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.

Another tiny filler chapter. The last chapter was huge, so this one will be more suitable for reading online LOL

Chapter Nine

Cedes watched Sam until he and the puppy were out of sight. She didn't want to look away from him, to stop seeing those strong shoulders, the fineness of his long body, especially his long, muscular legs. She wanted to call him back, to have him close enough to once again smell the hot maleness of his skin, to touch him.

Oh hell naw. She couldn't say she didn't have any idea what had almost happened because she did, she wasn't that naïve, but she'd never before seen that lustful hungry expression on a man's face targeted at herself.

He had to get away from her.

Or . . . what would he had done if he stayed?

She was almost positive that he would have kissed her, and she wasn't sure they'd have stopped at kissing. She didn't know if she would have stopped them, and how likely was it that he would have? Not very considering how he was looking at her, and yet he'd managed to pull himself back and walk away before anything had even gotten started.

Thoughts about what he wanted or not wanted from her began to bombard her mind. What if he'd left because he didn't want to get involved in a relationship with her. Maybe she'd completely misread his expression; not being naïve didn't mean she couldn't be mistaken. It could be like when babies smile and parents think it is out of happiness at seeing their faces, and it is just an involuntary action that only becomes regulated after the baby is a month old. Besides as far as she knew, she had never before inspired unbridled passion in a man, so what made her think something had suddenly changed and a man like Sam Evans would be inflamed with lust towards her?

Sex, yes; men would sleep with a crackhead whore for casual sex. But what about desiring her, the person, she knew she wasn't considered gorgeous by Hollywood standards. Her best friends, Quinn and Tesla both were. She knew she wasn't ugly. Anthony wouldn't have proposed if he hadn't been attracted to her. Did Sam think she'd be needy, demanding more than he could give, and that was why he'd bolted? She'd never done casual sex, because she couldn't let herself be that available. Her heart was open but her legs remained closed for only one person and that had been Anthony, the man she thought she was spending the rest of her life with. And Quinn and Tesla both told her she had to try him out before marrying him, so she wouldn't be disappointed later. Since Anthony, there had been no one. Her instinct, always, was to protect herself and attract as little attention as possible.

She gathered both glasses and took them inside, washed them in the cold pan of dishwater she prepared every morning. The mundane chore gave her a little bit of distance, let her step back from what had and hadn't happened with Sam. There was nothing she could do to change any of it. If he was truly interested in her, he'd come back. If he wasn't interested, she'd just have to accept it. It would be hard, but she was used to being alone, until now she had preferred it.

The next morning Cedes walked to Roz's house, for the morning ritual of listening to the nine a.m. radio broadcast. As soon as Cedes walked in the door, Roz looked at her and said, "Sam Evans walked by yesterday afternoon. Did you see happen to see your White Chocolate?"

"I did." She still hadn't told Roz about the night of the aurora, and she didn't intend to. She might have misled herself about what sitting with Sam could have indicated, but it was still a memory she cherished and didn't want to share, or listen to Roz's comments about the Trouty Mouth Hottie. "I was sitting on the porch when he came by, and I know I shouldn't ask, but why have you given him the new nickname?"

"I wondered where he was going to," Roz continued, her tone slick and sly. "He seemed gone in your direction for more than a little while. That is what got me to give him a new nickname, White Chocolate. Cause you swore to me years ago you would only date chocolate men when I tried to fix you up with Brody to get over your broken engagement."

"You didn't try to fix me up, you wanted to pay for sex for me with a known gigolo you had found on the internet Roz...I can't with you. You are right about Sam's intentions. He did come over to tell me about the Carlisles, the old couple who live off of Jones Cove Road. They needed checking on. You know them, don't you?"

"Sure I do. Jim and Mary Jo. How in the hell does he know them? I didn't think he willingly associated with anyone other than you, the only person he actually warned about the CME."

"How do you think I know the answer to that? Anyway, Mary Jo is on a couple of medications and needs some help managing them and finding substitutions for when she runs out. I thought after the radio broadcast I'd go by their house and find out exactly what she's taking, then talk to the Giardis about it." Phil and Kendra Giardi were the herbalist couple she'd met the day of the big cookout. There was a word going around the weed was their biggest product, but Cedes knew to keep an open mind and trust they knew about all plants and not just marijuana.

Roz looked disappointed that Cedes didn't have anything more interesting to say about Sam, but took up her ever-present notebook and made a dated entry about the Carlisles. That way nothing was forgotten or overlooked.

Bree came down the stairs and made a face at the breakfast offering, which today was some instant oatmeal, two packets divided between three—or four—people, and dried prunes. She didn't protest, though she took only one prune and very little oatmeal. Carmen wasn't eating much either, but the uneaten oatmeal wouldn't be thrown away; they'd stir hot water into the leftovers for lunch. "We need some bread," she announced. "Toast would be great." Their ready-made bread supplies were gone, but they had the ingredients to bake bread, they just hadn't done it—again, saving supplies for harder times.

"I'll make some pan biscuits tomorrow morning," Carmen promised. "It won't be long until we'll have to keep a fire going, and we'll have bread more often." She smiled, looking inward. "I remember my mama baking bread in the cast-iron skillet, in the fireplace when snow or ice would take out the power lines. I've done it a time or two myself. I'm not the hand my mama was with bread, but I can get by."

"Thanks!" Bree said fervently, and bent to kiss Carmen's cheek. The older woman flushed with pleasure. Since the CME, Carmen sometimes seemed lonely; though she and Roz were great friends, she had no family and the crisis had uprooted her from her own home. Bree's casual gesture meant more than she could imagine, because it made Carmen feel useful and treasured.

Cedes made a mental note to see if she could trade something for some butter. Some of the people who owned cows were now milking and churning, and trading the raw milk and fresh butter for other goods. She would stay busy, and not think about Sam.

Breakfast taken care of—or suffered through, in Bree's case—they got the radio and left the house, walking up the road to the highway, then to the big field. They'd done this for the past nine mornings, to listen to the morning broadcast report. That brief contact with what she now thought of as the "outside world" was a lifeline to them, giving them hope that while modern normality was still perhaps months in the future, at least it still existed in small pockets. If it existed, it could be built on, expanded. The news was never good, but some days it was worse than others. There was nothing they could do about the problems in Knoxville and elsewhere, but it did give them a connection to the rest of the world. They needed that connection, for as long as they could maintain it.

For the first few days after they began receiving the radio reports, mostly what they'd heard had been about widespread looting, and a number of deaths due to the loss of electricity in hospitals and nursing homes. After that things had seemed to settle down, though they were still critical. Sewage and trash buildup had quickly become an issue. They had the creeks for water for the sewage and they burned their trash not letting it build up. Plus they were trying to reuse as much as possible to eliminate waste.

She could only be thankful they were a rural community; if things were that bad in Knoxville, what was it like in the large cities, like New York and Chicago, with winter bearing down on them? The residents there couldn't hunt and fish, and the food supply had likely been used up in the first few days after the grid went down.

Yesterday's news wasn't good at all. Even in Knoxville food was running critically short, which led to more rioting and looting, as if riots would magically make food appear from thin air. There had been several home invasions, when desperate people looking for food found undefended houses and forced their way in.

What was most frightening was the realization that most of these incidents were going unreported. The radio announcer could report only what someone told him; there were no phone calls, no internet alerts, no police blotters. The Knoxville police force had devolved to a skeleton crew, because most cops had been forced to stay at home to take care of their own families. There was no one to handle mobs, chase burglars, or investigate break-ins.

Just yesterday Arthur Abrams, the announcer they'd listened to since the radio waves had settled down, had been in a panic over a melee in the station parking lot. His voice cracked as he'd delivered the news he had, and he'd warned his listeners that the generators wouldn't last much longer, they were almost out of fuel. The other radio stations had already gone dark. They either hadn't enough fuel for their generators, or the operators had all fled—or the fuel had been stolen. Abrams had hung on longer than the others, but he was definitely harried and getting more harried. The stress in his voice was increasing day by day.

Maybe it would be better to stop listening, Cedes thought, and spare themselves the constant diet of bad news no news equal good news was a better philosophy, but she doubted anyone else would agree with her. Everyone seemed compelled to gather around every morning and listen. What if there was information about the grid and when it might be repaired? What if something important had happened in the world, something they really should know about—though how that news would get to a Knoxville radio station, Cedes didn't even want to try and figure it out.

There were plenty of valid concerns. Right now the valley inhabitants were doing okay, but they were in a good time, with good weather and supplies not yet running low. They were adjusting, coping, improvising. Cedes was still mentally holding her breath, because this good stretch couldn't last. Someone would get sick, someone would get hurt, people would get in fights—they were human, after all, and that's what humans did.

One of Bree's friends called out to her and she said, "Here, Grandma," and handed off the radio to Roz before darting over to join her small group. The kids wanted to hear the broadcast, but they also wanted to socialize.

At one minute till nine, Roz turned on the radio. They were all going by their wrist watches now, those who had them, but they really had no way of knowing how accurate their watches were. Roz had set hers to the radio on the second day, but allowed for error by turning on the radio early.

They listened to the static, standing around and talking quietly among themselves, waiting for the broadcast to start. A minute ticked by, then another. An alarmed murmur ran through the crowd. They began looking around and at each other. Cedes met Mike Chang's eyes, and saw awareness in his.

There was only static.

Roz looked at the dial, adjusted the knob a little in case it had been bumped and knocked out of place, at one point or another.

Static.

People crowded around, hoping against hope. Roz scanned up and down the dial, trying to find another station they could receive, however weak the signal. Nothing.

The alarmed murmur got louder. Carmen made a sound of distress, then pressed her hand to her mouth. Cedes saw a girl in Bree's group start crying, and Bree tried to comfort her though she, too, looked as if she was about to start tearing up.

Cedes tried not to be too disappointed but she felt as if they'd turned a corner, and not a good one. It was inevitable that the radio station would go dark, but he'd said just yesterday that they had enough for another two or three days. Had he simply miscalculated the amount of fuel? Had the station been attacked?

Had he given up, and simply not gone to the station? They had no way of knowing.

"Well, that's that." Roz turned off the radio with a quick and final flick of a switch. "I never thought I'd actually miss hearing so much bad news."

Mike had moved closer, and Cedes said to him, "We need to take a look at our security situation."

Roz and Carmen both looked at her, and the people around them fell silent to listen. "Why?" Carmen asked.

"People are leaving Knoxville," Cedes replied. "Most of them will stick to the interstate going south, but some of them might come this way, and they'll be desperate." Desperate or mean, the end result didn't matter. Whoever came to the area would be looking for food, for shelter, for weapons and supplies and anything that could be sold or traded. "We have enough to get by for a while, enough for us and our neighbors. But if we're overrun, what we have won't last a week, assuming we're left with anything at all, or aren't killed outright."

"She's right," Mike said. "We should have already thought about this and got something set up."

"Who would want to come here?" A young woman that Cedes didn't know her name asked, alarmed. She wasn't the only one; some other younger people were looking around in confusion, as if expecting to see hordes of people pouring down the highway toward them, while the people who had been in the military were nodding their heads.

"Could be anyone," Mike said. "Look how many tourists drove through this area every day. And people in the cities already know they can't stay there, so if they have any sense they won't head for another city, they'll look for small communities—like this one—that are self-sustaining. They know country folk have guns and gardens, and that's what they'll want."

Cedes hadn't noticed Herb Duncan in the crowd, but now he maneuvered into the middle of the conversation. "Looters and gangs will be in the minority. A lot of regular people will be leaving the cities, too, and they could be a lot of help. There's safety in numbers. A gang will look for isolated people they can overwhelm, not a place where they'll be outnumbered."

"If we had unlimited resources I wouldn't disagree with you," Mike said.

"As it is, we wouldn't be able to house and feed a bunch of other people," Roz pointed out. "All the vegetable gardens have stopped producing, and we won't have a fresh supply of food or the ability to grow more until next spring . . . say, eight months until more crops are in. We can't take in more people without taking from the ones who are already here."

There was a rumble of agreement around her. Herb looked frustrated. "But more people will mean more hands to cut wood, and hunt."

"That works only if they bring their own axes and ammunition with them," Cedes said quietly. "Otherwise they'd be using tools we already have. No matter how much we want to help people, if we want to make it through the winter we will already have to severely conserve what we have."

That earned her a scowl from Herb, which she wouldn't care about if he didn't have just enough argument on his side to cause serious dissent. Their resources were so thin she didn't know if they could survive a break in their united front.

She really wished Sam were here, for all the good wishing did. He'd know what to do, but though he'd taken the trouble to warn her, and then flabbergasted her by checking on the Carlisles, weeks could go by without anyone seeing him. He'd already refused Mike's invitation to join them. He was in great shape up there on the mountain, and didn't need them. Assuming anyone wanted his supplies, they'd have to first climb the mountain, then fight him. Even street gangs would go for easier prey, and leave him and his shotgun alone.

But he wasn't the only person around here who'd been in the military; there were several standing here around her, mostly men but a couple of women, too. They had a forest ranger, a retired cop, and a whole lot of people who had spent their whole lives hunting in these mountains. The valley people weren't helpless, or without knowledge.

Roz reached for her ever-present notebook. "Okay, people, I need some names. We're going to need people who can start riding or walking patrol. We need enough to keep an eye on the main highway approaches, and that new parkway over the mountain from Knoxville to here is going to be a pain in the butt, you just wait and see."

Cedes agreed on that. The new parkway had sat unfinished for years, then the project got going again just in time to cause a problem by creating another vulnerability. Keeping an eye on it would require at least two people, each pulling twelve-hour shifts, and that wasn't going to be easy.

David Karofsky, a man around her age that she didn't know well at all, spoke up. "My father and I were in the army, we can help with patrolling. But if we're patrolling, we won't be able to hunt, or chop firewood, and our family will suffer for that."

Mike said, "The sensible solution would be to pay the security team with food, everybody chipping in with a little. If someone brings down a deer, part of it goes for payment."

"Some people can't afford to give away their food!" Herb said, looking alarmed, which told Cedes he and his wife hadn't gathered as much food as they could have.

"Then you should join the community patrol," Mike said, immediately coming to the same conclusion.

Herb looked startled, then said, "Well, okay." After a second, his expression morphed into one of pleasure. He was not only being included, but doing something important. Maybe that was the key to handling him: keeping him busy, and stroking his ego.

Roz wrote down their names, Dave and Paul Karofsky's and Herb's, and Mike, even though he served as only a medic, added his name to the list. "I'm waiting," she hollered. "Y'all step up here and help keep our community safe, or I'll be talking to your mamas and wives, and you sure as hell don't want me to do that."

That provoked a rumble of laughter, and men including Brett who cut her firewood began moving forward. There weren't that many of them, maybe two dozen, but there were enough to patrol the highway approaches, and eventually they would have to settle disputes, but for now—it was definitely a start.