Last Light (9 page)
“We spoiled all of them. And we’re spoiled, too. Maybe that’s why this happened.”
“Stop being so doomsdayish.” Kay got up, went to the post and leaned against it. “You’re talking like this is an act of God that’s going to last forever. It can’t. We’re too smart for that.”
“Who’s too smart for that? You think if God wanted to teach us a lesson, we could stop Him?”
“God isn’t doing this. He doesn’t send power outages. The electric company does.”
“Then why does God say that He’s the One forming light and creating darkness, causing well-being and creating calamity?”
“The Bible doesn’t say that.”
“Yes, it does. It’s in—” He laid his head back and looked at the night sky, trying to remember where it was. “Somewhere in one of the prophets. We had to learn it when my accountability group studied God’s sovereignty.”
“I’m impressed.”
He breathed a laugh. “Don’t be. It’s the only thing I was really accountable for. Out-reciting that know-it-all Dan Milner. Wonder what he’s doing tonight.”
“Probably cleaning his guns, too.”
“The bottom line, Kay, is that God does do things like this. And look at all the stuff that’s been happening in the world—war, hurricanes, tsunamis—it’s like He’s been trying to get our attention.”
She looked out at the night, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. She had to know he was right.
Finally, she leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “I’ve never seen you like this. You need to just come on in and come to bed. You’ve had a very long day.”
“I will, in a minute.”
“All right, then I’m going to bed. Glad you’re home. Things could be so much worse.”
“Yep, they could. Sleep well. I’ll be along in a minute.”
He kissed her, then watched her go inside, aware that she thought he was overreacting. He hoped she was right. But if she wasn’t, things were about to get bad. And he’d have to hold it all together.
If only he were more certain of his strength as a husband and father . . . a protector and provider, and didn’t just feel like a forty-seven-year-old guy who’d gotten his bike stolen today.
Maybe God was about to show him what he was made of.
The power was still out the next morning, as Doug had predicted. He got his own ten-speed down from its hook in the garage. He hadn’t ridden it in at least three years, and it needed some air in the tires and a little lubrication on the chain. After getting it into shape, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and rode out of the neighborhood, struck by the number of cars stalled in the street. It seemed strange, somehow, that the sun still shone and the wind still blew. The flowers grew bright and fragrant, reaching up to the sky in praise. Birds went about their daily business, oblivious to the mess the humans were in.
He rode about five miles through town to the Kroger store on Keisler Street, and saw the other bikers there who’d had the same idea. The store was closed, and as he peered in, he saw that the shelves had been almost cleared. Hundreds of people had probably stopped by to get what they needed during the exodus home last night. Why hadn’t he had the forethought to do that? He’d just been so anxious to get to the house that he hadn’t thought of it. Besides, it would have been difficult to carry anything that far.
He rode through town, checking convenience stores and fast-food restaurants, but nothing was open. Finally, he decided to go to the street where Kay had left their car. He turned onto the main thoroughfare through the town, and saw the bumper-to-bumper traffic stalled there.
Kay’s Expedition was several cars down the line, and as he approached it, he realized the driver’s side door was wide open. Had she left it open? What had she been thinking?
He got off his bike and looked inside. And then he understood.
The CD player had been ripped from its hole, and the speakers gouged from the doors. He got out of the car and looked up and down the street. About ten cars back, he saw some boys climbing out of a van, arms full of stuff that they threw into a wagon. His stereo was probably in there, too.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
The boys looked back at him, then took off running, rolling the overflowing wagon behind them. Doug jumped on his bike and tried to follow them, but they dashed into the woods, maneuvering their wagon with skill and dexterity.
Behind him, he heard another car door slam. He turned and saw a man sitting in a Cadillac, digging through the glove box.
“That your car, mister?” he yelled.
The man just kept working.
Doug rode his bike toward him. “Hey, get out of that car!”
The man stuffed some items into his pockets, got back on his own bike, and rode off.
Doug thought of chasing him, but what would he do if he caught him? Shoot a man over a car stereo? It wasn’t like he could stay here all day, guarding the cars. There was really nothing he could do.
If only there were a police station in Crockett. But since it hadn’t yet been annexed, they were under the county sheriff’s care. It was only ten miles to the sheriff’s office. Surely someone had reported for duty today. He could ride there and tell them what was happening. If they knew criminals were having a field day with the parked cars, they could surely stop it.
By the time he reached the sheriff’s office he ached from the exertion. His muscles already hurt from yesterday’s strain, and his rump felt bruised from the triangle the manufacturers called a seat. Breathing hard, he rode his bike to the curb, then carried it up the steps. The door was open, so he pushed inside.
The office had few windows, so very little light graced the place.
“Help you?”
He had to look for the origin of the voice. A chubby deputy sat fanning himself at one of the back desks.
“Oh, good. I was worried the law had shut down, too.”
“Depends on how you look at it, I guess.”
The man looked like Wilford Brimley, but his name tag read ED GRAY. “Look, you need to get over to Fairview Street. My car was broken into and the stereo was taken, and there are people stealing everything they can carry.”
The deputy, who looked way past retirement age, seemed unimpressed. “We know. We’re on it.”
Doug just looked at him. “You are? What are you doing about it?”
The man pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his neck. Sweat rings the size of pizza pans had formed under his armpits. “It’s hard to patrol without the cars running, but we’ve got every available man out on bikes today. Even so, our hands are tied. If we round up the thieves and vandals, how do we get ’em back here? Walk ’em in handcuffs for four or five miles? We got a whole jail full of convicts we can’t feed now, and we’ll probably get sued for holdin’ ’em in dark cells—cruel and inhuman punishment and all that—if we don’t have an out-and-out riot.”
And Doug thought he had problems. “I understand, but you can’t just let the thieves get away with this. It could get dangerous.”
The man threw his handkerchief on his cluttered desk. “I told you, we’re on it. But we can’t be everywhere. I’m here to keep the office open and take complaints. You want to file a complaint, sit down and I’ll get you the paperwork. Or if you want to put on a uniform and go after ’em, be my guest.”
Doug didn’t think he’d take him up on the offer. “No, I have my family to take care of.”
“So do most of our guys. But they’re out there busting their bums. And for what? They can’t even cash their paychecks, with the banks closed.”
Doug quelled the sarcasm on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t want to upset him more. “Listen, do you know what caused the outage?”
“Not a clue.”
“You’re not in communication with any government authorities?”
“How could I be?”
Deputy or not, the guy had a real attitude. “I don’t know. I just thought that maybe government and law enforcement had some kind of plan for a crisis like this.”
“We got plans, pal. We got plans for explosions and tornado warnings and school shootings and about a zillion other things. But we never planned for this. Everything going out at once. It’s like a fluke of nature.”
“Has anybody come in from out of town?” Doug asked. “Some place where there’s still power?”
“Nobody yet. I’ve been all over this morning, and I haven’t seen one moving vehicle. Even if somebody came, they probably couldn’t pass through our streets with all the cars blocking the way. One thing you can do is tell everybody to come push their stalled cars off the road to make room for any moving vehicles that might make their way here. You want to help, you can find some men and get started on that.”
“But there are thousands of cars. There’s no way we could put a dent in that. And that would invite even more thefts, having people moving cars that weren’t theirs.”
“You come up with a better idea, then,” the man said. “What are you? Some kind of computer jockey, I bet.”
He didn’t know why he felt insulted. “No. I’m a stockbroker.”
The man grimaced. “Like I thought. Talks on the phone all day and thinks he can tell me how to do my job.”
This was going nowhere. Doug could sit around bantering with this man all morning, or he could get back to his family and try to do something constructive. He thanked the officer and left, feeling as useless as the deputy thought he was.
Kay wiped the sweat from her brow and brought the last of the cooked meat in from the barbecue pit. It was much more than they could eat—six steaks, a dozen pork chops, ten hamburger patties, and a whole chicken. The freezer had kept the meat cold as it thawed last night, but she had no choice but to cook it all today or let it go to waste.
“I’m not eating that,” Beth said, bringing the last platter into the house. “I’m a vegetarian.”
“Since when?”
“Since I felt like barfing the minute you started cooking spoiled meat.”
“It’s not spoiled. It was still cool this morning.”
“You hope. It’s not like you can get us to the hospital when we start croaking of food poisoning.”
Clearly, her younger daughter had a bright future in theatre. “There’s too much to eat all by ourselves anyway. I was thinking we could take some to the neighbors. I need to check on Eloise. You can come with me.”
Beth shook her head. “I don’t want any part of that. Feeding spoiled food to a woman who’s already sick?”
The seventy-year-old widow across the street had inoperable liver cancer and had been taking chemo treatments every three weeks.
“It’s not spoiled, I told you. Stop saying that.”
Deni came in, hauling a bucket of water she’d gotten at the lake, and sloshed it up onto the counter. “Slave labor. We should have a pool, Mom. If we did, we wouldn’t have to drag that nasty water back from the lake, and we could wash off our grime. It’s just crazy that we don’t have one. You know we can afford it.”
“We don’t have one because I didn’t want to take care of it, your father doesn’t have time, and I knew I couldn’t get any help from the four of you.”
“And now look,” Deni said. “No water, no bath, no nothing. What are we going to do about the wedding plans? This may be the last week I’ll be home before then, since I won’t have vacation time.”
“I don’t know,” Kay said. “If the power doesn’t come back on in the next few days, I guess I’ll have to do the planning myself.”
“No way. I want to plan my own wedding. I want to see the flowers, taste the cake, hear the music. I have no intention of being denied that.”
“Deni, the wedding is five months away. We’re fine. We don’t have to decide that today.” She thrust a plate of pork chops at Deni. “Here, while I take some of these to Eloise, why don’t you take a plate to the Caldwells next door? And then take some chicken to the Rowes.”
“Right,” Beth said. “Poison the babies, too.”
Kay ignored her. With three kids under three, the young couple next door probably had their hands full and would be happy to have the food. “While you’re there, Deni, ask them if they have any matches they can spare. Then hurry back so we can eat before it cools.”
Kay found Eloise sitting on her front porch, looking pale and sickly, her bald head hidden beneath a bandana tied neatly at the nape of her neck. She took the pork chops thankfully, then invited Kay into the dark, hot house.
