The news anchor's frightened face froze on the screen.
Then, the television went black.
In the same instant, the lights in the kitchen flickered once, twice, and then went out, plunging the room into a dim, gray light from the overcast sky outside. The hum of the refrigerator stopped. The only sound was the distant wail of sirens.
"What was that? A power outage?" Mark asked, his voice sounding too loud in the sudden silence.
Sarah rushed to the living room archway. "Tom? Lily? Are you okay?"
"The TV turned off!" Lily called back.
Quinn was already looking at his phone. The screen was dark. He pressed the power button. Nothing. The battery was fine a minute ago. He held the button down, and the screen finally lit up, but the top left corner read 'No Service'.
"My phone is dead, too," Sarah said, picking hers up from the counter. "It won't turn on at all."
Mark grabbed the family's tablet from its charging stand on the counter. He jabbed at the screen with his thumb. "Let me try the Wi-Fi. Maybe I can find a news stream."
The screen lit up, showing the home page. The Wi-Fi symbol was gone. Mark kept tapping, trying to refresh a news website. For a moment, a social media page started to load, the images appearing slowly. A short video at the top of the feed began to play without sound.
The video was shaky, clearly filmed on a phone by someone who was running. It showed a street that looked like it was only a few miles away. A man in a business suit was running. Another man, wearing normal clothes, was chasing him. The second man caught the first, tackling him to the ground. He then began to hit the man on the ground, over and over, with a degree of violence that made no sense. People in the background were running in every direction.
Then the screen froze. A small spinning circle appeared. The connection was lost.
"Did you see that?" Mark whispered, staring at the frozen image.
Sarah, who had been looking over his shoulder, put a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide.
Quinn felt a switch flip inside his mind. He had seen things like this before, in cities overseas where the government had collapsed. He recognized the pattern. The speed of it. The way basic services all failed at once. The specific type of violence that wasn't for robbery, but just for the sake of hurting someone.
His posture straightened. The feeling of being a guest in the house vanished, replaced by a sense of immediate duty. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and firm.
"Okay. We need to prepare. Now."
Mark looked up from the tablet, his face confused. "Prepare? Quinn, that was… it's a bad riot. A really bad one. But the police will get it under control."
"No," Quinn said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The power is out for the whole area. The cell network is down. The internet is gone. That isn't a riot. That's a system failure. We're on our own."
Sarah looked from Mark's uncertain face to her brother's serious one. She saw something in Quinn's eyes she hadn't seen since he'd come back from the Marines—a complete lack of doubt.
"Mark," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "Let's listen to him. Please."
As if to punctuate her words, a new sound cut through the air. It was a scream. A real one, from outside, maybe a few streets over. It was high and sharp, and it was cut off suddenly.
Everyone in the kitchen froze.
Then came the sound of sirens, much closer this time. A police car sped past their street, its lights flashing silently through the window. It didn't slow down. A second later, another one followed, going just as fast. They weren't stopping to help anyone on this block.
Quinn's point was made without him having to say another word. The police were not coming.
Mark's skepticism disappeared, replaced by a look of dawning fear. He nodded at Quinn. "Okay. What do we do?"
"Good. First, we secure the house," Quinn said, taking charge. He moved with a purpose they had never seen in him before. "Mark, go to every window and every door on the ground floor. Lock them. Close all the blinds and curtains. We don't want anyone seeing inside."
Mark nodded again and immediately moved to the front door.
"Sarah, get the kids. Take them to the upstairs bedroom that faces the backyard. The one with the fewest windows. Keep them in there, keep them quiet, and stay away from the windows."
"Okay," she said, and hurried toward the living room.
Quinn went into the kitchen. "Mark, when you're done with the locks, we need water. The tap is probably still working for now, but it won't last. We need to fill every bottle, pot, and pan you have. Now."
He opened a drawer, rummaging through it until he found a heavy, metal flashlight. He checked its weight in his hand. Then he went to the knife block on the counter and pulled out the largest chef's knife. It felt solid. He wasn't thinking about fighting, he was thinking about being ready if he had no other choice.
Mark finished with the locks and joined him in the kitchen, turning on the tap and grabbing a large pot from a cupboard. The water was running. For now.
Suddenly, the black screen of the television in the living room flickered to life. It didn't show a picture. The screen was solid red. In the middle, in stark white block letters, were the words:
EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM
THIS IS NOT A TEST
A robotic, electronic voice filled the house. It was flat and emotionless.
"A Code Red alert is now in effect for this county. This is not a drill. Stay indoors. Lock your doors. Barricade all entry points. Communications and emergency services are down. Do not approach any individual acting in an erratic or violent manner. Do not attempt to travel. Stay inside your homes and await further instructions."
The voice paused for a single, chilling beat.
"Help is not available at this time. I repeat, help is not available at this time."