CHAPTER 33
Weak rays of morning sun fell against the windows of the Swenson’s garage, almost like a normal day in western Washington. Except instead of rain clouds, an increasing screen of ash veiled the sky. Steadman surmised the volcano was still pumping it out.
It felt strange to be so cut off from all the usual channels of communication. Almost like going back in time to an era uncluttered, and unenhanced, by technology. When a man had to depend on himself, with the help of friends and neighbors. He thought about the Jenners and the Higleys, and a ripple of gratitude passed through him. The help of good friends and neighbors was not merely a thing of the past.
The oil lamp hanging from a hook above him sputtered, emanating a gentle hiss, further fostering that feeling of being in ti
