You kill the radio. Silence. Dale's footsteps go back down the porch. Slowly.
Your fridge has been closed since the power died. Here's the rule. A closed fridge keeps food safe for about four hours. It's been three days.
And never taste food to check it. That's straight from foodsafety dot gov. So the fridge is gone. 19 cans. That's it.
Your cell phone loses signal at 3 PM. The towers are down.
Then something rings that hasn't rung in years. The old corded phone on the kitchen wall.
Most people don't know: in a blackout, cordless phones die. But the FCC says a corded phone on a copper line may still work.
You pick it up. A woman. Calm. She says she's with the county water office.
She asks one question. Did you drink anything from your water heater this morning?
You say no. The tank was empty. And she goes quiet. Then: the tanks on Alder Street were refilled overnight. On purpose.
Somebody didn't drain your tank. Somebody filled it. With something. And then drained it into your house.