The thing about my mom, when she got mad she got real quiet, which was way scarier than yelling.

“I’m sorry, okay? We didn’t know what was going on,” I tried to explain as the three of us walked home, snow squeaking under our boots.

“Exactly my point.”

“He was only shooting the ATM, not people.”

“ ‘Only’ the ATM? That’s lame, Charlie. You’re better than that.”

“It was stupid, I know.”

We kept trudging along while Mom thought it over. Becca didn’t say a word. I wouldn’t, either, if it was her about to get punished. With Mom, excuses only made it worse.

Mom took a deep breath, exhaling steam. “Under normal circumstances you’d be grounded. Phone privilege suspended. No devices, no TV. Obviously that’s pointless, given the situation. So all I can do is ask you to think before you put yourself in danger, and remember that family comes first.”

“Of course, Mom. Absolutely.”

She placed her mittens on my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “Nobody knows what’s going on, or what really happened, and that makes things dangerous. I mean, come on, the power has been out for less than twenty-four hours, and already there are men waving guns and spouting nonsense? You keep away from all that, and especially from Webster Bragg. Stick close to home, clear?”

“Clear.”

We were coming up the walkway to the house. The wind had picked up, and snow was sifting into the shoveled path.

“Becca, honey, you’re good with arithmetic, so I need your help taking an inventory of food, medicine, and supplies on hand. Charlie, you’re in charge of heat. See if you can get a sense of how many days before we run out of wood.”

“We’ve got three cords, Mom. That’s enough for the whole winter.”

She looked at me, eyes smiling. “You’re absolutely sure? Please think it through, sweet pea. Study, think, solve. That’s all I ask.”

Sometimes it stinks to have a mom who’s a schoolteacher because everything is like a lesson. Study the problem, think about the problem, solve the problem. Blah blah blah. But as usual, she was right because once I really thought about it and made a few calculations, it was pretty obvious that if our stack of firewood was the only source of heat, it couldn’t possibly last through the whole winter.

That’s what Mom was saying without saying it. Our woodstove wasn’t just a stove, it was a hungry mouth that needed to be fed, and its food—our woodpile—wouldn’t last forever. Kept going like this, twenty-four hours a day, the pile might last four or five weeks. Maybe. Longer if we got a thaw. Less if it got even colder.

But hey, what was I worried about? It wasn’t like electricity was gone forever. This would be over long before the firewood ran out. Bound to be. Had to be. Right?

Right?

*  *  *

The next few days seemed to be mostly about waiting. Waiting for the power to come back on, and the lights and the phones and the TV, and everything else electric. Only it wasn’t like waiting for Christmas or your birthday, which can be fun. More like waiting for your parachute to open before you hit the ground.

Mom got everything organized, of course, and Becca was into it, too, following Mom around with her notepad and her pencil with the big eraser that looked like a pink clown nose. Taking inventory and figuring out weekly menus, because Mom needed to keep her blood sugar balanced, and we all needed certain nutrients, and boring stuff like that.

Officer Kingman came by on the second day, conducting what he called a “welfare check.”

“Hello, Emma. We’re knocking on doors in the village,” he explained, holding his hat in his hands. “Evaluating the well-being of every resident, how they’re fixed for wood and food and water and so on.”

“Big job.”

“Yeah it is, but I’m not alone. First thing I did was deputize volunteers to check on the more remote homes. Some of those places are accessible only by snowmobile or snowshoe this time of year, and snowmobiles are out.”

Mom invited him into the foyer. “The Carters keep horses,” she suggested. “That might help.”

“We did consider that. But it turns out the snow is too deep for horses. You’d have to dig a path for them first. Faster on snowshoes.”

Mom nodded. “Everything okay out there?”

“Not even close, but we’re making do.”

“My sister, Beth, is in the New Hampshire Air National Guard, on active duty. I keep expecting her to show up on our doorstep, let us know what’s going on in the rest of the world.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s she stationed?”

“Portsmouth.”

He looked disappointed. “Way downstate, then. Must be a hundred miles from here.” He added, “I haven’t seen a plane in the sky. Have you?”

Mom shook her head. Suddenly she seemed worried sick.

His face fell. “I’m sure Beth is fine, Emma, but I’ll bet they’re keeping her pretty busy, planes or no planes. Emergency like this they’d mobilize everyone in uniform.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“All we can do, given the situation, is tend to our own. So I’ll mark you down as healthy, warm, and well-provisioned, shall I?”

“We’ll be fine. And Reggie? That thing at the Superette, with that bully and his sons? Well done.”

He put on his hat, ready to be on his way. “Thanks, Emma. It worked out. Next time it might not be so easy. Be nice if the lights come on soon. Until then, keep warm, stay hydrated.”

I’m ashamed to say that’s the first time I gave a thought to Aunt Beth’s situation. Who, for all my mother knew, might have been in the air when the pulse hit. Might have crashed, might be dead or injured.

Might, might, might.

I was really sick of might.