Chapter 6 - The Grid Goes Dark Across the Ridge
The wind howled against the reinforced glass of the Blackwood Reservoir cabin, a relentless wall of white that erased the tree line twenty feet from the porch. Inside, the generator hummed with a heavy, rhythmic pulse that vibrated through the floorboards. I stood by the kitchen island, wiping down the stainless steel surface with a damp cloth just to keep my hands moving. Upstairs, Mrs. Gable was reading a quiet bedtime story to Lily and Grace, their small voices muffled by the ceiling. Dominic leaned over a topographical map spread across the wooden table, a red grease pencil marking the perimeter posts where Miller and his two guards were stationed in the blinding sleet.
Without warning, the warm hum of the generator died. The harsh white overhead lights flickered once, twice, and then plunged us into total, suffocating blackness. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the howling gale outside and the sharp intake of Dominic's breath.
"Stay down," Dominic commanded, his voice slicing through the dark with absolute authority.
A heavy thump echoed from the basement utility room as the backup fail-safe failed to kick in. I heard the scrape of metal against wood as Dominic drew his sidearm, the familiar metallic click of the slide echoing in the pitch. My heart hammered against my ribs, but the paralyzing fear I'd felt back at the diner had hardened into a cold, focused resolve. I remembered my three older brothers and the winters we spent trapped without power in our northern cabin.
"The fuse box," I whispered, stepping toward him in the dark. "It's on the north wall by the pantry. If the breaker tripped from the ice surge, manual reset is the only way."
"Stay behind me," Dominic ordered, grabbing my wrist as he swept his flashlight beam across the living room. The narrow cone of white cut through the freezing air, illuminating dancing dust motes and the condensation on the windows. We moved in tandem down the dark hallway, the shadows stretching and twisting against the log walls like living things. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a boot on glass.
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When we reached the utility panel, Dominic pressed me flat against the wooden wall, shielding my body with his broad shoulder. He popped the heavy metal door with the barrel of his gun and flicked his lighter. The tiny flame cast a flickering orange glow over his sharp jawline and the grim line of his mouth.
"Main breaker's frozen," Dominic muttered, his breath pluming white in the sub-zero air leaking through the wall. "Someone cut the line outside before the grid went. It wasn't the weather."
