Clear Water, Hidden Danger

Chapter 5 – The Call Home

The clock on the wall read 3:21. Less than forty minutes to the hour.

Dave wiped sweat from his forehead. “If this thing is spreading, we can’t risk them out there. You call yours. I’ll call mine.”

The two engineers were already trying. One had his phone pressed to the window, pacing slow circles like signal was something you could catch.

“Anything?” Dave asked.

“Spotty,” the older one said. “It connects, then drops.”

“Keep trying,” I said. “We don’t know when the next one hits.”

I moved to the far corner where the interference felt weakest. My hand shook as I pulled out my phone. One bar — barely there. It was enough.

Alex answered after two rings. Her voice came through rough, broken by static. “Pa? What’s going on? Chuchis won’t move. She’s just staring at the wall. Even the dogs next door are standing still, all facing the same way.”

“Listen carefully,” I said. “You don’t have much time. Pack the meds, clothes for you and the kids, and any bottled water. Tell Cami to grab the emergency bag and help get everyone in the car.”

She hesitated. “Pa, what’s happening? Is it the plant?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’s not safe to stay there. You, Cami, and the kids drive straight here. No stops, no calls, no detours.”

Static cracked again — soft, like whispering under the line. I turned from the others, pressing the phone tighter to my ear.

“Pa, the air feels strange. There are birds sitting on the fence — hundreds of them. They aren’t moving.”

“Stay inside. Don’t open the doors. When you leave, keep the windows up. Cotton or tissue in your ears, anything to block sound. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “How bad is it?”

I looked over at Sharon. She sat bound against the wall, whispering the same slow rhythm, her lips moving without sound. The pulse of her breath matched the hum in the air.

“It’s bad,” I said. “But you’ll be safe if you’re here before the next one.”

“I’ll go now,” she said. “Cami’s already grabbing water.”

“Seven minutes,” I said. “That’s all it takes if the roads are clear. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll meet you at the gate.”

“I love you, Pa,” she said quickly.

“I love you too,” I said — and the signal died.

The silence after the call was worse than before.

Dave was pacing near the door, redialing. “Got mine,” he said finally. “They’re on the way. Same instructions. Ear protection. Straight here.”

One of the engineers, the younger one, was crying quietly into his phone. “Just get the kids,” he whispered. “I don’t care what the neighbors are doing. Get in the car. Please.”

The older engineer hung up and looked at me. “My wife says people are standing in the street. Not moving. Just staring at the sky.”

Mark sat slumped against the wall, ice pack to his head. “They said it’s citywide,” he muttered. “Radio’s dead. TV’s static. Nobody knows what’s happening.”

Dave looked to me. “How long?”

I checked my watch. “Thirty-two minutes.”

He nodded. “Not much time.”

I scanned the cameras. The animals were back — smaller groups for now — gathering at the fence line like scouts. The closer it got to the hour, the more arrived.

“Everyone’s on their way,” Dave said. “We get them inside, then seal the gates.”

“Agreed,” I said.

The young engineer kept glancing toward Sharon. “You think she’s contagious?”

I shook my head. “Not contagious. Controlled.”

He swallowed hard. “Controlled by what?”

I didn’t answer.

The lights flickered again — not a blink this time, but a slow pulse through the wiring like a heartbeat. Sharon’s head twitched in time, her eyes rolling upward.

Dave stared at her, then at me. “She can feel it coming, can’t she?”

“I believe so,” I said. “And that means we may be running out of time.”

Dave and I immediately jumped into the security truck and drove toward the north entrance gate. As we drove, gravel crunched under the tires. Every second stretched thin.

Then a faint voice broke through static:
“...movement… north sector… incoming vehicles…”

I keyed the radio. “Say again. This is Security One.”

The signal wavered, then returned: “Multiple vehicles on approach. Three cars.”

“That’s them,” I said.

I immediately clicked the open button on the computer, and with a series of beeps, the gate began to crawl open.

Outside, the air felt heavier. The sky dimmed, clouds rolling in like smoke. Birds blanketed the roof of the tanks, still as stone.

I stepped between the gate sensors to keep the gate open as I waved them all in. Alex led the way, eyes wide, knuckles gripping tight around the wheel. Cami sat in the passenger seat, turned halfway around, keeping Marie and Gabriel calm in the back.

“Come on,” I said, motioning. “Drive straight in.”

She did.

Dave followed them through with the others and locked the gate, pressing the button in the guard shack.

For a moment, no one spoke. The silence pressed close again — thick and waiting.

Then a low vibration rolled through the ground, soft and distant, like the earth clearing its throat.

I looked at my watch.

3:58. Two minutes to the top of the hour.