***

 

Brooke sat on her front porch, lips chapped, phone in hand, making her hundredth attempt to get a hold of either Eric or her sister. And just like the previous ninety-nine tries, it failed.

 

She dusted the sand off the screen and shoved the phone in her pocket. She tilted her head back on the chair and rubbed her temples.

 

The sand lingering on her face and the backs of her hands sifted to the ground. She brushed her lips together, feeling the rough skin forming. She picked up the glass of water next to her and drank slowly, savoring the liquid washing over her tongue, bringing a brief moment of relief from the heat before it rushed down the back of her throat.

 

She wasn't going to hear from Eric or her sister. Even if they tried calling back, there wasn't any signal for them to reach her. There wasn't going to be any more information coming her way. She had to make a decision.

 

“Hey, Mom!” John said, yelling from inside the house.

 

“Yeah?” Brooke asked.

 

“Something's wrong with the television. It's blank on every channel.”

 

Brooke looked back down at her phone, her brow furrowed. The announcement of martial law, her cell phone not working, the cable down—all of it was leading to something.

 

“Hey, John, do me a favor and check the Internet for me,” Brooke said.

 

“It's not working either,” John said, shouting from the living room.

 

All communications were shut down, a militant state declared, and the government was covering up the information about the Colorado River being dry for weeks. She steadied herself on the arm of the chair, making sure she wouldn’t fall. She felt light-headed. She closed her eyes, realizing what was happening.