Switchyard Zeta

Harbor City smelled like salt and hot metal when the sun slid down the water and the ferries nudged their ropes against the docks. From the roof of Building 19, Maya could see the bridge lit like a necklace, each bulb a tiny star strung over the river. She was eleven, in scuffed sneakers and a bicycle helmet she insisted on wearing even when she was nowhere near a bike. A small toolkit dangled from her belt, rattling when she jumped between the concrete vents. She held a homemade radio against her ear, a tangle of wires and a bent paperclip for an antenna.

'You up there again?' crackled Diego's voice. He lived two buildings over and always sounded like he was smiling.

'I fixed the static,' Maya said. She turned her body to improve the signal. 'Say something heroic.'

'I will accept a slice of heroic pizza,' Diego answered. 'Pepperoni of destiny.'

Maya laughed and sat cross-legged near the ledge. The river hissed against the pilings. Far below, a bus sighed as it stopped, doors wheezing open. The hospital across the avenue glowed calm and steady. Somewhere inside, her mom was halfway through a night shift. Maya imagined her hands, quick and gentle, tying bandages as if they were bows.

From the stairwell hatch came a faint clack and a whiff of machine oil. Ms. Mori, the superintendent, was making her rounds. She was small and wiry, with a belt of keys and a yellow flashlight that looked older than the building. She had taught Maya how to listen to pipes and how to coax a stubborn elevator back into sense. Maya liked that the world had hinges if you knew where to press.

The air went thick for half a second, like a held breath. Then the lights on the bridge winked and vanished in a swallow. The hospital windows went dark. The bus down below coughed, stalled, and died where it stood. In the same instant everything else came alive: horns, shouting, the squeal of a generator trying and failing to catch. A siren in the distance yelped and cut out.

Diego's voice fizzed, then became a tangle of crackles. 'Did you—'

The radio went silent. Maya stared at the city that had lost its stars. She almost called for her mom, though she knew the hospital had backup power. Her phone buzzed. A message popped up, simple and sharp: Power out. Generators faltering. Stay put. I love you.

Maya's mouth went dry. She stood so fast her radio slipped and clattered, saved by its strap. On the street, people leaned out of windows with flashlights, a swarm of small moons drifting. The ferry horns bellowed across the bay, one after the other like deep whales calling.

The stairwell door banged open. Ms. Mori stepped onto the roof with her flashlight and a bundle of paper maps.

'Grid’s down,' she said, no panic in her voice. 'Not just a block. That bridge going out… that’s near the old line.'

'What old line?' Maya asked.

'Come downstairs,' Ms. Mori said, already crossing the roof. 'I’ll show you something the city forgot.'