Shadows of Tomorrow

Part Two - That Day

"Well, are you well-rested?" my brother asks, standing over me.
"Let me sleep a little longer, damn it. What time is it, anyway?"
"Sleeping Beauty slept until 11 a.m.; it's time to get up."
"But come on, just five more minutes. You let the cat sleep, so why not me? Please."
"Aby, get up. You don't want to waste such a beautiful day."
"But I do; I want to sleep more than anything else," I reply, trying to hold on to the blanket that my brother is pulling off me.
"Oh, come on, my sister. You've been sleeping long enough."
"Yeah, you're right." I give up the battle for the blanket and slowly try to sit up in bed.

"So, what are we going to do today?" my brother asks me.
"Well, probably not sleep, right?" I reply, still half-asleep.
"Funny as always," my brother smirks.

"So, what does my brother have planned for today?" I ask.
"How about practicing some strategy for tomorrow's board game day?"
"Not that. I just woke up, Georgie. My brain can't handle strategy right now. How about you turn on the PlayStation and play a game? I'll cheer you on, and at least I can look around."
"Okay, but I just wanted to help you get ready for tomorrow and give you a chance at winning," my brother replied.
"It doesn't matter; I'll still come in last. I don't have strategic thinking, and one day won't change that much."
"Fine," my brother said, pulling the PlayStation controller out of the charging station.
"So what should I play?" he asks me.
"It's up to you; we have so many games going that I don't even know. Just pick the first one that comes to mind," I reply, trying to carry my bowl of cereal to the couch so I can see the TV, eat, and crawl back under the blanket.

My brother played on the PlayStation for about an hour, and I, as the good sister, criticized every move he made. Around half past twelve, I was finally ready to do something. My brother and I decided to spend some time playing with our cat, and then we would do some sports (if table tennis and darts count as sports).

Today is Friday, so my parents will come home early. I'm thinking we could do something fun—go for ice cream, catch a movie, or anything they'd like.

I'm also considering cooking pasta with some sauce for lunch. I admit I'm not the best cook in the world. More like the exact opposite. Once, I even managed to boil all the water out of a soup; that's my "talent" in the kitchen. But I should be able to handle pasta. I'll check what ingredients we have at home and try to make my parents happy after a long work week.

My parents arrived. They said they enjoyed the food, or at least that's what they claimed—being my parents, I think they would eat it even if it were terrible, just to spare my feelings. I must say, though, that this wasn't such a bad culinary performance from me; in fact, it was one of my better meals.

In the end, we decided not to go anywhere. We'll stay at home, cheering for hockey with Dad, and the game is about to start on TV. Mom and my brother aren't really into hockey, and neither is the cat. She doesn't like it when we yell during the game. She prefers peace and quiet, just like our mom. The playoffs have finally begun, and Dad and I experience it even more intensely than the regular season, so there's a bit more shouting involved.

We turn on the TV.
"Is it hockey on TV again?" Mom asks in a not-so-happy tone.
"Don't worry, Mom, we'll keep it down, okay?" I reply, though I don't really believe it myself.
Mom just sighs and goes to her computer.
We've turned on the TV, but nothing appears.
"Dad, the TV isn't cooperating," I nervously tell him, since there are only a couple of minutes left until the broadcast starts, and I don't want to miss the opening face-off.
"I see," he replies.
"Well, it's nice that you see, but you need to do something about it; it starts in a minute."
"Why me?" Dad asks with a smile.
"And who else? You're the talent for fixing things around here. If I try, there's a risk the TV won't work ever again."
"Alright, I'll try something," Dad replies.
But before he can get up from the couch, the news comes on the TV.
"Now it's working," I announce.
"I can see that; you don't need to tell me, I'm not blind," Dad replies, moving back to the couch.
I try to switch the TV to the sports channel, but I can't get it to work.
"Take that back; it's not working." I hand the remote to Dad so he can try himself.
"But it's on sports, so what's the problem?"
"Then why are there news? I don't want the news! I want hockey," I protest.
"Well, there's not much I can do about that," Dad sighs.

Suddenly, the news starts displaying a message:
"Emergency situation! Please remain calm by your television. Do not leave your home. Stay safe until further information is provided."
This message keeps repeating.
"What's happening, Dad? What is this?" I ask with concern; I've never seen anything like it before.
Dad doesn't respond.
I call for Mom and my brother.
Mom rushes in, glancing at us before looking at the text on our TV screen, just as confused as Dad and I are.
"If you want something, come here, I'm in the middle of a game," my brother's voice comes from his room.
"Get over here now! Right now! Do you hear me?" I call out, already feeling hysterical.
"I hope it's at least the end of the world; I can't pause this game," my brother replies as he finally makes his way to the living room.
When he arrives, he's just as confused as we are.
"George, what's going on?" Mom asks Dad. Fear is evident in her voice.
"I don't know, I really don't know," Dad answers nervously. Hearing the nervousness in Dad's voice unsettles me deeply. He's always been calm, even when I was sick or during tough situations; there was always a sense of calm about him. That calm is gone now.
"What is this? I don't understand," my brother says, his trademark humor fading away.
"It's probably a mistake, some kind of drill, a social experiment, or maybe a hacker attack," Dad says, his voice a bit calmer now.
"But what if it's not?" I ask. I'm scared.
"It will be alright; we just need to stay calm," Dad confidently states as he tries to reassure me.

Suddenly, we hear sirens outside.
"Test of the sirens, a siren test is currently underway," blares loudly across the village.
"Dad, what kind of siren test? This isn't a coincidence! What the hell is happening?" I bombard Dad with questions.
"I don't know, but it's probably a sign that nothing serious is going on. If something serious were happening, they wouldn't announce a siren test; they'd be announcing what's actually going on," Dad replies, but he doesn't sound entirely convinced.
Before I can respond, the power goes out. Everything shuts off at once—TV, lights, computers—everything.
"Dad, I'm scared," is all I can manage to say.
Dad is silent, unsure of what's happening himself.
"Let's try calling Auntie; she lives in the city, maybe they know more." Dad means his sister, my aunt.
We dial Auntie's number, but all we hear is a busy signal. The same result when we call my other aunt, grandma, grandpa... it's all the same.
"This is bad, this is bad..." I repeat over and over.
"It's probably just a network overload," Dad tries to reassure me, but I can see on his face that he's not so sure.
Mom and my brother just stare at the black TV screen in silence.
"Let's try calling emergency services," Mom suddenly suggests.
"We'd be blocking the line for those in real emergencies; we're just in uncertainty," Dad replies.
But when he looks at me and my brother, seeing the fear in our eyes, he sighs and dials the emergency number.
Nothing. Just a busy signal again. His desperation peaks. I start to cry. Dad comforts me, but I just feel overwhelming fear, a deep fear. After a few minutes, I manage to calm down a little.

"We just have to wait; we'll surely find out more soon," Dad says, staring at the TV. We wish for the power to come back on, for the TV to start up and tell us it was all a mistake, just hackers, and that everything is fine. But those are just hopes. Each minute feels like an hour. Still nothing. No news, just the radio has stopped announcing the siren test—most likely, the backup power has died.
We hold hands. And we wait...