Clear Water, Hidden Danger

Chapter 11 - The Burial

The hours before the next pulse felt stretched thin, like the air itself was holding its breath. No one said it, but we all knew something was building. The lights dimmed just enough to remind us the power wasn’t loyal to us anymore.

Alex gathered the kids near the far wall, whispering prayers in Spanish under her breath. Dave and I made our rounds—tightening crossbars, checking bolts on the shutters. Every clang echoed too long, like the walls were listening.

Mark sat apart, arms folded, eyes unfocused. He wasn’t looking at the room—he was somewhere else entirely. Mateo hadn’t spoken since Sharon’s death. He stayed in the corner, wrists loosely bound, staring at the floor with the hollow stillness of a man emptied out.

Then, without warning, the beacon began.

“The lights stuttered, then held their breath.”

“Ear protection! Ear protection!” Voices overlapped from every corner—sharp, panicked bursts instead of a single shout.

The room moved on instinct—hands reaching, plugs shoved in, muffs snapped down.

The monitors flashed white, glitched, then steadied. The NOAA radio hissed and cracked, a sharp static tone crawling through the air like the start of a storm.

Dave looked up. “It’s starting.”

A low vibration crept through the floor before the sound reached us. It rolled through the walls and into our bones, deep and steady. The lights blinked out again, came back dim and orange. Dust drifted from the vents like smoke.

For several seconds, the world howled. Then silence.

I checked my watch—seventy-one seconds.
They were getting longer.

No one spoke. We still didn’t understand what came after—only that it was coming.

Outside, the fog shifted. The animals had returned again, gathered along the fence line, motionless. Their bodies quivered under the floodlights, eyes glinting pale like wet glass.

Dave’s voice was low. “Head count.”

Thirteen adults. Four children. None missing. One dead.

Sharon.

Her body still lay covered by a gray tarp near the maintenance bay. We’d left her there since the incident—waiting for a break between pulses to move her.

Alex made the sign of the cross, murmuring another prayer. “She was sick,” she said softly, voice trembling. “But she was still a person.”

Dave nodded. “She deserves peace.”

He turned to Nolan and Greg. “Take the backhoe. Behind the secondary fence line—past the tanks. Make it deep.”

They hesitated, then nodded.

The fog had thinned enough to see the tanks glowing a dull yellow under the floodlights. We carried Sharon out together. The ground was slick with dew. The hole was dark and deep.

We lowered the tarp slowly. No prayers. No speeches. Just the sound of dirt hitting tarp and the quiet hum of the generator.

Alex stood at the doorway, arms folded, trying to keep warm. Her face was hollow as she watched Sharon’s body disappear under the soft earth.

When it was done, Dave patted the mound flat with his boot. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “Let’s get back inside.”

Mark didn’t move. He stood staring at the grave, lips moving soundlessly. Then—just audible—he whispered, “Lydia?”

I turned toward him. “What did you say?”

He blinked like waking from a dream. “She’s calling me.”

Dave’s voice hardened. “Mark, there’s nothing out there but fog.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “You don’t hear her?” His eyes flicked toward the fence, where the mist seemed to shimmer faintly. “She’s out there somewhere. I can feel it.”

Dave gave him a look but didn’t say what we were all thinking—Mark’s wife had died years ago. The hum was crawling deeper into him, wearing down the line between memory and madness.

Mark’s voice rose. “We can’t wait for help that’s never coming.”

Mateo lifted his head slowly. “Carmen’s alive. I’m going with him.”

Dave glared at Mark. “We’re not splitting up.”

“I’ll go,” I said before he could argue. “If Mark’s leaving, he won’t last out there alone. Mateo’s not in his right mind, and I can keep them alive.”

Alex’s eyes filled, but her voice stayed steady. “I’m not scared you won’t make it,” she said. “I’m scared of what you’ll have to become to survive out there.”

I didn’t answer. Just nodded. “Keep the generators steady. Keep the gates sealed.
Dave will hold it down here.”

He nodded once. “We’ll hold.”

Before I could turn, a voice came from behind the supply rack. “Then I’m going with you.”

Santiago stepped out, rifle slung, calm like he’d already made peace with the choice.

I frowned. “You sure about that?”

He nodded. “Somebody steady’s gotta keep an eye on those two before they shoot each other or get you killed. I’ll watch your six.”

Dave started to argue, but Santiago just kept looking at me. No emotion—just a man ready to walk into fog if that’s what the job asked.

I gave a short nod. “Pack light. We leave in five.”

He turned without another word, loading mags from the table, checking each like a ritual.
We packed what we could—water, flashlights, my sidearm, a couple of mags from the locker. The fog had thickened again, swallowing everything beyond the fence.

Nolan and Greg were skinning a deer near the outer gate. The sight of it hanging in the mist said what we all knew—this was survival now, not civilization.

Alex wrapped her arms around me and whispered, “You come back to us, ¿entiendes?”

“I will,” I told her. “Keep them safe till I do.”

I hugged my kids, told them I loved them, and that I’d be right back. Mateo didn’t look at anyone—he hadn’t cried. That was the worst part.

Then I climbed into the company security truck and swiped my proximity card. The gate groaned, metal shuddering as it slid open.

Mark sat in the passenger seat, Mateo in the back—both silent, hollow-eyed.

As the truck rolled forward, the fog parted just enough to reveal movement beyond the outer fence—a faint human shape swaying by Sharon’s grave.

Mark leaned forward, eyes wide. “You see her?”

I pressed the gas. “No. You don’t either.”

The gate shut behind us. The fog closed in again, and somewhere beneath the hum, something whispered our names.