Merry's Marauders (Book #2 ~ Scenic Route to Paradise, refreshed 2016 edition)

by Andrea Aarons

  She remembered her mother saying during times of crisis, “It isn’t time to freak out. It’s time to pray.” There had been many desperate times in Africa. They had prayed. God had moved, Merry remembered.

  Still gripping the faucet knob, Merry said, “Oh God, help us! What should we do? Where do we go from here?” Merry thought fleetingly about her deceased father’s words, “Faith is like a muscle; the more you use it the stronger it gets.” Merry wasn’t too sure about faith. It seemed like every success she had won was due to hard work and discipline. She turned from the sink with a heavy and uncertain heart. It was apparent to Merry that her faith muscles needed a workout.

  Chapter 2 War Changes Everything

  Merry and Sylvia had a brief pow-wow over what to do next. Mac had disappeared and Mrs. Ortiz sat on the couch looking through a magazine that Sylvia had given her.

  Sylvia’s family lived over an hour north of Santa Fe on the other side of Taos, New Mexico. They were a rough bunch and although Sylvia worried for them, she was resigned to the fact that it would be some time before they connected again. Unlike her young roommate Angel, Sylvia Medina at 26, thought staying with Merry was the better gamble.

  Mrs. Ortiz wanted to go back to her house and find her dog. She didn’t want to go by herself. “What if the bombing starts up again?” She had wondered aloud. Although, they hadn’t decided about the flash and thundering, each questioned if Mac wasn’t correct in that it was some sort of bombing. The other possibilities were an enormous chemical explosion, or that the air base in Albuquerque had an accidental detonation; the recent warmongering from the Mideast could be responsible. They didn’t know. For now, Merry wanted to secure the halfway house. She would deal with the rest of the world later... much later, she decided.

  Sylvia took Mrs. Ortiz’s arm and the three of them started for her house.

  When Mrs. Ortiz mentioned her dog again, Merry said, “I’ve been watching my mother’s dogs since last summer.”

  “Oh? You’re not worried about them?” the older woman asked.

  Merry sighed. “Well, yes and no. I told you that I was leaving tomorrow night for an overseas trip. You see, I rent a cottage up on Canyon Road and someone is… or was planning on staying there in my absence but as for the dogs - they are out in Pojoaque. I dropped them there this morning,” Merry told her. “Right now the dogs are better off out there I’m sure but my trip...Oh boy, it’s postponed for... forever, or at least until life returns to normal, I suppose.” Merry didn’t want to contemplate her indefinite change in plans.

  They had seen the strange cloud cover over Albuquerque and so a discussion began again about what had happened and when they would find out what was going on.

  Mrs. Ortiz’s house sat on the corner of the street. The neighborhood was shaped like a rectangle with houses on one or two or three acre plots, staggered on either side of the street. Her front door was locked. She hadn’t brought her keys. Merry said she would check the backdoor.

  Merry circumvented the north side of the house. The neighborhood remained unnaturally quiet although she now heard a dog barking somewhere up the street. An adobe wall enclosed the back yard but the rough hewn gate stood open. Merry continued, coming around to the backside of the house. Mrs. Ortiz had said she was letting her Chihuahua out when the blinding light occurred. The back door was left open, too. Looking in, Merry saw that the door opened into a semi-darkened laundry room. There was no window in the tiny room but the kitchen beyond was lit by skylights. Hesitating, Merry entered the gloom and then walked briskly through the two rooms and down the hall towards the front door, her cowboy boots clicking loudly on the Saltillo tiled floor. From the left, a doorway opened into the living room and shockingly in the semi-darkness of the hall, a head thrust out and then back into the room. She recognized Mac. Still, Merry let out a scream and jumped back.

  “You scream? You didn’t scream an hour ago when hell came to earth!” He responded loudly from the other room. Stepping forward, she looked in on him. This room was bright, being on the south side of the house with two windows, even with the curtains partially drawn.

  The closet was open and Mac had items lying on the floor next to an easy chair. On his left were pillows, blankets and a cooler but golf clubs and an upright vacuum cleaner were on his right.

  Merry said, “You scared me. What are you doing? This is Mrs. Ortiz’s house! And she is outside.”

  He didn’t look up at her but said, “I’m looking to see what she has. When she comes in, she can tell me the rest. Send her in, will you?”

  Merry bit her lower lip. She always did when she was uncertain. In truth she wanted to tell him she was really scared but instead she simply said, “I don’t know… I really don’t know.” His head came up. Gazing upon her face, he nodded. She thought he was sizing her up. She wondered if she hadn’t given herself away - revealed her fear to him in her simple statement. Not caring what he thought, she said again, “I don’t know.”

  Mac nodded again and then turned back to the odds and ends from the closet. “Well, I do know,” he emphasized. “Now, go get Mrs. Ortiz.”

  Merry turned for the front door. Something in his words, his demeanor told her that he indeed did know. Later, she would analyze what exactly it was that he knew but for now Merry was content with his words... his tone... his actions.

  The ornately carved front door was heavy and bolted. Unlocking and opening it Merry found Mrs. Ortiz by herself sitting on a wooden bench in the small shaded courtyard before the door.

  Mrs. Ortiz said, “Hello. The other girl has gone back to the house. You didn’t see Salsa my pup did you?”

  Merry told her no but she had found Mac, the man that had helped them into the well house. At this information, Mrs. Ortiz lifted a shoulder in a half shrug but when she saw Mac piling the blankets and things from the closet into the hall, she became more opinionated.

  “Young man... were you raised in a barn? Those things belong in the den closet. They are for the fold away beds and...” but she was interrupted here.

  “No! Actually, I was raised in a castle but this house will suffice ... for now, I suppose,” he said with a wink at Merry.

  Merry said to her, “Mrs. Ortiz, I think he is going to help you get organized. Do you have any family that lives nearby?”

  Then Mac said, “My dear, Mrs. Ortiz this is not the time to be thinking about your personal possessions. If you want to survive this… um, predicament you must be extremely flexible.”

  Mrs. Ortiz looked from Merry to Mac. She said loudly, “He is a foreigner isn’t he, Merry? Is this how they do it over there?”

  Merry wasn’t sure what the woman meant but she nodded anyway, asking Mac to explain.

  Mac said, “Not too long ago when I was still a boy - very young, my country had a war of independence. It was a terrible time and many people died. My family and the nation were caught in the vise of war. We pulled together to survive and most of us did…” His words trailed off and he looked beyond them, remembering the past. A moment later he said, “War changes everything.”

  As he sorted, Mac explained that the blinding light was evidence of warfare. It could happen again if it really was some sort of military strike. Santa Fe is nestled between two significant military targets - both women knew this; Los Alamos was north and Albuquerque, south. Mac told them that even if there wasn’t another military strike, that there would be ramifications because of the morning event. None of the results would be beneficial to the ordinary person.

  “Yes, and so we are getting together a plan to protect you and ourselves for what is to come,” Mac said to Mrs. Ortiz. “If you have a big family and they are well-armed you should go to them or do you suppose they will come here? Do you know?” She had a big family - very big, but they lived in Las Vegas, 50 miles from Santa Fe. Her children, three grown sons lived in California.

  “My husband’s family is from Santa Fe... Though, I don’t think they will come looking for me,
” she said.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Mac responded. “This house is better to defend than the other one,” he said using his head to point toward the halfway house. "I am commandeering" your house, I hope with your approval. Yes or no?”

  Mrs. Ortiz had not planned to retire this way. They had moved back to Santa Fe after living in California for over thirty years and then her husband, Johnny up and died. Her boys wanted her to move back to Redlands but she had been making plans to move home to Las Vegas once the housing market turned around. The housing market was dropping fast she perceived.

  She said in her raspy voice, “Well sure. Yes. How can I help?”

  Mac sent Merry back to the halfway house to gather any valuable necessities. He took Mrs. Ortiz into the kitchen and they sat down to talk.

  Merry found Sylvia and Consuela Rodriguez inside the doorway. Consuela or Connie had been returning from a job interview at the mall when she was struck blind. She had been walking along the busy Rodeo Road. Instinctively, she veered away from the street traffic but only to plunge down an embankment. Cars were slamming on brakes and careening into one another. The street above her was noisy havoc. Then the blood-chilling thunder started and Connie groped about until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Curling up in a ball, she squeezed her eyes tight and began to cry and pray, lying in the dirt.

  When the distant boom-booming ceased, Connie opened her eyes and her vision - though foggy had returned.

  “Eeeh, I sat there thanking God for my life. Up on the street, people were shouting and crying and fighting. I got a pretty good gash in my leg here, so I says, I need to get back to Patsy’s house,” she was telling Sylvia when Merry came in. One of her tube socks was wrapped about her shin.

  “I thought I should go to the emergency room. That is what I would normally do but I’d be there for a week before they got to me, eeeh!” Connie said with a shake of her head. She added after a moment, “Besides, my phone didn’t work.”

  She limped to the couch. Merry hated blood but she also knew that the wound needed immediate care. Thanks to her sister Kate’s insistence, Merry had some medical training.

  “Sylvia, let me take care of Connie while you get some things together,” Merry said but she realized her words lacked her usual calm, no-nonsense attitude. She smiled grimly, and then added for their sake, “This situation is serious but God is going to help us.”

  Next she told Sylvia how to proceed. “Consuela, hang tight,” ordered Merry “I’ll be right back.”

  The first-aid supplies in Patsy’s bathroom were sufficient for Connie’s scrape. Sylvia brought in Connie’s hair brush and while she was busy with her own long tangled, brown hair, Merry cleaned the wound and applied an antibiotic. If it had been bleeding, Merry would have had Connie elevate her leg. Although the tube sock was blood soaked, the gash was superficial and no longer bled. There were many other minor scratches and bruises but the one running from her right ankle to her knee was most serious. Merry cleaned and dabbed rubbing alcohol on the others and then wrapped her leg with loose fitting sheet strips. As Merry ripped the linen she thought, No, this isn’t the Emergency room. Lastly, Merry plucked a dozen or more cactus needles from Connie’s ankle.

  Connie was sitting on the floor putting canned goods into a pillow case at Merry’s instruction when Patsy Sena got home. Patsy had returned the back way, using the old outer road which very few travelers used anymore. It was in disrepair but drivable to knowledgeable locals.

  Nikki Brown and Tina Romero were with Patsy. The three had been together at the grocery store when the lights went out. Inside, plenty of confusion ensued and once they got to the parking lot, even more confusion met them. At first, Patsy and the two women tried to help but soon they realized that there was little they could do for now.

  Initially, Patsy thought to go to the church but seeing the snarled traffic she decided that returning to the house would be best although she had no plan after that. Nikki and Tina agreed as they had nowhere else to go.

  Getting home posed a problem. Traffic was a mess. Finally, Patsy decided to take the less obvious route - the long way home which was partly graveled rather than paved road. An hour later, they pulled in next to Merry’s pale blue VW bug. It would be a considerable understatement to say Patsy was relieved to see Merry’s car parked in the drive.

  Several suitcases, boxes, laundry baskets - including the one left in the well house with a bloody sock on top, were arranged in the foyer of the house. The normally, immaculate and well-ordered home was a mess. Patsy was tired and she hadn’t expected this. When Merry and Sylvia came rushing out of Patsy’s living quarters, she was ready to let them have it...

  Merry hugged her saying, “Patsy! I was so worried. Come in and tell us what happened but make it quick.” All the anger, frustration and fear seemed to step aside for the moment. Merry was very un-Santa Fean but Patsy really loved her nonetheless - mostly because she was the daughter of her close, lifelong friend, Toni Merriweather.

  The new arrivals got seated at the dining table when the door flew open and Mac hurried in. Patsy screamed. Nikki jumped up and ran into the kitchen.

  Merry shouted, “Wait! Calm down. It’s Mom’s friend from D’Almata - Mac... Mac is a really nice guy!” Mac stopped in his tracks at the ear piercing scream. He looked at Merry and shook his head. At the moment, Patsy was gripping her chest while Nikki rummaged about for a suitable butcher knife and the others looking on, questioningly.

  Merry said reprovingly, “Auntie Patsy, please warn us ahead of time if you must let out a scream like that again!”

  Mac ignored them and began surveying the items at the door. Pasty shot up an eyebrow at his indifference, only to release the brow from its duty to allow the other eyebrow to respond to Merry along with these sarcastic words, “Weeeh, coco! Of course! Next time there is an immediate threat, I will whistle first to get everyone’s attention and then once you people shut-up, I will announce we are all about to get maimed, murdered and raped!”

  As she held an ominous looking knife, Nikki closed the utensil drawer and said, “Patsy, I hope your emergency won’t be in that exact order... I prefer murder first and then if they want to maim or rape me, well so be it.”

  Merry who had begun preparing sandwiches for the entire household, snatched the knife from Nikki. “I need that, thank you... If you want to help, get the bread and plates out.” Nikki shrugged. She liked Merry. They understood one another.

  As Nikki got the plates and Merry sliced cheese, Patsy rearranging Nikki’s table setting chore, began her story of the grocery store incident. She finished by saying, “No one seems to know what’s going on... Even the radio reports were confusing. No one knows anything.” Patsy was halfway through her sandwich while Mac, listening had eaten three. Merry sat down with her plate. Mac got up, leaning against the counter as Sylvia gathered the dirtied dishes for the sink.

  He said, “Yes, no one knows but no matter the...” he stopped and searched about his mind for the correct English word. “No matter who pushed the button...” He looked at Merry.

  She answered his look by asking, “No matter the reason or the cause?”

  He grinned and continued, “Yes. No matter the reason, the result is the same for us. We must act and get a plan; otherwise – we may die!” he said something in his own language and then he translated. “My country has a proverb that you may understand for our predicament. ‘When there is food on the table, there are many problems but when there is no food on the table, there is but one problem.’”

  Patsy had been wringing her hands but now her long silver-streaked, very dark head nodded with resignation. She was almost 60 and her health wasn’t what it had been just a few years earlier. Her hips, her left knee, her weight and now her safety seemed to hinder her from doing what God really wanted her to do. As it had been for many decades, she could still pray.

  Sylvia hopped up on the counter which was against the house rules but she didn’t care. She
crossed her arms. She ran her eyes up and down Mac. His look and his thick accent declared him as a foreigner. Responding to Mac, she said, “Listen, this is America. Yes, something really scary and bad happened today but the government has plans for emergencies - that is why we pay taxes.” The other girls nodded but Mac laughed quietly while Merry and Patsy looked at each other knowingly.

  Nikki said, “Yeah? When is the last time you paid taxes? What a joke.”

  “You shut up! You smart a...” Sylvia started to go off on Nikki but Patsy whistled. Besides praying, she could still whistle, too. Everyone looked at her. “Get off the counter! And quit shooting your mouth off,” she barked at Sylvia who obeyed reluctantly.

  “We need to get a plan. Mr. Nice Guy is correct. Now who are we missing... where’s Angel Tapia and Junior?” Pasty looking around remembered suddenly that Merry hadn’t been told about Junior. Her eyebrow shot up in Merry’s direction. They locked eyes but Patsy hurried on, “Luz Garcia isn’t here either... She was at work this morning but her shift was over by noon surely.”

  “Angel’s gone,” Merry said. “Her little brother went with her but if it’s as impossible as you say to get around on the streets - They’ll probably be back. I hope so and they’re on foot. But Luz... she works downtown. My bet is she won’t be back for a few days or longer.” The others agreed.

  Mac moved next to Merry and folded his arms. He towered above her looking at the others. His mannerism suggested he wasn’t one to be messed with. He said, “Now, who do we have? There is Mrs. Ortiz – she is one.” He looked at Patsy and put up his thumb and index finger. “The screamer, makes two,” and then he pointed and numbered each person, (superstitiously skipping the numeral six as D’Almatans are known to do) ending with himself as number eight. “Great!” he concluded enthusiastically. “One or two people or even three people are very vulnerable. There is strength in numbers,” he told them.