Outage (Powerless Nation #1) (11 page)

He hissed, “What are you doing? You've got to get lost.”

“For your information, I'm looking for my Grandpa's truck.”

Someone near her elbow asked, “Who's your grandpa?”

“Doctor Milton Kerns, the vet,” she replied, turning toward the voice. There was some murmuring in the crowd and then another voice said, “Doesn't he drive an old Chevrolet? I think I saw Gerald Fife in a white truck just like it a while back.”

A few more people agreed they'd seen him too, but no one knew where he'd gone. Conversation turned to his wife Sally, and their baby. “Poor things,” one woman said.

“Dee,” she heard Mason whisper. She took a backward step toward him, pretending to pay attention to the crowd. “The truck's in the cemetery. I left something in it for you.” Dee felt her pulse quicken and she wasn't sure whether it was his closeness or discovering where the truck was. “West side of town. Take it and get out of here,” he said roughly.

She felt a surge of anger. She wanted to ask him why he’d left on the day of the EMP and why he’d been stealing food. Where were his parents? Shouldn’t they be dealing with this?
 

There were too many people listening though and she had to go. She felt guilty about leaving, but the last time she’d left Grandpa alone this long he’d had a heart attack. Besides, Mason had left her first. She wasn’t going to risk getting involved with him again.
 

Dee told herself that the older man, Max, and some of the others would be able to get the crowd to come to its senses. She turned and worked her way back to Hyrum.

“He told me where the truck is,” she whispered to Hyrum.

“Do you know Mason?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Barely. We only met once.” She tried to sound nonchalant and hoped the flush she could feel in her cheeks wouldn’t give her away.

“Never mind that,” she said impatiently. “Let's go see if it's still there.”

It took them about ten minutes to walk the five blocks to the cemetery, all of it seemingly uphill. When they got there, Dee was surprised to see the cemetery covered a large area, full of hills and trees. It took another ten minutes before they found the truck in a back corner under a weeping willow. She went immediately to the bed of the truck and inspected the lockbox. It didn't seem damaged. After looking around to make sure they were alone, she set the key in the lock and turned. The food was still there.

“What's in there?” asked Hyrum.

“Just some supplies,” she said. Dee trusted Hyrum, but she was learning that hunger changed people. She locked the storage box again and went back around to the driver side where Hyrum was trying to get the door open.

“See right here?” he pointed. “Someone used a slimjim to unlock the door, but I don't see it anywhere.”

“Grandpa only had the one set of keys,” Dee sighed. This was the biggest flaw with her plan – she'd been hoping the car thief would leave the keys in the ignition when he went running into the clinic. It seemed pretty common here in the country where everyone trusted everyone else. It hadn't seemed like such a stretch earlier.

“I'm going to bust the window,” said Hyrum, looking for a rock.

“Hold on,” said Dee. “Do you smell something?” A gust of wind brought a foul stench to them and Dee looked around for the source.

“Down there,” pointed Hyrum. “But I'm not sure we want to get any closer.”

Dee was already moving downhill toward the still form.

It was a sad scene, needing no explanation. Next to a grave with a fresh mound of dirt and a bouquet of wildflowers was the body of the man that had stolen the truck. He was lying stretched out beside the grave and the back of his head was blown out.

Dee cupped a hand over her nose and mouth and looked at the sad tableau. She wondered how many women with no access to medical care had died in childbirth in the past several weeks. How many people had taken their own lives in despair? How many good people had stolen food or supplies, leaving others to starve?

“I don't see the gun,” said Hyrum practically, inspecting the scene. “Come on, we've got to figure out how to get that truck out of here.”

“I think I've got an idea,” Dee said slowly, looking at the pitiful figure on the ground. She pulled the collar of her shirt up over her nose and walked closer to the man.
 
He was lying on his side, facing the mound of dirt and had one arm protectively wrapped over it. Dee looked at the other hand, and though it was near his head, Hyrum was right – there was no sign of a gun. She didn't care about the gun though. Trying not to gag, she leaned over the decomposing corpse and reached into its pants pocket.
Please don't make me roll it over,
she thought. She felt something thin and metallic and pulled it out. The key!

Hyrum gave her a high five and they ran back to the truck. The key worked perfectly and they climbed inside. Propped on the dashboard in front of the speedometer was an envelope addressed to Dee.

“He can't be serious,” she said under her breath. More than anything she wanted to start the truck and get out of there, but she couldn't leave Mason to die without at least reading the note. “Give me a second, okay?” she told Hyrum. Then she read:

“Dear Dee, I wish I could explain everything to you, but there's too much to say and no time. I know I can trust you to do one favor for me. Under the seat is a pack of food. Please take it to the house at 311 Elm and give it to the woman there. Her name is Jess. She's my mom.”

Dee set the note down carefully and sat unseeing. Why hadn't he told her about his mom?

“Is there a pack of food under the seat?” she asked Hyrum.

He felt around and pulled it out. “Yep.”

“We've got to do something before we go.”

Hyrum sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

311 Elm was a run-down house in what was obviously the poor part of town. A sagging chain link fence surrounded the house and a rusted tricycle sat alone on the hard-packed dirt driveway. Broken chairs, empty boxes and a rotting couch littered the front yard. The roof showed signs of water damage, and an old satellite TV dish drooped sadly over the cracked plastic rain gutter.

Hyrum and Dee stood in the road staring at the house. It was only a few blocks from the cemetery, so they'd walked rather than risk having the truck stolen. They'd learned that lesson the hard way.

“Are you sure about this, Dee?”

“Not really,” she said, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath. There'd obviously been no trash removal for weeks and the smell of overflowing garbage cans up and down the block was overpowering.

As she approached the house she came around the side of one of the cardboard boxes and jumped back, startled. There was a little boy sitting inside with thin legs drawn up under his chin and something crumpled in his hand. He wasn't crying, but Dee could see the tracks of tears on his grubby cheeks.

She glanced at the empty doorway of the house and then squatted down next to the boy. “Hey there,” she said. “Whatcha doing in here?”

“This used to belong to my dog,” he said, handing her a dirty dog collar engraved 'Indy.' “I think bad guys got him,” he said, with a loud sniff.

“Bad guys?” said Dee.

“They come at night lookin' for food but my dad and his friends already made off with most all of it. Me and Mom and Indy hide under the stairs 'til they go.”

“Your dad took your food?” Dee was horrified. “All of it?”

The boy nodded.

“Is your mom inside?”

“Yeah, but she's sick. She told me to go outside and watch for Mason.”

“You know Mason?”

“'Course I do,” the little boy said, puffing out his thin chest. “He's my big brother.”

“Does he live here with you?” asked Dee, looking at the broken house.

“He's not allowed. My dad said he'll beat Mama if Mason comes 'round any more.” He lowered his voice and whispered, “Mason still comes though. He sneaks in at night and leaves us food. Mama said he stole it back from Hank.”

“Hank?” asked Dee.

“My dad,” said the child. “He's Mason's step-dad. He's living with a lady over t'other side of town, but he still comes by to see if we've got summat to eat.” He shrugged a thin shoulder. “Ain't nothin' left now anyway.”

Dee studied the child and guessed he was five, maybe six years old. It was hard to tell since he was so small. She looked into the bag of food Mason had left for his family and pulled out an energy bar. “Mason sent me to talk to your mama. Can you stay out here and eat this while I go talk to her?”

The boy sat very still, eyeing the food. “Are you trickin'?” he said finally.

Dee handed the bar to the little boy and blinked rapidly to clear her sudden tears. “I'm not trickin'. My friend is going to stay here with you, okay?”

The child peered out from the box at Hyrum and gave a nod. “He looks okay.” Then he unwrapped the bar and began wolfing it down.

“I'll be right back,” Dee told Hyrum, and climbed the rickety wooden steps to the broken screen door. There was no answer to her knock, so she called and went inside, stepping over toys and litter in the front room. The kitchen was filled with stinking dishes, empty cans and old wrappers, but a worse smell was coming from the hallway. Dee walked slowly toward the bedrooms, dreading what she'd find.

Dee found Mason's mom in bed, lying in her own filth. She'd obviously been sick, and the stench of vomit and diarrhea was almost too much for Dee, but it was the sight of the woman's bruised face and dead, unseeing eyes that made her flee the room. She left at a run, barely making it to the kitchen to vomit in the sink. She looked for something to rinse her mouth and saw a bucket of dirty water on the counter, along with some drinking glasses. Had they been drinking this sludge?

Outside, Hyrum and the boy were kicking an old soccer ball around the yard. When he saw her, Hyrum raised his brows in a question and Dee shook her head slightly. He bent and picked up the soccer ball and then squatted down next to the boy. “Hey little man, wanna go with us? We're going to find your brother.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

D
EE
WAS
RELIEVED
SHE
didn't have to try to talk Hyrum into a rescue mission. He'd been listening when Sammy explained that Mason had only taken back the food his step-dad had stolen from his own wife and family. Mason was innocent and now that the boys' mother was dead, Mason was Sammy's only family. There wasn't a chance that they'd sit back and let Mason get shot in the morning.
 

Back at the cemetery, they put Sammy in the cab of the truck where he polished off a bottle of water and then a snack-sized can of cold ravioli before curling up for a nap on the seat. Dee and Hyrum sat on the truck's tailgate and shared what they knew about Mason. It didn't amount to much. Hyrum said he'd seen Mason around school a few times, but he'd dropped out in the middle of the year. Some folks said he was being homeschooled, but he hadn't made a lot of friends and no one was interested enough to see if he was okay.

Hyrum balled one hand into a fist and punched it into the palm of his other hand in frustration. “Did you know my mom's a teacher? If she saw someone playing alone at recess guess who she called to go play with him?” He pointed at his own chest and nodded. “I made a lot of friends that way, just being a friend. After Dad died though, I just... I dunno. It was harder. I needed some space. I saw Mason around now and then, and I had a feeling he could use a friend but I ignored it.”

Dee put a hand on his forearm and felt the tension there. “You know none of this is your fault, right? You can't blame yourself. Obviously, this Hank guy has issues. How could you have known?”

“At least Mason would have had a friend after his step-dad kicked him out. He could have stayed with us instead of living in the woods.”

“Listen,” said Dee. “We're going to get him out of there, and then you can make it up to him.”

“Any idea how we're supposed to do that?”

“Are you kidding? I don't have the first clue.”

They were quiet for a few minutes and then Hyrum said, “Remember in
Princess Bride
when Inigo, Fezzik and Westley are planning to rescue Buttercup?”

Dee rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Are you really going to compare this to an 80's movie?”

“No, but it made me think of something. Remember how Westley wants to know what their assets are? I think that's where we need to start – what are our assets?”

Dee quipped, “My brains, your strength?”

Hyrum punched her lightly in the arm. “Ha-ha, very funny. Be serious. What have we got?” Hyrum started numbering things on his fingers. “First, we have a get-away car. Second, we've got a backpack of food. Third...”

Dee interrupted, pointing at the farm tools in the truck bed, “Look at all this stuff back here, we could use those wrenches as clubs, and there's some more food in the storage box.”

“Any alcohol or beer?” asked Hyrum.
 

Dee shook her head.
 

“Dang it, that always works in movies.”

“Guess you'll just have to use your charm,” Dee said.

The back of the truck yielded one real prize – a pair of bolt cutters. Dee and Hyrum spent the rest of the evening in the cemetery, talking over plans and contingencies. In the end they decided to go with something simple. Hyrum would draw the guard off and then outrun him, while Dee sneaked in with the bolt cutters and set Mason free. They'd meet back at the truck and go from there.

They stayed in the cemetery until after sunset, both too on edge to take a nap though they were facing a long night. Once it was dark enough, Dee put the truck in neutral and quietly let it roll downhill through the streets, careful to avoid vehicles that had been abandoned in the road. Each time the truck creaked or groaned she knew they were going to be caught and locked up for being out after curfew. The road stayed quiet though, and there was no sign anyone had seen or heard them.

They stopped the truck next to a curb just around the corner from the church.

“I hope he's still there,” Hyrum muttered.