Chapter Seven #3
to give the battery a good charge. Maybe today’s broadcast would be longer, have more information.
“This is Robert Keller, reporting. There was widespread looting in several Knoxville neighborhoods last night, with reports
of people coming into the city from other locales, following the interstate highways. The KPD has performed heroic work during
the night, quelling the looting, and for now all is quiet. The hospitals are not accepting critical cases, as dwindling supplies
have to be carefully managed so as to provide care for the maximum number of residents.” He gave the locations of the shelters
that were open, as well as the times and places for food and water distribution, along with the warning that “Armed police
officers will be ensuring order.” He signed off with a reminder of the next update.
In the small silence that fell afterward, someone said, “I’m glad we live here.” While Wears Valley had come together, the
larger city, if not already in a panic, was getting there fast. And it was fewer than thirty miles away.
Sela suspected there were similar reports being made around the country, in places that were lucky enough to have access to
radio. Many, more rural areas, wouldn’t have even that.
So far they were doing okay. The last few days had been stressful and strange, but not difficult. There was no television,
no phone calls, no access to the world outside this valley. There was no reason to go to her store, so she didn’t bother.
At this point, anyway, there was plenty of food to go around.
The handful of gardens along the street were now being tended by more than one hand, as neighbors pitched in to help, hoping
to extend the life of the vegetables. The one greenhouse in the neighborhood was being converted from . . . well, whatever,
to vegetables they’d need in the coming months. They were working, and working together. Things had been peaceful, and the
weather was still good. But during the coming months . . . who knew?
It was frightening to realize that the grid would be down that long, but Sela had no reason to think otherwise. The world
had gone dark, and Ben had said getting the grid back up would take months, if not years. They had to face that, and prepare
as best they could.
Barb had tears in her eyes, and so did Olivia. They weren’t caused by sadness, Sela suspected, but were tears of absolute
fear. Knoxville wasn’t all that far away, and what had happened there and in other cities wasn’t going to get better.
Carol clapped her hands and said, “Show’s over, let’s get back to work. Tomorrow I’ll set this up in the big field, so more
people can listen.”
How different their days already were, Sela thought as she watched the crowd disperse. She, Carol, and Barb planned to spend
part of the day working on quilts in preparation for winter. Olivia and a friend from down the street were helping an older
couple with the last gasp of their garden. The girls were lost without their phones, and the physical activity did them good.
Sela had even caught Olivia reading a time or two, and she had also joined in with the quilting—for a short while. She didn’t
have the patience for the craft. Sela stifled her own impatience, because the chore needed doing.
They settled into their activities, and as Sela stitched she thought of Ben. Did he have enough covers to keep him warm? As
soon as the thought ran through her mind she scoffed at herself. Of course he did. Of all the people here, he would be the
most prepared for whatever happened. He was fine. No looter would dare to bother him, and if they did, well, too bad for that
looter. But just because he was prepared didn’t mean he had everything. He had no neighbors to share or commiserate with,
no fresh-tomatoes-for-recently-thawed-chicken trades to make—not that she could imagine him commiserating with anyone. Still.
Being totally alone wasn’t good. What if he got hurt? Living as isolated as he did, no one would know if he was injured and
needed help.
Though maybe he could perform field surgery on himself.
Instead of being comforted by that idea, she suddenly felt like crying, and she ducked her head so the others wouldn’t see
her damp eyes.
She wished she had reached out to him before, not that he’d ever given any indication of wanting her, or anyone else, to reach
out. Her retiring personality had undermined her. Why had she been so shy around him? Why hadn’t she ever smiled and asked
him how he was doing, those times when he’d come into her store? Likely he would have grunted a non-reply, but maybe . . .
maybe he’d have talked to her a little. And maybe eventually they might have—
She was bedeviling herself with too many mights and maybes. She couldn’t change the past. The future, however, was something
else. Seeing these missed opportunities was giving her a lot to think about. What a time to realize that maybe there was more
to life than work, her aunt, and her young cousin. She’d been marking time, playing it safe, living in a bubble of her own
making.
The thing was, bubbles were made for popping.