Free Snow Falling on Bluegrass by Molly Harper

I just have to find the right moment, something special.”
    â€œWell, if you need help, let me know.”
    â€œThanks, but I’m familiar with your brand of ‘help.’ I have no interest in proposing while locked in a supply closet,” he muttered.
    â€œThat was one time!” I exclaimed, slapping at his coat sleeve.
    â€œBeing locked in a closet, even once, is memorable .”
    â€œEverything I do is memorable!”
    He laughed, instantly quieting and patting his pocket as Sadie walked into the dining room carrying her giant box of retreat materials. God, that was adorable. One day, I would love to have the power to turn a reasonable, rational man into a quivering pile of twitches.
    With the others distracted by the essential elements of survival, I methodically unpacked my camera equipment, something that had helped me survive when other assistants had been laid off or furloughed. I’d become quite the amateur photographer in my time with KCT. We needed photos for our various ads and publications, and having someone on staff who could take reliably decent shots was considerably cheaper than hiring a full-time photographer. (Also, I could be bribed into working weekends with cupcakes from Sweet Eats, which was less likely with those mercenary art school types.) Sadie was savvy enough to secure funding for a digital camera that did all the thinking about lighting, aperture, shutter speed, and so on for me. All I had to do was correctly frame the object, point, and shoot.
    I had three fully charged batteries in my bag. They would be enough to get me through several days of shooting. I might as well document our suffering. It would make for an amusing addition to the wall of “family photos” at the office. Or it would serve as evidence of which one of us snapped when the authorities stumbled onto our still-frozen remains in the spring.
    â€œGirls on the right, boys on the left. I don’t want to go down in the papers as the marketing director who encouraged sexual harassment lawsuits through coed sleeping arrangements,” Sadie called as the others claimed their beds.
    â€œYes, because avoiding unwanted invasions of sleep space should take priority over not freezing to death,” Dorie Ann muttered.
    When Sadie leveled her “Really? You have jokes now?” expression at her, Dorie Ann dropped her head and said, “Sorry.”
    Slinging my shoulder bag on a folded comforter, I claimed the pallet between Sadie and Bonnie, who was keeping her typical sunny face on, despite the fact that she seemed none too thrilled to be separated from Will.
    â€œDoesn’t this make you think of all those crazy post-doomsday shows on TV?” Theresa asked, tossing pillows onto each pallet. “Like you’re supposed to be reviewing your zombie apocalypse survival plan in your head?”
    â€œI don’t have a zombie apocalypse plan,” I told her, and she gasped in mock horror. “I figure I’m going to fall to the first wave. And I’ll probably die in some really embarrassing way, like getting bitten and turned in the shower and end up wandering the earth for all eternity naked, clutching a loofah.”
    She pulled a disgusted face but laughed. “That’s so sick.”
    I giggled. It was at times like this that I missed my nerd herd even more. My boys wouldn’t have been thrown in the slightest by this situation. Though they were as hooked on electronics as any other self-respecting geek, the four of them had been raised in Kentucky, after all. They’d been taught to make camp, to hunt and fish, to clean and cook what they caught. They didn’t particularly enjoy the activities, but they kept up their skills and the equipment necessary, because Wally was convinced that one day the “grid” would go out and we would all need to go back to living off the land. Wally’s family had a hunting cabin near Lake Cumberland that