work; anyone can break in with no warning, and I won't be able to call for help, either. Our cars will run out of gas, there won't be enough food, I don't have a fireplace for heat and can't cut and carry firewood anyway—"
"Girl, you'll move your big ass in here," Roz promptly said looking at Cedes for approval, She gave Roz a small nod, telling her it was okay for Carmen to stay that she would remain at her own home.
"Really? Is there enough room?" She looked at Cedes. "I thought you'd—"
"No, I'm staying in my house," Cedes said firmly. "Roz and I are combining supplies and I'll eat here, but I'll be sleeping at home."
"Won't you be safer here?"
"I'll be as safe as I've ever been, living alone," Cedes said practically. She had a small portable generator, but it made more sense to move it to Roz's house since three people would be here, and she herself would mostly be here except for the nights. She would keep warm with her wood-burning fireplace for heat, backed up by her kerosene heater. She'd be stingy with the heater because she didn't have an unlimited supply of kerosene . . . and that reminded her they should get down to business. In a pinch, she could share a room with Bree or Roz, but that would be a last resort. She really needed her own space.
She tapped Bree's sheet of paper. "Number two: we need more wood. Oh crap! I forgot about getting gas and kerosene! I'll fill a few five-gallon cans at the store, so we'll have enough on hand to run the generator until we use everything in the fridge and freezer, but we have to buy kerosene."
Bree dutifully wrote it down, and the three older women looked at each other with worry in their eyes. Everyone else would be thinking the same thing making it hard to get these things.
"Dear God," Cedes said, getting to her feet. "I need to be working on that right now."
"I'll help," Roz said, also rising. "First things first. Carmen, go back to your house and get what you want, bring it back here. Bree, go with her to help. Bring all your food, Carmen, batteries, flashlights, oil lamps—"
"And ammunition and alcohol," Cedes added, with a quick smile at her aunt.
"I don't have any extra ammunition," Carmen said smartly, and smiled. "Get all the produce you can grab, and we'll work all night canning it. I have lots of jars and lids. I meant to put up a lot of food this summer but always found something more fun to do. That'll teach me."
All over the valley, Cedes thought, people were probably coming to the same conclusion and hauling out their pressure cookers. She hoped they were, anyway. She'd never done any canning herself, but that was about to change.
"Chop-chop hurry to it," Roz said, and they all headed out on their assigned errands.
Roz had two fuel cans at her house and got them; Cedes had one at hers, which she fetched, and five new ones in the store. She stopped there, darted in to get them, then she and Roz evenly divided the cans and went their separate ways.
She half expected someone to pull up to the door, looking to clean off her shelves. But the cars that were on the road didn't even slow down. There weren't enough supplies in her little store to tempt anyone. If there was, she wouldn't be heading to town herself.
Cedes could barely pay attention to her driving. Her thoughts were doing the crazed rabbit thing again. What else would they need? Duct tape. She didn't know why, but duct tape seemed important. Salt, lots of salt; sugar, flour, cornmeal, powdered eggs, powdered milk, any basic food stuff that wouldn't need refrigeration. Anything canned—literally, anything.
She imagined before this was over, people would be eating whatever they could get, even things they never would have touched before. She'd bought what seemed like a ton of stuff earlier in the day, but viewing it from the other side of the official warning, she knew they'd need a lot more.
Sevierville was in chaos. The grocery store parking lots were full, with people driving up and down the aisles looking for parking spaces. She couldn't find a break in traffic to make the left turn, so went up to the traffic light—for some reason people were still obeying the lights—and circled around to enter the parking lot. It was a useless effort; there was literally nowhere to park. She spotted some open space on the grass in front of Dairy Queen and managed to squeeze in there before someone else grabbed the slot. So what if she was on the side of the road? So what if she got a ticket? She'd never had a ticket before, but this seemed like a good time to take the risk.
The aisles in the store were packed with people grabbing whatever they could, wheeling carts left and right with none of the usual grocery store methods. Carmen had said get all the produce she could, but the produce area was so crowded she couldn't squeeze in. Skirting the edges, she took whatever she could reach. Bypassing the bread aisle, she then went to the canned goods and repeated the process, spurning nothing, getting what she could. Next was the baking goods aisle for staples like flour, sugar, cornmeal, powdered eggs, powdered milk, and all the salt she could grab while other shoppers were doing the same thing. She was bumped, shoved, pushed, and once knocked into the shelving; she barely kept herself from going down.
The self-checkout lanes were closed down, and she stood in line for forty minutes before she got to the counter. It helped that some people were being refused checkout because they wanted to use either credit cards or checks. Handmade "Cash Only" signs hung above every register. They left their full shopping carts where they were standing, and the people still in line raided the carts to fill their own needs.
Thank heavens she'd hit the bank earlier and had cash on her, because normally she wouldn't have had much more than twenty bucks or so. If she were forced to abandon her supplies . . . she didn't know what she would do. She was already tense with stress and anxiety, fighting the sense of impending doom.
After paying, she wheeled the cart across the parking lot, jerked it over the curb onto the grass, and reached her white Honda CR-V. After the chill of the grocery store the sunny heat felt good on her skin. She put the groceries in the back seat, because the cargo area was full of empty fuel cans, and by the time she'd finished the chill had gone and she was beginning to sweat.
Heavy traffic surrounded her, and she had no idea how she was going to find a way to squeeze into a lane. She saw tense, almost predatory faces turned toward her as vehicles inched past; there was no way she could return the cart to the grocery store and leave her vehicle unattended; it would be broken into and her supplies stolen within half a minute. Her heart pounded from stress. If it was this bad now, what would it be like when there actually was no power, no food to buy?
The highway was impossible, so she bumped over the curb into the Dairy Queen parking lot, and managed to weave her way, through parking lots and side streets, to a gas station that sold kerosene. The gas pumps were clogged, but she didn't need gas, thank God.
She was able to park next to the Dumpster, close to the kerosene pump. A whipcord lean white-haired man wearing overalls and a stained John Deere cap was at the pump, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched the parking lot turmoil. Local farmer, she thought. The old-timers like him would likely be the ones who got this area through the approaching crisis, because they knew how to grow food and how to get by without all the modern conveniences.
She noted the cost per gallon of the kerosene and did some quick math: she had four five-gallon fuel cans, for a total of twenty gallons. She pulled out the appropriate cash as she darted into the station and got in line to pay. Just as she had earlier, the station manager had stopped credit card payments. People were cussing, some under their breaths and some not, as they handed over their cash and complained that now they wouldn't have the money to get something to eat on their way home. Mostly tourists, she thought, catching a variety of accents. They were rightfully in a panic to get home; some of them might live so far away they wouldn't make it.
She kept an eye on her vehicle, making sure no one approached it. The people here weren't thinking about groceries, though, they were thinking about gasoline. Turning, she looked at the rows of shelving in the store: mostly empty.
The sense of unreality was so strong she wondered if there were camera crews hidden somewhere, secretly recording everything, because she felt as if she were in the middle of a prank episode that Ashton Kutcher used to do on celebrities when she was a teenager. Tension crawled along her veins and she tried to think what she would do if someone did start fighting here in this crowded store. How would she get out? Should she get behind some shelving, or duck down to the floor and try to crawl out? Would she get trampled?
But thank the Lord nothing happened. Despite the tension, the line to pay inched forward. When she reached the clerk, a middle-aged woman whose own face mirrored the stress Cedes felt, she handed over the money and said, "Kerosene. I have four five-gallon cans."
The woman nodded, and rang up the sale. Behind Cedes, someone said, "I'll give you fifty bucks for those cans."
Cedes didn't dare look back. She darted out the door and over to her vehicle, where she dragged out the fuel cans, lined them up, and filled them while keeping a watchful eye out for anyone approaching her from behind. She'd never fought for anything or with anyone in her life, but she'd fight for these cans of kerosene.
Finally—finally!—she wrestled the heavy cans back into her SUV and slammed the hatch. With her peripheral vision she saw a man heading her way and she quickly used her remote to lock the vehicle, securing everything until she could get to the driver's door. Hearing the beep of the horn that signaled the lock engaging, the man halted, and turned away. Breathing fast, Cedes unlocked the door, slid in, and quickly locked the vehicle again. She started the motor and the air-conditioning blew in her face, evaporating the sweat.
Slowly she reached out and turned off the air-conditioning. Mileage mattered, now more than ever.
The highways were clogged; she could see police and deputy cars crawling from motel to motel, blasting on their bullhorns that all non-locals should check out and get to their homes while they still could. At least the off-season had begun with Labor Day; the Rod Run had provided another spurt of tourists, but the crush had dropped drastically after that—at least until October brought the tree colors and tourists returned. There wouldn't be an October crush this year, she thought. But even during the off-season there were always tourists, and the weekends were crowded. She shuddered to think what the traffic would have been like if this had happened during one of the busy times.
The only way she could get home was to wind her away around secondary streets and roads until she left Sevierville. Even the secondary roads were crowded, though mostly with locals who knew how to avoid the traffic on the main drag. Eventually she had to hit the highway, though, and she sat for several minutes before there was a gap big enough for her to shoot into.
Fifteen minutes later she pulled into Roz's driveway and sat there shuddering in relief. Roz was already back, as well as Carmen and Bree. Bree came outside and down the steps, coming to help her carry in supplies, and when she looked at that innocent, pretty young face, Cedes thought again that, come hell or high water, she would protect her family—no matter what it cost her.
Roz had done better at gathering produce than Cedes had. "I stopped at a couple of roadside stands," she said. "I knew that town would be a madhouse."
That was an understatement. Cedes didn't tell her aunt that she'd actually been frightened. Nothing had happened, and the man who had been approaching her SUV might have wanted to ask her where she got the fuel cans . . . though he had turned around when she locked the doors.
Roz and Carmen were already shucking corn, and a pressure cooker filled with jars of tomatoes was doing its thing. Bree got some sterilized jars out of the dishwasher, put another load of jars in, and started the machine. Cedes got a glass of iced tea, guzzled it, then poured another glass before she sat down at the table to join the others in food prep. Everything they could do, even if they had to stay up all night, would help see them through the crisis.
Bree helped, too, though she kept looking things up on her phone and detailing what dedicated preppers did. Some of the tips were good, some impossible at this late date. She also made a plate of sandwiches and put it on the table, so they could eat while they worked.
Yet another full pressure cooker was cooling down, and the sun had dipped behind the mountains to finally give them some relief from the heat, when Bree looked out the window and said, "Grandma, there's some people out there."
"What people?" Roz and Cedes both went to the windows to look out, and saw a lot of people out front, with some others straggling in from their houses up and down the road. Carmen shoved out of her chair and peered over Bree's shoulder.
There was nothing like an impending disaster to bring people together. Cedes couldn't remember the last time so many of her neighbors had gathered together. There were at least twenty people out there, standing around looking at the sky as if they could find answers written overhead. The point of contact seemed to be in the middle of the narrow road, directly in front of Roz's house. Roz had lived here her entire life, and knew everyone; Cedes had lived here for years, before college and her broken engagement and with her parents before they had retired to Florida, and all of them afterward, but she wasn't much on socializing and while she mostly knew the names of her neighbors, at least half of them she didn't actually know them as individuals.
"What in the hell is this all about?" Roz mused, but it was a rhetorical question because of course they were talking about the CME, and she was already heading out the door, crossing her porch, and going down the steps, with Bree and Carmen right behind her.
Cedes followed more slowly, content to be in the background. Roz's and Bree's personalities and physiques made it easier for her to be overlooked in a crowd.
"What do you think about this solar storm business?" asked Mike Chang; he was an intelligent doctor who she was several years behind in school.
"The police seem to be taking it seriously," Emma Pillsbury replied. As if to confirm that, in the distance they suddenly heard sirens.
Emma looked at Cedes with a touch of critique. "I stopped by your store to pick up a few things, but no one was there."
Cedes's instinct was to mutter "sorry," even though she had nothing to be sorry about.
A little boy about six years old began to cry. His dad put a hand on the kid's shoulder and said, "We'll be okay." His mother, who was holding a toddler, also put her arm around him and tried to comfort him. Cedes tried to remember their names . . . Meeks, maybe? She felt ashamed for not knowing her neighbors better.
People began talking, speculating. Their opinions and attitudes varied, from calm doubt that anything would happen to conviction that the world as they knew it would end, with everything in-between also represented. As Cedes listened she realized that everyone had already made some effort to prepare, no matter what they believed.
"We're canning everything we can get our hands on," Carmen said, and a couple of the older women nodded in agreement, while the younger ones, who were less likely to have a pressure cooker, looked scared.
"Bring your food over, and what jars you have, and we'll help those of you who don't know how to do canning," Roz offered. Of course she offered, as did the other older women. They began discussing who would go to whose house, what produce they had, how many jars—though jars would be a problem, because only people who canned were likely to hold on to glass jars.
Nobody would sleep tonight. They all had to work hard, for as long as the electricity stayed on. And they would have to be stingy with their supplies, because they didn't know how much would be enough, or exactly what they would need. They were as unprepared as the first settlers from Europe setting foot in the New World . . . well, maybe not. They did have the farmers and the old people, ample game for hunting, and plenty of fresh water. When she thought about it, right there where they were, they had everything they needed for survival.
The crowd shifted, from one large gathering to several smaller ones. Cedes stood back and listened, picking up bits and pieces of several conversations. Several men talked about security, making plans to start a community watch. One woman said she had her dehydrator working overtime, drying the last of the summer garden veggies. Another was making soup and canning it. Eventually the last of the panic faded, at least outwardly, and was replaced by preparation. Cedes could only hope it was the same everywhere, although she knew it wouldn't be.
The sound of her own name caught her attention and she snapped her head around.
Carmen smiled at her, looking smug. "I nominate Cedes."
She should have been paying attention to that particular conversation. "What?" No good ever came of being nominated for anything.
"We'll need someone to be in charge."
"In charge of what?" It didn't matter. Thanks, but no thanks. Being in charge wasn't in her DNA.
"Getting things organized," Emma replied. "You have common sense, and your ego won't get in the way."
No, no chance of that. But the idea of being in charge of anything other than her store and herself filled her with a sense of dread. "Really, I don't think—"
Carmen interrupted. "The people who don't want leadership are the ones who should have it. The ones who shouldn't be in charge are always the first to raise their hands. There are assholes everywhere."
The next thing she knew, Cedes was surrounded. Not just by her aunt and friends, but by several other smaller groups. There were fifteen houses in this little neighborhood, and at quick count it appeared that every home was represented by at least one resident. And they were all looking at her.
"So?" Carmen prodded. "What do we do?"
Neighbors ranging in age from five to seventy-five looked at her as if she should have all the answers. She threw a panicked look at Mike Chang, but he held up his hands and shook his head. "Don't look at me. I don't have the patience. Tell me what to do and I'll do it, but I know my weaknesses."
The thing was, Cedes knew hers, too, and being forceful enough to lead anything wasn't in her wheelhouse.
On the other hand, what they needed at this point was organization more than leadership. She ran her store, kept the inventory ordered and organized. She could do that much, get them at least on the same page so things that needed to be done got done but efforts weren't duplicated.
Bree was watching her. If she refused, what would that teach Bree about stepping up, about being strong even against her own inclinations? She wasn't Bree's only role model, but still—being a role model sucked.
She blew out a breath, thought a minute, then said, "We need a plan not just for this street, but for the entire community." There were about six thousand residents in the entire county, give or take. Thanks to the topography, they were pretty spread out. It was a rural area, an unincorporated township. They had no organized form of government. "While we still have phones and internet, let's contact everyone we can and set up a community center." There was one logical answer. "Tomorrow afternoon, if we get hit the way they say we will, we'll meet at the school. Everyone who wants to attend can, but at the very least each neighborhood should be represented. We need a list of residents, their addresses, next . . . next of kin and how to contact them." That was hard to say, but had to be put out there. "Put the word out, try to get as many people to attend as we can. The people who can walk the distance, should, to save gas. At the very least people should share rides. Once we're there, we'll make a plan for the days to come."
Days, she said, not weeks and months. She didn't want to bring the panic back to those who had managed to dismiss it.
"We can elect a community leader at that time." So far as she knew, they didn't even have a county deputy who lived in the area, but she might be wrong about that. There was a forest ranger, she thought, but she'd heard he recently retired.
One thing for sure: her little neighborhood might have nominated her to get things organized, but she certainly wouldn't be voted on to lead the entire community.
One of the men who'd been talking about security spoke up. "Who's going to contact that Evans guy who lives on top of Cove Mountain? He's retired from the military. That's what I heard. He'd be an asset."
If they only knew. Cedes and Roz both kept their mouths shut. No one needed to know Evans had given them a heads-up about the solar storm several hours before everyone else found out.
A few people nodded their heads in agreement and one asked if anyone had his phone number.
It appeared no one did, no surprise there, and eventually Mike Chang offered to drive up in the morning and ask Evans personally to join in on the community plans. The men would no doubt prefer someone like Sam to be in charge, and to be honest so would she. But she didn't think he'd agree. In fact, she was certain he wouldn't.
As it grew darker, a few people still stood around talking but most people began wandering back to their homes, to prepare, to wait, to call loved ones they might not be able to talk to for a while.
Cedes was beyond exhausted. She murmured a vague excuse about going in to check on something, though she was sure that there was nothing to check, and went back into Roz's house. It had been a hellish—and hellishly long—day, and she just wanted to go home. Home wasn't possible just yet, unless she was willing to leave Roz and Carmen to do all the work of canning their produce, which she wasn't.
She began pulling stuff out of the refrigerator to throw together a meal. Perishables first, she thought. That meant the luncheon turkey needed to be eaten. Okay, more turkey and cheese sandwiches it was.
Bree was teary-eyed when she came inside, just ahead of Roz and Carmen. "I want to talk to Matt," she said, "but he isn't answering his phone."
"He's probably on duty," Cedes said practically. "Every active-duty soldier will be preparing. Send him a text, tell him to call whenever he can regardless of the time." Roz had to be as worried about her grandson as Bree was, but she was holding it together for her granddaughter's sake.
As far as that went, Cedes wanted to know that her cousin was safe, too, and maybe find out some preparations the military was making.
But she couldn't think about the government, there was a lot of work they had to do, and she knew they were going to stay busy while the power was still on.