“What happened out in San Francisco?” she asked quickly.
Simpson bent for another blade of grass. “There was an earthquake. A real beauty. Lots of damage throughout the city, but the worst thing was the fires. Once they got started, no one could stop them. Sounds like the entire city is in flames. The whole thing might be burned. Same down in L.A. It’s an unbelievable thing, from what I heard.”
Gretta turned to him, a sick look across her face. She had spent much of her adult life in California and had many friends out there. “How do you know that?” she demanded as if the whole thing were Simpson’s fault.
“A lot of the locals own shortwave radios. Enough of them are still working that we get some word.”
Gretta hesitated, not understanding but too tired and discouraged to press. “The entire city of San Francisco . . . L.A, such a beautiful city . . . so many, many good people,” she whispered.
Caelyn put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s OK, Mom. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”
Simpson waited a moment, then kicked his boots through the long grass at his feet. It’s worse, his face seemed to say.
“There are a couple other news items you might want to know about,” he went on after a moment of silence. “Things are kind of tough all over. Other cities are in shambles. New York is completely deserted, they’re saying. Chicago’s got some fires, though not like out in L.A., but I’ve heard they’ve got a dysentery epidemic, too. St. Louis has been torn apart by a week of race riots. South, the borders have burst open. Millions of Mexicans are making their way across the Rio Grande. The government simply doesn’t have the people or equipment to stop them from pouring into our country. They said two or three million illegals have come across the borders already. Some of them are led by Mexican drug lords with their private armies. They’re coming up in old trucks and cars. I guess a lot of the vehicles and equipment in Mexico were far enough away from the EMP that they weren’t damaged in the attack. There’s lots of looting, lots of violence.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Some of the border towns have been destroyed.”
A sudden, violent picture flashed in Caelyn’s mind. Men. Guns. A dark sky. A feeling of cold dread. She almost couldn’t stand to listen anymore. Glancing away, she looked for Ellie, then stared at the ground, lost in thought.
“Listen, we’ve got to be heading on,” Simpson said, nodding to the wagon. “We’ve got some emergency supplies. Canned goods, spaghetti, things like that.” He waved to the boys, who stood and lifted a couple of boxes. “Tell me what you need,” he said.
Caelyn glanced anxiously toward her mother, who shot her a glaring look. “I think we’ll be OK for a week or two, but I don’t know what we’re going to do after that,” she said, ignoring her mother’s angry stare. “Back home, my husband and I have some food storage, enough to see us through, but that’s five hundred miles away from here. I don’t have any way to go and get it and bring it back here, and even if I could, I couldn’t leave my mom and dad.”
Simpson nodded to the boys, who climbed down from the wagon with their boxes and looked at him. “Put them on the back porch,” he said.
“We don’t need that,” Gretta protested, but the two boys ignored her, moving with the boxes toward the house. “Look,” she continued, her voice angry now, “I don’t know what you all expect from us in return for your favors, but I don’t think you should expect me to be showing up at your church anytime real soon.”
Simpson laughed, not at all offended. “Gretta, we don’t expect anything from you. We just thought we might be able to help.”
Gretta stared coldly, still suspicious. “I still won’t be visiting your church this week.”
Simpson laughed. “That’s a relief.” His voice was teasing.
She scowled, then turned toward the young men on the porch. “I’ll take care of those,” she called out, marching after them.
The old farmer watched her walk away, then quickly glanced to Caelyn. “Your mom’s a real handful.”
Caelyn was dying with embarrassment. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said.
“Don’t worry, I can handle her. And I think I understand her a lot better than you might think. She’s a proud woman, a woman who’s made a go of it on her own for a long time. She’s been responsible for your father since they were first married, from what I understand, and she takes great pride in the fact that she can take care of herself. Nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong at all.” He watched as Gretta walked onto the porch and took one of the boxes from the nearest boy. “Listen, Caelyn,” he said, turning back to her, “there’s a couple things you need to know. First, we’re having a meeting at the church next Saturday afternoon. We want to take an evaluation of where we stand. We’ll be setting up a communications tree, taking an inventory of everyone’s supplies, making a list of the number of people in every household and their needs. Basically, we’ll be setting up a community resource of available food, reserves, medical supplies, tools, generators, working vehicles, everything. We can’t have someone out here trying to scrape by on their own, not if they don’t want to, not if there are others who are willing to help. It’s all strictly voluntary. It’s not like we’re going to go around confiscating people’s food or anything like that, but we recognize that some people are going to have resources that others won’t, and they’re willing to share. I think you’re a pretty good example. From what I understand, you and your husband have done everything you could to take care of yourselves. Now your husband is off somewhere.” He paused. “Where is your husband, Caelyn?”
The young woman suddenly choked. “I don’t know,” she said.
“He’s not, you know—he’s OK, though?”
“As far as I know. Last I heard he was being pulled out of Iraq. All the American forces were being pulled back. He called once, a few days after the nuclear attack on D.C, saying he’d be back in the country within a short time. I haven’t heard from him since.”
Simpson watched, his face soft and sympathetic. “I’m glad to know that he’s OK.”
“Yes. I count that blessing every day.”
“Still, like I was saying, you did everything you could to prepare, but now you find yourself in a difficult situation. We need to help take care of you; we want to help take care of you. Sure, my family has a pretty good supply, but do you think I could live with myself if I wasn’t willing to reach out to those good people who need my help?”
Caelyn listened, her eyes misting. “What do I do, though? I could come to the meeting, but I don’t have anything to offer. I’m a liability; I have no assets. And I’m a stranger in your midst.”
Simpson shook his head. “I think you underestimate both yourself and your own people. And we are your people. You’re not a stranger. I mean that, Caelyn.”
She nodded, her head dropping.
“OK, then. Now, I’m trying to think. Maybe I’ve got this wrong, but it seems to me that you’re a nurse?”
She nodded slowly.
“Don’t you think someone’s going to have a need of your expertise? That’s the way it works. You give what you can. You help others. Others give what they can. They help you. We take care of each other and put the rest to God. We lay what we have upon the altar, then turn around, go to work, and hope for the best.”
Caelyn lowered her head again. “What time is the meeting?”
“One o’clock. It will take you a couple hours to walk there, but that’s OK, lots of people will be walking, that’s why we’re starting early. We want to get in, take care of as much business as we can, and give people enough time to walk home before it gets dark.”
Caelyn was quiet as she thought. Gretta’s voice drifted toward them from the kitchen, and the two young men emerged through the screen door.
Simpson glanced anxiously around the empty landscape. “You’ve got to travel careful,” he said.
Caelyn didn’t understand.
“There some rumors going round. Rov
ing gangs. Lots of bad guys. No surprise there. But some of the more—how’s a good way to say this—some non-believers think that Christians are the problem. They blame us for the last election. Say they lost because of us. Say the Muslims wouldn’t have attacked if it hadn’t been for the Christians. Some of ‘em are sayin’ we’re part of some conspiracy . . . .”
Caelyn laughed sarcastically. “Good heavens, are you kidding? With all the bad around us, that’s the thing they choose to worry about!”
“Kinda weird, I know, but people have their own special way of going crazy these days.”
Caelyn pressed her lips, pulling a strand of hair away from her mouth.
“I want to see you at the meeting,” Simpson ordered as he watched her. “If not, I’m going to come and get you. I mean it, Caelyn, no way we’re going to leave you out here on your own.”
Caelyn looked up, her eyes wet with tears now, a clear drop clinging to her cheek. “Mr. Simpson . . . .”
“Walt is OK with me.”
“Walt, did you know that I’ve been praying for someone to come here? I’ve been praying that for days. I needed you so desperately. How did you know to come?”
He looked at her, his face firm but kind. “The Spirit brought me here,” he told her.
She looked up, again not understanding.
“I was going to turn around. I wanted to get home before it got dark. But I couldn’t. I knew that someone else was out here. It wasn’t until I saw your parents’ house that I remembered meeting you a couple years ago in church.”
He cleared his throat. “I think you prayed me to you, Caelyn. Your faith is strong enough that God was able to use even an old fool such as me. And let me tell you, that’s amazing. My wife is going to be impressed. She’s been praying for me for almost forty years, so far as she can tell to no result.”
Caelyn laughed with gratitude, then fell into his arms, giving him a hug. “Thank you. Thank you for listening to the Spirit. Thank you for being the kind of person who would come out here to find someone like me. Thank you for not giving up. And yes, I’ll be there Saturday.”
The two boys walked past them. “Come on, Grandpa,” one of them said.
Simpson glanced to the porch where Gretta was standing now and waved. “See you in church next week,” he called to her.
She waved him off and walked back into the kitchen.
Simpson laughed and climbed back onto his tractor. The engine turned, then churned, black smoke rising from the exhaust pipe. He waved, used both hands to turn the heavy steering wheel, and drove away.
Caelyn watched the tractor disappear down the road. She knew her mother was watching from the kitchen window, but she didn’t turn around.
Standing there, she felt a sudden sense of loneliness falling on her like a blanket from the sky. She shivered from a heavy heart while staring at the completely lifeless road.
Turning slowly, she looked east. The sun had set now and the sky was turning dark. It would be a few minutes more before the first star or the moon would appear. Overhead, a pair of swallows flew by, searching for the first of the nightly mosquitoes. Standing at the edge of the grass, alone, looking east, Caelyn was consumed by a longing for her husband. She reached out, lifting her arms sadly to the sky. “Are you out there, babe?” she whispered. “Are you out there? Are you alive?”
She stood and waited for an answer, but nothing came.
“I miss you so much. We both miss you. Will you find us? Will you come home? How long will it be until you hold us both again?”
Again she waited. Then, taking a long breath, she turned and walked into the darkening house.
FOURTEEN
East Side, Chicago, Illinois
They ate together, eating what little they had, sitting around the kitchen table, some of them on the floor. Sara watched Luke carefully out of the corner of her eye. It was the first time he had joined them to eat, and he was looking better. She’d changed his dressing just an hour before and the wounds were clean and healing, the broken skin pink and knitting. He was stronger now; she could tell that from how much he ate.
Luke realized the others were watching him and suddenly flushed. “I’m OK,” he said, embarrassed. “Y’all don’t have to stare at me like that.”
Mary reached out to pat his hair, almost reverently, as if she were touching the Pope. She treated him like a saint, some kind of earthly manifestation of the power of heaven. Kelly Beth sat on her mother’s lap, playing with a pair of animal crackers they had found in the back of the cupboard. Sara watched and smiled.
Sam looked at his watch. “I’m going to do a little recon in the morning to figure out what’s going on out there.”
Ammon was staring at a road map. “You know, if we went down a different highway, we would pass our car. Think about the food, gold and things we left there. It’d be really good to—”
“All that stuff will be there later,” Sam said. He thought of the men on the road, the bandits who’d commandeered the bridge the night that Ammon had been shot. “It isn’t our priority right now.” Sam nodded to the women on the other side of the table. “I want to gather it up same as you do, but I don’t want everyone with us when we do. There might be trouble. You and I and maybe Luke can go get it later.”
Ammon pressed his lips together, then nodded.
Ten minutes later, it grew dark. The sun was setting quickly now, with winter coming on. There was nothing to do. It was dark. It was growing cold. They got out the bedding and sleeping bags and started getting ready for bed.
*******
Sara slipped into the bedroom to check on Luke. He was lying on a mattress on the floor, his feet hanging over the worn edge, and though his eyes were closed, she knew he was awake. She watched him a moment, then walked quietly across the matted carpet and sat down in an old wooden rocking chair. Rocking gently, she closed her eyes and started softly singing an old song her father used to sing to her when she was just a child. The melody was slow and haunting but comforting to her now.
O don’t you remember,
A long time ago.
There were two little babes,
Their names I don’t know.
They strayed far away,
One bright summer’s day,
And got lost in the woods,
I’ve heard people say.
And when it grew night,
So sad was their plight.
The bright sun, it went down,
And the moon gave no light.
They sobbed, and they sighed,
And they bitterly cried.
Then those two little babes
Just lay down and died.
She stopped singing, drifting away, almost asleep, her mind lost in other thoughts. Then she heard Luke moving on the mattress and she looked down at him.
“And when they were dead,” he started singing, and Sara softly joined in.
The robins so red
Gathered strawberry leaves,
And over them spread.
And all the night long,
They sang this sweet song,
Poor babes in the woods.
Poor babes in the woods.
Luke smiled at her. “Out of all the songs you used to sing us, that was always my favorite one.”
“Are you kidding?” Sara laughed. “Talk about a song that just kind of makes you want to go out and slit your wrists or something.” Her face scrunched in the dark.
“A little depression can be a good thing for a kid, you know: ‘Song Sung Blue’ and all that kind of thing.”
“Oh yeah, we need a bunch of that right now.”
They both laughed again.
“It’s a good song,” Luke finished, thinking of his childhood.
Sara nodded slowly. “A good song.”
Luke stared up at her from the dirty mattress.
“You’re feeling better,” she said. It was a statement, not a question. She could see that he was stronger now.
“Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good.”
Sara leaned forward on the old rocking chair and the spindled legs creaked under her weight. “We’re going to be leaving soon.”
“Good. Everyone is ready to get out of here.” He rolled to his side and rested his hand on his arm. “Do you think God talks to us in dreams?” he asked unexpectedly.
She resumed rocking, the creaking chair soft and comforting in the growing darkness. “Maybe not to everyone, but to some people, I think He does.”
“Has He ever talked to you in a dream, Mom?”
She thought a moment. “No. I guess that’s not my gift. But I know that other people have it. Your dad did. He had warnings in dreams more than once. My mother used to talk about her dreams all the time, but hey, she used to talk to angels.” Sara paused and laughed. “She was such a character, especially in her older years.”
Luke watched his mom. “Do you miss her?”
“My mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure I do. I miss her all the time. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I suppose that when I’m ninety-five, assuming I live that long, I’ll still miss her. It’s supposed to be that way.”
Luke rubbed his hand through his short hair. “I had a dream last night.” He cleared his throat.
“Yeah?” Sara said so that he would go on.
Luke hesitated, his eyes turning to stare at nothing, his face thoughtful, his head slightly cocked. Sara waited, listening, not wanting to interrupt. “It was dark. A pack of wolves came, dozens of them, thick hair bristling on their necks and shoulders, their teeth flashing in hungry growls. I was alone. They prowled so close. You could see them in the shadows. They weren’t afraid of my fire. And it didn’t matter what I did, I couldn’t scare them off. They wanted me so badly. Thin as bone, I could see that they were starving, but there was something more. You could see it in their yellow eyes, hear it in their growls, feel it in the air. It was like they didn’t want to just kill me, they wanted something more. And no matter what I did, they didn’t go away. All night long, I could see their yellow eyes glinting in the firelight, never blinking, getting closer, always closer.” Luke fell silent and lay back on the mattress.
Wolves in the Night: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Seven Page 11
