Tim Washburn - Powerless

Laura sighs. “Great.”

Although both are in their midfifties and in relatively good shape, they are sucking air as they step onto the sixth-floor landing. Lara carefully sets her four jugs down next to the apartment door. But Greg is not so gentle as the two cases slide from his shoulder, sending water bottles skittering down the hallway. Lara gives him a scolding look, which he ignores while fishing for his keys again.

He unlocks the door and Lara breezes past. Greg scoots the four jugs of water inside, then goes in search of the missing water bottles. The corridor is dark, the only light coming from a small window at the end of the hall. Once he’s corralled all the plastic bottles, he carries them into the apartment and drops them on the sofa.

“Greg, I was trying to call Kaylee to tell her we made it home but my cell phone is not working.”

“You try the house phone?”

“It’s dead, too.”

“Shit. Did Kaylee say how long we’d be without electricity?”

“No one really knows. She mentioned it could be a week or longer. But on the grim side, she also mentioned several months, maybe years.”

Greg shakes his head. “If it’s more than a week we’re royally screwed.”

NOAA Space Weather Prediction Center

Wednesday, September 29, 4:51 P.M.

With most of their scientific equipment now off-line, Drs. Blake and Connor have taken refuge in the conference room. A knock on the door sounds and Daniel, the intern, sticks his face around the partially open door. Sam waves him in and Daniel pulls out a chair and sits.

“Dr. Blake, how long you think we have before the storm hits?” he asks.

“Not long. I’d expect—”

The power to the Space Weather Prediction Center flashes off.

“I guess that answers my question,” Daniel says. “Want me to see about starting the generator?”

Sam doesn’t answer for a moment as he stares through the window at the rugged ridges running lengthwise up the mountain. “Just look out there. The sun is shining and the wind is waving the tall grass. You wouldn’t know our world is about to be turned upside down.” He turns to face Daniel. “Hold off on the generator until dark. There’s not a damn thing we can do anyway.”

“You have someplace to stay, Daniel?” Kaylee asks.

“I have a small one-bedroom near campus. I guess I can stay there until the power comes back on.”

Sam takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “You need to find a better place to ride this out.”

“Why? I have enough food to last for a while.”

Kaylee sighs. “You don’t understand, Daniel. We’ll be without power for months. Maybe years.”

Daniel sits in silence. Eventually, he finds his voice. “But… but… why? Can’t the electric companies just swap out the broken pieces?”

“If only it were that simple,” Sam says. “Do you have somewhere else you can go?”

“I guess I could go to my parents’ home in Denver.”

Sam leans forward in his chair and places his forearms on the table. “If you’re going to your parents’ house you need to leave right now.” He pokes the table with his index finger. “Don’t bother going back to your apartment. You need to get in your car and start driving this instant.”

“What’s the urgency?” Daniel says, befuddled.

“Because once people realize the power is not coming back on, they’ll go nuts. There will be people trying to escape to somewhere else and it won’t be long until the roads will be clogged with out-of-gas cars. You need to be on the road right now.”

Daniel stands and shuffles toward the door. He stops and turns. “But I don’t know if I have enough gas.”

“Take a couple of the five-gallon containers you guys purchased this morning and put them in your car.”

“But what about the generator?”

“Screw the generator,” Sam says. He pushes out of his chair, steps toward Daniel, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Once you’re on the road, don’t stop for anyone. It’s only about an hour drive. You should be okay.” He pats Daniel on the back. “Take care, Daniel. I guess you won’t have to worry about writing that thesis for a while.”

Gripped with uncertainty, Daniel stands awkwardly at the door. Kaylee steps around the table and wraps her arms around him.

“I know I’ve been hard on you. But you’re going to be a damn good scientist.” A tear rolls down her cheek.

Daniel steps away from the embrace, wiping away his own tears. He sniffles, then smiles. “Wow, Kaylee crying. Thought I’d never see that.”

Kaylee punches him in the arm before quickly brushing the moisture from her face.

Daniel offers a small wave before disappearing through the door.

Washington, D.C.

Wednesday, September 29, 4:59 P.M.

First Lady Katherine Harris is midway through her speech to the hundred or so college students when a Secret Service agent strides across the small stage and whispers in her ear.

Annoyed at the interruption, she questions the agent in an angry whisper. The agent nods and slinks away from the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize, but I’ve been summoned back to the White House.” She glances up at the crowded room and smiles. “Even I can’t ignore the President.”

The room bursts into laughter. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the agent stalking closer. She holds up her hand to stop him.

“The one thing I want you to take away from today’s—”

The room plunges into darkness to a chorus of high-pitched screams. Hands grab for the First Lady and pull her through a rear door. A series of flashlights click on as her detail sweeps her down a back hallway and into the waiting Suburban. She slides across the smooth leather, her personal secretary, usually only a step or two away, lost in the madness.

“Where’s Sharon?” she says to Agent Davis, who crowds in next to her.

“Go!” he shouts to the driver before turning to face the First Lady. “She’s in another vehicle.”

The heavy truck jets down the alley, followed by another pair of large, black Suburbans. Lights flashing and sirens roaring, the driver hooks a right and guns the powerful engine. They scream two blocks before traffic gums up at Washington Circle.

Katherine Harris, staring through the bulletproof glass at the darkened buildings in the gray duskiness, says, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.” Agent Davis turns for a glimpse out the side window as dread tickles his spine. “It looks like the power is out all over the city.” He turns back to the First Lady. “We weren’t offered an explanation—only ordered to bring you home.”

“Has there been some type of terrorist attack?”

“No. We wouldn’t be going to the White House if this were a terrorist situation.”

Katherine Harris doesn’t ask the question that instantly pops into her mind. Instead she says, “How would my husband know the power was going to go out?”

Agent Davis ponders the question for a moment. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Seems rather strange, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am, it does.”

Due to stoplight failure, the three-car procession comes to a grinding halt halfway through the traffic circle. The driver slaps his palm on the steering wheel. The lights and sirens have no effect on cars with nowhere to go. He clicks off the siren. Closed in by trees on two sides, they’re forced to wait. Slowly, the traffic begins to move forward. Two car lengths later they come to another halt. The First Lady glances out her window to see two agents now standing beside the armored vehicle. Their focus is directed away from the truck.