Stories, as everyone knows, require a problem and an arc. For climate, the problem was by now well-established. The beginning of the story was equally well-established: just look around. The end of the story would vary from author to author—high-tech or low-tech? equitable or non-? paradisical or permanently scarred?—but generally centered on clean power.

What was missing was the middle.

“Once upon a time, some teenagers resented their parents. Thought their parents were fools, even dangerous. And they set out to save the world from their own parents.” He paused. “Sorry, did I say once upon a time? I meant every time ever. And every time ever, just as far back, the parents called their teens rebellious and ungrateful and hopelessly naive for that attempt at salvation. I mean, I’m talking about snide comments carved in cuneiform.
“But once upon a time, not long ago, something changed.”

“Are you saying Mr. Wilson is on our side?”

“There are only two sides that I know: the living and the dead. But yes, I suspect Jack’s more supportive of the struggle than you know.”

“Then why would he be so mean to us?”

“That last line really is a problem, though, isn’t it? It’s too abrupt a transition. Too neat and tidy. Autumn comes and fixes everything? I think scorch season has to fix its own problems, doesn’t it?”
“But the problems aren’t fixed.”
“Well, we’re working on it.”

“Just being cold,” Laney said. “I think I wouldn’t mind being cold.”
“My uncle said they would just get used to it,” Pol said. “So they’d complain about the heat and complain about the cold.”
“Weird.”

“If y’all had just learned to say ‘No’ to the bosses a little sooner, yanked your money from the bank, learned to take a vacation now and then, we wouldn’t be in this mess. ‘One day off at a time’? If your generation had just relaxed ten percent more, Mr. Wilson, ten freakin’ percent more…”

Ti was left to look around the room. Live-edge wooden coffee table. A pillow on the couch covered in words like Dream and Magical and Inspire. A canvas print up on the wall that said: All That We Have to Decide is What to Do With the Time We Are Given—Martin Luther King, Jr.

Every solar panel was cranked over to the maximum. Every stitch of blackcloth was strung up like tarps for catching rain, but now they strained for every last drop of fire: light-thirsty. All around, the city was quieting.

No: stilling.

Every house got the same message, verbally or stencil-ly: unplug as many appliances as possible, run them on battery alone, or set them to their brownout configuration. Turn off all lights and break out the lanterns. Use AC sparingly, no more than ten minutes per hour, and ideally not on the hour, to avoid demand spikes. Unplug bikes and scooters. Plug in cars, but set them to supply only, not to charge. Drink, drink, drink—there was no Water Board restriction on water for preservation of life. Ask for help. Stay inside. Don’t move much.

“It’s all about team-building! And community! Community is life, girl!”
“I love you, Pol, but can you dial it back, like, ten percent?” Laney asked as the four of them headed for the exit.
Pol shook his head. “Nope, not tonight! Gonna be a long one, got to keep our energy up.”
“How about six and half percent?”
“Still nope! Tonight, we go to eleven!”

“We all know…” Dr. Moscone had to pause again. “We all know what we’re up against, and what we need to do. Take care of each other. Make me proud tonight.”
The PA clicked off.
Several thoughts were running around in Ti’s head, slamming conclusions into place.
If Preservice is activated, that probably means brownout.
The forecast must be pretty bad, then.
If Pre is activated, Case will be there.
It’s gonna be a long night.

In which we begin not just a new story, but a new universe.

(Header image created using craiyon.com)