“Got it! Got it. Nothing yet though, just a test bleep at the moment, but…” The radio is moulded yellow plastic, clearly designed to be waterproof, with Homer Simpson on the side.

7

Shit, I’m rambling. Sorry, sorry. Trying to get it all, but that’s pointless. Time’s a’wasting, and so is my battery life. Must type faster. Think faster.

8

We sat together in the living room until dawn. Small talk died quickly, and we all took to staring at the radio, willing it to do something more than beep at us. I remember shutting my eyes a few times, trying to rest; my head was swimming with thoughts that threatened to become dreams, but something kept making me snap awake. I’d thought about trying to find a way to take Charley and go back to the house, but they clearly expected me to feel as mesmerised by the radio as they were, and with my daughter sleeping, I just couldn’t muster the energy to break through the social pressure.

Cars drove by infrequently, but often enough to provide another barrier to sleep. I wondered where they thought they were going, and where they were really going. It apparently hadn’t occurred to Pete or Sharon to try and leave. Waiting for orders, I supposed. I wished the drivers and passengers well, but I was afraid for them.

I was just starting to notice a creeping greyness around the edges of the room, the dawn twilight, when the radio started talking. I can’t remember the whole message, but the gist was: stay indoors, conserve water, help is on the way. I wondered about that last part.

“Nothing about evacuation.” It wasn’t exactly an accusation from Sharon, but it wasn’t far off either.

“It’s a general broadcast. Probably a recording. Still, it’s a good sign. The infrastructure’s in place. Right?” Pete glanced at me with that last, a kind of gentle appeal in his eyes.

“Absolutely…”

“Preserve water? Are the taps not working? I just used the water in the kettle for the tea, didn’t think to check…” Her voice trailed off.

Fear was suddenly in the room with us all, close, oppressive. I could feel it, a sinking in my stomach. I thought about Luke, and his jogging obsession – about the crate of ‘sport’ water bottles. How many?

“Even if it does run, do you suppose it’s safe?” Pete, looking to me again. I took a second to resent it, the churning in my gut growing worse, the beginnings of a sleep deprivation headache lurking behind my eyes.

“I… I wouldn’t. Don’t know where the reservoir is for us, but if there’s fallout… can’t be filtered for…”

Nods all round.