“Neither of those things are things.”
He spread his hands. “See? That’s the kind of stuff we’ll learn on our sightseeing tour next time we come.”
“Dad—”
“I’m sorry, Piper. The flight’s already been changed, and we can’t switch it again. Besides, Mom needs us. It’s been a really rough few days for her at the hospital.”
She glared. Her arms folded. Twice she opened her mouth, only to shut it again immediately. He could almost see the arguments flitting into her mind, being dissected, and tossed aside. Finally, she simply threw herself back on the bed.
“Fine.”
Smart, he thought. Oh, the monumental trouble we’re in for in the next few years.
“Sorry, sweetie. I’ll make it up next time. I promise.”
“Whatever.”
He lay back on his own bed and fished for the remote. The TV clicked on with a high-pitched buzz—it was an old beast of a machine, not even a flatscreen—and he clicked over to the news, looking for an update on the flare.
“No. I don’t want to watch news. Give me the remote,” Piper insisted.
He almost resisted, but then he remembered that he’d just robbed her of a day in the city that she’d been looking forward to for weeks now. So he flipped the remote around and dropped it in her outstretched hand.
Soon she was watching some entertainment talk show, and Alex tuned out. He pulled up his phone and got on the Internet, looking around for any news. There was nothing new—or at least, nothing concrete, just wild speculation. And waiting for web pages was painfully slow; his connection had gone suddenly spotty, down to just one bar.
He clicked the phone off and dropped it on his chest with a sigh. Something in the back of his mind wanted out—not the next morning, but now. They should pack their things and taxi to the airport and pay for the first flight back to the west coast they could possibly find.
Deep breaths, he thought. Tomorrow morning, six a.m. He could wait fourteen hours. They could spend one night in a hotel. Nothing bad would happen.
Nothing.
He got up and went to the window. The sky outside was blue.
CHAPTER 2
Cameron threw her scrubs into the hamper a bit harder than she strictly needed to and went straight for her locker. Someone in the locker room called out a greeting, and Cameron waved without even looking to see who it was.
A bad day had gotten worse. The ER doctor had found himself “too busy” to speak to the family about the dead patient, so that had landed on Cameron. She could have foisted it off on someone else, she supposed. But she’d never been in the habit of passing the buck, and she sure wasn’t going to start now.
It was the worst kind of family. She could understand the ones who just got sad and quiet, letting her slip off so they could be alone with their grief. She had a strange kind of respect for the ones who got mad. They didn’t want to accept it. Anger was their solution, albeit a flawed one, and they turned it on whoever delivered the news so they didn’t have to face the truth. Cameron knew all about that; she’d seen plenty of it in the service.
But the worst were the ones who thanked her. Thanked her for trying, for doing what she did. They always wanted to know what the last moments were like. They wanted her to go over every detail—did he open his eyes? Did he say anything? Did he know what was happening? Was it peaceful? Too often, the answers to those questions were worse than the simple fact of what had happened. And answering them meant that Cameron had to relive the incident over and over again.
Didn’t they understand that this was just life? Dead was dead. A blink didn’t make a difference. Then again, most people hadn’t seen people die. Certainly not as many as Cameron had.
And now Alex wanted her to get survival supplies because he was afraid of…something.
She sighed as she looked out the locker room door into the hospital gym. Through the window, she could see the sun edging its way toward nightfall.
Screw it. She’d go paranoia-shopping later. It’s not like the stores were going to close.
She threw on her tank top and shorts savagely, tugging her hair as she put it in a bun. And as she so often did, she wondered why she’d ever gone for a job like this. As though she hadn’t watched enough bodies go still in Iraq and Afghanistan. As if she hadn’t spent enough time with other people’s blood spurting out to soak her hands, her clothes, sometimes her face. What kind of sick masochist went from active-duty Army medic to ER nurse?
It was an easy job to get, it pays well, and it has benefits. All things the family needs.
Cameron ignored the helpful prodding of the more analytical side of her mind. She wasn’t interested in analytical just now.
The punching bag got the full brunt of her wrath. No treadmill or weights today. Cameron wanted to hit something, as hard as she could and as often. Soon the sweat was dripping down her face, sometimes running into her eyes until she swiped it away. Her knuckles began to burn, her shoulders to ache. It felt good, the way a lesser pain always feels like pleasure compared to something much, much worse.
“That’s always been a good look for you.”
Bam. One last pound, and she stopped. She turned around, suddenly aware of how heavy she was breathing. Wade stood there, mouth cocked in a half-smirk like it often was, lean but well-muscled arms folded across his tank top. The front of his hair had always had those liberty spikes, but he’d bleached them recently, and they reminded her of a peacock’s feathers.
Can’t believe that was ever a thing.
But she always kept those thoughts to herself. Partly because acknowledging it ever had been a thing felt like inviting more of the same. And partly because she looked at his well-cut body and knew without question why they’d been together in high school.
“Hope you’ve had a better day than I have, grunt,” she said, matching his smirk.
“From the black eye you’re trying to give that bag, I don’t doubt it, Army girl. Want to put some bruises on something that can hit back?” Wade shot back.
Cameron glanced at the ring in the corner. It wasn’t uncommon for her and Wade to spar. She didn’t have many partners she felt comfortable with; they usually folded in seconds. But Wade gave almost as good as he got. And there was that unspoken camaraderie there always is between two people who used to wear the kind of uniform that gets shot at. She wondered if that was why she’d ended up where she was, and he’d become an EMT. Both jobs with long hours and high adrenaline, where you stared down life and death every day. Rather than leaving the military, sometimes it just felt like a tour extension.
She shook her head. “Can’t. Got some shopping to do. Just needed to work out some stuff.”
“I’m real good for that,” he promised. “We can do no gloves. Makes it twice as fun. Just don’t hit me in the face; that’s how I fill my weekend nights.”
Cameron chuckled. “If I ever saw you outside of work, I’d spend it hitting your face, too.”
He shook his head. But then he must have seen something in her eyes, because his tough-guy face grew a little more concerned. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah.” She said.
“You sure? I heard about the guy—” Wade started to say.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Cameron snapped.
“I get that. Wanna drink about it instead? I’ve got a bottle of Blue that’s been waiting for a special occasion.” Wade asked with a smile.
“The way I feel like going at it tonight, you shouldn’t offer me anything pricier than motor oil. But I’m good. Like I said, shopping.” She threw a towel over her shoulder and headed back for the locker room. He watched her go, and she tried to ignore it. But at the last second she turned, just before stepping out of sight.
“Let me see how this weekend goes. Maybe we can throw down some time, if Alex and Piper don’t need me.” Cameron offered.
“You call, I’m there.” Wade replied.
She nodded and went to
change.
* * *
Costco was terrible. No, Cameron reflected—it was a bona fide disaster. Seattle was entering the season of barbecues and backyard pool parties, and it seemed that every living soul in a hundred mile radius had decided to stock up at once. The store, normally so efficient at wrangling its customers, was woefully unprepared.
Five times while pushing her cart through the faux-warehouse aisles, Cameron swore to herself that she was walking out. Five times she ground her teeth and pressed on. She had told Alex she would do this.
After filling her cart to the brim with canned goods and flats of bottled water, then suffering the quiet strangulation of a cash register line that was overly long, she emerged into the evening air like someone breaking free from the grave. She’d taken particular care choosing her wine tonight, and then picked up a second bottle at the last second. And she’d already decided to pick up Chinese from her favorite take-out joint, a place too greasy to justify on most occasions.
Tomorrow she would have a husband and daughter in the house again. But tonight she deserved a reward.
She stopped to fill up the Jeep just a few blocks away from the restaurant, and less than a mile from the house. Alex hadn’t asked her to do that, but she knew how his mind worked by now. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken it into his head that they might need to bug out at a moment’s notice. The things that made him nervous—possible riots, food shortages, mad cow disease—never seemed to amount to anything, and Cameron never failed to point that out to him. But he’d always shrug and smile at her and say, “Well, then there was no harm in preparing for them.”
It was endearing to look back on, in its own way. But when it actually happened, it was nothing but annoying.
By the time she reached the house, the smell of Chinese had filled the car and Cameron’s stomach was roaring its displeasure. She snatched the take-out bag, then leaned back and snagged the bottles of wine from one of the bags in the back seat. She’d unload the rest of the groceries later, or maybe the next morning. It’s not like they were going to spoil. That was kind of the point.
She kicked open the door to find her neighbor Bettie standing just on the other side of the fence. It gave Cameron a little start. From the way she was leaning her arms on the fence, her eyes fixed on Cameron, it was like she’d been waiting. Cameron smiled to herself. Bettie was old, and her kids rarely came to visit her. Loneliness made her inquisitive and interested in everything the Robinsons were doing, but since she had an undeniable charm, it wasn’t too much of a problem.
“That’s a whole lot of food you got there,” said Bettie, teeth shining bright against her chocolate skin as she grinned. “You having some kind of feast when Alex and Piper get home?”
“If I was putting on a banquet, I sure wouldn’t feed them Campbell’s,” said Cameron. “It’s just some stuff Alex asked me to pick up.”
“That boy’s so paranoid about everything.” Bettie said with a smile.
“He’d say he was cautious, not paranoid. I wouldn’t say anything either way, even if I agreed with you—which I do.” Cameron said with an ironic grin.
Bettie laughed at that, and Cameron smiled. With most people she found herself acting reserved and aloof, even if that wasn’t always how she felt. But Bettie was impossible not to like.
“What’s giving him goosebumps now?” Bettie asked.
Cameron shrugged. “There’s some kind of solar flare, or something. I don’t know too much about them.”
“I heard about that,” said Bettie, her mood suddenly dampening. “The talking heads are acting like it’s no big deal. But Mister Tyson ain’t so sure.” She was, Cameron suspected, Carl Tyson’s biggest fan, and half her conversations with the Robinsons were about some new space phenomenon he’d been talking about on TV.
“Well, I guess he’d know better. What does he think’s going to happen?”
“He said he don’t know. That made me a little nervous, believe me. And then there’s that sky.” Bettie said pointing.
Cameron arched an eyebrow. Bettie simply pointed behind her, west toward the sunset.
The sun was edging out of sight now, and she was well used to seeing it glow red, or sometimes orange in the heart of summer. But today, something was different. There was a curious cast to the sky, something…off. It was almost purple. Not the lilac that came bouncing down from clouds in the upper atmosphere, but a deep and foreboding purple, turbulent, and almost black.
“That sure is an odd sunset,” she said, feeling a twinge at the back of her mind.
Is this what Alex feels like? she wondered.
“Like I said. I see something like that, and then I hear that Mister Tyson don’t even know what might happen? I don’t much blame your husband for being nervous.” Bettie said.
“Well, I’m sure it’s fine. I mean, they say solar flares happen all the time, and we never even notice.”
Bettie nodded slowly. “They do say that.”
“Right. Okay. Well, I’d better be getting in. Unless you want to come in for a bit?” Cameron hoisted the bottles of wine, swinging them back and forth temptingly.
Bettie smiled again. “You sure are sweet, honey. But I’d better not. My son says he’s coming by in the morning. Knowing him, that’s probably a damn lie. But if it’s true, I don’t want to be walking around with an ice pack on my head. You enjoy yourself.”
“I plan to,” said Cameron. “You have a good one, Bettie.”
She walked up the path and into the house, and not once did she let her eyes stray to the purple sky in the west, slowly darkening to black.
* * *
The take-out proved no match for her vicious assault. To avoid dishes, and because there was no one around to pretend to be civilized for, Cameron pigged out straight from the carton. She wasn’t even halfway through before she cracked the first bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. It was a modestly priced vintage she’d tried and liked once, and never varied from, and it was especially sweet after the long day.
She was halfway through her second glass when the houselights flickered.
Cameron looked up, eyeing the fixture suspiciously. It had nothing to say for itself.
The twinge at the back of her mind increased its intensity.
She forced herself to shake it off. The remote was right where she’d left it—something she could never say when Alex and Piper were home—so she flicked on the TV to keep her company while she finished her food. Idly, she flipped through the channels, looking for something interesting. But almost without realizing it, she left it on a news channel, and left it there as she kept eating. The anchorman blathered on about something controversial happening in Iran.
“As though that’s supposed to be news,” she said out loud.
The TV flickered. Not the white noise of traditional static, but a digital spike. The image went pixelated for a second, and then for a moment more the host’s every movement was followed by a strange, almost-transparent shadow, like a ghost moving across him.
What the hell? she thought. They had satellite, not the rinky dink cable that was always so spotty in this area. Static wasn’t supposed to even be a thing.
She tried changing the channel and then switching back. The digital glitch vanished, and the picture came through clear as day. Cameron leaned back with a sigh, surprised at how relieved she felt. She looked outside without thinking, toward the west. But the sunset was already gone, and she only saw houselights shining defiantly against the black of night.
…eastern seaboard has gone dark, prompting the governors of most east coast states to issue statements. They are asking their citizens—
Cameron’s attention snapped back to the television. They’d moved off Iran, and now there was a big map of the U.S. on display. Most of the east coast was painted in orange. She grabbed the remote and turned the volume up. Facts trickled in with the words, slowly, a drip at a time, no one talking fast enough to give Cameron all the informati
on she wanted to hear. But eventually she got the picture: the power was out for just about everyone, with no clue when they’d be able to restore it, or even what had knocked it out.
And it was “unclear” whether or not it had anything to do with the solar flare they’d reported on earlier.
Her throat went dry. Cameron knew a spin when she heard it. She’d been subjected to plenty of them when she was in the service. Everyone in the government clammed up at once, and the media filled the void with whatever they could.
That’s when things got “unclear.”
She looked out the window again, and at that second, the power went out. The lights through the window vanished, and the house turned pitch-black for a long moment while her eyes adjusted.
Cameron gripped the arm of the couch for a moment, until she heard the click-click-click-BRRR of their backup generator starting up. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Sometimes it was good to be married to a prepper.
The TV took another second to power back on, but when it did it only sank her hopes again. The satellite was gone. Not fuzzy, completely gone. She clicked through, hoping it was just the news, but it wasn’t. Nothing came through except when she switched over to pick up broadcast channels, and those were so fuzzy she couldn’t make out what anyone was saying.
Her mind wouldn’t let her sit still any longer, so she jumped up and went to the kitchen. From a drawer she pulled a flashlight, then went out the front door and over to Bettie’s house. She gave the front door three sharp raps and waited.
The second door opened at no time at all, and Bettie peered out at here, her wrinkles thrown into sharp relief by the light of a candle.
“Cameron? What’s wrong?”
She let out a deep whoosh of breath. “Nothing. Just…I just came to check on you. Make sure you were okay. Because of the power.”
“It scared me half to death. I was on the pot. But I’m okay. You?”
Solar Reboot Page 2
