Clear Water, Hidden Danger

Chapter 8 - Quiet Hours, Nightfall

The storm hit after midnight. Soft at first, then steady. Rain tapped against the glass in a slow rhythm, too calm for a world that had stopped pretending to be normal.

The generator hummed through it, deep and constant. We still had power. We still had light. We still had something that felt close enough to safe.

Families slept in shifts inside the control room where it stayed warm. Alex had turned the break area into a small infirmary. Blankets over tables. First-aid kits lined up by the sink. The sharp scent of antiseptic cutting through damp air.

Mark sat alone near the far wall, scribbling into his logbook like the city was still running roll call. His pen scratched in neat, stubborn strokes.

“Who do you think’s reading that?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “Procedure keeps order.”

“Order died at four o’clock.”

He underlined the date a little slower this time.

Dave joined me by the monitors. “Let him write,” he murmured. “It’s all he’s got left.”

Across the room, Alex checked another set of ears for ringing. Cami sat beside the heater brushing Marie’s hair, slow and gentle. Gabriel fed crumbs of a granola bar to Chuchis. The smell of food made my stomach twist. None of us had eaten since before sunset.

Then Marie whispered, “Dad… I’m hungry.”

The room froze. Even the generator sounded distant. Eyes drifted toward the shelves. Cleaning supplies. Water. Tools. Nothing that mattered.

Dave rubbed his neck. “There’s food out there,” he said quietly. He nodded at the monitor. The south-fence feed showed the silhouettes of deer standing in the rain like carved statues. “Half a herd waiting to be dinner.”

Alan looked up. “You serious?”

Dave nodded. “Rifles are in maintenance. Chemical chill bay can keep meat cold if we reroute a generator.”

Santiago finally spoke without lifting his head. “Temp control still works. He’s right.”

Mark shook his head. “We’re not butchers. That’s contamination risk.”

Dave turned toward him. “You want to starve clean or eat dirty and live?”

Silence spread. Even the rain seemed to hold its breath.

Alex glanced at me, then back at the cameras. “If you bring anything in, process it outside. Gloves, bleach, full cleanup. I’ll prep the area.”

Dave nodded. “After the next tremor, then.”

The rain hammered harder, filling the quiet where voices used to be.

The NOAA radio hissed once. Static. Nothing else. Mateo sat beside it, staring at the dark hallway like something might crawl out. “They’re out there,” he whispered. “By the river.”

No one asked who “they” were.

At 1:47 a.m., the generator dimmed. The lights sank a shade, then steadied again. A low mechanical tone rose somewhere in the distance, long and patient.

The walls trembled. Spoons rattled on the table. The air thickened until breathing felt like work.

Alex covered Marie’s ears and pulled her close.

Dave’s voice was low. “That’s not thunder.”

“No,” I said. “It’s early.”

The vibration built, slower than before. Not violent. Just steady. A long wave crawling through concrete, ribs, teeth.

Someone started counting under their breath. “One… two… three…”

By the time it ended, it had lasted forty-seven seconds.

The rain kept falling, soft and patient, pretending nothing had happened.

Dave checked his watch, face tight. “That one lasted longer. Nearly a minute.”

I looked out at the fence line. The deer were still there. Still facing the same direction. Still not moving. Their eyes glinted in the floodlight like polished stones.

“No,” I said quietly. “It’s getting stronger.”