Fight Song A Novel - By Joshua Mohr Page 0,69

radio to see what people are saying about the unexpected storm. Jane attempts to distract the kids with a project. Luckily, their oven is gas and so they prepare to bake chocolate chip cookies. Unluckily, the task is not sidetracking the kids: Margot is climbing the walls, trying to get a wireless signal on her iPad. Brent had been playing a video game on his phone, but the batteries died about ten minutes ago, no way to charge it, and the boy looks confused, a bit scared.

There’s a startling, petrified chatter on the talk shows as Coffen cruises the band, the populous fearing the worst:

“Is it time to use the word ‘Apocalypse’?” a man asks a disc jockey. “Can we safely assume that this is Judgment Day?”

The DJ stays on the bright side: “Why should we assume the worst? So it’s never snowed like this in the history of our beautiful suburb, so what? Maybe this is simply an unexpected respite from our normal weather patterns. I’m not ready to preach doomsday. It’s too early for that. Our next caller is Dwight. Welcome, sir. What do you think of our weather: angry god or anomaly?”

Bob thinks, Please say anomaly, Dwight.

Jane says to the kids, “Don’t eat all the dough. We have to bake some.”

Dwight sounds all mild manners and green tea and multivitamins at first, starting off with, “A couple inches of snow, fine, I can chock that up to a blip.” Then he gets a bit more mania in his voice, “But we’re talking two and a half feet over a few hours?” And finally full-throttle naked obscene chaos rumbles up his guts and throat and rockets out with space shuttles from his mouth, “This is insane! The beginning of the end! My advice to all is buy canned goods and water! Lots of canned goods! Hole up with loved ones and hoard your canned goods! If this keeps up, canned goods will be worth $100 a pop! Listen up, people, canned goods! Buy every canned good you can get your hands on!”

“Thanks, Dwight,” says the disc jockey, “for that public service announcement. You heard it here first, people. Canned goods will be the new currency. Up next is Judy. Hi, Judy.”

“Do you know what I’ve been doing since the snow started?”

“Do tell us.”

“I’ve taken my binoculars out on my patio and have been searching the sky. My eyes have been combing the horizon, which ain’t easy with the poor visibility from the snow, but I’m doing my best. Guess what I’m looking for?”

“Why, I’m sure I don’t know, Judy, but I’ll venture a guess to play along. Is the answer terrorists?”

“Fat chance, my friend,” Judy says. “I’m out scouring the sky for flying pigs.”

“Pigs can’t fly,” Brent says.

“It can’t snow at sea level at this longitude and latitude, and that’s happening,” Margot says.

“Maybe it’s time to turn that off,” Jane says to Bob, molding the cookie dough into dime-sized balls, then placing them on a baking sheet.

“One sec,” says Coffen.

“Brigades of flying pigs!” Judy says. “Squadrons of them. Because believe it or not, that’s the only thing that will make any sense of this. An innocent snowstorm? No way. It’s never happened before. But if I see pigs fly into our town, then I’ll know that this is the end of days and anything is possible. Sit back and wait for the invasion of the flying pigs.”

“You heard it here first, folks. Judy’s got her eyes peeled for pigs. And let’s hope she doesn’t see any. I don’t know about you, but I’m not quite ready for the end of days. My queue is stuffed with classics and I still haven’t climbed Everest. We need to take a quick break so enjoy these messages from our lovely sponsors … ”

“Turn it off, Bob,” Jane says. “We need you right now.”

He clicks the radio off and walks into the kitchen. Coffen says to them, “The cookies smell great.”

They’re all waiting for the first batch to be done.

“Is it dangerous?” Brent says.

“The snow?” Bob asks.

“Maybe,” Margot says.

“Of course it’s not dangerous,” Bob says.

“It’s just like rain, sweetie,” Jane says, “except it’s frozen.”

“Can we play in it?” Brent asks.

Bob and Jane look at each other, shrug.

Once the cookies are finished and they’ve each eaten one, they take the snowy bull by the horns, bundling themselves up and trekking out into the storm. Outside, it surprises Coffen how empty the streets are. He figured at least the subdivision children would be out