Author's note: In order to fully understand the premise of The Event, reading the information posted in my profile is essential!

Linda was silent as John turned his truck down his street, still shivering despite the fact that there was a thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her hand was still tightly clasped around his, unwilling to let go. John seemed to understand, for he didn't protest, and even rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.

They had been stuck at the scene of the crash for almost six hours, unable to help the stranded and trapped due to the overwhelming fire. For hours and hours they had stood on a hillside with several dozen others, just holding each other and letting the rain soak them through. When the rescue crews had finally gotten around to dealing with the traffic, John had paused only long enough to get the blanket for her before guiding her to the mercifully undamaged truck. The paper had still been lying on the console. Linda had stuffed it into her purse without looking at it.

It was after midnight now. John had started driving her back home, but then had seemed to reconsider it, seeing the terrified expression on her face.

"I've got some spare clothes at home that will fit you," he had said. "Come stay with me and my son tonight."

Linda had agreed, relieved that she wouldn't have to spend the night alone. He was nearing his house now, finally pulling into his driveway. The house was beautiful, similar to hers but with a complete wrap-around porch. There were lights on inside, and a woman standing at the front door.

"Is that your wife?" Linda asked.

"No. That's my neighbor. I asked her to watch my son for me this evening," John replied. "I'm not married."

He parked the truck and turned off the engine. The woman approached them as they were heading up the front walk.

"Thank goodness." The woman sounded absolutely relieved. "I was terrified when I heard about the plane crash. You were…you were right there, weren't you?"

John didn't respond. He simply tightened his grip around Linda. The woman nodded, understanding.

"Caleb didn't want to go to bed, so I have him waiting in the living room," she said.

"Thank you, Janet," John replied.

The woman gave John a brief hug before turning and disappearing into the darkness towards the house next door. He watched her go, then turned and led Linda up to the front door. He opened it to reveal a very nice but slightly untidy corridor with stairs leading to the second floor. A young boy was standing at the doorway to the living room.

"Caleb," John said, and the boy quickly approached, throwing his arms tightly around his waist. "It's okay, sport. I'm okay." Linda felt him settle a hand on her shoulder. "This is Linda. Could you do me a favor, and show her up to the guest bedroom? She's gonna stay with us tonight." He turned to her. "Spare clothes are in the dresser. You can take whatever you like."

Caleb seemed confused, but he did not protest. Linda followed him up the stairs to the second floor. The guest room was a modest little room with wide windows that faced the back yard. It was across the hall from a door clearly marked as Caleb's room, and had the look of not having been used in a while. But the bedding was clean, and the furniture free of dust. Linda sat down on the bed and let the blanket around her shoulders fall. To her surprise, Caleb sat down fearlessly beside her.

"You're the lady who gave Dad that list of numbers?" he asked, his tone curious. "He was up all night last night figuring it out."

Linda blinked. The meaning in Caleb's words was unmistakable.

"You understand what your father found out?" she asked.

"Yeah," Caleb replied. He bowed his head. "How close were you…to the plane?"

Linda bit her lip, not wanting to tell the boy that she could have reached up and touched the wing as it passed. But he seemed to understand anyway. His eyes widened in shock.

"Your father kept us out of danger," she assured quickly. "He saved my life."

She was rapidly starting to feel exhausted. It was warm and quiet in this house, and the bed underneath her felt very inviting.

"You need to sleep," Caleb said suddenly. "You look very tired."

Linda smiled slightly.

"It's supposed to be warm tonight," he continued, standing. "I'll get you a fan."

Linda didn't have time to protest. Caleb darted out of the room and returned a few moments later with a stand fan, which he set in a corner and plugged in.

"This room has its own bathroom, right there," he said, pointing to a door across from the bed. "Good night, Linda."

"Good night, Caleb," Linda replied.

Linda took a quick shower, draping her wet clothes over the rim of the tub. Then, she slipped on a plain T-shirt and shorts from the dresser—all of the clothes were feminine, and she suspected they had once belonged to Caleb's mother—and crawled into the bed. She slept very deeply that night, aided by her exhaustion and the comfort provided by the soft sounds of activity her own home had been sorely lacking.

The next morning, it was footsteps that eventually awoke her. She sat up in time to see Caleb step out of his room, fully dressed with a backpack over one shoulder. He had seen her move, for he stopped and looked at her.

"Dad was up all night again," he said. "He has carpool today."

"Where is he?" Linda asked.

"Asleep on the couch in the den."

Linda retreated to the bathroom only long enough to slip her bra back on and replace the shorts with her almost dry jeans. Then, she followed Caleb downstairs. Sure enough, John was sprawled on the couch in a very cluttered den. The television was turned to CNN, which was playing footage of the plane crash. A half empty shot glass sat on the coffee table. And balanced on a table next to the computer desk was a dry erase board upon which the numbers had been meticulously rewritten. They were circled in many places in different colors, showing the pattern John had found. A cordless phone lay on the floor by his limp hand.

"He was on the phone all night?" she whispered.

Caleb shrugged. Linda sighed and stepped forward.

"John?" she called, gently shaking his shoulder. "John?"

John awoke slowly. He stared at her for a long moment when his eyes opened, as if trying to figure out why she was there. Then, he shook his head.

"Oh, Linda," he said groggily.

"John," Linda pressed. "Caleb says you have carpool today."

He blinked, then abruptly tried to sit up.

"Oh, crap," he groaned. "I'm so sorry, Caleb. Are we late?"

"John, you need rest," Linda said quickly. "Give me your keys and I'll take Caleb to school."

John seemed about to protest. Linda could tell he had a lot to say. But she kept a firm expression on her face, and after a moment he gave in.

"Okay," he murmured, sitting back. "The keys are on the stand next to the front door."

"I'll be right back," Linda promised.

She wasn't worried about having to drive John's truck. She was comfortable in all sizes of vehicles. And with Caleb navigating, she was able to run the carpool route without difficulty. The kids and parents were surprised to see her, but nobody seemed very concerned.

"I'm a friend," she said to anyone who asked. "John asked me to run the kids for him. He's not feeling well this morning."

Linda returned to John's house within 45 minutes. When she got back inside, she found him awake and alert, staring at the TV.

"81 dead," he said flatly, turning his gaze to the dry erase board. "81…"

Linda didn't have to look to know Sheba's numbers were accurate. She sat down beside him and put her arms around his shoulders. He was shaking.

"I called…everyone," he said. "Everyone I could think of. Everyone ignored me. Nobody believed me. The numbers predict four more events. My GPS says they'll take place in Tokyo, Dubai, New York City, and right outside of this town. 10,820, 461, 48, and 33 people are going to die in the next two and a half weeks."

Linda gripped John tightly, biting her lip. A tremor of terror was making her heart pound.

"I have to do something, but I don't know what," John continued helplessly. "If only I knew how, instead of just where…"

He abruptly turned, now staring directly at her.

"Sheba wrote the numbers. Would she know?"

Linda sighed.

"John…I don't think she can help," she whispered. "She's out of her mind right now. She can't even recognize me. All she would do when I had her home was sit and stare at walls. I…I couldn't take care of her anymore."

"But you won't be alone," John said firmly. "Caleb and I will help you take care of her."

"But our jobs…"

"I'll go on sabbatical. Starting today. There's no way I can concentrate now anyway." He gripped her hands. "If there is anything Sheba can give us…we have to try. 10,820 people are going to die in three days."

And yet again, one more note for my readers. There are parts that just need to be taken with a grain of salt. Trust me, you'll see what I mean in future parts. I have some things written the way they are, even if they are not logical, just so I can keep the story going. This will REALLY be obvious when I get into Sheba's military career in Book III. Yeah...