I tapped my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. I was late, so naturally the car in front of me was loath to move any faster than twelve miles per hour.  I could see the teased up top of the driver's silver head barely reaching the top of her own steering wheel.  Hell, she was probably a grandmother when the Model T was first rolled off the production line.  They really shouldn't let the dead drive, I thought to myself, then immediately followed that up with the fact that I was probably going to go to Hell for even thinking that.

I took a deep breath and blew it out. I was getting canned for sure, now. I couldn't blame my boss; he had been a lot more patient than my last boss, but then again Vlad Tepes was probably more patient than she was. Thing is, I knew I had pushed my luck. I had been late more times than I was on time and was warned if I was late one more time....

I had the news station on in the car and was only half listening: sports and stocks really didn't interest me, but now they were talking about a large storm blowing up the east coast and from what they were saying, this was going to be a nasty one.

Living in the middle of Long Island, New York meant I was on high enough ground that I'd be okay as far as flooding went, but my electric and internet would most likely be history. I'd best make a post on my blog letting people know I might be MIA for a while.

I sighed again as I pulled into the parking lot of the small market I worked for. I was a stock clerk and had only been there six months. I hoped my boss was in a very good mood. I didn't want to tell my roommate that I would be late on the rent because I had been fired. Again.

While I stood there debating on whether I should clock in or not, my boss' office door opened, his head poked out and he nodded, motioning me into the office. This was it. Looked like I would be pounding the pavement again. Even I had to admit this was starting to get a little stale.

He motioned for me to sit, and even though I hated sitting (it made me feel vulnerable), I did it, anything to keep on whatever was left to me of his good side. I waited in an awkward silence as he sat back and wordlessly studied me a moment before leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

“Amber," he began,” I know that somewhere in there is a responsible young woman, and that young woman has a lot of potential. It's because of that hidden potential that I'm not letting you go today."

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. It seemed my roommate would be spared bad news this evening over a feast of hungry man dinners. Or maybe I would spurge and bring home sandwiches.  But then Daren went and messed it all up.

“Effective immediately, you are to be promoted to deli supervisor. It will be your job to maintain the deli, schedule your staff and keep up on the merchandise relating to it. You will be under a microscope Amber, so don't mess up." He leaned back, turning his chair away slightly and picked up a pen; a sign that this conversation was over. What his reason was for promoting me, easily the most screwed up employee he had, to supervisor, was beyond me but I was sure there was a method to his madness. What it was, I couldn't say. Maybe he was setting me up to fail. If he was, there wasn't any need for effort on his part. I could do that fine all by myself.

I stood and mumbled something sounding a little like a thank you and left the office, heading over to the deli. I knew the deli; I'd worked in it before, so at least I was used to it. The problem was, I really liked being a stock clerk, and it meant I could spend more time alone in the stockroom and less time dealing with snobby and pushy people on the sales floor. Now I had no reprieve and to make matters worse, I was going to have to face Connor.

Connor Brinks had been working here as long as this building had been standing. He was convinced he would be the next deli manager and made sure everyone knew he deserved it. And Connor absolutely, positively hated me. As far as he was concerned, I was everything that was wrong with today's young people: Dyed jet black hair, nose ring, tattoos. The polar opposite of Mister Yuppie Former Varsity Football captain. Connor was well built with dark brown clean cut hair and sky blue eyes, a really cute guy if you were into jocks, which I was most definitely not. Cute or not, I had come to the conclusion that Connor was just a natural born schwarmy dick. And when he found out I was going to be his boss, shit was really going to hit the fan.

The very moment my foot hit the sales floor, the Connor-Radar turned its ugly beam onto me. I could feel his glare burning into the back of my skull. That look of his would drop off of his mug the very second I unloaded the news onto him. Hey, I had to take joy where I could get it.

Once the initial drama hate-fest that is Connor petered out, the day went smoother than I anticipated and before I knew it, it was time to head out. Due to the storm forecast to hit our area by midnight that night, we would be closed tomorrow and would remain so until further notice. I hoped it wasn't too long; I still needed to pay rent.

I stopped at the frozen yogurt place then headed home. I would enjoy sandwiches and frozen yogurt with my roommate Leslie, leave my bloggers a message then relax with a movie before bed. God knew when I'd get to watch another.

The storm hit around 1:30 in the morning: fierce and screaming. Trees bent in the wind-driven rain, and I could hear an occasional crack as branches and tree trunks broke. About an hour into the storm, one more loud crack could be heard close by and the power went with such an abruptness it was almost startling.

I sighed, lit a candle and checked on Leslie. She was dead asleep and had no idea we were even under siege by Mother Nature. The veterinarian she worked for was closed the following day so I didn't even bother to wake her. She'd figure it out in the morning. I closed her door softly and padded back to my room, blowing out the candle and crawling into bed. I'd inspect the damage tomorrow morning, once the storm blew out.  I lay there for a moment listening to the rain and wind, and, before I knew it, I was out like a light.

Connor Brinks looked up from the magazines he was rearranging on the spinner rack and sighed as Amber walked in.  Life would be much easier if he could work up the courage to even say hi to her. It wasn’t that he was crushing on her; he didn’t go for the Goth, stand offish type.  But she seemed witty and had more than a few brain cells and he wouldn’t mind hanging out.  Her world and his world, however were not only two different worlds, but two different galaxies.  He was a jock and she…well…she wasn’t. He sighed again and continued putting away magazines, trying not to get distracted by the articles.

Daren had asked her to come into the office. Conner knew she was late; it certainly wasn’t the first time. He hoped Amber didn’t get fired. God only knew who would up replacing her. She might not be warm and cuddly, but at least she wasn’t a stuck up snob.

 A television over the deli counter showed a newscaster with bottle blonde hair and a painted on smile. She spoke of the hurricane heading toward Long Island like she was hosting a Tupperware party.   Daren had already notified the staff that they would not be open tomorrow, and Connor had already prepped for the storm. His place was loaded with canned goods, bottled water and a ton of batteries. One could never be too careful.

Amber came out of Daren’s office with a mixture of relief and confusion plastered on her face. He watched her quietly as she moved toward him.

“Looks like I’m the new deli supervisor”, she mumbled as she walked past.  A small wave of anger mixed with a dash of frustration rode its way through Connor.  What kind of bullshit was this?  He had been there for three and a half years, had always done his share and then some, took initiative and was professional, and, most importantly, was always on time.

Amber had been there less than six months, had done nothing to even show that she cared about the job and she gets promoted?  Hell, maybe Daren was the one crushing on her.

As Amber brushed past him with this new turn of events, Connor couldn’t help but notice the vague look of smug satisfaction on her face. Why did she dislike him so much?  He watched her intently as she moved on, his anger dissipating into something more akin to resignation.  He sighed and turned his attention back to the magazines, losing himself once again in his work.

As long as Connor kept himself busy, time moved much faster, and quitting time came swiftly. He headed home immediately, wasting no time in getting there. He had gassed up early that morning because he knew how it worked: people would be hoarding gas for generators and mobile homes.  He was not going to be the poor bastard stranded with his gas gauge on “E”.

Connor had one secret guilty pleasure: He loved conspiracies.  It wasn’t that he believed them, but he always found them fascinating.  Take the mysterious babushka in the JFK photos. Who was she? Did Lee Harvey Oswald have an accomplice?    Area 51 had always been an obsession for him.  He liked to call himself an open-minded skeptic. Sure, these things were probably the figments of someone’s wild imagination, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Connor was a firm believer in erring on the side of caution.

He took the stairs to his third floor apartment, there was no elevator in his building and that was fine with him. It gave him time to work off any extra nervous energy.  He reached his door, unlocked it and opened it, peering around in the gloom before entering. His neighbor had been robbed recently and although she hadn’t been home at the time, and the perp turned out to be an ex-boyfriend, Connor remained cautious.

The coast was clear, so he turned on the light and headed to the kitchen, putting the sandwich he had purchased at work on the small counter (he really should have gotten the promotion, this was so unfair) and opened the fridge, pulling out a can of Pepsi. He poured the bag of ice he had purchased on his way out of the deli into a small ice chest, burying his milk and orange juice.  He placed this next to his sandwich and moved to check the phone. The light was a steady red glare, letting him know he had no messages.

And who the hell would call him anyway?  His dad’s fourth DUI turned into negligent homicide and landed him behind bars for seven years. It also cost Connor any chance he might have had to gain a football scholarship. He spent more time the last two years of school sitting in courtrooms than classrooms. As a result, his grades suffered and his future waltzed out of the door.  His mom decided she had had enough and left it all behind, including Connor, who was eighteen and just out of high school, forcing him fend for himself.  That was four years ago, and Connor had done just that. He was hired at Daren’s Deli and Catering and worked hard to afford this tiny studio apartment. It was small and crappy, the paint peeling, and the train tracks were right next to his back window so he heard every passing of the large machines. After three years, he had grown used to it. It had actually become a comfort.

Last he heard his mom had hooked up with some guy in Florida who owned a chain of dry cleaners. His dad continued to languish in jail. Connor didn’t visit. He had nothing to say to the abusive bastard.   As far as Connor was concerned, his family was dead. He was better off without them.

He retrieved his laptop from the small end table beside his bed and returned to the counter. He balanced himself on the barstool and ate while sifting through websites.  They Are Out There, a particular site he had found while surfing the net recently, was his favorite.  The forums there covered everything from the paranormal to UFO’s.  He particularly liked the zombie section.  The odds of a zombie virus breakout were pretty non-existent, but like everything else, Connor preferred to be prepared, just in case.  There were a ton of posts about the approaching hurricane and many users were convinced it was man made, of course these were also the same people who believed in chemtrails. The entire chemtrail theory was more than Connor could tolerate. What a load of shit.

He finished up his dinner, closed the laptop and retired to his bed to watch television as the storm rolled in. He fell asleep in in the middle of “Chuck” and was oblivious to the fact that the storm had increased with such fury that all power was knocked out.

Plum Island, one and a half miles off of the northern fork of Long Island.

The storm blew over the small island with such ferocity it seemed its intent was to remove it from the map entirely. There were no traffic lights, shops or neighborhoods for the storm to destroy here. Only a government facility whose access was monitored by Homeland Security. Rain pierced the air sideways, battering a weathered sign that read “Plum Island Animal Disease Center". The lights surrounding the facility had already died; intermittent lights glowing from emergency backup lighting in areas of importance. Backup generators roared to life in an attempt to preserve frozen specimens of virus samples such as West Nile Disease, African Swine Flu, and Polio. The facility, normally overrun with scientists, seemed almost a ghost town due to the state of emergency.

A door slammed open with the help of the wind, its hinges coming loose as it pummeled the wall behind it. A figure stumbled out, fighting its way to the shore, the waves there seeming to reach out to him, as if wishing to pull him with them back into the sea.  The figure, wrapped in a yellow hooded raincoat, pulled a small boat with an outboard motor onto the land as far back as possible in an attempt to prevent it from washing out to sea and tethering it to a short, thick pillar before heading south on foot in the direction of a smaller set of buildings.

The figure pulled a heavy iron door open, looking about warily before entering the low laying building and slamming the door shut against the storm, locking it securely from within. It was at that moment all backup lighting and generators died, plunging the entire island into total and utter blackness.

The next morning the sky was a piercing blue, the waves low and pleasant again as the iron door to the low laying buildings swung open. The man who had hidden himself away the previous night emerged, a large gym bag slung over his right shoulder as he limped to the boat he had grounded the night before. He grimaced as he untied the boat and pushed it out with one arm, the other held in a sling, blood seeping from a thick bandage covering the base of his neck and traveling to his shoulder.  The boat slid in with a small splash as the man tossed the gym bag in and jumped in after it. A few pulls on the starter cable with his good arm and he was on his way, moving swiftly toward the northern tip of Long Island.