Powerless by Tim Washburn Page B

parents and tell them to start making their way to Wisconsin, Kaylee. I don’t think they want to be in New York City when the power goes out.” He turns to face her. “Tell them what’s happening, and tell them to hurry. I don’t know if your brother will have time to fly to Wisconsin, but you need to call him, too.”
    â€œWhat about your family, Sam?”
    â€œMy ex-wife and two girls are in Southern California. A sister in Missouri. My sister should be okay where she is, but I’m going to call the ex and tell her to head up to the cabin her parents own in the mountains.” He removes his glasses, rubbing the pinch points on his nose. “There’s a well and a generator. At least I can tell them to stock up on gasoline. Once the fuel’s exhausted, there’s a mountain stream near the cabin.”
    â€œWhat are we going to do, Sam?”
    He pulls out his wallet and thumbs through a stack of credit cards. He works the gold Amex from its slot and slides it across to Kaylee. “Have Daniel grab a couple of people and go shopping. Tell them to buy as many gas containers as they can and fill them to run the generator on-site. Tell him to purchase as much water and canned food items as he can. Spread the purchases around. Have them take the big panel truck parked out back.”
    â€œWorried about raising a few eyebrows?” Kaylee says.
    â€œMaybe. The panic will start when the President delivers his address to the nation.”
    â€œWhen’s that going to be?”
    â€œHopefully pretty quick. I don’t think we have much time.”
    Kaylee takes the credit card and leaves the room. Sam pulls his cell phone from his pocket and turns again to face the mountains. When he looks at the screen he’s somewhat surprised to find he still has cell service. He scrolls through his contacts and winces at all the names. He stops on his ex-wife’s name and punches the call link.
    They divorced almost five years ago, and the reasons why still elude him. Grown apart was her excuse. His two children—Abby, now fifteen, and Gracie, thirteen—had the unfortunate experience of suffering through their parents’ divorce. Over the years, both Teresa and Sam have mellowed enough to be civil to each other. The kids spend the summers with Sam, and one weekend a month he flies to Southern California.
    â€œHello, Sam,” his ex-wife says in her raspy voice. Neither of them has remarried but the children recently told him their mother is now dating one man steadily.
    â€œHi, Teresa. I wish I were calling with better news . . .”

C HAPTER 18
    The White House, the Oval Office
    Wednesday, September 29, 11:42 A.M .
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    P resident Harris, his sleeves rolled up and his yellow tie loosened, sits behind his desk as a steady stream of advisors moves in and out of the Oval Office as if it had a revolving door. Everyone is attempting to carry on business as usual. Scott Alexander sits on one of the two muted-yellow sofas filling one side of the office, listening. Between guests, the President will sometimes ask his opinion, but otherwise he remains a spectator. He glances down at the thick sheaf of papers resting in his lap and riffles the pages with his thumb. Enlil is the name given to the latest computer simulation. Alexander has read the report from cover to cover—twice—coming away with the same impression each time: we’re in deep shit.
    He stands, tosses the report on the coffee table, and wanders around the room, trying to bleed off nervous energy. The President’s chief speechwriter hurries into the room again, trying to craft the perfect statement without creating worldwide panic. What’s the point? Alexander thinks as he stops near the window overlooking the Rose Garden. He turns away and continues prowling.
    During a lull, Alexander approaches the desk and sits in one of the flanking chairs. President Harris glances up with a