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You don’t seriously think I’d go chasing after that sorry excuse for a relationship! God, talk about insensitive. What kind of Neanderthal walks out on you just when you need him, just hours after your dog dies?!!”

She could feel his jaw muscles working against her forehead. “I guess any excuse is as good as another.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re going to defend—”

“Iris.” He spoke calmly, rationally. “I was crazy about Bluto too, but—”

“It’s not just about the dog. It’s about the principle of the thing!

It’s about trust and honesty, and understanding, and being able to communicate with each other. That man—”

“Wasn’t much of a man,” he added quietly. “Men don’t run away. They might walk, if it’s for the best. But they do it with honor.

Or sadness, I guess. So if he ran, I’d say you oughtta count yourself lucky.”

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“Mr. Carr,” she sighed. “If only life was as cut-and-dry as you think. I don’t expect you to understand. You live here all alone, and you like it. And that’s fine. You’re independent, and you’re tough.

I’ve watched you for years. I’ve seen you cut yourself while you’re whittling away on your precious wood, wipe the blood off, and go right back to work.” She moistened her lips with the cool, damp glass.

“But some of us bleed a little more than others.”

“It’s alright to bleed. It’s just not healthy to give up whittling.”

“Gary was my first—my only serious relationship. You know that. You’d think he’d understand me. Bluto ate with me, slept with me, traveled with me, took care of me…” She smothered a sniffle.

Dammit, it was impossible to make this uber-independent man understand such a loss. “It was a little tough, losing them both around the same time.”

“We’ve never talked much about this. You never wanted to talk about this. You’ve never even told me the reason behind the breakup.” He ran a finger down the nape of her neck. “I’m here for you, y’know.”

So he was. As he’d always been. But her breakup with Gary was not something she cared to share. “Never mind. We’re here for a
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good time, and if I talk about this I’ll get upset. Don’t want me upset, do you?”

“No.”

“Then let’s forget about men and dogs. Oops, I’m being redundant.”

“Hey! Hey!”

“Sorry. But this is supposed to be a celebration. Let’s drop the subject. I don’t want to talk about Bluto or Gary. Ever.” She effectively ended that thread of their conversation by nearly emptying her glass. “But I am ready to move on and take a lover. And that’s all I want right now. I don’t want to deal with the ‘love’ crap. No relationship, no understandings, no searching for the perfect ‘soul mate’. Just sex. There’s nothing wrong with having sex. God knows you’ve had your share and then some.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to jump in the sack with just anybody,”

he grumbled. “There are toys, y’know.”

She swatted his thigh, resting her head affectionately on his shoulder. There wasn’t another man in the world she could comfortably have such a conversation with. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I know women who have hired Sherpas to guide them up
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this little mountain of yours, just so they could talk their way into your bed. Like Shasta…or Sheena…or Sheila, or whatever the hell her name is.”

“I haven’t seen Sheila in over six months.”

Iris turned to him, stunned. “Russ! You never told me you two broke up. I’m so sorry. What—”

An explosive barrage of booms shook the house, and he irritably butted his cigarette. “It’s not important. What is important is that this freaking weather is gonna take out my dish if this keeps up.”

His thumb worked the remote, jabbing harder with each passing shadowy station. The sounds of the static sizzled in the air, occasionally accompanied by broken sentences and shivering newscasts.

“…swarms of them have turned up in the Midwest,

destroying…”

“people running for their lives…hoards of…

“…devastation…”

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He clicked to another channel and laughed, delighted. “Hey, look! It’s ‘Attack of the Killer Tomatoes’! Even you can’t be afraid of this one.” He gently bussed her cheek, his eyes bright with amusement. “Let’s just relax, hmmm? Enjoy each other and a silly, uninterrupted movie.”

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEEEP!!

This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System…”

He groaned, slouching back against the cushions. “Well, almost uninterrupted. Damn public service announcements.” He cursed beneath his breath as a flurry of pixels possessed the screen. The television went dark for a moment, and blinked back to life, grayish-white, with no discernible picture, and sputtered a fragmented sentence.

“This is NOT a test…”

The television screen flatlined, winked, and whispered into black.

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They sat, still and unmoving, for several minutes, continuing to stare, dumbfounded, at the darkened screen. Even the thunder seemed to dissipate into silence at the announcement, and only the dry, spitting sound of the fire could be heard in the darkness.

They turned to face each other at the same moment, speechless, open-mouthed and stunned, before swiveling woodenly back toward the dull, deadened screen.

“Russ?”

He made no answer. The stillness of the room was so intense she could hear the hard blinking of his eyes in the ghostly silence.

“Russell?” Iris whispered as if someone were eavesdropping, her wide eyes still glued to the TV. “Did—did you just hear what I heard?”

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Noisily scratching his beard, he continued to stare. “I heard.”

He jabbed a thick thumb upon the remote, trying to regain the picture. “I just don’t believe what I think I heard.”

She reached over to turn the switch on the lamp beside the sofa.

Nothing.

“Russ. The power’s gone.”

He lit another cigarette, easing toward the edge of the sofa.

“That’s okay. I happen to know how that particular Star Trek episode ends.”

“Russell?” She kept blinking at the screen in disbelief. “They—they said something about swarms. And hoardes. And devastation.

They said this was not a test. Russ? What does that mean?”

“It means there’s been a mistake. Or it means some genius finally figured there should be a severe weather warning. Or it means we caught the tail end of some garbled message and misunderstood.”

He leaned forward, and she could feel his biceps tense as his eyes narrowed, willing the television back to life. “It means,” he said quietly, finally, “that my plans for the evening are shot. Stay here. I’ll get some light.”

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She briskly brushed her forearms, suddenly cold without the warmth of him beside her. He was right, of course. A warning of severe weather, possibly a tornado. It wasn’t unusual this time of year. Picking up a word here, a word there—who could tell?

She watched in silence as he returned, arms full of large, columnar candles, his skin like red earth in the light of the fire. He placed them in strategic locations, sparking them one at a time, until the living room pulsed with lances of light. “What kind of Trekkie are you?” she deadpanned. “No spare generator?”

“Never bothered,” he shrugged. “If the power goes out, I wait until it comes back on. It always does.” He retrieved two oil lamps from a back room, using his lighter to torch the wicks. She gave him a blank stare as he opened one of the windows to a height of about three inches, allowing the gale to gush in. “I want to be able to hear,”

he explained. “A sudden loud, rushing wind…sound of a freight train…landing of an alien ship…stuff like that.”

“Oh, that’s good, that’s good. You got joke, eh?”

“Let’s crack open another bottle.”

Iris tilted her head, confused. He intended to go on with the evening as if nothing had happened? Had she somehow
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overestimated the implications of the announcement she’d heard?

“You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously.”

“Well, I know it’s a tough break, but we can always rent the

‘Killer Tomatoes’ movie some other time…”

“You think this is funny!” she gasped. “We have no idea what’s happened! Aren’t you even a little bit…nervous?”

“About what?”

“About what?! What about the destruction, the devastation?”

“Babe, there’s always some kind of ‘devastation’ going on somewhere in the world at any given moment.” He grinned, spreading his arms wide, looking around. “And it doesn’t seem to have hit home, does it?”

“Oh, now there’s a selfish attitude.” She shifted uneasily on the couch, peering suspiciously at the hard, broken shells with paper entrails on the dining room table. “Russell? Do you…do you remember what the fortune cookies said?”

“Something about not reading while you eat?”

“Yours said ‘all of your problems will soon be resolved’.

Remember that? And mine—mine said something like ‘live each day as if it is the last’.”

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He paused with bottle in hand, blinking. “And?”

“Well, doesn’t all of that sound…well, a little ominous to you?”

He frowned, grabbed her empty glass and sniffed it carefully.

“Are you sure you and I drank out of the same bottle?”

“Russell—”

“Iris. You have the imagination of a visionary. I admire it more than you know. You’re the only person in the world I’d trust to add color to my carvings. But when you start believing that little stale fortune cookies are somehow delivering warnings of imminent danger, I have to think you’ve had too much to drink. Or not enough.

Let’s try another glass and see.”

“Oh, and standing there cracking jokes makes more sense?

There could be a deadly tornado on its way, or some enemy attack, or the world could be coming to an end—and you think this is funny?!”

“No. But by the time we finish this bottle I will.”

Okay, she might be overreacting a tad—but he was seriously pissing her off. “Mr. Carr. Even if you’re not worried, there are other people to consider. You should get on the phone! Call somebody!

Find out if they’re okay, if we’re the only ones who heard this weird message.”

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He paused in the process of working the cork. “Why? Do you figure the aliens tapped into this particular television, made the announcement just for you and me?”

“Russell!”

“Oh, relax, Iris. What’s the point in panicking? It’s just a blackout.”

Of course it was. Common sense told her it was. But the queasy feeling in her stomach wouldn’t allow her to settle for that. “Then call the power company. Report it. Invite the crew over for cocktails. Do something!”

He lifted the telephone receiver in casual resignation. “It’s just the power of suggestion, babe. My fault. All those movies about the end of the world. You’re gonna feel awfully silly when we find out it’s all just a misunderstanding, and...”

She watched as he stopped cold, as the stunted breeze through the window made the flames of the candles waver.

A violent tremor shook his powerful body as he paused to listen, the phone pressed hard against his ear. Never, ever in all their years of friendship, had she known him to be afraid of anything. “Russ?”

“Omigod.” His voice was hoarse, barely recognizable.

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Iris gripped the armrest of the couch, a jolt of fear snaking down her spine. The muscles of her legs tensed, ready for flight, and she could barely speak. “Oh, no.”

His eyes, glazed and unseeing, fastened on her as his hand convulsed around the receiver. “It’s…it’s…”

“Oh, God, Russ. God, what is it?”

“It’s too late,” he whispered, dropping the telephone. “Too late to run.” His eyes went wide as his jaw dropped in horror. “They’re coming. They’re coming for the celibates…”

“You shit!” She threw the nearest pillow at him as he replaced the receiver, grinning. “You scared the piss out of me.”

“Lighten up, little sis. It’s dead. Figured it would be, with this kind of wind and ice.”

Jesus. She felt so tense that a sudden movement might make her break. Where had all the comfy-coziness gone? “I don’t suppose you have a battery-operated radio?”

“No. Got a battery-operated karaoke machine, though.”

“Useless. You can’t sing a lick. Cell phone?”

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“I never remember to charge the damn things. But I have a glow-in-the-dark watch around here somewhere. At least we’ll know what time it is, and—hey! Where are you going?”

She was up and moving toward the hall closet. He could laugh it all off as he pleased, kick back and wait to see what was coming, but she had no intention of remaining in the dark. “I’m going to get my jacket. Then I’m going to take your car keys and drive into town, and find out what the hell’s going on.”

“No, you’re not.” His tone was cool and controlled. “I won’t give you the keys.”

“Fine.” She glared at him, reaching for her pea coat. “Then I’ll walk. I’ll send Mr. Spock back with a landing party to check on you.”

“Iris.” He grabbed her, holding her shoulders firmly. “You can’t go. This house sits on a serious hill. A very steep slope for nearly a quarter mile with a narrow drive and no guardrails. In case you haven’t noticed, this is an ice storm. Tires and tennis shoes will have no traction. You could go right over the side. We’ll just have to wait things out here. Besides,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.