by A. R. Shaw
Sliding the digital thermometer off the table, Wren said, “Yeah,” with a lift of her eyebrows.
When she looked back, Nicole was again sitting attentively at the desk with the earphones over her ears.
Mae noticed too. “What are you listening to?”
Pulling them off quickly, she said, “Nothing. It’s just static.”
“Let me hear,” Mae said.
Nicole swirled the frequency knob and pulled the earphones away and out of the jack. “It’s nothing!” she yelled and stormed out of the room.
“What the heck?” Mae said and looked at Wren for an explanation.
Shaking her head, Wren said, “I don’t know. She’s never like that. Just leave her alone.”
Mae walked away then.
Wren knew Mae wouldn’t leave Nicole alone though. There was no way she could. She was like a dog with a bone. Something was going on with Nicole. She kept secrets.
57
Kent
As Kent pulled up in the pickup. Sloane turned around. She was using her hands to explain something to a few of the men. Several of them were already clearing away debris. He knew she was fine, in her element even, because she only used her hands like that when she was excited. That was a good sign.
“Everything all right at home?”
“Yeah, for now. Had to move him upstairs. He went into seizures. Fever spiked.”
“Ah, just like Nicole did at the mansion?”
“Yeah, something like that. I let Boyd know what was going on but to stay clear of the house. Just to let us know if there’s any commotion.”
“Okay, if you think it’s all right. We’re getting started here. I think we’re all on the same page. There’s one thing I wanted to talk with you before I mention it to all of them.”
“What’s that?”
“So far, no one has asked for food, have they?”
Kent looked around at the people working. “No, you’re right, they haven’t. Not once.”
“And as far as I can tell, they’re all fashionably thin for the times but I don’t see any malnutrition issues, like Jason. Do you?”
Again, he looked around at the people, scrutinizing a few of them. “Several of them look as if they could use a few more calories but no, I don’t see anything alarming right now.”
“These people are self-sufficient. They’re survivors like us in their own right. That’s a good thing. Trial by fire. My idea is, why don’t we hold a dinner? At first, I thought it would be cool to have a continuous pot of soup going for anyone hungry,” she shook her head, “but that’s not right. I changed my mind looking at them. They’ve made it. They’ve earned the right to be here without handouts. But a one-time come-together dinner would be a good gesture.”
He nodded. “I like the idea. I think you’re right. No handouts. That might even hurt their pride at this point. But say we hold a potluck. Everyone can bring something if they have something to share. Make it voluntary.”
“Good. My thoughts exactly. Do you want to pitch in or do you need to keep close to home for Jason?”
“Actually, I’m here for Chuck.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Who’s this Chuck?”
“Long story. I’ll let you know more when I find out.”
“Okay,” she said as he left and found the old man who told him of Chuck’s current condition.
He only remembered Chuck’s boots, the slack hemline of his cuffed jeans and his voice. That and he was a slacker at his job. Had he really looked at the fence that night, he’d have found the tines were cut and he would have discovered, only yards away, a man hugging a black dog like a toddler with a teddy bear, stuck under a broken-down dump truck.
“He’s right in there,” the old man said, pointing to the chained tool lock box big enough for a human.
“How long’s he been in there? Can he breathe?”
The old man shrugged a shoulder.
“Are we talking a few hours?”
The old man shrugged again.
“Days?”
“Nah…not more than a day.” But then he shrugged again.
Kent tapped on the metal. “Hey, Chuck?”
Nothing.
“Chuck, I’m going to open the lock. I have a gun aimed at you. Don’t try anything stupid.” Pulling out his sidearm, he motioned for the old man to unlock the box. “Stay perfectly still. You must be cramped. I’ll help you out. Don’t try to move.”
He whispered to the old man, “You did unarm him before you put him in there, didn’t you?”
“He was drunk as a skunk when we caught him. Had nothing on him.”
Kent didn’t know what to think of that.
As soon as the lock and chain were pulled away, nothing happened.
Kent waited for Chuck to push the door away.
“Damn…maybe he’s dead,” the old man said.
Kent lifted the door. The first thing he saw was the same boots as before. The laces weren’t even tied still. How did this guy get around?
Then the smell.
“Oh, he pissed himself,” the old man said.
“Of course, he pissed himself. You locked up a drunk man over a day ago. In fact, he’s done more than piss himself.”
The old man gagged.
Feeling for his pulse amongst the dried vomit, Kent assessed that he was, in fact, alive and breathing.
“Chuck,” Kent said, patting him on the side of his bearded face. “Stop that,” he said to the old man, who was bent over gagging still. “Help me get him out there. This should teach you that you can’t just throw someone in a box without accounting for their basic human needs. It makes you just as bad…” but that’s as far as the lecture got because as soon as he went to grab Chuck around the shoulders, the man came alive, shoved him backward and yelled like a lumberjack running from a Sasquatch.
Several things happened in quick succession then.
Because Kent had his pistol in the back of his waistband, he was resisting Chuck’s effort to reach over his back. The old man suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision. He saw him raise his gun. Knew he had a clean shot.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Kent yelled and while Chuck seethed and yelled like a madman, Kent grabbed him back and pulled him face-to-face. “Help me not let him shoot you. He will. Trust me. Stop. Stop this now.”
Bleary-eyed, Chuck nodded his head and looked as if he was going to pass out again. One second the guy was knocked out, the next he was a raging animal.
“Get him out of there but tie his hands behind his back first,” Kent told a few of the guys who showed up to help. “I wouldn’t trust him around a firearm yet. Or at all. Totally normal to become combative after waking up like that.”
“Are you all right?” the old man asked.
Kent was flexing his arms, working off the soreness. “Like wrestling a puked-on beaver.”
“God, he smells,” the old man said after the wind picked up the scent.
“What’d you expect? Hose him off and get him some fresh clothes and water,” Kent ordered the old man.
“What are we going to do with him?” the old man asked.
Shaking his head, Kent replied, “I don’t know. I can’t question him yet. He’s too dehydrated. He needs medical care first. We’ll give it time.”
“Then if we find out he was compliant and enjoyed his job…we’re going to eliminate?”
“We’ll see,” was all Kent could commit to.
The cigar man was one thing. He’d seen his involvement. Knew what he did. And the fact that he was able to tell the others…Kent had no remorse over shooting him the way he did. Things were different now, though. They were all survivors.
58
Sloane
“Nicole?” Kent said as they drove the short drive home along the coast.
Sloane looked out at the sea. The sunset pulled more hues of lavender than ever before. She loved watching nature’s display. It was the first time lately that she v
iewed it with hope, and a little contentment and determination.
“Nicole?” Kent said again in the radio, which caught her attention.
“She usually answers right away. Is something wrong?”
“Nah,” he said, adopting Mae’s new slang. Though he said that with conviction, she could tell he pressed down on the accelerator just a little bit harder.
Then the sputter of radio static and Nicole’s voice came over. “Here,” she said.
“What took you so long this time?” Kent asked.
“Uh, we’re just doing a few things,” Nicole said.
“Everything okay?” Kent asked.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, we’ll be there soon. ETA five minutes or less. So scramble the others to clean up the mess you’ve made.”
“There’s not a mess.”
“I was just kidding, babe. We’ll be there soon. Out.”
Sloane looked at the way Kent’s jaw moved. He didn’t say anything, but he was thinking about something.
“Was her delay so unusual?”
“It’s not unexpected but she’s usually so quick. And she’s been a little more distant than usual lately. Have you noticed?”
“I’ve been a bit preoccupied…but now that you mention it, she has been a little more withdrawn lately. I just assumed since she needed to remain indoors that she was really devoting her time to the radio.”
“Just to be safe, we should interrogate Mae. She knows everything, that one.”
Sloane nodded and smiled a little to herself. Thinking of her girls, it was the first time in a while that she felt any kind of hope. They were going to be okay for the time being. Then the smile faded. She had to make sure it stayed that way.
When they pulled up, Boyd was still there. They stopped to chat with him first.
“Don’t you ever go home?” Kent asked after he rolled down the truck window.
He nodded. “Actually, yes. Travis relieves me at night.”
“Travis? Who’s Travis?”
“He was one of the other guards. He sleeps during the day and takes over at night.”
Sloane nodded. “You guys have this all worked out?”
“Any word on your sister?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing today.”
She still hated being nice to him. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to hate him a lot.
“Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help and please…you can always leave this post in case you need to check something out.”
“I will, ma’am. I have others who will take over for me if that happens.”
She nodded and hoped he found the girl alive and safe soon. The child was far too young to be out on her own in the apocalypse.
When they pulled up to the house, they found Mae standing outside with her arms crossed in front of her.
“Hmm…something’s up. She seems to be waiting for us.”
Sloane watched her daughter. Something was indeed awry. This wasn’t like Mae. She’d given up pouting long ago. Something was wrong.
“Hey, cream puff. What’s up?” Kent said.
Mae’s arms uncrossed immediately. “Don’t call me that.”
He reached for her. “What is it, Mae?”
“It’s Nicole. She’s keeping something from us.”
“What do you mean?” Kent said, pulling Mae into his side for a hug.
“That’s just it. I don’t know. Something about the radio but she won’t tell me. I questioned her for over an hour.”
Sloane raised her eyebrows. That was something…resisting the great Mae’s interrogations.
“How’re Wren and Jason?”
Mae shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Fine. They’re talking in there.”
“What? He’s awake…talking?” Kent said, releasing her and heading up the stairs.
“He’s talking?” Sloane asked, knowing that was unlikely.
“Well, something like that. He’s writing on a paper pad I gave him. Why didn’t anyone do that before? There’s nothing keeping him from writing, you know.”
Huffing, Sloane said, “I don’t know. At the time we were just trying to save his life.”
She followed Kent up the stairs.
Inside, she found Jason sitting up on the couch with a yellow pad in his lap, eyes intently on Wren and pen lying on the inside of his left hand. Wren sat by his side on a stool. There was something about Wren that seemed different. Sloane couldn’t quite place it yet. If she had to name it…she’d say her daughter had a purpose outside herself now.
“Fever staying down? Drinking all the fluids I gave you?” Kent was questioning Jason while he checked his pulse.
Jason nodded then pointed to the yellow pad in his lap.
“Thank you.” Kent read the note. “Hey, no problem.”
Jason pointed again, harder, to the note and Sloane noticed he was tearing up.
“It’s okay, man,” Kent said, and Wren excused herself.
Oh man…Sloane said to herself. She knew what that meant.
“Is this your daily routine now?” Mae asked.
“What do you mean?” Sloane said as she stood beside Nicole, giving her a squeeze. She’d remained silent and only just now had removed the headphones. Perhaps the girls were ganging up on her and she sought solace in the one thing that she could do to help everyone. The radio. She was good at it. It had become Nicole’s thing.
“I mean, you guys leaving us here to stay during the day while you and Kent save the town?”
“Ah, no. Tomorrow you and Wren will come into town too. You’re part of this. You need to know what’s going on and you need to participate. As long as Jason is doing well, he can stay here with Nicole to recover. Is that all right?” She pointed the question at Jason, knowing he couldn’t hear her words.
“I’ll write it down for him,” Wren said and scribbled the situation down into words.
Jason looked up at Sloane and nodded.
Then he scribbled something back. Kent read the words. “I want to help as much as I can,” he said.
“You will. When you’re ready. You’re malnourished, and you have a lot to recover from. We’ll give it some time first. Or you’ll be no good to us.”
After reading what he said, Jason agreed.
Sloane liked the young man now. He was recoverable. She hoped that in a few weeks they’d be able to put him to work along with the others. His lack of hearing, though, that was a concern. Kent had said that some of his hearing might return in time. She hoped so because in this world that was a real disadvantage.
59
Wren
The next day, Wren checked on Jason before they left for the day. With her hand on his forehead, the heat felt as if she touched dry sand on a warm summer day instead of over an open flame.
“Wren, pack a lunch,” her mother said, causing her to jerk her hand away from Jason in a flash.
It would be the first time she had a job to look forward to.
“Bring gloves and a good attitude today.”
That was new. She wasn’t looking forward to leaving Jason alone with Nicole for company all day but in time he would join them. That was something she looked forward to. Working and planning meant they were moving forward and no longer in the healing limbo she’d felt for weeks now.
“Are we going to work all day?” Wren asked.
“We’re only five minutes from town, but yes. All day, every day. There’s much to plan and prepare for.”
“Don’t worry,” Mae said, teasing. “Jason can come with us when he’s better.”
“That’s not what I was getting at. I like that we’re going to fix up the town.”
“That’s not exactly what we’re doing,” Sloane said as they left the house and drove into town. She noticed the shops looked different in a way but still a disaster zone; things were just different somehow than the way they were before.
“What’s going on here?” Wren said.
�
�It’s a beginning,” Sloane said.
Two men were hoisting the iconic sign, Sleeping Monk Coffee, onto the side of the building. Only the entire front of the building was off. The inside floor was swept clean of debris. Coffee tables were righted and fixed inside. Even the parking lot was cleared of debris, enabling vehicles to park between divided lines instead of clearing a spot near the side of the road.
“Why are they putting the sign up at an angle?” Mae said.
“A lot of things won’t make sense at first sight. We’re doing that for a reason,” Sloane said.
“Looks like they took care the coffee place. Is this the new city hall?” Kent asked.
“I’d say it was the path of least resistance,” Sloane said. “The parking lot next door is cleared and we’re putting together a diversion at the corner of Hemlock and Gower. We’ll make it look like an auto accident. But today’s big task is taking care of the Family Market. That old log building stood the test of time, unlike the hotels. They’re all toast on the shoreline. We’re leaving them as is. It’s a visual detraction oceanside. We’re still finding dead bodies in there. I told them to let it go. I don’t want to risk any unnecessary injuries or disease.”
“What about the benches?” Wren asked.
“What benches?” Sloane said.
“She means the political benches outside of the market. Donkey versus elephant,” Kent said.
“You mean Republican versus Democrat,” Mae corrected.
“Are they still there?” Sloane asked.
“We have to find them if they’re gone,” Wren said.
“I thought we hated politics. Are politics still a thing?” Mae said.
“It’s not about politics. It’s about tradition. We need to find them if they’re not there,” Wren said.
Her mother wiped her brow. “I hope we never find them again. I hate politics.”
“I’m with Wren. Let’s find them and put them back in place. Some traditions need to stay alive.”
“Can we rename them Right and Wrong?” Sloane said but Wren didn’t listen for the rest of the conversation. She ran to the old Market ruins. The log cabin itself was mostly intact. Some repairs were needed. You could see where the tide had come and gone…urging out all the debris inside. The entire place had been looted long ago of any consumables. There was a path of debris in the way. All kinds of wrappers, long ago rotted produce turned into brown leather, in a wide circumference of the rickety building. Outside, the wood carved benches were nowhere to be seen.
