Chapter 12
Charlotte dropped the mail in the box at the house with the withered garden before returning to her truck, moving faster than she had all morning.
The dying plants confirmed what she had been feeling since the first alert.
Something was happening to the environment, and the authorities were describing it in vague terms.
She considered going home to check on Sophia and waiting with her family until the situation became clearer.
No one would blame her for prioritizing her daughter’s safety.
Home was twenty minutes away, but she still had forty-three stops left on her route.
She shifted the truck into drive and headed to the next house.
The Millers were outside when she pulled up, loading suitcases into the back of their SUV. They paused when they saw her.
“You’re still delivering?” Mrs. Miller asked. “I thought for sure the postal service would shut down with everything going on.”
“Not yet,” Charlotte said. “Though it’s pretty quiet out there. Are you heading somewhere?”
Mr. Miller glanced at his wife. “My sister in Vermont. She called this morning and said they’re getting the same alerts up there. Schools are closed, and people are staying indoors. We thought it might be better to be together if things got worse.”
“That’s probably smart. Family should stick together.”
Mrs. Miller nodded. “That’s what we thought. Our daughter’s already there. She goes to college in Burlington. When she called about the alerts, I just…”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Charlotte said. “Safe travels.”
She continued down the street. The Nelsons’ son in Michigan had reported the same alerts.
The Garcias had heard from cousins in Texas about school closures and warnings to stay indoors.
Mrs. Abernathy, who had seemed unconcerned yesterday, now sat in her living room with the curtains drawn and a suitcase by the door.
“They’re saying it’s nationwide. My bridge partner’s daughter works for the CDC in Atlanta. She called this morning and said they were activating emergency protocols. Wouldn’t say why, just that we should stay inside and keep the windows closed.”
“The CDC?” Charlotte repeated. “Not the weather service?”
Mrs. Abernathy shook her head. “That’s what makes me think it’s not the air at all. It’s something else. Something they don’t want to name.”
By the midpoint of her route, the pattern was impossible to ignore.
Every conversation carried the same alerts in multiple states, closures, and rumors of government activity.
A county worker mentioned National Guard vehicles on the highway.
A woman said her brother in the reserves had been called up that morning.
“They’re saying it’s the SNA,” a man told her as she handed over his mail. “That the pullback was just the first move. That they’ve got some kind of weapon—not nuclear, something new—and they’re using it now.”
“It can’t be that,” his wife said. “The president would have said something. There’d be evacuations, not just alerts.”
“Would they? Remember how they handled the pandemic? First, it was nothing to worry about; then it was just in China. Suddenly, it was everywhere, and the whole country was locking down. Governments don’t like to cause panic.”
The exchange left Charlotte hollow. She had made seventeen stops so far and had dozens remaining.
The rational part of her brain told her to go home.
The part that had carried mail through blizzards, heat waves, and the darkest days of her grief told her to finish what she’d started.
The afternoon wore on, and the streets grew quieter as more people retreated indoors.
Three-quarters of the way through her route, she pulled up to the Novak residence.
Frank Novak sat on his porch with a newspaper and a cup of coffee as if it were any ordinary Thursday.
“Afternoon,” he said. “Figured you might not make it today, with everything going on.”
“Rain, sleet, dark of night,” Charlotte replied with a smile. “Turns out that includes whatever this is.”
“That’s the job, isn’t it? Showing up when it counts.
You know what this reminds me of? Cuba in 1962.
I was just a kid, but I remember the drills.
Teachers herding us into the hallways and making us crouch, hands over our heads.
They told us it was just practice, but we all knew something was happening. ”
“The Cuban Missile Crisis?”
“That’s the one,” Frank said. “Thirteen days when we all thought it might be the end. I remember the principal coming over the intercom, his voice shaking. He said school was closing early and that our parents would be waiting. Nobody said why, but we all knew. The air feels the same now. There’s that same waiting, that same sense that something’s coming, and it’s going to change everything. ”
“What do you think it is?” she asked. “Really?”
“Hard to say. It could be the SNA making its move. It could be something environmental. Or it could be nothing at all, a false alarm, or a miscommunication. I don’t think so, though.
Something’s happening, and my guess is it’s bigger than anyone’s saying.
Be careful out there. Whatever this is, it’s just getting started. ”
Charlotte finished her route with Frank’s words echoing in her mind.
At the Kowalski house, she found another garden in the same state of decline.
By her final stop, the pattern had become unmistakable.
Something had altered the environment. As she placed the last letter in the last mailbox, Charlotte felt a sense of finality settle over her.
Whatever was coming would transform the world she had known.