“The bottle says one per day.”
“The bottle didn’t account for this specific scenario.”
“Overdoing it on suppressants isn’t great either, man,” Jalen says. “We could crash hard when they wear off.”
“Better than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“Making complete fools of ourselves. More than we already have.”
“Fair point.”
Dax gets up and retrieves the suppressant bottle from the communal supply.
“This is going to give us a massive headache,” Cole grumbles, swallowing the pill dry.
The rest of us each take one, washing them down with water, and return to our positions in the living room.
The storm is getting worse. The wind sounds like it’s trying to tear the house apart, and something outside—a branch, maybe—crashes against the siding.
“Should I check the shutters again?” I ask.
“You checked them twenty minutes ago,” Cole says.
“Things change.”
“Not in twenty minutes.”
“They could.”
Before we can continue this very productive argument, the lights flicker one more time.
Then they go out completely.
The house plunges into darkness, broken only by the faint glow of our phones.
For a moment, there’s just the sound of the storm and our breathing.
Then the generator kicks on with a rumble, and the recessed lighting glows dim amber. It’s a backup mode. Enough to see, but the main lights stay dark.
“Well,” Cole says into the semi-darkness. “This is going great.”
From down the hallway, I hear Sierra’s door open a crack.
“Everyone okay?” she calls out.
“We’re fine,” I call back. “Generator’s on. You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Her door closes again.
We sit in the dim light, the storm raging outside, an omega in pre-heat down the hall, and I realize with absolute certainty that this is going to be the longest few days of our lives.
“So,” Jalen says, picking up his guitar again. “Anyone want to play cards?”
Dax throws a pillow at him.
