by R. A. Rock
As I came around the curve in the road, the Miles Hart Bridge — formerly called simply the Burntwood bridge — appeared before me and I shivered. When my car passed onto the bridge, I felt my abdominal muscles tighten and I held my breath.
I wasn’t afraid of water. I was trained and had worked as a lifeguard when I was a teenager. I loved to swim. It wasn’t that.
But that fast flowing, icy cold river had taken so many lives. And many of those people I had known. People in canoes. People on snowmobiles going through the ice. People on snowmobiles falling off the bridge. So many lives. All claimed by the dangerous river.
It freaked me out.
I drove on to my parents’ house and checked it. I have to go there every day that they’re away to make sure the pipes haven’t frozen. If nobody was checking it and the pipes froze, then their insurance wouldn’t cover it.
They were away right now visiting my brother and his brand new girlfriend in Edmonton.
Everything seemed fine, so I locked up, and went home. The place felt empty and sad without my mom and dad, and I didn’t want to hang around there.
LATER THAT NIGHT, I sat under the soft warm light of the floor lamp that stood behind my couch. I wore cuddly navy blue jammies with polka dots on them that my mother had given me. There was the smell of the chocolate chip cookies that I had baked filling the air and I nibbled on one as I pulled my laptop into my lap and flipped it open, typing in the password.
I scrolled through my feed, reading comments and liking posts. There were more than a few jokes about some EMP — electromagnetic pulse — a few about solar flares and several about the end of the world.
My friends were a bunch of weirdos.
I checked my email and then when my account closed, I noticed an article on the Yahoo website about a solar flare or a CME that was supposedly the size of the Carrington event — whatever that was. There was a cool picture of the sun looking like a burning ball of red hot lava that I instinctively clicked on.
After a few minutes of reading I understood. It turned out that a CME was a Coronal Mass Ejection, which was basically a really big solar flare. The Carrington event was a severe CME that had happened in 1859 and blew out the rudimentary electrical grid and telegraph systems that existed at the time because the wires couldn’t handle all that energy. Turned out that in 2012 a really big CME, comparable to the Carrington event only just missed Earth.
If that one would have hit, it would have taken out all of our electrical and communications systems. People were comparing the CME that was coming towards the earth right now to that one. God, I hated fearmongering. I shivered at the thought of the power grid going down, then closed out of the browser. It was too unnerving to think about.
I texted with my mum for awhile, laughing at the funny emojis she liked to use. Then I got up and put on the kettle. I filled up my hot water bottle and wrapped it in a baby blanket. I took it to the living room, finding comfort in its warmth. Everything was cozy and peaceful in my little home. And I was contented enough, for the moment.
I curled up on my couch again, reading on my phone when suddenly the lights went out. I waited a moment to see if they would come back on like they usually did.
They didn’t.
Hm.
Usually Manitoba Hydro had the electricity back on really quickly. Especially in April, at the end of winter/beginning of spring when the weather could still be really cold and people depended on hydro-electricity to heat their houses. The weather was warming up because spring was on its way and the temperature had been hovering close to zero degrees Celcius. But still. It would get pretty cold in here without the baseboard heaters coming on.
I shrugged and returned to my reading — my phone still had plenty of battery.
An hour later, the electricity still wasn’t on. I was a little surprised but I figured it would come on sometime soon. I went around to each room that had had a light on and turned them all off. No sense having the power come back on and have every light in the house glaring. Especially when that would likely happen in the middle of night.
When I peeked out my window, the entire street was shadowy. Feeling mildly uneasy, I brushed my teeth and crawled into bed in the dark. The sight of all that blackness was a little disturbing but I figured that the night animals would appreciate the lack of light pollution. And on that happy thought, I fell into a deep sleep.
I WOKE UP at what felt like my usual time, which was six o’clock. It was still dark out. I remembered the blackout and listened for the ticking sound that meant the heaters had come on.
I was greeted by a deep silence.
I climbed out of bed and peeped through the window, shivering as the cold of the room wrapped around me stealing all the warmth from my body.
No street lights.
A stab of worry pierced me at that moment.
I couldn’t ever remember hydro being out for this long before. This wasn’t a usual power outage.
I shook myself and tried to stay positive, despite the uneasiness that was fluttering around the edges of my consciousness.
The hydro was out. That was all. I would have to make do this morning without electricity. No big deal. I didn’t use that much power to get ready in the morning, did I?
I didn’t know if there would be hot water, so I decided to skip the shower till I got home from school.
Layers. I needed plenty of layers. I was so damn cold.
I would wear my usual clothes and then my big wool skiing sweater over top until it was time to leave.
I grabbed my long underwear — that fit like a pair of leggings but were warmer — and pulled them on, tugging on my socks and putting on jeans over top of the long underwear. Then I found a T-shirt and looked through my sweaters till I found a black turtleneck that I put on, yanking it down. The enormous wool skiing sweater was in the closet and I got lost in it, trying to find the neck hole.
But once I put it on, I knew it would keep me warm till I could put my outdoor clothes on. I went to the bathroom and tried to stop shivering. I braided my long brown hair simply and made my way through the dim house to the kitchen.
Getting myself a big glass, I sliced a lemon in half and squeezed it into the glass which I then filled with water. The fresh, tangy scent of the lemon hit my nose and I inhaled deeply. I licked my fingers and the sourness stung my taste buds.
I said a thank you, as I often do, for the food that I have. I thought about the lemon that I had just used that had come from Florida, so far away.
Someone had planted the tree and nurtured it until it bore fruit. Once that fruit was mature, someone had had to pick it and pack it, and then it had to be shipped thousands of kilometres north till it got to the grocery store, where someone had put it on the shelf. I had bought it and brought it home.
So much energy.
So much work.
So many people labouring.
Just to get lemon in my water this morning.
I poured another glass. At least the water was still working for now. That gave me an idea and I zipped to the bathroom, put in the plug, and turned on the cold tap.
If the water stopped running, I would be in trouble. Filling the bathtub was a just-in-case sort of procedure to ensure I would have water. I hoped it wouldn’t freeze while I was gone.
But that was silly. The heat would warm the house up during the day when the electricity came back on and I wouldn’t have to worry about the water freezing. I shook myself and tried to be realistic.
So, this outage was longer than usual. So what?
The water rushed out, pure and clean, and I stared at it. I felt strange — struck by how beautiful and clear it was. And how easily it flowed out of the tap and into the bathtub.
So easy.
So effortless.
Like my life. Filled with small luxuries that I didn’t even notice. I stared at it a moment longer, feeling a sense of apprehension, though I wasn’t sure why.
I went back t
o the kitchen and drank the rest of my lemon water, throwing a few energy bars into my bag. I needed to go find out if it was only my street that was experiencing the blackout. And what Hydro was doing to get it fixed. I only hoped again the pipes in my house wouldn’t freeze before the heat came back on. Even though it was April and supposedly spring, the temperature was -15C this morning and there was a windchill that made it feel like -20C.
I went to the door and grabbed my ski pants (also called snow pants by some). These were thick pants with an outer layer that was fairly waterproof, an inner layer, and some insulating material in between. I pulled them on over my jeans. Then I put on a hoodie and zipped it up.
Next came my snow boots, which had an outer layer that was hard plastic on the bottom with a nylon top part that could be tied both on the foot and at the top just under my knee. I tied them so that snow wouldn’t get in and also to keep the boot on tight. Inside the boot was a cozy felt liner. The two layers together made the boots extremely warm — mine were rated to -47C. I pulled my ski pants down over the boots.
I put on my tuque and wrapped my scarf around my neck. My coat went over all and I zipped and snapped it up. Probably it would warm up by the end of the day so I wouldn’t need half this stuff — that was the difficulty of spring in the north. It was winter in the morning and summer by the afternoon. You never knew how to dress.
I had decided to walk to work, needing to calm the strange and restless feelings that were swirling in my stomach as I wondered what the hell was going on.
Nessa
As I arrived at the parking lot, I saw that my usual spot was taken by a car I didn’t recognize. Not that it mattered because I wasn’t driving but it made me feel uncomfortable anyway. There was a clump of people standing near the teacher’s entrance. The disquiet I had felt since last night ramped up as I approached the group and tuned in to what they were saying.
“It must be the whole town, then,” one of my colleagues said, looking around the group. “Hey, Nessa, is your power out?”
I nodded, joining the bunch of teachers.
“It went out last night.”
“Ours too,” said a teacher that lived on the other side of town.
There was a chorus of comments from everyone else echoing the same thing. The hydro was out all over Thompson.
“So, no one’s got power?” I said, needing to confirm.
Heads shook all over the group.
Everyone’s face was solemn.
“I heard that the city is setting up a bulletin board at city hall for them to post announcements.”
That made sense, since they couldn’t post updates on social media or on their website.
“Has Hydro announced when they’ll be getting it back up?” I said at the same time as the music teacher asked a question.
“Has anyone heard what actually knocked the power out? In all the forty years I’ve lived here, the power’s never been out for this long.”
I stared at her, concerned.
She was right.
This was messed up.
And scary.
No one knew what had taken down the power over the entire city.
Then the principal came out.
“Hey everyone,” she said, sounding calm. “School’s closed since we have no heat till the power comes back on. Probably by tomorrow. You’ll get an electronic voice message or a text when it does. Otherwise, enjoy your day off.”
I smiled.
This was awesome.
Then I remembered that I didn’t have any heat either. This was not awesome. Usually, I loved unexpected days off. We didn’t get them very often. But today, I would rather have a normal day at school, warm and comfortable in my classroom, than be at home in this situation — sitting there in the cold, wondering what the heck was going on.
“There’s no need to worry,” the principal said. But I could tell that behind her cheerful words, she was worried. “You’ll probably get a call or text tonight or tomorrow morning. Stay warm. I think if you’re worried about your house being too cold, you can stay at the rec centre tonight. The ice is already out of the arena because of the Track Meet last week. And they have the generator running to heat the place. There’s a generator at the hospital, too.”
We all nodded.
The thought was sobering. The electricity at the hospital would last only as long as the gas did.
“I’ve heard that the grocery store and Canadian Tire are still open because they have generators to run them, as well,” another teacher piped up.
“Okay. So, I’ll see you all, probably tomorrow. Try not to use too much of your phone batteries so you can get the message when it’s sent out.”
There were goodbyes and several people broke off into smaller groups speaking in soft tones.
It occurred to me at that moment that I should text my parents. They lived on an acreage north of Thompson but were out of town right now visiting my brother. I wondered if any of this craziness was affecting them or if it was only Thompson. Surely it couldn’t be that CME thing I had read about. But if it was, the article had implied that it would knock out electrical grids worldwide. The thought made me feel panicky and I pushed it away.
I pulled out my phone. I had a no-phone-in-the-morning rule, so I hadn’t looked at it yet today. I had charged it last night before the hydro went out, like usual, and I always turn it off at night, so it was still at 82%. That gave me some small comfort.
I put my thumb on the button and the phone opened. My eyes instantly hit on the words in the top left.
No service.
I frowned, feeling decidedly uncomfortable at the thought of not having any signal.
How would I find out about my family? If they were alright? My parents were away visiting my brother and his new girlfriend in Edmonton. And I had no signal on my phone and couldn’t contact them.
Seventeen years ago, this wouldn’t have been such a big deal. When I was in university, I went days or maybe even a week without talking to them on the phone. But now. I could text any of them at any moment and we were in contact almost every day — sometimes a few times a day.
Being out of touch with my family was not something I wanted to think about. And it wasn’t like I had a landline to call them on — of course my brother didn’t either. I drew a deep breath and then let it go.
It was going to be okay.
This was probably some freak Thompson thing. Maybe it even had to do with the mine. Everything was probably business-as-usual down south and in the rest of the country. We were just cut off. For a day. It wasn’t the end of the world.
I nodded at my own comforting thoughts.
No, of course it wasn’t the end of the world.
But just in case, I was going to go stock up on some food that would keep — maybe some extra supplies. More matches. Plastic bags. Blankets. That sort of thing.
I tucked the phone back in my inside pocket because leaving it out too long in the cold would kill the battery or damage the phone itself. Speed walking back home, I jumped straight into the car and headed for the grocery store. The unsettled feeling continued during the short ride across town to the mall.
Of course, it wasn’t the end of the world.
But it didn’t hurt to be ready for anything.
Nessa
The store was warm, bright, and empty at this time in the morning. But in contrast to the cheery feel, the few people who were there seemed nervous and on edge.
As I made my way through the grocery store, grabbing the biggest bags of rice and as many different kinds of beans as I could find — all organic of course — and putting them in my cart. I thought of the supplies I had at my cabin — there was a lot of the same kinds of dried food I was buying now, plus seeds for growing a garden, and matches — lots of matches.
I wished I was there because that would mean that I could have a fire — something that was not possible at my house here in town, which didn’t have a woodstove. But that was
ridiculous thinking. The lights would come back on and I would have to go to work. Everything was going to be okay, I reminded myself.
Still, I moved to the next aisle and piled ten bags of different kinds of nuts in my cart which was starting to get full. I wasn’t going to bother with fresh food, since I had that at home. And that wasn’t what this trip was about. I wanted things that would keep and that would fill my belly and provide good nutrition and energy. Just in case.
Not that I was really worried.
I mean, I wasn’t.
I had faith in the modern world I lived in.
It would keep on going forever. That’s what we did. We lived our comfortable lives of meaninglessness and it just went on and on. Nothing ever changed.
I was suddenly jolted out of my thoughts by the sight of one man grabbing another guy’s white bag from the pharmacy, and taking off towards the till.
He was stealing.
Seriously. No word of a lie.
In plain sight.
Right in front of everyone.
I couldn’t believe it.
I continued to watch the unfolding scene in astonishment as the other guy tore after the man, catching him at the end of the aisle. He got a fistful of shirt, hauled back and punched the thief. A fistfight ensued, with both men getting in a couple more punches before the thief was finally knocked to the floor.
The other guy snatched the bag back, holding it to his chest as if it were precious.
I was so shocked that I had been standing there frozen. I mean, this is Canada. I say sorry when someone else bumps into me. The word excuse me is heard more than hello. Physical violence in the grocery store was beyond strange. I had never seen anything like it.
“What the hell are you doing?” the man yelled at the thief, still with his back to me. The voice seemed familiar but I couldn’t place it.
The other guy scrambled up from where he’d been lying on the plastic tiles, winded. He held his hands up and backed away. He shook his head.
“Nothing. I wasn’t…”