《The Karma Glitch: Book One》 Chapter 1 - Michael The morning air in the Arizona desert was cool and sharp, a reprieve from the heat that would soon arrive with the sun. Michael Yazzie rolled his shoulders as he tightened his gloves, the chill of the pre-dawn air clinging to his skin. It was just past 4:00 a.m., and the construction site was already alive with the sounds of shifting gears, shouted instructions, and the rhythmic thud of hammers. The foreman¡¯s truck sat idling at the edge of the site, its headlights casting long beams across the dirt and unfinished walls of the housing development. This was the best time to work¡ªbefore the sun turned the desert into a furnace. By noon, they¡¯d all be gone, heading home to escape the worst of the heat. Michael adjusted his hard hat and climbed into the cab of the backhoe loader. His hands moved automatically over the controls, the rumble of the engine and the sharp scrape of the bucket against the earth as familiar to him as breathing. ¡°Yazzie, dig out that trench by lot four!¡± the foreman shouted over the growl of machinery. Michael raised a hand in acknowledgment, steering the loader toward the marked area. The rhythm of work settled into his muscles, pushing aside the usual swirl of thoughts about bills, his siblings, and the endless grind of days that blurred into each other. And then the engine died. The silence was jarring, cutting through the steady hum of the site like a knife. Michael frowned, turning the key in the ignition. Nothing. He flipped a few switches, tapped the fuel gauge, and muttered a curse under his breath. Across the site, other machines sputtered and stalled. The cement mixer slowed to a halt, its drum frozen mid-rotation. A crane jerked to a stop, its load swaying precariously before settling. ¡°Hey! What¡¯s going on?¡± someone shouted. The foreman climbed out of his truck, waving his arms. ¡°What the hell is this? Everyone check your gear!¡± Michael climbed down from the loader, his boots crunching on the dirt. He pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time, but the screen stayed black. ¡°What the¡­¡± He held the power button, waiting for the usual glow of the screen. Nothing. Around him, other workers were doing the same, holding up phones and shaking them as though that might coax them back to life. The foreman grabbed his radio, barking into it, but no sound came through. ¡°Everything¡¯s dead,¡± someone said, their voice tinged with disbelief. A shadow moved overhead, and Michael looked up just in time to see a helicopter wobbling unsteadily in the sky. The sound of its rotors was faint and uneven, like a record slowing down. ¡°Look!¡± someone yelled, pointing. The chopper dipped, spiraling downward. It hit the ground a few miles away, a plume of smoke rising into the pale light of dawn. * The foreman¡¯s truck wouldn¡¯t start, nor would the other vehicles parked on-site. Michael leaned against the loader, his arms crossed as he watched the others scramble to make sense of the situation. ¡°All right, everyone, pack it up!¡± the foreman shouted. ¡°Head home. We¡¯ll figure this out later.¡± ¡°How?¡± someone muttered. ¡°Our cars aren¡¯t working.¡± Michael grabbed his bag from the cab of the loader and slung it over his shoulder. His house was about ten miles away, not far off the main highway¡ªnot an easy walk, but not impossible either. He glanced at the rising sun, already beginning to tint the horizon a pale gold. ¡°I¡¯m walking,¡± he said, more to himself than anyone else. He adjusted the strap on his bag and started toward the highway, leaving the confused voices and stalled machinery behind him. The desert was quiet in a way Michael had never experienced before. Normally, there¡¯d be the hum of distant traffic or the faint crackle of a radio in the background. Now, there was only the soft whisper of the wind over the sand and the occasional rustle of a lizard darting through the brush. The early morning light painted the landscape in muted tones, long shadows stretching across the dirt road. Michael took a sip from his water bottle, the warm plastic taste barely registering as he scanned the horizon. He thought of his mom and siblings, wondering if they¡¯d noticed anything strange yet. His mom usually woke early to make breakfast and pack lunches for Sam and Kenzie. She¡¯d probably be sitting on the porch by now, her coffee in hand, watching the sky brighten. Michael quickened his pace. * When he reached the Flying J station a few miles down the road, he saw a small crowd gathered by the pumps. People were yelling, their voices sharp and angry in the still air. ¡°What do you mean there¡¯s no gas?¡± one man shouted, slamming his hand on the counter. The attendant, a wiry young guy with sweat beading on his forehead, raised his hands defensively. ¡°The pumps don¡¯t work! Nothing¡¯s working!¡± Michael skirted the edge of the group, keeping his head down. He didn¡¯t have time for this. ¡°Hey, you got anything?¡± a man called out, stepping toward him. Michael glanced at him, his expression hardening. ¡°No.¡± The man muttered something under his breath but didn¡¯t follow. Michael kept walking, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag. The sun was climbing higher by the time Michael reached his house. The small, single-story building stood not far outside the borders of the Navajo nation, its peeling paint and rusted gutters a testament to years of weathering the harsh desert climate. Sam and Kenzie were sitting on the shaded porch steps, their faces anxious. Sam stood up as soon as he saw Michael, his expression shifting to relief. ¡°You¡¯re back!¡± Sam said, running up to him. Michael ruffled his little brother¡¯s hair, his lips quirking into a faint smile. ¡°Of course I¡¯m back. And dead tired after that walk. What¡¯s going on?¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Their mom stepped out onto the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel. ¡°Nothing¡¯s working,¡± she said quietly. ¡°No AC. No anything. The pump, the stove, the phones¡­ everything just stopped.¡± Michael nodded, setting his bag down by the door. ¡°Yeah. Same thing at the site.¡± Kenzie looked up at him, her voice small. ¡°Is it going to be okay?¡± Michael glanced at his mom, who watched him with quiet expectation. He could feel the weight of their trust, their hope, pressing down on him. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said finally. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out.¡± But as he looked up at the cloudless sky, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. * The morning came too quietly. Michael woke before the sun, the gray light of dawn just beginning to spill through the windows. The silence in the house was unnerving. Normally, there¡¯d be the hum of the refrigerator, the whir of the AC and faint buzz of the ceiling fans, or the radio his mom played while making breakfast. Now, there was nothing but the rustle of wind outside and the soft creaks of the old wooden floor. He stretched his legs off the couch, where he¡¯d slept to keep close to the front door. The knife he¡¯d taken to carrying sat on the floor beside him. He picked it up and slid it into his pocket, the weight of it an uneasy comfort. In the kitchen, his mom was standing at the counter, looking worried. ¡°Still no power. The food in the fridge is gonna spoil if this goes on much longer.¡± His younger siblings, Sam and Kenzie, sat at the small table, both unusually quiet. ¡°Morning,¡± Michael said, his voice breaking the stillness. His mom glanced at him and offered a faint smile. ¡°Morning. You slept okay?¡± ¡°Not really.¡± He sat down and eyed the two small cups of coffee she¡¯d made. One was pushed toward him. ¡°I boiled two bottles worth of water in the firepit out back,¡± his mom explained. He nodded his thanks and took a sip, the bitter taste sharper than usual. Kenzie pushed a half-empty bag of bread across the table. ¡°Breakfast,¡± she said quietly. Michael opened it and frowned. Six slices. ¡°This all we have left?¡± Sam looked up. ¡°What about the rice?¡± Their mom sighed. ¡°There¡¯s some rice and beans, but not much. Enough for a few days. We¡¯ll need to make it last.¡± Michael leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. He¡¯d been the one holding things together since his dad just up and left two years ago, during Michael¡¯s senior year at school. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine,¡± he said, his voice steadier than he felt. ¡°We¡¯ll find out what¡¯s going on, figure something out.¡± * Later that morning, Michael decided to check on the neighbors. It wasn¡¯t something he wanted to do¡ªhe¡¯d rather focus on his own family¡ªbut he couldn¡¯t shake the sense that isolation would make things worse. ¡°Sam, come with me,¡± he said, grabbing a water bottle and slinging his bag over his shoulder. ¡°We need to go find out what¡¯s happening. We can start by checking with the Atcittys.¡± Sam looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. ¡°Why me?¡± ¡°Because you need to learn how to handle stuff like this,¡± Michael said, his tone firm. Sam groaned but got up, shoving his hands into his pockets as he followed Michael out the door. The air was cool, the sun just starting to climb over the horizon. The dirt road leading to their neighbors¡¯ house was lined with patches of sagebrush and the occasional juniper tree. In the distance, a hawk circled lazily against the pale blue sky. ¡°Do you think the lights will come back on soon?¡± Sam asked, kicking a rock as they walked. Michael glanced at him. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe. But we can¡¯t wait around for it. We have to take care of ourselves.¡± Sam didn¡¯t respond, his expression turning sullen. Michael sighed but didn¡¯t push it. * The Atcittys, a weathered older couple, were sitting on their porch when Michael and Sam arrived. The couple waved as they approached, though their smiles didn¡¯t quite reach their eyes. ¡°Michael, Sam,¡± Mr. Atcitty said, standing up and dusting off his pants. ¡°Good to see you boys.¡± ¡°You too,¡± Michael replied, shaking his hand. ¡°Everything okay here?¡± Mrs. Atcitty shrugged, her thin frame looking even smaller in the oversized chair she sat in. ¡°As okay as it can be, I guess. No news, no power. Radio doesn¡¯t work. It¡¯s¡­ strange.¡± Michael nodded. ¡°We came to check in,¡± he said. ¡°Make sure you¡¯re doing alright.¡± Mr. Atcitty gave him a tired smile. ¡°We¡¯re managing. For now, anyway. Got some dried fruit and meat, a few cans of soup, and a jug of water. You and your family holding up?¡± ¡°We¡¯re alright,¡± Michael said. ¡°Same as everyone, I guess. Just trying to figure out what the hell¡¯s going on.¡± The Atcittys offered them some dried apples, but Michael declined, thanking them and making a mental note of their limited resources. They were good people, but they wouldn¡¯t be able to hold out long if things got worse. * On the way back home, Michael noticed smoke rising in the distance, far off to the west toward Winona. It was faint but unmistakable, a thin black line against the brightening sky. ¡°Is that a fire?¡± Sam asked, squinting at the horizon. ¡°Probably,¡± Michael said. ¡°Could be anything, though. A car, a building¡­¡± Sam stopped walking. ¡°Should we go check it out?¡± Michael shook his head. ¡°No. We don¡¯t know what¡¯s out there, and we don¡¯t need to get involved in someone else¡¯s mess.¡± Sam frowned but didn¡¯t argue. As they neared their house, Michael spotted someone walking along the road ahead. The man was tall and broad, carrying a heavy bag slung over one shoulder. He walked with his head down, his steps slow and deliberate. Michael stopped, his hand drifting toward the knife in his pocket. ¡°Stay behind me,¡± he said quietly to Sam. Sam¡¯s eyes widened and he quickly shuffled behind his older brother. The man glanced up as they got closer but didn¡¯t say anything. His face was weathered, his eyes wary. He nodded once at Michael and kept walking, his pace never changing. ¡°Who was that?¡± Sam asked once the man was out of earshot. Michael shook his head. ¡°No idea. Just someone trying to get somewhere, I guess.¡± Sam looked back over his shoulder. ¡°You think he was dangerous?¡± ¡°Maybe. Maybe not. But in times like this, we better be ready for anything,¡± Michael said. * That evening, Michael sat on the porch, staring out at the darkening sky. The stars were brighter than he¡¯d ever seen them, sharp pinpricks of light in a sky so black it felt endless. The weight of the day settled on his shoulders. The Atcittys, the smoke, the stranger¡ªthey all added up to a world that felt less stable with every passing hour. He thought about his dad, about how easily he¡¯d left them behind, and wondered if the man had ever felt this kind of pressure. Michael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was so lost in thought that the sound of footsteps on the gravel didn¡¯t register at first. When he did hear it, his body tensed. He stood, peering into the darkness, his hand instinctively going to his knife. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± he called, his voice low and steady. The footsteps stopped, and for a moment, there was only silence. Then a voice answered, calm and familiar: ¡°Relax, Yazzie. It¡¯s us.¡± Michael frowned as three figures stepped into the faint light of the porch. Gabe Tso, Jonah Begay, and Elena Begay. ¡°Long time, huh?¡± Gabe said with a grin, but Michael barely noticed him. His eyes were on Elena, her dark hair pulled back, her expression cautious but kind. ¡°What are you guys doing here?¡± Michael asked, his voice sharper than he intended. Elena spoke up. ¡°Elder Nez wanted us to check on the families nearby, make sure everyone¡¯s alright.¡± Michael stared at her, his mind scrambling to process her presence. The last time they¡¯d spoken, she¡¯d broken up with him, saying it wasn¡¯t the right time for either of them. And now, here she was, standing on his porch like no time had passed at all. ¡°Come in,¡± he said finally, stepping aside. ¡°You might as well tell me what¡¯s going on.¡± As they walked inside, Michael couldn¡¯t shake the knot in his chest. The world was falling apart, and now Elena was back. He wasn¡¯t sure if that made things better¡ªor worse. Chapter 2 - Aiko Hirakata hummed with the quiet pulse of a city winding down for the night. Neon signs blinked promises of ramen, karaoke, and pachinko, their light spilling onto the wet pavement from an earlier drizzle. The sidewalks were still busy, though the rush had thinned to scattered clusters of salarymen, students, and the occasional cyclist weaving confidently through the crowd. Aiko adjusted the strap of her bag and kept her head down, her footsteps quick but measured. She¡¯d learned to walk with purpose when leaving the kyabakura, her work heels tucked into the bag and replaced with practical sneakers. Her co-workers teased her for it¡ª¡°too sensible for a hostess,¡± they¡¯d laugh¡ªbut it was a necessity. The club was in a nicer part of town, but drunks and opportunists didn¡¯t keep to one district. A faint pang of guilt tugged at her as she passed a mother ushering two young children home, their sleepy faces turned up toward her. Aiko forced a polite nod. The streetlights flickered. Aiko stopped mid-step, her brow furrowing. Above her, the fluorescent hum of the city dimmed, then cut out completely, plunging Hirakata into darkness. A collective murmur spread among the pedestrians, their confusion rippling outward. Aiko reached for her phone, the comforting weight of it a tether to normalcy. Nothing. The screen stayed black, no matter how many times she tapped or held the power button. Around her, others were pulling out their phones, their faces lit briefly by dead screens. Some cursed under their breath; others held their phones up, as though the higher altitude might coax them back to life. ¡°A blackout?¡± someone asked behind her. ¡°But even the cars aren¡¯t working¡­¡± replied another pedestrian. Aiko turned toward the street. The usual line of taxis crawling toward Hirakata Station had become a parade of stalled vehicles. Drivers leaned out of windows, their faces painted with frustration, while passengers climbed out to inspect the sudden failures. A bicyclist wobbled dangerously as their electric-assist motor cut off, forcing them to dismount and push. What the hell is going on? * She started walking again, the shadows of unlit vending machines casting unfamiliar shapes onto the narrow streets. The absence of sound struck her more than the darkness¡ªno humming power lines, no train horns, no ambient music spilling from the konbini up ahead. The store was swarming with people. Aiko hesitated, staying just outside. Shouts echoed from inside as a flustered clerk, no older than herself, waved his arms in a futile attempt to manage the growing chaos. ¡°If you don¡¯t have cash, you can¡¯t buy anything!¡± ¡°How are we supposed to use cash if the register isn¡¯t working?¡± Aiko stepped back, the press of the crowd sending a wave of unease through her chest. Grabbing supplies was tempting¡ªher dorm room was hardly stocked for a disaster¡ªbut the energy here was sharp and fraying, the threads of politeness unraveling. She¡¯d seen it before during the rare typhoon: quiet panic blossoming into chaos. * By the time she turned onto the narrow street leading to her dorm, Hirakata had transformed into an unfamiliar place. Shadows swallowed the familiar landmarks, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder. The alley shortcut loomed ahead, a darkened tunnel she typically avoided at night. But her legs ached, and the weight of her bag pulled at her shoulders like lead. She hesitated for a moment before stepping into the gloom, quickening her pace. The voices hit her ears before she saw the figures. ¡°I said let me use your phone, mine doesn¡¯t work.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mess with me!¡± Aiko¡¯s breath caught as the argument grew louder. Her fingers tightened around her bag strap, and she dipped her head slightly, muttering, ¡°Excuse me¡± as she passed. The men didn¡¯t seem to notice her¡ªor maybe they didn¡¯t care. Her sneakers slapped against the pavement, her pulse thundering in her ears until she reached the next street, the full moon casting shadows on the asphalt. She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just enough for the fear to give way to irritation. Why did I even take the shortcut? Stupid. * Her dorm was silent when she arrived. The stairwell was silent and dark. She clasped the rail tightly as she slowly climbed to the third floor. The hallway smelled faintly of burnt plastic, and she passed several open doors where neighbors whispered in hushed tones. ¡°If the electricity doesn¡¯t come back, what do we do?¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Aiko paused as she opened the door to her apartment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark. Through the sliding glass doors to the balcony, the moonlight illuminated her room just enough to see. All was as she¡¯d left it, the futon unrolled in the corner, her textbooks neatly stacked on the desk. She closed the door behind her, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet. Her flashlight lay in a drawer by the bed. It didn¡¯t work. She sat down on her futon, next to a stack of carefully organized notebooks with the small photo of her grandmother perched on top. Aiko picked up the photo, her thumb tracing the edge of the frame. ¡°Grandma¡± she whispered, the words catching in her throat. Outside, the city stretched out in darkness, a hushed, alien landscape. The world had stopped. What would turn it back on? * The dorm was silent except for the occasional creak of floorboards and the faint whispers of voices through paper-thin walls. Aiko sat cross-legged, staring at the flickering flame of the tea candle she¡¯d eventually salvaged from the common room. It wasn¡¯t much light, but it kept the darkness from pressing too close. Her stomach growled. She glanced at the remnants of her rations: a bag of stale senbei crackers and half a bottle of water. It wouldn¡¯t last her much longer. The distant sound of a muffled argument pulled her from her thoughts. Aiko sighed and rubbed her temples. It was only the second day since everything stopped, but the dorm already felt like it was fraying at the edges. A sharp knock at her door startled her. ¡°Aiko? Are you in there?¡± It was Haruka. Aiko hesitated, staring at the door as though it might disappear if she ignored it long enough. ¡°I know you¡¯re in there,¡± Haruka added, her tone firm. With a resigned sigh, Aiko stood and slid the door open. Haruka stood in the dim hallway, holding a candle that cast shadows across her worried face. Her usual cheerful expression was gone, replaced by something more fragile. ¡°There¡¯s a meeting in the common room,¡± Haruka said. ¡°We¡¯re discussing how to handle supplies and safety.¡± Aiko folded her arms. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll make a difference.¡± Haruka frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t even want to hear what people have to say?¡± ¡°I already know what they¡¯ll say. Share food, stick together, be hopeful. It¡¯s pointless.¡± Haruka¡¯s jaw tightened, and she stepped closer. ¡°Please, just come. If nothing else, you can listen.¡± * The common room was a dim, flickering space lit by an assortment of candles and oil lamps. The smell of melted wax and sweat hung in the air. Around twenty students were crammed into the room, their voices rising and falling in waves as they argued. ¡°We need to share what we have,¡± one young man said, his tone pleading. ¡°If everyone hoards, we¡¯ll run out before we even know what¡¯s happening.¡± ¡°Share?¡± another snapped. ¡°Are you going to share when someone steals your rice? Or when they decide they need it more than you do?¡± ¡°What about going out to look for food?¡± a girl suggested hesitantly. ¡°If we go in a group, maybe we can¡ª¡± ¡°Go out?¡± A boy interrupted her, his voice incredulous. ¡°Do you want to get stabbed? People are already fighting over scraps out there. It¡¯s not safe.¡± Aiko stood at the back of the room, her arms crossed as she scanned the faces around her. Most of them were pale and frightened, their voices tinged with desperation. Aiko had seen that look before¡ªat train stations during delays, in crowded stores during typhoons. Panic thinly veiled by forced politeness. Haruka stepped forward, her hands raised. ¡°We need to stay calm,¡± she said, her voice cutting through the noise. ¡°If we work together, we¡¯ll have a better chance of getting through this. Fighting won¡¯t help anyone.¡± For a moment, the room quieted. Then a boy near the front shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s easy to say until someone decides they need your food more than you do.¡± Haruka faltered, her shoulders sagging slightly, and Aiko felt a pang of guilt. Haruka was too idealistic for this situation. Too trusting. * After the meeting, Haruka caught up with Aiko in the hallway. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything?¡± Haruka demanded. ¡°What was there to say?¡± Aiko replied. ¡°Everyone¡¯s too scared to think clearly. It¡¯s a waste of time.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not fair.¡± Haruka¡¯s voice rose, her frustration breaking through. ¡°At least they¡¯re trying to do something. What are you doing? Sitting in your room and waiting for everything to fix itself?¡± Aiko¡¯s temper flared. ¡°I¡¯m not sitting around. I¡¯m being smart. Trusting a bunch of panicked people to save you is how you get hurt.¡± Haruka stared at her, her expression a mix of hurt and disbelief. ¡°You really think that¡¯s all there is to it?¡± Aiko didn¡¯t answer. Haruka shook her head and walked away, leaving Aiko alone in the flickering shadows. * Later that night, hunger gnawed at Aiko¡¯s stomach. She sat on the edge of her futon, staring at her dwindling supplies. Her mind replayed the events of the meeting, Haruka¡¯s words echoing louder than she wanted to admit. You can¡¯t survive this alone, a small voice in her head whispered. She shook her head. She could, and she would. Grabbing her backpack, she carefully packed her knife and lighter. The thought of venturing outside made her chest tighten, but staying in the dorm wasn¡¯t an option anymore. The streets were darker than she had ever seen them. Without the hum of power or the glow of streetlights, the city felt alien, like a hollow shell of itself. Aiko stuck to the shadows, her senses on high alert. * When she reached the convenience store, her heart sank. The front doors had been smashed open, and the shelves were nearly bare. A few people lingered inside, their movements frantic as they grabbed whatever was left. Aiko crouched behind a parked bicycle, watching as a man snatched a bag of instant noodles from a woman and bolted out the door. The woman screamed, but no one came to her aid. Aiko debated whether to risk entering the store. She tightened her grip on her backpack, weighing her options. ¡°Out here alone, huh?¡± The voice came from behind her, low and steady. Aiko spun around, her knife drawn before she could think. A man stood in the shadows, his face obscured but his posture relaxed. He raised his hands slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. ¡°Easy,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not here to hurt you.¡± Aiko didn¡¯t lower the knife. Her heart thundered in her chest as she tried to assess the situation, every muscle in her body coiled like a spring. ¡°Bold of you to come out at night,¡± the man added. ¡°People aren¡¯t exactly friendly right now.¡± Aiko¡¯s grip on the knife tightened, her pulse quickening as the stranger stepped closer, his shadow merging with the dark. Chapter 3 - Neha The jewelry shop hummed with quiet efficiency, a rhythm as predictable as the tides. Neha Rao¡¯s fingers moved methodically over the velvet-lined trays, adjusting the delicate gold bangles so their intricate designs caught the warm glow of the overhead lights. The shop smelled faintly of polish and old wood, mingling with the spice-laden air that drifted in from the street outside. Her father stood by the cash counter, chatting with a regular customer. His voice carried the practiced warmth of a businessman, a tone he rarely used at home. Neha kept her head down, nodding politely whenever a customer turned their attention from the counter or wall displays to glance her way. She knew her role: quiet, competent, unassuming. ¡°Neha, the blue bangles¡ªthird tray,¡± her father said without looking up. She slid the tray toward him, resisting the urge to sigh. The shop was her world, whether she liked it or not. Her father¡¯s pride and joy, passed down from her grandfather, now resting on her unwilling shoulders. She had a degree in computer science, but no one in Mumbai seemed eager to hire a woman programmer. The shop, her father had declared after a year of fruitless interviews, must be her true calling. The ceiling fan above her slowed to a stop. At first, Neha barely noticed, her hands still arranging necklaces on the wall display. Power cuts were part of life in Mumbai, as common as the honking of horns or the calls of street vendors. She reached for her phone to check the time. It didn¡¯t turn on. Neha frowned, holding the phone up to the light. The battery had been nearly full. She pressed the power button again, harder this time, as though force would make a difference. ¡°Baba, my phone isn¡¯t working,¡± she said. Her father barely glanced up. ¡°It¡¯s a power cut. Don¡¯t panic.¡± The customer at the counter muttered something and pulled out his own phone. His face darkened as he tapped the screen, then shook it, as if that might coax it back to life. ¡°Mine¡¯s not working either.¡± Neha straightened, her eyes flicking to the street outside. Power outages don¡¯t affect phones, she thought. The bright signs above the shops were dark, and the usual chaos of traffic seemed to have frozen in place. She walked to the glass door and pushed it open. Outside, the street had transformed. Rickshaw drivers leaned out of their vehicles, muttering to one another. A woman tugged her child closer, scanning the crowd with wide, nervous eyes. The constant, familiar hum of Mumbai had vanished, leaving only fragments: hurried footsteps, raised voices, and the occasional clatter of something dropped. Neha stepped back inside, her heart beginning to race. ¡°Baba,¡± she said, louder this time. ¡°The whole street is out. It¡¯s not just power.¡± Her father waved her off, his tone brusque. ¡°It¡¯s fine. These things happen.¡± He turned back to the customer, offering a well-rehearsed apology for the inconvenience. The cash register emitted a soft click, then fell silent. Neha caught her father¡¯s expression falter for a split second before he recovered, his voice smooth again. ¡°We¡¯ll handle it manually,¡± he said, pulling out a small notebook and pen. ¡°It¡¯s just temporary.¡± The customer wasn¡¯t convinced. He leaned across the counter, his voice rising. ¡°How can l pay you if the register doesn¡¯t work?¡± Neha¡¯s hands curled into fists at her sides. She bit back a sharp retort, knowing her father would disapprove of her speaking out. Instead, she turned toward the back room, her mind racing. * By 7:00 p.m., the shop was empty, its metal security doors locked against the growing tension outside. ¡°Baba, there are no buses, no trains. We¡¯ll have to walk all the way home.¡± Neha kept her tone measured, though the knot in her chest tightened with every passing minute. Her father glanced up from the ledger he¡¯d been scribbling in. ¡°We¡¯re fine here. People panic during outages, but it will pass.¡± She stared at him, incredulous. ¡°This isn¡¯t an outage. Look outside¡ªnothing is working. Not the lights, not the cars, not even the phones. We can¡¯t just sit here and wait for¡ª¡± ¡°For what?¡± he snapped, his voice sharper than she¡¯d expected. ¡°To lose everything we¡¯ve worked for? If this is no power cut, then people will be scared. They¡¯ll get crazy. Dangerous. They¡¯ll loot the streets. They¡¯ll be breaking off these doors from the hinges to get inside and take what¡¯s ours!¡± Neha swallowed hard, her gaze falling to the tray of gold bangles on the counter. "You¡¯re right. I don''t think we can leave anything here for now." Without another word, she began gathering up the counter display, her movements quick and deliberate. She went to the back of the small store, picked up two sturdy bags, and walked over to the safe. Spinning the dial to open the safe, she slipped out the glass trays with rings, ear jewelry into the bag, along with the bangles. ¡°What are you doing?¡± her father asked, his voice softer now. ¡°I¡¯m preparing,¡± she said simply, and passed him a bag. ¡°Please gather up the necklaces-- we have to get as much as we can to the home vault.¡± * The streets were darker than Neha had ever seen them. The usual neon lights and advertisements were gone, leaving the city in shadow. People moved in uneasy clusters, their voices too loud in the silence. A woman near a fruit cart clutched her child tightly, her face pale under the faint glow of a candle. Neha walked close to her father, her bag held tightly against her side. The gold she hadn¡¯t managed to lock away felt like a dead weight. ¡°Neha,¡± her father said, his voice cutting through her thoughts. ¡°It will be fine. Mumbai is resilient. This city has survived worse.¡± She didn¡¯t respond.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. As they passed a bakery, a large, rough-looking man stepped out of the shadows ahead, blocking their path. ¡°What¡¯s in the bags?¡± he asked, his eyes fixed on the heavy bag each clutched possessively under an arm. Neha¡¯s heart pounded. Her father stepped back, shaking his head. ¡°Just some clothes,¡± he said, his voice calm but firm. The man didn¡¯t move. ¡°Let me see.¡± Before her father could respond, Neha stepped forward, ¡°Back off,¡± she snarled, her face taking on the fierce glare she¡¯d learned to adopt on the public trains and buses. ¡°Leave us alone.¡± The man hesitated, his gaze flicking between her and her father. With a muttered curse, he stepped aside, disappearing into the darkened street. When they reached their apartment, Neha locked the door behind them. Her younger brother sat cross-legged on the floor, a candle flickering beside him. ¡°No power, no water,¡± he said. ¡°The neighbors say their phones don¡¯t work either.¡± Her father lit a small diya and placed it on the windowsill, murmuring a quiet prayer. Neha didn¡¯t join him. After securing the shop inventory in the larger and sturdier home safe, she sat by the window, staring out at the city she thought she knew. Mumbai¡¯s usual chaos had always felt alive, like a beast with its own rhythm. Now it was silent, broken, and alien. *** The kitchen tap sputtered weakly before falling silent. Neha turned the handle a few more times, willing it to work, but nothing came out. It had been two days. And still nothing worked. She leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the faucet, closing her eyes as the weight of the last 48 hours pressed down on her. No news. No word of what had happened, why everything had stopped. The water was gone. Her mother¡¯s clay pots sat on the counter, empty. Their family had been careful¡ªrationing what they had from the shared neighborhood tank¡ªbut the summer heat of Mumbai had been relentless, and two days without electricity had stretched their resources thin. ¡°Baba,¡± she called out, stepping into the living room. Her father sat in his usual spot by the window, staring out at the chaotic street below. His posture was tense, but he kept his voice even when he answered. ¡°What is it, Neha?¡± ¡°The water¡¯s finished. There¡¯s nothing left in the tank.¡± Her father turned toward her, his brows furrowing. ¡°They''ll be back to refill it soon. We just need to be patient.¡± Neha bit back the frustration bubbling in her chest. ¡°It¡¯s been two days. This isn¡¯t a normal outage. The municipal water trucks aren''t coming. We can¡¯t just wait¡ª¡± ¡°Enough,¡± her father interrupted, his voice rising slightly. ¡°We are staying inside. It¡¯s dangerous out there.¡± Neha clenched her fists, staring at the man who had always seemed unshakable. But now, his refusal to act felt less like strength and more like fear. ¡°And what will we do with nothing to drink? Just sit here and hope the government fixes it before we die?¡± Her father turned away, his silence more infuriating than words. * Neha paced the small apartment, her mind racing. The air was thick and oppressive, the smells of unwashed clothes and cooking oil lingering in every corner. The shouts from the street below drifted through the open window, mingling with the distant clatter of something breaking. She paused at her brother¡¯s door, knocking softly. ¡°Come in,¡± Rohan called, his voice muffled. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains. Her younger brother sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with a cracked handheld gaming console that had been lifeless since everything stopped. ¡°We need water,¡± she said, cutting straight to the point. Rohan looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. ¡°And?¡± ¡°And I¡¯m going to get it.¡± He blinked, tilting his head in confusion. ¡°Baba said we shouldn¡¯t leave¡ª¡± ¡°Baba isn¡¯t doing anything,¡± Neha snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She softened it quickly. ¡°We can¡¯t just sit here, Rohan. If we don¡¯t do something now, we¡¯re going to run out of everything. I need your help.¡± Her brother hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. He was only 16, still caught between boyhood and manhood, and the events of the past few days had left him shaken. But beneath his uncertainty, Neha could see a flicker of resolve. ¡°What do you need me to do?¡± he asked. * The stairwell smelled of mildew and unwashed bodies. Neha and Rohan moved quietly, their footsteps barely audible against the worn cement steps. A few of their neighbors lingered in the darkened hallways, sitting on the floor or leaning against the walls. One man nodded at Neha as they passed. ¡°Going out?¡± he asked, his tone tinged with both curiosity and concern. ¡°Just for a little while,¡± Neha replied, keeping her voice neutral. The man shook his head. ¡°Careful. People are starting to lose their minds out there.¡± Neha didn¡¯t respond, guiding Rohan past the gathering of eyes that followed them all the way to the exit. Outside, the city was unrecognizable. Trash littered the sidewalks, piling up against the bases of buildings. Cars sat abandoned in the middle of the road, their doors left ajar, as if their owners had simply vanished. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke, though Neha couldn¡¯t see its source. The usual cacophony of Mumbai had been replaced by an uneasy mix of silence and chaos. The occasional cry of an argument or the sharp crash of breaking glass echoed from distant alleyways. ¡°This is bad,¡± Rohan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Neha adjusted the cloth bag slung over her shoulder, gripping the metal rod she¡¯d taken from the storeroom. ¡°Stay close to me,¡± she said firmly. * Their first stop was a public water pump a few streets away. Neha had seen it before, tucked into a cramped corner of the neighborhood near a row of small shops. When they arrived, she immediately saw it was useless. A group of people had gathered around the pump, their voices raised in frustration. Someone had pried the pump open, leaving it half-broken, and now a few desperate individuals were digging into the dry ground beneath it, hoping to find water. ¡°We¡¯re not staying here,¡± Neha said, turning to Rohan. ¡°Why not? We could wait for a turn¡ª¡± ¡°And what happens when they decide we¡¯re not worth letting near it?¡± She gestured toward the growing tension among the group. ¡°This isn¡¯t safe. We¡¯ll find another source.¡± As they moved deeper into the city, the streets became more desolate. A few people wandered aimlessly, their eyes sunken and their movements sluggish. They turned a corner and spotted a man crouched by an abandoned stall, drinking from a small clay pot. Neha hesitated, her grip tightening on the rod. ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said cautiously. The man looked up sharply, clutching the pot to his chest. His eyes darted between Neha and Rohan, and his voice was sharp. ¡°It¡¯s mine. Get away.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not here to take it,¡± Neha said quickly, raising her free hand in a calming gesture. ¡°We just want to know if you¡¯ve seen anywhere we can get water.¡± The man stared at her for a long moment, his breathing heavy. Finally, he lowered the pot slightly. ¡°There¡¯s a well,¡± he muttered. ¡°A few blocks that way. But it¡¯s not safe.¡± Neha nodded. ¡°Thank you.¡± * The well was in a dilapidated courtyard surrounded by crumbling buildings. A small group of people was already there, filling containers and watching each other warily. Neha and Rohan approached cautiously, staying near the edge of the courtyard. The atmosphere was tense, every movement slow and deliberate as if any sudden action might set off a chain reaction. As Neha debated whether to step forward, someone shouted, and a scuffle broke out near the well. Two men shoved each other, their voices loud and angry. One swung a wooden plank, and the other stumbled back, nearly knocking over a woman holding a bucket. Neha grabbed Rohan¡¯s arm, her heart racing. ¡°We need to go,¡± she whispered. ¡°But we don¡¯t have water¡ª¡± ¡°Now,¡± she insisted, pulling him back into the shadows as the fight near the well escalated. Neha¡¯s mind raced as they watched and waited near the well. If things didn¡¯t go back to normal, and soon, how would they survive the streets of Mumbai in the coming days? Where would they go? How far would they have to travel to find water, food, and safety¡ªif such a thing even existed anymore?