The Weight of Blood (82)

“Ken, you gotta get down here. Now!” Alvin Lewis shouted, seeming out of breath. “The meters . . . they’re all going crazy!”

“Slow down,” Mr. Scott snapped, but kept his voice measured. He wasn’t interested in entertaining exaggerations. “Tell me exactly what’s going on.”

“There . . . couldn’t get . . . you have to help!”

“What are you talking about?”

Snowy static filled the line. “It . . . meter . . . no . . . twelve thousand!”

“Hello? Alvin. Alvin?”

“Holy shit!”

“Alvin?”

The line went dead.

Mr. Scott was known for his pragmatism and ability to perform under pressure without breaking a sweat. He’d attempted to instill these qualities in his children to better prepare them for the world. It’s important to stop, think, assess the situation, and proceed accordingly.

He stared at the phone for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Twelve thousand? Alvin couldn’t have been talking about a meter reading. That would have been a two hundred percent increase. He tried to dial Alvin again. No service.

“Ken? Ken! Where are you?” Feet padded down the stairs.

“Meryl?” he shouted back. Her voice seemed alarmed. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Mrs. Scott rushed into the kitchen in her house robe. “Ken, I think I just heard something. An explosion somewhere.”

Mr. Scott scowled at his wife. “What are you talking about?”

Mrs. Scott opened her mouth to explain as they were dipped into darkness.

“What the devil?” he muttered, clicking the light switch.

Mr. Scott grabbed a flashlight out of the bottom cabinet, and pointed it toward his wife. She gripped her robe, her eyes holding a strange panic.

“Ken? Ken, what’s happening?”

He tried another light switch, turning to face her. They held each other’s gaze. Mr. Scott tried to process the last few minutes—the static call, the explosion, the blackout.

“Ken?”

He nodded with resolve. “I need to go to the plant.”

Mrs. Scott gasped, face crumbling.

He left her in the kitchen, running up to their bedroom to change. As he made his way back down, he passed his daughter’s empty room with a jolt.

“Where’s Kali?” he asked, entering the kitchen.

Mrs. Scott’s frown deepened. “She was with her friends. She should’ve been home by now.”

“Call her and Kenny. Tell them to come straight home.”

Mrs. Scott nodded, rushing over to the kitchen landline. She clicked twice.

“The phone’s dead.”

“That’s impossible.” How could both the landline and cell service be down?

In the distance, the plant alarm went off, the sound disorienting in the late evening. It wasn’t a drill. It was the real thing. Mrs. Scott blanched, holding a hand on her cheek. They stared at one another for a long moment—a silent understanding passing between them. Mr. Scott took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he stormed down the hall, snatched his jacket and keys, and ran out the door.

He had to get to the plant before it was too late.

Wendy pushed against the stampede of bewildered kids, her vision skewed, stomach threatening to purge itself on the gravel. A girl hunched over, projectile vomiting in front of Wendy, keeling over. Some kids couldn’t manage to stand up from where they had withered.

“Kenny?” Wendy called, weak and drained. “Kenny!”

A uniformed man pinned under a car let out a wet scream, blood sputtering from his mouth in a hoarse cough, his body nearly severed in half. He reached for her as another officer tried helplessly to lift the car off him, his face covered in sweat and soot. Leaking gas pooled around the broken cars, the smell nauseating. Smoke puffed from their engines. She tried to run, but the ground tilted, and she leaned sideways, ramming right into one of the burning police cars. She tripped over another kid, falling headfirst. And there was Kenny, lying on the ground, forgotten in the chaos.

“Kenny!” she screamed, diving for him, his face a bloody mess. “No, no, no. Please, Kenny. Wake up?”

He didn’t move. She whipped around, searching for the police, but they were all trapped under their own vehicles, crushed like lightning bugs. She screamed for help, hot tears streaming down her face, her head throbbing at the sound of her own voice. Frazzled and panicked, she almost gave up hope.

Hectic footsteps stopped behind her. Kali’s skin looked green, her eyes drooping. She swayed and flung herself over her brother.

“Kenny,” she moaned, shoving his chest. “Kenny, wake up!” She moved closer, ear to his mouth, and felt for a pulse. Wendy held her breath, her heart sinking.

“He’s still breathing,” Kali whimpered. “Come on, help me.”

A symphony of screams echoed out of the country club. Wendy stared at the open gates.

“Oh God,” she gasped. Maddy was in there, with her friends, the people she’d known all her life. She had to help them.

But Kali shook her shoulder.

“Wendy! We have to get him to the hospital! You have to help me.”

Wendy looked into Kali’s teary eyes, down at Kenny, then back at the country club.

“But I . . . I . . .”