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.

No horror or tense moments ahead just us getting to know the people of the area and seeing who will be the head B in charge.

Chapter Five

"It looks like The Walking Dead," Cedes said under her breath as they joined people from all over in walking to the elementary school.

On the other side of her, Bree giggled. Roz barely suppressed a snort of laughter. "Hush!" she whispered. Then she said, "Though a few people are kind of lurching around." They looked like zombies.

The day's heat had begun to cool and the late-afternoon shadows were lengthening. Cedes had brought a flashlight, in case the meeting ran until after dark. She hoped it wouldn't, but realistically she expected people to have a lot to say, whether any of it was constructive or not. Everyone was worried, including herself. Maybe someone would have some good ideas on how they could weather this.

They worked their way inside to the cafeteria; she'd never seen it so crowded. She hadn't been here in a few years, but the school hadn't changed much. The smell was the same, the tables and chairs the same. Maybe the walls had been repainted, but that was it.

Instinctively she scanned the crowd, looking for Sam Evans even though instinct told her he wasn't there. If he were anywhere around, there would be one of two possible reactions: he'd either be standing alone because most people would be wary of approaching him, or he'd be in the center of a bunch of men who were looking to him to be the natural leader. There was no in-between, he wouldn't be chatting with a small group of people.

Of course he wasn't here; no surprise there, though she really wished he was. If anyone had the skills to help them get through this disaster, it was Evans. She couldn't even be annoyed that he wouldn't help, because, honestly, if she had the option of hiding away until the crisis passed she'd probably take it, too.

She didn't have the option, so wishful thinking was a waste of her time.

Every seat in the cafeteria had been taken, and many people stood along the walls and in the aisles. Almost immediately the low roar of constant chatter began to wear on her nerves. She hated crowds and the noise that came with them, hated the way it made her want to crouch down like a small animal trying to escape notice. She wished she thrived on people and experiences, instead of wanting to run.

A man noticed them and said, "Miss Roz is here," and got up to let Roz have his seat, at the end of a long table. Cedes and Bree took up positions behind her. It wasn't necessary that all three of them be here, but she and Roz had felt as if they had to be there, and Bree was sticking close to them. Carmen had stayed at Roz's house, both to rest from the hard day's work and because she said they could tell her everything she needed to know, which was true. Her ankle was already better, so she would have been able to handle the walk. Cedes suspected that Carmen was hiding, in her own way, the same way Sam was hiding. Everyone handled crisis situations differently.

In the midst of the sound, she caught bits and pieces of conversations:

"I don't have enough blood pressure medicines."

"I prayed hard and believed that this wouldn't really happen."

A woman at the next table toward the back was telling people that Mike Chang had gone to Sam Evans's place and been met with a shotgun. Any lingering hope she'd had, that he'd miraculously show up and save the day, faded away.

With the electricity off and no air-conditioning, and the lunchroom crowded with people, heat was quickly building to the uncomfortable level and so was the level of irritation.

From what she could hear, a couple of men were already attempting to take the lead, but so far there was nothing resembling organization in their methods. They were at the front of the room, arguing about food, security measures, rationing gasoline and propane. More men began to join them, some adding their opinions to the argument, others just moving close enough to listen.

The noise level grew, as did the feeling of panic in the air. Roz looked around and scowled, then said to Cedes, "If someone else doesn't step up, those assholes up there will end up running everything."

Bree said, "Why don't you do it, Grandma Roz? You and Cedes."

Roz looked startled, then she glanced up at Cedes with a speculative look on her face. "You should do it," she said. "You're the one who got this meeting organized, after all."

Cedes's stomach clenched at the idea of dealing with this many people; she'd have to get up and talk in front of them, persuade the ones who had other ideas, and a whole bunch of other things that made her think about running. Horrified, she protested, "I don't even know the majority of people here! Do you?"

Roz looked around, frowning. "Most of them," she admitted. "After all, I've lived here all of my life. Some of the new people who've moved here, I don't."

"I think you should do it," Bree said to Roz. She made a face as she looked at the knot of arguing men. "They scare me. Do it, Grandma, please?"

Roz said irritably, "You do know I don't have much chance of being elected, don't you?" even as she pushed her chair back and stood.

"Then why did you tell me to do it?" Cedes demanded. "You know more of them than I do!"

"Don't try to use logic with me chile."

Cedes followed her aunt as Roz slowly worked her way to the back of the room. It was a chore to get there. They had to ease past clusters of concerned people, muttering "excuse me" again and again as they made their way toward the men who were attempting—and failing—to lead. Everyone was watching the argument, some scowling, some looking alarmed as if they expected a fight to break out at any minute.

The air was close and hot, and evidently a lot of people hadn't thought ahead to taking a bath while they still could. Some people were trying to open windows, maybe catch a late-afternoon breeze to clear the air.

This was the way it would be for a long time, she thought. Central air and heat had spoiled them; everyone would have to get used to existing in the real-world temperature again, enduring the heat, sitting close by the fire when winter came. The electricity hadn't been off long enough yet for this to feel like anything more than an inconvenience. Reality would set in soon, as food supplies dwindled and stores didn't reopen.

Finally they reached the group of men, but before Roz could interrupt them in her usual inimitable manner, there was a shout from the other end of the room and as one they all turned to look at the red-faced, harried-looking man who was coming toward them, progressing pretty much the way she and Roz had done, weaving around, tapping people on their shoulders, repeating "excuse me" until those in the way moved to the side as much as they could. It was close quarters in the lunchroom, and getting closer as more people trickled in.

"Who's that?" she asked Roz in a low voice.

"I don't know," Roz replied, "but he evidently thinks he has something important to say."

The man finally reached the back of the room where the serving area and kitchen were, and turned to face the crowd. He was dressed in the ubiquitous Southern male uniform of khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt, and he drank from a water bottle in his left hand before he began speaking. "Let me have your attention," he said in a loud voice, repeating the phrase over and over and being roundly ignored. The noise continued unabated.

Cedes didn't think she had many talents, but by God she definitely had one: she could sing high pitched notes in a whistle tone loudly.

The sudden silence was a relief, but now everyone was looking at her. She felt her face get hot. Quickly she pointed at the man who had been trying to talk over the noise.

He gave her a grateful nod and said, "Good evening everyone, I'm Jesse St. James, with the county commission."

That prompted a rush of questions, but he shook his head and held up his hand. "I don't have answers to most of your questions. We're still working out a plan. What I'm here about today is the food here in the lunchroom. There are perishables in the coolers, and a lot of staples, and we don't want this food to go to waste."

A woman said, "How do you plan on handling it?"

Jesse St. James cleared his throat. "We propose going by the latest population numbers, figuring out the weight of the food here, and dividing the weight by the population to see how much food each person gets."

The woman stood up, a disbelieving look on her face. "The county commission doesn't have any idea how a lunchroom works, does it? The staples are in big bags. How are you going to divide that, have everyone bring a measuring cup? And what about the people who stayed here instead of going home? There's a rental cabin next door to me and those people are still here, and said they didn't know anything about a solar storm. Are we supposed to include them in the food giveaway, when their tax dollars didn't buy any of it?"

"Now, wait just a minute," a man who looked alarmingly like Ben Franklin said loudly, his scowling face turning red. "I don't live here, but I own a vacation house and I pay property taxes just like everyone else. Are you saying my wife and I aren't entitled to any extra food?"

The woman shrugged. "You aren't here all year paying local taxes the way we are. I'd say yeah you could have some, but not a full share."

"That's bullshit!" His head jutted forward and he advanced on her.

"Settle down, now!" Mike Chang appeared, pushing his way between people and getting in front of the Ben Franklin look-alike. "There's no need to start fighting, this can be worked out."

"They both have legitimate points," Roz put in; Cedes saw the alarmed look she cast at Bree, and knew her aunt was trying to play peacemaker to head off any possible violence because she didn't want the girl scared. The situation was frightening enough to kids, without adding adult anger to the mix. Mike Chang gave her a grateful nod.

"It doesn't matter." Another woman stood up. "I work in the lunchroom, and I can tell you, Mr. St. James, dividing the food likely won't work. This other lady is right about the staples being in big bags. The meat won't keep long, and neither will the eggs. The produce, lettuce and tomatoes and such, will last longer but they need to be eaten within a week. I don't know what you think you're going to do with all that meat, either, just cut off hunks and hand them out to people who may not have a means of cooking it?"

Cedes immediately imagined big hanging sides of beef, though she knew that wasn't what the lunchroom had. The lunchroom worker had a point; how did one cook that much meat, when, other than their backyard grills, most people had lost their means of cooking? Eventually people would work out systems for cooking, but the meat would spoil before then. She and Roz and Carmen had canned what meat they had so it would last just fine, but what about the others?

Thinking about the large amount of meat, she saw the solution and leaned forward, murmuring to Roz, "Those big meat smokers. Right off the bat I can think of three men who have them, so there are bound to be more."

The people around them heard her and turned around to look, nodding their heads in agreement.

"How many people here have those big smokers?" Roz called out, looking around the crowded lunchroom. "Those who have generators can keep a fridge running for a while, but let's face it, we'll need those generators when the weather turns cold. What we need to do is cook this food and have us one big cookout, before it goes bad! Carl Howell, I know you have one."

"I do," said a man from the side of the room. "So does Paul Karofsky."

A couple of other names were added, and going by the size of the big smokers Cedes had seen, they now had the combined capability of smoking a couple of thousand pounds of meat, way more than was likely in the lunchroom—which meant they could also smoke the meat that people had in their homes that they hadn't already cooked.

"That's a darn good idea," said the lunchroom lady, nodding her head emphatically. "Everyone can join in."

"The big field beside the bank would be a good place," Cedes said to Roz, trying to keep her voice low enough that people wouldn't notice her. It didn't work; they were turning around again, looking at her, giving her the thumbs-up signal. Again she felt her face heating at the attention.

God, why couldn't she grow out of this anxiety? She was fine in small groups and onstage where she couldn't see people's faces, and with people she already knew. Why couldn't that carry over when she was in a crowd?

Roz put a comforting hand on Cedes's shoulder, the touch saying she understood even if she didn't quite agree, and raised her voice again. "The big field beside the bank. That's big enough to hold the smokers and all the people who want to come. We'll get tables and chairs from the churches, or everyone could just bring a blanket to sit on, or some lawn chairs, and we'll have ourselves a big barbecue."

There was another shout of agreement, a flood of suggestions, but none of them mentioned the uncooked meat people had in their freezers, meat that would go bad unless it was cooked soon. Roz was right; they'd need the generators more in a couple of months. Starting tonight, with the smokers, would be an even better idea.

Cedes waited, hoping someone would think of that. Hadn't anyone else gone on those survivalist websites and gotten some ideas about how to salvage their food supply?

Evidently not.

"For crying out loud," she muttered, frustrated in her attempt to remain unnoticed. Roz turned around, eyebrows raised in question, and Cedes leaned closer. "Anyone who has any uncooked meat and can't cook it at home needs to bring it so it can be smoked, too," she whispered. With all the background noise in the room, Roz couldn't hear her. She shook her head and Cedes repeated the suggestion, slightly louder.

"You should be doing this not me," Roz muttered, then called out again, "Anyone who has any meat that needs to be cooked, bring it!"

The room buzzed as Carl Howell and Paul Karofsky got together and came up with a time to meet in the big field and get the smokers fired up. Others volunteered camp stoves and charcoal grills, so the eggs and other items could be cooked. The school sometimes offered breakfast for lunch, and because the school year had just started they had more on hand than usual. The lunchroom ladies who were in attendance began organizing how such a large amount of food would be cooked.

Jesse St. James looked relieved that the lunchroom food would be distributed, though somewhat perturbed that the county commission's plan had been so quickly discarded. He went with the flow, though. "You 'all seem to have this in hand, so I'll get back to Sevierville," he said, not that anyone paid him much attention. The county commission was giving permission for them to take the food, so they were accepting the opportunity and handling it as they saw fit. Cedes wondered how the county commission could have expected anything different; country people had their own ideas about how to handle things.

"Before you go," Mike Chang said, "what are the plans for the sheriff's department?"

The commissioner paused. "There isn't a lot they can do. They'll patrol as long as they have gas—and the county does have some in reserve—but when that's gone . . ." He shrugged. "With the phone system down no one can call 9-1-1. When the atmosphere settles, the people with ham radios will be able to operate, if they have taken steps to protect their radios, and the sheriff's office is prepared for that with their own ham radio, but in reality—" He stopped again.

"In reality, we're on our own," Roz finished for him.

He heaved a sigh. "Yes, ma'am, I guess you are. I'm sorry."

"It's better to know where we stand, instead of waiting for help that won't get here, something some of us have had to deal with here all of our lives," she said.

He nodded and wound his way out of the crowded lunchroom, having delivered his news. People watched him go, conversation mostly suspended as they thought about what it meant to essentially have no law enforcement.

The Ben Franklin guy looked around and said loudly, pitching his voice to carry, "We'll need to organize the community, set up our own protection. I'm willing to—"

Mike Chang interrupted. "For those of you who haven't met him, this is Herb Duncan; his house is on Cove Mountain."

Ben Franklin's name really was Herb.

"Where are you from, Mr. Duncan?" Roz asked in a neutral tone that made Cedes's people-radar start beeping. Roz didn't like Mr. Duncan, because normally she was boisterous and friendly; neutral for her was just shy of downright hatred.

"Lima, Ohio," he said, for some reason giving her a disdainful look as if she'd asked the state of his underwear. "I own six tire stores, four in Columbus and two in Lima. I'm accustomed to managing people and resources; I could handle the organization of this little community in my sleep."

"Well bless your heart," Roz said, a polite smile fixed on her face, "but this community has about six thousand people in it, which is way more than you're used to handling—unless your little tire stores average a thousand employees each?"

Several people coughed at hearing Herb's heart being blessed, the Southern equivalent of "you're an idiot." Cedes ducked her head and pressed her lips hard together. Oh Lord; she might have to break up a fight any minute now, so she needed to be ready, not doubled up laughing.

Herb Duncan's face turned red at hearing his precious stores being called "little," signaling that Roz's retort had hit him square on the ego. Maybe Mike Chang saw the same thing because he stepped forward and clapped his hands, saying, "All right, let's hear some ideas, people, about what we want and how we want it done."

"Before anything can be done," Herb Duncan pointed out, "a leader has to be elected. As I said, I volunteer for the job."

"But you aren't from here," someone from the back of the room called out. "You don't know people."

Duncan looked annoyed at the reminder, then smoothed out his expression and shrugged. "People are people. Management is management."

"It ain't that simple," a weathered old guy in a sweat-stained John Deere cap said. "If you don't know where people live, or what they can do, or even what their names are, you can't manage diddly squat."

Roz leaned closer to Cedes and whispered, "I might have exaggerated about knowing everyone in the area, but I damn sure know more of them than Ben Franklin does."

"Anyone else volunteer?" another man said grumpily. "It's damn hot in here, let's get this voted on and get home."

There was a moment of relative silence, no one else speaking up, and Cedes winced at the idea of Herb Duncan being in charge of the valley's resources. He seemed to be more ego than ideas, though she might be wrong about that. After all, he was here, and wouldn't he want things to go well because it meant his survival as well?

The same woman who had been in disagreement with Duncan stood up and said, "I nominate Roz Washington. She's the one who had all the good ideas about how to handle the food." She gave Duncan a smug look as she sat back down.

Those standing around Cedes and Roz looked around and a few muttered, "Not exactly," because they'd overheard Cedes feeding the ideas to her aunt. Cedes almost panicked, afraid one of them would nominate her; she ducked her head, not meeting anyone's eye.

Roz said, "I can't take credit for that, my backup here is the one with all the good ideas," and she put her hand on Cedes's shoulder. "This meeting is her idea, too."

Thank God, Herb Duncan plowed right over that; Cedes hadn't been nominated, Roz had, and he focused on Roz. "I think we want someone more capable than an o—" He stopped abruptly, before the word old came all the way out of his mouth, but it was too late.

Roz stiffened. "An 'old woman,' you mean?" she snapped, glaring at him. "This old woman has been working her butt off all day canning food to get us by. What have you been doing, other than coming here and trying to claim the same amount of school food as the people who live and work here all year long?"

Cedes didn't often get angry, but Duncan's contemptuous dismissal of her aunt had her stepping forward, her hands curling into fists, her shyness forgotten she was ready to take the man to the carpet. Roz grabbed her arm, pulled her back. "I can handle this," she murmured.

A groundswell of hostile muttering followed the exchange. Duncan glared right back at her. "And you yourself said I had a point."

"I said what I said—something you might not understand."

"Anyone else want to volunteer?" Mike Chang asked loudly, once more trying to deflect the hostility into a more productive direction. "Or nominate someone?"

Silence.

"Okay, then, let's take a vote. Everyone for Mr. Duncan say 'aye.'"

"Aye," came a chorus of voices, mostly male.

"Now Roz Washington—"

"Aye!" This time the voices were mostly female, and definitely louder.

"You can't go by whoever yells the loudest," Herb Duncan snapped. "You have to take a real vote. Plus not everyone's here. My wife—"

"Who died and made you boss of us all. Could your wife have come if she'd wanted to?" Roz asked, lifting her brows. Cedes wondered if they were going to get through this election without fisticuffs. She'd never before seen Roz be so openly antagonistic to someone, especially on such a short acquaintance.

"Of course—"

"Then whether or not she's here doesn't matter. I can't think of any election that has a hundred percent participation."

"But this means the decisions for six thousand people—according to you—will be made by the few hundred who showed up here."

"That's right. That's how it works, Mr. Duncan. The word went out; the people who didn't bother to show up opted out of the decision making."

Oh no, now they were moving into politics. Hurriedly Cedes said, "Let's just line up, Roz's voters on the left, Mr. Duncan's on the right."

"Good idea," Mike said promptly, and raised his voice. "Line up, people! If you vote for Ms. Roz Washington, go to the left wall; for Mr. Duncan, go to the right wall."

"Depends on how we're facing, doesn't it?" an old geezer said, then wheezed with laughter at his own wit.

"I guess it does," Mike admitted. "Okay, this is the left wall"—he pointed to his left—"and this is the right wall"—he pointed to the right. "Anyone have any problems with that?"

"I'm good," said Roz, as she grabbed both Cedes and Bree by an arm and towed them toward "her" wall, dodging people as well as tables and chairs that had been shoved around.

"Way to go, Grandma," Bree whispered, leaning forward to grin at Cedes. Cedes stifled a sigh. The little shit was actually enjoying seeing her grandmother get in someone's face.

It was kind of fun, she admitted, giving in to a return smile as they lined up against the wall.

"No spreading out," Mike Chang instructed. "Single file! Let's get this done."

It took several minutes of shuffling and jockeying and arranging, but finally the lines were mostly uniform. Cedes looked around; Herb Duncan's line consisted mostly of men, though there were some women here and there. She looked at Roz's line; yep, mostly women, with a few men. No doubt about it, Herb Duncan's aggression had definitely gotten on the wrong side of most of the women present.

And the women outnumbered the men.

When everyone was lined up, the line on the left wall was a good five or six feet longer than the one on the right wall. Herb Duncan looked thunderous. "This is an ignorant way to have an election! We should have written ballots."

"Are you calling us locals 'ignorant,' Mr. Duncan? Boy, bye!" Roz demanded in a chilly tone.

He scowled, but was smart enough to backpedal. "I'm saying this particular process is ignorant, and the position is too important to rely on—"

"It isn't even a paying position, and no matter how you look at it, mine is bigger than yours." And Roz smirked at him, knowing he and almost everyone else in the room would catch her inference.

Mike Chang blew out a big breath and once again stepped into the breach. "That's it, we're calling this done. Roz Washington is our coordinator."

"This will be a complete mess," Duncan said in disgust. "There'll be some hard decisions to make, and does anyone really think a bl—" Again he stopped, baffled as to how he could call Roz a black old woman without alienating even more people.

"If it comes to human sacrifice," Roz said, grinning a shark grin at him, "I think I could come up with a nominee because this cosplaying Ben Franklin is working on my last nerve."

People began laughing, despite the seriousness of the situation they were in, and as Duncan looked around Cedes saw that he finally accepted he'd lost.

The heat was building to the stifling stage; Cedes ruefully thought that her shower had been wasted, because she was now so sweaty. The election over, some people began moving toward the exit, no doubt as eager as she was to get out into the fresh air. A cacophony of chair legs being scraped against the floor as they were pushed back filled the air, adding to the overall noise.

"Hold it!" Roz hollered, and most people did hold it, stopping to look back at her.

"This is just the beginning!" she said, keeping her voice raised. "Cedes and I have been talking about all that needs to be done. We need volunteers to check on people, identify the ones who are elderly or sick and can't do things for themselves. We'll need wood to burn this winter, so that means trees will have to be chopped down. Everyone who wants to help, stay behind so we can get this ball rolling."

With a pang, Cedes realized that she, Roz, and Bree were on the list of people who would need help keeping a fire in the fireplace. She could pick up wood from the forest, she could even fall saplings—with a saw, and a lot of sweat and determination—but she didn't even have an axe, much less a chainsaw. "We'll be needing firewood ourselves," she said quietly, not expecting anyone other than Roz and maybe Bree to hear her, because of the noise of the growing exodus. She was wrong.

"Don't worry about firewood, Miss Cedes," said a man behind her. She turned and recognized one of her customers, Brett Bukowski. "You were good enough to give me gas and some groceries on credit when I was between jobs, so the least I can do is cut you enough wood to get you through the winter."

Tears stung her eyes at his kindness. "Thank you, Brett. You paid me every penny owed, all I did was wait a little while."

"Still. I can't tell you how much difference it made to me and my family. If you hadn't done that, I wouldn't have had gas to get to work when I found a job."

She didn't know what else to do but extend her hand, and solemnly they shook. Her firewood was taken care of.

Despite Roz's call for volunteers, most people were still leaving. Some of them, of course, had to begin making preparations for the huge cookout they were having the next day, and would actually get started on that night. Herb Duncan made a disgusted face at the departing crowd, scowled, then said, "I'll help do whatever you think needs doing. I don't have a chain saw or anything like that, but I'm willing to do the labor."

Cedes hid her surprise. Roz said, "Thank you, Mr. Duncan, your help is appreciated." She looked around. "Does anyone have a notebook and a pen?"

No one did, at least no one among the small group of perhaps ten people who had stayed to volunteer. "Then we'll meet . . . Cedes, is it okay if we meet at the store? Everyone knows where it is."

"Of course."

"Then . . . Never mind. We'll all be busy in the morning. Everyone be thinking of things that will need doing, making a list, and tomorrow at the cookout we'll start getting organized."

It was a relief leaving the overheated lunchroom, which had been getting too dark for them to accomplish much more of anything anyway. The cooling air washed over Cedes's bare arms, a sensation as pleasurable as a light touch. Twilight had deepened, edging into night. Everyone called their goodbyes, then split up to walk to their various homes. Their little group, consisting of the three of them, Mike Chang and his wife, and a couple of other neighbors, trooped down the school road to the highway and turned left. The others walked at a faster pace and gradually the three of them fell behind.

"Let's walk in the middle of the road," Cedes suggested, both because the smooth walking would be easier and because . . . well . . . they could. There was no traffic at all. Walking in the middle of the usually busy highway felt both daring and freeing, and the fact that they could was one more example of how drastically their world had changed in a single day.

"Damn it," Roz muttered when they were alone, making Cedes think their leisurely speed was more by design than nature. "Why did you let me volunteer for a job like that?" she peevishly asked Cedes. "Do you know what an aggravation this is going to be? How much of my precious time is it going to take up?"

"There was no stopping you, once you got fed up with Mr. Duncan," Cedes replied in amusement. She turned on her flashlight to light their way, the beam both reassuring and somehow feeble, as if it were nothing more than a whisper in the night. Normally the valley would be lit by lights in the homes, by headlights of traffic, the occasional security light, the gas station outposts of glowing light. Now there was only a growing darkness, and a silence she hadn't heard in her lifetime. Nightbirds called, insects buzzed, frogs croaked, and the trees rustled from a faint breeze, so the silence wasn't absolute, just—different.

"He made me mad, that man needed to take several seats."

"I'm proud of you, Grandma," Bree put in from beside Cedes, who was walking in the middle because she had the flashlight.

"So am I. And you are a good person for the job," Cedes added. "I didn't know most of the people's names."

Roz sighed. "I guess. Still—I'm going to rely on you to help me think of things. You see things I don't, think things through where I'd plow ahead without seeing the pitfalls. Look how organized you were about getting us as ready as possible for this."

"We all had good ideas to contribute."

Roz patted her arm. "Cedes, honey, don't sell yourself short. You bring more to the table than ninety percent of everyone else out there, me included. You just don't trust yourself."

"That's true," Bree chimed in.

Cedes wondered how much of a wimp she'd been that even a fifteen-year-old had noticed it. That had to change. She would change. She didn't want to be the breakable link in their small family chain, she wanted to be as strong and dependable as they needed. She was the one in her prime, physically stronger than Roz, more experienced than Bree. She had to be their fulcrum, no matter how much against her nature it was.

The stillness and darkness of night was something that she had never experienced before. Even during power outages, people were able to drive around and headlights would be seen at this time. Now that it was after sundown, the way the world had changed was mesmerizing.

They reached Roz's house and she saw them in safely, said goodnight to them and Carmen, then continued alone down the narrow road to her own house. She walked faster, aware that the bears foraged at night, and this was the time of year when the animals were actively looking for anything they could find. She swept the flashlight beam back and forth, looking for the gleam of eyes or the black bulk of an ursine body, resisting the urge to run back to Roz's house and spend the night there.

This was how their lives were now; they couldn't rely on their cars to go everywhere, nor were there security lights chasing away the shadows.

Unfortunately for her, this wouldn't be the last time she walked a night road alone.