Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

COUNTDOWN TO ZERO HOUR 13 HOURS AND 34 MINUTES

“CAUTION—APPROACHING THRESHOLD!”

A loud robotic voice had joined the bleating alarm in the control room on the other end of the line. Joss and Carla listened as Ethan shut the warnings off and returned to the call with a loud sigh.

“What do you mean, it ‘sorta’ worked?” he asked, not even trying to mask his frustration.

Carla took her eyes off the road to shrug at Joss. Neither was quite sure how to explain R.J., so Joss held the sat phone closer and said, “It means we got the gear and we’re heading back. But you need to figure out who’s going swimming.”

After hanging up with Ethan, the women drove in silence for a few minutes while Joss, unable to help herself, smirked.

All this time she had never been able to put her finger on it—until this moment.

She’d dated smart men and funny men. Men who were interesting, and men who were driven. Some were like her, while others had been an exploration of opposites attracting. Most had been fine. Two had been truly great. And a few had been spectacularly unredeemable wastes of her time. But not even one had made her curious about a life together for the long haul.

Why? She wanted that kind of relationship, and most of them had been great guys. So why, why, did her gut always declare that this wasn’t it?

Her friends thought she was too picky. Her mother said she was too selfish. Her therapist had some other rationale that Joss had written off and frankly couldn’t even remember—but just now, hearing Ethan’s voice on the phone, something had unlocked.

Joss knew exactly who she was. Top to bottom, inside and out—she knew what she was about, she knew what she was made of, she knew what she wanted. Ethan was the only man she’d ever dated who knew himself in the same way. That’s what had been missing. Her first relationship had been with someone as effortlessly at home in his own skin as she was in hers, and Joss had believed that was how most people were and how most relationships would be. She’d been doomed from the start! She’d thought they were the rule, but they were the exception.

It was why their relationship had worked. It was also why it hadn’t worked. But Joss finally realized that that was what she’d been looking for, what all the other men had been missing. Personal authenticity—and an acceptance of hers. For the first time, and with pride, Joss understood why she’d refused to settle.

After watching the fields go by for a couple minutes longer, Joss cleared her throat. “So how’s this going to go?”

“Sorry?” Carla asked.

“Am I dropping you off and then taking the truck back?” Joss said. “Or are you bringing me to Clover Hill and then coming back to town?”

Carla glanced over.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice the potassium iodide and masks in the back of the truck?” Joss said.

“I was thinking I’d get out on Main and let you take the truck back.”

“You’ll be without a ride.”

“Not planning on going anywhere,” said Carla. “Look, people don’t know where to go, what to do. They don’t have iodide. They’re not protected, and they don’t know how to protect themselves. I can’t leave them. I can’t just go back to a safe bunker and hope they figure something out. Okay?”

Joss raised her hands in surrender. “Just wondered about the logistics. I wasn’t going to talk you out of anything. I’d do the same thing.”

The women drove on in silence. Carla made a left and headed toward Main, driving the opposite way they’d come in. As they rounded the corner, Perrow Hill came into view. At its top sat United Grace Church.

Both women leaned in, trying to make sense of what they were looking at:

The church parking lot was packed, every single spot filled, with overflow cars all over the yard.

Carla pulled up parallel to the church at the bottom of the hill, stopping in the middle of the road. There, amid all the cars, was the Carver Valley Elementary School bus. Carla put the truck in park.

“I think I’ll get out here.”

“It was my idea, I’ll do it,” said Renee, the fluid-dynamics engineer.

“But you don’t know how to weld,” said Ethan.

“Do you? Do any of us?” Renee asked as she and Ethan looked around at all the engineers and controllers and firefighters assembled in the control room. No one raised a hand. “See? I am scuba-certified, though. And that’s fifty percent of the knowledge that’s needed.”

“Is anyone else scuba-certified?” Ethan asked the room.

Only Steve raised his hand.

Renee crossed her arms. “Well—”

Steve waved her off. “All of you engineers and brainy types are highly specialized tools. I’m a blunt object. None of you are going because you’re not replaceable. And no offense, but you’re not exactly cut out for this kind of thing.”

Dwight and Vikram in their tucked-in polo shirts, khakis, and tennis shoes exchanged a glance. No one argued.

The firefighters then started saying they were going to be the one to do it. One by one, they all volunteered in a real I am Spartacus moment that they seemed quite pleased with, but Steve would have none of.

“Billy, Dana, Emily,” Steve said with a sigh to one of his men. The firefighter blinked a few times quickly; he hadn’t expected to hear his children’s names in that moment. Steve turned to the firefighter next to him. “Kayden and Khloe.” That firefighter also seemed taken aback. “Your wife, Elizabeth,” Steve said, turning to George. “She’s due, what is it, next week?”

George cleared this throat. “Week after next,” he said.

Steve nodded and looked around at them. “Right. Well, if something goes wrong, I’m not looking a single one of your kids in the eye to explain to them why I let you get in the water. I’m not going to do it.”

Like the engineers, they didn’t argue. Not because they agreed with him. But because they knew their chief, and they knew that when his mind was made up, his mind was made up.

“So what am I supposed to tell Matt?” said Ethan.

Steve turned. It was as though the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.

“We need you here to lead,” Ethan continued.

“My men are fully capable of doing their jobs in my absence.” Steve’s voice was unflinching. “If not, I’m no leader.”

“You have experience that—”

“ No one has experience in what we’re facing today.”

“In the event that we—”

“Then tell me which of my men you deem worthless enough to sacrifice?”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“Tell me. Which of my men are you going to turn to and say, ‘You are the sacrificial lamb because Steve here is more important than you.’ Because that’s exactly what you’re saying.”

No one knew where to look, so they all looked at the ground—except Steve and Ethan, who stared each other down.

“Someone has to go in the water,” Steve said. “At least I have the decency to look my people in the eye and say, ‘I got this.’”

Carla stood at the church’s entrance with a box under each arm staring at a scene she could hardly believe.

“Ope, behind you.”

Carla stepped out of the way of a man carrying a flat of water bottles. He nodded as he passed, headed for two folding tables in the corner where women were making sandwiches, cutting each one in half and stacking them all up for anyone to grab. Another woman poured water into the church kitchen’s coffee maker for a fresh pot. Sleeves of cookies sat beside open bags of chips, and two-liter bottles of soda were next to stacks of plastic cups. A pile of apples, a few bananas. Carrot sticks and cubes of cheese.

On the opposite side of the room, people organized medical supplies: boxes of Band-Aids, half-full bottles of hydrogen peroxide, rolls of gauze, bottles of aspirin. Like the kitchen pantries, medicine cabinets all over town had been raided, and people brought in whatever they had. Nearby, a woman sat on the floor with an ice pack on one of her knees while a nurse in scrubs cleaned the nasty cuts on the other. A golden retriever lay beside them both, his head resting on his owner’s lap.

The church was packed with people. With supplies. They were a makeshift army of volunteers simply looking to help. Carla wanted to cry. This is what community is. It’s not a place, it’s not a people—it’s the acts of love done in a place by those people.

Up on the altar, the pulpit had been moved out of the way for a table holding a CB radio hooked to a portable generator. Reverend Michaels listened with pen in hand, jotting down notes.

“All right, everyone, we got another,” he called out, and the room went quiet. “The Farnsworths out on Kerns Road. Crash damage tore their drive up; they can’t get out. Mr. Farnsworth apparently cut himself up pretty bad too.”

“My truck can make it,” Rand said, his hand raised.

“I’ll go with,” said the town’s vet, making for the medical supply table. “I sewed up his dog’s leg last year. I can make their stitches match.”

Everyone chuckled. Rand and the vet left. Reverend Michaels went back to listening to the radio. The room went back to work.

“Carla!” Principal Gazdecki called out, jogging over to take one of the boxes from her arms. “Thank God you left.”

“Left?”

“Left and went with Marion.”

Carla didn’t follow.

“Carla. All of this”—he waved an arm around the room—“is because of Marion’s dispatches from the plant. No one knew what was happening. No one knew where to go, what to do. We knew nothing . Until he started giving updates.”

Carla was dumbfounded. “And… and so then…”

“So then word spread. Rev made United Grace the official muster point. And we’ve been triaging here ever since.”

As if on cue, Reverend Michaels stood and whistled loudly as he turned up the volume on the radio. The room went silent immediately and Marion’s voice suddenly filled the room.

“… welding gear has just arrived at Clover Hill. They’re going to get things set up. Then the mission will start. I’ll update when I know anything new. The evacuation order is still in effect. There are no other changes at this time.”

The room murmured an understanding and a few people clapped. Then they went back to work. Carla was in disbelief. Mr. Gazdecki squeezed her arm.

“See?”

“But… but… where are the kids?” she asked, still trying to catch up.

“Most are out,” Gazdecki said with a proud smile. “The bus got stuck in traffic—that pileup on thirty-five made the roads in and out of town literally impassable. Literally. We were locked in. Couldn’t go anywhere. I was starting to get really worried. Feeling trapped. I mean, we were like sitting ducks—and that’s when the bus driver picked up Marion’s transmissions. So once we knew what was going on, we turned around—”

“It was awesome, Miss Carla,” said a fifth-grader running by with a cookie from the food table. “We drove through a field!”

“We did,” Mr. Gazdecki said with a laugh. “We drove through a cornfield to get off the road and out of traffic. The kids loved it. But we got to the church, and then we got organized, made a plan, and started shuttling the kids out.”

“Out? In what? The bus?”

“No. Flatbed tractors. Like a hayride.” He laughed again.

“But… to where?”

“The docks . You believe that? No one’s getting out on any roads, so we’ve been sending everyone out by boat. There’s a whole fleet—fishing boats, motorboats, small private things—from the people up in Bloomfield who are coming down, grabbing our folks, and bringing them back upriver.”

“No.”

“Swear to God,” he said before looking around sheepishly. “Probably shouldn’t say that in here.” He chuckled. His whole vibe was a wild combination of adrenaline, pride, and love. He radiated purpose, just as the whole room did.

“We got kindergarten through fourth out so far,” Gazdecki said, “along with a lot of mothers and their babies. The fifth- and sixth-graders are down in the basement. They’re the next group. Once all the kids are out, we’ll start evacuating ourselves. Until then, we’re here. Helping in whatever way we can.”

Carla didn’t know what to say. She shook her head in wonder, looking around at the neighbors, friends, and strangers that filled the church—just as the sun shifted to the west side of the building. As sunlight began to pour through the stained-glass windows, the whole scene became bathed in rich jewel tones. Carla’s eyes welled with tears. Mr. Gazdecki put a hand on her arm and squeezed.

“I know,” he said, his own eyes glassy. “I know.”

The two stood there for a moment awash with love before Carla wiped her face, took a deep breath, and joined the work.

It had felt right when they’d been arguing in the control room; it had felt like the only option. It still felt that way. But as Steve explained to Matt what he had to go do, the emotional side of the logical choice took over as he fully realized the position he was putting his son in.

Matt listened, picking at the corner of the table with his nail. “It sounds dangerous,” he said without looking up.

“It is,” said Steve. “What, you think you get those ideas to do all the dumb dangerous stuff you do from your mother?”

Matt cracked a smile before remembering himself and returning to a scowl.

The break-room TV was playing CNN, the volume low and background. Steve watched the rotating images of pandemonium. Barren supermarket shelves in Iowa. Bumper-to-bumper traffic on the interstates. Shoulder-to-shoulder crowds at airports. In-studio panels of experts giving their two cents. Replay of President Dawson addressing the nation. Families in N95 masks filling their cars with their belongings. Plunging stock market indexes. Dairy farmers dumping vats of milk down the drain. It struck him how hysterical it all seemed on TV, and yet here, on-site, in the eye of the storm, it was calm. It was simply people doing their jobs. No panic, no chaos. Just the work.

Unsure what else to say, Steve pointed at the vending machine and asked, “You hungry?”

Matt shook his head.

“You need anything?”

Matt shook his head.

Steve watched his son pick at the table for a while longer, then got up. He stalled a bit. Pushed in his chair. Put an empty chip bag in the trash. Blew his nose. The kinds of benign things you do to fill the silence when what needs to be said won’t come.

“I’ll, ah, I’ll check on you when I’m done.”

Matt didn’t respond so Steve went to leave. At the door, he stopped.

“It’s going to be different,” Steve said. “After today, it’ll be different, you and me. We’re going to make changes. At home.”

Matt glanced up. He was skeptical. But he actually looked at his dad, feeling him out, seeing if he was serious. Dropping his head, he mumbled something.

“What’s that?” Steve asked.

“You already said that. You said that that time with my fishing pole.”

As he looked at his son, the beloved only child of Steve and his now deceased wife, he saw the undeniable pain and betrayal brimming in the boy’s eyes and realized that… he had absolutely no idea what Matt was talking about.

“The last time we went fishing. Mom was still home, she wasn’t in the hospital yet. My pole. The line…” Matt prompted, waiting. “You told me we would fix it, remember? You said you’d teach me. But you didn’t.”

Fishing had always been their thing. Steve was a fisherman; his dad had taught him, and he loved teaching Matt. They were always at the river. It was their time to bond, their time to be men. But once Claire got really sick, they couldn’t go. Or, more truthfully, they didn’t go. Steve hadn’t even realized until that moment that they never went anymore. That’s how distant, how unpresent, he’d been for his son. For himself. But this experience that clearly meant so much to his son—Steve had absolutely no memory of. He’d never felt like more of a fraud.

Steve walked back into the room and sat down across from his son.

“We’ll fix your pole. I’ll teach you how. I promise.”

Matt held his gaze. He believed him. Or at least, Steve saw, he wanted to believe him.

Right then, Steve saw a flicker of something in Matt he hadn’t seen in a long time: his son. Who he truly was. The person that grief and loss had tried so hard to destroy. He was still in there! Steve saw the boy who was naturally joyful and curious, an optimist who loved to have fun. Relief washed over him as Steve fought the urge to take his son’s face in his hands and say, There you are! I see you. Please stay with me .

He prayed his son saw something similar in him. Maybe he saw the dad he once knew, the one who used to laugh, who used to make pancakes on Sunday mornings. A man who would do anything to protect the people he loved, no matter what it cost him. Maybe Matt felt the same relief Steve did. That if his old dad was still in there, maybe his old self was too.

Steve made a decision. They were going to make their way back to each other.

They were going to survive.