Night Light

by Terri Blackstock

  “Yes!” Kay shouted, sweeping her dark hair behind her ear. “They could have killed her! And now Jeff is facing two guys with a gun!”

  “Not guys,” Beth said. “Boys. Logan’s age or younger.”

  “So you weren’t exaggerating when you said they were kids,” Doug said.

  “Doug, what are we going to do?”

  He rested his face on his hands, then raked his fingers through his brown hair. “I don’t know, honey. Just let me think a minute.”

  WHILE HER DAD WAS THINKING, DENI STOLE UPSTAIRS. AS UPSET as she was about the food — and she was upset, since they barely had enough to fill their stomachs each day as it was — she didn’t want to wait another minute to read her letter.

  She sat down on her bed and slid back against her pillows. Crossing her legs beneath her, she tore into the envelope. Her heart raced as she pulled the folded papers out.

  Two pages? That was all, after all this time? When the post office had opened again three weeks ago, she’d sent him a stack of letters she’d been writing all along. Swallowing her disappointment, she started to read.

  “Dear Deni,” it said. She had hoped for something more personal, like “My dearest Deni” or “Hi babe.” But this was fine. He was a lawyer, not a poet.

  I’ve missed you so much.

  Isn’t this power outage unbelievable? I was at the Senate Building when it all went out. You should have seen the havoc. At first there was a lot of confusion as people kept working with only window light. You know how it is. There’s not much rest for lawmakers, and Senator Crawford wasn’t all that bothered, until he picked up the phone and realized it was out too. Then he tried his cell phone. No dice. It was about then that we started thinking “terrorist attack.” So we gathered up our laptops and rushed out of the building, only to see the traffic stalled in the middle of Constitution Avenue. We were certain it was a terrorist attack, and before we knew it, rumors were flying about it being an electromagnetic pulse. And sure enough, when I tried to boot up my laptop, it was dead too.

  She wished he wouldn’t give her a travelogue right off the bat. She had hoped for some declarations of love, some promises, some longing.

  It was horrible. I had to walk home, fifteen miles, in my Gucci loafers. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Stranded in that townhouse and having to find water and food, with all the stores closed. You should see me. I’ve lost fifteen pounds. For the first few days I just walked around nibbling on Cheez-Its and drinking bottled water.

  Then we learned it was a worldwide event, not just confined to the states. We really had our work cut out for us, trying to decide what to do about the banking system, law enforcement, communication, and Homeland Security. If you think I worked long hours before, you should see me now. I practically live in this building, because it’s so tough getting from one place to another without a car. I’ve found myself wishing I still had that 1967 Plymouth Belvedere my dad kept for twenty years. But even if I did have it, the government would be conscripting it. Senator Crawford was one of the lawmakers that introduced the legislation to do that.

  If there were some way to get to you, I would.

  She stopped reading. If there were some way? There was a way, and she knew because she had tried it a month into the stinking outage, and she’d almost gotten herself killed by the murdering maniac who’d offered her a ride in his horse-drawn wagon. When she’d finally managed to get a bike, she could have ridden on to D.C., but she’d chosen instead to head home to warn her family before the killer could get back there. She hadn’t had the courage to launch out again.

  If he’d wanted to see her badly enough, he could have made it by bike in just a few days. He still could. The letter continued:

  I guess our wedding isn’t going to come off like we planned. But if it’s meant to be, I guess we’ll wait for each other.

  Her heart sank, and her jaw dropped. What was he saying? That he wasn’t even going to try to get to her? That the wedding date they’d set for October — just eight weeks away — wasn’t going to happen? No declarations of love, no sweet verbal caresses. Not even a sad romanticism. Just a matter-of-fact mention of their aborted wedding, and their future boiled down to an I guess, if.

  Were they even still engaged?

  She almost couldn’t read the last line through her tears.

  I really miss you. Hope this will all be over soon and we can get together again.

  “Get together,” like they were acquaintances hoping to do lunch. Did he even realize how cold that sounded? Or did he care?

  As grief stole over her, she read the letter again, looking for something she had missed, something between the lines …

  Did he still love her? He said he missed her, but it sure didn’t sound like it.

  Her mother knocked on her door and leaned in. “Deni, somebody’ll have to go get water and start boiling it, since they took all we had. Your dad has a shift at the well, and I need to stay here in case Jeff comes home.”

  Deni turned her wet face up to her mother. “Mom, I can’t go right now.”

  Her mother saw her tears and came to her bed. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  Deni held up the letter.

  “From Craig?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Kay took the letter. “What does it say?”

  “Oh, just the basics. I’m fine, how are you, the weather’s great, how ’bout them Yankees …” She crumpled into tears.

  Kay sat down on the bed and quickly read it. “It doesn’t say that. Well, look. Here he says he’s missed you.”

  “Look at the travelogue, Mom. Ninety percent of the letter is his play-by-play of his own drama the day the outage happened. Did it not even occur to him that I was on a plane ten minutes before the Pulses started? That I could even be dead? No! He didn’t mention that at all.”

  “Honey, I’m sure that occurred to him. But he’s a man. They don’t express themselves that well. That doesn’t mean they don’t feel it. Cut him some slack.”

  She snatched the letter back. “Mom, he blew off our wedding!”

  She knew she had her mother there. Even in all her optimism, she couldn’t soft-sell that one.

  “Maybe that’s not what he meant. Maybe he has every intention of marrying you, but he’s just not sure it’ll happen on that very day. Things are complicated now. They’re not predictable.”

  “Don’t defend him, Mom. There’s no way you can turn this business correspondence into a love letter.” She slammed her fist on the mattress. “The e-mails he used to send me were warmer than this. I’m losing him. I may have lost him already. There’s probably some senate intern who’s cooking for him and pampering him.”

  “Deni, don’t let your mind go there. You’re making things up and making yourself miserable. Think of him as a man who doesn’t express himself well in letters. That doesn’t mean he’s not sick over your separation.”

  Deni knew that wasn’t true. She folded up the letter and put it back in its envelope, then tossed it into the drawer in her night table. She pulled her shoes back on. Roughly smearing her tears, she said, “I’ll go get water. Just let me wash my face so no one will know I’ve been dumped.”

  “You haven’t been dumped, Deni. You’re still engaged. It’s not like he asked for the ring back.”

  “That’s because it’s worthless now. It wouldn’t do him any good.”

  “You’re still engaged, Deni, until the man tells you he’s not going to marry you.”

  “Or until I tell him I’m not going to marry him!” Deni didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She just went into the bathroom where her mother kept a bowl of water and washed the tears off her face.

  KAY WENT DOWN THE STAIRS AND ACROSS THE HOUSE TO HER bedroom. Doug was changing into his work clothes. “That jerk!” she bit out.

  “What jerk?”

  “Craig Martin. He finally sent her a letter, and it broke her heart.”

  Doug stopped before pulling his shir
t over his head. “No way.”

  “She’s up there crying. I’d love to get my hands on him.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It said that he didn’t see how the wedding would come off, but if it’s meant to be, they’ll wait for each other.”

  Doug finished putting the shirt on. “That’s not so bad.”

  “Yeah, well, he couched it between all this stuff about how hard the outage has been for him. After she almost got killed going after him — ”

  “He didn’t know that when he wrote the letter.”

  “Don’t defend him, Doug.”

  He bent over to pull on his work boots. “I’m not defending him. Frankly, I don’t want to see her hurt, but if they break up, it won’t break my heart. I never liked him to begin with. He’s not good enough for her. Not by a long shot.”

  Kay sank down onto the bed. “You’re right, but I don’t want her hurting. She’s been through enough. How much more can she take?” She let out a long breath. “How much more can I take? Where is Jeff?”

  “He’s okay. He’s a tough kid. He’ll be back soon. Probably with our food.”

  “He could get shot.”

  “He won’t.”

  She watched as he bent over and tied his boots. He had changed in the last few months. Her husband, whom she had believed was handsome before, had grown more attractive as the harsh sun and backbreaking labor did its work on him. She wished it had done the same for her, but she was a mess. She’d had to let her brown hair grow out, since she couldn’t style it without electricity, and the sun had deepened her wrinkles. No amount of moisturizer would be able to erase the damage.

  Finally, Doug straightened. “Look, there’s no point in losing it before we know the situation. If he doesn’t come back soon, then we’ll panic. For now, let’s just have faith that God is taking care of him.”

  She lay back flat on the bed and threw her arm over her eyes. “I’m tired, Doug. I try to be tough, but sometimes I just have to explode.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  She moved her arm and looked at him. “So what do you think about this pulsar, or whatever it is?”

  He thought for a moment. “It makes sense. I’m gonna swing by the library as soon as I get a minute and read up on it.”

  “Do you think she’s right about the radiation not getting stronger? What if it moves closer to us? It started suddenly. Couldn’t it suddenly get worse?”

  He stared at the floor, shaking his head. “I honestly don’t know. But there’s no use borrowing trouble. For now, we should probably just be thankful to be alive.” Patting her leg, he got up and started to the door. “I’m going to work at the well. Send Logan to get me as soon as Jeff gets home.”

  Kay sat up and took a deep breath. She’d pull herself together and stay busy until Jeff got home.

  Only then would she fall apart.

  seven

  DOUG HAD DRAFTED THE WORK SCHEDULE FOR THE WELL AND lectured the neighborhood men about the importance of showing up, so he couldn’t very well skip out himself. The plan was to keep the digging going every daylight hour, and the ones on the shift before him couldn’t leave until he got there. They had limited patience when someone was late.

  He and Jeff were digging partners, but since Jeff had gone chasing after thieves, Doug had asked his next-door neighbor Brad to fill in. Jeff could take Brad’s shift later. Working outside the hole were Mark Green and Zach Emory, charged with mixing the mortar and lowering the bricks for the walls of the well. Judith and Brad’s oldest child, Jeremy, had the job of raising the buckets of dirt out when they were full, dumping them, then lowering them again.

  They’d dug the well in a square shape, eight feet by eight feet, but it was tight quarters for him and Brad down in the hole. They’d had to make it wide enough that two men could work side by side with a pick, a shovel, and a long steel rod used to break up rock, but the work was filthy and backbreaking. It would be worth it, though, when they finally struck water. Everyone working at the hole knew that it could literally be months before they dug deep enough through the soil, limestone, sandstone, and shale to hit the water table. The Pulses might very well end before they ever finished the task. But whether the Pulses lasted for months or years, the well would make their lives easier for the duration. That was why it was so important to keep the digging going every hour of daylight. There was no time to waste.

  The well-digging was going slowly. Doug and the other men in the neighborhood — those who’d agreed to a cooperative work schedule to get this done — had been digging for almost a month. They’d only made it fifteen feet down, since digging wasn’t the only component of this monumental job. As they dug, they had to reinforce the walls with bricks to prevent a cave-in. The process was laborious — dig two feet down, stop, brick the walls, then dig some more. And it wasn’t like they could make a run to Home Depot for the bricks, since the home improvement store had long since closed, empty of merchandise and unable to pay its employees. No, they’d first had to scout around for abandoned buildings that could be demolished for their bricks and lumber.

  Most of the men working on the well had been reluctant to use their much-needed tools on this job, unwilling to dull their sharp ax blades or break their picks hacking through layers of rock. So they’d managed to come up with several steel rods that they hammered to fracture the stone.

  It would all be worth it when they hit the water table. Doug had prayed often over the last few weeks that when that happened, the water would be clean enough for drinking — not rusty water from iron-rich earth, or sulfur-contaminated water they couldn’t drink.

  Brad thrust his shovel into the dirt and leaned on the wooden handle. Soil covered his brown skin, and he glistened with sweat. “What time is it?”

  Doug looked at his windup Timex. “One-thirty. Thirty minutes more.” He was thankful that the neighborhood men had seen the wisdom in their taking only hour-long shifts and rotating the schedule so that no one had to continually work in the hottest part of the day. Today he and Brad had started at one, and tomorrow their shift would be at two. By the weekend they’d be shoveling during the late daylight hours, when it would be cooler.

  Brad wiped the sweat off his forehead, then opened his milk jug of water. Taking a long drag, he looked up to see how much progress they’d made.

  They’d at least deepened the well by another foot. It was time to stop and lay some more bricks.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  It was Jeff’s voice, and Doug looked up to see his son’s face at the top of the hole. Relief washed through him. “Jeff, did you catch the thieves?”

  “Yeah, kind of.”

  “So you got the food back?”

  Jeff hesitated. “Well … some of it.”

  Doug braced himself. “Some of it? Why didn’t you get it all?”

  “Because they were four kids living by themselves in a hole-in-the-wall apartment. The oldest didn’t look more than nine, and the littlest was three or four. No parents. They’ve been fending for themselves. They stole to eat, Dad. I don’t really know what choice they had.”

  Doug looked at Brad. His friend rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t believe that, man. It’s a con if I ever heard one.”

  Doug agreed. He looked up at Jeff. “Son, four kids living alone would probably have starved to death. No neighbors in their right minds would let that happen.”

  “Dad, I’m telling you, they didn’t have any adults in that apartment. They said their mother took off weeks ago and never came back. The neighbors know they have a gun, so that’s probably why they haven’t bothered them. That and the fact that they can barely feed themselves, much less four more kids.”

  Their mother was probably the one who’d come up with that cockamamie story to keep from having to work hard like everybody else. Anger tightened his chest. “So are you telling me you didn’t get our food back?”

  “I got some of it, but they had already eaten some. And
I didn’t want to take everything. How will they eat?”

  If Doug could have gotten out of the hole easily, he would have throttled his son. He wiped his forehead on his arm, and longed for some water. But those deadbeat kids had taken all the sterilized drinking water they had, so he hadn’t been able to bring any.

  “All right, we’ll talk about it later. For now, just help Deni get water, and as soon as it’s filtered and boiled, bring me some.”

  “Okay, Dad. But I really think we need to do something about those kids.”

  Brad picked up his jug and thrust it at Doug. “Here, drink some of mine. Our shift’ll be over before yours is boiled and cooled enough to drink.”

  Gladly, Doug accepted the jug and took a long swig.

  Above him came his son’s voice again. “Dad?”

  “I heard you, son. We’ll discuss this later. The Boxcar kids can wait. They’ve survived this long.”

  Jeff disappeared from the mouth of the well, and Doug went back to digging.

  eight

  WHEN DOUG GOT HOME, COVERED WITH THE DIRT AND CLAY he’d been shoveling out of the hole, he went into the bathroom where Kay had a bowl of water waiting for his cleanup. What a day! First the meeting and the bad news about the banks, the promise of the measly disbursement money, the thieves walking away with their food, then the miserable work at the well …

  Now he had to prove to his son that those kids were nothing more than pawns of sick parents who’d trained them to burglarize from those who actually worked for their food.

  He splashed water on his face, soaped up, then rinsed. The water was brown, just from his filthy hands. He sighed. Sometimes he thought he would never be truly clean again. Two months ago, dirt under his fingernails would have been a shocker. Now it seemed tattooed there.

  He did his best to wash off the sweat and grime, then got dressed. He found his family sitting around the patio table. Jeff had Kay’s rapt attention. Great. As if she wasn’t stressed enough about the pulsar, now Jeff was giving her those kids to worry about.