Before last night, I loved when the power went out. Hurricanes, lightening, freak ice storms: these were the events that got me salivating. I used to sit around and pray for hail the size of banana leaves. When you’re a line worker, as I am, all these natural disasters mean overtime, baby, and lot’s of it.
8:00PM
The moon last night was a waning crescent, barely there at all. It left our mostly rural community feeling naked, exposed. Power outages were expected all throughout the region on account of another unrelenting heatwave.
“We’re gonna’ make some dough tonight, baby!” My partner Jericho said.
“Hell yeah—I hear the system’s already tripping east of ___________________.”
I called my wife Jenya from the bucket truck, heading East on ___________________. She had already tucked the little ones in. The phone service kept clicking in and out—over-taxed cell towers.
“Sylvester…Sylvester can you hear me? Sylvester…be safe out there tonight. I have a bad feeling.”
“You always have a bad feeling.” The phone service cut out before she could respond.
Traffic was spartan, mostly other line workers and a surprisingly strong police presence. More ambulances than normal. Jericho fiddled with the radio. Habit. His aged face world-weary and blistered in the dim light of the cabin. He flipped from one sports radio station to the next, chasing sports radio announcers who would validate his bitter thoughts.
9:00PM
A sudden gust of wind. Heimlich, our liaison at the station started barking out orders about some tripped wires in the homes around ___________________Park.
“Always, always, fucking _________________Park first,” Jericho complained when we were free
of Heimlich. He scratched at the temples of his bald head.
“Priorities,” I said in a mocking, television-reporter type voice.
“Rich folks,” he said.
“Please be assured…the order of service is randomly generated,” I intoned.
Yeah, neither of us believed that. It was always the same when the lines went haywire: fix the commercial grids and the monied neighborhoods first. I suppose it made some business sense, they generated the most business and were the first to bitch. The rest of us, those who lived in non-prioritized neighborhoods, we were used to subpar service. We got it in all walks of life, from the cradle to the grave.
“You worried about Dorian and the boys?” I asked Jericho.
“They’ll be all right, I packed ‘em plenty of flash lights. Even a few camping lanterns. And we don’t need electric to get our water.”
“With all this overtime,” I turned toward Jericho, “next paycheck…I’m going to spring for a generator.”
“Or _______________Electric could, you know, work on updating the system so we don’t cut out every other fucking day.”
“But then we wouldn’t get overtime!”
My stomach was unsettled. I’m not the most superstitious man, but I also had a bad feeling last night, had it even before the shift had started. Just didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself. There had been whispers in our community the past few nights. Tell of “groundling” sightings, devoured animal-life and pets, even an unexplained death or two.
While working a line in ________________Creek, a few weeks back, I came across a gutter filled with eviscerated rats, but of the normal variety. But everyone around here knew groundlings were just local legend, our very own version of the chupacabra, only they present as a horde of rat-like creatures that devour everything in sight and (possibly) feed on negative emotions, whereas old chupie is apparently a canine-like creature. But yeah, I thought all the talk of the groundlings was just local hocus pocus, until last night…
Here’s a partial list of the things I was worried about last evening: whether my new blood pressure medication was too strong, if my stomach was developing a paunch, my son Ian’s math grades, my daughter Tessa’s braces, making our rent payment, cars that needed maintenance, a dog whose allergies were becoming cost prohibitive.
Around 9:15 rain started to come down in choppy splotches of ink. As though the sky above was just a great towel being rung. It felt like something Hollywood manufactured, too real to be real. Jericho had his feet on the dash, humming some song I didn’t recognize and smiling at nothing and nobody.
Heimlich on the com: “You fellas hit ____________Park yet?”
“En route,” I replied.
“Jesus Christ,” he scorched. “What are you two doing, taking the scenic bypass?”
“Little wet out here on the roadways,” I said.
“I don’t give a flat fuck if you’ve gotta canoe your asses over there, just get those lines restored!”
(A pause.)
“Got it?”
“Yeah. We understand all too well.”
9:30PM
We pulled into a development, eerie in the totality of its darkness. Some of the homes already had generators buzzing, but mostly it was still and dark. It felt like the world had given up on itself. As though it were either the very first, or the very last day on Earth.
“Your turn or mine?” Jericho said.
“Truthfully, I think it’s yours,” I joked, pointing to the rain.
“Fuck you, man.”
“Just kidding, J-man. I’ll peak this time. It’s too dry in here anyways….”
Jericho and I are considered “Line workers, second class,” which is partially union-speak, partially an accurate description of what we do. We are both trained on the bucket truck, of course, and certified to climb and work the lines by ourselves. We had started as apprentices and worked our way up over the years to become full-fledged line workers. Some of these jobs take two workers, some four, and the big ones require a whole gaggle of us. But a few tripped wires out in ________________Park wasn’t no big deal. Just a matter of reigniting the fuse, so to speak. They had all the newest systems, of course, but this particular development also used the most concentrated energy for residential lines. It takes a lot of kilowatts to heat those pools and cool those McMansions.
Outside in the bucket, wind whirling, large droplets of rain battering my face. I had primary control of the bucket and I was craning myself toward the transformer, trying not to snarl myself in the guy wires. This was a dangerous job, even in the best of times. The mundanity of the work more than anything was its greatest danger. When you’re bored, it’s easy to forget your training.
It wasn’t like that last night, though. I was dialed in, and my hands knew exactly what to do. The rain felt restorative, almost. I worked quickly, so to get Heimlich off my ass, and because I wanted to be available for more important jobs as the evening wore on. I knew that ____________, my neighborhood, was near the bottom of the list for potential repairs.
As I worked, I began to smell a distinct scent of walnuts. Then: a guttural cry, first a few yards off, then closer to our truck. Something many-headed and feral.
“Hey, Sylvester,” came Jericho’s voice through the glorified walkie-talkie. “You hear that?”
“Might be groundlings….” I joked. But inside, I felt strange. Reverent, almost.
“You don’t think…” his voice trailed off. When weird stuff happens, none of us want to be the first to admit it, for fear others might think us crazy. It’s just human nature. That’s why we all ignored the pandemic for too long.
I stared down, down past the boom craning me toward the tumult, past the treads of the oversized truck tires. I thought I detected movement near the shoulder of the road, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Hurry up,” Jericho stammered. “I think something’s happening.”
“Happening, J-man?”
“Yeah….”
I paused. “Um. Care to be more specific?”
A crunchy sound rang out from under the truck, something like the sound of a mouse trap snapping shut. The rain was coating my glasses, so I moved them to my pockets.
“Um, Sylvester…”
“Jesus Christ,” I said, starting to lose my cool. “The sooner I get this fixed, the sooner we can get out of here.”
“But I think something’s…”
“What?”
“Neh…never mind. I thought I saw something scurrying around the truck but it must just be your shadow.”
It was hard to hear anything but the rattling truck and the buzz of generators. Across the way, I saw the lighted homes. I imagined the families inside, feeling safe and secure in the cleansing brightness of crisp illumination. Dinners warming on the stovetop, a stereo blaring over the droning sound of the generator. Perhaps a glass of red wine in hand. Well-insulated though the bucket was, it started to grow slick with moisture. My hands did what they needed to do.
“Bro, hurry up.” Jericho’s voice hissed through the speaker. An odd desperation present.
My hands continued their work. It now smelled intensely of rotted walnuts.
“Sylv, there’s something sliding up the side…” I ignored this warning. My hands continued working and then…eureka…the development lit up all at once, like the city unveiling a Christmas tree.
Back inside the truck, Jericho was short of breath.
“Good job,” he stammered. “I’m sorry I started to lost my nerve.”
“I’ve heard of second-hand embarrassment,” I told Jericho. “But what you’ve got tonight is a strong case of second-hand fear.”
He giggled nervously. “My husband always says I’m a total scaredy-cat,” he said.
I patted him on the shoulder and told him it was all right. “Hey, now. Don’t forget the important thing,” I said. “We made a lot of rich folks happy.”
“That’s what us ‘essential workers’ are for.”
As we pulled away, my side-mirror showed a flat, skulking mass sidling off into the woods.
10:00PM
I texted Jenya and she told me the kids were asleep. We still had power at our house, thank God. The storm now brought forth thick torrents of rain. The temperature outside felt unseasonably warm, as though the tropics had hitchhiked a ride north. In a way, I suppose they had. Jericho wasn’t saying much.
“Worried about what you think you saw?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve just got a bad feeling. I think I should’ve called out tonight.”
“I understand,” I said. “I get my own form of premonitions. Though nothing like my wife.”
“I try to tell myself all this working is a form of love,” Jericho said. “What else could it be?”
“We’d all like to be with our families more, but nobody’s going to pay for that,” I said.
We pulled over on ______________Street to eat hoagies and drink convenience store coffee. Ambulances and police cruisers stalked the night. Heimlich piped in to complain about a bunch of no-shows.
“I’m sure they’ve got their reasons,” I said, always the union steward.
“Yeah, it’s called half of ’em are lazy and the other half are cowards.”
“Cowards?”
“Yeah, Johnny Pugh with his talltales about the fucking groundlings. Said one bit his arm last night while doing a job out in ____________________. Was probably a fucking rabies raccoon.”
“Woah, now. Easy to say back at the station,” I said. “We just saw some strange shit out in the development.”
“Yeah, it’s called financially secure people. A rarity indeed in our unique times.”
“They don’t make ‘em like they used to,” Heimlich said.
“Or maybe you just forget what it’s like to do this job,” I said.
“Hey,” Heimlich said, his voice harsh, groping. “I worked on the line. Eight fucking years.”
“Yeah, but you ever work it with the groundlings?” I joked.
“Three hurricanes, countless tropical storms. Don’t tell me about bravery,” Heimlich huffed. “You guys need to hit ___________________Bay next. You know the drill, keep the commercial and industrial customers satisfied.”
“They literally all have generators,” Jericho growled.
“Orders is orders.” Heimlich clicked off the system and Jericho and I were left with hoagies that were too hot and coffee that was too cold.
“Sometimes I hate this fucking job,” Jericho said.
“My father told me all work’s the same, unless you’re working for yourself.”
“Good thing you took his advice,” Jericho said, his voice trailing off into a laugh and then a hacking cough.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Your turn to drive.”
11:20PM
Heimlich redirected us from the commercial district to repair downed wires out in R_________________, in B___________________, in East __________________. Each new stop took us further from home. “Fuck orders,” Jericho said. “Let’s help some people who don’t have generators.” The rain was so thick it grew hard to see out the windshield, even with the wipers on full blast. The callow moon hid behind the clouds. Jericho drove cautiously, complaining all the while about how there were no sports to bet on. I switched to the oldies station, ignoring Jericho’s appalled face.
“Hey,” Jericho said. “Don’t Heimlich live in Hampton?”
11:33PM
Numerous local power outages, too many to keep up with. I feared that soon the whole damn grid would be down. We kept getting chased off the road by ambulances. Otherwise, it felt as though the whole city was dead. Within moments, Jericho and I both learned that our families had lost power. We texted with our spouses, reminded them to keep their flashlights lit and spare batteries nearby. Don’t worry, we’d be home real soon. Everything seemed manic, slightly unreal. That surreal dream-state that comes when you’re beyond exhaustion.
Jenya texted to say she thought she heard strange sounds around the house. “Just stay inside,” I responded. I didn’t know what else to say, just that I had a job to do but I wished I was home.
Heimlich interrupted my growing swirls of delirium. “You two are next needed in New ____________.”
“Power’s out in Q_____________,” I offered. “Out in J___________, too. Anyone working on it?”
“Yeah, yeah. You’ll get there later.”
“Come on, Heimlich. You know that’s where we live.”
“I understand your concern, but neither of those locations are a priority at this time. We don’t prioritize where our workers live. That would be not only stupid, but borderline corrupt.”
“Yeah, but you made sure your house was restored right away. You don’t have your wife and kids sitting in the dark,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re so full of shit,” Jericho said. I worried for a moment he was going to drive us off the road. His driving was sloppy for those sort of conditions.
“H____________ was prioritized on the list. That’s why you restored it,” Heimlich said.
“And who makes the list, huh?”
“Management,” Heimlich said.
“And what are you?”
“I am management, and you two are insubordinate. Now get your asses out New _______________.”
11:35 PM
It didn’t take long for me to realize we weren’t heading to New__________________. Jericho was driving twenty, thirty over the limit now. Every so often, you’d see something…wrong outside, just outside the corner of your peripheral vision.
“We’re going to J_________________and then to Q___________________,” Jericho said.
“What about the list?”
“Fuck the list. You heard him—he’s just making it up as he goes along.”
“But he’s management.”
“Fuck management. Haven’t you been seeing those little monsters in the road? It’s fucking groundlings, man. They’re real!”
We went way back, so I tried to choose my words with care. “Look Jericho. I need this job. I don’t have a college degree to fall back on, and I’m not applying to dental schools like you are. It’s this or bust for us.”
“None of it’s going to matter if something happens to one of ours.”
“Okay,” I said. “First J__________________, then Q___________________”
I was just glad he was seeing the groundlings too.
12:01 AM
The local substation was hidden behind a municipal filling station off A____________ Road. As we pulled past the gravel entrance, I witnessed a multi-headed creature dart away in the light of our high beams. Heimlich cut through to yell at us, so Jericho cut power to the feed. “Oops,” Jericho said. We both laughed, in the anxious way people do when they are riddled with fear.
We didn’t need the bucket to check the substation, so we kept the truck idling as we made our way through the gate. The wind swirled around us; the precipitation so thick it almost took my breath away. We were armed with those big, lantern-style flashlights. Yellow plastic, supposedly LED lights, though they didn’t do much against that type of darkness. Perhaps if it had been a full-moon, or even a half moon that evening. Perhaps if it weren’t for the storm, or if we were in an area with more light pollution. Perhaps, perhaps…
The area smelled of walnuts, but also of smoke. No evidence of a fire, but it was obvious lightening had struck one of the transformers. It was a charred brown, almost rusted looking.
Jericho shook his head, swiping through the rain. “How many times have I told them to invest in lightening protection?” The water dripped from his chin.
“This is fucked,” I said. “It could take us all night to fix this.”
Jericho laughed, a loud, clear, defiant laugh. “What’s your suggestion then, head over to your neighborhood first?”
“Perhaps…might just be some downed wires up that way.”
“Selfish,” Jericho muttered.
“I’m just trying to be a realist,” I offered.
“Words, words, words,” he muttered. Eventually I coaxed Jericho back into the truck. He took the driver’s side, still muttering to himself.
“Are we good?” I asked.
“Yeah…super bleeping good.”
I was about to relax when Jericho removed the keys from the ignition. He raced outside the truck, and before I could reach him, he threw the keys deep into the plot of woods that surrounded the substation.
“Now will you help me or what!” he shouted.
“Jericho,” I said, my brain a scrambled egg, my body wanting to convulse. “What the hell?”
He didn’t respond just made his way back through the gate and started fiddling with the transformers. I made my way into the woods, scouring the ground on my hands and knees, still shaking, trying to see through the rain and the darkness. The light from the lantern kept fading. I regretted not bringing my own source of light. I knew from experience that the lantern flashlights they issued us looked a hell of a lot more powerful than they were.
I was still there, crawling through a muddy layer of decayed leaves when I heard Jericho’s first scream.
“Shit!” Jericho shouted. Then: “Sylvester…there’s something near me! A bunch of somethings…”
I shined my light, dim though it was, across the meadow. There I saw the large, horizontal mass of rat-like creatures (groundlings?) circling along the fence, doing what they could to break into the inner chamber where a shrieking Jericho stood. They seemed to have poor eyesight, for Jericho still hadn’t closed the gate. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the silver glimmer of truck keys. Pocketing them, I sprinted back to the truck.
As I ran, so did the creatures, working their way around the fence a fifth and a sixth time. I hopped in the truck, turned on the lights, and blew the horn. Undeterred, they finished a seventh revelation around the fence, finally located the gate entrance, and made their way inside. I was driving straight at them, head on, when I saw that it was too late. Saw Jericho’s body disappear as though it were made of ash, as though it were merely air to be breathed.
At the last moment, I turned, busting off the corner post of the aluminum fencing, and then nearly flipping the truck as I reversed in the slick mud that surrounded the substation entrance. The horde looked up at me at once, red-eyed and hungry.
I drove on in some state of shock, repeating the word “shit” to nobody as I made my way back to Q__________ I didn’t bother to call the authorities, I didn’t stop to call Jenya, I didn’t remember to pray to a God who I was barely on speaking terms with anyway. I was in total and utter shock.
1:14 AM
Home, finally. My front yard reeked of walnuts. Nobody was out on the streets, only the crickets dared to announce their presence. In the distance, I could make out isolated screams and the blue/red swirl of prowling ambulances. The rain started to taper off. I busted through the front door, dripping liquid over our new carpets and not giving a damn. I locked the door behind me, though I no longer believed that doors or windows would be enough to protect our little town from whatever was starting.
I tiptoed up the stairs—I didn’t want to wake the children should they be asleep. I was home now, and I was horrified by what I might find. I had watched those creatures, like large, many-headed rats devour Jericho. I now knew that sometimes, legends and horror stories are real. Tomorrow, I promised myself, I would go out in the daylight and I would restore power. Tonight, I needed to offer what little dim light I had left, to my family.
When I entered my bedroom, I found my them all huddled in our bed.
“You’re home!” They blinded me with flashlights, and I didn’t care as I made my way to the bed and scooped them up like a bucket atop a truck.
“The hospital just called,” Jenya said. “They want me to work a double shift tomorrow. Apparently something strange is going on.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That I’d pitch in however I could.”
“My God,” I said. “What’s wrong with the two of us.”
Jenya laughed, and the children settled back in.
Outside, I thought I heard scurrying across the aluminum siding. Outside, I thought I heard a screeching sound, metallic and inhuman. Inside, we huddled close with the few joules of energy we had.
I checked my cell phone, which was about to die.
“Six,” I said.
“Huh?” Jenya said, holding me in her arms.
“That’s sunrise tomorrow,” I said. “Can’t come soon enough.” Then, with what little energy there was left in me, and my phone, I made one last call for good old Jericho.