Christy nodded. "Oh, yeah. I remember that now."

"Well, that's how it felt outside. Like Walden's been stuck inside a bottle and somebody turned the lights out on us."

She rubbed her arms and shivered. "It's chilly in here."

"Yeah, it is. I could use some coffee. Some guy down on the street gave me a cup, but I could use more. I wish the power was on."

"We have that little jar of instant that my mom brought over before we got the coffee maker, but I don't know how we'd heat the water."

"That's okay," I said. "Maybe a little later. Bad as I need it, I hate drinking cold coffee."

Christy got up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. When she returned to the living room, she draped a blanket over her shoulders and sat back down again. She fired up the bong, and we smoked for a while. Then I told her about everything I'd learned, the people I'd met, and Dez's bizarre behavior. While we talked, the noise out on the street increased, as more people woke up and discovered what was going on.

"Did any of the other people say what they were going to do?"

"A few," I said. "Some of them were talking about leaving, trying to get to one of the other towns and see if they had power or knew what was going on. Some of the others were just going to stay put. I think that's what we should do, too. Just sit tight and wait."

"Wait for what?"

"I don't know. For the utilities to come back on, at least. I mean, we don't really know anything at this point, right? We don't know if it's safe to leave or not."

"We should go to my mom's place. Maybe her power is still on. Maybe the news is saying something."

"I don't think that's a good idea, hon. I know you're worried about her, but she'd want you to stay safe, and I think we have a better chance of keeping you that way if we stay here."

"You really think something terrible has happened?"

"Maybe. I thought it was an eclipse, but they don't normally last this long. I'm not saying it was something bad for sure, but let's say it was indeed some kind of terrorist attack or natural disaster. Maybe the darkness is some kind of chemical cloud or something, or a volcanic plume. If we go into it, we could get sick."

"Do you think that's what happened? Al Qaeda? The Sons of the Const.i.tution? They haven't done anything since they killed all those people on that reality show. Oh G.o.d, what if it's them?"

"I just said that I wasn't saying that for sure, Christy. But whatever it is, we have to a.s.sume it's dangerous. All the utilities are gone, and people are scared. That leads to panic, and if people are freaking the f.u.c.k out, the last place we want to be is on the road. So let's just chill out and wait to see what happens. Help might show up. And if not, in a few hours, we'll figure out what to do next. Okay?"

"Okay." She pouted.

I headed into the kitchen and decided to make us both something to eat. I didn't want to open the refrigerator door and let the cold air out, because there was no telling how long the power would be out and I didn't want our food to go bad, so I settled on some dried fruit and a box of Cheerios from the cupboard. I mixed them together into cereal bowls for each of us and carried them back into the living room.

"We'll have to eat them without milk," I said. "Sorry."

"That's okay."

Christy's dejected tone was gone. It felt good to see her smile again. It was a little victory, but an important one for me. In truth, I was starting to get a little scared. As males, we're sort of genetically programmed to protect our significant others. When we don't succeed, it's a terrible feeling. You feel helpless and not worthy of their love, even if they don't feel that way about you themselves. I wanted Christy to be safe, but I didn't know what I was protecting her from or how to do it. I think it was the not knowing that was the worst. If I'd just known what was going on and what we were dealing with, then I could have handled it. I could have done whatever I needed to for us. But not knowing, there wasn't really any way to prepare. All I could do was try to keep Christy happy and content. Just keep her mind off things and hope that the situation would soon pa.s.s.

But it didn't pa.s.s.

We were crunching away on our breakfast when somebody knocked on the door. The rapping sound was very loud, and we both jumped a little. I spilled a few Cheerios on the couch.

"Stay here," I told her, and set my bowl on the coffee table.

Christy frowned. Her eyebrows knitted together the way they did when she was scared or nervous. I paused, reached out with my finger and brushed a piece of cereal from the corner of her mouth. That made her smile.

The knock came again as I crossed the room. It was more insistent this time. I heard a m.u.f.fled voice calling my name. Whoever it was, they sounded excited. I peeked through the peephole and saw Russ's magnified face staring back at me. I opened the door.

His face was red. "Oh, thank Christ you're home. You guys been outside yet?"

"Yeah, I went out earlier." I opened the door the rest of the way. "Come on in, man."

"Thanks."

Russ looked like something the cat had mauled, eaten, spit up, eaten again, c.r.a.pped out, and then then dragged in. His thinning hair was sticking up in wild, greasy corkscrews, and his eyes were bleary and blood-shot. Salt-and-pepper stubble covered his cheeks. His jeans were dirty, and there was a big yellow mustard stain on his white T-shirt. His shoes were untied. Worst of all was the smell coming out his pores-stale sweat and alcohol. Even though I tried to hide it, he must have noticed my reaction because he apologized right away. dragged in. His thinning hair was sticking up in wild, greasy corkscrews, and his eyes were bleary and blood-shot. Salt-and-pepper stubble covered his cheeks. His jeans were dirty, and there was a big yellow mustard stain on his white T-shirt. His shoes were untied. Worst of all was the smell coming out his pores-stale sweat and alcohol. Even though I tried to hide it, he must have noticed my reaction because he apologized right away.

"Sorry. I tied one on last night and overslept. I know I probably look like s.h.i.t. Woke up with one h.e.l.l of a hangover. How's your plumbing? I wanted to take a shower, but mine's not working."

"Nothing is working," I said. "All the utilities are out."

"s.h.i.t. I figured that might be it. Was hoping maybe I was wrong, though. I noticed the phone was out when I tried to call off work. And then...well, I guess you looked outside too, right?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "We saw it. Christy's pretty freaked out. To be honest, I'm getting that way myself. At first I thought maybe it was an eclipse or something. Now I don't know what the h.e.l.l is going on."

"It's not an eclipse," Russ confirmed, "or any other astronomical event that I can think of. There are a few things that would account for something like this, but I'd know if they were supposed to be occurring-and they're not. So unless the sun suddenly burned out..." Smiling, he shrugged. "Well, if that happened, we wouldn't be standing here talking about it, would we? My point is, we have to look somewhere other than the sky for the answer."

"We can't see the sky anyway."

"No, I guess we can't."

"Well," I said, "have a seat. I'd offer you some coffee, but all we have is that instant c.r.a.p. There's cereal if you want some."

"That's okay. What I need is some hair of the dog."

I grinned. "What were you drinking last night?"

"Cheap tequila."

"We've got that, too. And a little bit of bud."

"Budweiser?"

"No, weed."

Russ nodded. "Maybe in a bit."

He joined Christy and me in the living room, and we filled him in on what we'd learned. Russ asked if we had any aspirin, and Christy gave him two. He swallowed them dry, grimacing as they slid down his throat. After a while, we tried the radio again, but there were still no broadcasts. The commotion down on the street had lessened somewhat, as people either returned to their homes or got the h.e.l.l out of Dodge. The candles on the coffee table sputtered as the flames reached the bottoms of the wicks, and I replaced them with fresh ones.

"If this goes on too long," Christy said, "we'll run out of candles."

"If this goes on too long," Russ replied, "we're going to run out of a lot lot of things. You guys use your toilets yet?" of things. You guys use your toilets yet?"

I tried not to chuckle. "Why?"

"Conserve water. Unless they get the pipes working, that might be all you got."

"I think that's a little far-fetched," I said. "Whatever this is, it's not going to go on that that long. If it's really bad, sure, it might be a few days. But even then, there's plenty of bottled water at the stores." long. If it's really bad, sure, it might be a few days. But even then, there's plenty of bottled water at the stores."

Christy made a gagging noise. "I'm not drinking out of the toilet. That's gross."

Before Russ could respond, the fire siren croaked to life. I say croaked because it's old and slow, and it has to build itself up before you can really hear it. At first, all you hear is this choppy, staccato grumble. Then it turns into a low whine before it finally starts to wail. Our volunteer fire department always needs money, and they hold a lot of fundraisers, but so far, they hadn't invested those funds into a new siren. At least we had a fire department, though. We didn't have an ambulance corps or a police force and contracted out to other towns for both. Even if we'd had our own police department, I don't guess it would have mattered. Not now, with everything that's happened. If we'd had cops running around, people would have just started dying sooner.

The siren built to its crescendo and didn't stop. The shrill, bleating wail drowned out the noise from the street. All three of us rushed to the window and looked toward the firehouse, but we couldn't see the building. It was too dark. The people on the sidewalks were gazing in that direction, too. There weren't many cars left on the street, but the ones that were pulled over to the curb as a fire truck cruised slowly by. Its lights rotated, throwing red and blue flashes against the buildings. The interior light was on inside the cab. I caught a glimpse of the driver. He seemed haggard and scared. A man sat perched on top of the truck, holding a battery-powered bullhorn to his mouth.

"WE ARE UNDER A STATE OF EMERGENCY. PLEASE REMAIN CALM. THE SITUATION IS FLUID BUT UNDER CONTROL. AGAIN, WE ASK THAT YOU PLEASE REMAIN CALM. ALL RESIDENTS OF WALDEN ARE ASKED TO a.s.sEMBLE AT THE FIREHOUSE IN HALF AN HOUR. REFRESHMENTS WILL BE PROVIDED."

That last part seemed bizarre and comedic, and I chuckled. If you wanted people to turn out for your event, even during the end of the world, then you had to make sure that refreshments were provided. I wondered if they'd be holding a raffle as well.

The people on the street watched the fire truck roll by. Some of them shouted questions at the man with the bullhorn, but he simply repeated the message. Then the truck made a left turn, and the siren sounded again.

Christy, Russ, and I sat back down again. Christy clutched my hand hard enough to make my fingers grate together. We listened to the siren until it faded.

"You heard what he said, Robbie," Christy whispered. "A state of emergency."

"Yeah." I nodded. "I guess we should head for the firehouse and see what's going on."

Russ stood. "Before we do, if you don't mind and you're still offering, I'll take a shot of that tequila."

I glanced at Christy and then back at Russ.

"h.e.l.l," I said, shrugging, "maybe we should all do a shot."

I poured three shots, and we downed them in silence, not offering a phony "cheers" because there was nothing to be cheery about. I grimaced as the tequila hit the back of my throat. It sat in my stomach like acidic sludge. I burped, cringing at the aftertaste. Russ helped himself to a second shot.

"Thanks," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"No problem, dude."

While I put the shot gla.s.ses in the sink, Christy reached for the bong. Her hands were shaking as she fired it up.

So were mine.

CHAPTER FIVE

Russ grabbed a flashlight from his apartment, and Christy and I both had ours as well. We walked down the stairs and out into the dark street, and things seemed even weirder than before. It was midmorning, and the sun certainly should have been up. Instead, the sky seemed darker than ever. It made me wonder whether this was how those people in Alaska felt. You know, the ones who live where it's nighttime for a month out of the year? If it was anything like this, then it must have sucked b.a.l.l.s.

Cranston shuffled out of his apartment, blinking like a sleepy lizard, and joined us. It turned out that he'd heard the siren, too. The noise had woken him. Cranston was our downstairs neighbor. He was in his early sixties-an ex-hippie and lifelong champion of liberal ideals. He played guitar and practiced transcendental meditation. He was a decent neighbor. Didn't bother us. Was always friendly. His guitar strumming got to be a little too much sometimes, but Christy and I didn't mind. When it annoyed us, we just turned the stereo or the television up a little louder and drowned out the noise.

Russ, Christy, and I nodded at Cranston as he shut his apartment door behind him. He didn't say much. Just asked us if we knew what was going on. We said that we didn't. His curly gray hair was sticking up in every direction, and his Grateful Dead shirt looked like he'd slept in it. I guessed that was probably what he'd done.

When we got outside, he seemed momentarily stunned by the situation. He stared up at the darkness, muttering to himself. Then he turned to the three of us.

"That's some strange s.h.i.t, man."

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's pretty f.u.c.ked up."

Cranston shrugged. Then he offered us a joint, and we all declined, if somewhat regretfully. Emergency or not, it seemed risky to smoke weed in the middle of the street. Plus we already had a good buzz going from the tequila and the bong. We watched Cranston puff the joint down to the roach. The tip glowed orange in the gloom. Christy licked her lips, gazing at the joint like a man in the desert dying of thirst who suddenly spots a watering hole. She's always been like that. Smokes some weed and then wants more ten minutes later. Me, I'm good for hours. I thought she was going to tell Cranston that she'd changed her mind and ask for a toke, but she didn't. She just shifted her weight from foot to foot and tugged at her ear. She was obviously nervous and tense.

We all were.

When the joint was spent, Cranston tossed the roach onto the sidewalk and crushed it beneath his heel. He ground his foot back and forth. I felt a pang when that tiny spark of light was extinguished.

"Think the firemen have figured out what's going on?" Cranston asked.

"Let's hope so," I replied.

Russ suggested that we drive to the meeting, but I talked him out of it. We could see more if we walked, and I was curious to find out everything I could about our current situation. Apparently, a lot of other folks felt the same way. There weren't many cars or trucks on the streets, but there were lots of pedestrians. A crowd of people headed toward the firehouse, and the four of us fell in with the procession. All the people around us were strangely silent. Despite our numbers, n.o.body spoke much, and when they did, it was in hushed whispers. I glanced around for familiar faces but didn't see anybody I actually knew-just a few people I recognized from earlier that morning. Tom Salvo was among them, but he was too far away to really talk to. I nodded at him, and he nodded back. There was no sign of Dez the homeless guy, but I hadn't really expected there to be. He definitely seemed to march to the beat of his own drum, and somehow I doubted an emergency community powwow was his sort of scene.

Unfortunately, we didn't see much along the way that shed any light on our predicament.

d.a.m.n, I guess that was a bad pun, wasn't it? f.u.c.k it.

Candles and lanterns burned in a few windows, but most of the buildings were dark and silent. m.u.f.fled voices drifted from a few. Sobs from a few others. One house echoed with wild, maniacal laughter. It gave me goose b.u.mps, and I think it disturbed quite a few other people in the crowd, but n.o.body went to investigate it. We heard violent shouting and the sound of gla.s.s breaking inside the two-story apartment on the corner of Pine Street, but no one moved to investigate that either. In truth, those things were a common enough occurrence at that address even before the darkness came. A bunch of white-trash meth-heads lived there. On boring Friday nights, we used to go down to the corner and bet on how long it would take for the cops to show up in response to a domestic-disturbance call.

A gray and white cat knocked over a garbage can in an alley, then ran away. A few dogs barked at us from their backyards or from inside homes. Smoke curled from several chimneys, and I found myself wishing that Christy and I had a fireplace in our apartment. It was chilly, and I had a feeling that the longer the sun was gone, the colder it would get. We pa.s.sed by an enterprising teenager selling bottled water and cans of soda at five bucks a pop. He sat in a lawn chair, and the drinks were in a foam container between his feet. There was no ice inside. He was bundled up in a winter coat. The dudes who ran the Blockbuster store didn't seem concerned about the morning chill. They had the doors propped open to let in the breeze, and some hip-hop song that I didn't recognize drifted out into the road. They must have had a battery-powered CD player or something.

Not everyone was armed with a flashlight or candles, and I heard several people stumble and trip in the darkness. Feet shuffled all around us. At one point, many of us jumped at something that might have been a gunshot or a car backfiring or just somebody f.u.c.king around with fireworks. There was some nervous laughter when the sound wasn't repeated. Still, despite all that, most people didn't speak. We walked all that way in silence.

The guys at the firehouse had their gas-powered generator cranked up, and they'd set up emergency lights in the parking lot. The dazzling glow beckoned us from far off, and as we neared it, I had to shield my eyes against the glare for a moment. After walking so long in the shadows, the brilliance was almost blinding. Once we were safely under the lights, the crowd's spirits noticeably improved. It was like somebody had flipped a switch. Voices grew louder. A few people even joked and laughed with one another. It felt more like a pep rally or a community yard sale than an emergency meeting-until you saw people's faces and looked into their eyes. Then it all hit home.

All of them, regardless of their demeanor, kept glancing out at the edge of town, looking for lights, the sun, an airplane, or anything that was normal.

The big ladder truck was parked in front of the building, and a guy I a.s.sumed was the fire chief clambered up on top of the cab. He was a big guy and no doubt working on a heart attack or diabetes-or both. He moved slowly, and I could hear him wheezing even over the noise of the crowd. The fire truck's roof groaned, buckling under his feet, but it held. The movement startled him though, and the chief gave a small, strangled cry as it dimpled beneath him. A few people in the throng giggled, and his face turned red. There was a sound system hooked up next to the fire truck. Another fireman fooled around with it, conducting a sound test. It reminded me of a roadie setting up before a concert.

"'Freebird,'" somebody in the crowd shouted.

"Shut the f.u.c.k up, a.s.shole," someone else responded.

The man atop the ladder truck waited about ten minutes longer, and the parking lot continued to fill with people. Russ made a joke about the refreshments, wondering where they were and if there was enough to feed everybody. Cranston made a joke about Jesus and loaves and fishes. I just kept quiet, holding on to Christy's hand and surveying the crowd. If I'd had to guess, I'd have said that about a little less than half of the town's population was there, which made sense, given the number of people who had gone to work. Still, it was a lot of people, more than I'd ever seen gathered at one time in Walden, even counting the annual firemen's carnival, which was always held in the very spot where we were all milling around.

Eventually, the big guy on top of the fire engine must have decided there were enough people present. He raised a microphone to his lips and cleared his throat. There was a squeal of electronic feedback. The other fireman adjusted the sound system. The feedback faded, and the crowd fell silent, waiting.

"Thank you all for coming-"

"Speak up," a woman shouted.