Free Kick at the Darkness by Keira Andrews

just another morning.
    At the kitchen sink, he washed his hands with peppermint-lavender soap. A pot scrubber rested in a ceramic frog’s open mouth, and Parker took it and dug in under his nails. Blood— Carey’s blood, Jesus Christ—flecked off, sticking to the rim of a mug sitting in the sink. When his hands were raw, he picked up the mug and washed it, reading the words printed on the side:
    You’re not the boss of me. That’s my wife’s job!
    “Okay?”
    Blinking, Parker dropped the mug with a clatter. “Yeah. I was going to…there’s food.” He grabbed a serving spoon from a jug of utensils and began dishing the leftovers onto the two plates.
    “There’s a bathroom with a shower down here. Why don’t we stay on the main floor? In case we have to leave in a hurry. I brought down towels. You go first—I’ll nuke the food.” He reached out and gently took the spoon from Parker’s hand. “You should rest. You sound really stuffed up.”
    Parker realized he was shaking. “Yeah. Okay. A shower would be good.” He caught sight of a coiled white cord on the counter behind a metal mail holder with bills addressed to a W. Henderson . His heart leapt. “Please be a five. Please be a five.” He pulled out the cord and saw the tiny plug. “Yes!” The USB end was plugged into a wall adapter in a socket. Parker yanked out his phone and attached the charger. After a long moment, the apple appeared in the middle of the screen.
    Minutes passed like hours as Parker watched the red battery indicator creep up. He paced on the pale tiles, drumming his fingers on the marble counter every so often. Adam didn’t comment, and went about opening and closing cupboards. He pulled out some items, but Parker didn’t look to see what. The red bar grew longer.
    Finally there was enough charge to check his messages. Parker swiped his finger and tapped in his code. There were no red numbers next to his texts or his phone icon. He tapped his recents and tried to dial his mother, but it wouldn’t connect. No internet either. He went to settings. “They must have wireless here,” he muttered. A secure network appeared, but there were no waves indicated, and he didn’t know the password anyway. “Shit.”
    “Parker.”
    He felt wired with energy, like he might burst out of his skin. He glanced around the kitchen and realized there was a cordless phone sitting in its cradle on the counter. How had he not noticed that? He pressed the ON button with shaky fingers and thought he might cry when he heard the sweet sound of the dial tone. Parker realized he didn’t know anyone’s numbers off by heart, and tapped hurriedly at his contacts.
    One by one, he tried his family and friends. One by one, the phone rang and either went to voicemail, or didn’t connect at all. “Fuck!” He barely resisted the urge to smash the cordless phone on the tiles.
    “Parker…”
    “Shit, did you check the TV? We need to check the TV.” He hurried past a rustic pine dining table and chairs to the living room at the front of the house, where a flat screen was mounted over a glass fireplace. Three remotes sat on the coffee table. Parker picked the closest and jabbed the power button. Nothing. He tried the second. Nothing. His pulse raced as he grabbed the third and aimed it at the TV. With a welcoming tri-tone, the screen flared to life.
    Snow.
    Parker pressed the channel arrow with his thumb, scrolling up past static on station after station.
    “Parker, it’s no use.”
    He didn’t look at Adam, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. “There has to be something. There has to be.” He pressed his thumb rhythmically, up, up, up through the numbers. Finally a picture appeared. “There!” His breath was shallow as he read the scrolling message.
    This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. Stay in your home with doors and windows locked…
    “It’s the same.” Parker shook his head. “No, there has to be something