This is not a test. The Emergency Broadcast System asks people to stay in their homes. Medical attention is on the way. Hang a white sheet on your door to signify that you are alive. Please stay in your homes. This is not a test…

I switched off the radio to conserve the battery. The message hadn’t changed in nine hours and I had yet to see any trace of help.

Jagged edges framed the open hole that used to be the living room window. It had blown out like the rest of the them during the impact. I was lucky to have a house that hadn’t been crushed by fallen trees or telephone poles, but I had no power and no answers- I was in the dark.

Movement in a window across the street diverted my attention. My best friend’s mom, Linda, stood there. She waved, a shy, shaky movement of her arm. Never an uncertain woman, she’d always been ready with a quip or wooden spoon depending on what Mike and I warranted growing up. I didn’t know if anyone else lived, until that moment.

Relieved, I raised one arm, and waved back.