House of Secrets

Chapter 14

"What did you do?” Nellie demanded. It wasn’t just the overhead lights; the LEDs on the microwave and stove were out too.

“Nothing!” Jon said, putting the phone back in its cradle. Sunlight slanted through the curtains.

“I was worried this might happen,” said Alyssa. “We must’ve been running on a backup generator since the attack.”

“We have a backup generator?”

“We must have something—it’s probably in the basement. I don’t think there’s a ‘grid’ out here.”

“So let’s start it back up.”

“With what, Jon? Generators need fuel.”

“Maybe there are gas cans down there! Come on! We need to do something. Without power we’ll starve—”

“But what if there’s something else in the basement?” asked Nell.

“Like Mom and Dad and Cap,” said Alyssa. The Walters looked at one another with a mixture of hope and fear, imaging the ways they could find their parents and older brother: safe and well . . . or laid out on the floor, cold.

“We need to be strong, not psych ourselves out,” said Jon, trying to sound brave and unexpectedly pulling it off. “There’s gotta be a flashlight somewhere.” He rifled through kitchen drawers until he found a Maglite as thick as Nellie's arm. He tested it—it worked—and shone it on an unadorned door at the back of the room.

“Who’s going first?”

“You’ve got the flashlight,” said Nell.

Jon reluctantly opened the door. Rickety wooden steps led down to a cool, cavernous basement that smelled of cedar and dust.

“Was this the part of the house that hung over the cliff?” Alyssa asked.

“I think so. I wonder if the barrels are still there.”

Jon panned left and right so nothing could jump out at them. Alyssa jammed a shoe in the doorway so they couldn’t get locked in.

They went down the steps. Stacks of cans, a wheelbarrow, and a sledgehammer lay in one corner of the basement; a tent and power tools lay in another. Between them was a black box on six wheels, the size of a minifridge, pressed against the wall and plugged in.

“Is that it?” Jon asked.

“I think so . . . ,” said Alyssa. She hopped on one leg, not wanting to let her single shoeless foot touch the floor, but when it did, she found it wasn’t so bad; the floor was worn-down wood, almost soft. Jon read the yellow sign printed on the box: “‘Blackout Ready IPS Twelve Thousand.’ That sounds good.”

He illuminated the box’s control panel; it was completely dead. “Where does the gas go? Maybe there’s a manual.”

Jon whipped around the flashlight, saw something on the floor—and screamed.

He was staring at a human hand.