I was listening to Keith Urban’s Raise ‘Em Up on the way to work today, and… this is what I got. A moment of Cynara as the world burns.
Lift your tear-filled eyes
Up to the sky
Comin’ home you’ve been gone too long
Tonight we’re gonna
Raise em’ up
Boom Ranch, 2012
She hung up the phone and leaned back with a thump, glad there was no-one around to see her.
Tulsa was gone. Three more friends and 300 hundred thousand other people she’d failed to save.
She indulged herself in a moment of grief. Then she picked up the phone again.
“Catriona? This is Cynara — ah, Máire the Red. I’m glad I caught you. I’m glad you’re okay.” She knew she sounded cheerful, upbeat, casual. She had a lot of experience sounding stable when she was shaking inside. “Look, I don’t know what arrangements you’ve made, but some friends and I bought a ranch up in Wyoming, and there’s a nice piece of land next door where I’m putting together a tent city of sorts. Running water, electricity…” Her voice caught for a moment. “It’s as safe as we can make it, Cat, and that’s pretty safe.”
The rest was just details — location, call sign, what to pack. Cya resisted the urge to tell her “pack everything. Pack it all; this isn’t going to blow over.” Instead she made herself sound calm, practical. Bring what you’d take for a three-week camping event. Bring stuff you like to work on, bring your crafting supplies. Bring friends, anyone you really trust. Bring yourself, fast. As fast as you can pack.
She hung up the phone and indulged herself in a moment of hope. Then she picked up the phone and dialed again.
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*hugs Cynara* I imagine that in these conversations there’s going to be a line somewhere about, “Oh definitely bring the kids.” Even, “Definitely bring next door’s kids, it’ll be fine.”
“Your cousin’s kids? Yeah. Bring them. Look, if they can handle camping, bring ’em. We’ll put them to work. Even if they can’t lift a pencil, they can watch the kids too little to help.”
Zita enjoyed the challenge of feeding/providing for everyone. *solemn nod* Aw, babies, this is why I don’t usually write /during/ the apocalypse.
Mags the organic gardener stretches out their crops like her Name is “Loaves and Fishes”, providing Zita with as much raw material for providing as she can. “Did y’all know you can grow oranges in Wyoming? Ah mean, if you’re me.” And … yeah. Cya, I realized, totally understands Leo’s urge to save/rescue everyone; she just refuses to let him die while doing it.
(Well, to “fight the bad guys while protecting the innocent.”)