As always thanks for reading and supporting me. Herb is introduced to us in this chapter. What do you think of him? I was going to leave out a lot of his background, but he is an essential character, and we need to know why he has the layers he have.
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 Four
Mike Chang was a man of his word; he set out for Sam Evans's house on top of Cove Mountain early the next day. He hadn't looked forward to his task, because from what he'd heard Evans wasn't the nicest man in the valley, but Mike had been in the military himself to pay off his medical school loans serving as a medic, and he figured that might give them some common ground . . . or not. He knew practicing medicine in the Tennessee mountains would not make him rich or able to pay off his debt. He might be book smart, but he wouldn't know how the recluse would react until he met the man face to face.
The morning news had not been good, and already cell service was spotty, satellites were going down . . . it looked as if they'd better prepare for the worst possible scenario. Mike didn't like thinking about that. He'd seen what he'd thought was the worst, as a medic in Iraq part of the War on Terror after 9/11 almost twenty years before, then he found out what was going on now was his worst nightmare. He felt sick to his stomach thinking about it, so instead he focused on what was right around him, on his family and neighbors, on their community. He and his community needed help, they needed leadership who knew what was going on and how to survive it, and he figured Sam Evans was the best man for that.
On his way up the steep mountain, he could see a man pushing a lawn mower over a narrow strip of grass beside the road. Out of caution he slowed, and pulled as far to the left as he could and still stayed on the road. The man looked up, then to Mike's mild surprise held up his hand and stepped out into the middle of the road.
He didn't recognize the man, but several of the houses up here were vacation homes. Huh. If this was a vacationer, he should have gone home. Maybe he'd moved here permanently. It was impossible, even for the old-timers, to know everyone who lived in the area.
As he rolled to a stop, he tried to keep his mouth from falling open. This guy looked like Ben Franklin, complete with glasses, large stomach, and receding hairline and long hair.
He lowered the passenger-side window and leaned over. "Good Morning'," he said in greeting.
Ben Franklin bent over and looked in the window, a stern, disapproving expression on his face. "This is a private road," he said. "What are you doing here?"
Mike's hackles rose a little; there were a lot of racist people in Tennessee, but he kept his face pleasant. Maybe everyone should start being more cautious. "I know this. I'm going to visit someone."
"Who are you visiting?"
"Excuse me, who are you?"
"I'm Herb Duncan. I own this house here." The man indicated the house behind him, a spacious brand new looking cabin.
From his accent, Mike knew the man wasn't local, at least not born-and-raised local. "Vacation home?"
The man's face went stiff. "I'll give your question back to you: Who are you?"
"Mike Chang, doctor."
Ben—Herb—glanced down at the sign. "Did someone call you?"
Mike lied. "Yes. Why?"
"Who?"
"Mister, if you can tell me why it's any of your business who has a medical issue without violating HIPPA, I'll give you all the information you want. But since I'm guessing you can't, I'll be on my way." He buzzed up the window and hit the gas, forcing faux-Ben to step back or get his toes run over. He hoped the guy didn't live here, and would soon be hightailing it for home—something he should have done yesterday. But idiots abounded in all areas, and Lord knew the area had its share of homegrown ones. The one thing they didn't need was more moving in.
Sam mentally ran through everything he'd done yesterday, the supplies he'd gathered, what he already had on hand, what he'd done to protect his equipment, and figured he was as ready as he was ever going to get.
He didn't consider himself a prepper, a survivalist, or an alarmist. He hadn't collected freeze-dried food, ammo, alternative power sources, and water storage because he expected the end of the world to be right around the corner. He was simply ready for whatever life decided to throw his way—and to minimize the necessity for contact with the rest of the population. He could easily weather the grid going down, without much change in his lifestyle other than having to preserve his gasoline, and making do when that ran out, but with his training that was no big deal. He could and did regularly hike miles through these mountains, partly to keep in shape, but also because the solitude and the majesty of the mountains appealed to him.
Today was the day. Survivalists and theorists had warned about it for a long time, and it was finally here. The culprit wasn't a bad actor exploding a nuclear bomb in the atmosphere, it was the sun. The sun ruled everything on Earth, and they were about to be reminded of that in a big way.
Europe and most of Asia were already dark. News was scarce, because communications in those continents were down: power grids, satellites, land lines, all fried. The US military had hardened power sources and what little information was out there came from them, but they had their hands full with one crisis after another at bases and embassies around the world, and spreading the news wasn't their job. Their job was holding the line, protecting the country and its citizens, and every service member right now was focused on that. Still, there were some calls, some news leaking through on his ham radio though the atmosphere was getting screwed by the minute, and some texts.
The news wasn't good, and it wouldn't be for a long time.
He didn't have a TV set, didn't want one, didn't need one. He'd seen more than enough online. Many larger cities were already experiencing gridlock as the smart people tried to get out, and the stupid ones were trying to stock up on a couple of days of food thinking that would be enough. Some people were stuck because of their situations, maybe an ill family member they refused to leave behind, and he felt sorry for them because they were likely going to die. Too many people lived without having more than a couple of days' worth of food on hand. They couldn't imagine weeks or months without power, couldn't imagine not being able to stop for takeout, or at the supermarket to pick up something to cook right then.
In some areas of the country the power was already out, or else spotty, because nuclear plants were already being shut down safely, powering down ahead of the CME. If the solar storm had come without warning, nuclear plants wouldn't have had time to conduct a safe, emergency power down, so they were doing it now.
And of course there were people who didn't believe anything would happen. Sam didn't know how people could ignore what was right in front of them, how they could even casually look at the news, find out Europe and Asia were dark, and still think it wouldn't happen to them. They went on about their lives as normally as they could, laughing at those who were making preparations. This wasn't Y2K. They wouldn't be laughing tomorrow.
He hoped Cedes Jones wasn't in that group. He'd done what he could, given her a heads-up. He could have—probably should have—gone to a bigger store in town for the few supplies he'd decided to add to his stash. No one there would have thought twice about his purchases, the way Cedes had. Everything would've been cheaper, too. No small store could compete with a grocery chain, pricewise.
He could've charged everything to his credit card, knowing the store wouldn't be able to collect for a long time, if ever, because all data before the coming grid crash could well be lost. Like everyone else, he wanted to conserve his cash. But when it came down to it, he didn't want to hurt Cedes. She was the only bright spot in his life. Seeing her...he wouldn't think of that now. He had gone to her store not to see her. He knew she'd need cash, too, more than he would, because he was far more self-sufficient.
He simply hadn't been able to pass by her store without experiencing a gut-deep feeling that he should tell her what was coming. She wasn't his responsibility; no one was, but that didn't mean he was comfortable leaving her hanging. He innately knew that she was one of the few good people in the world, a warm light in a world that needed all the warmth it could get. Gentle and giving didn't mean weak, though, and he hoped she'd acted on his warning.
That single warning was where his desire to participate in life beyond his cabin ended. He expected he wouldn't see another living soul for months, maybe years, and that suited him just fine.
Don't tempt the devil.
No sooner had he had the thought than the motion alarm sounded, immediately proving him wrong. Hoping his visitor was a bear, he turned to check the video camera, and swore aloud. A late thirty-something year old slightly out of shape man was huffing and puffing his way up the incline toward the porch, head down, steps short. Narrowing his gaze, Sam took his shotgun from its usual place by the front door and stepped outside.
He wasn't trying to be stealthy, because he wanted the visitor to realize he was there and to not come any closer. At the sound of the door closing, the trespasser stopped, lifted his head, and immediately fixed his gaze on the shotgun. He lifted his right hand in a staying motion. "Good Morning'. I'm Mike Chang, from town." He glanced over his shoulder. "You have a big-ass rock in your driveway. I had to park at the end of the drive and hike up."
"I know. I put it there on purpose. What can I do for you?" Sam's tone was matter-of-fact.
Mike Chang took a couple of deep breaths so he could speak more easily. "We're trying to get organized, in case . . . you know bad things happen, and people need to be notified. Anyway, no one had your phone number or someone would have called, so I volunteered to drive up and talk to you. We're also putting together a list of contacts—you know, next of kin, in case something happens, to let them know after things normalize."
Sam gave a brief thought to his family, on the ranch in Texas. They knew everything to do. He had talked to them all last night. They might be interested in knowing if he'd died, but his good friend Jake would make sure his family knew if something happened to him. They agreed to contact each other as soon as they were able.
Sam maintained his stance on the porch with the shotgun in his hand. If no one around had his phone number, then it should be obvious that he didn't want calls. Or visits.
But Mike Chang wasn't about to leave before he accomplished his mission. And now that he was closer, and Sam was seeing him in person, he altered his impression of the man, from being out of shape to "surprisingly lithe and muscular."
"Anyway," Chang continued, "the school will be our community meeting place. If the power does go down, that's where we'll gather this afternoon to get things organized. At times like this we need to band together, neighbor helping neighbor. We'd like to have you join us. You have some useful skills, and, hell, under some circumstances you might need us. I'm a doctor, by the way. Everyone eventually needs a doctor."
That might be a universal truth, but Sam didn't respond.
"My wife and I live on McKinley Road, down the way from Cedes Jones." Chang swiped at his sweaty forehead. "You know Cedes, right? Owns the little store on the highway? I think I've seen your truck there. Some of the women want her to be in charge, but"—he shrugged—"she isn't willing, and I'm thinking she might not be strong enough for the job, anyway. On the other hand, you'd be perfect."
"No." Sam's rejection was swift and flat. He had no desire to be in charge of anyone other than himself. He'd had enough of that in the military.
Chang took a step back. "Well, in case you change your mind . . ."
"I won't."
He glanced at the shotgun. "Can you agree to take some time to think about—"
Sam gave a slow, definite shake of his head.
Chang heaved a sigh. "Well, no one can say I didn't try. If you change your mind, come to the meeting at the school." He looked down Sam's driveway and scowled. "I'm going to have to back down the road a ways. There's no place to turn my truck around for at least half a mile."
"Yeah." Chang would spread the word. He wouldn't be back, and neither would anyone else he talked to about Sam's lack of hospitality. And his shotgun.
He stood on the porch and watched Chang leave. After the other man had trudged out of sight, Sam went back inside and stood the shotgun in its place beside the door.
He thought about Cedes Jones being in charge of the entire community, and couldn't quite picture it. She was so quiet it was hard to tell, but he figured she was competent and probably better suited to the job than most, if she could develop a sense of command.
Sam's way of organizing would be to tell everyone they were on their own. Those who were unprepared had only themselves to blame. Those who had prepared would be okay, for the most part. People would die, and soon, but here in this part of the world, most would probably do just fine. They could hunt and forage, fish and barter with neighbors. Those who were so inclined would band together and make it work.
They didn't need him, and he sure as hell didn't need them.
Herb Duncan sat on his porch. It was always quiet here, but at the moment the silence was deeper than usual, more complete. Even the birds seemed to be hiding, waiting for the CME to pass.
Most of the neighboring houses on his road had been vacated. There were a couple of other full-timers, people Herb knew from the neighborhood association where they discussed things like upkeep on the road, and maybe doing some landscaping at the entrance, putting up a security light there. Herb was against both the landscaping and the security light. He didn't want to make the road look more inviting, or easier to find.
His vacation house was located in what he considered a prime spot on the side of the mountain, not so high that it was difficult to get to, but high enough that he had a nice view. He and Bailey tried to drive down from Ohio at least one long weekend a month, and they'd talked about retiring here when the time came. He considered himself as much a local as anyone else in the area. He contributed with his dollars, in taxes and purchases made in the area and beyond. He made legitimate complaints to the agencies who managed the rental cabins on this road, when the grass grew too high or repairs needed to be made, or when renters parked on the street or worse, in Herb's own driveway.
Yesterday a sheriff's deputy had knocked on his door and asked him to leave, because "tourists should go home while they could." He was still pissed about that. He wasn't a damn tourist, he owned this property, and so what if he didn't live here full-time? This was still his property and he belonged here as much as anyone else did. They should've been asking for his help; he knew how to run things, how to take charge and give orders.
If nothing happened, he and Bailey would go home when they'd originally planned to, on Sunday. If the CME did hit and it was as bad as it had been predicted to be, then they were in a good place right here. There were opportunities to be had in a crisis, if someone—like himself—was smart enough to seize those opportunities.
Bailey walked onto the porch, phone in hand. "My texts aren't going through!" Her voice trembled and her hands shook. He immediately got up and put his arm around her. Not being able to get in touch with the kids, or her family, would weigh heavily on her. He didn't want her upset, not with her weak heart.
"The systems are overloaded, with everyone trying to call and text," he said soothingly. "You know everybody's okay, you just talked to them yesterday." Almost losing her to a heart attack ten years ago had shaken him to his core. Herb didn't like most people, their stupidity got on his nerves, but Bailey was his world. He'd do anything to protect her. She was soft where he was strong, but she didn't need to be strong. He was strong enough for both of them.
Like him, she was fifty-six years old, though her skin was still smooth and her expression peaceful. With her brown hair and blue eyes he'd always thought she had an angelic quality to her, and it infuriated him when people took advantage of her.
She sat down and he resumed his seat; she was clasping her phone and looking at it as if she expected it to ring at any moment. "We should have gone home," she said, not for the first time. "The gas tank is full, we would have made it."
"We're better off here."
"But—"
He shook his head. "The kids aren't there. They said they'll be fine, and they have their own families to take care of. There's nothing you can do to help them. They're too far away besides they are tough. They'll be okay." Not everyone in the family was tough, but that wasn't his problem. "Your sister and your mother will just have to fend for themselves."
He waited for another "but" that didn't come. Bailey's family was a big factor in his decision not to go home. They were constantly running to her with their problems, stressing her out, expecting her to give them "loans" when they overspent—which they never repaid—complaining about the deadbeat men her sister hooked up with when she kept choosing one loser after another, and their mother always defended her sister and guilted Bailey into coughing up more money. The last thing he and Bailey needed was to have to deal with those two leeches.
He'd never say so to her, but he hoped they both died. Bailey would be upset, but she'd be better off in the long run.
Thinking about it, he decided an electromagnetic pulse would be a better disaster than a CME. If a surprise attack had taken down the power grid without warning, no one would have been able to leave. Cars would've been damaged—some of them, anyway. The chaos would've been immediate and devastating.
No one would have come around to demand that he leave his own damn house.
A man could make a name for himself in a disaster like this one. Some would survive this crisis, even thrive, but others wouldn't. He intended not only to survive but to be a leader.
There was going to be a meeting this afternoon at the elementary school. No one had told him about the meeting, and that stung a bit. He'd seen the news in an informational crawler on a Knoxville television station, shortly before his TV satellite had gone out, and he planned to be present. Someone had to tell these hillbillies how to organize and what needed to be done. A lot of the people who lived around here had never traveled much beyond east Tennessee; their ignorance would be unbelievable.
He scanned the expanse of land surrounding him, thinking. There would be food at the school, at the restaurants, at the convenience stores and gas stations. The liquor at the moonshine place would be as good as gold in the coming months. So would the apple butter and fudge and relishes at the country store next door to the moonshine cabin. Someone would have to take control of the available commodities.
Herb was good at taking control. He'd owned his own business for years. In the beginning he'd been at the tire store, that first location, seven days a week. He'd worked his tale off. Now he owned six stores and had competent managers in each one. It was no longer necessary that he be involved in the business, though he did like to drop into those stores unannounced and stir things up a bit to keep his managers on their toes.
His stores would suffer during this crisis, as would all commerce, but when it was over he'd rebuild. He'd get by. He was a survivor, and he'd take care of Bailey.
They had enough supplies on hand to get by for a short time. Everything else he might need was located in the community below. All he had to do was stir things up a bit so he could control all the resources.
Bree ran into the kitchen where Cedes, Roz, and Carmen were still preparing and canning as much food as they could. While the power was still on, the work couldn't let up. "I finally heard from Matt!" she said, waving her cellphone at them, then immediately burst into tears.
"Oh, baby girl." Roz dried her hands and went to Bree, putting her arms around her. "That's such a relief. How is my fabulous grandson? Is he still on the base?"
Bree wiped her eyes and showed the text message to Roz.
"'I'm doing good,'" Roz read. "'We're prepared, have backup systems. I won't be able 2'—he used the number two instead of the word to, I taught him better than that—'get leave for a long time, so take care of yourself. Tell Grandma I said hi, & love U both.'"
Roz wiped her own eyes. "What a load off my mind. I figured the military would be fine, but I have to admit hearing him say it makes me feel better." She gave Bree another hug, then rejoined the food prep.
Cedes glanced at the clock, did some calculations. "Bree, if you'll shell the last of those peas, we'll have time to get them in the pressure cooker before time runs out."
Bree made a face, because she'd already discovered she hated shelling peas—and shucking corn—but she sat down without protest and picked up a pod. They didn't have a lot of peas left, maybe enough to fill five or six pints. Carmen had made some fresh bread in her bread-making machine, and Cedes had baked a couple of dozen corn bread muffins. They'd get stale, but they'd last longer than soft bread.
They'd done what they could. They had just a few more hours before the CME hit. Cedes wished someone could tell them the exact time, but a solar storm didn't obey anyone's schedule. Nature was awe-inspiring and powerful, and nothing on Earth was more powerful than the sun.
She was so proud of Bree, who had not only pitched in with the food prep but cleaned up when she could, and they'd let her escape the hot kitchen because sometimes the kitchen got too crowded with all of them working their butts off. Bree had taken the warning about unplugging everything to heart, not only seeing to the chore in their houses, but warning their neighbors. The only things plugged in now were what they were actively using, which were all in the kitchen. At Cedes's suggestion, Bree had also gone back and forth between Roz's house and Cedes's, getting all the laundry done. Any crisis was better faced with clean clothes.
Roz's satellite TV was already out, but she had a backup antenna that picked up the local channels from Knoxville, and the small TV in the kitchen was on. Though there was some interference, the occasional static or blip or both, they were able to watch the wall-to-wall local news coverage while they worked. News anchors were trained to inject all the drama they could into any news event, but now they all looked genuinely scared. It was definitely time to worry.
Cedes kept an eye on the clock, and when she judged it was time she said, "Bree, you should go take a shower and wash your hair while we still have hot water. All of us need to do that, so wash as fast as you can."
Bree raced up the stairs, and was back down in ten minutes with her long hair wet and slicked back. "You go next," Roz firmly told Cedes. "Your hair is longer and thicker than mine and Carmen dreads doesn't need heat styling; you're the only one that needs to spend a lot of time on your hair. We're almost finished here, anyway."
That wasn't quite true; there was still more cleaning to be done. But it was also true that Cedes's hair was naturally thick and curly, and wouldn't be straightened again with heat until after the grid was back up.
Like Bree, she rushed through the showering process; she wanted to linger, to savor, knowing this might be the last hot shower she'd have in a long time, but this wasn't a time for lingering. When she was dressed again she took the blow-dryer and her flat iron downstairs with her, to clear the way for the next one to shower.
By the time everyone had taken their turn in the bathrooms and the kitchen was cleaned up, time was getting close, and they didn't want to push their chances on destroying any of the kitchen appliances. The pressure cooker had finished with the peas, and the jars were sitting on the kitchen counter, cooling. The four of them ceremoniously unplugged everything except the little TV, which Roz had said she would sacrifice because it was old anyway and when the power came back on she'd get a new little flat screen for the kitchen.
"What do we do now grandma?" Bree asked.
Roz shrugged.
Cedes looked at her and told her, "Wait." She hugged Bree—all of them seemed to be doing that, reassuring the kid as much as possible—then took a seat at the table where she could see the TV. One by one, the others did the same. Bree squeezed in between Roz and Cedes, as if she felt safer there.
There was a scroll at the bottom of the screen that held their attention. Several communities had done what Sevier County residents had and set up meeting places for this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Anyone in the area who hadn't been contacted might see the information on TV, if they still had access and if they were watching. At least three Knoxville radio stations had plans of their own. They'd scheduled ongoing updates at prearranged hours, though they also warned that for the first few days after the CME radio signals would be disrupted, listeners shouldn't be alarmed if they had no reception.
Shouldn't be alarmed. Oh, hell to the no.
"Radio," Bree said in disbelief. "No one listens to the radio."
"Sure they do," Carmen countered. "And a lot more will from now on."
Cedes's text alert sounded and they all jumped. She looked at the screen and said with relief, "It's Tesla." She'd texted her closest friends, Tesla and Quinn, the night before. Quinn had quickly replied, assuring Cedes that she was as prepared as she was going to get. She, her husband, Nick, and their two kids—both under five years old—had been visiting his parents when the alarm had gone out. Nick's folks lived on a farm a couple of hours away, and they had decided to stay there. Not only was the farm set up for a long period of self-sufficiency, Nick's parents were in their sixties and could use the help.
But she hadn't heard from Tesla, and she'd worried. Tesla lived in Gatlinburg, close enough that Cedes could have gone there if she hadn't been so busy with all the food preparation. Tesla traveled a lot with her job, though, and when she thought about it Cedes realized they hadn't been in contact for a week or so.
In Georgia with David & his family. Staying here. You okay?
She read Tesla's text aloud, then quickly tapped in a reply that they were good and Quinn and Nick were with Nick's parents. Part of her wished her friends were close by, but common sense said they were better off where they were: with family. Tesla's parents had retired early and moved to Arizona, so she had no family close by. She'd been dating David Dalton for about six months and things had been looking serious.
This would certainly be a compatibility test, Cedes thought. They'd be living together, with David's parents, whom Tesla had evidently just met, for no one knew how long.
What would it be like to face this crisis with a strong, dependable partner by your side? The errant thought blindsided her, and hard on its heels came another: she had always been the introverted one, the one who dodged risk because of her anxiety. Who would want to face this crisis by her side?
The realization was mortifying. She had to be tougher, smarter; she had to pull her weight, and more. She'd worried about Roz and Bree stepping up, and they likely were thinking the same thing about her. Roz might have, anyway; Bree was too young to be that analytical.
The coming crisis would test them all. She didn't want to be one of those who failed.
"I'm glad she's with David and his folks; I love her but she is bit high maintenance and I don't think she could survive this on her own." Roz said. "Being alone right now would be awful."
The three others nodded, all of them imagining how bad it would be to have no one to rely on.
"I'd feel better if I knew what to expect," Carmen said, her soft face worried. "I don't mind hard work; that's how I grew up. I just need to know. What will work, what won't? What should we be doing, what should we forget about?"
For some reason, the others looked at Cedes, as if she had the answers. She had spent some time reading up on CMEs, but that didn't make her an expert. How could anyone be an expert on something that hadn't happened in the modern world?
"All I can do is guess," she said slowly. "Texts should work—might work—even after the grid goes down, unless the CME fries the towers. They work on radio waves, right? The radio stations all say the waves will be wonky for a few days. After that . . . maybe. But cell phones have to be charged, and even then coverage is bound to be spotty. We have to decide if it would be worth using precious power to charge a cell."
"Yes!" Bree said instantly.
"I don't see having a powered-up cell phone as being more important than having light," Roz said. "Especially since the odds are against anyone you'd want to talk to also having a charged cell phone, and that the networks would be operational. Not right away, anyway. Later on, maybe, because you know everyone will be working their butts off trying to get everything up and running."
"I charged my cell phone this morning," Cedes said. "What about y'all?"
"I did," Bree said. Of course.
Roz made a face. "I think it's about seventy percent."
Carmen sighed. "I haven't even turned mine on today. I forgot."
"Then we're good for a while, between the four of us, if any cell service works." Another thought occurred; they'd been so busy doing all the food prep and canning that she'd forgotten about water. She had a good bit of bottled water from her store, but that wouldn't be near enough. "We should get busy, right now, filling everything we can with water. When the power goes out, it'll be a lot harder to come by."
They all got busy, filling every glass, every cup, every bowl, every pitcher and jug they could find, all while keeping an eye on the small television. Cedes sent Bree to Roz's small bathroom, which was attached to her downstairs master bedroom, to fill the tub there with water, as well.
The news anchors were seriously explaining that anything that relied on satellites were already down, and there was no telling how long it would take to repair or replace them. Getting the power grid up and running would have to come first. Then they began listing places where emergency rations would be distributed, and where medical centers would be set up. Hospitals would be too difficult to manage, with dark stairs and inoperable elevators. The practice of medicine would become smaller, and more basic.
As she automatically filled containers with water, Cedes wondered how long those emergency rations would last. Here in the valley, at least, starvation wasn't on the radar. Getting food would be more difficult, but there were deer and other game in the area, as well as hunters who'd be happy to provide. She'd never had squirrel or rabbit stew, but there were plenty of them around and she wasn't entirely opposed to trying it if their supplies and deer ran out. Okay, she was opposed, but that would pass. She imagined a lot of food dislikes would be ignored before this was over.
The water coming from the faucet suddenly thinned to a trickle, then stopped altogether. "What on earth?" Roz said, looking at the television, which was still on.
"The county commission must have turned everything off and disconnected, so the water pumps won't be fried," Cedes said, looking at the clock and thinking that, truly, they had taken a chance leaving the water on this long. She turned the faucet off and looked at their supply of water, at the kitchen counters and table covered with every kind of container they'd been able to grab. Bree returned to the kitchen, looking at Cedes and shrugging her shoulders. Still, she'd had time to fill Roz's bathtub. They'd be okay, for a while, and when they had to they'd use creek water to flush the toilets.
Everything at her own house was already unplugged, and her perishables and generator were already here at Roz's. They were as ready as they were going to get.
They all took a seat at the table, watching the little television, saying nothing. The minutes ticked by, moving closer and closer to three p.m. Then the hour hand on the battery-operated clock moved past three, and Bree stirred restlessly. "Maybe—" she began.
The television went black.
That was it. No drama, no burst of static, just . . . gone.
Roz's house was eerily quiet, all of the normal sounds missing. There was no refrigerator hum, no central air blowing, no television. All of them sat there, scarcely breathing, because surely something so momentous should have been more . . . well—momentous. The quiet ticking of the clock, something Cedes had never before noticed, was the only background noise.
And so it began, not with thunderous noise, or drama, or a cataclysmic collapse, but with . . . silence.