by A. R. Shaw
The door handle was icy to the touch, and when she unlocked it, the door nearly flung open by itself from the wind pressure. In only a few hours the wind had picked up and was now gusting violently. She noticed debris strewn all over the yard where earlier there were only the expected leaves of fall.
“Jet?” she called to the cat, her voice lost to the wind. She wasn’t opposed to letting the cat hang out in the garage if he would only trust her enough to let him inside. “Jet, come here,” she called out. Again and again, her voice was stolen by the howling wintry wind.
She stepped outside a few more feet and closed the door behind her. The light beam played with shadows on the ground, and though she saw it with her own eyes, she was confused at the same time. Where she’d loaded some of the last few logs left over from Roger’s cordage, a large stack of freshly hewn logs lay. Something was out there—or rather someone—and had given her fresh wood. No human should be exposed to this weather, especially at night. She thought to herself, What in the world?
Maeve stepped back inside the house briefly and donned a proper jacket and insulated rubber boots. She grabbed a flashlight and gloves as well and went outside to the woodpile and shined the light beam on the ground to see if there was any sign of the mysterious wood delivery guy.
She, in fact, saw several boot prints on the frost-covered ground and followed them to the tree line where she also found hoofprints. They were fresh prints, even on the frozen ground. Then suddenly she realized who he must be and that he could still be there somewhere in the dark. The funny thing was, she wasn’t as afraid of him as she thought she should be.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and let her voice carry on the wind as her wild red hair blew around her. “Thank you!”
Part of her wanted to add you didn’t need to do that, but hadn’t she just lamented about how in the world she was going to get more wood? Her home butted up against the section of the dense forest he must have come from. Maeve grabbed as much of the wood as she could carry to haul back inside with her, and when she arrived back at the porch, she saw then what she hadn’t before. A neatly stacked set of wood remained beside the doorway.
“That’s why Jet shrieked. That guy must have scared him.” Maeve looked around once more and realized now there were snowflakes drifting on the wind. The storm was starting, and she hoped she had prepared enough for herself and Ben because it looked as if they were going nowhere for several days.
4
Bishop kept his distance. He hadn’t meant to startle the cat. In fact, he hadn’t noticed the feline there in the shadows of the porch to begin with. In the past, he had always kept watch over Roger’s home from a distance when he knew Roger was deployed, but he hadn’t heard of his death. He assumed he’d returned and was directly deployed once more.
The dwindling force of the active components of the US military caused those who remained to pick up the slack. This meant there was very little time at home in between deployment cycles. Roger had been a damn fine soldier and friend, and Bishop felt obligated to see to it that his home was kept safe in his absence. The news of Roger’s death hit him hard, and to know that his wife and kid were suffering without him really hit home. Especially since he knew there was no other family in the area to help them. Roger’s family had passed away a long time ago, and he believed the wife had family back East. That was why Roger had asked him to keep an eye on them in the first place.
Especially now with the coming cold, he knew they’d need more help in the future. If his hunch were correct, they were in for more than just a little cold spell. This was foreseen. Though he and others had prepared, the coming challenge would test even the most primed among them.
He started with an assessment of the outside of Maeve’s home. Not nearly enough firewood was the first thing he’d noticed earlier in the day. The second was the lack of security of the home. Anyone in need could easily trespass through the woods and take what he wanted.
The Tildons’ home security was based on what was required for a polite and civil society. That, Bishop knew all too well, was no guarantee—not anymore. Combine the downward spiral the world seemed to be descending into with the extreme weather phenomena that some felt creeping in on them each day, and it was easy for anyone with his eyes open to fear what may come when the comfort of the civilized world was no more.
Bishop imagined that one forceful push on the back door of Maeve’s home and intruders would quickly gain entry into her house. Nothing but a thin piece of flimsy wood to hold the bolt of the door’s lock in place kept them at bay. No, he’d have to somehow convince her to take extra measures to ensure the home’s security. Hopefully he could convey those needs without her asking too many questions. Questions required answers, and answers required talking. Talking to people was something he simply wasn’t fond of anymore.
He needed to get her and the boy in safely prepared conditions before their situation became desperate. He owed that to Roger. He’d watch out for them in hopes that this early onset of winter was not what he feared it would be.
He expected the prediction of the Maunder Minimum pattern, which was caused by the lack of solar flares, would all blow over and not reach the extent that he feared, but something nagging him told him this storm was the beginning of something that would change them all.
Before the war, he’d studied the theory of the Maunder Minimum. Many scientists discounted the theory, saying the ideas were unrealistic ones, but now he doubted that logic. The same lack of solar flare patterns happened back in 1645 and lasted until 1715. This was a time before today’s living standards, and many died. They’d called those thirty years the mini ice age. And it was happening again, now.
He’d returned to the Tildon place with split wood that evening, and while she checked out the back of the house in search of the cat, he was in the front of the property checking out the SUV’s tires. He’d noticed they were leaning into the critical low-tread zone. Driving around on the icy streets of Coeur d’Alene could get her and the boy in trouble, especially the way she was driving today. With the weather this bad, she should have snow tires on already. There was no way for him to replace the tires for her, but he could make sure she didn’t drive around on them tomorrow.
By today’s standards, the Toyota FJ was an antique, even though this one appeared to be a 2013 model. National Automobile (NA) didn’t make them. Therefore, they weren’t legal to purchase anymore and their parts were scarce, especially with the new ever-increasing emissions criteria. The fact that she left the FJ there in the driveway, insecure to theft, proved to him that she was focused on her and the boy’s safety above all else. These things were gold mines for the underground scrap trade. And if anyone decided to relieve her of the truck, she’d be out of a transportation unit for her and the boy. That wasn’t smart, not out in the dark forest in the middle of a winter that came early in fall.
“Serves her right,” Bishop said under his breath, popping the hood silently. He pulled the starter fuse from the engine and put the small component into his shirt pocket. He relatched the hood with a quick pop.
If she ever found out he was the reason her car wouldn’t start, she might get angry, but keeping her and the boy inside the home where he could protect them was in their best interest—for now.
With his goal accomplished, he peeked around the corner and watched as she tracked his steps into the woods and called out to him. “You’re welcome,” he said under his breath and then waited for her to go back inside. He listened for her to lock the door, which she did, but there was no deadbolt, and that had to change, too.
5
The next morning, Maeve woke from the living room couch. At first, she didn’t know where exactly she was and then remembered the glass—or was it two?—of wine she’d had the night before. Though she enjoyed the evening at the time, she was regretting it now. Her temple throbbed a little, and she contemplated taking a painkiller but knew if she didn’t eat something first she’
d regret that, too.
The pain in her head and the cold had awakened her. The fire had died down, and she was freezing with only one blanket to keep her warm. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she rose from the couch and knelt once again at the fireplace. She held her hand above the coals and felt no residual heat whatsoever; only a cold draft blew over the ashes. So she made the fire all over again and soon she heard Ben descending the stairs.
“It’s freezing in here,” he said, stating the obvious. Ben jumped up and down while looking out of the frosted window where it was even colder, the sky slung low with a gray blanket. “It snowed! A lot! Can I go sledding after school?”
His little voice was too loud for her head so early on a slightly hungover morning. “No. I mean, there’s no school today.” She held her temple and closed her eyes at the thrumming.
“All right! Snow day!” Ben gladly yelled.
“Ugh, keep it down, buddy,” she said, since the rise in volume made it feel like her brain would shatter all over the living room, and she didn’t want that to happen in front of Ben; he’d been through enough. Then suddenly she remembered the cat last night and the stacked wood she discovered. Was it a dream?
She got up and went over to the dining room window where Ben stood and peered out toward the shed, and there was the wood. The pale yellow of freshly chopped wood peeked out from the layer of snow at her.
They’d have only enough firewood for the next few days if the weather kept up this cold. Otherwise, she’d still need to call someone today to bring her more.
“I’m starving, Mom. What’s for breakfast?” Ben asked and climbed up on his stool at the kitchen counter.
“Ya know, if you let me shower and have a cup of coffee first, I’ll make you pancakes and bacon.”
“Bacon! Sure.”
“Um…OK, you can watch TV while I get going,” she said, with the blanket still wrapped around herself. She fixed up a cup of strong coffee, taking the steaming cup with her as she shuffled into her bedroom.
At her dresser, Maeve caught herself glancing at Roger’s image in the photograph on her nightstand like she’d done every waking morning since his death. Why must I torture myself missing him every day? she asked herself, then felt ashamed for trying to move on. There was no winning in a life of mourning someone you loved and lost. No amount of growth is celebrated or achieved. There’s guilt even in the minuscule milestones of healing over a loved one’s death—an ever-aching guilt that only minutely alleviates over a length of time out of sheer boredom of the sorrow one feels.
She shook her head at her own folly. If she could at least stop glancing at the photo every day, she’d mark that as finally moving on. Maybe someday she could place the photo somewhere else? Perhaps on the top of the dresser, and then slowly move the reminder of Roger into the living room—maybe her room could become her own haven once again instead of the one she still shared with Roger even now.
Taking a deep breath, Maeve selected the undergarments she’d wear that day, going for the cotton ones because they were warmer than the nylon. And instead of choosing an outfit from her closet, she grabbed a white ribbed cotton tank top and a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt paired with flannel-lined black cotton leggings and the warmest wool socks she could find. This was a day for comfort, and she was going to make sure she was at least cozy, especially if she had to conserve wood.
Before she could start her shower, though, Ben came tearing into her room shouting, “Mommy, Mom!”
“What, Ben? Please don’t yell. I have a headache.” She bent down to his level, taking her blanket with her.
“On the TV there’s a weather alert,” he said carefully.
She stood. “OK, let’s see it.”
He took her hand and skipped into the living room, trying to drag her with him. “The cold weather is making you energetic, I see,” she said gruffly, but she had to smile at his enthusiasm. Once she was in front of the TV over the fireplace, Maeve saw the banner reading Weather Alert in bright letters that couldn’t be missed.
“Expect subzero temperatures tonight and into the coming week,” Bob Madeira said looking even more graver than the night before. “We’re still technically in autumn, folks, but this isn’t something to ignore. All area schools are closed, as well as work canceled for nonessential staff. Please stay home, people. Use what you have in the pantry for the coming days. If you lose power, and many of you will, use your backup supplies and check on your neighbors. If needed, go to a shelter to stay warm. If in doubt, don’t hesitate.”
Maeve dropped her blanket suddenly and went into the kitchen to check the pantry and fridge. At least a week had passed without her visiting the grocery store. She usually bought food one week at a time, and she knew she was down to the last few days of her weekly menu.
First she scanned the pantry shelves, noting a few jars of spaghetti sauce and pasta, a box of taco shells, a few cans of soup, and a bag each of rice, flour, and sugar. She rifled further and found a bag of hidden gummy bears among the spices, and she tossed them on the counter. Then she checked the fridge, she pulled out the half carton of milk, which on further inspection smelled like something other than milk, and she wasn’t going to take a swig to check. There were a few long-gone leftovers from past meals just taking up space; they were past their prime and needed to be thrown out. Then there were condiments galore, and after she had looked further past the dried-up parsley, several eggs, and few rubbery carrots, there wasn’t much else edible in the fridge. Years ago, Roger had warned her to stock food for emergencies since they lived far from a grocery store, but she was a business owner and had little time for anything beyond her weekly grocery list, which she used an app for on her iPad to save time and money.
“We’ll have to run to the grocery store after I get out of the shower.”
Ben looked up at her with concerned eyes. “But the Bob Madeira guy said to stay home,” he said, pointing at the TV.
“Yes, he did, but he meant that you should have your supplies first and then stay home.”
“Oh, it sounded like he said not to go anywhere.”
“Well, that’s true, but we need to get a few things if we’re going to be stuck here for more than three days.”
Her son seemed to accept this and then asked, “Can I have some of those gummy bears?”
Maeve smiled at her son, his concern for their safety forgotten already. She patted his head and said, “Sure, why don’t you get ready, too? We’ll pick up breakfast in town instead of making pancakes and get our supplies early before everyone else thinks of the same thing. Then we’ll come home, and I still need to call for a wood delivery,” she reminded herself.
Grabbing her phone, she quickly checked Craigslist for the firewood listings she’d seen there many times in the past. When she found a listing, she called but only received a recorded message saying they were no longer delivering wood for the time being, and they had no date given for resupply or a waiting list to enter.
“Great,” she said and dropped her phone on the side table and again headed for the sanctuary of her shower.
Once she stepped out of her room dressed and readied for the day, her son Ben sat on the couch waiting for her. Cuddled up under the blanket she dropped earlier but still shivering, he chewed on another gummy bear.
“Still cold in here isn’t it?”
He nodded.
About to toss another log on the fire, Maeve remembered the low supply. Since they were leaving the house for a bit, she opted to save the wood until she was sure to secure more.
“OK, let’s go, buddy. Get your snow boots and coat on,” she said as she pulled on her gloves and donned her own hunter-green quilted jacket that contrasted with her fiery red hair. She stepped into her snow boots by the door and then knelt down to zip Ben’s coat and make him pull his knit hat down over his ears. After his mittens were on as well, Maeve grabbed her purse, phone, and keys, and they headed out to the SUV in the driveway.
&nbs
p; After they had broken their way through the eight inches of snow, she buckled Ben into the backseat and noticed how frigid the air was. His teeth already chattered with the cold. She smiled at him. Strands of her red hair flew in front of her face with a frigid gust of wind. Ben pointed behind her at something he was watching.
She turned to him as he said, “The trees…they’re moving a lot.”
She watched as the tops of the tall pines behind her house swayed in the harsh, cold wind. Another gust blew past her, stinging her skin. She quickly closed the backseat door to protect Ben and then seated herself in the driver’s seat.
“The trees are moving a lot. I hope this winter storm doesn’t make them come down. That’s the last thing we need, unless of course it came down magically prechopped and seasoned like the load that appeared last night,” she said, imagining her lack of firewood would suddenly appear from her own backyard.
“Where did that wood come from, Mom?”
Maeve put on her seatbelt and then inserted the key into the ignition. “I’m not totally sure,” she said. Then she realized the engine didn’t turn over. “What now?” she said and tried the key again. Nothing happened.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
“The engine’s not turning over,” she said, confused. She looked around, making sure everything was as it should be, and tried once more, and again nothing happened. “I don’t get it. The battery isn’t dead. All of the dash lights work. It’s just…it’s just not starting. That’s just great!” she said and put her hands over her mouth to keep herself calm. Why is this happening?
“Did the engine freeze?” Ben asked through chattering teeth, trying to come up with a solution.
She smiled. “I don’t know, son, but it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere this morning. We’ll have to make do with what supplies we have.” She stared out of the car window at the gray sky and snow as the flakes began to blow along with the gusts, and Maeve knew she needed to get Ben inside. This is only going to get worse.
