The two generators supplied power to one small section of North Boulder in the North Street area. There were people in the area who hadn't known about the test that morning, and many of these people fled as if all the devils of hell were after them.
TV sets went on in blares of snow. In a house on Spruce Street, a blender whirred into life, trying to blend a cheese-and-egg mixture that had congealed long since. The blender's motor soon overloaded and blew out. A power saw whined into life in a deserted garage, puffing sawdust out of its guts. Stove burners began to glow. Marvin Gaye began to sing from the loudspeakers of an oldies record shop called the Wax Museum; the words, backed by a jive disco beat, seemed like a dream of the past come to life: "Let's dance... let's shout... get funky what it's all about... let's dance... let's shout... "
A power transformer blew on Maple Street and a gaudy spiral of purple sparks drifted down, lit on the wet grass, and went out.
At the power station, one of the generators began to whine at a higher, more desperate note. It began to smoke. People backed away, poised just below the point of panic. The place began to fill with the sickish-sweet smell of ozone. A buzzer went off stridently.
"Too high!" Brad roared. "Bastard's crossing over! Overloading!"
He scrambled across the room and slammed both switches back up. The whine of the generators began to die, but not before there was a loud pop and screams, deadened by the safety glass, from below.
"Holy crow," Ralph said. "One of em's afire."
Above them, the fluorescents faded to sullen cores of white light, then went out completely. Brad jerked open the control room door and came out on the landing. His words echoed flatly in the big open space. "Get the foam to that! Hustle!"
Several foam extinguishers were turned on the generators, and the fire was doused. The smell of ozone still hung on the air. The others crowded out on the landing beside Brad.
Stu laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry it turned out the way it did, man," he said.
Brad turned toward him, grinning. "Sorry? What for?"
"Well, it caught fire, didn't it?" Jack asked.
"Shit, yes! It surely did! And somewhere around North Street there's a transformer all blown to shit. We forgot, goddammit, we forgot! They got sick, they died, but they didn't go around turning off their electrical appliances before they did it! There are TVs on, and ovens, and electric blankets, all over Boulder. Hell of a power drain. These generators, they're built to cross over when the load's heavy in one place and light in another. That one down there tried to cross, but all the others were shut down, see?" Brad was fairly jerking with excitement. "Gary! You remember the way Gary, Indiana, was burned to the ground?"
They nodded.
"Can't be sure, we'll never be sure, but what happened here could have happened there. Could be the power didn't go off soon enough. One shorted-out electric blanket could have been enough under the right conditions, just like Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicking over that lantern in Chicago. These gennies tried to cross and had nothing to cross to. So they burned out. We're lucky it happened, that's what I think - take my word for it."
"If you say so," Ralph responded doubtfully.
Brad said, "We've got the job to do all over again, but only on one motor. We'll be in business. But - " Brad had begun to snap his fingers, an unconscious gesture of excitement. "We don't dare turn the juice back on until we're sure. Can we get another work-crew? A dozen guys or so?"
"Sure, I guess so," Stu said. "What for?"
"A Turning-Off Crew. Just a bunch of guys to go around Boulder and turn off everything that was left on. We don't dare turn the juice back on until that gets done. We got no fire department, man." Brad laughed a little crazily.
"We're having a Free Zone Committee meeting tomorrow night," Stu said. "You come on over and explain why you want them, and you'll get your men. But are you sure that overload won't happen again?"
"Pretty damn sure, yeah. It wouldn't have happened today if there hadn't been so much stuff left on. Speaking of that, somebody ought to go over to North Boulder and see if it's burning down."
Nobody was sure if Brad was joking or not. As it turned out there were several small fires, mostly from hot appliances. None of them spread in the drizzle that was falling. And what people in the Zone remembered later about the first of September 1990 was that it was the day the power came back on - if only for thirty seconds or so.
An hour later, Fran pedaled her bike into Eben G. Fine Park across from Harold's. At the park's north end, just beyond the picnic tables, Boulder Stream chuckled mildly along. The morning's drizzly rain was turning into a fine mist.
She looked around for Larry, didn't see him, and parked her bike. She walked through the dewy grass toward the swings and a voice said, "Over here, Frannie."