Braving The Storms (Strengthen What Remains Book 3)

by Kyle Pratt

  “What do you mean? Where are you? Is Trevor okay?”

  “Ahhh.” Caden bit his lip. Earlier he had wanted to do this over the phone. Now he preferred to do it in person, but if his mother kept asking questions, she would pry it out of him. “Yes, I’m fine. Dad will be fine.”

  “What? What happened?”

  As he drove toward home he explained the morning events.

  “What?” she nearly shouted. “I should be with him.”

  Caden had anticipated that statement. He didn’t want to mention Kern flu at the hospital, certain it would add to his mother’s worries, as it did his, but he still needed to answer her. “The place is crowded and the staff is very busy.”

  “Don’t give me that. You’re worried about the Kern flu. Isn’t that right?”

  “Ahhh, Yes, Mom, but he’ll probably come home tomorrow morning.”

  “Good.”

  “I know what you’re thinking right now and I don’t want you to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Just call and talk to him.”

  “I will,” she said flatly, “and I’m going to see him.”

  Caden sighed. “There are hundreds of Kern flu patients at the hospital. They have Dad isolated, but there is a chance of exposure for anyone going in or out of the building.”

  For several moments silence passed between them. “Okay, I’ll call Trevor and see what he says.”

  That would have to do for now.

  When he turned on to Hopps Road, he noticed a sheriff’s car about a quarter mile ahead and decided to follow. As he expected, Hoover turned in at the Wilson farm. Only smoldering black wisps still drifted into the sky. The firefighters packed their equipment. Half of the home had collapsed in on itself leaving burned lumber and a blackened chimney where a once proud home had been. A deputy stood next to his patrol car along the house.

  The smell of smoke greeted Caden as he stepped from the pickup.

  Twenty feet ahead, Hoover smiled a greeting. “I suppose you knew them.”

  “Yeah.” Caden nodded. “Sad day. How is Liz? She was pretty confused and upset earlier.”

  “Dead, I think. The firefighters reported two bodies in the rubble. You were here earlier?”

  “Yeah. Four cows got loose last night. My dad and I were looking for the owner. We arrived here about eleven this morning.”

  Hoover pulled out a pad and wrote as they walked toward the charred rubble. “So you were probably the last ones to see them alive.”

  “I think Bob was dead when we arrived. Liz was alive when we left.”

  Hoover nodded. “Stick around. I’ll need to ask you more questions.” The sheriff turned his attention to the deputy. As they spoke, Caden retreated from the acrid smoke and smell of burnt flesh. Finding a bench upwind and far enough from the house that it remained unburnt, he sat. He didn’t know the Wilson’s well, so it didn’t take long for his thoughts to return to his father and what to do if his mother insisted on going to the hospital.

  Hoover called him over several minutes later. “I just need to ask some questions and then you can go. Do you mind following me around?”

  “No.”

  The sheriff turned toward the house. “Tell me again what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”

  As Caden explained the morning events, they entered through the still blackened front door. He paused just inside the house. Crime scene tape blocked entry to the kitchen. The deputy stood nearby.

  Hoover’s head swept back and forth as they proceeded through the living room. “Liz attacked Trevor with a knife?”

  “I’m sure it was an accident. She seemed to think I hurt Bob and tried to get to him. Dad got in the way.”

  The sheriff pursed his lips. “Okay.” He continued the slow walk around the room. “Why would Liz burn down the house?”

  The comment had been no more than a mutter, but Caden decided to answer. “She had dementia. It might have been an accident.”

  The lawman nodded and continued his walk until he stood outside the taped off kitchen.

  The deputy pointed. “She’s just inside.”

  Hoover knelt under the tape and bent over the badly charred body.

  Only a shoe told Caden he looked upon the remains of Liz Wilson. Such sights and smells were familiar to him, but he had spent years pushing them to dark, rarely visited corners of his mind.

  Hoover looked up at the deputy. “Give me gloves.” When he put them on, he knelt and examined the body up close.

  Caden hung back.

  The sheriff lifted the body slightly, and put his face near the ground. A moment later he stood. A serious look covered his face. “That looks like a gunshot wound. This might be murder.”

  * * *

  Hollister Hotel, Sunday, October 4th

  Bright sunshine poured through Zach’s window from a clear blue sky. He buried his face in the pillow. “Curtains,” he mumbled. “I need curtains.”

  As he lay in bed trying to ignore the sun that warmed his sheets, he assessed how he felt. Hunger seemed to be the strongest sensation. After several minutes, a combination of sunlight and stomach growls drove him from the bed.

  He paused to sit as he dressed. Putting on clothes had never been so strenuous. He breathed deeply. While he felt tolerably well, clearly it would take some time to regain his strength.

  When he stepped from the bedroom, a familiar, but recently uncommon, smell greeted him.

  “We have eggs!” Vicki smiled. “Well, we’ve always had eggs for the bakery, but today we have enough for breakfast.”

  “Do you have bacon?”

  “Don’t be silly. Breakfast is eggs, apple slices, and bread. Oh, and water.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Would you like some fish? I learned in social studies that in Japan they eat fish for breakfast.”

  “No fish.” Zach shook his head. “When this is over, I’m never going to eat fish again.”

  After breakfast he headed toward the door.

  “You should rest.” Vicki collected dishes from the table.

  “I’ll take it easy.” Zach opened the apartment door. “I just want to get out and earn a bit of my room and board.”

  Vicki nodded. “Mr. Hollister said he would be working on the first floor all weekend.”

  “Thanks.” Zach stepped from the penthouse into the short hallway. DeLynn’s mother stood at the far end, staring out the window. “Good morning Mrs. Hollister.”

  She barely nodded.

  He pressed the elevator button and the doors opened. Zach stepped in wondering why the woman always seemed so sad. As he rode down to the first floor his thoughts turned to the day before him. Knowing his strength hadn’t returned, Zach felt resting in the penthouse would be letting Mr. Hollister down. The man had given him a home. Even if he just worked part of the day, it would be better than taking the whole of it off.

  Sheets of plywood, 2 x 4s, several sawhorses, a circular saw, and lots of dust, greeted Zach as he exited the elevator at the lobby. From one corner of the hotel the sound of hammering echoed.

  As Zach entered the store, Mr. Hollister turned and smiled.

  “It’s good to see you up and about. If you’re well enough to help, the work will go much faster.”

  Zach took a deep breath and smiled.

  A routine quickly developed. Zach helped Mr. Hollister and he showed Zach what he did, how he did it and why.

  Nearly an hour later, DeLynn and Vicki walked through the lobby pulling wagons filled with food.

  Tired, Zach sat on an old wooden chair. He looked over the wagons full of corn, tomatoes, onions, beans, jars of honey, apples, pears and various canned goods. “Where’d you get all that and why aren’t we eating it?”

  “You do eat some of it,” DeLynn said.

  Mr. Hollister joined them. “I’ve been buying food from local farms and selling most of it for the lumber and tools we need to get the stores up and running. The remainder we eat, but I a
dmit there is not much left for us.”

  “That’s why we still fish,” Vicki added.

  As the morning progressed, Zach assumed more of each task, cutting and hammering lumber into place according to Mr. Hollister’s direction. In the lobby, as Zach finished cutting several boards, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he expected to see Mr. Hollister, but DeLynn’s mother stood beside him.

  Her face appeared relaxed, peaceful, almost serene. She smiled. “You’re a good young man. I hope you never lose that quality.”

  Zach dropped the saw on the bench. Rarely did she speak to him and she never smiled—at least not at him. “Ah, thanks.”

  She turned and walked toward the lobby.

  A bit confused, Zach returned to his work.

  Near noon DeLynn arrived holding two lunch plates. Passing them to Zach and her dad she asked. “Have either of you seen Mom? I can’t find her.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Hollister Hotel, Sunday, October 4th

  Zach searched part of the building and then returned to the lobby. DeLynn and her father were already there. “I didn’t find her or any clues.”

  “We didn’t either.”

  Vicki soon joined them. “No sign of her in my part of the building.”

  “Did your mom take any clothes or food?” Zach asked.

  “Not that we can tell. She just disappeared.”

  His last conversation with DeLynn’s mother, and now her sudden disappearance, seemed real spooky, but Zach decided not to say anything.

  DeLynn turned to her father. “Where do you think she might have gone?”

  He rubbed his chin. “She never accepted moving here. She might be headed back to our old house.”

  That seemed reasonable. He mapped out the route in his mind. “On foot, it would take her at least three hours to get there.”

  “Longer.” Mr. Hollister shook his head. “She has an abysmal sense of direction and has never driven, or walked, from here to the house.”

  DeLynn stepped toward the exit. “Let’s take the car and head that way. We’ll probably spot her.”

  The four moved toward the door, but Mr. Hollister held up his hand. “This won’t take all of us. Vicki, would you prepare the food boxes?”

  She nodded.

  “Zach, would you continue framing the wall we were working on? Just keep doing what I showed you. DeLynn and I should be back in an hour or so.”

  * * *

  Sheriff’s Office, Hansen, Sunday, October 4th

  Caden looked at his watch and shook his head in frustration. “I explained what happened when we were at the Wilson farm. Then, I answered the same questions in your interrogation room—”

  “Only so it could be recorded,” Hoover interjected.

  “—after waiting forever. Now you want to do it again in your office?”

  “I just have a few more questions.” Hoover sat at his desk and picked up a pad of paper. “Do you or your father own a .270 rifle?”

  “I’m sure Dad does.”

  “I’ll need to examine all your guns. I’m also a little concerned about why, after Liz stabbed your father, you didn’t call 911, me, or your family, until after you were at the hospital.”

  Looking back on the situation, Caden knew he should have done so. “Have you called 911 lately?”

  “I am aware of their problems. Did you call them?”

  “No.”

  Hoover tapped his pen on the desk. “You should have called or told someone.”

  “I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Rational decision making under stressful conditions is something you’re trained to do.” Hoover wrote in the pad.

  “My father was bleeding out beside me.” Caden leaned forward, palms on the sheriff’s desk. “You sound suspicious. Do you really think I shot Liz Wilson and burned down the house to cover up her murder?”

  Hoover set down the pad and pen. “Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what I think, but no, I don’t believe you killed her. However, in any normal investigation, you and Trevor would be the prime suspects. I have to do my job and for both our sakes, I need to do it properly.”

  Caden sighed. “As military commander, I could take over this investigation.”

  “If you do, some people will always believe you killed her and covered it up. Let us do an inquiry and find who really committed the crime.” Hoover stood. “We recovered the bullet that killed Liz. Your guns should go a long way toward clearing this up. I’ll send a couple of deputies to over to check calibers, serial numbers, and registrations.”

  Knowing his father, Caden wouldn’t have been surprised if none of the guns were registered. “Someone will be there, but I’m not going home.” He stood and together they walked toward the door of the office. “I’ve got to pick up Dad at the hospital. I’ll have Maria meet the deputies.” Caden stopped at the door. “Do you want to interview my father?”

  “I already have.”

  “Really? When?”

  Hoover smiled. “Remember when you sat in the interrogation room for so long?”

  “While you kept me waiting you were talking to him?”

  Still grinning, Hoover nodded. “I needed to know what he would say before you two talked.”

  “Cunning, very cunning.” On the way to the pickup truck Caden phoned Maria and explained about the deputies that would soon arrive. “Show them all the guns.”

  “All of them? He has a lot. I doubt he’s shown me all of them.”

  “Ask Mom for help and just do your best. I’ll be home soon with Dad. Bye.” His confidence grew as he reached his destination. His mother hadn’t visited the hospital, the Wilson investigation would reveal the truth and his father would be fine. He pulled into the lot and parked near the main entrance of the building.

  As he walked toward the door, he looked again at those camped along the edge of the lot. Were they all refugees? Did they have family members in the hospital?

  Caden sat in his father’s room as frustration grew within him. Why did discharging patients always take so long?

  After Caden missed church and lunch, a doctor finally arrived and discharged Caden’s dad. Father and son then waited for a nurse to come with a wheelchair.

  “I can walk.” His father wobbled to the chair by the door and plopped down.

  Caden grunted, but otherwise remained silent.

  The nurse arrived wearing an industrial breathing mask with filters on both sides of her mouth and nose, along with gloves. She offered a home variety mask to Caden’s father.

  “I don’t need it.” He nearly fell into the wheelchair.

  “Dad, put it on please. For me and Mom. At least until we’re out of here.”

  He complied with a “humph.”

  Unprotected, Caden walked ahead to clear the route.

  As they neared the exit door, a man stumbled in. Sweat rolled down his face and his body sagged. His mouth gaped, as if ready to sneeze. Caden stepped aside and hurried past. A cough thundered behind him. He turned and saw his father make a face.

  Just outside Caden asked, “Did you get sneezed on?”

  “I don’t know.” He ripped off the mask and handed it to the nurse. “Let’s go.” With the aid of Caden, he stood, walked to the pickup, and they were soon on the way home.

  When they parked in front of the house, the two deputies were on one end of the porch logging the firearm’s serial numbers, checking registrations and calibers. Caden half expected his father to recite the second amendment, and then order the deputies from the property. Instead he allowed Caden to help him into his favorite chair in the living room.

  Caden’s mother immediately sat beside her husband and grabbed his hand. “Are you alright?”

  “Don’t fuss. I’m sore, but I’ll be fine.”

  Maria motioned for Caden to sit on the porch swing with her. He did and she leaned close. As they gently rocked back and forth the two watched Adam in a nearby playpen and the deputies with the
firearms. Caden talked about his day.

  “Are they going to take the guns?” Maria asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  As they continued to talk, Caden’s eyelids grew heavy.

  Two shotgun blasts boomed over a nearby hill.

  A woman screamed.

  * * *

  Hollister Hotel, Sunday, October 4th

  The sound of an engine caused Zach to look up from his work. Mr. Hollister’s car turned into the hotel parking lot. Father and daughter exited the vehicle and with heads slumped, returned to the building.

  When they entered, DeLynn, near tears, spoke first. “We drove out to the old house and then slowly back toward town. We had to wait in line at the bridge checkpoint. I thought sure we’d see her there, but we didn’t.”

  Her father shook his head, a worried look on his face. “I don’t know where she might have gone.”

  Later that afternoon, Zach decided to do his own search. He didn’t have the energy for a long walk, but felt he owed it to DeLynn. Donning a light jacket, he exited the hotel through the main door, and walked in the general direction of the old Hollister home. As he strode away from the hotel he hoped to find the woman soon and not have to hike all the way out of town.

  Piles of bulging plastic bags dotted both sides of the street. Apparently trash collection stopped during his bout with the Kern flu. Many bags had been torn and the contents strewn along the sidewalk. Rats, mice, and feral dogs tore at some of them. Zach made wide circles around the dogs. The smell of rotting garbage dominated the air. Knowing that Mrs. Hollister would not have stayed here, he pushed onward. Few people walked the street and even fewer vehicles rolled past. The rare person he spotted moved quickly away from him.

  An hour later, he reached the edge of town. Two tents stood near the North Road Bridge. The larger one had a red cross emblazed on the roof. The smaller tent had a shower at one end. Sandbags formed a checkpoint nearby, with a squad car and two Humvees parked alongside. No vehicles waited to enter or leave town. As he approached the bridge a large sign read, “Attention: Medical clearance required for anyone entering Hansen. Think before you leave.”

  A camp had sprung up on the far side of the river. Smaller than the sprawling one that emerged after the Seattle nuclear blast, this one, Zach estimated, still had a couple hundred campsites. Some were elaborate tents or RVs, others were single cars.