The paddock was wet and in the darkness, I could feel weeds brushing against my small calves. The horses had not been taken to the barn. I could hear them whinnying and snorting. Occasionally, I could hear the clomping of their feet on the soil and grass. They were spooked. I was spooked. Mother and Father arrived with flashlights and gathered the horses. I helped lead them into the barn. The horses bucked and didn’t go quietly to their stalls.
“Something’s set their souls on fire.” Mother grimaced. Or perhaps she smiled. It was hard to tell in the darkness.
It was near midnight when the farm was settled and every animal was fed and in its place. My Father had given me a small flashlight to feed the chickens but the chickens huddled in their coop and wouldn’t even peck the ground. I saw them quivering. A few crickets went by and not a single chicken ate it as a snack.
“Mother, what’s going on with the world?”
Mother shook her head. “The power has been out since last night. It’s hard to say. I went to the store for bread and honey today and there was talk the Americans had attacked our power grid. They call it a cyber attack.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. I remember the Cold War. You should ask your Grandfather some day. He remembers the Cold War clearly. He worked in the KGB.”
“Oh.” I shined the flashlight on the teapot on the table. There was also a bottle of vodka and Father was pouring himself a drink. Even after all these years and my age, the acronym, KGB, had heft and could stoke mild shivers of fear in me. I didn’t like mean people. I didn’t like the world. I wanted to stay on my farm in Ukraine. I had no wanderlust. I had no desire for anything other than my books and the farm. As we wiped sweat from our brows and drank our drinks, the power came on.
“Finally,” Father yelled. We turned on the TV. There was no mention of what caused the grid failure. There was no mention that power in the backup generator at the hospital was running low or that the nuclear reactor, which I could see from my bedroom window had to shut down. I felt uneasy. There was the smell of manure, grass, and fear in the air. Perhaps I would talk to my Grandfather about the KGB, Russia and many other things. Such questions would shake my sense of safety, but if I was to live my life on this farm, I had to know the threats.
A strange thought emerged in my head like a phoenix from the ashes as I turned down the blanket on my bed. What if Russia had attacked us? What if we were an exercise in some larger scheme? I began to cry. The world was not safe. I was fourteen and a grid failure turned me into an adult who now craved the history of Russia and America.
THE END