by Tate, Harley
“Hey, guys. What’s going on?”
The techs looked up, faces aglow from the screen. One sneered. “Oh, so now we’re interesting, huh?”
“She was just looking for information.” John stepped forward. “Is that a news story?”
The tech holding the phone turned it around. A video of a cat dancing with a rainbow background filled the screen. “Isn’t it epic?”
Emma palmed her hip. “That’s what you’re watching? What about the blackout? The sun? Do you know anything about what’s going on?”
“Why? So you can go tattletale to the government about it?” He turned to his friend with a singsong voice. “Oh, Mr. Congressman, did you know the power is out all over? You better investigate those shady guys at CropForward. I bet they’re behind it.”
It took all of Emma’s self-control not to say something she’d regret. Before something acceptable came to mind, John stepped forward. His face loomed inches from the tech who’d spoken, lips moving.
She couldn’t hear the conversation, but within seconds, both techs scrambled out of the break room like cockroaches flooded with light. John rolled his shoulders and turned around. “About that water.”
Emma didn’t say a word, opting to hide a creeping blush by rooting through the cabinets for a mug. She handed over an oversized monstrosity emblazoned with “World’s Greatest Boss” on the side.
He lifted an eyebrow.
She laughed. “I don’t have any idea who bought that. Randall is anything but great.”
“Thanks.” John filled the mug and drank it dry twice.
Emma waited for him to mention the nasty comments from the two techs he ran off, but he let the silence linger. She glanced at her watch. “How long do you think the power’s been out? Two hours? Three?” There had to be something on the news, some details from somewhere that would explain what was happening. Now that they weren’t trapped in an elevator, she could think about more than escape and Randall’s behavior worried her.
John set the mug in the sink. “Sounds about right.” He pulled a phone from his pocket and swiped the screen. His brow knit as he read the screen.
“Are you getting a signal?” Emma plucked her phone from her bag and checked the signal strength. Zero bars, no Wi-Fi. “Would a power outage take down a cell tower? I thought those had battery backup or a generator?”
John nodded. “They usually do. At least for a few hours.”
Emma chewed on her lip. “There’s a TV in Randall’s office that’s hooked up to a battery. If anyone is broadcasting, we should be able to pick it up.” She didn’t wait for John to follow as she rushed out of the break room and down the hall. She burst into Randall’s office and snatched the remote.
Nothing. The TV wouldn’t turn on no matter how many times she clicked the power button. “Strange. The battery lasts all afternoon.”
John bent behind the desk. “Looks like it’s fried. Battery won’t turn on.”
“My computer should have a charge.” Emma crossed the hall and leaned over her cubicle. She clicked the wireless mouse to wake her laptop from sleep, but nothing happened. She clicked the mouse again. Frowning in frustration, she pressed the power button. This makes no sense.
Her laptop kept a charge for at least half a day, sometimes more. There was no reason for it not to turn on, but no matter what she did, the screen stayed black and empty. She turned at the sound of footsteps.
“Any luck?” John paused in the doorway, looking as out of place in his black sweater and jeans as she felt in a lab with no working electronics.
Emma shook her head. “The darn thing won’t even turn on. Makes no sense. It was fully charged when I came to work, and I plugged it in when I got here. It should have hours left.”
A deepening frown spread creases across John’s forehead. “Everything attached to the grid is toast.”
A chill coursed through Emma despite the lack of air-conditioning. For once, the lab was pleasant, although it didn’t seem to matter. She rubbed her arms for warmth as she thought everything over. “When I stopped for breakfast this morning, the TV news ran a piece on a CME. Coronal something or other. I wish I remembered what it said.”
John shook his head, scowl still marring his face. “I don’t watch the news.”
She pulled out her phone, hoping in vain to see a signal, but a little red circle caught her eye. A new text. She opened it.
They coming to us gjfir Get out foehvh safe. Holly
Emma squinted as she read the text again and again. Zach’s message made no sense. Was he in trouble? Did CropForward pay him a visit? Had Gloria been right to be worried?
She tried to call, but it refused to connect. She tried to text. Undeliverable. She spun around in the office. The landline had to work didn’t it?
She hurried to the phone on the wall and picked it up. No dial tone. Emma tore a hand through her hair.
“Something wrong?” John pulled away from the doorjamb.
“It’s Zach. He used to work with me before this job.” She shook her head. “It seems like he’s in trouble, but I can’t get my calls to go through.”
John held out his hand. “Let me see.”
She hesitated. CropForward wasn’t John’s problem. She shouldn’t rope him into it.
“If you don’t want to—”
“It’s not that.” Emma stared at the phone screen. “I just don’t want to drag you into my problems.”
“I hardly think reading a text counts as dragging me anywhere.”
John had a point. She handed the phone over and watched as he scanned the message. “What do you think it means?”
“I don’t have any idea. Is there any reason to be concerned about his safety?”
Emma wrung her hands. She could say nothing and deal with this on her own, or she could tell John and possibly have an ally. One who was resourceful and kind, and so far, nothing but helpful. “You remember those two jerks in the break room?”
He nodded.
“Zach and I are whistleblowers against CropForward. We’re set to testify before Congress next week.”
“People testify before Congress all the time. I don’t see why you’d be worried about that.”
Emma swallowed. “If Congress takes action based on our allegations, CropForward could be out of business. Its executives could face criminal charges.”
John nodded slowly. “So, you think they might have paid Zach a visit?”
“I have no idea. Gloria—she’s another whistleblower—is convinced someone’s following her. She’s been too scared to sleep at home. She’s at a cabin up near Blue Ridge.” Emma pushed her hair away from her face. “I have to check on Zach. The more I talk about it, the more worried I get.” She held out her hand for her phone. “If something’s happened to him and I didn’t do anything…”
Something crossed over John’s face, but it was gone before Emma could process. He glanced out the window. “It doesn’t seem like a good idea for you to go by yourself. I can tag along if you really think something might be the matter.”
Emma waved him off. “You don’t have to do that for me. I’m sure that you have a million things to do. If the power outage is as bad as they say—”
He held up a hand. “I don’t have anything to do. Truth is,” he paused, “I was fired from my job for calling out fraudulent billing practices and I sued for wrongful termination. That’s what that lawyer meeting was all about. I’m supposed to testify in a deposition this week, but they keep putting it off.” He rubbed his temple. “I haven’t had a job in six months. Nothing is more frustrating than being stuck in limbo, let me tell you.”
Emma laughed and the knot at the pit of her stomach eased. “You don’t have to say that twice.” She grabbed her bag. “If you really don’t mind, I would love the company.”
She was thankful to have met John. He’d helped her out of the elevator, stayed with her while she searched the office, and now he was willing to come with her to check on her
friend. If Zach really was in trouble, she didn’t want to be alone. She smiled at him as she motioned to the hall. “My car is in the deck. You can follow me, if you want.”
Five minutes later, Emma stood outside her electric vehicle, mouth hanging open in disbelief. Where the plug connected to the charging port, black streaks of melted plastic and charred metal remained. She turned to John. “Now what?”
He pointed to a black Jeep a few spots down. “If you don’t mind riding shotgun, I can drive.”
Emma exhaled. Yet another thing to be thankful for. She clutched her bag a bit closer and smiled. “I’d love that, thanks.”
Chapter Seven
John
It had been relatively easy to not only spin a lie about his business in the building, but to coax the truth out of Emma. He was now a good guy with an ordinary name, tattling on his employer, just like her. A few more shares about his fictional life and the floodgates opened.
Emma spilled about her work at CropForward, her upcoming testimony, and her compatriots in the entire ordeal. From what he could gather, none of the targets were aware of the gravity of the situation. According to his boss, Klein was already out of commission. They were way past the gentle persuasion tactics of black vehicles following a little too close and men in suits showing up uninvited on the front porch.
John didn’t usually get this close to a mark, let alone engage in conversation. But if Gloria Sanchez was really at a cabin in the mountains, John would need Emma to reveal the exact location before he took her out. He’d have to string her along for a little while, coax her into telling him all about it. Not his preferred method.
As Emma finished a detailed explanation of testing phases and USDA approval requirements, John slowed the SUV. Like every other intersection since leaving the lab, the lights were out. As he came up to the line, a white Suburban sped through, not even slowing to check for oncoming traffic. John hit the brakes a little too hard.
Emma slid forward in the driver’s seat.
“Sorry,” he offered.
“Are all the lights out?” Emma craned her head, looking behind her as John eased through the intersection.
“So far.” The further the blackout stretched, the more concerned John became. Intersection after intersection, all without power. It seemed bigger than a blackout. He cut a glance in Emma’s direction. “What do you remember about that news report?”
She stared up at the ceiling as she recalled. “They said something about a flare or a burst from the sun. Showed a video that looked kind of like a volcano.”
“And that’s what knocked out the power?”
“Honestly, I don’t remember.” She shook her head. “I wish I had paid more attention.” She pulled out her phone.
“Still nothing?”
“Not a thing.”
John turned on the radio. Instead of his favorite station, there was static. He hit the scan button. Every station was the same. No broadcast, no music.
Emma shifted in the passenger seat. “This doesn’t feel right. I’ve never not heard the radio, even when the power is out. There should be at least one station.”
She was right. John clicked over to a.m. and scanned. The radio paused on a faint signal and John turned up the volume.
“…strength ahead… big one… years before we recover… last-minute preps now… North Carolina, Tennessee … Virginia…”
He turned down the volume when the signal faded. “Did you catch any of that?”
Emma shook her head. “It sounded like the power’s out for the whole southeast? Could that be right?”
John clenched his jaw. If he weren’t on a deadline, he would detour to the nearest convenience store or bar and ferret out some information. But his boss demanded results and a blackout changed nothing.
He turned at the next street per Emma’s instructions and entered a residential neighborhood. Little brick ranches with tidy front yards and empty carports lined the road.
“Turn here.” She pointed at the upcoming cross street. “He’s the last house on the right. Dead-end, backs up to a creek. If the driveway is full, you can park in the weeds.”
John turned the corner and slowed his approach.
“No car in the drive.” Emma brightened. “Maybe I read the text wrong and he’s simply out of town.”
She reached for the door handle, but John stuck out his arm. “Let me lead. You don’t know what we’re going to find.” He parked the SUV and reached over to pop the glove box before grabbing his Sig Sauer.
Emma froze.
He smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re gun shy.”
“No, not really, I mean, keeping a loaded gun in my glove box wouldn’t be my first choice, but—”
“It’s not your car.” John ops-checked the pistol before racking the slide. “If things are as bad inside as you think they might be, you’re going to be thankful I have this.”
She paled.
“Ready?”
“Not anymore.”
John opened the door. “Just stay behind me.”
He held the pistol low in his right hand as he walked toward the front of the house. No visible signs of entry. No disturbed plants, footprints, broken glass. Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe his boss jumped the gun.
Bypassing the front door, John eased behind an azalea and peered in the front window. At first, in the dim, powerless light, everything appeared normal. But as he cupped his hands around his eyes and squinted against the glass, the linoleum separated into two different hues. He stepped out of the bushes and put a finger to his lips as Emma approached.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Blood in the kitchen. A lot of it. We should head around back.”
Emma’s lips parted, but she stayed silent, opting to keep close behind John as they eased around the house.
When they reached the far corner, John turned. “Stay here. Don’t be a target.”
Emma nodded, eyes wide with fear, as John turned back around. He shouldn’t have bothered to warn her, but without eyes on the source of the blood, John had to be careful. If one of his colleagues was dead inside, Emma could identify him. If she somehow got away…
He shook his head. The blackout had impaired his focus. That needed to change. With a deep breath, John eased around the corner. Remains of a sliding glass door littered the patio and curtains fluttered in the breeze.
Thanks to the early afternoon sun, the living room with its tan carpet and beige walls practically glowed. He crept inside. It didn’t take long to find the source of the blood.
A man in his fifties, with gray hair and a tortured expression, lay in a puddle of what used to pump through his veins. John toed the pool of blood with his boot. Congealed, but not tacky. He eased into a crouch and placed a finger on the man’s neck. Room temperature, give or take. He couldn’t have been dead long. Four hours at the most.
“Oh my gosh.”
John spun. “I told you to wait.”
Emma stood in the hall, backlit by the sun, red hair almost aflame. “Zach?” She hurried forward, tears streaming down her pink cheeks as she kneeled inches from the body. “I didn’t think anything like this would happen. We’re just researchers. We work in a lab. Why would anyone do this to us?”
It took all of John’s self-control not to end her right there, but he didn’t know Sanchez’s location and he hadn’t cleared the house. He stood and backed up, positioning himself with a clear view of the kitchen window and the living room.
“Did Zach have any other enemies? An ex-wife? Gambling debts?” He needed to keep Emma calm until he confirmed they were alone. “It’s not necessarily related.”
Her laugh came out bitter and hollow. “Zach is as boring as they come. He would never gamble, and his wife didn’t divorce him, she’s dead.”
A shotgun lay on the floor a few feet from Zach’s body. John bent to pick it up and smelled the end. Freshly fired. Not good. It meant at least one shot neighbors must have heard.
John preferred his targets to never know what was coming. A sniper shot from a distance, not this up close and personal. Not this messy.
“Did you find Holly?”
John jerked his head up. “Who?”
“Zach’s daughter.”
What? He bit back a curse. No one told him about a daughter. “I’ll search the house. If you have any sense, this time you’ll stay put.” He hurried through the rooms, clearing the main floor in under a minute. “This floor is clear.”
Emma pointed. “Basement is down there.”
John crossed the kitchen with purpose, boots striking the linoleum with a heavy thud. He jerked the door open and used his phone as a flashlight, holding it in one hand and his Sig in the other. From what he could see, the basement was unfinished and barely used.
He eased down the stairs, pausing a few steps from the bottom. Swirls of dust collected at the base of the stairs. A fresh disturbance. John lifted the light and the gun simultaneously and scanned the room. HVAC, storage bins stacked against the wall, nowhere to hide.
“Holly? Holly, are you down here?” Emma’s footsteps sounded on the stairs behind him.
John spun and fought the urge to fire. “I. Told. You. To. Wait.”
“If she’s down here, she’s not going to come out for some stranger with a gun pointed at her.” Emma pushed past him. “Besides, if anyone else were down here, I’d have seen more than two sets of footprints on the stairs.”
John paused. She might be naïve, but she wasn’t stupid. He motioned around the corner. “Behind the stairs is the only option. Want to go first?”
Emma’s new-found bravado faltered and she hesitated, mouth hanging open for a beat too long. But she recovered quickly, stepping into the dark with her head high. “Holly? Holly, are you in here? It’s Emma Cross. I’m your dad’s friend from CropForward. Remember I met you at the barbecue on Memorial Day? You showed me your painting from art class—the one with the waterfall?”
A pile of blankets rustled in the corner. John trained his light on the shape.
“You said it reminded you of a place you hiked when you were little.”
