Deep Shadows Read online

  Max thought he’d prepared his mind for the worst. He’d thought, as Shelby sat beside him mourning the death of Mr. Evans, that he understood what they were up against. But he realized in that moment that the mind could only process so much change at once, and they were facing exponential, catastrophic change. He probably wouldn’t understand the scope of it for quite some time. As a lawyer, that bothered him more than anything so far. He’d always been good at assessing a situation and seeing the big picture. He no longer trusted his ability to do that.

  “You need Hector Smith to collect the deceased, a doctor to sign the death certificates, and someone to contact families.”

  “Yes, yes, and no. Yes, I need Hector here soon. We can’t leave the bodies in their room—it’s against health regulations. Yes, he will need a doctor to sign the death certificates. But these residents had families that live out of town, so there’s no way to get in touch. Most of our local residents, their family has been by to check on them.”

  “You can’t just bury them without letting someone know.” He had an image of bodies stacked like cordwood, waiting for what? And through the heat of summer? No, it didn’t bear thinking of. He needed to focus on the problem at hand.

  Connie leaned forward and glanced around before pulling Max farther back into the nursing alcove. “How are we going to dispose of the bodies? Can Hector Smith do what he needs to… do?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll check. I want to make sure that Bianca’s father gets home safely, and then I’ll go to the mayor’s office and find out how she wants to handle the situation here. We will get you some help.”

  Connie smiled her thanks, patted the pockets of her smock, and pulled out a peppermint. “For you,” she said, pressing it into his hand. Before he could say anything, she had turned and walked away.

  NINETEEN

  That afternoon they ate well.

  After helping Mr. Lopez, Shelby and Max returned to her house, and Carter made it home from work tired and hungry. Shelby sautéed chicken, fried hamburger meat, and attempted to heat up a frozen pizza on the stove while Max grilled steaks.

  Their neighbors had set up chairs and tables in their front yards. And though everyone was frightened, worried about the mayor’s speech, and wondering what the next day would bring—they managed to laugh, to enjoy the bounty of food, to share with one another. The scene reminded Shelby of a giant progressive dinner.

  But eventually the food was put into refrigerators that were no longer cold, and everyone made their way downtown.

  Shelby, Max, and Carter decided to walk to both of the evening meetings.

  “Maybe it will wake me up.” Max crossed his arms over his head and popped his back as he yawned.

  He’d managed a two-hour nap. Shelby was surprised he could sleep after all that had happened, but then he had only slept a couple of hours the night before. She’d had an extra hour or two that afternoon, but she was afraid that if she tried to rest, she would see Mr. Evans’s face. She had dealt with the death of church members, other neighbors, even her own parents and husband, but his was so nonsensical.

  As they waited for Carter on the front porch, Max told her about finding Hector Smith, the funeral director, walking into town. His car had broken down on a trip back from Austin. Fortunately, he was only twenty miles to the south and had been walking steadily toward Green Acres.

  “Any luck finding a supervisor?”

  “Tom was at the hospital with angina pain. He kept telling the doctors that he needed to be at work. Finally he checked himself out and walked the three blocks to the rehab center.”

  “We have some good people in this town,” Shelby said.

  “That we do.”

  Once Carter joined them, the three began the mile walk to the downtown square.

  “Tell me again why I need to go.” Carter’s voice wasn’t exactly a whine. Neither was it the argumentative teenage tone Shelby had come to expect.

  She knew her son had come home exhausted from his shift at the Market. Thankfully, he had taken the time to eat and his insulin levels were good, but Shelby watched him closely. Always at the edge of her mind was the amount of insulin they had left. Would it be enough? What would they do if they ran out? What if someone tried to steal what they had?

  She’d been so worried about being robbed that she’d put the insulin and her wallet into her big shoulder bag and placed a shawl on top of it. Any unopened insulin needed to be kept cold, but she couldn’t risk it being stolen. She was not letting Carter’s medication out of her sight.

  “It’s your town too, bud.” Max also carried a backpack. Shelby happened to know that it held all the money he had in his house, bottles of water, a blanket in case they had to sit on the ground, and a handgun. She’d tried to argue with him when he’d told her about the firearm, but he’d shaken his head and said, “It’s nonnegotiable, Shelby. You saw what happened to Mr. Evans. It’s not going to happen to us.”

  Less than twenty-four hours after the solar flare had hit, and they were armed and carrying their possessions like the proverbial turtle.

  Bianca had opted to stay home with her parents, but Patrick met them at the corner of First and Crawford streets, as they had prearranged. He proceeded to talk with Carter about some video game they were both involved in—a video game that was now permanently on hold. The conversation seemed to improve her son’s attitude.

  As they drew closer to the downtown area, the size of the crowd grew. By the time they turned the corner and faced the square, Shelby could see that the place was packed. Some people had brought lawn chairs. Others, like Max, had brought blankets. Many of the teens rode bikes or held skateboards under their arms. But most people appeared to have walked, like they had. On the stage, which usually held the high school band or a local choir or even a country-western duo, were four chairs.

  Max found them a place directly in front of the platform, but toward the back on the sidewalk that flanked the small-town businesses, including his one-man law firm. He spread out the blanket for them and settled in for the speech. Carter nodded toward a group of teenagers. In the middle was his best friend, Jason. A smile broke out on her son’s face, and he said, “Catch you later, Mom.”

  She opened her mouth to stop him, but Patrick stayed her with a touch of his hand.

  “He needs a little normalcy, Mom. You can watch him from here.”

  She nodded and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  By the time Carter reached Jason, the mayor, fire chief, police chief, and city manager had all climbed the stairs. Eugene Stone stood at the bottom, watching the crowd and scowling. Finally he turned and stomped off in the direction of city hall.

  “She wants to see us when they’re finished on the podium,” Max explained.

  Everyone in the crowd fell silent as Perkins stepped in front of a makeshift podium. There was no microphone, but she didn’t need one. Mayor Perkins had their attention.

  “I have asked the Reverend Polansky to open us with a word of prayer,” Perkins said.

  A stranger might have thought this call to prayer was owing to the flare, but public prayer was fairly common in their town. At the start of sporting events, during commencement addresses, even before the council opened for session, they had a time of prayer. Some of those prayers were silent. Other times, like tonight, they invited one of the local clergy to voice the prayer. It was one of the many things Shelby liked about their town. They might not be the most devout, but they didn’t pretend that God didn’t exist.

  The reverend’s prayer was brief—a petition for strength, wisdom, and faith. When he’d finished, the mayor again stepped forward.

  “You all know these men on the podium with me. We understand that you are tired, that you’re worried, and that you have questions. Each of these city leaders will give a brief report, and then I’ll add an official statement from my office. After that we’ll have time for a few questions, but I want everyone out of here early. You will be home
before dark, which as of right now happens to be our new curfew.”

  A groan spread through the crowd, and some of the men at the back attempted to heckle her. Their protests died away when she motioned the police chief to the podium.

  “We’ve had three carjackings today, one of which resulted in a fatality.” Chief Bryant didn’t continue until he was sure he had everyone’s attention. “In none of the instances was the perpetrator caught, and we can assume that they are miles away from Abney by now.”

  “Where were the police?” someone behind Shelby asked.

  Bryant gripped the podium and paused—trying to bring his anger under control. When he did speak, it was a low growl. “We have ten officers on patrol, and each one has shown up for his or her shift regardless of the fact that I have no idea how we’re going to pay them.”

  Shelby noticed glances between folks, but no one spoke.

  “Every town has people who are willing, even eager, to break the law. Abney is no different. Our danger is twofold—those who live in Abney and those who are trying to pass through. I have spoken to men and women from each neighborhood in our town, and they are going to be in charge of establishing neighborhood watch groups. The parameters of each group’s tasks and legal boundaries—what they can and cannot do—will be explained to you.”

  Bryant consulted his handwritten notes. “Either tonight or tomorrow, I want you to find the coordinator for your neighborhood. You’ll know them because they’ll have a red flag on their mailboxes. Be willing to listen and to serve your shift. We must work together to ensure that Abney is a safe place. As the mayor mentioned, there will be a curfew. Anyone not honoring that curfew, anyone outside their place of residence who is not on neighborhood patrol or serving this town in an official capacity, will be arrested. Thank you for your support.”

  Conversations broke out throughout the crowd, but everyone again grew quiet as the fire chief approached the podium.

  Luis Castillo had just returned to his position from a six-month disability leave. The town had rallied around Luis and his wife, Anita, when he’d suffered a heart attack. After four bypasses, rehabilitation, and losing thirty pounds, Luis had been cleared to return to his job.

  The fire chief pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at the sweat beading on his head. The man looked as if he wore the weight of Abney on his shoulders. Shelby noticed that he had no notes to read from, but his expression said that what he was about to share with them was important. When he began to speak, she found herself leaning forward in anticipation.

  “This situation,” he said, “is a fireman’s nightmare.”

  TWENTY

  Shelby’s mind flashed back to a book she’d written when she’d first become an author. The story was set in San Francisco in April 1906, during the historic earthquake and fire that had destroyed 80 percent of the city and killed approximately three thousand people. The earthquake had been devastating, but it was estimated that 90 percent of the destruction came from the subsequent fires.

  Goose bumps pebbled her arms as she remembered the research she’d done for that book. Fires could quickly become infernos. They were a force to be reckoned with, but they had largely been conquered over the last century because of the improved infrastructures of modern cities.

  How would they face such dangers now without the resources to fight a fire?

  “Most of you heard the explosion last night. The substation south of the high school overloaded. Fortunately the fire was stopped on the north side by the creek and on the east side by the road. It travelled south and west until it burned itself out, which didn’t take too long with the recent rains we’ve had.” Castillo again wiped at the sweat running down his face, pocketed the handkerchief, and continued. “I don’t mind telling you that our situation scares me something fierce.”

  Now the crowd was deathly quiet, watching the man who had served them for over twenty years struggling with his emotions.

  “The first place I served as a fireman was in a little one-stoplight town in West Texas. It’s a dusty, dry, hot, godforsaken place—at least it was then, and I expect it still is today. Fire was our biggest fear because of the heat, low humidity, and our lack of water. When there were fires, we cut breaks to slow it down, removed any people or animals in its path, and waited for the fire to burn itself out. It’s not a good way to fight fires, but for now it’s what we’ll have to do.”

  He scanned the crowd, nodding at his wife in the back of the crowd.

  Shelby wondered what would that be like—to know that your husband was on the front lines, standing between the town and obliteration.

  “The city manager will explain the water crisis. I want to remind you to keep your generators outside, keep the area around them clear, and only use propane camping stoves outdoors. Candles need to be kept well away from curtains, and besides—you’ll want to save those for when the batteries in your flashlights run out. Think safety first, folks.”

  When he stepped away from the podium, there was utter silence.

  “He didn’t bother softening the news,” Patrick murmured.

  “Castillo always tells it like it is,” Max said.

  Shelby could hardly take it all in. There had been no real surprises so far, but each announcement felt like another nail in their collective coffin. As she looked upward, she noticed the aurora diminishing in strength.

  Perkins approached the podium and offered a shaky smile. “I want to thank Chief Bryant and Chief Castillo for their service to our town. While I would never ask for a catastrophe”—she waved toward the sky—“if I have to endure a dramatic change in our society, in the very way we live our lives, I’m proud to do it with the folks on this podium with me, and with citizens like those found in Abney, Texas. Now Danny Vail has a few words to share with you.”

  Shelby again found herself leaning forward, listening intently to Danny. He’d always been persuasive, exuding confidence and calm. She realized that this was something Abney desperately needed, as much as they needed water and food and gas.

  “We have assessed what resources we have within the borders of our town. There’s enough food to last us at least a month if we’re careful.”

  “What are we supposed to do in July?” Someone at the back stood up and repeated the question, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd.

  “By July you need to have vegetables growing in your front yard.” Vail waited for his words to sink in and conversations to cease. “If you live in an apartment building, you’ll be assigned a section in one of the parks to farm.”

  They had decided this in twelve hours? Corn growing in the public parks? Front yards replaced with okra? Shelby had known the danger was real, but she could not fathom how quickly their town officials had made major decisions. It was unprecedented. The wheels of bureaucracy always moved slowly. How had Perkins convinced the others to respond with strong and decisive measures?

  Shelby glanced over at Max. Eyebrows raised, he shrugged his shoulders. Yeah, he had the same questions she did. She knew him well enough to read his thoughts, as if there was a digital display on his forehead.

  “Use dishwater and bathwater to nourish those crops.”

  He paused and glanced at several folks in the crowd, older men and women who were nodding their heads in agreement.

  Clearing his voice, Vail said, “You know how it was done during the Great War, the war to end all wars. Families did the same during the Second World War. You’ve heard your grandparents talk about ripping out the flower beds and planting green beans and okra and squash. They called them victory gardens.”

  “You want me to pull up the sod I spent a thousand dollars putting in?”

  Shelby was certain that this question came from one of the Archer Heights residents. It was the wealthiest portion of their town, with McMansion-style houses and professionally manicured lawns.

  “If you want to eat, you will.” Vail didn’t blink. He just waited until the man once again
sat down. “We’re fighting a different kind of war than that of our grandparents—one against nature instead of man, but it will take the same type of dedication and ingenuity that this country showed in 1914 and again in 1941. It can be done. Am I right?”

  Several of the old-timers near Shelby raised their hands as if to testify.

  “It can be done. As far as the water, we will not die of thirst in Abney. While we might not have enough water to fight fires, we have enough to drink.”

  “The springs?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I’m not drinking that water.”

  Vail held up his hand to ward off the arguments. “Our springs have been open to the public for over one hundred years. The water bubbles straight out of the limestone, and though it’s laced with sulfur, it’s perfectly fine for drinking and cooking.”

  “How much water do the springs produce?” someone asked.

  “The pool on the north side of town holds three hundred thousand gallons. It bubbles out of the ground at seventy gallons per second. We will use city vehicles to bring that water to your neighborhood. It might not be enough to wash the stink of the day’s work away”—he waited for the laughter to subside, and then he continued—“but it will be enough to drink. We are more fortunate than most. Many towns will be depending on their lakes or streams. We have an unlimited abundance of fresh water. Yes, it has a sulfuric smell—”

  “Like rotten eggs,” someone called out.

  “I positively hated that odor growing up.” Vail laughed at himself, but grew serious once again. “The taste might initially be bitter on your tongue, but it will sustain us through this trying time.”

  He went on to tell them that sewage would be a major issue. Instructions for building outhouses would be disseminated through the neighborhood watch leaders.