We Are Unprepared. Meg Little Reilly
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WE ARE UNPREPARED...
This is a novel about the superstorm that threatens to destroy a marriage, a town and the entire Eastern seaboard. But the destruction begins early, when fear infects people’s lives and spreads like the plague.
Ash and Pia move from hipster Brooklyn to rustic Vermont in search of a more authentic life. But just months after settling in, the forecast of a superstorm disrupts their dream. Fear of an impending disaster splits their tight-knit community and exposes the cracks in their marriage. Where Isole was once a place of old farm families, rednecks and transplants, it now divides into paranoid preppers, religious fanatics and government tools, each at odds about what course to take.
WE ARE UNPREPARED is an emotional journey, a terrifying glimpse into the human costs of our changing earth and, ultimately, a cautionary tale of survival and the human spirit.
We Are Unprepared
Meg Little Reilly
This book is dedicated to the wild places worth protecting.
And to Dan, with whom I want to explore them all.
Contents
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
PART TWO
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
PART THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
WE ARE UNPREPARED READERS GUIDE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Isolé—(French) / EE-zo-LAY / adj.: isolated, remote, lonely.
Isole—(English) / i-sol / n.: rural town in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. Population: 6,481.
IT WOULD BE narcissistic to assume that the earth conjured a storm simply to alter the course of my life. More likely, we’d been poisoning this world for years while ignoring the warning signs, and The Storm wasn’t so much a cosmic intervention as it was a predictable response to our collectively reckless behavior. Either way, the resulting destruction—to North America and our orderly life in Isole—arrived so quickly that I swear we didn’t see it coming.
Looking back, I realize how comforting those months leading up to The Storm had been as we focused on preparing for the disaster. News of the changing weather patterns gave each of our lives a new clarity and direction. It didn’t feel enjoyable at the time, but it was a big, concrete distraction in which to pour ourselves, even as other matters could have benefited from our attention. It was urgent, and living in a state of urgency can be invigorating. But the fear can be mistaken for purpose, which is even more dangerous than the threat itself.
I pine, I pine for my woodland home;
I long for the mountain stream
That through the dark ravine flows on
Till it finds the sun’s bright beam.
I long to catch once more a breath
Of my own pure mountain air,
And lay me down on the flowery turf
In the dim old forest there.
O, for a gush of the wildwood strain
That the birds sang to me then!
O, for an hour of the fresher life
I knew in that haunted glen!
For my path is now in the stranger’s land,
And though I may love full well
Their grand old trees and their flowery meads,
Yet I pine for thee, sweet dell.
I’ve sat in the homes of the proud and great,
I’ve gazed on the artist’s pride,
Yet never a pencil has painted thee,
Thou rill of the mountain side.
And though bright and fair may be other lands,
And as true their friends and free,
Yet my spirit will ever fondly turn,
Green Mountain Home, to thee.
—“Green