Scott came up from the basement and nodded at her. “Who is that?”
“My brother.”
“Who is that?” asked Thom.
“Scott.” Jesus, all she did was answer demanding questions from the men in her life, of whom she had actually chosen exactly one, the one who turned out to be the abusive drunk.
“Why don’t you ask Scott if he thinks you guys should come here?”
She was losing patience. “Because, Thom, Scott is not making the decisions for me, and neither are you. I am making the choices, and I choose to ride this out here, for however long it takes.”
She’d actually made no such choice yet, but she’d been saying no to things Thom offered for so many years it was a reflex. It had started out as plain old childhood resentment, and she had perfectly good reasons for it, but only herself to blame for her choices. Ten minutes in adolescence had shaped the rest of both their lives, the way it fucking does. Maybe, she figured, if she refused to share in his obscene wealth she wouldn’t feel quite as bothered about the way she’d helped create it.
“OK, reality check, all right?” Thom said. “You will be without power for an extended period of time. Months. In the short term, you will run out of battery for your phone, which wouldn’t work anyway, because cell towers will go down. Longer term, the supply chain of food will strain and break, the water will stop flowing from your tap, and your neighborhood will descend into lawlessness. I don’t have to ask if you ever bought a generator, because I’m sure I’m correct in guessing you did not. I doubt that you actually filled the freezer in the basement, you have no weapons of any kind because you are philosophically opposed, and you are living within one hour of the third-densest urban population in the country, all of which will soon be starving, panicked, and on the run. You will be living WROL: without rule of law. I know you don’t like reality, Aubrey, but there it is. So the next time we talk, and I again make the offer to have someone come and fly you to safety, I hope you will give it better consideration than this.”
“Do you think it’s possible you overprepare?”
“There is no such thing. Just because something hasn’t happened before doesn’t mean it never will. Your thinking is stuck; it’s called initial occurrence syndrome. But I have seen how easily things can get out of control, and so have you. I won’t ever let that happen again.”
“I’m fine, Thom. We stood the drought, now we’ll stand the flood.”
“What drought? What flood?”
“It’s a song.”
“Well, you’re not going to be able to hear it for the next year and a half.”
Scott had wandered back into the living room and was flipping through channels. They were alight with news broadcasts, each with a different terrifying spin on the events to come. As the hour grew later and night began to fall on the East Coast, the tone, even among the most denial-based political viewpoints, had grown pessimistic. An anxious spokesman, Perry somebody from NASA, or NOAA, or the NSA, was making a public plea to power utilities nationwide to shut down before it was too late.
“I gotta go, Thom.”
“Did you get the money?”
“Did you send me money? I haven’t looked today.”
Thom paused. He was exasperated but spoke in a measured tone. “I sent you twenty thousand dollars last fall in case a situation like this arose. You were to go to the bank, withdraw it in twenties, and leave it in four different places in your house. In a case of social collapse, cash is going to be the most valuable commodity. That and pre-1965 silver American coins, but we won’t get into that. Did you do it?”
Aubrey turned and looked at the beautiful Ian Dunn oak cabinets that she’d ordered for her kitchen the day Thom’s money showed up in her account. They had the heavy, solid feel of excellent carpentry and made her happy every time she got a water glass. OK, so she didn’t refuse everything Thom sent.
“Yes, I have cash.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am. You bought me kitchen cabinets.”
“This isn’t a joke, Aubs. It’s real, and it’s happening.”
“I know. I’m scared. But we’re OK. Thank you for calling.”
“Do you still have the satellite phone I sent? It had three extra batteries, all charged. Check them. I will call you on it in the morning. We’ll discuss this again. It’s you and me, remember?”
“Because everyone else is dead,” she answered, automatically. It was their routine, and it had been funny once. It wasn’t right now.