Raging Storm Page 12

  “Are we really in an elementary school?” Max handed the notebook back to Shelby, moved to stick his hands in his back pockets, and then remembered he was wearing scrubs.

  Shelby caught the motion and bumped her shoulder against his. “You can take the cowboy out of the blue jeans, but…”

  “You have to admit it’s pretty amazing,” Clay said.

  “True, but what you’re calling a green program, we call 4-H.”

  “Max is right.” Shelby peered closer into the full barrel of water. “Students in rural communities have been raising goats, harvesting water, and working with crops for generations.”

  “I’m a rural boy myself. Do you think you’re telling me something new? Remember, we live to the west of Highway 183. Not much between us and west Texas except a bunch of farms.” Clay shook his head. “My grandson has had a different life, though. He was raised in Austin.”

  Clay caught their look of concern and held up a hand. “No worries. His family was visiting for my wife’s birthday when the flare happened. They’re all fine, but David knew nothing about country living. Sure, they’ve visited before, but he’s always been too busy to spend much time—what with select soccer camps, engineering camps, and summer SAT prep classes. David wasn’t ready for a change of this magnitude, and so it’s been harder on him. If he’d participated in a program like this? Maybe what he’s facing now wouldn’t seem so daunting.”

  “It is a pretty amazing setup,” Shelby agreed. “A school like this, in the middle of the city, must have cost a fortune to design, build, and then operate.”

  “Sure, but these people can afford the enriched programs, and there were grants too. Much of what you see was funded by the major green groups, and you can imagine their agenda.”

  “Carbon footprints, global warming, that sort of thing?” When Clay nodded, Max asked, “And you buy into that?”

  “I don’t know, and when you think about it, those old arguments don’t much matter anymore. In one evening, everything was reset. What I keep thinking about…while I’m picking up kids and driving through an urban jungle…is whether this could be a prototype for the next generation. Whether we could maybe do it right this time.”

  They made their way back inside, Max chewing on what Clay was suggesting. He hadn’t thought that far into the future. Initially, he’d been worried about convincing Shelby and Carter to move to the ranch. And the last few days it had been all he could do, all any of them could do, to deal with the present. The future? Well, it had shrunk to the next forty-eight hours, to finding Carter’s insulin and getting home.

  It was hard to wrap his mind around the technology he was seeing—applied to rural concerns like raising goats and harvesting water. They’d always done things simply at High Fields, but that had been for a single family. If society as a whole was going to fall back on a rural lifestyle, perhaps green technology could soften that fall.

  He glanced at the student-made posters as they walked down the hall past classrooms for older kids, maybe fourth or fifth grade. The posters touted things like hydroponic agriculture, energy conservation, and the buzzword of the last few years—sustainability.

  Sure, he’d read about environmental concerns and advances in green technology. He tried to stay up to date with the daily news, but mostly he had stuck to law reviews. Maybe he should have paid closer attention. Maybe what they were seeing, in spite of the flare, was the future.

  They stepped back into the main area of the school and continued down the hall to rejoin the rest of the group. Max pulled Clay back as Shelby moved on ahead. “This is amazing, and what you’re doing? Saving the kids? It’s commendable.”

  “But…”

  “You’re risking your life every time you bring someone in and every time you take someone out.”

  “You sound like my wife.”

  “I’m just reminding you to be careful and be realistic. You’re no good to anyone if you’re dead.”

  Clay studied him a moment before he asked, “What did you do before the flare?”

  “Lawyer.”

  Slapping him on the back, Clay grinned. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  They met again in Donna’s office, but this time there was an additional person sitting next to her desk. Maria was gone—no doubt helping with the children in the next room. In her place was a giant of a man, and he didn’t look very happy.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Bill Wilson was at least six foot six and two hundred and fifty pounds. His white beard resembled Santa Claus’s in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. He had the crinkly blue eyes to match, but there any holiday resemblance stopped.

  His mouth was drawn down in a frown, and sweat glistened on his bald head. From what Max was seeing, he had not had a good day.

  “I’ve asked Bill to join us,” Donna said. “First, I’d like him to tell you what he saw this morning, and then we can talk about the items you’re looking for.”

  Max glanced at Shelby. He could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was bracing herself for bad news—more bad news.

  “The situation is deteriorating, as we suspected it would. People are becoming more desperate and more violent. Two weeks ago, no one challenged me if I drove down their street or walked around a block.” He studied each of them in turn, and then he continued. “I’m a big guy. There are easier victims than me.”

  “You haven’t been challenged by people who are carrying a gun?” Max asked.

  “Guns are noisy. They draw a crowd. No one wants that right now—even the bad guys. At night? Maybe. Then they could slip away. But not during the day, and I only go on supply runs during the day.”

  “Alone?” Patrick asked.

  “Usually. I want to get in and out. I don’t need anybody slowing me down.” Bill didn’t shy away from Patrick’s glare. “Military, right? You partner up in the military. Your CO would never send you out alone, but this isn’t the military. Things work different now. In and out. Just me. Works fine, or it has in the past.”

  “But today was different.” Shelby sat back, sank into her chair, and began to chew on her thumbnail.

  “More roadblocks, which sometimes is just a large group of people who refuse to budge. I see those ahead of time, back up, go around. No big deal. But now they’re planning, they’re working together. And the way I would go around? It’s blocked too.”

  “So what did you do?” Max asked.

  “I went through. Didn’t slow down. In fact, I accelerated.”

  “Did you run over someone?” Shelby’s frown intensified. “Did you kill someone?”

  “No. I didn’t. Not this time. This time they scrambled like buzzards from a corpse. But if I had to run over one of those punks in order to get back here and bring these kids what they need, I would.”

  “Where’s the police presence?” Clay asked. He was sitting forward, hands clasped between his knees.

  Max could practically hear the gears of his mind whirring. How many trips would it take to get all of the kids out? How many days? Should they accelerate their exit strategy?

  “The police are gone.”

  “Completely?”

  “Yes, completely.”

  “We’ve come across roaming patrols on our previous trips,” Clay said. “They don’t actually stop and help anyone, but their presence calms things down a little.”

  “I’m telling you, they’ve pulled out. On the north side of Austin, a person’s on his own.”

  Shelby sat up straighter. “Has Donna told you why we’re here? What we’re looking for?”

  Bill nodded and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. “Insulin. I’m sorry about your son. It’s a terrible thing seeing people who had treatable diseases suffer.”

  He didn’t add and die, but the words were there, hanging in the air.

  “My son is not suffering. He’s fine, and I will find him more insulin. There has to be some left in this city.”

&nbs
p; “You’re not listening to me, lady. I barely made it back here today. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Shelby stood and began pacing behind her chair. “There has to be a path to what we need. If you can tell us where to look, we’ll find a way.”

  Max could hear the mama-bear rumbling. He needed to intervene before Shelby spiraled out of control.

  “I assume all of the pharmacies are empty.”

  “Yes, they are. Shelves are bare. Drugs are gone.”

  “Do you know of any pharmaceutical warehouses nearby?”

  “A couple.”

  Shelby whirled toward him. “Where?”

  “You can’t get in there.”

  “Show us. I’ll pay you. I have money, a little gold, some extra fuel…”

  “I don’t want your stuff.”

  “Or if you’re afraid, just tell us where. Draw us a map.”

  “I’m not afraid, but I’m not stupid either. You can’t get there.”

  “So you’ve been?” Bhatti asked.

  “Sure. Plenty of times. Got what I could—basic stuff like cough syrup, Tylenol, Advil. Last time I tried? The inner-city gangs had taken over the distribution centers—both of them. And these people are armed with AK-47s. You’re not getting in there, and even if you did? They’re not interested in what you have to trade.”

  Bianca rubbed her fingers against her forehead. Finally, she looked up and asked, “What about the hospitals?”

  “Deserted,” Donna assured her.

  “She’s right,” Bill said. “What the gangs didn’t take, the military did.”

  “The military?” Patrick shook his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me the military went into the hospitals and took all of the drugs?”

  “Requisitioned was the word they used.”

  “What about the people that were in the hospital?” Bianca asked.

  “I don’t know. They were gone by the second week. Moved or taken home or maybe they died. There are bodies everywhere, and that’s another concern—disease. You want to be careful what you touch and even more careful about any food or water that might be contaminated.”

  “You’re telling us it’s hopeless.” Shelby sank back into her chair. “I don’t accept that. I won’t accept it.”

  Bill stood and stretched, his hands nearly touching the ceiling. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and rubbed a hand across his jaw.

  Max wondered when he’d last slept.

  Finally he walked over to where Shelby was sitting and squatted in front of her chair. He was so big that they were nose to nose, with him squatting and her sitting.

  “Nothing’s hopeless, but you need to ask yourself if it’s worth the risk. Ask yourself if you’re willing to die, and if you’re willing to see your friends die. Because that could happen.”

  Bianca said, “I’m in,” followed by Patrick and Max and even Bhatti.

  Shelby’s voice was stronger now, calmer. “We’re doing this. With or without your help, but we don’t know where to go. We don’t know where to look.”

  “You go to the capitol.”

  “We’re in—”

  “You go to the capitol building, where the governor is, where the supplies are being logged and stored. It’s your only chance, and getting there won’t be easy.”

  Shelby raised her eyes to Max. He felt himself nod, saw the relief flood through her body as she deflated. All the nervous energy—gone. “All right. We’ll do that. We’ll go to see the governor.”

  “Then we leave in four hours.”

  “Four hours?” Shelby half rose out of her chair, but Bill wasn’t paying her any attention. He was already walking toward the door. He disappeared down the hall without another word.

  “Bill needs sleep,” Donna explained. “And from the looks of it, you five could use the same. Maria will show you a place to bed down. We’ll wake you thirty minutes before you’re supposed to leave.”

  Max didn’t think there was any chance that Shelby would sleep, though his own eyes were stinging, and he felt as if his head were stuffed with cotton. Had they really only left High Fields the day before?

  They were led to a room with only a small skylight in the center. Mats had been set up around the perimeter. Each had a pillow and blanket.

  Where had all these supplies come from? Bill?

  Where had Bill come from?

  Bhatti, Bianca, and Shelby each grabbed a corner mat. Max chose one in the middle, thinking he could keep his eyes on things. As he watched, Shelby lay down, pulled the blanket over her, and turned to face the wall.

  She didn’t speak. Didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t raise any objections. She was re-fueling, assimilating all that they had learned, coming up with a new plan. He knew her well enough to know with complete certainty that she might be down for a few hours, but she was not out.

  There were two sounds he heard before allowing his eyes to close.

  The soft, rhythmic breathing of Shelby, already fast asleep.

  And Patrick, who had chosen a spot up against the wall across the room, where he was once again cleaning their guns.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Carter stood at the door and stared in surprise at the large group of people who had assembled in Roy’s barn. He hadn’t realized there were so many people in the area. He rarely saw anyone. Each person lived on a place that was well over a hundred acres, or so Georgia had told him, which translated into a lot of space between you and your neighbor.

  He certainly didn’t recognize anyone from the roadblock they’d originally passed through. He’d still been deep in his grief at that point, not to mention scared for his life since they were being pursued by bandits. No one looked familiar at all, except for Tate’s dad.

  There were some teenagers who looked close to his age, but Carter wasn’t much interested in making new friends. What was the point? Something would happen—they’d be killed or have to move or maybe just decide life on the farm was too hard. The future was too uncertain for any kind of relationship anymore—friends or otherwise.

  He avoided any eye contact and shuffled over to where Georgia was sitting.

  “Just in time,” she whispered, and then Roy was standing up, addressing the group.

  “Many of you know that Tate was shot last night.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “What time was it?”

  “Tell us who did it, and we’ll take care of them.”

  Roy held up a hand and waited until the crowd had quieted. “I’ll let his father explain how it happened, but we don’t have a clue as to who did it. Tate didn’t see them. He didn’t stop to catch a good look, which was smart. He just kept driving even after he was shot, and that probably saved his life.”

  Roy nodded to Andy Markham, who looked as if he hadn’t slept at all since Carter last saw him. Dark rings circled his eyes, and his hand shook slightly as he reached for his ball cap and tipped it up to better see everyone.

  “You all know my boy. Tate snuck out of the house after I thought he was already asleep and went to see a girl. Now, that’s on him. There’s no excuse for it, and I don’t believe he’ll be doing it again.” Andy paused, brushed at his eyes, and then he pushed on with his story. “Nothing worse than you or I did when we were his age, but times have changed. Worst I would have got for sneaking out was some quality time with the switch my daddy liked to use.”

  This brought a little laughter and eased the tension a bit. Carter noticed everyone had their eyes glued on Andy. There wasn’t any sound at all except for the last of the rain dripping off the roof, the distant call of a cow, and Andy Markham, baring his soul to his neighbors.

  “It was when he was coming back, when he was in the center of the low water crossing, that they ambushed him. Shot three times through the windshield. One hit him in the shoulder. If it hadn’t been…if it hadn’t been for Georgia, my boy might be dead right now.”

  He swiped at his eyes again, cleared his throat, and stood up
a little straighter. “I don’t know who did it. Tate doesn’t remember anything other than hearing the gunshots and feeling the one that hit him. I’d like to meet the man who did it. Ask him what he hoped to gain by shooting a sixteen-year-old kid.”

  He shuffled his feet, stared out over the crowd, and said, “Could be someone who is here today, but I have trouble imagining that.”

  A few heads nodded in agreement.

  “Could be someone who didn’t belong here. Someone who snuck by our roadblock and hoped to get a truck or whatever was in it. In that case, I suspect the person’s already long gone.”

  Andy pulled back his shoulders, and it seemed to Carter that his gaze hardened. “Or it could be some of our neighbors who have decided to go it alone. Someone who thinks they don’t need anyone else, thinks they’re better without the rest of us.”

  He waited, but there were no comments.

  “I don’t know which of those three groups the person is from. If you have any suspicions, I’d appreciate hearing from you. Thank you.”

  He sat down on an overturned crate, and Roy moved back to the front and center of the room.

  “It would be easy to believe we’re safe here, as if we’ve created a little sanctuary where the world can’t touch us. I’m afraid that’s not true, though, and we need to be alert to problems.”

  A man in the back stood up. “My boys are already serving shifts on the blockade when I could really use them at home. What else do you want?”

  “I want you to check your fence line. Confirm there are no places that have been recently breeched. Check for evidence of someone trespassing. Repair any gaps and reinforce any area that needs it. Make absolutely sure that the only way a car or truck can drive through to our properties is through the two roadblocks.”

  “That makes sense.” A middle-aged woman with long hair—brown turning to gray—didn’t bother to stand, but her voice was loud enough to reach where Carter sat. “Sounds like the smart thing to do. Only I’m working from sunup to sundown just trying to keep my crops alive, knowing…knowing they are all that stand between my family and starvation.”