“I think you should wait a while longer,” said Foley.
“Christ, I just live across the parking lot. I won’t get lost.”
It was a slight untruth. He lived across both the gravel parking lot and the adjacent large field that the parish was holding for future expansion. St. Stephen’s was a young, new parish and the current building was only temporarily used as a church. Someday there’d be a real church and what was now the church would become a parish rec center.
Ted said goodbye to everyone and stepped outside. He oriented himself on the light pole dimly visible in the lot, and headed out towards his home. After a short while he realized that he couldn’t see much of anything and decided he’d made a dumb decision. He turned around to go back to church. As he did that, his foot caught in the uneven ground. He twisted his ankle and fell to the parking lot, knocking the wind out of himself.
“Damn it to hell,” he said to no one when he could breathe again. He tried to get up, but the ankle protested. He finally made it to his feet, but walking was difficult. His ankle hurt really bad. After a few tentative steps he realized that he’d been turned around by the fall and had no idea where the church was. With a feeling of dread he remembered that it was a white brick building. It blended perfectly into the driving snow.
He lurched and took some more steps. He had to go someplace. He couldn’t stay out in the parking lot. To his surprise, the snow was already over his ankles and his feet were wet and freezing.
Walk, he told himself. It wasn’t like he was out in the middle of a desert. This wasn’t like he was back in Korea, although it brought back some very unpleasant memories. This was a city, damn it. Sooner or later he’d either be back at the church, his own house, or at a neighbor’s, feeling like a fool. Better a fool than dead, he thought.
Just a few more steps, he ordered himself. The ankle hurt and it was becoming difficult to breathe. His chest was tightening. Had he taken his heart medicine? He felt a twinge of panic as he realized he wasn’t sure.
His chest constricted more and breathing became painful. He dropped to his knees. He felt like he’d been shot in the chest, just like back in Korea. I’ll rest for a moment, he decided, then start over again. He thought he saw a shape moving towards him. Was it his wife? No, it was a man with a beard. Jesus? Or maybe that young priest. His chest seemed to explode and a wave of red before his eyes, followed by black, were the last things his eyes saw.
* * *
The twelve classrooms at Patton Elementary were arranged in a long row with a common area every four classrooms. Maddy, her friend Donna Harris, Frieda Houle, and Maggie Tomasi were the four teachers in the group. Because of the design, they were able to step outside their classrooms and talk while still in sight of their students, many of whom were pretending to be working while watching the blinding snow.
Sheridan North High School and Bradley Middle School were similarly constructed and the three schools occupied a large compound in the middle of playgrounds and parking lots. All three were connected and shared a main entrance and admin center as an attempt to cut costs. The compound had been constructed in the eighties and there had been many complaints about the quality of the construction.
The much older Sheridan South High School was located four miles to the south.
“We are in deep poop, ladies,” said Donna Harris. A couple of minutes earlier, Superintendent Mary Templeton had called and dropped a bombshell on them. The schools were closing.
Sort of.
Unlike simpler times when kids were dismissed and walked home to a waiting stay-at-home mommy, closing schools these days was a tricky proposition. No one had any idea if or when the school buses would roll and no student would be allowed to go home without the specific permission of a parent or a previously designated guardian. Because of the sprawling nature of the Sheridan community, only a handful of students lived within walking distance even in the best of weather. Attempts were being made to contact parents. However, many of these were at work and many students normally stayed late in latchkey programs.
“Student safety is our paramount concern,” Templeton had said officiously. Like we wouldn’t have considered that, Maddy’d laughed when the message was relayed. Patton’s principal, Toni Felix, was at a seminar and Donna Harris was the designated stand-in.
Donna intensely disliked being the designated principal. Toni Felix, in her opinion, was absent far too often and always going to seminars or conferences. Donna received no extra pay for the inconvenience and only did it because she felt that someone with experience should be responsible. If the superintendent felt so strongly about student safety, then why didn’t she insist that there always be a principal in residence? Some of the parents had noticed and were beginning to complain.
Maddy looked out a window. A bunch of lumps in the parking lot showed where the teachers’ cars were parked. Nobody was going to leave until all the students were gone and maybe not even then. Already driving looked next to impossible. No cars were moving on the normally fairly busy road in front of the school.
Maddy was thankful she didn’t have a family to worry about. Her date with Mike could be rescheduled. Frieda was divorced and unconcerned about her cats, while Donna’s kids were grown and away at college. Since they were already expecting bad weather, most of the teachers had dressed for it, wearing jeans and similarly functional clothing. Some of the other teachers had small children of their. Maggie Tomasi had two daughters, both under five, and she looked distraught, even though they were safe with an adult babysitter.
“Watch my class,” Maddy asked the others as she reached for her coat and boots. “I’m going to get my cell phone out of the car. Somehow, I think it might come in useful.”
The others nodded and passed her their keys. “Get ours too,” was the request. The school district had recently instituted a policy prohibiting students from having cell phones and other devices in the school and had “strongly suggested” that teachers do likewise. Surprisingly, the teacher’s union had gone along with it.
To compound matters, someone had decreed that this would be no-tech week. Thus, there were no laptops or anything else in the buildings. Students and teachers were supposed to be reduced to pencils and pads of paper. How many students and teachers were breaking what she thought was an idiotic rule was a good question. Regardless, neither Maddy nor her friends had anything electronic on them. She’d joked that they’d all become Luddites.
Now, however, the policy was beginning to look like a big mistake. Unless the snow stopped right now, it was going to get more and more difficult to get to their cars and their technology, their connection to the outside world.
Chapter 5
When Mike’s cell phone rang, he thought it might be Maddy or even his parents. He was a little surprised to see that it was from another officer, Clyde Detmer. Detmer was in his mid-fifties, hugely overweight and counting the days until he retired in a couple of months. Once Detmer had been a good cop, but an accident had changed him in many ways. He’d been directing traffic when a driver who’d been texting and yelling at her kids ran him over, smashing his leg. He still walked with a limp and only recently had given up his cane.
After the accident, he’d been depressed, gained a ton of weight, and been stuck in a desk job he despised. But his sense of humor had slowly returned as well as his sense of responsibility to the job. Mike tried to recall if he’d seen Clyde at all this turbulent morning and felt a twinge of guilt that he couldn’t recall one way or another. Damn, Clyde was supposed to be a friend as well as a fellow cop. He put the phone on speaker.
“Let me guess, Clyde, you’re not here this morning and you’re calling in sick.”
“I wish, Sergeant Mike. I am stuck here at Sheridan North with at least a thousand kids who are all on a sugar high and no way out. I guess you don’t recall, but I was sent here to give a talk to kids about the evils of drugs.” He laughed. “Like they care. Hell, they probably know more about drug
s than I do. I don’t do drugs, never did.”
“What about Viagra?” asked Petkowski.
“Up yours, Polack. Now, Mike, you want me to come in or not? If you do, you’re gonna have to send someone or something. The snow’s got me locked in tighter than the mayor’s heart at budget time. There’s a good foot or two of snow over everything and nothing’s moving either in the lot or in the streets as far as I can see.”
Mike thought quickly and made an easy decision. The complex that consisted of Sheridan North, Patton, and Bradley easily contained the largest concentration of children in the area. Detmer might not be the smartest or most mobile cop on the force, but he was in uniform and wore a badge. A police presence at the complex might help calm things. That he would also be able to keep an eye on Maddy’s safety was another consideration. It was a selfish one, but he didn’t care.
“I think it would be best if you remained there, Clyde. Keep an eye on the kids and especially for anyone who might need meds or drugs. You may have kids who need a fix and won’t be able to get one because of the snow. We both know that that kind of situation could get ugly real fast. You got any people who can help you if things go south?”
Detmer laughed, “Just a bunch of coaches and maybe some senior jocks who don’t like assholes who do drugs.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mike said.
Petkowski couldn’t help himself. “Hey, if things really get rough, we’ll arrange an emergency shipment from Krispy Kreme. A couple of dozen ought to hold you over until tomorrow, don’t you think?”
“Polack, that is fucking profiling. I’m going to talk to my union rep.”
Petkowski was laughing and Mike could hear Detmer laughing as well. “Detmer, you jackass, I am your union rep.”
* * *
In the good weather months, Sheridan’s municipal campus was connected by pleasant paved walkways bordered by lush shade trees. Now the trees were bare and the walkways were absolutely useless in bad weather. Fortunately, the buildings were also connected by maintenance tunnels that were used by city employees every time it rained, or by local politicians who didn’t want to be cornered by voters or the press. Dodging the pipes and stepping over the dirt was often a small price to pay for not getting wet or hassled.
Thus, Mike Stuart and Chief Bench arrived warm and dry at Mayor Calvin Carter’s office. Carter was a thin and cadaverous-looking man in his early sixties. Charmless and dour, he had risen to wealth and prominence as a major builder and landowner in the area. When his riches were assured, he’d turned to politics in what many felt was nothing more than an ego-trip. He was elected mayor of Sheridan the old fashioned way—he’d outspent his nearest rival by ten to one.
“Gentlemen,” Carter began from behind his massive oak desk. The desk had precipitated a small scandal until Carter announced that he’d paid for it himself. It was a lie. It was unproven common knowledge that the money had come from local businessmen currying favor. “Just what are we going to do about this mess? People are swarming all over the place like Afghan refugees and we have no facilities for them. Traffic has got to move. Emergency vehicles have got to get out and they can’t. Simply put, I want this problem solved. I do not want to be associated with a catastrophe.”
Mike had had very little contact with the mayor. As division head, Lieutenant DiMona had always been a buffer, as had Chief Bench. Still, the comments were puzzling. Did the man expect Mike or Bench to make it stop snowing? He said nothing and let Bench, an old crony of Carter’s, respond.
“Calvin, I mean Mayor Carter; you know damn well there isn’t a whole helluva lot we can do. Traffic everywhere is just about dead in its tracks. The people who’ve come in here are those who’ve abandoned their cars. We’re going to stash them as best we can in the library and the courthouse. At least they’ll have places to sit. We can’t just boot them out in the snow to die.”
Bench was visibly nervous when he finished his small statement, and was sweating even more profusely than before. Mike thought he recognized the symptoms. An uncle had been a lush and sweated like a hog when he was away from a drink for more than a few minutes. Bench’s inadequacies filled Mike with foreboding.
“I know that,” Carter said patiently. “I’m not suggesting that we actually throw voters out in the snow. I just want them out of here and on their way home as soon as it’s safe.”
More than a hundred cold and confused people had escaped from the weather and into the city hall and other buildings. “But the fire department and EMS can’t move either, and that’s a dangerous scenario,” Carter continued. “First real emergency that gets called in to 911 and people might just die because we can’t respond.”
Public Works Director Dom Hassell came in and sat down. He’d heard the end of the comment. “I’d love to be optimistic, fellas, but I can’t. I’ve been on the phone with my peers at the county and we all agree that, if the snow were to stop right God damn now, it’d be a day or two before the streets were really passable thanks to all the abandoned cars.”
“So what happens?” Carter asked with a touch of incredulity. “Don’t tell me we just sit here on our asses and wait for summer?”
Hassell shrugged. “We won’t have to wait that long, but that’s exactly what we do, sir. We sit and pray for the best, but, if we don’t get it, fires will burn and people will die,” he said simply and grimly. “Hopefully, the heavy snow will keep fires down and, just as hopefully; maybe neighbors can pitch in and help people out in the event of accidents and heart attacks. In fact, I think we should make public service announcements to that effect. Hell, it’ll be just like people did out here a hundred years ago with some modern pioneers delivering babies and setting broken bones all by their lonesomes.”
“Damn it, this isn’t a hundred years ago!” Carter snapped. “This is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth, and the people want and deserve more. They’ve paid through the nose for the privilege of living in Sheridan and we have got to take care of their needs.”
“Which they’re not going to get for a while,” Hassell retorted. “Even insurance policies have disclaimers saying they won’t cover stuff in the event of an act of God, and insurance companies don’t even believe in God.”
If Carter was unhappy, that was fine with Hassell. Carter had defeated Hassell’s brother-in-law for the mayor’s job, and there was no love lost between the two men. Hassell’s job was civil service, and Carter could do nothing about him, although he’d tried to have him fired.
Mike decided to say something positive. “Uh, Mayor Carter, Dom, we’ve been trying to restore some degree of mobility. With all our squad cars out of service, I’ve got people calling around for snowmobiles and, of course, winter clothing. We’ve got a couple of snowmobiles coming in and maybe more. I understand the fire department and EMS are doing the same thing.”
Mike didn’t add that nothing could be done too quickly and they’d be working without many of their tools. He hoped the mayor would understand that half a loaf was better than none. One of the first things to do would be to provide food for the refugees, in particular for the children. Adults could fast for a while, but the kids were not going to go hungry if he could help it. The last thing anyone needed was a few dozen kids screaming and crying because they hadn’t been fed.
Carter glared at Mike and forced a smile. To Mike his smile looked like a vulture examining a cadaver. “Excellent. At least the citizens will see we’re doing something and not just sitting on our tails.” He turned to Bench. “And are you recalling off-duty cops?”
“Those we can reach,” Bench answered. He had recovered some of his poise. “Sad fact is, many of our people live outside of Sheridan because housing in town is just too pricey. Odds are, we’ll get maybe half our normal number of people in, which won’t be half bad, no pun intended.”
Unspoken was the fact that the police department was seriously understaffed. In a budget-balancing move, Carter had frozen hiring in all city departments. N
ot only did that result in serious vacancies, but it savaged the morale of those who had to work even harder while accomplishing less. So far, the average homeowner hadn’t complained much since his taxes hadn’t gone up and nothing really bad had happened. Yet.
Mike thought that many emergency personnel who wouldn’t make it in might not be trying very hard. He rejected that thought. The cops, fire, and EMS people he knew were pros, and would do their best and then some to do their jobs. Although he had to consider that a couple of the guys who’d called in sick this Monday might be suffering from a mild case of Blue Flu. When morale went down, the slightest case of the sniffles became pneumonia in the mind of the victim.
“You know what I’m concerned about?” Hassell injected. “Roofs collapsing. Snow piling up is gonna be a problem for the best-built building. Too much snow could be a disaster waiting to happen.”
To Mike’s surprise, Mayor Carter seemed to pale. “Let’s hope not,” Carter said.
Before anyone could amplify on this new topic, Detective Sergeant Patti Hughes came in uninvited and sat down. Chief Bench glared at her. He still had problems with women cops. Worse, since Hughes was much smarter than he, Bench felt insecure with her. Hughes was short and chunky, and wore her dark brown hair mannishly short. This led to rumors that she was a lesbian, which was a source of great amusement to her husband and two sons.
Bench snapped at her. “Is this interruption necessary? We’re having an important meeting.”
Hughes smiled thinly. “We have other problems than the snow, gentlemen. Anybody recall that unidentified dead guy they found up near Traverse City a few days ago? The one they found naked in a field with his throat cut?”
“Sure,” said Bench. “What of it? He wasn’t from here.”
Traverse City was a four hour plus drive north from Sheridan. When the report came in, they’d done a quick check of any local missing persons and confirmed what they’d thought all along—the dead guy wasn’t from Sheridan. Without a local angle, the police and the local media had quickly lost interest in Traverse City’s problem. It was shocking, but too bad.
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