Silenced

by Jerry B. Jenkins

You just might.

  Paul kept glancing at his watch, and Ranold finally noticed. “Almost time for the news.” He switched on the TV. The last couple of minutes of a five-thirty sitcom were playing.

  Paul drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

  “Couldn’t be more proud of you,” Ranold said. “Hey, you haven’t touched your Coke.”

  “Not thirsty, I guess.” In truth, he wanted to be with Jae right now. He could hear her talking with her mother and the kids playing in the other room.

  At six straight up, it was as if the power went out in the house. Everything went black—every light, the television, everything. Brie screamed.

  Ranold said, “What the—?” and Paul heard him rise and move to the window, pulling back the curtain. “Streetlights too,” he said. “Power outage.”

  And just like that, the lights came back on. The kids laughed. Margaret said something in a high-pitched, relieved voice. The TV picture sprang back to life, showing the anchorman slumped over the desk and his partner, a woman, standing, screaming for help.

  “Would you look at that?” Ranold said, leaning forward. “Guy looks like he passed out. Heart attack or somethin’.”

  The phone rang, and Paul heard Margaret answer. “Aryana,” she said, sounding alarmed, “what’s wrong?”

  Jae looked up at her mother as the kids came bounding into the kitchen. “The lights were off!” Connor shouted, just as Margaret slumped to the floor, the phone clattering away.

  “Daddy!” Jae called, and the men came in from the den as she picked up the phone. “Aryana?”

  The woman was hysterical. “He just collapsed!” Aryana said. “When the power went out, or whatever happened, even our headlights went out. I told Berl to stop, but I could tell he wasn’t steering. I grabbed the wheel and could feel him just sitting there limp. I was able to get my foot on the brake when we hit the curb. Then the lights came back on. But, Jae, he’s dead!”

  “What?”

  “He’s dead! No pulse, nothing!”

  “Dad!” Jae said. “You need to talk to Aryana.”

  Jae took over trying to rouse her mother, who had fainted at the news, while Ranold took the phone.

  “That can’t be, Aryana!” he said. “He’s a young man! Call the paramedics!”

  Paul’s molar vibrated with a tone, and Ranold turned away as if also taking a call. “I’ve got to take this, Aryana,” he said. “Get help and call us back.”

  Paul answered his phone. It was Enzo Fabrizio from Rome. “It’s happened, Paul. Are you watching the news?”

  Ranold, pale, answered his private phone again. “Oh, Bia! No!” he said. “My son too!”

  He slammed his fist on the kitchen counter. “I’ve got to get to Berlitz and help Aryana,” he said. “Paul, will you come?”

  “Let him stay with Mom, Dad,” Jae said.

  “Ranold,” Paul said, “it’s happened.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “The curse. The plague. The warning from the underground.”

  “What? What!” Ranold looked wildly at everyone in the kitchen, his eyes finally landing on Connor. “But, but your son, your firstborn son is fine!”

  The kids burst into tears. Ranold stormed out.

  Jae helped her mother into a chair and fanned her. “You kids help me with Grandma. Now! Get me a glass of water. Paul, you’d better check the news.”

  Paul made his way back into the den, where news bulletins of millions of deaths poured in from around the globe. And knowing his and Jae’s and the kids’ lives would never be the same, Paul heard the report from Bern, where it was announced that International Government Chancellor Baldwin Dengler was mourning the loss of his own eldest son.