Jane came back into the room carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and three glasses and set it on the coffee table.

“Their plane went down, Jane.”

She’d started pouring but now paused and looked up at us. “Oh my. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“They’ve been walking and camping since then,” he told her before looking back at us. “This isn’t the best time of year for camping.”

“No, it’s not, especially with very limited supplies. But we have to get back home, and as you’ve probably noticed, the only vehicles that are running seem to be pre-1980 models.”

“Sure did. If the power doesn’t come back on soon, those are going to become real valuable.”

“They already are valuable, and probably getting stolen left and right. We’ve hitched a ride a couple of times, but everyone is being very cautious, which is understandable.”

He gave a nod, his craggy features troubled. Jane handed a glass of water to each of us, and we all drank. The preteen who’d held us at gunpoint wandered in with a boy who looked to be just a couple of years older and they stood by the stairs. “Kyler, Luca, you go on. This is an adult conversation.”

The boys’ faces dropped, but they turned to leave the room. “Actually, sir,” I said, “they’re your boys, but if I can be blunt, you’re going to need all hands on deck for what’s heading your way.”

Tom Pritchard glanced back at his sons, who had stopped and were looking at their father eagerly. He sighed and gestured that they should stay in the room. “Call Uriah too.”

The older of the two boys leaned toward the stairs and called their brother, and a minute later, footsteps sounded and a boy who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen descended into the room.

I told him the short version of what had happened to us so far and included what I’d talked to Sheriff Goodfellow about.

Tom and Jane exchanged looks, their expressions registering the same stark disbelief that mine had when I’d been told about the outage extending all the way to Pennsylvania, and possibly beyond, and about the fires and the likely exodus, that so far seemed to be a trickle but would pick up as food and water disappeared. “My God,” Tom murmured, running his hand over his sparse hair. “Okay. What else?”