Red: The Adventure Begins

by Darrell Maloney

  “Not much. But that certainly couldn’t hurt. I’ll keep her hydrated and nourished intravenously. I’ll keep her on antibiotics to fight infections, and keep her on blood thinner to ward off blood clots. And of course, she’ll get a mild painkiller to keep her comfortable.

  “Beyond that, it’s just a matter of waiting and hoping.”

  Red woke up on the sixth day after the explosion. She was groggy but cognizant.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hi, sweetie. How do you feel?”

  “I ache all over. What happened? Where am I? Where are Russell and little man?”

  He struggled to find the words. But she saw the anguish on his face and knew.

  Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Do not! Don’t you dare tell me they are dead!”

  Butch swallowed hard.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” was all he could manage.

  Chapter 50

  Once Red woke up, her friends came to call, and set up a schedule to make sure she was never alone. Even when she slept, someone was at her bedside, holding her hand until she woke up again.

  Butch was finally able to go home, but he realized as soon as he walked in the door that he had no reason to be there. He had nothing to go home to.

  Two thirds of his life was gone. The last third was in a tiny examination bed in a cramped room in a third rate medical clinic.

  But at least she was alive.

  Butch stared out the window of his den at the pile of ashes that had once been Red’s home.

  He finally put his shoes back on and walked over to the remains of what once was a magnificent structure.

  “Why? What did they ever do to you?”

  He wasn’t talking to God. He was talking to whoever had taken the lives of Russell and Rusty. He didn’t have a clue who they were, but he hated them with every fiber of his being.

  Butch walked through the rubble, kicking pieces of brick and wiring and electric outlets out of his way. Virtually everything made of wood was now ashes. Everything made of plastic was now melted or burned into nothing. All that remained of the sheetrock walls were occasional chunks and an eerie white dust that mixed with the ashes.

  Something caught Butch’s eye in what was once the corner of the den.

  He went over to it and dug it out.

  It was Rusty’s Tonka truck. Or what was left of it. The wheels had been plastic and had burned away, leaving two spindly metal axles still attached to the truck’s frame.

  The body was metal. It had been Butch’s favorite toy when he was a kid. He took good care of it and gave it to Rusty on his second birthday.

  “This was mine when I was your size,” Butch told him. “I put a new coat of paint on it for you, and I want you to take good care of it so that someday you can pass it on to your own grandson.”

  “Okay, Grandpa. I promise.” Then he hugged Butch around the neck and darned near squeezed the life out of him.

  It was a promise that would remain unfulfilled.

  But the memory of that hug… that was something that would last forever.

  The paint was mostly burned off the truck. It was mostly bare metal now, with ugly patches of scorched yellow in the seams.

  Most would have considered it garbage. But Butch lugged it back home and placed it on his mantle.

  As ugly as it was, he would treasure it. For he knew that there was a very good chance it was the last thing little Rusty ever touched.

  Butch went to bed but couldn’t sleep. He dozed for a few minutes at a time, sure. But each time he woke back up again to the sound of a vicious explosion that his mind just wouldn’t let go of.

  At three a.m. he gave up.

  And got up.

  He got dressed and returned to the clinic, where he found Red sound asleep, her good friend Hannah holding her hand and reading a book.

  “What are you reading?”

  “It’s a book by my favorite writer, Dawn Brand Hawkins. It’s called Trivial Pursuit. It’s about a young girl who goes through a rough childhood but accomplishes great things.”

  “Sounds like Red’s life story. Wait a minute. Isn’t that the name of a game?”

  “Yes. But something can be two things at one time.”

  “I guess.”

  Butch noticed a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers on the night table.

  “Who brought the flowers?”

  “Mr. Savage. The banker.”

  Butch was puzzled. Savage never did a kind thing for anyone in all the years he’d known him.

  “Are you sure it was Savage? It doesn’t sound like him at all.”

  “Yes, it was definitely him. And I thought the same thing. He said he has something to talk to you about and he’d drop by again in the morning.”

  Chapter 51

  Red woke up just after dawn, said “good morning,” and then went back to sleep.

  Butch asked Dr. Munoz how she could sleep so much.

  “It’s one of the body’s self-preservation techniques. When the body is sick or wounded, and needs to heal, it wants to put most of its energy in that effort. Any energy it uses walking around, or speaking, or even thinking, is wasted and can be better used to help the body heal.

  “Hence, it rests. It’s nothing to worry about, though. You’ve seen her wake up and speak to you. She’s still got all of her cognitive skills. So just give her time.”

  He checked her head wound and said,

  “The swelling has gone down significantly. If it continues to do so, we’ll let her sit up in a couple of days and see how that goes.”

  Butch turned to see John Savage standing in the doorway, watching and listening.

  He had no idea how long the man had been standing there, but when Savage saw Butch looking, he accepted that as an opportunity to speak.

  “Good morning. How is she?”

  Butch regarded Savage with a suspicious eye.

  The two had never had ill words, but Savage was known to all as a cold and heartless man. Certainly not one to go out of his way to express concern for others.

  “She’s getting better. Thank you for asking. And for the flowers.”

  “Did she like them? I picked them from a field across the way from my own house. My Emma, before she died, loved looking out at that field of wildflowers each morning when she had her coffee. I miss her, God rest her soul.”

  Butch had to give the man credit, he was trying extremely hard to be civil on this particular morning.

  Or at least to appear to be more human.

  “I don’t think she’s seen them yet, John. She’s slept right through the night.”

  “Has she been able to speak yet? Has she said anything about the accident?”

  “Accident?”

  “The explosion. Has she said anything about what caused the explosion? It was dreadful. My whole house shook. I can only imagine the pain the poor girl must have felt.”

  “Yes, she’s been able to speak a few words. And she knows that she lost her husband and her son. As for the explosion, it was no accident.”

  Savage feigned a look of surprise.

  “Really? I’d just assumed they had a gas leak, or that perhaps they left the stove on and started a fire which ignited something combustible or something.”

  “No. The house was totally electric. There were no natural gas or liquid petroleum lines. There was nothing flammable or combustible in sufficient quantities to cause that type of explosion. Maybe a can of hair spray or spray cleaner. But nothing to cause a blast like that.”

  “Are you saying they killed themselves?”

  Butch looked at Savage as though he were his own special brand of stupid.

  “I’m saying they were murdered. The explosion was not an accident. The house was deliberately blown up, either by plastic explosives or dynamite.

  “Whoever did it detonated it from a distance. It was a cowardly act of someone who didn’t even have the guts to look his victims in the eye before he killed them.�
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  Savage’s lower lip quivered just a bit.

  “Oh, my goodness. I hope the law can catch them. Whoever did this evil and dastardly thing.”

  “What law? The police chief is dead now. There is no law.”

  “Perhaps we can have the town council appoint a new police chief.”

  Butch looked at Savage hard. He still wasn’t sure why the squat man was even there. But he was sure he was up to something.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Savage somehow sensed he’d worn out his welcome. Or maybe it finally dawned on him he’d never really had one.

  “Well, I must go and open up the bank. Please give Red my best wishes for a speedy recovery, and let me know if there is anything I can do.”

  Butch wouldn’t let his spite for the man keep him from being gracious.

  “I’ll tell her. And thank you for stopping by, John.”

  Butch sat in the easy chair beside his daughter and dozed off. He slept fitfully and then woke up to see Red’s friend Lilly sitting on the other side of the bed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Butch. Did I wake you?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Butch could tell by looking at the window sill and the angle of its shadows that the sun was now high in the sky. He’d slept for a good three hours. Maybe more.

  “Has she woken up?”

  Lilly said, “Only once, for a couple of minutes. She asked for a sip of water and said her head hurt. I asked if she wanted me to wake you and she said no. She said you wouldn’t have fallen asleep if you didn’t need it.”

  That was Red. Even as sorry a state as she was in, she cared more for her father’s well-being than her own.

  Red started to stir, first with a soft and mournful moan, then a bit of movement. She squeezed Butch’s hand.

  “She’s starting to wake up.”

  As though she heard her cue, Red’s eyes flickered and then opened.

  But not fully. She still looked incredibly drowsy.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. Lilly is here too.”

  Red turned her head with great effort and winced with pain.

  “Hi, Lilly. You’re still here?”

  “Yep. But I’m going to leave in a little bit, and Juana is going to sit with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turned back to Butch and said, “John Savage brought me flowers.”

  She seemed as suspicious as Butch was.

  “I know, honey.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Maybe to assess your condition. To see if you were going to die. Or maybe to try to convince us it was an accident.”

  “Dad, it was no accident.”

  “I know, honey. And Savage knows it too. I could see it in his eyes.

  “And that leaves only one other possibility for his coming here.”

  “Which is...?”

  “He feels guilty for killing Russell and Rusty.”

  “Or, he feels remorse for not having killed me too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So you think he’s the one who did it?”

  “No. I mean, I’m pretty sure he was involved. But I don’t think he detonated the explosives. I mean, you have to remember that John Savage is a coward. He has the spine of a jellyfish. He isn’t the kind of a man who could set off an explosive knowing that other people would die as a direct result of his actions.

  “But I’m positive he’s involved. Probably paid somebody else to do it.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I’m planning to find out.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m going to talk to Judge Moore later today and find out what our options are.”

  “Good morning!”

  Juana Montalvo appeared in the doorway. Juana was one of Red’s very best friends. They went to high school together and were both members of the women’s rodeo team. Once upon a time they were fierce competitors. Now they only competed occasionally when they raced on horseback. And now it was all in fun.

  “Hi, Juana.”

  “How’s our patient?”

  She took Red’s hand and patted it.

  “I’m fine. Every bone and muscle in my body still hurts, but at least I can feel everything. The doc says that’s actually a good sign.”

  “Yep. It means your nervous system is working and that you didn’t lose any limbs. Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”

  “Juana, you’re holding my hand with both of yours. I’m not as stupid as I appear to be.”

  “Of course not, sugar. That wouldn’t be possible, now would it?”

  Juana smiled, and Red wasn’t quite sure whether she’d been insulted. But she loved this woman like a sister, so she smiled too.

  Lilly said, “Well, I guess I’d better get on out of here and start my day.”

  Red said, “Thank you for coming, Lilly. I appreciate your being here.”

  “Hey, no thanks are needed. You have a lot of people who love you, Red. There isn’t a lot we can do to help you get better. But we’ll be here to give you our moral support and to fetch whatever you need.”

  Lilly leaned across the bed to give Red an air hug, then hugged Juana and Butch.

  As she was headed out the door, Red called out to stop her.

  “Hey, Lilly?”

  Lilly stopped short and returned to the bed.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you mind doing me a favor?”

  “Anything. Just name it.”

  “The flowers there in the vase… the ones John Savage brought in.”

  “Want me to throw them away for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No problem. Consider it done.”

  She took the vase to a small sink in the corner, took the flowers out and poured the water down the drain. Then she shook the excess water from the plant stems over the sink.

  “The empty vase was already here, so we’ll keep it.”

  She started to throw the flowers into a large waste can next to the sink.

  Red stopped her.

  “No, wait! I have a better idea.”

  Lilly turned to look at her.

  “Drop them on the sidewalk in front of Savage’s bank doors. That way he’ll know we’re onto him.”

  Chapter 52

  Judge Dan Moore had been going to the Coffee Barn on Main Street for more years than he could remember. Back when he sat on the bench, rival attorneys would vie to be the first to buy his coffee for him.

  Early in his judicial career he fought them, saying he didn’t want anyone to accuse him of being bribed.

  Then one day he decided that was stupid. If anyone thought he was so corrupt he could be bought for a cup of coffee, then they were too stupid for anyone to believe them.

  So he started accepting token gifts of coffee each morning on the way to the courthouse.

  When accepting each cup, he always remarked, “You understand this gets you no special considerations in my courtroom, right?”

  No one could remember who first turned the tables on the judge, but eventually the purchasers of said coffee would present it to the judge and say, “Your honor, I understand that this gets me no special considerations in your courtroom. Enjoy your coffee.”

  The practice had become a tradition, of sorts, over the years.

  And Judge Moore retiring three years before didn’t stop it. Even though he no longer wore his black robe, and no longer sat on the bench, the tradition continued. Moore could count on somebody being at the Coffee Barn every morning when he went in to visit with his friends. And that somebody would buy his coffee and recite the statement.

  Until the blackout brought the justice system in Blanco to a standstill, Judge Moore hadn’t had to buy his own coffee in at least fifteen years.

  But all that changed when the world went to black.

  After the blackout, the sitting judges made more or less similar
rulings in each of their courts.

  None of the pending cases would be dismissed or adjudicated. They would merely be placed in indefinite delay. A holding pattern, of sorts, until such time as the judge in that particular court was ready to start hearing them again.

  Also, no new cases would be filed unless one of the judges agreed beforehand to hear the case.

  A couple of the judges made exceptions for felony criminal cases.

  But since Blanco no longer had a police chief, it was unlikely that any such cases would come up anytime soon.

  Since they no longer had much to do, most of the attorneys stopped getting up early in the morning.

  Judge Moore still did because he was too old to change his habits.

  The first time no attorneys showed up to purchase his coffee, he experienced sticker shock.

  “Well, I suppose I’ll have to buy it myself,” he told Leslie, the Coffee Barn’s owner. “How much is it?”

  “Three twenty five.”

  The old judge was genuinely shocked.

  “What? Really? The last time I bought coffee it was thirty five cents.”

  “That must have been a really long time ago. But it doesn’t matter. I told you what the actual cost used to be. But I don’t expect you to pay it. We realized right after the blackout that money was now worthless. So it seems kind of pointless to collect it.”

  “So you’re not being paid for coming in every day and making the coffee?”

  “Nope. Other than the satisfaction of knowing I can now make coffee by boiling water over an open fire pit. It’s not quite as easy as it sounds. It’s incredibly easy to burn it.”

  “Well, pardon me for being nosy, but… if you’re not getting paid for coming to work, then why do you come in?”

  “Well, as my good friend Butch Poston says, ‘gotta be somewhere. Might as well be here.’”

  That was about a month before.

  The world as well as the tiny town of Blanco, Texas had changed a lot in the month since the blackout happened.

  About ten percent of the town’s residents had committed suicide. Or had been murdered by a close relative who then killed themselves.

  Another twelve percent packed backpacks or suitcases and set out on a long journey to Austin some seventy miles away.