Deep Shadows Page 8

  The man in front of Shelby had to be in his eighties. “She tried to drive it through, but they wouldn’t let her,” he said. His eyes twinkled as he added, “Change is hard for some.”

  “Do you know if they’re filling prescriptions?”

  “I haven’t been here that long myself. I did see someone in front of the Suburban lady—a middle-aged man. He walked away with a package stapled shut.”

  “That’s a good sign.”

  “Indeed. I called mine in yesterday. I’m hoping the insurance went through. That way I’ll only have to pay the deductible—in cash. ATMs aren’t working. My wife always said machines were going to be the end of us.”

  “There certainly have been plenty of warnings about our overuse of technology.”

  “Credit card machines, computers, cell phones, even robots.” The man cackled as if relieved that life would now resemble some ancient memory he had long held dear. “There was bound to be a massive crash at some point. Now it looks like we outlived the age of technology, if what the mayor says is true.”

  The old gent nodded toward a handwritten flyer that had been taped to the side of the building, where announcements about sales or upcoming health checks were usually posted.

  Shelby stepped closer and tried to calm her racing heart as she read the words.

  At approximately 8:20 yesterday evening we were exposed to a solar flare. From what we’ve been able to ascertain, this has affected all of the surrounding areas.

  We are working to provide backup power and emergency services. Rest assured that fire and EMS personnel are patrolling the area. If you need immediate help, hang a white sheet on your door or send a neighbor to one of the following three emergency sites: high school office, mayor’s office, library.

  There will be a community-wide meeting this evening at 7:00 at the town square. Until that time, I personally encourage you to stay calm and help one another in any way possible.

  It was signed by the mayor. There was no new information in it, at least nothing that should have surprised Shelby. But seeing it written and posted gave her a sinking feeling that their reality had changed, and it was never going to be the same.

  It took half an hour to work her way to the window. By that time, Shelby had ascertained that indeed they were only taking cash. At least they were open. She tried to console herself with that thought and put on her best smile as the old man in front of her waved goodbye and tottered away with his prescription.

  A woman with a beehive hairdo addressed Shelby from the window. “Can I help you?”

  Shelby pulled her gaze from the growing crowd and scooted closer to the window.

  “Yes, I’d like to pick up insulin and testing strips for my son—Carter Sparks.”

  “Ms. Sparks, I’d like to help you, but if you didn’t call the prescription in yesterday, then I can’t run it through the insurance system.” Shelby had been visiting this pharmacy since Carter was first diagnosed thirteen years ago. Why had she never learned the woman’s name?

  “I see. Could I possibly pay cash then?”

  The woman frowned and glanced past her at the growing line. “How much do you need?”

  “How much can I get?”

  “Not more than thirty days’ worth. There’s no telling when we’ll get another supply of medicine, and I need to make sure what we have lasts for the many people who need it. I’m not going to allow anyone to stockpile the stuff.”

  “Thirty days will be fine.”

  Shelby had filled the prescription two weeks earlier, so another thirty days would give them six weeks’ worth. After that she’d have to think of something else. Or maybe the government would find a way to distribute medicine.

  The woman ducked away from the window and returned with a box of long-acting insulin doses as well as a small box of rapid-acting doses. On top of that she placed a box of testing strips. She added up the amount on a receipt pad and didn’t even blink when she stated the total.

  Shelby pulled a wad of bills from her purse. For more than a year, she’d been doing a savings program where she put a dollar in a jar the first week, two dollars the second week, and so forth. She had hoped that her stash would pay for a nice vacation before Carter went to college, but the price the woman uttered was a major portion of what she’d managed to save.

  Shelby didn’t even hesitate. She pushed the money through the window and accepted the receipt and supplies.

  For the first time, the woman’s reserve cracked. “We’ll put this through the system, hon. Your insurance will reimburse you as soon as the power is back up and things are working again.”

  Shelby only nodded, tears stinging her eyes. She walked away quickly, not daring to look back.

  The truth was, the power wasn’t coming back, and it would be a long time before things were working again. She had six weeks to figure out where and how to buy more insulin. If she couldn’t, there was a strong possibility her son would die.

  FIFTEEN

  By the time Shelby reached her house, Patrick and Bianca were waiting on the front porch. All three hugged and moved into the living room. The day was already growing warm, and without air-conditioning or even fans, they proceeded to open all of the windows to allow the slight breeze inside. But Shelby doubted she would be able to leave the windows that way. Since the day Carter had been born, she had taken security seriously. Seventeen years of checking the dead bolts on the door, of confirming every window was shut and locked before bedtime. Those habits wouldn’t change overnight.

  Shelby sat next to Bianca on the couch. “Tell me how your mom is.”

  “Scared.” Bianca’s long black hair was pulled away from her face and fastened in the back. She usually dressed carefully, paying meticulous attention to her makeup and hair, and she always wore fashionable earrings. Today she wore no jewelry and hadn’t bothered to put on makeup. Her eyes were red, and somehow Shelby doubted she’d had much sleep at all.

  “Mamá wants to move him home, and I don’t blame her.”

  “At the nursing home he has the medications he needs, and he’s surrounded by professionals who know what to do in an emergency.” Patrick jiggled his leg, and then he asked, “Is the generator at Green Acres working?”

  “It is, but even this morning they were shorthanded on staff. Can you imagine how bad it’s going to be if this aurora situation isn’t resolved soon? The computers are down, and no one can reach the corporate office. Why should the nurses and aides show up for work if they’re not going to be paid? And how are workers supposed to get there without gasoline for their automobiles?”

  “We’re a small town,” Shelby reminded her. “Some people will walk.”

  Bianca sat forward, her hands between her knees. “What you’re both saying is true, but Mamá has some valid worries. She is a stubborn woman, and I don’t think I can change her mind about this. I’m not even sure I should.”

  “If that’s how you feel, Bianca, then we’ll help you.” Shelby reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “When does she want to move him?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “All right,” Patrick said. “We’ll go and get him after lunch.”

  “There’s one more thing.” Bianca sat up straighter, as if she needed to improve her posture to handle the burdens she was carrying. “For the time being, I think it’s best if I moved back in with them. With no Internet, I have no work. Who is going to buy pictures during a global crisis? Without work I can’t pay my rent.”

  “I can help,” Patrick said.

  “No. It’s best that I make this decision now. Mamá needs me, and it makes sense for me to be there. I won’t need to take much with me… some clothes and personal items.”

  “Are you packed?” Shelby asked.

  “Yes. I took care of it last night. Everything I need is in two suitcases inside my front door.”

  “You’ll want to take what groceries you have as well.” Shelby shared with them Max’s concerns about the fo
od supply. “Best not to leave it in your apartment.”

  “Sounds like we have a busy day ahead of us.” Patrick clapped his hands, as if he were coming out of a football huddle. “Oh, I almost forgot. Pastor Tony wants to have a meeting tonight after the mayor’s statement.”

  Shelby exchanged a worried look with Bianca. “Any idea what it’s about?”

  “Nope. He asked me to spread the word, which I have now done. Undoubtedly you ladies have a grapevine that you can crank up.”

  “My grapevine was on my cell phone,” Bianca said.

  “Same here, but surely between the three of us—four with Max—we can get the word out to a few people.”

  “Let’s start with Max.” Patrick had been watching out the front screen door. Now he stood, walked toward the door, and opened it. “About time you got here, bro.”

  Shelby glanced out the door and saw Max coming up the walk. He raised his hand in greeting.

  And the morning’s silence was shattered by the sound of gunshots.

  For a moment everyone froze. Then Max hollered at Shelby and Bianca to stay inside. He and Patrick sprinted across the street and north toward the intersection of Kaufman and Fourth.

  Shelby hurried to the door.

  “What happened?” Bianca asked, crowding in beside her.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “We can’t see from here.”

  “I think we should go and find out.”

  Bianca hesitated, and then she nodded in agreement. “The guys might need help.”

  Shelby locked the front door and slipped her keys in her pocket. They hurried down the street to where a small crowd was gathering.

  As Shelby pushed her way through, she heard a woman say, “He has a gun. You’d all better stay back.”

  Max was standing in front of Rodney Tull. Nineteen years old with greasy hair and large gauges in his ears, he wore a black T-shirt and dirty jeans.

  “Lower the gun, son.” Max had his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

  Patrick was on the ground providing first aid to a middle-aged woman. Shelby’s mind flashed back to the evening before and the attempted hijacking—Max trying to help the guy and Patrick pointing a gun at his head. It was as if the same scene was playing out in front of her eyes, only this time it was Abney people. Patrick was still helping the woman on the ground, but he wouldn’t stay there for long. His gaze kept returning to Rodney.

  “Lower the gun,” Max repeated.

  “Not until he gives me the car keys.”

  “I won’t,” Mr. Evans said. “The car is not yours.”

  “Give me the keys!”

  Mr. Evans shook the keys at him. “You think this will fix your life? Grow up, son. Take responsibility—”

  Rodney fired three times, and the impact of bullets hitting his chest lifted Mr. Evans off the ground and sent him crashing backward. Those who had been watching began to scream, fighting to put distance between themselves and the desperate kid. Max turned toward the old man and was kneeling down to help him when Rodney scooped up the keys and jumped into the automobile.

  Shelby started to run after him, but the car peeled away from the curb.

  Patrick’s attention remained focused on the woman, who sobbed uncontrollably. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage on her arm. Max whispered something to the old man, attempting to calm him.

  Bianca clung to Shelby’s hand, holding her back from danger. But there wasn’t anything to fear. Not anymore. Tires squealing, Rodney was already turning toward Main Street. Headed where? What would possess him to kill someone for an automobile?

  Shelby made out Mr. Evans’s words: “Wasn’t his car.” When he coughed, she saw blood staining his lips.

  “Try to stay quiet.” Max glanced up at Patrick. “Two chest wounds.”

  Max pulled off his shirt, using it to stanch the bleeding. Mr. Evans, whom she had talked to only hours before, lay motionless, staring up at the sky.

  “Mr. Evans.” She pulled away from Bianca and dropped to the ground beside Max.

  “Someone go for help,” Bianca cried. She hurried over to a teenager who was gawking at the scene. “Go. Go now!”

  “Where?”

  “To the library. EMS personnel are stationed there. Rápidamente. Go!” She gave the boy a shove.

  He turned, stumbled, and then took off running toward the library.

  Shelby glanced back down at Mr. Evans. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. People murdered in broad daylight? On her street? By their neighbor?

  “Help is on the way.” She clasped the old man’s hand, her heart slamming against her chest, her mind trying to make sense of the growing puddle of blood beneath him.

  Mr. Evans smiled once, a small trembling thing, and then he glanced over her shoulder, sighed, and stopped breathing.

  “No. No, no, no, no—”

  “He didn’t have a chance.” Patrick reached up and closed Mr. Evans’s eyes. “The kid was standing so close. The bullets literally tore a hole in his chest.”

  Shelby wanted to argue with Patrick, but she could only cling to her neighbor’s hand, silently begging him to open his eyes. Some of the crowd had returned. They clustered together, crying and weeping. The woman who had been injured was groaning—whether from shock or pain, Shelby couldn’t tell.

  She didn’t let go of Mr. Evans’s hand until someone brought a bedsheet, and Max helped Patrick cover him.

  Max glanced at her and asked in a low voice, “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand, willing her tears to stop. Everything they’d seen in the last several hours had seemed like television. But the moment that she held Mr. Evans’s hand and watched the light ebb from his eyes, she’d known that it was real. This was their new life, whether they were prepared for it or not.

  Shelby had always been an adamant believer in the American dream, but in that second, two hundred years of social history was erased. Suddenly she was an immigrant, in a new and dangerous land, and she would need to find a way to protect herself, her friends, and the son who meant everything to her. She would need to find a way to survive.

  SIXTEEN

  Max and Patrick both stood and scanned the crowd.

  “Did anyone see how this started?”

  “I was sitting on my porch.” A young woman with a child on her hip stepped forward. She’d moved to the neighborhood recently, and Shelby couldn’t remember her name.

  “Mr. Evans came out and said he was going to see if his car would start. When it did, he turned off the ignition and got out. That was when Rodney walked up and pulled a gun.”

  Mrs. Stinson, elderly and somewhat crippled, hobbled forward, pushing her walker between the onlookers and staring mournfully down at her neighbor.

  “Did you see anything?” Max asked her.

  She nodded, crossed herself, and said, “You all know I live next door. I heard them speaking, but it happened so quickly. I picked up my phone to dial 9-1-1, but by the time I remembered the phone didn’t work… by then you were here, trying to talk him out of his mad scheme.”

  “Why would he do it?” Shelby asked, her voice trembling.

  “That boy has been in trouble quite often the last few years. His mother—I don’t think she’s around much. Haven’t seen her at all since the aurora started.” Her hand, shaking and spotted with age, waved toward Harold Evans’s corpse. “Stubborn old fool. Why didn’t he hand over the keys? It was only a car, hardly worth his life.”

  An ambulance and a police cruiser soon arrived, and Max and Patrick explained all they had seen and learned from the witnesses. Shelby stood next to Bianca, watching the EMS personnel load Harold’s body into the ambulance. They also provided triage to the woman who had been injured. The first shot had grazed her arm.

  “I’ll have someone drive me to the hospital,” she assured the paramedic, now calmer, though her hands were still shaking. “You take Mr. Evans.”


  Shelby and Bianca were talking to the neighbors, well out of earshot when the officer said to Max, “This is the second one today.”

  “Murder?”

  “No. Carjacking. The first was a middle-aged man passing through town. When he ran out of gas and found out he couldn’t buy any, he pulled a gun on a woman who had also stopped for fuel. Apparently she had half a tank and was hoping to top it off. The perp left his car, the fuel gauge on E.”

  “Was she hurt?”

  “No. She grabbed her purse from the front seat and told him he could have the car.” The officer shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  As the officer walked over to the young mother and old woman to take down their statements, Max wondered what the point was. The perpetrators of these crimes were long gone. What was the police department supposed to do? Chase them and use up what little fuel they had? Call ahead and warn the next town? The first would have been foolhardy, and the second impossible.

  Together Bianca, Shelby, Max, and Patrick walked back to her house.

  “Are you okay, Shelby?” Bianca reached for her hand.

  “It’s a terrible thing to witness,” Patrick said.

  Like Max, his hands were stained with blood, but it was Shelby that Max was worried about. Patrick had seen combat—he would mentally and emotionally adjust to what had just happened. Though Bianca seemed shaken, she’d taken the events of the last hour in stride. Perhaps her mind was still on her parents. Shelby, on the other hand, was trying to hide a tremor in her right arm. She kept glancing around as if expecting a killer to jump out of the bushes.

  “How did you know what to do?” Bianca asked.

  “Medic training when I was in the army. Yesterday I would have told you I couldn’t remember a bit of it, but I guess a part of you never forgets.”

  “Can you give me and Shelby a minute?” Max asked.

  Shelby handed her keys to Bianca, who unlocked the front door.

  Bianca again hugged her friend, and then she followed Patrick back into the house.

  Shelby didn’t resist, though sometimes Max wondered if she avoided being alone with him. He knew that she cared for him. They had been best friends since both were old enough to ride a bike. What he didn’t know was whether her reticence was due to feelings she didn’t want to admit, or whether she actually preferred being alone. The uncertainty kept Max at a distance, but not today, not after what had just happened.