...
Connection failed.
“Shit.” I close the laptop harder than necessary.
Fine.
The storm will clear eventually. And then everything will reconnect and I’ll get her out of here.
One more day. Two at most.
I can handle that.
Just as long as I don’t get too close to those dangerous curves again...
Coffee, I remind myself.
But when I spot my reflection in the shiny surface of the espresso machine, I realize that first, I need a shave.
I head to the frigid guest bathroom and, using the mirror, make a quick pass over my face with the electric shaver. Satisfied, I return to the kitchen.
The espresso machine beckons on the counter.
Main power is still out. I could turn on the generator. But that would mean suiting up and heading outside. Not to mention wasting precious diesel fuel.
Just so I can make a fucking coffee.
The espresso machine stays off.
I eye the French press sitting next to it. Vin left it as backup. Simple device. Glass cylinder. Metal plunger.
How hard can it be?
First I need boiling water.
I fill the kettle and set it on the gas range. Press the ignition button.
Nothing.
Right. No power means no electronic ignition.
The range runs on propane from the buried tanks next to the detached garage. At least those are still full. Thomas checked them before he left, said they’d last months. One thing that’s working in my favor.
I set the kettle aside, then I search the drawers until I find matches. Strike one. Hold the flame near the burner while turning the gas knob.
The gas ignites with a violentWHOMP.
Flames shoot up a foot high.
Heat blasts my face and I lurch backward, nearly dropping the lit match.
Fuck.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I can feel the phantom heat on my eyebrows.
I quickly blow out the match and turn my attention to the foot high flame. I hastily twist the gas knob down and the flame lowers to something more reasonable.
Christ.
