What We Can Control

Posted on Fri Oct 2nd, 2026 @ 12:43pm by Wanderer Brielle Anders

4,741 words; about a 24 minute read

Mission: Wandering About
Location: Brielle's Farm – Southern Wisconsin
Timeline: September 1st 2010

The grid failed again at 5:41 in the morning. Brielle only noticed because the little indicator beside the solar controller changed from green to amber. Nothing else happened. The refrigerator continued humming. The freezers remained cold. The water pump worked. The low light above the kitchen sink continued casting its warm glow across the benchtop. Upstairs, Sebastian and Miranda slept through the entire event. Exactly as they were supposed to. Brielle stood in the utility room, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee, staring at the panel.

GRID — OFFLINE

Below it:
BATTERY — 91%
SOLAR — STANDBY

Dawn hadn't properly arrived yet. Once the sun cleared the eastern trees, the panels would begin replacing whatever power the house had drawn from the batteries overnight. The generators hadn't started. They didn't need to. That was the point. One of the things Brielle had loved about the farm from the beginning was how much independence it offered. Land. A well. Room for animals. Outbuildings. Solar power. Generators. Space to grow food. Space to breathe. Space where Sebastian and Miranda could run outside without asking anyone's permission. A place where nobody dictated what Brielle did, where she went or how she lived. After everything with Myles, that mattered more than she could ever have explained. The farm was not his. He had never stood in this kitchen. Never walked these fields. Never sat beneath the oak tree. Never closed these barn doors at night. Brielle had come here after leaving him. She had brought the children. She had driven the bus. She had crossed the distance between one life and another and, somehow, had found this place. Then she'd made it theirs. That distinction mattered. Especially now. Behind her came the soft padding of bare feet. Carmen appeared in the doorway with Leah tucked against her shoulder. The baby was half awake, cheek pressed against her mother's chest, one small hand curled into the fabric of Carmen's shirt. "Power?"

"Grid's gone."

Carmen looked around the brightly lit utility room. "Doesn't seem like it."

"It isn't." Brielle checked the controller again. "We're on batteries."

"For how long?"

"Days if we needed to. Longer if we're sensible and the weather stays clear."

"And the generators?"

"Backup."

Carmen nodded. "So we're alright."

Brielle stared at the glowing display. "That's what worries me."

Carmen frowned. Brielle led her back into the kitchen. She lifted one corner of the curtain. Outside, the valley remained mostly dark. The faintest suggestion of dawn touched the eastern horizon. The Miller farm showed a small light in the distance. Walter and Elsie. Good. Brielle checked for that light far more often than she intended to admit. Another property farther south was completely dark. So was the Whitmore place. Beyond the hills, Milltown should have produced a faint glow against the horizon. There was almost nothing. Carmen came up beside her. "We still have electricity."

"Exactly."

"And everyone else can see that."

"If we let them." Brielle released the curtain. It fell back into place. "From tonight, curtains closed before dusk. No exterior lights unless we need them. Barn lights only with the doors shut."

Carmen looked toward the ceiling. "But inside?"

"We live normally." Brielle wasn't going to make the children sit in darkness when there was no need. The refrigerator would run. The freezers would stay cold. They would pump water. Charge radios. Use the washing machine when solar production was high. Have lights in the evening. She wasn't going to deliberately make life harder simply because the rest of the grid was collapsing. But she wasn't going to advertise what they had either. Solar power. Stored electricity. Generators. Fuel. Water. Food. Livestock. A working farm. Two weeks ago, those things had made Brielle feel secure. This morning they made her feel visible. A faint cry came from Carmen's shoulder. Leah's eyes opened. Her face scrunched. "Uh-oh," Carmen murmured. The cry became considerably louder.

Brielle smiled. "Somebody's awake."

"Somebody's hungry." Leah agreed emphatically. Carmen headed toward the kitchen table. Brielle followed. For the moment, the end of civilisation could wait. Leah wanted breakfast.

By seven, the farmhouse smelled of bacon, toast and coffee. The sun had cleared the trees. Solar production was already climbing. Brielle checked once. Then forced herself to stop checking. The system was working. That was what it was designed to do. Sebastian sat at the kitchen table shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. At eight years old, he seemed to possess two speeds when eating. Painfully slow. And starving wolf. This morning was apparently starving wolf. "Slow down."

"I am."

"You aren't chewing."

"I am."

"Not enough." He deliberately chewed his next mouthful approximately fifteen times while staring at her. Brielle narrowed her eyes. "Don't be smart."

Sebastian swallowed. "Wasn't."

Across from him, Miranda giggled. Her hair was still tangled from sleep, and one side of her pyjama top had somehow been buttoned incorrectly. Brielle hadn't fixed it. There were limits. "Can I have more bacon?"

"You've had three pieces."

"So?"

"So there are other people living here."

Miranda looked around the table. "They can have eggs."

Carmen snorted into her coffee. "Generous."

"Thank you."

Brielle slid one more piece of bacon onto Miranda's plate. "Last one."

"Yes!"

Sebastian pointed his fork at his sister. "She always wins."

"She negotiates."

"I negotiate."

"You complain."

"That's basically the same thing."

"It really isn't." Carmen laughed. Leah sat propped against her mother's chest, enthusiastically chewing her own fist. Miranda watched her.

"Can Leah have bacon?"

"No," Carmen and Brielle answered simultaneously.

Miranda frowned. "Why?"

"She's five months old," Carmen said.

"So?"

"So she's not eating bacon."

"She wants some." Leah removed her fist and produced an excited squeal. Miranda pointed triumphantly. "See?"

Carmen looked down at her daughter. "You are not helping."

Brielle smiled into her coffee. For several minutes the world outside the farmhouse didn't exist. Then Sebastian looked toward the television. It remained off. "Mum?"

"Hmm?"

"Is school still closed?"

"Yes."

Miranda threw both arms into the air. "Yes!"

"This isn't a holiday."

"It feels like one."

"It shouldn't."

"Why?"
Brielle hesitated. Because the schools were closed because people were dying. Because emergency broadcasts were becoming less frequent. Because Ben had stood outside their gate yesterday with dried blood on his uniform and told Brielle he'd watched a dead man get back up. Because nobody knew whether Milltown would ever reopen normally. She looked at Miranda. Five. No. "Because you're still learning."

Sebastian immediately became suspicious. "What does that mean?"

"It means we're doing schoolwork."

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Mum."

"Yes?"

"The world might actually be ending." Carmen suddenly became very interested in Leah's bib.

Brielle stared at her son. "Where did you hear that?"

"Online."

"When?"

"Before the internet stopped working properly."

"People online say a lot of things."

"Ben said dead people are getting back up."

The kitchen went silent. Miranda looked at him. "What?"

Sebastian immediately realised his mistake. "Nothing."

"You said dead people."

"I didn't mean—"

"Sebastian."

"Sorry, Mum."

Miranda looked at Brielle. "Dead people get up?"

"No."

"But Sebastian said—"

"Miranda."

Brielle put down her mug. There was no point pretending the children hadn't heard things. The emergency broadcasts had talked about attacks. They'd heard the adults. They'd seen Brielle lock the gates. Sebastian especially understood far more than Brielle wished he did. "Something is making people very sick."

"Like flu?"

"Maybe."

"Is that why school closed?"

"Yes."
"Is that why Ben was here?"

Brielle looked at Sebastian. He'd obviously told Miranda more than she'd realized. "Partly."

Miranda frowned. "Are we sick?"

"No."

"Sebastian?"

"No."

"Carmen?"

"No."

"Leah?"

"No."

"Buttercup?"

Sebastian groaned. "Miran—"

"Buttercup is fine," Brielle said.

Miranda visibly relaxed. Apparently the chicken had been the primary concern. Brielle looked at both children. "But I need you to remember something." They looked at her.
"If you see someone outside the fence, you do not go to them."

Sebastian nodded. Miranda didn't. "What if they need help?"

Brielle's chest tightened. Of course that was her question. Because despite everything, her children still assumed somebody in trouble should be helped. "You come and get me or Carmen."

"What if you're busy?"

"You still come and get us."

"What if they're hurt?"

"Miranda."

Brielle kept her voice gentle but firm. "You never open the gate."

Miranda looked toward the window. "Even if they're nice?"

"Even then."

"What if it's Walter?"

"That's different."

"Elsie?"

"Different."

"Ben?"

"Different."

"Evelyn?"

"Different."

"Tom?"

"Different."

Miranda thought. "Gareth?"

Brielle hesitated. Sebastian noticed. "He fixed the roof."

"Yes, I remember."

"So?"

"So if Gareth comes back, you still get me."

"Okay."

"No opening the gate yourself."

"Okay."

"No climbing it."

"I don't climb it."

Sebastian coughed. Miranda glared at him. "I don't anymore."

"Good."

Brielle looked at Sebastian. “Same goes for you."

"I know, Mum."

"Good."

She stood. Sebastian watched her suspiciously. "So..."

"No."

"I didn't say anything."

"You're still doing math's."

He groaned. Carmen laughed. "The apocalypse apparently doesn't cancel fractions."

"That's cruel." Brielle picked up the breakfast plates. "If civilization collapses, somebody still needs to know how many tins of beans we've got."

Sebastian stared at her. "That's actually math's."

"Exactly."

His expression suggested mathematics had personally betrayed him.
________________________________________

At eight-thirty, Brielle made a list. Lists were useful. Lists were predictable. Lists didn't change their minds. Lists didn't die and then inexplicably get back up. She sat at the kitchen table with a legal pad and began dividing everything into categories. Carmen sat opposite with Leah sleeping against her chest in a sling. Sebastian worked reluctantly through fractions nearby. Miranda was drawing what she claimed was a horse. It looked like a potato with legs. Brielle wrote:

FOOD
Pantry.
Freezers.
Garden.
Preserves.
Dry goods.
Animal feed.

Carmen leaned over.
"Baby supplies."

Brielle added another heading.
LEAH
Formula.
Nappies.
Wipes.
Medication.
Clothes.
Carmen looked amused. "She's got her own department."
"She's high maintenance."
Leah remained peacefully asleep. "She objects."

"She can submit a written complaint." Carmen smiled. Brielle continued.

WATER
Well.
Rain tanks.
House storage.
Bus tanks.
Water filtration.

POWER
Solar array.
Battery banks.
Generator one.
Generator two.
Fuel reserve.
Bus systems.
Spare parts.

Brielle paused over the final words. The bus. The enormous double-decker sat inside the barn. It had come with them. Not from Wisconsin. From before. From the life she'd left behind. For months she'd struggled to look at it without remembering the fear attached to that escape. Getting Sebastian and Miranda aboard. Driving. Watching mirrors. Wondering whether Myles would realise quickly enough to follow. Wondering whether he already had. Every mile west had felt like borrowed time. Then Wisconsin. The farm. A gate she could close behind them. A bedroom that belonged to her. Fields. Animals. Neighbours. A life. The bus had simply carried them there. But now the world had changed. When Brielle thought about the vehicle, different details came to mind. Water tanks. Beds. A kitchen. Solar panels. Battery storage. Fuel. Storage. Room for Sebastian and Miranda. Room for supplies. Mobility. A way out. She hated that final thought. This was their home. The entire point of leaving Myles had been to finally have one. She wasn't ready to contemplate abandoning it. But ignoring the bus because of the man attached to its memories would be stupid. Whatever Myles had once intended it to be no longer mattered. He hadn't brought them here. Brielle had. She had driven it. She had got the children away. The bus was hers now. She returned to the list.

ANIMALS
Feed.
Water.
Fencing.
Medicine.
Hay.
That one made her feel better.
The barn was full.
Enough hay for winter.
Walter and everyone else had seen to that.
Then:

SECURITY
Her pen stopped.

Carmen noticed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"That's a lie."

Brielle looked at the word. Security.

Once, the word had meant surviving Myles. Now it meant protecting what she'd built after him. She began writing. Gate chained and locked. Cameras checked regularly.
Exterior lighting off after dusk. Curtains closed before lights go on. Barn doors closed before using lights. Nobody leaves property alone. Children stay inside main perimeter.
Unknown visitors remain outside gate. Toby stays inside fence. Carmen read over the list. "That's a lot."

"It's sensible."

"I didn't say it wasn't."

Brielle kept writing. Carmen reached across. "Give me the pen."

"Why?"

"Because I live here too."

Brielle reluctantly handed it over. Carmen added: Nobody makes big decisions alone if there's time to ask.

Brielle stared. "No."

Carmen put the pen down. "No?"

"I make decisions."

"I've noticed."

"It's my farm."

"Yes."

"My children."

"Yes."

"My responsibility."

Carmen looked down at Leah. "And she's mine."

Brielle stopped. "If somebody is coming through the gate and you have two seconds to react," Carmen continued, "fine. You decide. If the barn catches fire, nobody's holding a meeting. But if you decide you're going to drive into Milltown alone because you're worried about Ben or Evelyn..." Brielle stared at her. "...you tell me first."

"I wasn't planning to."

"Good."

"Road's blocked anyway."

"Not the point."

Brielle almost argued. Then she remembered Ben driving back toward Milltown. Alone. Blood on his sleeve. There are still people there. She sighed. "Fine." Carmen smiled.

"Good."

Brielle took the pen. Under Carmen's sentence she added: Carmen is annoyingly reasonable.

Carmen laughed. "That's official?"

"Very."

Sebastian looked up. "Can I add one?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you'll write 'no maths.'" He looked genuinely disappointed. "That was exactly what I was going to write."

"I know."

Miranda raised her hand.

Brielle stared. "Why is your hand up?"

"We're doing school."

"What?"

"Can I make a rule?"

"What rule?"

"No eating chickens."

Sebastian dropped his pencil. "That's not a survival rule."

"It is for the chickens." Carmen covered her mouth. Brielle stared at Miranda. "Fine."

Miranda came over and painstakingly wrote in enormous uneven letters: DONT EET BUTTERCUP

She put down the pen. "There."

Brielle looked at it. "Excellent."

"Thank you."

Sebastian frowned. "What about the other chickens?"

Miranda's expression changed.

She clearly hadn't considered them. Brielle reclaimed the pen before the entire survival plan became poultry legislation. "Back to school."

________________________________________
By mid-morning, Brielle found herself standing in front of the security monitor again. The cameras had once been simply useful. A large rural property was difficult to watch from one place. The front drive. Barn. Animal pens. Gates. Sections of fencing. Being able to glance at a screen and see whether an animal was loose or somebody had arrived saved time. Now they meant something entirely different. They allowed Brielle to see danger before it reached the house. Front gate. Empty. Road. Empty. Driveway. Empty. Barn. Normal. Western fence. Nothing. Rear pasture. Animals. Chicken area. Brielle stopped. Miranda stood directly beneath the camera holding Buttercup toward it. The chicken stared solemnly into the lens. Brielle stared back at the monitor. Sebastian came up beside her. "What is she doing?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

They watched Miranda apparently say something to the camera. There was no audio. Then she lifted Buttercup's wing and made the chicken wave. Sebastian laughed. "She's weird."

"She's your sister."

"I know."

Miranda disappeared from view. Brielle switched back to the road camera. Nothing. She leaned closer. Sebastian watched.

"Why do you keep checking that one?"
"The road?"

"Yeah."

"Because that's where people come from." He thought about that.

"What if they come through the fields?"

Brielle went still. Sebastian immediately looked worried. "Sorry."

"No."

She switched to the western fence camera. "No, that's a good point." She added perimeter check to the list.

Sebastian smiled slightly. "Can I help?"

"After maths."

"Mum."

"Fractions first."

"Then fences?"

"Inner perimeter."

"Okay."

"You stay beside me."

"Yep."

"Toby comes." At the sound of his name, Toby's tail thumped against the floor. Sebastian grinned. "Deal."
________________________________________

The day grew warm. Beautiful, even. That felt almost insulting. The sky was brilliantly blue. A light breeze moved through the trees. Bees worked among the late summer flowers. The goats crowded the fence whenever Brielle walked past, apparently convinced they hadn't been fed in several weeks. The chickens scratched happily beneath the orchard trees. There was nothing in the landscape to suggest that less than twenty miles away normal life was collapsing. Brielle and Sebastian walked the inner perimeter after lunch. Toby ranged several yards ahead. "Here."

Sebastian stopped. One section of wire had loosened against a post. Brielle tested it.

"Good catch."

"I saw it first."

"You did."

"Can I fix it?"

"With me."

"Mum."

"What?"

"I know."

"Good."
He held the wire while she tightened it. For several minutes they worked quietly.
Then: "Do you think Ben's coming today?"

Brielle didn't stop working. "I don't know."

"Walter?"

"Probably."

"Evelyn?"

Her hands slowed. "I don't know."

"Do you think she's okay?"

Brielle looked at her son. "I hope so."

Sebastian nodded. He kicked lightly at the grass. Then asked: "Do you think Dad's alive?"

The wrench slipped. Brielle caught it. For several seconds she said nothing. She hadn't expected that. Not today. Maybe not ever. "I don't know."

Sebastian continued looking at the ground. "Do you care?"

Brielle stared at him. There were questions an eight-year-old shouldn't have to ask. There were answers an eight-year-old shouldn't have to hear. Myles had hurt her. Controlled her. Terrified her. Driven her to take the children and run. But he was still Sebastian's father. Whatever Brielle felt about him didn't belong on her son's shoulders. "He's your dad."

Sebastian looked up. "That's not what I asked."

She almost smiled despite everything. He was getting very good at refusing her evasions. "I don't want anyone to die."

It was the closest answer she could give him. Sebastian studied her. "Even Dad?"

Brielle took a breath. "Even Dad."

For Sebastian. For Miranda. For herself. Sebastian nodded. "Okay."

Brielle tightened the wire. "Done."

They continued along the fence. After several steps, Sebastian slipped his hand into hers. He didn't do that as much anymore. Eight was apparently becoming too grown-up for holding Mum's hand. Brielle said nothing. She simply closed her fingers around his.

Walter arrived at 1:16. Toby knew the truck before Brielle did. His ears lifted. Then his tail began thumping. Sebastian looked through the kitchen window. "It's Walter!"
Brielle was already standing. The faded pickup rolled toward the gate. Elsie sat beside him. Relief came quickly. Then faded just as quickly when Brielle noticed what Walter did. He stopped outside. Looked down the road. Checked behind them. Only then did he get out. Brielle walked toward the gate. It remained locked. Walter approached.
"You alright?"

"Yes."

"Kids?"

"Fine."

"Carmen?"

"Fine."

"Baby?"

"Fine."

He nodded. "Good."

Brielle looked toward Elsie. "You?"

"Fine."

"Power?"

"Generator."

"You've got fuel?"

"Plenty."

"Food?"

Walter smiled. "Elsie exists."

From the passenger seat came: "I heard that!"

"That was the intention!"

Brielle laughed. Then reached for the chain.

Walter lifted a hand. "Don't."
She stopped. "What?"

"Leave it locked."
Her smile vanished. "Walter."

"We're not staying."

"That's not why."

"I know."

His gaze moved briefly toward the road. "Better you get used to talking to people through a locked gate." This was Walter. Walter who walked into her kitchen. Walter who helped himself to coffee. Walter who brought twenty people when she'd asked for one. Now he was telling her not to open the gate for him. "Ben came yesterday."

Walter's expression changed. "When?"

"Afternoon."

"How was he?"

"Bad."
Walter looked away. "He told me what happened."

"Yeah."

"You knew?"

"Not all of it."

"What did you know?"

Walter sighed. "People have been coming up from the south."

"How many?"

"Enough."

"Cars?"

"Cars. Some walking."

"Have they stopped at your place?"

"Twice."

Brielle gripped the gate. "What happened?"

"First family wanted water."

"And?"

"We gave them water."

"Second?"

Walter hesitated. Brielle's stomach tightened. "Walter."

"Wanted fuel."

"Wanted?"

"Asked."

"Then got angry when I said no."

Elsie opened her door. "He threatened us."

Walter looked over. "Elsie."

"What?"

"Don't make it sound worse."

"He said he'd come back with friends."

Brielle stared at Walter. "You left that part out."

"He was angry."

"Was he armed?"

Another hesitation. "Rifle in the truck."

"In his hands?"

"No."

"Did he touch it?"
"No."

"Did he leave?"

"Yes."

Brielle looked at Elsie. "Why aren't you both here?"

Walter stared at her. "Because we have a home."

"So?"

"So do you."

"You could stay here."

"We've got animals."

"Bring them."

Walter blinked. Brielle realised what she'd said. Elsie smiled faintly. Walter's expression softened. "You planning to kidnap us?"

"No."

"You are."

"I am not."

"Brielle."

"Fine." She folded her arms. "If things get worse, you come here."

Walter glanced toward Elsie. "We're fine."

"Promise me."

"Brielle—"

"Promise."

Walter sighed. "Alright."

"Elsie?"

Elsie came closer. "If I decide that farm isn't safe anymore, you'll have to physically stop me coming here."
"Good."

"That's a promise."

Brielle relaxed slightly. Walter reached into his pocket. "Got something for you."

A handheld radio. Brielle took it through the gate. "What frequency?"

"Written on the back."

She turned it over. Masking tape covered the battery compartment. MILLER — 8AM / 8PM "Twice a day?"

"Eight morning."

"Eight night."

"If somebody misses?"

"Try again five minutes later."

"And if they still don't answer?"

Walter looked at her. "Then worry."

Brielle nodded. "Keep the channel clear otherwise."

"Unless emergency."

"Yes."

"What qualifies as emergency?"

Walter gave her a tired smile. "Think we'll know."

She hated that he was probably right. Elsie returned to the truck. Then came back carrying a basket. Brielle stared. "No."

Elsie stopped. "What?"

"You brought food."

"Yes."

"You need your food."

"So do you."

"We have plenty."

"So do we."

"Elsie."

"Take the basket." Inside were two loaves of bread. Preserves. A cake. And an entire roast chicken. Brielle stared at it. "The world is falling apart and you're still feeding people."

Elsie smiled. "Seems like exactly the time people need feeding." There was no arguing with that. Brielle took the basket.

"Thank you."
"You're welcome." Elsie looked toward the farmhouse. Sebastian and Miranda watched from the porch. Carmen stood behind them with Leah. "Keep them close."

"I will."

"You too."

Walter climbed back into his truck. "Eight tonight."

"I'll be listening."

"I know."

They drove away. Brielle stood behind the locked gate until the truck disappeared. She didn't like watching them leave. Not anymore.
________________________________________

At two, Brielle checked the solar production. Excellent. At three, she checked the cameras. At four, the animal feed. At five, the water. At six, Carmen took the clipboard from her. "Give that back."

"No."

"Carmen."

"You've checked everything."

"Not everything."

"Name something." Brielle opened her mouth. Nothing came. Carmen smiled. "Exactly."

"Western fence."

"You and Sebastian checked it."

"Generators."

"Fueled and ready."

"Water."

"Full."

"Pantry."

"Twice."

"Children?"

Carmen pointed. Sebastian sat on the sitting-room floor repairing a toy tractor. Miranda was arranging toy animals into what appeared to be an extremely complicated social hierarchy. "Baby?" Carmen pointed at Leah asleep against her shoulder.

"Dog?" Toby lay beneath the table.

"Cat?" Brielle looked around. Midnight was nowhere.

"See?"

Carmen stared. "Midnight has been disappearing for hours at a time since before civilisation collapsed."

"Fair."

Carmen placed the clipboard on top of the refrigerator. "Sit."

"Don't order me around."

"Sit." Brielle sat. Carmen smiled. "Good."

"I dislike you."

"No, you don't."

Brielle looked toward the children. "No." She smiled. "I don't." For a while, they sat quietly.

Then Carmen asked: "What happens if Walter doesn't answer at eight?"

Brielle's eyes immediately moved toward the clock. 6:13.

"We wait five minutes."

"And then?"

Brielle didn't answer immediately. "I don't know."

Carmen nodded. No judgment. No demand for a plan. Just acceptance. Brielle looked toward her. "Do you regret staying?"

Carmen's head turned. "What?"

"Here."

"No." The answer was immediate.

"Even now?"

"Especially now."

Brielle frowned.

Carmen looked around. "I was living in my car with a five-month-old baby."

"I know."

"I had nowhere safe to go."

"I know."

"Now I've got food, water, electricity, a locked house, people I trust and apparently a woman who's appointed herself commander of the apocalypse."

Brielle stared. "Commander?"

"You're very bossy."

"I am not."

Carmen laughed. "Sure."

Brielle smiled. Then Carmen became serious. "No. I don't regret coming here."

"Do you regret letting us stay?"

Brielle looked at Leah. Then Sebastian. Miranda. The farmhouse was different now. Bottles beside the sink. Baby clothes hanging on the washing line. Another woman's shoes near the back door. Carmen's car beneath the lean-to. A crib upstairs. More voices. More mess. More people. "No." Brielle shook her head. "Not once."

Carmen's eyes grew bright. Brielle pointed at her. "Don't."

"What?"

"Whatever emotional thing you're about to do."

Carmen laughed. "There she is."

________________________________________

At 7:57, Brielle was standing beside the radio. She had been there since 7:53. Nobody mentioned that. Sebastian came into the kitchen. "Is Walter calling?"

"At eight."

Miranda appeared behind him. "Can I talk to Elsie?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because this isn't for chatting."

"But I need to tell her something."

"What?"

"Buttercup laid a really big egg."

Sebastian groaned. "Chickens lay eggs."

"Not that big."

Brielle held up one hand. "Quiet." The clock changed. 7:59. Static. Nothing. 8:00. Nothing. Brielle stared at the radio. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Crackle. "...Miller to Brielle."

Brielle grabbed the radio. "Walter."

Sebastian jumped. There was a pause. "...That you?"

"No, it's the Queen."

Static. Then Walter laughed. Distorted. Faint. Wonderful. "...We're fine."

Brielle closed her eyes briefly. "Good. Power?"

"...Generator."

"Fuel?"

"...Fine."

"Animals?"

"...Fine."

"Elsie?"

A woman's voice came faintly through the background. "Tell her I'm not dead!" Walter pressed transmit. "Elsie says—"

"I heard her." Carmen laughed. Miranda tugged Brielle's shirt. "The egg."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

Walter's voice returned. "...You?"

Brielle looked around the kitchen. Sebastian. Miranda. Carmen. Leah. Toby. Midnight. Lights glowing behind closed curtains. Refrigerator humming. Dinner dishes drying. Home. "We're fine. For tonight.

Walter seemed to hear the rest anyway. "...Eight tomorrow."

"Eight tomorrow."

"...Night, kid."

Brielle smiled. "Night, Walter."

The radio went silent. She left it on the counter. Didn't put it away. Sebastian returned to his toy tractor. Miranda followed, muttering that Elsie really needed to hear about Buttercup. Carmen began washing Leah's bottles. Brielle stood near the window. She lifted the curtain a fraction. The valley was dark. But not empty. Walter was out there. Elsie. Maybe Evelyn. Ben somewhere. Tom. Others. They were isolated. But they weren't entirely alone. Once, isolation had felt safe to Brielle. Back then it meant distance from Myles. Not being found. Not being watched. Not having to explain herself. But this was different. This wasn't hiding. This was surviving. And suddenly safety meant connection too. Walter knowing she was here. Brielle knowing he was there. A radio call twice a day. A neighbour who would notice if you stopped answering. Community. She hadn't realised how much she had built until the rest of the world began disappearing.

________________________________________

At nine-thirty, Brielle checked the cameras one final time. Front gate. Empty. Road. Empty. Driveway. Empty. Western fence. Nothing. Rear pasture. Nothing. Barn. Animals settling. She reached for the monitor switch. Toby's head lifted. Brielle stopped. The golden retriever lay beside Sebastian. His ears had turned toward the front of the house. Listening. "What?"

Toby didn't move. Sebastian noticed. "He hears something." Brielle looked back at the front camera. Nothing. Toby stood. Walked toward the front door. Stopped. His head tilted. Then he gave a low, uncertain whine. Brielle crossed to the window. She opened the curtain only enough to look through. The road was dark. No headlights. No vehicle. No movement. Nothing at the gate.

"What is it, boy?"

Toby continued staring. Brielle waited. One minute. Then another. Nothing came. Eventually Toby turned away. He returned to the sitting room. But he didn't lie down beside Sebastian again. Instead he settled where he could see the front door. Brielle noticed. Carmen noticed too. "Deer?"

"Probably."

Neither woman sounded convinced. Brielle checked the camera again. Nothing. She closed the curtain. Tomorrow they would check the fences. Feed the animals. Work in the garden. Do schoolwork. Listen for Walter at eight. Keep the gates locked. Keep the radio on. Live normally inside the farmhouse while everything outside became less normal by the hour. Do the things they could control. Because there were already too many things they couldn't. Outside, beyond the reach of the farm's cameras, something moved slowly along the road. Not close enough for Brielle to see. Not yet. Toby lifted his head again. Listening. And somewhere in the darkness, three miles from Brielle's farm, Margaret Reed was no longer at home.

 

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