Chapter 13
Charlotte pulled into the parking lot of the Quick Stop gas station, her stomach growling after four hours on her route.
The small convenience store was one of her regular lunch stops, a place with decent coffee and a staff who knew her well enough to leave her alone when she needed a quiet moment.
That day, more than most days, she needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts before finishing the rest of her deliveries.
She cut the engine and sat for a moment, studying the nearly empty parking lot. Only three other cars were parked in front of the store. The woman behind the counter would probably be surprised to see her. Most of the usual customers had apparently listened to the warnings and stayed indoors.
Charlotte reached for her phone and checked for new alerts or messages.
The screen showed the same red weather warning that had been active since the morning before, along with a text from her supervisor asking whether she planned to finish her afternoon deliveries.
There was nothing from Sophia or her parents. The lack of news wasn’t reassuring.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she dialed Sophia’s number. The girl would be annoyed at the interruption because she hated being checked on, but Charlotte needed to hear her voice and know her daughter was safe at home. The line rang three times before Sophia answered.
“Hey, Mom. I was just about to text you,” Sophia said.
“You were?” Charlotte asked.
“Yeah. Grandpa’s showing me how to fix the kitchen faucet. It’s been leaking for weeks, and he says we might as well do it today since school’s out and all. I wanted to ask if you could grab some replacement washers on your way home. The ones in the basement are the wrong size.”
“I can do that. How’s everything there? Are you guys staying inside?”
“For the most part. Grandma made us some soup for lunch, and I’ve been helping her with stuff around the house.
We cleaned out the hall closet this morning.
You wouldn’t believe what was in there. Dad’s old bowling trophy, a box of letters from when you were in college, and a signed photo of that guy from that show you used to watch. The one with the spaceship?”
“Captain Kirk?”
“That’s the one. Grandma says it’s worth something now. We should list it online when this whole alert blows over. Grandpa says the washers are 3/8 inch, not 1/2…and we need two of them,” Sophia said.
“Got it. Anything else?”
“No, we’re good. Though if this is actually the apocalypse, you should know I’ve decided to sleep through it. It seems like the least stressful option.”
“Sophia, it’s not the apocalypse. It’s just something. We don’t know what yet,” Charlotte said.
“It might be, and if it is, I don’t want to spend my last day alive doing homework or having an existential crisis. I want to finish that book I’ve been reading and maybe eat the rest of the ice cream in the freezer. Priorities, Mom,” Sophia said.
Despite everything—the alerts, the empty streets, the dying plants she’d noticed on her route—Charlotte felt a wave of fondness for her daughter.
At sixteen, Sophia had already developed her father’s ability to find humor in the darkest situations.
That quality had carried Charlotte through the worst days after Jacob’s death, and it steadied her in that moment.
“Priorities indeed. Though if you eat all the ice cream, your grandmother will never forgive you,” Charlotte said.
“I’ll save her some of the chocolate chip. She’s earned it after helping me with my chemistry last night. I should go. Grandpa’s got the water shut off, and we’re about to take the faucet apart.”
“All right. I’ll be home around four. Maybe earlier if things stay quiet.”
“Cool. Love you,” Sophia said.
“Love you, too, Soph,” Charlotte replied.
The call ended, and she stared at her phone for a moment.
Sophia was fine. Her parents were fine. They were going about their day with the same practical steadiness that had carried them through decades of life’s challenges.
For a moment, Charlotte let herself believe that whatever was happening might pass them by and that the alerts and closures were only precautionary.
Her stomach growled again, reminding her that lunch couldn’t wait any longer. She climbed out of the truck and crossed the parking lot to the Quick Stop. The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside, and the woman behind the counter looked up with surprise.
“You’re out today? With the alert and everything?” Diane asked.
“Apparently, the creed includes whatever this is,” Charlotte replied.
“I guess so. Not much business today, though. You’re about my tenth customer all morning. Most people are staying home.”
“I noticed. Any word on what’s actually happening? The alert’s pretty vague.”
“Just the same stuff about air quality and staying indoors. My sister in Delaware says they’re getting the same alerts there. Her kids’ school is closed, too,” Diane said.
It wasn’t just their area. The pattern Charlotte had noticed on her route stretched beyond Tuckerton, maybe beyond New Jersey.
The thought should have unsettled her more than it did.
Instead, she felt oddly detached, as if the crisis belonged to someone else, someone who wasn’t standing in a convenience store buying lunch while the world shifted around her.
Charlotte paid for her food and returned to her truck, eating quickly before checking her phone one last time.
There were still no new alerts, no updates, and no explanation for the dying plants or the empty streets.
The same red warning remained on the screen, along with vague instructions to stay indoors.
She started the engine and pulled back onto the road, heading for the next section of her delivery route.
She had twenty-seven deliveries left before she could go home to Sophia and her parents.
Home was the place she kept telling herself would remain untouched by whatever was happening.
She held on to that thought as she drove past another withered garden, another dark storefront, and another reminder that normal life had already begun to fall apart.