“Right here,” Amber said pertly, picking up a spiral-bound notebook and pen from the kitchen table. She sat down and opened it to the first blank page, past grocery lists, random notes, and phone numbers. “Ready.”
“Anyone got any ideas?” asked Cami. “I do, but I want to see what you two come up with, first.”
“Well,” Mitch said, scratching at his beard, “now that we’ve got power, we need to figure out the water situation, I guess. You guys on well or city water?”
“Well,” Cami replied. “But hot-wiring the well pump is more than I’m comfortable doing. Besides, that solar setup out there isn’t really all that powerful. It may take a few days to charge the batteries, and I don’t know enough about electronics to know how much power the well pump needs.”
Amber wrote WATER on the notepad, the pen scratching softly. “Is there a way to work the well without power?”
“Like a hand pump?” asked Mitch. He shook his head. “I think most wells are a hundred feet down or something, right? Besides, do you even have a hand pump?”
“No, we don’t, but good idea,” Cami replied.
“I saw a hand crank pump, or siphon or something in the garage earlier,” Mitch said. “It had a label that said it was for brake fluid replacement in cars. Maybe we could use that?”
“Not bad, but probably not. Again, the well’s too deep.” Cami couldn’t help but smile.
“You gonna tell us how to get water or not?” asked Amber. “I can tell by the look on your face you know the answer.”
“Reese and I worked out a solution a while ago. He saw a video online about guys using PVC pipe and rope to make a real skinny bucket. You drop it down the well, fill it up, and haul it back to the surface. Takes a lot more work but doesn’t need electricity or fancy equipment.”
“Does it work?” asked Mitch.
Cami sighed. “Well…that’s the thing. We never actually tried it.” She opened the big emergency binder, flipped to the tab labeled WATER, and turned a few pages until she found the printed instructions for making a PVC well bucket. “Here it is,” she said, spinning the binder around so the kids could get a look. “We stored the gear up in the hobbit hole behind the FROG.”
“Wait—you stored it in the what behind the what?” asked Mitch.
“A hobbit hole,” Amber said casually. “It’s what dad calls that little attic access hatch, about this high.” Amber held her hand even with her waist.
Mitch snorted. “Okay…what’s a frog?”
“A slimy little green thing that makes a lot of noise at night and lives in water,” Cami said, getting three coffee mugs from the drying rack. The black liquid dripped steadily into the pot, filling the kitchen with a heavenly aroma.
“Ha ha,” Mitch intoned.
“What?” asked Cami. “You set that one up…”
Amber snorted. “It means Family Room Over Garage.”
It was Mitch’s turn to laugh. “Y’all are crazy.”
“Well, we might be crazy,” Cami said, pulling the pot from the coffee maker and inhaling. “But we have coffee and a way to get fresh water.”
“Cheers to that!” Mitch said, accepting a steaming mug.
“Now,” Cami said as they settled at the table with their drinks. “Assuming water is taken care of—at least temporarily—what’s next?”
“Probably food,” Mitch replied, blowing on his coffee. “But I’d say you got that covered, even just by what I saw out in the garage.”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Cami said. “Everything out there is hardcore emergency stuff like lifeboat rations—things that won’t go bad in the heat.”
“So…you don’t have any normal stuff?” asked Mitch. “You should have said something, I have—”
“Most of the good stuff is stored in the spare bedroom,” Cami replied calmly.
“She means my bedroom,” Amber put in.
“Hey, you’re in college—we had to put that empty space to good use.”
“Okay, so I’m assuming you have a good supply of food then,” Mitch continued, looking at Amber’s list.
“We’re covered for a while, I think. There’s an inventory list in the supply—Amber’s room,” Cami said, unplugging the coffee maker. “Don’t want to waste electricity.”
“Can we turn on the TV for a few minutes?” asked Amber.
“Well, I don’t think it’ll hurt. But then we need to shut it down so the batteries can charge the rest of the day and we can keep the fridge and freezer cool tonight.” Cami switched the outlet from the coffee maker to the TV and powered it on.
“…for the few viewers out there who still have power, the scene in Charleston is grim, as you can imagine…”
“Well that’s not very promising,” Mitch muttered.
“Sssh!” Amber hissed.
Cami turned up the volume. Devastation filled the screen on a scale she’d never seen outside of books about World War II. Buildings reduced to rubble, rooftops lifted and scattered like dandelion seeds, cars jumbled on top of each other, and on top of buildings—some with headlights or taillights still glowing in the afternoon sun—no matter where the camera panned, the scene was the same: unbelievable and heartbreaking.
Amber was silent, both hands to her mouth, eyes watering. Mitch looked away when they zoomed in on his father’s marina. Boats had been scattered by the waves, and more than one impaled in the upper stories of businesses and homes. As the helicopter moved closer to the shore, the destruction grew more severe.
For a few miles near the ocean, nothing remained of Charleston except concrete foundations, still damp from the receding waters. Most of the debris had been pushed miles inland, and very little had been sucked back out to the ocean. Mounds of broken homes, buildings, and cars clustered here and there, but as the camera panned south and
