Clear Water, Hidden Danger

Chapter 7 – Aftershock

The pulse ended, but the silence that followed carried more weight than the noise. It pressed in from all sides, like the air itself had forgotten how to move.

The lights steadied after one last flicker. Dust hung in the orange glow of the emergency bulbs. No one spoke. We just listened to the sound of our own breathing.

Then the NOAA radio crackled to life.

“…bridge collapse… the Mormon Bridge… vehicles in the water… response delayed due to communication loss…”

The loop repeated once and died in static.

Mateo’s knees gave out. Dave caught him before he hit the floor.

“Easy,” Dave said, lowering him into a chair.

“They were on that bridge,” Mateo whispered. “My wife, and son… she said the light turned red, but they weren't far.”

No one answered. Half the crew stared at the ground. The rest stared at nothing.

Mark broke first. “We need to contact someone—county, FEMA, anybody. There has to be a chain of command.”

I looked at him. “You think anyone’s answering phones right now?”

He glared, voice shaking. “There are procedures for emergencies like this. We can’t just seize control of a municipal facility.”

Dave turned. “You think jurisdiction matters when half the city’s underwater?”

Mark said nothing, rifling through paperwork that didn’t matter anymore. The sound of paper scraping the desk was too loud in the quiet.

Alex was already moving. She grabbed first-aid kits from the wall and laid them open on a table. “Everyone sit,” she said. “Let me check for pressure damage.”

People obeyed her without hesitation. For the first time, eyes went to her—not to Mark—for direction.

Dave and I exchanged a glance. His leadership was finished.

Alex worked quietly, cleaning small nosebleeds, checking pupils, bandaging scrapes. “Inner-ear or sinus pressure,” she murmured. “Like decompression sickness.”

From the corner came a whisper. Sharon.

Her head lifted slowly, eyes sharp. “You can’t stop it,” she said.

Alex froze. Everyone turned.

“What did you say?” I asked.

Sharon smiled faintly. “You’ll see.”

Mark stormed over, grabbing her arm. “That’s enough! You’ve done enough!”

Dave stepped forward. “Mark, back off.”

“She attacked me!” he barked.

“She’s sick,” Alex said, calm and cold. “Not evil. Sick.”

He hesitated, then stepped away.

Dave looked to me. “We need to secure the perimeter before dark.”

“Already on it.”

We checked doors, reinforced locks, tested generators. Outside, the camera feeds showed the animals still massed at the south fence—silent, shoulder to shoulder.

Dave frowned. “They’re not moving.”

“They’re breathing,” I said. “Barely.”

Alan, one of the contractors, crossed his arms. “If they’re not leaving, that’s still meat.”

Dave glanced over. “You planning to hunt in this?”

Alan didn’t flinch. “If we have to.”

Santiago nodded once. “I’ll help.”

It wasn’t bravado. It was survival talk.

By the time we got back inside, Alex had organized the supplies—medical, food, water, tools. The kids sat against the wall. Camilla brushed Marie’s hair while Gabriel held Chuchis, who stared fixed at the door.

Mark sat alone with the dead phone, hands trembling.

Dave leaned close. “He’s done.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Not the kind we need.”

Alex overheard. “Then you two handle security. I’ll handle the people.”

Her tone made it an order.

I nodded. “You’re the only medical we have. Stay steady.”

“I will.”

The NOAA radio hissed again—only wind this time. Mateo hadn’t moved.

Alex knelt beside him, checked his pulse, and said softly in her Colombian accent, “Breathe, Mateo. Solo respira.”

He didn’t. His eyes stayed fixed on the dark radio, waiting for a voice that wasn’t coming.

Outside, dusk turned the tanks into silver ghosts. The animals at the fence didn’t stir.

The world was holding its breath again.

And deep in my gut, I knew it wouldn’t hold for long.