Chapter Five
Olivia burst into the kitchen where Sela, Carol, and Barb were still preparing and canning as much food as they could. While
the power was still on, the work couldn’t let up. “I heard from Josh!” she said, waving her phone at them, then burst into
tears.
“Oh, honey.” Carol dried her hands and went to Olivia, put her arms around her. “That’s such a relief. How is he? Is he still
on base?”
Olivia wiped her eyes and showed the text message to Carol.
“‘I’m good,’” Carol read aloud. “‘We’re prepared, have backup systems. I won’t be able 2’—he used the number two instead of
the word to, I taught him better than that—‘get leave for a long time, so take care of yourself. Tell Gran I said hi, there was still cleaning to be done. But it was also true that Sela’s hair was thick and heavy, and
wouldn’t dry before bedtime unless she used a blow-dryer on it. Something else to plan for, she thought as she climbed the
stairs: with the power out, she’d have to wash her hair early enough in the day that it could dry. She’d seen movies and read
books where the female character sat by a fire drying her hair, and never thought the practice anything more than romantic
or picturesque. Suddenly she had a very different take on the situation. Every mundane thing would become more difficult,
require more planning.
Like Olivia, she rushed through the showering process; she wanted to linger, to savor, knowing this might be the last hot
shower she’d have in a long time, but this wasn’t a time for lingering. When she was dressed again she took the blow-dryer
downstairs with her, to clear the way for the next one to shower.
By the time everyone had taken their turn in the bathroom and the kitchen was cleaned up, time was getting close, and they
didn’t want to push their chances on destroying any of the kitchen appliances. The pressure cooker had finished with the peas,
and the jars were sitting on the kitchen counter, cooling. The four of them ceremoniously unplugged everything except the
little TV, which Carol had said she would sacrifice because it was old anyway and when the power came back on she’d get a
new little flat screen for the kitchen.
“What do we do now?” Olivia asked, her eyes big.
Sela shrugged. “Wait.” She hugged Olivia—all of them seemed to be doing that, reassuring the kid as much as possible—then
took a seat at the table where she could see the TV. One by one, the others did the same. Olivia squeezed in between Carol
and Sela, as if she felt safer there.
There was a scroll at the bottom of the screen that held their attention. Several communities had done what Wears Valley residents
had and set up meeting places for this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Anyone in the area who hadn’t been contacted might see
the information on TV, if they still had access and if they were watching. At least three Knoxville radio stations had plans
of their own. They’d scheduled ongoing updates at prearranged hours, though they also warned that for the first few days after
the CME radio signals would be disrupted, so listeners shouldn’t be alarmed if they had no reception.
Shouldn’t be alarmed. Ha.
“Radio,” Olivia said in disbelief. “No one listens to radio.”
“Sure they do,” Barb countered. “And a lot more will now.”
Sela’s text alert sounded and they all jumped. She looked at the screen and said with relief, “It’s Kristina.” She’d texted
her closest friends, Amy and Kristina, the night before. Amy had responded within an hour, assuring Sela that she was as prepared
as she was going to get. She, her husband, Trace, and their two kids—both under five years old—had been visiting his parents
when the alarm had gone out. Trace’s folks lived on a farm a couple of hours away, and they had decided to stay there. Not
only was the farm set up for a long period of self-sufficiency, Trace’s parents were in their sixties and could use the help.
But she hadn’t heard from Kristina, and she’d worried. Kristina lived in Gatlinburg, close enough that Sela could have gone
there if she hadn’t been so busy with all the food preparation. Kristina traveled a lot with her job, though, and when she
thought about it Sela realized they hadn’t been in contact for a week or so.
In Mississippi with Nathan she had to pull her weight, and more. She’d worried about
Carol and Olivia stepping up, and they likely were thinking the same thing about her. Carol might have, anyway; Olivia was
too young to be that analytical.
The coming crisis would test them all. She didn’t want to be one of those who failed.
“I’m glad she’s with Nathan and his folks,” Carol said. “Being alone right now would be awful.”
The three others nodded, all of them imagining how bad it would be to have no one to rely on.
“I’d feel better if I knew what to expect,” Barb said, her soft face worried. “I don’t mind hard work; that’s how I grew up.
I just need to know. What will work, what won’t? What should we be doing, what should we forget about?”
For some reason, the others looked at Sela, as if she had the answers. She had spent some time reading up on CMEs, but that didn’t make her an expert. How could anyone be an expert on something that hadn’t
happened in the modern world?
“All I can do is guess,” she said slowly. “Texts should work—might work—even after the grid goes down, unless the CME fries
the towers. They work on radio waves, right? The radio stations all say the waves will be wonky for a few days. After that . . .
maybe. But cell phones have to be charged, and even then coverage is bound to be spotty. We have to decide if it would be
worth using precious power to charge a cell.”
“Yes!” Olivia said instantly.
“I don’t see having a powered-up cell phone as being more important than having light,” Carol said. “Especially since the
odds are against anyone you’d want to talk to also having a charged cell phone, and that the networks would be operational.
Not right away, anyway. Later on, maybe, because you know everyone will be working their butts off trying to get everything
up and running.”
“I charged my cell phone this morning,” Sela said. “What about y’all?”
“I did,” Olivia said. Of course.
Carol made a face. “I think it’s about seventy percent.”
Barb sighed. “I haven’t even turned mine on today. I forgot.”