True Light

by Terri Blackstock

  The sheriff took Mark home where his hysterical mother waited. Mark tried to calm her down while Scarbrough and Jones made prints of the tire tracks on his bike wagon and scraped dirt from the treads. When they finally left, Mark tried to believe that the evidence would clear him. But something in the pit of his stomach told him there would be more to come.

  TWELVE

  SHERRIFF RALPH SCARBROUGH’S LUNGS FELT FULL OF fluid. He coughed as he drove down the streets dodging bicyclers, horse-drawn buggies, and pedestrians who walked like there were no rules. That weary sense of dread he’d been battling for the last few weeks fell over him again. Another shooting, another killer on the loose, and he didn’t know if he had the energy to track this crime to its final conclusion. For the last eight months since the outage began, Scarbrough had been racing from one emergency to another. His job had been busy enough before the outage, when he had radios and telephones, computer databases, functional forensic labs, and a complete, reliable staff.

  But everything had changed on May 24, and since that time, the number of crimes reported to his county offices had gone up by about 50 percent. He felt certain that half as many more went unreported, since people had figured out that minor, nonviolent crimes were hardly ever solved these days. The sheriff and his shrinking band of deputies spent all their time chasing down threats, solving crimes without the benefit of modern technology, and trying to keep the county safe.

  And Crockett wasn’t his only problem. He had all of Jefferson County — including the entire Birmingham area — to worry about, plus the prison and the holding jails in each of the county’s regions. Though his main station was in the city, he lived in Crockett, so he worked mostly at the Crockett substation since the outage. It was too expensive and time-consuming going into Birmingham every day. But he’d stationed capable deputy chiefs over all of his substations.

  He only hoped he could keep them. Each payday he lost a few more deputies who decided the job wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t say he blamed them. They were all exhausted and demoralized. And they didn’t even make a living wage.

  It was past lunchtime and he hadn’t eaten breakfast, so he drove to his own house on a rural road where the houses were spaced far apart. He had about three acres with a small house planted right in the center of it. He pulled onto the dirt driveway and rumbled up to his house. He hoped his wife had been able to put a lunch together. Since last summer, they’d been raising rabbits for meat, and when he left this morning she had been planning to slaughter one today.

  He pulled his van into the open garage, thankful to be out of the snow, and went into the house. It was warm from the fire crackling in the den. His wife was kneading bread at the counter, a spot of flour on her chin. “Do you believe that snow?” she asked as she took off his hat and shook it out over the sink.

  “Wouldn’t you know it?” he said. “Where’s Jimmy?”

  She glanced out the window. “Trying to fish a dead cat out of the well.”

  What next? He went to the window and saw the pump-style well disassembled. “Who took the pump off?”

  “Jimmy was cleaning it,” she said. “That cat must have gone in while we had it open. All I know is it’s down there polluting our drinking water and we’ve got to get it out.”

  He closed his eyes. Somebody would have to scoop the cat out, and then they’d have to cleanse the water. He didn’t even know what was involved in that. He supposed he could go find the hydrologist who’d been inspecting the wells around town and ask what he recommended.

  He didn’t have time for this.

  “We’ll just have to get water from the Keaton farm until I can get to it,” Scarbrough said. “It’s too cold to get down in the well.”

  “Tell that to Jimmy,” she said. “He’s trying to get down in there this very minute.”

  Scarbrough groaned again. That was the last thing he needed. The well they’d had in the yard since they had built the house had been altered to include the pump. But the shaft was barely wide enough for a small body to fit through. With his luck, his thirteen-year-old would get stuck like that Jessica baby had back in the eighties.

  “Tell him to get out of there before he gets killed. There’s a better way to do it.”

  “Then tell him yourself,” Mary said. “He’s trying to step up to the plate and take care of things.”

  Scarbrough stepped outside. His teenaged son was trying to grow up too fast. But what was the alternative? Someone had to take care of things at home. As sheriff, he couldn’t let crime blossom while he took time off. Desperate times called for desperate decisions, and staying home was not much of an option when an emergency happened almost hourly.

  “Jimmy!” he called as he approached the well. His son was lying on his stomach on the ground, leaning his head into the hole.

  Jimmy looked up. “Yeah, Pop? Good thing you’re home. You can help me with this.”

  “You can’t go in there, Jimmy. Get out now.”

  “But, Pop, listen. We can tie a rope around my waist and attach it to your van’s bumper.”

  “And what? Stuff you in? Those walls are icy and you’re too big.”

  “But I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’ve measured myself, and I think I’ll fit.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Well, you got any better ideas?”

  “Not yet, I don’t. But we’ll think of something. I don’t have time to deal with it now,” he said. “There was a shooting this morning. I’m in the middle of an investigation.”

  Jimmy got to his feet and dusted the dirt and snow off of his jeans. “You’re always in the middle of an investigation,” he said. “But this is an emergency too.”

  “Just go to the Keatons’ place and get some water. They’ll let you use their well if you tell them what happened.”

  “I hate the Keatons,” Jimmy muttered. “I’d rather go without than go over there.”

  Scarbrough grunted, wondering where that had come from. Probably had something to do with one of the Keatons’ daughters, but he didn’t have time to delve into that. “Just do it, Jimmy. We don’t have the luxury of grudges right now.”

  “But, Dad — ”

  “Don’t make me say it again, Jimmy. Stay out of the well until I have time to do something about it.”

  “All right, but that Amy better not give me a hard time.”

  “Treat that family with respect when they’re doing you a favor.”

  “A favor? They used our well for months before they dug their own!”

  “And they treated us with respect.”

  “Not me. Amy treats me like pond scum. She’s probably the one who threw the cat in there. She’s probably laughing her head off.” Jimmy huffed a sigh and started off toward the Keatons’. Scarbrough watched him march across the lawn. He knew the boy needed more guidance than he got — and having no school to attend left him with too much time on his hands. He should be spending more time with his son. He was a disappointment as a father. And his confidence as a law enforcement officer was fading.

  He went back into the house, thankful for the fireplace in the living room. He warmed his hands over it. His head had begun to hurt.

  “I’m roasting a rabbit for supper,” Mary said. “For now, I’ll cook you up a couple of eggs.”

  “That’ll be fine,” he said. “I don’t have much time.”

  While he waited for his eggs, he went back out to the well and looked in. Sure enough, a dead cat floated on the water. He lowered the bucket that Jimmy had rigged up, and tried to maneuver the rope until the bucket got under the cat. It wouldn’t quite catch. He started to cough again, each hack ripping through his chest.

  Mary called him, so he gave up and went back inside, and scarfed down the eggs. “Mary, keep an eye on Jimmy. If he tries to go into that well, he may not come back out.”

  He ventured back out into the cold. His old van was on its last leg. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it running. He
supposed he could take it to the mechanics, but they stayed so busy at the conversion plants that there was usually a long wait. And he couldn’t afford to be without a vehicle.

  He got back on the main road toward the Crockett city limits and realized he was low on gas. Now what? The cars that had been stalled along the main drags since May had all been siphoned. If he made it back to the sheriff’s department, they had several gallons on reserve — unless anyone else had filled up their vehicles this morning. He prayed he wouldn’t have to siphon another car, not with this cough. The burn of gas in his throat was something he wasn’t up for today.

  The van was just about to die when he got to the sheriff’s department. In the garage behind it he found a three-gallon container of gas. That was all he could get for now. It would have to do. He had to get to the hydrologist’s house and find out what to do about the well, and then he would start questioning the other people who had killed deer that morning. One of them may have shot Zach Emory.

  “Sheriff?”

  He turned, still pouring the gas into his tank. His deputy, Milton Asher, stood in the doorway. “Yeah, Milt? What you got?”

  “One of the prisoners is sick. I don’t know what to do with him. He’s got a fever and all the other inmates are afraid they’re gonna get it.”

  Scarbrough shivered and massaged his temple. “Which prisoner?”

  “Blatt.”

  It was probably a trick. That guy had gunned down a family of three at the last Disbursement. No way was he letting Blatt out because he was sick. “I’ll see if I can get the doctor to come check on him,” he said.

  “Well, should we quarantine him or something?”

  He shook his head. “Milt, half our prison population is sick as it is. There’s so much coughing and puking in there, it’s a wonder any of them live through it. But that’s all I’ve got to work with. I don’t have an infirmary, I don’t have sick rooms, I don’t have a place to quarantine them, and I’m sure not going to let him out on the streets. I can’t transfer him to the prison until we clear some others out of there.”

  “But Sheriff, we’re just supposed to have holding cells. We’re not set up for this many prisoners. We got thirty men in there.”

  “The prison is packed even tighter. I can’t put one more person in there. Until I find another place to convert into jail cells, we’re going to have to keep holding them here. And until things settle down and I get some more funding, that’s not going to happen.”

  The force of his words started a coughing spell again, and he bent over, trying to clear his lungs so he could breathe again. Finally, the coughing settled.

  “You okay, Sheriff?”

  He nodded and wiped his nose. “Milt, did you get the samples from Mark Green to the lab?”

  “Yes, sir. And I have a list of six other leads — men who shot deer or have automobile tires on their trailers.”

  “Any who have both?”

  “Still checking on that, boss.”

  He asked Milt to stay at the department to hold down the fort. He felt sorry for the guy — the department was freezing. He’d been trying to get funding for a stove to put in the building so they could keep it warm, but by the time his requisition was approved, it would be summer again and they wouldn’t need it. The cold had a calming influence on the prisoners, though. They were so busy trying to stay warm that they weren’t starting fights and causing trouble. At least that’s how it had seemed for the last few days.

  “Sheriff!”

  Another deputy, Curt Lawrence, rode toward him on his horse. He closed his gas cap.

  “What is it, Curt?”

  “Any word about payroll?”

  “No. I’ve been kind of busy and haven’t had enough gas to get to Birmingham to pick it up.”

  “I gotta be paid, Sheriff. I can’t keep coming to work every day if I’m not. They’re already paying us peanuts. My family has to eat.”

  “I’m going to get there today, Curt, but right now I have to deal with the shooting.”

  “If I’m not paid in twenty-four hours, I’m out of here,” Curt said. “If you can’t pay me, I can at least go hunt to feed my kids, like everybody else is doing.”

  “Payday isn’t officially until tomorrow, anyway.” The sheriff got back into the van and pulled out before anybody else could stop him. He couldn’t say he blamed Curt. Curt was right. They weren’t paying them enough to keep food on the table. What good was it for them to have jobs, when those who didn’t had time to hunt and plant and do the things that kept their families afloat? The load their wives were bearing was much too much. Scarbrough did it because he felt a sense of duty to keep his community safe. But not all of his men felt that duty.

  And his own calling was growing more faint with each passing day.

  THIRTEEN

  “DAD, I HAD YOU A GREAT BADMINTON SET, BUT MOM made me give it back.”

  From the sincerity on Logan’s face, Deni would have believed that her little brother had had nothing but their dad’s birthday on his mind for days. But her mother had told them about Logan’s wild trading spree, so none of them was fooled.

  “I’m not much into badminton,” Doug said, “but I sure would have liked a parachute.”

  Logan gasped. “I almost got one — ” Everyone started laughing, and he realized he was being teased. Slamming his hand on the table, he said, “Man! You know you woulda loved that. But no, Mom had to get flour, yeast, and baking soda.”

  “Don’t look now,” Beth said, “but you happen to be eating what she made of it.”

  For breakfast, Kay had given them each two slices of the bread she’d baked, and she’d put a birthday candle in Doug’s.

  “Besides,” Doug said. “I’ve had my eye on your molecule.”

  Logan made a face. “Very funny.”

  “The scarf and gloves were from all of us, honey,” Kay said. “I hope they’ll help keep you warm. Happy forty-eighth birthday.”

  Doug wrapped the scarf around his neck and pulled on the gloves. “Thanks, I can really use these.”

  Someone knocked at the door, and Deni ran to answer it. Mark stood there with a wrapped present in his hand. “Hey, is your dad up yet?”

  She pulled him in. “Sure is. We were celebrating his birthday over breakfast.”

  “I wanted to get here before everybody scattered.”

  “Any word on Zach?” she asked as she led him in.

  “Nope. I hear he’s still unconscious. I’m still the pariah of Oak Hollow.”

  “Everybody’s praying, Mark.”

  “Yeah, but most of them are praying I’ll be locked up.”

  Deni knew that was true. But as they went into the kitchen, Mark’s melancholy look gave way to a celebratory smile. “Happy birthday, Doug! You don’t look a day over sixty.”

  AFTER THEY FINISHED BREAKFAST, DENI ANNOUNCED THAT SHE was going to the hospital for an update on Zach.

  “It’s too dangerous for you to go alone,” Mark said. “I’ll go with you.”

  Mark’s concern for Deni always fell on a soft place in her heart. “I’ll take my dad’s rifle,” she said. “You stay here and figure out how to clear yourself.”

  “Zach is the only one who can clear me,” Mark said. “Maybe he’s awake by now and can tell them I didn’t do it.”

  She finally agreed to let him go with her, secretly glad that he’d be by her side. She felt safe with him. At six-foot-three and a hundred-ninety pounds, most of it pure muscle, he was a deterrent to anyone who might hurt her.

  Bundling up in gloves and scarves and several layers of clothes under their winter jackets, they set out in the snow and freezing wind, their faces chapping against the cold.

  Though her legs were much stronger than they’d been last May, the cold searing through her lungs and numbing her face made her wonder if she could make it. There were still another fifteen miles to the hospital. Oh, how she longed for her Maxima, parked in the airport garage where she’d left it i
n Washington.

  “I’m not sure this is worth it, Mark. I’m freezing to death. They’ll have to thaw me out and treat me for frostbite before I can climb the stairs.” She wished he hadn’t sold his horses and the little VW he’d converted into a horse-drawn wagon. It wouldn’t have made the trip faster, but it would have been warmer.

  “You want to go back?”

  She considered it for a moment, but she couldn’t stand leaving anything unfinished. “No, we have to see about Zach. Man, I’d kill for a telephone.”

  “You know, when the Pulses stop, the telephones will probably be the first things back in service. And even if the star doesn’t burn itself out, they might be able to get the phones working using an old-time operator and switchboard. The fiber-optic lines are underground, so they weren’t damaged.”

  “Imagine reporting with phones,” she said. “Not having to brave the elements to get one story. It seems like a dream, looking back.” “It’ll all be restored before we know it. The Pulses will end and we can start rebuilding.”

  She knew he was trying to get her mind off the miserable ride, and it worked. The thought of technology kicking back in made her pedal a little faster. By the time they reached the hospital, her lips were cracked and her lungs felt bruised by the icy wind. She hoped it was warm inside.

  They chained their bikes to icy bicycle bars, then went inside. She felt as if she should leave the scarf up over her face to block out germs wafting on the air. People who looked gravely ill lined up on gurneys in the lobby and down the halls, or sat on the floors waiting for treatment, their family members pacing back and forth, looking for a doctor or nurse who could help. The building was cold, but the crowd warmed it slightly, and Deni was thankful to be out of the wind.

  Mark decided to wait in the lobby, to keep from upsetting Zach’s family in case they’d heard the rumors that he’d been involved. Deni started up the stairs, but halfway up, she saw Ellen Emory descending. “Mrs. Emory?” she asked, hoping there wouldn’t be a repeat of what her dad had experienced yesterday. He had warned Deni to speak softly and not make any sudden moves. This woman had a hair trigger, he had said.