EMP Catastrophe by Hamilton, Grace (books to read in your 20s female .txt) 📗

“I can’t control a lockdown,” Kathleen said, exasperated. “I can’t control the power going out.”

“You promised,” Allison insisted, and Kathleen sighed as Allison’s mouth pulled into a stubborn pout, and her brow furrowed. Seeing Allison’s displeasure made the voice in the back of Kathleen’s head tell her she was a bad mother for forcing her oldest out of everything she’d ever known.

“They really can’t get in contact with anyone,” Max said, almost to himself. Max reached out and touched Kathleen’s arm, then he moved to clasp her hand tightly, as if they were kids again. The table squeaked. The brush of his jumpsuit made a crinkly sound as he leaned closer to her. “Kathy,” he breathed, “you need to get out of here as fast as you can.” His eyes flickered to the shaved-bald white guy, still giving them side-eyes.

“It’s no big deal,” Kathleen said. “Allison can wait. The power will be back on soon. Don’t worry.”

His hand tightened in hers. “Kathleen, you’re not listening to me. Both you and Allison need to get out of here.”

The other prisoners and their visitors shifted around them, voices falling into sharp tight whispers. The soft rasp of static from the guard's walkie-talkie filled the air. A new kind of fear wrapped around Kathleen’s spine—one she felt when her children were out of sight, the same fear that gripped her when she heard Max had been arrested. She feared for his safety. “You’re being paranoid. Nothing is going to happen.” Even to her own ears, she sounded high-pitched with worry.

“I know you’ve lost your respect for me,” Max said, his voice still low and on-edge, “but Kathy, trust me when I say this. You know I’ve been here for over a year.”

“Of course I do,” she snapped, remembering how he’d been remanded without bail during his trial, how over that year she’d watched the bright shine of him become easily spooked and skittish. She tried not to think about what happened to people caught for drugs in prison, had kept her mind clear of all the testimonials about how terrible a place it could be, how prison reform was sorely needed. She laced her fingers through his. The guards were focused enough on trying to communicate through their devices that the touch went unnoticed.

“Well, then take my advice. Trust me here.”

“Is someone blackmailing you?” Kathleen hissed. She looked around her again, taking in the inmates focused on their visitors, some laughing, others smiling fondly. “Max, is someone threatening you?”

His answering smile looked tight and thin.

“Max, is it the guards?” The incredulity in her voice made her feel ridiculous.

“As soon as you have the chance, you take Allison and you leave here, do you understand me?”

“Max, I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t think you have much choice in that matter,” he said, with a note of finality.

4

Ruth couldn’t hide her smile as she gazed out the window of the hotel, seeing the green-sloped mountain covered in trees bracketed by white fluffy clouds up above. Idyllic, she thought with a small sigh of pleasure. Pastoral, even. Beautiful.

She’d begun to take in moments like these when she could—small slips of suspended time where she could marvel at the beauty in everyday things. It brought a sense of peace to her, something she’d realized had been missing from her life. Ever since David’s heart attack, she’d vowed to invest herself in the moment more—whether it be one-on-one time with her grandson or admiring the hotel that would soon become part of their everyday lives.

The room was one of the bigger ones in the hotel, more a suite she’d say, with lush carpet and outdated wallpaper. Bottles of disinfectant and orange zest multi-purpose solution sat on the floor. She wiped away the dust lingering on the windowsills with a rag. The rooms had been boarded up for years, and she thought of them somewhat as time capsules, each one holding a surprise for her and twelve-year-old Patton. The first room had held a music box with gilded edges and a ballerina tottering on her spring post. The second had held a multitude of cicada carcasses, the molts old and fragile as Patton had picked them up with a wide grin and asked if bugs scared her. That child. He had the coloring of his mother, but the mischievous personality of his father. The thought that Matthew had such a close-knit family made her warm with pride.

“Grandma, check this out!” Patton yelled from the bathroom.

Ruth uttered a soft laugh. Whenever he called for her in such a fashion, she knew she wouldn’t be finding old antiques. He’d found something gross. “If it’s more dead bugs, I’m not sure I want to!” she called back to him.

“It’s not, I promise, but you gotta see this.”

She chuckled and swiped the blinds along the window, gathering the last layer of dust. Motes that escaped her rag floated in the sunlight that shone through the window. Already, the room smelled of citrus and evergreen. She walked across the room to the bathroom and stuck her head inside. “What is it?” she asked, matching Patton’s grin.

He hunched against the large jetted bathtub. His hair lay askew, the plain shorts and tee-shirt spotted with dust and dirt. He grinned, dark eyes fixed on her, and said, “Look what I found.”

Ruth scrunched her nose up in distaste at the dead mouse crumpled in the bathtub. Mouse pellets lay around it, along with ripped-up paper, material scraps, and grass. “Must’ve been making a nest,” she said. “Patton, don’t you dare touch it.”

“I won’t,” he said. “Do you think a cat got it? The neck angle looks weird!”

“Might’ve,” she admitted, “which would be good news for us—we might need a barn cat if we’re finding rodents—Patton what did I say, don’t touch it.”

“Sorry,” Patton said, in a tone that said he distinctly wasn’t. “Just looks cool, don’t you think?”

“Sure, if you like dead things,” Ruth admitted. “Get a plastic bag and pick it up, but then throw it