Reboot: "The Night the Lights Went Out"

[Alice2015]

REBOOT
of
"The Night the Lights Went Out"

CLOSED THREAD

Link to the OOC Thread​

What you need to know about the reboot:

• Because we unfortunately lost a writer and -- by this writer's request -- all of their characters, we are starting over.​
• HumanBean and I won't be starting from scratch, per se; we are editing our posts from the previous thread and reposting them here.​
• If you didn't read the first run of TNTLWO, then this will be your first read of it.​
• If you did read the first run, you might want to start over here. With the omission and/or replacement of characters and the plots in which they played a part, this will be a new story in some cases.​
• It will take us a while to get all of our reposts up but please subscribe and read along as we do so.​
• PLEASE NOTE: When now-omitted characters are replaced, we have NOT used any of the now-absent writer's text. That would simply be impolite and disrespectful.​

Keri Lee

Approaching 5:00 am, local time, 19 January 2025
In the air above Washington DC:

Keri flinched at the gentle touch of a hand upon her arm as the first-class flight attendant said, "Sorry, Miss Lee. I didn't mean to startle you. The pilot has turned on the seat belt light for our decent into Reagan Washington National."

The attendant waggled a finger toward the dark glasses and ball cap hiding the way most people knew Keri, explaining,"I recognized your name from the manifest. I assume you're covering the Inauguration tomorrow, yes?"

"Unfortunately," Keri responded. She'd had enough of American politics and had quit her job with a major network, but a very big paycheck offer had dragged her back in for one more year.

The attendant wished Keri luck and moved on to deal with other passengers. Keri looked out the portside window at the lights of the towns and then suburbs of Washington DC as the jet descended below the thick cloud coverage. Coming in from the north-northwest to land on runway 15, the plane's altitude dropped to the point where Keri began to recognize some of the monuments and buildings of the nation's capital.

Then, suddenly, everything went black -- everything! Inside the plane, on the plane, beyond it on the ground, everything went so black that after a moment, Keri realized that she could see the stars of the Milky Way when she pressed her face to the glass. The plane shuttered, causing the passengers and even some crew members to cry out in fear. The sound of the roaring engines was replaced by the sound of them winding down, and after a short time the cries of the frightened flyers drowned that out, too.

The plane's landing gear had thankfully been lowered before the power outage, and after just a few seconds of initial panic, and even greater panic began when the plane began bouncing off the runway ... once, twice, three times. Keri looked out the window just as the thick white lines of the moonlit runway vanished; the plane was leaving the pavement and rushing out onto the grassy ground. There was another jolt as the plane hit a berm, ripping off the front, then the rear landing gear, and a moment after that, the nose of the plane dropped, just before the craft hit the Potomac River.

By the time she regained her senses a second time, a flight attendant was directing passengers off the plane. The emergency exit doors had had to be manually opened, and the inflatable emergency slides had failed, yet people were still jumping out of the doors into the 34-degree water below. Keri unbuckled and was about to make her way into the aisle to deplane when there was a bright flash of light beyond the window. She looked out to see flames rising into the sky in multiple locations, one after another after another. She realized right away what they were: other airplanes falling from the sky, having suffered what her plane had but at much higher altitudes.

After inflating her life jacket by blowing into the straw on its chest, she made her way to the nearest door and jumped. The cold shocked her more intensely than anything ever had, and it took her a very long moment to get past the disruption to her breathing and muscular ability to finally start swimming for the shore. She climbed up the rocky wall and flopped down onto her back in the muddy grass, gasping for air.

 

[Alice2015]

Samantha Evans

2:00 am, local time, 19 January 2025:

Samantha Evans laughed nervously, knowing she was about to get reamed for once again violating her curfew. She'd recently turned 18, theoretically making her an adult and giving her more freedoms she hadn't had as a minor. But she still lived under her parents' roof, and according to them that meant she still had to follow their rules. One of those rules was a midnight curfew, which she had violated by almost two hours.

Making things worse was that she'd returned smelling like beer and pot. She hadn't been drinking or smoking, but most of her friends had been. And things continued to get worse when her mother noticed that the bra Sammi had left the house wearing was no longer restraining her firm, B-cup titties. Upon realizing how on display her ever-pert nipples were, Sammi crossed her arms over her chest, but that was about as useless as the proverbial farmer closing the barn door after his horse's escape.

"Where exactly were you...?" Sammi's father, Carl, inquired with an angry tone, "and who were you with? It's two o'clock--"

But that was as far as the chastising got; suddenly, the lights went out, leaving the kitchen in total darkness. They sat there in silence for a moment before Sammi's mother, Pamela, grumbled, "How about that? Late January ... our first power outage of the--"

She, too, was interrupted as a bright flash lit up the landscape in the direction of Mahlon Sweet Airport, which was only a couple of miles west of the Evans property. All three of them just stared in shocked awe at the rising ball before Carl finally ordered, "Be careful moving around. Find the flashlights There's one in the junk drawer and another at the back door."

But when they found them and turned them on, they didn't work. A small flame lit the kitchen as Carl struck a match, telling his wife, "Get the oil lamp off the mantle. I'll stoke the wood stove and fireplace in case the electricity doesn't come back on soon."

Within a couple of minutes, three oil lamps and a dozen candles were burning in the kitchen and living room. But the Evans's didn't remain in the house; carrying one of the lamps, Carl led the two women outside to look around the neighborhood. There were at least a half dozen fires burning in various directions. When Sammi asked what had caused them, he said, "Airplanes. It's gotta be airplanes ... falling from the sky. Terrorists. Gotta be."

After a while, Sammi -- who hadn't donned a coat before coming outside -- realized how dramatically her body was shaking. She told her parents, "I'm going inside. I can't take any more of this."

They all went back inside, lit more candles and a pair of white gas camp lanterns, and stoked both the fireplaces in the living room and master bedroom and the wood stove in the kitchen. They might not have electricity for a while, maybe the whole night, but at least they wouldn't freeze to death, at least.

"How do we find out what's happening?" Sammi asked her father as she waggled her cell phone before her. "Doesn't work. Neither does the radio or my laptop. They're all dead."

 

[Alice2015]

Caroline Edwards

0200 hours local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025
Oregon Army National Guard Station, Springfield (OANGS-Springfield)
Springfield, Oregon:

Caroline Edwards was standing the midwatch and strolling across the small base with a Corporal under her command when suddenly the power went out. They both stopped in place and immediately scanned about themselves for possible dangers; Caroline even reached for the Beretta 92FS 9mm on her hip, clutching the grip but not pulling it from the holster. Springfield, Oregon -- the sister city to the 3-times-larger Eugene located immediately to the west -- wasn't exactly ground zero for some sort of military attack or terrorist action, yet Caroline had been trained to expect the unexpected at every turn.

The battery-operated emergency lighting should have come on immediately, and the base's emergency generators should have kicked on just seconds later, and yet the base and the city beyond it remained in absolute, total darkness. Well, that wasn't entirely true; the quarter moon and the stars of the Milky Way -- brighter than she'd ever seen it inside the city -- were lighting up her surrounding just well enough for her to be able to move without running into things.

Caroline checked her radio, then her cell phone; neither worked, nor did those of the Corporal walking with her. "Let's make our way over to Security ... see what's what."

They had just started when the first of several explosions rocked the dark night. They were seeing the same tragic airliner crashes that Samantha Evans and her family had witnessed ten miles to the west near Mahlon Sweet Airport. Hurrying her underling, Caroline said, "Let's go! Something's happening. Something bad!"

At the Security Office, they learned that far more than just radios and cell phones had ceased to work. Anything and everything that used, carried, or produced electricity had quit on them. She said to the Corporal, "This makes no sense. Only an EMP would cause this, and there was no explosion. This isn't right. What the fuck?"

Although there were other ways to create an electromagnetic pulse, the most common way was to set off a very particular kind of nuclear weapon high in the atmosphere. And while atomic bombs like those weren't meant to destroy cities, they still created a massive fireball in the sky that no one within 100 miles could possibly miss.

Caroline ordered the Corporal to go wake up their Lieutenant, only to learn a couple of minutes later that he'd slipped off base to go see his boyfriend. Caroline herself went to the Enlisted Barracks and woke up everyone there. "I want everyone -- everyone! -- inside the armory in ten minutes."

 

[Alice2015]

Hannah Wilson

2:00 am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025.

Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
(On the Pacific Coast, 180 miles northwest of Los Angeles):

Hannah Wilson was working in the Secondary Systems Control Building went it went black. The emergency lighting failed, too, but after her eyes adjusted, she saw a slight amount of illumination at the far end of the building. She moved cautiously, through this room, then a hallway, then the Secondary Switching Room, and finally another hallway to reach the foyer off which the Main Control Room was located.

The Shift Supervisor was by this time guiding everyone out of the building, telling her and others who were just arriving, "We've suffered a catastrophic power failure. The reactors scrammed as designed, but the Reactor Fill System isn't operating. It isn't getting any cooling water. There's gonna be a meltdown. It's inevitable."

Everyone ran for their cars in the parking lot, only to find that none of them would start. The Shift Supervisor urged the others to head for the main gate, located to the southeast, but Hannah called out, "No! Stop! You're going the wrong way!" She pointed to the northwest, saying, "This way! We need to go up the coast, into the wind."

Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant sat on the California coastline northwest of Los Angeles, and the winds this time of the year were primarily from the west. Hannah knew they needed to head for the northwest corner of the property. Some of the workers followed her, but most didn't. At the 8-foot-high fence, even more people baled on Hannah's escape route.

Over and beyond the fence, they headed up Pecho Valley Road. The less athletic people tired out and the clumsy twisted ankles or simply fell on the rough road. Soon, Hannah, a man named Peter, and a handful of others were still running up the road while all the rest had either reduced their speed to a walk or simply stopped.

They started down the other side of a hill, which Hannah appreciated -- until she lost her footing and nosedived into the gravel surface. Peter came back to help her to her feet. She hurt all over, yet told him, "I'm okay. Let's keep going."

Suddenly, a thunderous boom signaled the first reactor explosion. This only encouraged Hannah to run even faster. They continued onward until they spotted a house and hurried up the driveway to knock on the door; Hannah needed water and maybe some first aid. They found the house dark -- no surprise -- but also unoccupied; they would soon learn that it was an Airbnb that currently had no renters.

Hannah looked for a hidden key, and when she didn't find one, broke a window in the door with the head of a ceramic garden gnome. Looking to Peter, she said with an unconcerned tone, "They can fucking bill me."

Inside, they found water, but Hannah's primary concern was her injuries. They found emergency candles and lit up the bathroom, where Hannah began stripping without regard for her male partner in flight. Down to her bra and underwear, she said, "I hope you're not shy."

 

[Alice2015]

Angel Daniels

Silver Mountain Wilderness Area
(Formerly part of the San Juan National Forest, located to the northeast)
Northwest of Durango, Colorado

Sunrise after TNTLWO, Sunday, 19 Jan 2025:

Angel Daniels had gotten out of bed just a bit before dawn to eat, check the traps, and exercise her mutts, Nutter and Butter; she threw sticks which -- as usual -- they retrieved, chewed on, but never returned to their master. Everything seemed as normal as usual for the woman who'd been living off the grid for years.

Angel had moved to a family-owned cabin in the Silver Mountain Wilderness Area almost five years ago, during the explosion of infections during the first months of COVID-19. She'd gone through what she'd considered far more than her share of shit -- pandemic related and otherwise -- and being a backwoods-kind-of-girl anyway, she'd just decided Fuck it! I'm outta here!

She'd sold all of her possessions that would sell, gave away the rest away, filled a backpack with the vitals, and hiked into the Wilderness Area to take up residence. Her family had owned the cabin since long before the Silver Mountain Wilderness Area was created, thereby grandfathering it into the wilderness. The cabin and the 22 acres of virgin Old Growth Forest, crystal clear streams, and fish-filled ponds were all Angel's now.

Three or four times a year, she made the 24-mile round trip hike down the mountain to the town of Durango for supplies, news, and her mail, the latter of which was rarely anything but junk mail and updates on the family investment portfolio that she'd inherited along with the cabin. And if she was feeling a bit randy after her isolation in the Wilderness, she might visit one of the men -- or women -- with whom she sometimes bumped uglies.

One of those trips had been planned for this morning, so Angel packed a backpack with some of the things she sold in town -- furs, carvings, herbs, and such -- and headed down the trail.

Angle had no idea what the world down the mountain was going through...

(OOC: Angel had previously interacted with a character who is no longer in the story. HumanBean, who will soon be posting for his previous characters, has promised a new and totally unique character to interact with Angel.)

(Another OOC: I have posted for all of my characters with the exception of Eleanor Gumble and Roxie Harrington, both of whom post after their husbands do; HumanBean writes the husbands, and we are creating two new and unique characters to interact with them who will replace the characters who are no longer in the story.)

 

[HumanBean]

Marcus Washington, with Keri Lee (OOC thread)

5:30 am, local time, 19 January 2025 (10 minutes after TLWO)
Control Tower, Reagan Washington National Airport:

(Continues from Keri's post, here. I assume that we are going to continue doing this? It makes things easy. For me and for any readers we might be lucky to have.)

"There!" someone hollered. Marcus Washington followed the man's pointing hand. "There! Over there! It's a plane in the water!"

Marcus had been in the control tower when TLWO (the lights went out). He'd been responsible for the imminent landings of 23 aircraft. Now, they were all on the ground. Not in the good way, though. The Washington DC-Arlington, Virginia metropolitan area was awash with fuel fires that had once been jet aircraft that were now fiery wreck sites.

His 23 aircraft seemed to have gone down. There was no other explanation. His fellow flight controllers' charges had also likely hit the ground. Almost 100 planes in total. Maybe close to 10,000+ passengers and crew. And that was just this one airport.

Marcus had initially thought this was due to a hack. Hacks had happened before. Despite all the security from their hardware and software maintenance teams, it was happening more often. Three times alone last year, Reagan Washinton National had been hacked twice.

But it wasn't a hack. It wasn't just the airport itself, of course. It had been the aircraft, too. And the city surrounding them. Looking about himself, Marcus found that the only sources of illumination were the moon, the stars, and the dozens of fires. This was something he'd never imagined before.

"We have to help those people!" the man near Marcus was saying. He grabbed Marcus and pulled him to the south.

Marcus wasn't even sure how he'd gotten from the control tower to the tarmac. There had been an explosion near the tower building itself. The Supervisor had gotten them all out via the stairs. (The elevator, like everything else, had failed.) And then they were outside.

It was cold as hell. Mid-30s. Marcus was cold, of course. But he was functional. He followed the man urging him into action. A couple of minutes later, he was standing over a woman near the water.

The woman he'd eventually learn was named Keri flinched at his touch. He gave her a moment to understand that he was there to help. "It's okay. You're okay. You're safe now."

He shed his coat and wrapped it around her. Someone arrived with a mylar blanket. He removed it from its plastic and wrapped it around her, too. She was trembling deep to the core. "I'm going to get you inside the terminal. You need warmth."

Marcus easily lifted Keri into his arms. He was a strong, athletic man. And she was a petite woman. Heading toward the airport buildings was a snap. At first, anyway. The adrenaline was pumping Marcus up. But after a hundred yards, maybe more, he began to tire.

Luckily, just then, a group of men and women approached Marcus from the direction of the terminal. One pair was carrying a stretcher. They stopped Marcus and helped get Keri onto the stretcher. They wrapped Marcus with another mylar blanket.

"My name is Marcus," he told Keri. "Marcus Washington."

He looked into her eyes as she responded to his introduction. She was a beautiful woman, even now in this situation. If things had been different, Marcus would have tried to get her contact information. Maybe call her up. Arrange a coffee. A dinner. A hotel room and a fuck.

"You're going to be fine," he told her. "I'll come check on you later. Make sure you are alright. You're going to be alright. I promise."

Two of the men lifted the stretcher and rushed toward the airport. A third tried to help Marcus toward the terminal. He thought that Marcus, too, had been a passenger on the doomed plane. He straightened the man out. Then, as Keri disappeared into the dark, Marcus turned back for the sinking plane. There were others to rescue, in and out of the water.

(OOC: I seriously edited this one down. It's probably half the length of the original post. I like it better this way. I hope you do, too.)

 

[HumanBean]

Nicky, with Samantha Evans (OOC thread)

2:30 am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025:

(Continuing Sammi's story from here.)

Eugene, Oregon
1:50 am:

(OOC: This continues from Post #2.)

Nicky Long was on his way home a house party when TLWO. The car he was driving simply quit. The engine stopped. The lights went out. The power steering failed, as did the power brakes. The car slowed and, hard to control, slowly left the road and slipped down into a ditch.

He cursed under his breath. The car wasn't his. He wasn't supposed to be driving it. Nicky hadn't stolen it, per se. He'd only borrowed it without permission. Did he call for a tow truck? Or did he abandon it here and just slip away? Abandon it, he told himself without question.

The same could be said about the bag of money in the passenger seat beside him. It wasn't his. He wasn't supposed to have it. He hadn't stolen it either. Per se. How can you steal money that's already stolen, right? Nicky had only borrowed it. Unlike the car, though, he wasn't going to abandon it. It was coming with him.

Before he could unbuckle, a fiery explosion erupted a few miles ahead. Nicky stared at the rising fireball in surprise. The sound and shock wave arrived a few seconds later. Nicky's first thought was that it had been an industrial accident. There were a couple of industrial plants to the south. They used chemicals and lots of power. That could cause an explosion.

But over the next thirty or forty or fifty seconds, one explosion after another occurred. They were in every direction. Nicky instantly presumed terrorism. Then he caught movement above the ground. It was a jet aircraft, caught in the light of the moon. It was diving toward the ground just a couple of miles away. It struck the ground, exploding into another fireball.

Nicky realized what he was seeing and hearing all around him. Planes were falling out of the sky. It was terrorism, obviously. A hack? Or an electromagnetic pulse weapon. That would explain the car, too. And the blackout in every direction. He didn't know much about EMP devices. He knew they killed electronics. It wasn't terrorism. It was an attack. China? Russia? North Korea? That was how the last one did it in the remake of Red Dawn, right?

Nicky stepped out of the car, with the bag of cash, of course. He looked up and down the road. There wasn't much to see other than darkness and fires. In between him and one of the more distant fires was the silhouette of a two-story house and multiple outbuildings.

Nicky lived more than 20 miles away in the Thurston neighborhood of Springfield. He couldn't walk home at this hour, in this cold, with planes falling around him. Actually, he should probably get the hell away from the airport. But then, the plane crashes seemed to have stopped. No one left up there by now, I guess, he thought.

A couple of minutes later, he headed up the driveway. There were some people outside, watching the aftermath of what Nicky had seen. He called out, "Hello...? Hi! My car broke down up the road. I just need to use your phone."

If the trio did nothing to cause him to stop, Nicky would walk over to join them.

 

[HumanBean]

Corporal Phil "Fish" Spahn, with Sergeant Caroline Edwards (OOC thread)

0230 hours local time, 30 minutes after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025
Oregon Army National Guard Station, Springfield (OANGS-Springfield)
Springfield, Oregon:

(Continues Caroline's story from here.)

Corporal Phil Spahn dressed in the dark. He wondered why the hell he was doing so in the dark. Normally when some hardass awoke them early or even in the middle of the night, they at least flipped on the lights. It became obvious that they were dealing with a blackout. But even then, the emergency lighting should have come on automatically.

As ordered, Phil hurried through across the yard to the armory. Inside, he was disappointed to learn who was in charge: a woman. Phil wasn't a sexist, per se. He simply didn't believe that women should hold combat roles in the military. Sergeant Caroline Edwards was an infantry Non-Comm. She should have been in Supply. Or maybe Administration. Maybe some Officer's secretary. But not in combat.

And Sergeant Edwards was Corporal Spahn's superior. In rank only, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. He didn't like being Edward's underling. He would follow his Sergeant's orders without hesitation, though. He believed in the chain of command.

Phil had joined the army in 2006 at age 21. He'd tried making it as a laborer. He'd worked in a plywood mill for over three years after high school. But he'd become disillusioned with the real world labor market. He'd worked too hard for people who didn't work hard at all. He'd made too little money while those above had made too much.

He didn't join the Army to get rich, obviously. He simply hoped it operated differently than civilian life. It had. And he'd fit in well. He was good at being a soldier.

Unfortunately, even in the Army, Phil was still working hard and risking his life to make rich men richer. Each of his three tours had included a protection detail for some business owned in part or in whole by an American businessman or consortium. He'd lost friends on each tour. Men killed to put dollar bills in rich fuckers' pockets.

Phil wouldn't quit the service because of this alone, though. However, while at home on leave once, he'd knocked a woman up. Phil was the responsible type when it came to things like this. He let his enlistment end and came home to be a husband and father.

He'd joined the Army National Guard to stay close to the hierarchy he'd come to love. He'd been at OANGS-Springfield for 12 years now.

 

[HumanBean]

Peter Phillips, with Hannah Wilson (OOC thread)

2:00 am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025.

Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
(On the Pacific Coast, 180 miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from Hannah's last post, here.)

Peter arranged the candles throughout the bathroom to give them better light for tending to Hannah's injuries. When he turned to face her, she was standing there in just her bra and panties. Peter was surprised, obviously. Happily surprised, nonetheless. She was a beautiful woman even covered by cuts and scrapes. Her round breasts, narrow waist, athletic legs. They drew his gaze. They made her forget for a moment why she had undressed.

Finally, he returned to reality. He looked away, embarrassed. He was a married man. He shouldn't be looking on another woman in her underwear. Regardless of why she was as such. He quickly began a search for what they needed to fix Hannah. Peter found a first aid kit, a package of extra bandages, alcohol, and hydrogen peroxide.

There were three different medications Hannah could take for the pain. "You prefer aspirin, acetaminophen, or--" He read the label on a pill bottle. "Oh wow, nice. Hydrocodone. Good stuff."

Peter handed over whichever bottle Hannah preferred. As she drank the pills down, he wet a rag and started cleaning her injuries. He couldn't believe how one little fall had done so much damage. She had scrapes on all four limbs and her torso. The only part of Hannah that wasn't either bleeding, bruising, or swelling was her face. Lucky you, Peter thought. Too nice a face to mark up like the rest of you.

It took almost an hour to clean, disinfect, and bandage all of Hannah's damage. He stood back when he finished. He twirled an extended finger, saying, "Turn. Let me look."

Peter looked into her eyes, then smiled. He was asking a nearly naked woman to give him a once-around. He laughed. "I promise only to look at what I'm supposed to be looking at."

 

[HumanBean]

Roger Kramer, with Angel Daniels (OOC thread)

Noon after TNTLWO, Sunday, 19 Jan 2025:

Roger's home
Just northwest of Durango, Colorado

(Continues from Angel's post, here.)

Roger hadn't left his property since TLWO. He knew they were experiencing a blackout. Beyond that, he hadn't seen anything to be concerned about. There hadn't been any significant airplane crashes near Durango. The local airport was small. It only handled small planes, for local residents or companies bringing in tourists. There hadn't been any other explosions either. No industrial plant explosions, no gas line or tank accidents.

It was just another day in paradise, only without power.

His first indication that the problem went beyond a blackout was when he couldn't get his pickup to start. He worked on it to no avail. He finally gave up. He'd call his mechanic buddy later to bring over his automotive diagnostics computer. They'd have beers and steaks and all would be fine.

Then, he heard the familiar barking of Nutter and Butter approaching fast. He smiled, delighted at the appearance of their master, Angel Daniels. His cock twitched happily. He and Angel didn't see each other often. But when they did, it was all sweat and orgasms.

 

[HumanBean]

Henry Gumble (OOC thread)

Just before 4:00 am, local time
Sunday, 19 January 2025

"The Bazaar"
Austin, Texas

(OOC: This post was originally written by Alice2015. She's letting me take over Henry Gumble. I edited to fit my style, deleting the stuff I didn't want for the character. Thanks, Alice.)

Henry opened the back door to The Bazaar as the Flores Family Fresh Foods truck stopped near it. The driver and passenger, Hector and Hugo, hopped out, greeting Henry joyfully. Henry and Hector had been doing business with each other for almost two decades. Hugo had been a toddler when the two older males first met.

Hector showed Henry what he had to offer this day. The Flores's themselves had a greenhouse and garden that provided Henry a variety of produce items. Hector's wife, Olivia, was a baker, but she mostly provided The Bazaar with different doughs. Henry himself baked or deep fried what the woman provided him. It was a great cooperative arrangement.

Hector also brought up goods from south of the border. Henry stocked the gift sections of The Bazaar with things from Mexico and both Central and South America. It was all unique, made by hand, usually in the homes or very small businesses. Henry liked to support the peasants of Latin America.

............................​

The Bazaar was unique in San Antonio. It was one part Saturday Market, one part yard sale, one part coffee and bakery, one part grocery, one part souvenir shop, one part beauty parlor, one part barber shop, one part yadda yadda yadda. If a local had a service to provide or product to sell, Henry and his wife Eleanor were willing to try it out. Their goal was to help people help themselves. It was that simple.

Henry was at the back door at 3am seven days a week for deliveries. After that, he spent five or six hours mostly cooking and baking. Eleanor would join her husband around sunup. She would stock the new things her husband had taken in that morning. She dealt with the customers and the vendors more than Henry did.

They normally closed the largest section of The Bazaar at six each night. But the front quarter of it stayed open later. There was a coffee shop, a small gift shop, a tattoo parlor, and more. The coffee shop also offered any of the food prepared that morning that hadn't sold. Often, because they were over a dozen hours old, those items sold for cost or even less. Sometimes for free.

Henry would hit the sack around sundown. Eleanor would sometimes lay down with her husband until he was sound asleep. But she'd often get back up to finish things that needed more work. She'd sack out around 11pm.

It wasn't just Henry and Eleanor running The Bazaar, though. They had a half dozen part-time employees earning daily cash payouts. They included teenagers earning money toward college or a car. There were retirees supplementing their meager Social Security checks, too.

And there were some down on their luck types, even unhoused people. Some people thought you couldn't trust those kinds of people. Henry and Eleanor had no problems with them, though. They all worked well together. The Gumbles made it clear to those kinds of people that they had a lot more to gain by getting along than getting in trouble.

And there were vendors and artisans who only worked periodically. A section that almost doubled The Bazaar's square footage opened for the Weekend and Holiday markets.

.................................​

Henry, Hector, and Hugo finished the transfer of goods from the truck to The Bazaar. The Flores's drove off, Henry returned to the kitchen -- and suddenly everything went dark. Henry stood in stunned despair for a long moment. They dealt with power outages a couple of times every winter and every summer. But as with many businesses, The Bazaar had a backup generator.

Of course, it didn't power up. That was disappointing. There were more than a dozen ovens, grills, and deep fryers currently preparing food. And just like that, they all went off. There was still the sound of sizzling, boiling, and crisping. That would end over the minutes to come.

Henry lit an oil lamp and went to check the diesel generator. He spent several minutes on it without success. He looked around the neighborhood. It was early in the morning. He didn't expect a bustling town. But there was nothing electrical operating. People were coming out onto the streets from homes and businesses. They looked as confused as Henry did.

He returned to The Bazaar and locked the back doors. There was a pull-down steel grate protecting the storefront. The building was secure, relative to other businesses in town. Henry was happy for the security. It was less than 30 minutes before he heard glass breaking. A few minutes after that, gun shots rang out. The looting had begun.

There was a pounding on the front grill. Henry had retrieved his shotgun earlier. He moved forward, hollering, "What?"

"You okay, Henry?" a familiar voice asked. Henry said yes. The man informed him, "Okay, well, we're posting up out here."

................................​

Henry went back to cooking. Some of what faced ruin was luckily salvaged. Henry and others who'd shown up to help had moved on to other methods of cooking. They fired up the outside charcoal and wood ovens and grills. They were normally only used for Weekend Market or during the summer months. What couldn't be saved would be given to a local hog farmer. Pigs ate just about anything, Henry knew.

When the sun rose, Henry went out front of The Bazaar. He found a dozen people protecting The Bazaar. They carried shotguns, deer hunting rifles, assault rifles, and a variety of handguns. Eleanor was there by now. She'd awoken to the madness at some time. She'd come downstairs from the home above the business. She was carrying Henry's second shotgun.

Henry looked up and down the street. More than half of the businesses had been or were still being looted. The H-E-B market across the street had been both looted and vandalized. All of the windows and doors were smashed. A couple of blocks away, one building was burning out of control. A body laid in the next intersection for an hour before some people finally carried it away.

The Bazaar had been saved. And with the grating being raised now, it was back in business.

 

[HumanBean]

Glenn Harrington (OOC thread)

3:00 am, local time, 1 hour after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025
San Diego, California

(OOC: This continues my character from the prior thread. He interacts with a new character written totally from scratch by Alice2015, though.)

Glenn loved the Gaslamp Quarter of San Diego. He did a lot of business here. He marketed his vineyard's wines here. His clients included a dozen stores, bars, or restaurants here. He was also the exclusive US distributor of products from the Portugal-based Douro Porto Fino.

He led a very comfortable life: nice home, nice business, nice wealth portfolio. He'd inherited the first two. The third, though, he'd increased ten-fold since inheriting the first two at age 25.

That had been half a lifetime ago. Glenn had just turned 50 last month. He had the gray hair and age-worn face of his true age. But Glenn had the body, stamina, and yearnings of a man half his age. His wife, who actually was half his age, would attest to this. The 25-year-old Roxie had never had a lover who'd shown as much enthusiasm and endurance between her parted thighs.

There were other women who enjoyed Glenn's abilities, too. Glenn's sleeping with women other than his wife was not unknown to Roxie. She, too, had her playthings. Most of them, like most of his, were also female. Their likes went beyond just gender, though. They each preferred their lovers young. Of course, because of their age difference, woman half Glenn's age was actually very close to Roxie's.

And sometimes they shared lovers. Sometimes separate. Sometimes together. Their threesomes had included an additional female usually but an additional male on occasion. Their foursomes had been even more diverse. They'd been with mixed gender couples and pairs of men or women.

Their dalliances were kept private to them. The Harrington's didn't advertise their sexual openness beyond the people with whom they'd had them. Love and lust were private things to them.

Glenn had come to town tonight for business but stayed for sex. He'd had drinks with an old client after dinner with a new one. It had been late, so he'd stayed over the apartment he kept in San Diego's historic Gaslamp Quarter. Officially, if was for overnights after late business meetings, like tonight. That way Glenn could write it off his taxes.

But both he and Roxie used it even more often for trysts. Glenn was using it as such tonight. He'd gotten a text from Emily just before midnight: Roxie says you are in town. Care for some company?

An hour later, the young beauty collapsed down upon Glenn. She was spent after cumming a third time. He pulled her tight to him. He loved the feel of a post-euphoric woman against him almost as much as the act of making her (and him) cum in the first place. The beat of her heart against his chest. The swelling and shrinking of her own chest. The sweaty, warm skin against his own flesh.

Emily's breathing had finally returned close to normal. She'd slid off him and rolled to encourage him to spoon her. Before she'd fallen asleep, she'd whispered, "Thank your wife for me. I really enjoyed this."

Glenn had met Emily through Roxie. The two women had been lovers for months. Roxie had known that Emily liked cock as much as pussy. And she'd known that her husband would like Emily. She'd given the blonde her husband's number and her husband the blonde's name and desire to be with him. It had worked out well, obviously.

They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms. Glenn had been exhausted, too. And yet he'd awoken after just a couple a few minutes of sleep. He heard a boom in the distance, followed by another one much closer. Several more followed. One was preceded a few seconds before by a flash of light.

He rose naked from bed and hurried to the window. There were more flashes of light and subsequent booms. Because of the surrounding buildings, Glenn couldn't see any of the explosions directly.

Glenn had noticed that the power grid here was down. His first thought was that there had been another power overload and transformer explosion. But that didn't explain the number of explosions. And he began to realize that there were fires in three or four directions.

"Get up, Emily," he said softly, jostling the woman softly. She awoke. He told her, "There's something wrong. We have to go."

They dressed and headed down to the street. There was total mayhem already. Looting, rioting. All hell had broken loose. Glenn led the woman through the crowd to his car. It wouldn't start. Around him, others were having the same problem. He murmured, more to himself than to her, "I don't fucking get it. What's happening?"

They hurried east through the Gaslamp, avoiding the more out of control streets. Then, Glenn found what they needed. An older man riding a trike had dismounted to partake of the looting of a clothing store. Glenn gestured Emily to the bike's rear basket, saying, "Hop in."

They took off without being seen or stopped. The bike had only three gears, so it didn't handle the hills well. Emily's weight in the back didn't help. But Glenn was in great shape for a 50-year-old. And when they needed, they got out and walked or ran, pushing the bike between them.

It would take until late in the morning, possibly early afternoon before they finally reached Harrington Hills Vineyard...

(OOC: I'm fine with not posting for Glenn again after everyone is up to noon. That is unless you want to post for Emily. Is she going to be a NPC?)

 

[Alice2015]

Hannah Wilson and Peter Phillips

2:00 am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025.

Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
(On the Pacific Coast, 180 miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from Peter's last post, here.)

Hannah caught the way Peter's gaze settled on her body when he first saw her in just her underwear. She smirked devilishly; she hadn't stripped to shock him or tease him -- she'd done it so that he could repair her -- and yet still it pleased her to see his reaction. Peter was married, and Hannah was well aware of that. But she'd slept with married men in the past and would likely do so again in the future, and two things were telling her that Peter might be one of those men: the way he looked at her, and the way the panic of tonight's drama got her blood to boiling.

Often in the past, Hannah had found herself practically pouncing on men after some sort of shock or tragedy or loss. She'd need all the fingers of both hands to count the number of times she'd fucked a man she hadn't fucked before following the funeral of a loved one, friend, or whoever. Once, after one of her aunts had succumbed to cancer, Hannah had even fucked the dead woman's son, aka her cousin. She'd been embarrassed about it afterward, and even more so several months later at the next family reunion. Ironically, it hadn't prevented her from crawling into the back seat of his car and fucking him yet again.

At this point in the evening, Hannah would give great odds that Peter's cock would be deep inside one or more of her holes before long. The only question in her mind was whether or not he'd be bold enough to make the first move. Again, he was the married one.

"Hydrocodone," she said when Peter showed her the options of pain killers. "Hydrocodone. Definitely."

She downed the pills, then stood there before Peter as he worked the scrapes and cuts one after another. She found it was easier if he sat on the closed toilet lid, and she stood before him, turning and twisting as he directed. She felt very exposed but liked it; looking into the mirror at times, she caught him taking quick glances at parts of her body -- the curves, the crevices, the pert little nubs beneath brassiere cloth -- that had nothing to do with cleaning and bandaging her wounds.

The feel of his hands upon her body was delicious, and three separate times she shivered, then giggled playfully, as a chill ran up her spine and gooseflesh exploded across her arms and legs. She explained with a flirty tone, "I'm ticklish. You probably figured that one out."

As Peter cleaned some of the scrapes on her backside, Hannah worked on the ones on her fingers and arms. She watched him closely to see if his gaze would drop from her waist to her ass cheeks. When she saw him peek up at her in the mirror, she smiled wide, saying teasingly, "You're not looking where you shouldn't be, are you?"

When he said he was done, Hannah turned this way and that to check the work in the mirror. Peter stood from the toilet seat, but Hannah immediately turned to face him closely, putting her hands on his hips in a way that was entirely inappropriate. She looked him in the eyes, saying softly, "Thank you, Peter. You're a good guy. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Then, rising to her toes and pulling their bodies together, Hannah tried to plant a kiss on his lips. Would he let her? She didn't want just one kiss, and she didn't want it to be just a friendly one. If Peter allowed it to happen, she'd turn it into an erotic moment that she hoped would lead to something far more erotic.

(OOC: This is a radical shift from the original thread. I think we may still be able to reuse some of the original posts, though. We'll see.)

 

[Alice2015]

Keri Lee and Marcus Washington:

Maybe 5:30 am, maybe later? Hard to tell.
Sunday, 19 January 2025 (~30 minutes after TLWO)
Control Tower, Reagan Washington National Airport:

(Continues from here. I think you had the time wrong; it should be 5:10 am. If I'm wrong, correct me in your next post for Marcus. )

Keri did her best to clutch her arms around the man who was carrying her to safety ... to warmth, as he'd promised. She was shivering harder than she ever had before in her life; Keri didn't like the cold, which meant she'd never gone skiing or snowboarding, have never performed the polar plunge, and only ever went swimming if the water was inside a heated pool or under the summer sun or the Bahamas or the French Riviera.

"My name is Marcus," the man told her as two other men put her onto a stretcher and threw an airport issue blanket over her. He gave more detail, saying, "Marcus Washington."

"Thank ... you ... Marcus," she managed as her jaw shook. "Thank you." A shiver ran violently through her body, but when if finally ceased, she managed, "Keri ... Lee."

She was sad to lose sight of him as she was hurried away. Keri tried to look back at him, but all she saw was the body of the man taking up the rear of the second stage of the rescue. It seemed to take forever, but eventually she found herself inside a building. There was a sudden feeling of temperature increase, but she continued to shiver from the cold ass river water soaking her clothing.

It took a moment for her to realize that it was baggage claim; there were no electric lights, not even emergency lighting, which was her first indication that this was something more than just her own airplane losing power and crashing into the Potomac. The men added Keri to a line of people laying on stretchers, blankets, mats, and other items intended to put a layer between them and the floor. They grabbed another available stretcher and in a flash were gone.

It took a minute or two before someone tended to her. A woman who identified herself as a doctor and another woman who was wearing an airline worker's uniform asked her a series of basic questions: name, flight number, possible injuries, family/friends waiting for her, etc. She answered them through chattering teeth: Keri Lee, don't recall, no don't think so just freezing cold, no one here to meet her, etc.

"We're going to get you out of those wet clothes," the airline worker told her after the nurse had departed, leaving the sheet of paper to stay with Keri. The woman told her, "We're going to try to get you warm."

She helped Keri to her feet, and together they crossed to the nearest women's bathroom. The only light there was one of those crack'em sticks that glowed brightly. Keri asked about the power outage. The woman told her, "Honestly, we don't know what happened. It's not just the power ... the power grid. It's everything! The grid, the airplanes, the vehicles, cell phones, computers. You name it, it's dead. I heard one guy say it was an EMP ... maybe the Russians or Chinese or North Koreans. Another guy said he thought it was a solar flare. I dunno."

As the woman helped Keri out of her wet clothes, another older woman in the bathroom came to help dry her. There were a couple of dozen suitcases lining the wall, all unzipped or unsnapped, some of them open. They sat Keri down on a chair, and as they asked her what size clothes and shoes she wore, they pillaged through the bags looking for something, anything that was dry and warm and might just fit her.

Ultimately, the best they could find for her was a much larger woman's set of velour sweats; they didn't have shoes for her, though, so they slipped three pairs of socks over her feet. The older woman warned, "Don't slip on the floor out there. It could be slick, but this will keep you warm."

They took Keri back out to the baggage claim area, this time directing her and her paper to another section. Everyone here seemed to have survived whatever they'd gone through better than some of those still back in baggage claim. She asked around, wanting to know more about what people had gone through. She didn't find a single person who'd been on her plane. Had she been the only survivor? She wasn't, but she wouldn't learn that for a while.

A man with a booming voice entered sometime later, calling out instructions that any person who didn't need medical attention should go up a floor to the main terminal level. Keri stood to leave but felt woozy and sat back down. A woman who identified herself as a medical doctor diagnosed Keri with a possible concussion. "You just sit here and rest. Besides, it's warmer in here."

Keri looked about and only now realized that the emergency responders had set up propane heaters like she'd seen at a colder-than-expected, outside autumn wedding once upon a time. She made more inquiries about tonight's event, but again no one had anything to tell her that she either didn't already know or couldn't figure out herself.

Keri saw an open chair near one of the heaters and quickly made her way there. A woman trying to help others had a toddler tagging along with her, making her generous aid difficult. Keri offered to watch the little girl, who eagerly crawled up into the stranger's lap. Keri had been given a blanket, and she wrapped it around the child. They chatted playfully a while -- the girl seemed unphased about what was happening around her -- but soon the younger female simply closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Keri didn't realize how tired she was until that moment. Carefully, she lowered the two of them to a pad someone offered, and in no time at all the pair of them were passed out. By now the sun was rising on the far side of the Reagan National, the Potomac, and Washington DC itself.

 

[Alice2015]

Samantha Evans and Nicky Long

Eugene, Oregon
~2:20 am local time, 20 minutes after TLWO
Sunday, 19 January 2025:

(Continues from here. BTW, the parents are shared characters; I speak for Carl here, but HumanBean will speak for him more often than not.)

Sammi was the first of the three Evans family members standing out in the yard to notice Nicky Long walking up the driveway toward them; she'd heard him call out, not really understanding what she'd heard. She reached out to alert her father to the approaching stranger just as the man called out, "Hello...? Hi! My car broke down up the road. I just need to use your phone."

Carl Evans pulled both his wife, Pamala, and his daughter closer to him. Then, thinking better of it, he ordered, "Sammi, go to the house."

She objected, "But daddy, it's just some guy whose--"

"Go into the house," he growled, then -- looking into her face -- he added with an unspoken message he knew she would understand, "Go to the front hall closet."

Sammi hesitated a moment, suddenly more fearful than she'd been a moment earlier. Even in the slight light of the quarter moon, she could see the concern in his face. She turned and walked quickly toward the house. Carl told his wife to remain where she was, then called to the man, "We can bring the cordless out to you in the driveway. I, um ... I don't mean to sound rude, but ... this late at night, in the dark, with what's going on around us ... I'd really prefer you didn't come through the gate."

The Evans home and yard surrounding it were encircled by a five-foot-tall picket fence. It hadn't been meant to keep anything in or out; the dogs they'd once owned -- one had died of old age, the other of a losing battle with a speeding car -- were able to easily jump the barrier but after a while hadn't, realizing that if they did they would find themselves chained up as punishment.

Once upon a time a wannabe thief had jumped it just as easily, only to get shot at by the very shotgun that Carl had just told his daughter to fetch from the front closet. The man had leaped back over the fence just as quickly, though his landing had been anything but graceful.

Inside the house, Sammi retrieved the 12 gauge, returned to the front door, and stood in the portal with the gun hidden. She didn't check to ensure that the weapon was loaded as she already knew that it was. Her father had taught her that an unloaded long gun nothing more than a club, and if he'd wanted to enter a fight with a club, he would have saved money on an aluminum bat.

"Honey, get the cordless phone so this man can make a call," she heard her father call to her mother. Sammi knew his biggest goal here was to get her mother into the house as well; Sammi could have more easily retrieved the phone than Pamela could have.

"It's dead," her mother reported a minute later after returning to the porch. "So is my cell and yours."

Sammi's father had slowly walked over toward the gate and now reported to the man, "Sorry. I don't know what to say. This strange power outage has everything going haywire."

Carl looked toward the airport, about to suggest that the man walk the mile to the terminal to use a pay phone there. But the airport was dark as well; the only illumination anywhere near it was a fire burning about three miles to the north, which Carl rightfully presumed was a crashed aircraft.

In the other direction, the east, the city of Eugene was just as dark for the most part, also with a couple of fires of unknown origin. Carl didn't know this man, but -- as a devout Christian and good Samaritan -- he wasn't about to turn him out into the dark of such a strange and somewhat frightening night.

"Listen, I'd invite you in, out of the cold and all, but..." Carl began. He hoped the man would understand his meaning without him actually having to finish what he was saying. He continued, "You could stay in tiny house tonight, though." He pointed to a small structure about 10-foot by 8-foot by 7-foot tall. "We had it put it in for my brother-in-law a couple of years ago when he was in need of a place to stay. It's been empty for a while, 'cept for when my daughter has her girlfriends over for slumber parties."

That reminded him of the family meeting they'd just had regarding his daughter's curfew violation and other offenses, but that wasn't to be discussed with a stranger. Carl continued, "If you wanted to stay in there for the night, we could bring you out some fresh linens and extra blankets ... maybe something to eat ... some water or juice. We don't keep alcohol on the property, if that's your thing."

Carl looked back toward the house, finding both girls standing on the porch. To the stranger, he offered his hand. "I'm Carl ... Carl Evans. That's my wife back there, Pamela. And my daughter, Samantha."

 

[HumanBean]

Peter Phillips, with Hannah Wilson (OOC thread)

2:00 am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025.

Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
(On the Pacific Coast, 180 miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from here.)

Peter told Hannah he was done with her bandages. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. And he looked at her. She had a dozen and a half bandages of various sizes in various places. And yet she was still beautiful. He looked away quickly, to a random place that wasn't her body. He realized that Hannah could see him ogling her if she looked at him in the mirror. She had, too.

He stood from the toilet seat to leave. Peter needed to put some space between them. His cock was pulsing within his boxer-briefs.

But Hannah turned to face him and put her hands on his hips. "Thank you, Peter."

He smiled nervously. "You're welcome, Hannah."

"You're a good guy," she continued. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Then, suddenly, her lips were on his. It felt good. And it wasn't unwelcomed. Peter's hands instinctively moved up to Hannah's waist. His lips reacted as she must have liked because the kiss became more intimate. Then, Peter pulled his head back and his lips from hers, saying, "Whoa."

He felt ridiculous, embarrassed. Peter wanted Hannah so badly. But he was married. He wore a ring. Hannah had to know that didn't she? Gently, Peter moved Hannah back a few inches. He told her, "I'd love to do whatever it is that you're thinking, Hannah. To be honest, I'm thinking it, too."

He couldn't help but glance down at her breasts before looking back up. Again, he urged her back a bit. He stepped slowly around Hannah and was about to tell her that he was married. He didn't. Instead, he only said, "We need to keep moving north."

 

[HumanBean]

Nicky Long, with Samantha "Sammi" Evans (OOC thread)
Eugene, Oregon
About 2:30 am, local time (~30 minutes after TLWO)
Sunday, 19 January 2025:

(Continues from here.)

Carl offered Nicky the use of the tiny house. He introduced, "I'm Carl ... Carl Evans. That's my wife back there, Pamela. And my daughter, Samantha."

Nicky looked toward the porch. The women stood close together. He couldn't see much of them in the light of a flickering lamp. The girl garnered most of Nicky's attention. He couldn't be sure of her age. Sammi could have been 13 or 23. Nicky hoped for the former, of course. Teenaged girls liked him.

He offered his hand to the man over the picket fence. "I really appreciate it. Thank you."

Carl took the other man to the boxy little place. "I'll bring out one of the lanterns. There's a wood stove to keep it warm. Pamela will bring out some food and water and extra blankets."

"It's perfect," Nicky said. "Thanks."

Shadows began dancing as Pamela neared with a lantern. Carl told her what their guest needed. She studied Nicky a moment, then turned back to the house. A candle lit the interior, then a lamp. A fire was built, and supplies were delivered. Nicky couldn't believe how lucky he'd gotten. He wondered if the Evans were just good people or naive. Nicky didn't think that he would do this for a stranger who looked like him at almost 3 o'clock in the morning during a freaky event.

 

[HumanBean]

Marcus Washington, with Keri Lee (OOC thread)

Sunrise, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (~2 hours after TLWO)
Reagan Washington National Airport:

(Continues from here.)

Marcus spent another two hours helping survivors of the plane crash in the Potomac. Eventually, he was exhausted. The barely-above-freezing temperature was getting to him, too. He returned to the terminal to warm up, eat, and get some sleep. He tried to do the last one but couldn't. His eyes wouldn't stay closed for more than a few seconds at a time. All he could think of was Keri.

Eventually, he went searching for her. He asked around for her by her description. He spoke her name. He sought other survivors of the plane crash for their help.

In the end, Marcus was again simply too exhausted to continue. He'd lost her. He wished he'd had the opportunity to give her his contact information. When the power came back on, he could call her or maybe get a call from her?

That wasn't going to happen, of course. But he couldn't know that now.

He instead turned to finding coworkers. Marcus was, theoretically, off shift. But he wanted to know if anyone in his department knew what was next. Were they supposed to return to work? Were there incoming flights that needed to be handled? He'd gone outside a couple of times to look up into the skies. There had been no sign of or sounds from aircraft.

When he found no one from Flight Control, Marcus decided to leave. He looked for some sort of ride home. There were no vehicles moving at all. It had been 5 o'clock when whatever this was had happened. Because of that, there'd been plenty of cabs, Ubers, Lyfts, and hotel buses heading to or from the airport. Now, they simply cluttered the roads.

He started walking...

 

[HumanBean]

Daniel Matthews and Henry Gumble (OOC thread)
Sunrise, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (a couple of hours after TLWO)

The Bazaar
Austin, Texas

Daniel grimaced as the sun rose over the H-E-B Market across the street and struck him in the face. He'd fallen asleep in a lawn chair out in front of The Bazaar an hour or so earlier. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked about himself. Austin was a mess. The H-E-B had been looted and, to a degree, destroyed. Most of the buildings up and down the street had suffered some sort of damage. Some, like The Bazaar, had been protected. Daniel hadn't seen the body in the middle of the intersection down the street. It had been removed while he slept.

"We survived," he said to Henry Gumble. The co-owner of The Bazaar was standing nearby. He, too, was surveying the city. Daniel stood, stretched, and slung his assault rifle over his shoulder. "Breakfast?

Henry gestured toward the business's interior. "Soup's on."

Daniel checked with the other protectors of the Bazaar before leaving. Most of them had already gone inside to eat or had had food brought out to them. He ate and drank, all for free, of course. Henry and Eleanor were just that way. Daniel and his fellow gun toters had kept The Bazaar safe through the night. A free meal and a tall glass of milk, prior to going bad, were the least they deserved.

Henry came walking by. Daniel flagged him down, saying, "I'm heading home. Gonna check on my place."

"Thanks, Daniel," Henry said, offering his hand. "You'll come back later?"

"Of course," he answered. Daniel had nothing better to do. He wasn't working currently. He had no girlfriend. He had no local family. "Count on me for security again tonight, Henry."

He snatched up one of the burritos that Henry's cooks had saved after the switch to other cooking means and wandered off.

(OOC: Daniel doesn't need to interact with others for a few days unless he is needed by others. His storyline is more of a long term one.)

 

[Alice2015]

Hannah Wilson and Peter Phillips

~3:00 am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (1 hour after TLWO)

Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
(On the Pacific Coast, 180 miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from here. BTW, this post is a Reader's Digest condensed version of about 6 posts that HumanBean and I wrote. We are both anxious to get on with the story.)

Peter pulled back from the kiss Hannah laid on his lips, saying, "Whoa."

She felt instant regret for having kissed the married man, listening in stunned silence as he explained, "I'd love to do whatever it is that you're thinking, Hannah. To be honest, I'm thinking it, too."

She wanted so badly to say Then just do it! When he looked down to ogle the nearly bared breasts that were just inches from his delicious body, she opened her mouth to actually speak the words. But before she could, he stepped around her, saying only, "We need to keep moving north."
"Yes, of course," she responded meekly. "I, um..." Hannah wanted to apologize, but Peter was already stepping out of the bathroom. Instead, she said, "I'm going to check the bedrooms ... see if there are any clothes. Sometimes these Airbnb owners leave clothes that have been left behind ... well behind ... for the next renter to use."

She turned to look at herself in the mirror, clenching her jaws as she chastised herself for being such a fool. He's married, you fucking idiot! He's married, his wife is probably in Los Angeles, waiting for a cloud of radioactive-- Suddenly, Hannah wondered, Wait, what about his wife? He hasn't said word one about her all night. If she'd in LA...

Hannah wanted to ask Peter if his wife was in danger, but should she? Maybe they lived north of Diablo Canyon, not east or east-southeast where she thought the winds would head this time of the year. But if she was up this way, why hadn't Peter told Hannah, Let's turn east, get my wife, THEN head north?

"Don't ask," she mumbled to herself as she grabbed up her dirty, tattered clothing and headed out to search the bedrooms.

She went through every closet and dresser and found nothing at all, but when she headed to the garage, there Hannah found an old wooden dresser and a trunk that were each full of clothing and other items, presumably left behind by other renters. She spent several minutes digging around until she found just what she needed: warm, dry clothes that fit her relatively well. She didn't find any proper shoes, but then again, her work shoes -- which were very comfortable, even for protected toe boots -- would be just fine for now.

Then, turning with the candle that was lighting her search, Hannah smiled wide and called out, "Peter! I think you better come out here!" When he arrived, Hannah pointed to the racks on the wall, where several mountain bikes were mounted up off the floor. "There's our ride out of here," she said, and then pointing to the toddler trailers in a corner, she added, "And that's how were gonna take everything we need to survive this flight from Diablo."

The two of them discussed Hannah's pillaging and looting through the house in detail as she was doing it. Her basic rationale for taking all of the food, suitable clothing, candles, matches, baseball bats -- for protection -- and more was simple: This whole area's going to be part of the Diablo Canyon Exclusion Zone once the winds shift north and drop radioactive fallout all over everything.

"We might as well make use of all of this," Hannah told Peter, "because in a couple of days, it's all gonna glow in the dark."

That wasn't exactly true, of course -- Chernobyl didn't glow in the dark -- but still, Hannah was correct about how things left behind would soon enough be worthless to people who wanted to live a long healthy life. They filled the two toddler carts with blankets, sleeping bags, water bottles -- both full and empty, the latter for when they found fresh water up north -- and all of the first aid gear they could find. They also filched some tools and various hardware-like supplies: string, rope, a hammer or two, a handsaw. There was no way of knowing whether or not they might need any of this in the hours and, possibly, days ahead.

Peter had figured out a way to use glass bottles and some of the little souvenir oil lamps they'd found in the Airbnb to create headlamps for the bikes. Mounting them, they found that the lights illuminated the way before them wonderfully. When they were finally ready to go, up the road they went. The mountain bikes were good machines, though, the trailers behind them made the trip harder than it would have been without them. They biked up hills and down, only occasionally dismounting when the road's condition was frightening, or they needed to take a breather and down some water.

Although it was hard to tell how much time had passed, it was at least two hours before they came over a hill and spotted a cluster of buildings; they had been listening to the crashing surf out of sight off to their left almost from the moment they'd left Diablo Canyon, but now they could actually see the breaking waves of a little inlet ahead.

"Montaña de Oro State Park," Hannah said when they stopped side by side to look down upon the structures. "It means Mountain of Gold in Spanish. Well, I mean, in English. It means ... oh, you know what I mean." She looked to where the park included a campground but could see neither vehicles nor lights. Fearful of the type of people who might be staying in the very off-the-beaten-path park in late January and remembering that blackouts tended to bring out the worst in some people, Hannah said, "We might want to watch ourselves down here."

They coasted down to where additional roads all met and stopped near a building that had a very old look to it. "This part of the part is the campground, Spooner Cove." She pointed to the building, saying, "That's the Spooner Ranch House, where the Spooner Family lived ... duh. Don't know why I felt the need to..."

Hannah let the thought go. "It's a museum now." She looked around. "I don't see any campers. C'mon, I have an idea. You won't like it, but..."

She pedaled over to the ranch house, dismounted, and unhooked the lamp Peter had made from the front of her bike. She walked up to the museum's door, pressed her face to the glass of a window, and held the lamp close to illuminate the building's interior. "It's a museum and gift shop."

She couldn't remember if she'd already told Peter that. She looked around the campground again for witnesses, then -- without any advance notice -- smashed out a window in the door with a big stone she'd picked up earlier. Little bits of glass sprinkled noisily on the floor inside the building as she cleaned up the jagged edge with the rock. Carefully, Hannah reached through to the other side of the door, found the dead bolt, flicked it, and opened the door. She looked to Peter again, saying, "If they didn't want someone breaking in so easily, they should have had better security."

Inside, Hannah repeated her scrounging as she had earlier in the rental home. They claimed even more little souvenir oil lamps and oil, this time citronella, which would keep the mosquitos away if there were any this time of the year; maps of this area, different regions of California, and even Oregon and Washington State; warm sweatshirts, stocking caps, and other clothes, all of which featured Montaña de Oro State Park, Spooner Cove, the Spooner Ranch House, or California as a whole; and -- to Hannah's great joy -- boxes of candy bars, trail mix, crackers, and chips, as well as bottles of water, soda, and juices.

"These aren't even on display yet," she pointed out about the food and drinks. "I think they were preparing for a grand opening. The Spooner's set themselves up here 150 years ago this March, I think."

The toddler carts were filled almost to overflowing, which Hannah feared might be a problem ahead. But to her great surprise, the road north did a much better job of following the terrain -- far fewer elevation changes, which was odd for the California coastline -- and they found themselves only stopping for water and snack breaks.

Just as the sun was breaking over the mountains to the east, they crested a hill and found themselves looking down at a city that -- like everywhere they'd been this morning -- was suffering the effects of a total and unexplainable blackout. Hannah thought about their approximate location a moment, then informed her riding partner, "That's Baywood-Los Osos. Maybe ... 15,000 people...?"

The town was, of course, in total blackness ... with the exception of the various fires burning here and there. Some of them were definitely structure fires, burning out of control; others -- much smaller and more numerous -- were just burning barrels or bonfires or other utility fires meant to light up the neighborhoods in the hopes of deterring looting and vandalism.

"I don't suppose you know anyone down there?" Hannah asked hopefully.

 

[Alice2015]

Keri Lee and Marcus Washington:

Maybe 8:30 am? Hard to tell (~3-1/2 hours after TLWO)
Sunday, 19 January 2025
Main Terminal
Reagan Washington National Airport:

(Keri's last post is here. Marcus's is here. They go their separate ways for a while now.)

Keri awoke to little girl with whom she'd been napping jostling her, telling her, "Bye ... bye ... bye." The girl's mother -- who'd been helping others out of a great sense of duty -- had trusted the crash survivor with her little one but was now back to claim the child.

"The sun's up," the woman said, explaining, "I'm going to see if I can get us home. Thank you for watching my little girl."

"It was my pleasure," Keri said, smiling and saying to the little girl with that voice one used with youngsters, "Thanks for keeping me company and warm, you little angel."

She woman asked Keri is she was a local, and when the answer was no, she asked, "Do you have a place to stay? You're welcome to come home with us. We're south of here, in Woodbridge, 'bout 25 miles. They're saying that all of the cars are dead, so ... well, I guess we're walking. Unless I can buy bicycles." She laughed, shaking her purse before her and adding, "Don't think that's happening either. They say the credit card machines don't work either."

"I'm heading the other way, into DC, but thanks for the offer," Keri told the woman. Then, opening her own purse, she pulled out several twenty-dollar bills and handed them out. "Get you something with a comfortable seat and multiple gears."

The woman laughed and waved off the money. "No, no, I couldn't."

But Keri took the woman's hand and forced the cash into it. "You can, and you will. Get that little angel home safely." Pulling out one of her contact cards, Keri gave it to the woman, too. "My email is on that. One day in the future, when you sell these bikes to some other person in need of getting home from some emergency, you can Venmo it to me."

They hugged, Keri kissed the little girl's cheek, and the pair went off. Keri spent a few minutes contemplating a plan. She honestly thought that the power would be back on sometime today, so -- since the Inauguration she was here to cover would take place tomorrow -- she only needed to find a place to clean up, rest, change, and catch a taxi into DC.

Before she left the airport, Keri checked with Security at baggage claim to see if anything had been salvaged from the wreck of her plane. As she gestured toward the very unflattering sweat suit and oversized snowshoes she was wearing, she sheepishly told the man, "I was sort of hoping that maybe my luggage had been rescued."

He told her that he'd heard that her plane had fully sunk below the waters of the Potomac. "You won't be seeing your bags until after the NTSB investigation."

There wouldn't be an investigation, of course, but no one knew that now; the majority of people still thought -- or at least hoped -- that whatever had happened at 5 am would be fixed by 5 pm.

Before she left the airport, Keri returned to baggage claim, found a male airport worker with whom she flirted a bit, and managed to get him to search through some suitcases for a more suitable pair of shoes for her to wear. They found a pair of running shoes that were a bit small yet much better than the snow boots she'd been given earlier.

She couldn't walk to the hotel in which she'd reserved a room: too far. She knew that just over the George Washington Memorial Highway there were at least a dozen motels and hotels. She headed that way. It was a hard trip, not just because of the long walk and the miss-sized shoes, but because of the people of authority -- local cops, state police, even federal agents -- stopping people and checking IDs before letting them pass. Keri had been lucky that she'd been carrying her driver's license, work ID, and passport in her purse; if they'd been in her checked back or carry-on, she wouldn't have them now.

Keri stopped at and was sent away from three hotels before she finally found a man who'd even open the door for her. She ended up bribing him with $400 to get, as she requested, a soft, dry bed to sleep in, that's all."

He took her to the desk clerk, split the cash with him, then took her up two flights of stairs, explaining unnecessarily, "The elevators don't work." Using an actual metal master key -- the electronic keycards weren't working, either -- he opened a door, telling Keri, "This is the lowest floor with an available room."

Inside, she caught sight of another woman who immediately began chastising the man in Spanish. He let her go on for quite sometime, then simply said to her in English, "Francine, this woman's your roommate today, and if you don't like it, you can leave." He explained to Keri, "Francine is an employee. She's stuck here until the power comes back. You'll like her. Everyone does."

Keri kind of doubted that; the woman was still chattering at the man, seemingly for not letting her have the room to herself. Keri was too tired to deal with drama, so she simply went over to the second bed, stripped down to her underwear, slipped into the covers, and tried to go to sleep.

<<<<<<< >>>>>>>​

Keri awoke hours later to a nearly dark room and now no roommate. Looking out the hotel window, she could see the last vestiges of the sun upon the city before her as it fell behind the other side of the building.

She found a box filled with things with which she could clean up: hand wipes, bottles of sanitizer, cloth towels, bottles of water. She stripped to nothing and spent a good half an hour washing herself thoroughly. She was nearly done when the door suddenly opened without a knock; she frantically snatched up one of the larger towels and held it before her nakedness as Francine entered, gave her a once over glance, then tossed a bundle of clothing into the nearest armchair.

"I think these fit you," Francine said in a heavy Latina accent. Then, more apologetically, she said, "Sorry I get mad today morning. I thought this my room only." She smiled. "You are welcome to stay with me."

"Well, thank you, Francine," Keri said with a smile. She better wrapped the towel around her, then asked, "You aren't able to get to your home, I take it?"

The woman only shook her head before saying, "I must go work."

Keri wanted to ask more of her but didn't. Instead, she picked through the clothes until she found something suitable to wear. The outfit included a white blouse that was just a bit too big, a pseudo-leopard print skirt that was just right, and a pair of low pumps that, with a little toilet paper in the toes, seemed to fit well enough not to fall off. Rounding it all out, Francine would later provide Keri with a long, faux-fur coat that was both beautiful and warm.

"You walk to the Capitol?" Francine asked later when Keri told her what she needed to do the next day. "This is four miles ... and 4 degrees ... in heels!"

Keri was thankful to learn that the woman had been speaking the temperature outside in Celsius, not Fahrenheit, but she was right about the distance and the improper shoe style. "I'll wear my running shoes to get there. It'll be fine."

The two women went downstairs together, finding that the man who'd taken her money had also arranged for all of the staff and guests to have a decent meal. Anything and everything perishable that was in fear of wasting was brought out for a buffet, and after each of the attendees got their fill and also filled little takeout boxes with more for tomorrow, the man packed everything up on carts and took it out to the street for anyone who was hungry.

"You're staying another night?" he asked Keri after she'd helped him distribute the food. Before she could answer, he stuck his hand out, saying, "Greg. Greg Brothers."

"I'd like to stay another night, if that's okay," Keri said, taking his hand. Remembering what it had taken to get her through the door to begin with, she said, "I'm getting low on cash, but ... I could afford another hundred maybe. One-fifty if I had to...?"

He smiled, still holding her hand in his, as he said suggestively, "Or ... we could have a nightcap together ... and maybe watch the stars come out."

Keri smiled, then chuckled. She wasn't ready to sleep with this man as payment for a warm, dry place to sleep tonight. On the other hand, it had been a while since she'd gotten laid, and what with not knowing how to find Marcus Washington...

"How about a nightcap down here in the bar," she negotiated, finishing as she gently regained her hand for herself, "And we see what happens after that."

In the end, Keri would indeed go to the man's room and engage in the quest for multiple orgasms. He would turn out to be okay in the sack, though -- if she were to be honest -- Keri herself would be more responsible for her own climaxes this night than he was. But it was a good time, and his warm body was nice to spoon into.

(OOC: So, this ends Keri's Day One (Sunday), so she won't be posting again until everyone else is caught up.)

 

[HumanBean]

Peter Phillips, with Hannah Wilson (OOC thread)

~7:30 am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (6 and 1/2 hours after TLWO)

On the outskirts of Baywood-Los Osos
North of the exploding/melting Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
(On the Pacific Coast, 200+ miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from here. That was a great edited compilation. Nice job.)

Peter looked down upon the city of his birth with a heavy heart. There wasn't much to see during the dark hours and blackout both. But what he could see was conflagrations. He presumed it was arson. Maybe accidents. But most likely arson. Why in the world do people react to tragedies by burning their own neighborhoods?

He looked to Hannah and answered her question. "Yes. I know people down there."

He looked immediately before them, then a bit farther. Hannah had led the way most of the ride from the Airbnb house. Now, he told her, "Follow me."

He pushed off and let the bike coast down Pecho Valley Road. The mix of aged pavement and sections of gravel gave way here to well-maintained hardtop. Baywood, as his parents had referred to it in opposition to the politically correct name of Los Osos, took care of their roads. And their parks. And their people.

Many cities didn't anymore. If it didn't make a community's important people either more powerful or more wealthy, many towns and cities simply let things slide. Peter had seen that in other places. Libraries, community centers, homeless shelters, food kitchens. How many had he seen shut down over the last decade?

Peter led Hannah down into Baywood with familiarity. His folks had moved here before his birth. They still had a house here, despite having moved to Florida last year. Florida? Are you kidding me? he'd asked with shock when they'd told him their plans.

Bonfires and burning barrels soon overtook the light of the moon as illumination. They began seeing their first people of the night since leaving the power plant. Peter waved to one man standing on his front porch with a shotgun. He called, "Mister Cramer. It's Peter. Peter Phillips. You doing okay?"

The man ignored him and only stared suspiciously. Peter wanted to stop and go ask about what was happening here. He didn't. He told Hannah quietly, "Keep riding. We're close."

Two blocks later, he turned them up a paved driveway. He dismounted near the back of the house, explaining, "My parents' home. Where I grew up. It's empty. Has been for a month or so."

He didn't explain why the house was empty. Peter pulled out a key ring. He used one of the keys to unlock and open the back door. He said, "We should bring everything inside, I think. Before someone steals it."

They spent several minutes emptying the trailers, disconnecting them, and bringing them and the bikes into the back porch area. The house wasn't large or extravagant. Peter had been an only child. There hadn't been need for his parents to add on or move to a larger place.

"We still have water pressure," he said after checking the kitchen tap. "It would be a good time to get in one last shower before the hot water isn't hot anymore."

He let Hannah clean up first if she chose. He would shower if there was enough hot water after that. If there wasn't, he'd sponge bath it. He checked the cupboards, fridge, and drawers. There was nothing in them, as expected. He did find some basic tools and non-food supplies that might help them.

"I don't think we should stay here long," he told Hannah. "The cloud."

He was talking about the radioactive cloud that would be rising from the melting power plant. Even if the power came back on now, it would be too late for this region of California. One of the reactors had exploded already. The other one surely had as well.

Peter set up lamps and candles to light up the kitchen. He spread out the food they'd brought. It wasn't going to be your normal breakfast, of course. But it was going to be filling at the least.

Hannah sat down with him eventually. Peter talked to her about what had been on his mind since she'd kissed him. "My wife died. Recently. Seven weeks ago. Brain aneurism. It was sudden, unexpected, and quick. One moment she was doing the dishes."

Peter looked to the nearby sink. "She was right there. The rest of us were outside looking for that comet that was zipping past Earth. None of us knew what had happened."

He began to tear up. Peter fought off the tears and continued. "I couldn't stay here anymore. I got an apartment closer to work. Three weeks after Erma's death, my folks moved to Florida. They couldn't stay here either. They'd been very close to my wife. The two of us had been childhood friends. Then childhood sweethearts."

Peter looked to Hannah. He studied her and recalled their embrace earlier. He confessed, "I couldn't make love to you earlier. It wouldn't have been fair. I would have been thinking about my wife. I wouldn't disrespect you that way."

 

[Alice2015]

Hannah Wilson and Peter Phillips

8:00 am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (7 hours after TLWO)

Peter's childhood home, Baywood-Los Osos, California
North of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant
The Pacific Coast, 200+ miles northwest of Los Angeles):

(Continued from here.)

"We still have water pressure," Peter told Hannah, offering her the first shower should she want it.

"Definitely need it," she said, lifting an arm and playfully sniffing at her underarm. "Thank you."

They finished emptying the toddler trailers into the house, after which Hannah went straight to the bathroom. She stripped down, drenched herself sufficiently, then turned the water off to save it. She soaped herself from neck to soles, massaged shampoo into her hair, and turned the water back on.

While rinsing off, her hands passed between her legs, over her labia, and -- once the soap was gone -- deeper between them. She drew a deep breath at the pleasurable feel of her fingers upon her womanhood, and for a moment Hannah considered taking the time to drive herself to a badly needed orgasm. But the hot water wouldn't last long, and she felt selfish using it all up masturbating.

She finished her bathing, dried, and dressed; she donned a pair of pajama bottoms she'd found in the Airbnb's junk trunk, along with both a tee shirt and sweatshirt from the Spooner House gift shop. She went without panties and a bra; she tossed her own underwear into the bathroom's trashcan, presuming that she could find some clean ones today in Baywood.

"I don't think we should stay here long," Peter told Hannah after she'd returned to the kitchen. "The cloud."

Peter had arranged quite a spread of food, snacks, and drinks, into which the very hungry Hannah dove; she was starving and dehydrated both. She felt much better now being clean; she'd pulled her hair back into a high ponytail, using a hair tie she'd found in a bathroom drawer. They chatted about Diablo Canyon and the threat it posed.

Then, after a brief lull in the conversation, Peter told Hannah about his wife's death, her heart breaking for him. Suddenly, she felt like a slut for both having tried to seduce him back at the Airbnb and wanting to masturbate here in the shower to images of Peter's mouth being all over her pussy.

"I couldn't make love to you earlier," he said. "It wouldn't have been fair. I would have been thinking about my wife. I wouldn't disrespect you that way."

Hannah wasn't sure how to feel about that. She wanted to fuck Peter; she knew that. And she hadn't cared that he was married either. Honestly, she wouldn't have cared if while fucking her, he was thinking about his wife or anyone else; pick a celebrity, pick a Playboy Bunny, Hannah wouldn't have cared one bit. She was sure that once he'd fucked her the first time, he'd no longer imagine his dick being anywhere other than inside her.

But now, knowing that he'd lost his wife in such a tragic way...? No, if they were to become lovers, it needed to be at his request. That sucks, Hannah thought to herself.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Peter," she said with a sincere tone. "I ... I don't know what that kind of loss feels like. I've never lost someone that close to me."

She had eaten enough for now and asked, "Where can I lay down? I need to rest." Peter identified a bedroom for her, but before she closed the door, Hannah moved up to Peter and wrapped her arms around his torso. She squeezed him tightly, a cheek against his muscular chest. He felt good against her, and -- again -- all she could think about was being naked with him, feeling his cock thrusting in and out of her.

"If you don't want to be alone tonight," she said softly, "I'm here for you."

She pulled her head back to look up into his eyes and relaxed her hug around him. She wanted to kiss him so badly, but she was torn over her feelings after Peter's news. She would step back, close the door, and go to bed alone ... if he did nothing to lead her to believe that he was in need of intimacy.

 

[Alice2015]

Eleanor Gumble (pic with her husband)

10 am, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (6 hours after TLWO):

Eleanor's husband had been disappointed that the power outage had interrupted all of his early morning cooking. Henry lived for providing breads, pastries, ethnic meats, and so much more to their regulars. Eleanor's area was the arts, crafts, and services that she and their vendors provided. This morning, though, her day began hours earlier than normal and included helping her husband save as much of the half-cooked products as possible.

Both before and after sunrise, a wide variety of people arrived to help the Gumbles get things up and running. By now, you almost wouldn't have known that there was anything wrong at The Bazaar, with the exception of no lights, no heat, no services that required electricity, and all the gunmen out front.

Eleanor spent the morning mostly trying to reassure people -- vendors, service providers, and customers -- that all was well, and that life would go on.

 

[Alice2015]

Samantha "Sammi" Evans and Nicky Long
Eugene, Oregon
3 am, local time (1 hour after TLWO)
Sunday, 19 January 2025:

(Continues from here.)

Sammi watched her father and the stranger she would later learn was named Nicky as they discussed the latter's use of the tiny house. She couldn't see the man clearly, but what she saw interested the girl. He was tall, wide shouldered, manly looking; Sammi couldn't help but wonder if all of him was bigger than most men, and by all she of course meant his cock.

When her father came inside, she grilled him with questions: What's his name? Who is he? What's he doing out here? Where was he going? Carl was suspicious of his daughter's interest, telling her only that the man's name was Nicky and that he'd only be here the one night. "Go back to bed, Sammi."

"But the power's out," she reminded him, quickly adding, "And what about the explosions?"

"There's nothing we can do about the explosions," he said, turning her toward the stairway that led up to her room. "And you're going to sleep, so you don't need electricity. Your mother and I will stoke the fireplace and woodstove, and you can pull your grandmother's comforter out if you're cold. Now, go to bed."

She looked to her mother for help but only got a familiar expression that told her do as your father says. She gave up once she remembered that before the power outage, she'd been getting chastised for staying out beyond her curfew and finally returning home without her bra.

Upstairs, the first thing Sammi did was head for the window that looked down upon the tiny house. Unknown to her parents, the teen had often gone to the window to peep on her uncle, the tiny house's first and only occupant before tonight. Uncle Pete used to walk around the little home naked a lot, something that Sammi loved to peek down at; sometimes, she did so while fondling her clit, ignoring the fact that the man was her mother's brother.

Tonight, she couldn't see much through the window. The lamp and candles her father had given Nicky simply weren't lighting him up well enough. That didn't prevent her from shedding her panties, parting her thighs, and -- after quite a time of buildup -- gasping out as the euphoria exploded through her. She let her breathing and heartbeat return close to normal before slipping into her bed for a goodnight's sleep.