After the Silence

2: The Waiting

Mara sat on the mattress and listened to the silence. The first few minutes were the hardest, every sound seemed enormous. The ticking of the pipes, the faint hum of the refrigerator upstairs, the occasional creak of the wooden floor.

She kept expecting another explosion, it didn't come. She looked at the radio sitting beside her. Static. She turned the dial, silence filled the room. She turned it back. Static.

"Come on," she whispered, tapping the side of it. The radio responded with a burst of white noise. Mara sighed, "Of course."

She had spent weeks preparing for the possibility of losing power, losing water, and losing communication. She had bought extra batteries and a hand-crank radio. She had printed maps and filled containers with water. She had even made lists of things she would do if she had to stay in the basement for days, but she hadn't prepared for silence.

Silence gave her nothing to work with. No instructions, no reassurance, no explanation. Just the knowledge that something had happened somewhere beyond her little house.

Mara checked her watch.

6:27. She picked up the notebook again.

6:27 A.M.

No additional broadcasts.

She stared at the sentence then added:

No sirens.

She paused, that bothered her. If something terrible had happened, shouldn't there be sirens? Fire trucks? Police? Helicopters? Something?

She had spent her entire life thinking emergencies were loud. She had seen disasters on television, there were always flashing lights and screaming people. There were always reporters standing somewhere with wind blowing through their hair, explaining what was happening; but there was nothing outside.

Mara slowly climbed the basement stairs, stopping with her hand on the doorknob. She didn't know why. The house was hers, she had lived there for months. She knew every floorboard, every window, every strange noise. She knew which cabinet door wouldn't stay closed and which stair creaked when someone stepped on it.

There was nothing to be afraid of, at least, there shouldn't have been. She opened the door. The kitchen looked exactly as she had left it. the half-eaten granola bar sat on the counter. The twelve water containers were lined up beside the sink. The clock on the wall read 6:31.

Mara looked toward the windows. She didn't open them, instead, she walked to the refrigerator and listened. Hum. Good, the power was still on. That was something. She opened the refrigerator, cold air spilled out, and closed it again.

"Okay," she whispered.She wasn't sure what she was saying okay to. Maybe everything. Maybe nothing. She returned to the basement.

The moment the door closed behind her, she felt safer. The basement had always been creepy. Now, it felt like the safest place in the world. Mara sat on the mattress and pulled the emergency bag toward her and opened it.

Everything was still there. Flashlight, batteries, water bottle. First-aid supplies, extra socks, sweatshirt, notebook, pencils. The photograph. She picked up the photograph.

Her parents smiled up at her, standing in front of the house. Mara had been six, her father had one arm around her shoulders, her mother was laughing at something outside the frame. Mara didn't remember what had made her laugh. She put it back.

"Not now." The words sounded ridiculous in an empty basement. She pulled the hand-crank radio from the bag, one supposed to work without batteries. She unfolded the little handle and began turning it.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The radio crackled, for a second there was only static, then—

"...repeat..."

She leaned forward, a faint voice coming through.

"...all residents are advised to remain indoors."

"...communications remain limited. Further instructions will be provided when available." Static. She waited, then the voice returned.

"...unconfirmed reports of an explosion—" The transmission vanished. Mara stared at the radio.

"Explosion?"

She turned the dial. Nothing. She turned it back. Still nothing. She cranked the handle again. Nothing.

"Come on." Static, then silence. Mara set the radio down.

Explosion. The word sat in her mind. An explosion could mean anything. A factory, fuel depot, gas line, plane crash. A military facility, a bomb.

She didn't want to think about the last possibility, but she did. Nuclear? Mara closed her eyes.

"No." She said it quietly.

"No." She opened her eyes. She forced herself to breathe. Her father had always told her that panic made people stupid.

Think first.

Act second.

Never make important decisions while frightened.

Mara opened her notebook.

She wrote:

Do not assume the worst.

She looked at it, then added:

Wait for facts.

That sounded better. Facts were useful, fear wasn't. She spent the next twenty minutes organizing the basement. She moved the water closer to the mattress, checked the expiration dates on the food, put the medical supplies somewhere she could reach them quickly.

She tested both flashlights. One worked，the other flickered. Mara replaced its batteries and checked again. Good. She put the spare batteries beside it.

Then, she counted the water. Twenty-four bottles. She counted again. Twenty-four.

Food was more difficult, she had enough canned goods to last for weeks if she rationed them, maybe longer.

She had rice, beans, peanut butter, crackers. Canned vegetables, canned fruit, protein bars. It wasn't comfortable, but comfort wasn't the goal anymore, survival was.

Mara sat down and opened her notebook. She started making another list.

Food: approximately 4–6 weeks.

She underlined it, then:

Water: less if electricity fails.

That was the problem. The water bottles weren't enough forever. The house had a well, but the pump required electricity. If the power went out, she would eventually have to find another source.

She had read about purification tablets. She had some, not many.

She wrote:

Find more water purification supplies if safe.

Then she stopped. Safe, the word had become meaningless. She looked toward the ceiling. What did safe even mean anymore? Was the house safe? Was the basement safe? Was the road safe? Was the city safe? Was anywhere safe?

Mara shut the notebook. She needed air, not outside air, just a change of thought. She walked upstairs again. This time, she stayed away from the windows. She went into the living room.

Her television was still on standby. Pressing the power button the screen lit up. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then, a news channel appeared. Mara's heart jumped, a reporter stood behind a desk, but the image was frozen. The audio was nothing but static.

The picture suddenly changed, a government seal, then black, then the reporter again.

"...unable to confirm..." Static.

"...multiple facilities..." Static.

"...residents should remain indoors..." The picture disappeared.

Mara stared at the black screen, "Please."

The television flickered and a map appeared. Mara recognized the outline of the country. Several areas were marked with circles. She leaned closer.

One of the circles was near the city, her city, then the screen went black. Mara stepped backward. She wanted to turn the television off, instead, she stood there. The screen came back, as a message appeared:

EMERGENCY BROADCAST

Below it:

REMAIN INDOORS.

Then:

DO NOT TRAVEL TOWARD METROPOLITAN AREAS.

Then the screen froze. Mara's mouth went dry as she turned the television off. The room becoming quiet, too quiet. She looked toward the curtains. She had to know, just for a second.

She walked toward the window, her hand reaching for the curtain. She stopped. The radio message, the television, the warnings, they all said the same thing.

Stay inside.

Mara lowered her hand and stepped away to go back downstairs.

She locked the doors to her home, checking them twice, maybe three times, before returning to the basement.

7:04, the clock seemed broken. How could only forty-four minutes have passed? She closed her eyes, maybe she could sleep. Maybe when she woke up, the government would have explained everything, maybe the city would still be standing. Maybe this would turn out to be a false alarm, maybe tomorrow would be normal.

Mara opened her eyes. She knew better. She had spent the last month listening to the news. The threats had grown worse every day, countries accused each other, leaders gave speeches, military aircraft moved across the world. People emptied grocery stores, gas stations ran out of fuel.

Then came the emergency meetings, then the warnings, then the strange silence. Everyone had known something might happen. Nobody had wanted to believe it.

Mara pulled her knees toward her chest. She was alone, the thought came suddenly. Not emotionally, but literally. There was nobody in the house. Nobody in the next room, nobody downstairs. Nobody coming to check on her, nobody who knew exactly where she was.

If the power went out, she would have to fix what she could. If the water stopped, she would have to find more. If she got sick, she would have to take care of herself. If someone came to the house—

She stopped. Someone came to the house. Mara's eyes opened, listening. At first, nothing happened, then she heard it, a sound from upstairs.

Mara slowly stood. The basement seemed to shrink around her. Another sound, a faint thump. She reached for the flashlight, her fingers tightening around it.

She listened again, nothing. Maybe it was the wind, maybe something had fallen, maybe an animal had gotten inside. Mara knew that was possible, as the old house had gaps beneath the porch. Raccoons had gotten into the garbage before, she had once found a squirrel in the attic. It could be anything. Then came another sound, footsteps. Mara's blood turned cold.

One. Two. Three. Slow steps across the kitchen floor. Someone was upstairs. She backed away from the stairs. Her hand went over her mouth. She didn't breathe. The footsteps stopped.

Silence. Mara stared at the basement door. She couldn't hear anything now, so she waited. Ten seconds, twenty, thirty, then-

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Someone was at the front door. She stood frozen, nobody knew she was home. At least, nobody was supposed to. The knocking stopped. Mara waited.

One minute, two, nothing. She slowly lowered herself onto the mattress. Maybe they had left, maybe they were trying another house, maybe they had been passing by. She didn't know.

She picked up the radio; static. She turned the dial; nothing. Then, suddenly, a voice came through. Weak, broken, barely audible.

"...anyone receiving..." Mara froze as the signal vanished, she quickly turned the dial back.

"...anyone receiving this..."

"I'm here," Mara whispered, immediately realizing how stupid that was. The radio wasn't a telephone and they couldn't hear her. She leaned closer as the voice returned.

"...do not open your doors..." Mara's eyes widened as the transmission disappeared again. She waited; nothing. Then the voice came back one final time.

"...whatever you hear..." Static.

"...do not..." Gone. Mara stared at the radio, her hands shaking. Then came another knock; much louder. Mara looked toward the stairs.

Whoever was outside knew someone was home. She reached for the flashlight, then the emergency bag. She turned off the basement light. Mara sat perfectly still as the knocking stopped. For several seconds, there was nothing, then, she heard a voice from upstairs.

"Mara?"

Her blood ran cold. She knew that voice; at least she thought she did. The voice came again.

"Mara, it's me."

She stopped breathing, nobody should have known she was there. Nobody should have known she was alone. Nobody should have been able to find her so quickly. She tightened her grip on the flashlight. The voice came a third time.

"Mara, please." She stared into the darkness. She wanted to believe it more than anything. That was exactly what frightened her, because she had no idea whether the person standing outside her door was someone who had come to save her, or someone who had come because they knew she had nowhere else to go.