"Girls, come on, let's go." The girls clomped out of their rooms, Violet with her iPod and Daisy with a stuffed animal tucked in the crook of her arm. They followed their mother out and into an old Volvo wagon with small rust spots on the rear wheel wells that pushed through the dull blue paint.
The drive to the church took all of ten minutes. Violet's iPod didn't get to charge much, but it was enough to keep her occupied and even a short reprieve from whining was welcome. Ann pulled up to a free parking spot in front of the church, and they all headed for the home next door that housed Reverend Walker and his wife.
The town was eerily quiet. Not that it was usually noisy, but this was a deeper level of quiet. A quiet that one could sense more than hear. It had the quality reserved for mountain tops or the depths of an old growth forest. It was a stillness that emerged out of the lack of electricity and it could be unnerving. Something made her shiver as she climbed the wooden stairs of the porch.
Ann knocked on the door and heard footsteps echoing closer. The door opened and Mahirimah greeted her with a smile.
"Hi, Ann," she said, stepping outside and giving her a hug. "Hi, girls." Violet, with ear buds in, gave a half-hearted wave and then her eyes focused back on the screen of her iPod.
"Can we go play?" Daisy asked.
"Okay," Ann replied, "Just stay in the yard."
"Come in, come in," Mahirimah said as the girls ran off the porch and around the side of the house into the backyard. Ann followed Mahirimah along old creaking floorboards straight into the kitchen. Ann pulled out an old chair and plopped herself onto it. "Would you like some tea?"
"Sure."
Mahirimah lit a match and held it to a burner and turned on the gas. A blue flame popped into existence around the ring and she set a tea kettle onto it. Ann peeked around a small spider plant on the windowsill out at the backyard to make sure she could see the girls as they chased one another around. Their shrieks of laughter echoed in the unusual silence.
"Have you guys gotten any word about what's going on with the power?"
"No, but Maurice walked over to talk to Chief Corso a little while ago to see if he could get any information from him."
"I'm really getting worried. This is kind of weird."
"Maurice seems worried too, and that gets me worried because almost nothing bothers him."
"I have a shift tomorrow at the hospital and I don't know what to do about it. I can't get through to them on the phone and I'm afraid to drive all the way out there with things like this."
"They would have to understand under these unusual circumstances."
"I'm a nurse. Regular rules don't apply. All I can think about is the people on duty and how exhausted they must be if no one has been able to get there. And I'm trying not to think about some patients and what could happen if they run out of emergency power."
They sat in silence for a moment, lost in their thoughts when the tea kettle whistled. Mahirimah poured the water into mugs and they sat dunking their tea bags in the steaming liquid. Ann studied Mahirimah’s profile and the scar on her cheek. All scars had stories, and she wondered what was behind that one. In the three years she'd know Mahirimah, she never managed the courage to ask.
"Would you and the girls like to stay for dinner tonight? I'm making a special dish, one traditionally used on special occasions. Actually, it is the national dish of Jordan where I'm from. I thought it would be nice to celebrate the opening of the food pantry."
"Oh, Mahi, that's so thoughtful of you. I'd love to!" Ann's eyes lingered on the scar a moment too long and when she caught Mahirimah's gaze again Mahirimah gave her a sad smile and raised her hand to the scar. Then she looked down into her tea.
"Everyone is always so curious about this," she said running two fingers over the scar, "but it's always the scars you can't see that are the bigger problem."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."
"It's okay."
"I know from being a nurse that every scar has a story and I've never heard you talk about that one."
"This," she said turning her scared cheek toward Ann, "is how I met Maurice."
"Really?"
Mahirimah nodded. "In Iraq while I was working as a journalist."
Heavy footsteps clomped on the porch and then the front door opened and closed. After a moment, Reverend Walker came into the kitchen and smiled at them. But his expression looked forced. Underneath, he seemed tense. "Good morning, Ann," he said and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"Good morning, Reverend."
"What's wrong, habibi?" Mahirimah said, noticing the tension in his body.
He sighed, his brow wrinkled, and he rubbed his finger back and forth across his lips as if trying to keep himself from speaking. "Something's happened. Something bad."
Ann felt a jolt of adrenalin course through her body. She glanced at Mahirimah whose face now looked ashen.
"What happened?" she asked.
Reverend Walker glanced at Ann and then to his wife. "What I tell you has to stay in this room for now."
"Maurice, you're scaring me."
"It seems like there has been an earthquake on the East Coast along with a tsunami."
"What?" Ann said, her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed.
"Oh my god," Mahirimah said.
"So the power outage is widespread and potentially long lasting, I suppose."
"Wait. What? An earthquake?" Ann said.
"Oh my god," Mahirimah repeated, her hand now covering her heart.
"We don't get earthquakes on the East Coast...do we?" Ann said, suddenly feeling unsure and silly.
"Apparently, we do," Reverend Walker said.
There came a knock on the front door and all heads snapped in the direction. Maurice walked down the hallway to answer the door and she heard a familiar voice.
"Howdy, Reverend."
"Hi, Iggy. What can I do for you?"
"Well, I was getting ready to head out of town and I saw Ann's car parked out front and I was wondering if she was here."
"She is."
"Mind if I come in for a minute to say hi?"
"Sure, come on in," Maurice said and walked Iggy to the kitchen.
Ann looked at Mahirimah and rolled her eyes. Being hit on during a major natural disaster struck her as poor form. Dating was the last thing on her mind at the moment. Even if that square jawed, handsome Italian had a killer smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Walker," Iggy said, hat in hand and grinning. "Good morning, Ann."
"Good morning," they both replied.
"I was heading out of town, and well, I, uh, saw your car and um..." There was an awkward pause.
Maurice cut in. "Iggy here is driving out of town for a while on a scouting mission to see what's going on around us since almost all forms of communication are down. Isn't that right?"
"Yes, sir," he said sounding relieved, "and well, I don't know what I might find or if I'll make it back."
"Oh, don't say that," Mahirimah burst out.
Ann thought he was being melodramatic just so she'd see how brave he was acting. "Oh, come on, Iggy."
"No, I'm being serious," he said looking hurt, "it's bad out there. I don't want to scare you but..."
Ann felt a pang of remorse and a growing apprehension. "I'm sorry. I guess I don't really understand what's going on here."
"None of us do," Iggy replied. "That's what I'm trying to find out. Assuming I make it back. I get the feeling I'm going to need a drink."
Ann gave a nervous chuckle. "I bet."
"So maybe you'll have a drink with me?"
Ann glanced at Mahirimah who raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. She had to admit this guy had nerve. She shook her head and smiled. "If you get back alive, I will definitely have a drink with you."
Iggy exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath and smiled, "Okay, then, that's all I needed to know. Well, I should get on the road. Reverend, please say a prayer for me."
"Consider yourself
prayed for."
"Thank you," Iggy said as he turned to take his leave of them.
"And Iggy?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Stay frosty out there."
CHAPTER FIVE
Turnello wakes up - Early evening, Wed Sep 4
The dank odor of river water and the smell of wood smoke floated in the air. In the distance, he heard heavy rain. And nearby, came the scrape of slippers shuffling on floorboards.
He lay on a lumpy old mattress covered by a thin wool blanket. A teapot whistled and boiling water sizzled. His empty mind afforded him a profound tranquility. His eyes would not focus. He blinked several times before the ceiling came into sharp relief, the light of candles dancing across it.
Turning toward the sounds, he saw a man in tattered and faded sweat pants and a plaid wool shirt. He wore a wool cap and a pair of leather sandals. "Good evening," he said in an old man's voice with a New England accent.
Turnello tried to speak but all that came out was a hoarse moan. The man set a mug on a wooden chair next to the bed. He smelled clean like shaving cream and smoky like cigarettes. "Here, drink this. Careful, it's hot." Turnello lifted his head and put the cup to his lips. It was hot and sweet and felt heavenly going down even if he scalded himself a little.
Turnello cleared his throat. "Is this...am I...where am I?" he finally managed.
"This is my home."
"How did I get here?"
"How isn't as important as why. Of all the places you could have gone, you wound up here. Why?"
"I...I have no idea. I can barely remember what happened."
"There are no accidents. Things only seem that way because the universe is run by a very skillful chess player that is always thinking seven moves ahead."
Turnello furrowed his brow and tried to move. His body felt peculiar like he wasn't in it. "Am I dead?"
"Dead. Alive. Existent. Non-existent. These things seem opposite, but they are more alike than you'd think. Things can be one or the other, but sometimes they are neither nor both."
"I really appreciate that you've been taking care of me, but I don't understand a thing you are saying." Anger welled up in him but the emotion couldn't get past a big wet blanket that lay over it.
The old man laughed, but his laugh was more like a cackle. "You will," he said. He walked to a fireplace where he sat on a rocker and tended to the fire. “You will.”
Turnello lay there staring at the ceiling watching the shadows dance as the candlelight flickered. He tried to make sense of what was happening but it all seemed surreal. He tried to think. What was the last thing he remembered?
The asteroid must have hit. There was an earthquake, and the power was out. He had gone exploring. Raj. He had joined forces with Raj from the gas station. Where was he? Hadn't they been driving?
A muted wave of sadness washed over him. Like he was observing it more than feeling it. Raj was dead. He wasn't sure how he knew this or what had happened. There were those things. Zombies? He listened to the rocking chair creak and the fire crackle.
"I don't suppose you've noticed anything strange going on the past couple days?" Turnello asked.
"Strange? Nothing going on that never happened before." He prodded the logs with an iron poker.
Turnello pulled the blanket away and slid his legs off the bed. Then he pushed himself up and felt lightheaded. He steadied himself until it passed and then tried to put weight on his feet. That's when the pain, sharp and clear, shot through him. He looked down at his boots with confusion and he reached over to untie them. He needed to understand why his feet hurt so much.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Best leave them on if you want to make it to Cherry Ridge before winter."
The name shocked Turnello's memory. That's where he needed to go. "How'd you know I was planning on going there?"
The old man shrugged. "That's the place to be these days. I think you ought to leave as soon as the rain stops. That should get you there in time for everything."
"In time for everything? In time for what?"
"Lots of people there counting on you. Don't let that scare you though. You'll know the right things to do when the time comes. Remember though, you can't save them all."
"Can't save who? What are you talking about?" He tried to get up again but only got his bottom a few inches above the bed before the pain stopped him from breathing. "Oh...holy hell...I don't think I'm going anywhere."
"Just don't take your boots off and here take one of these." The man reached into the chest pocket of his wool shirt and pulled out a prescription bottle. He held out the bottle but didn't get up and hand it to Turnello.
Turnello looked at him incredulous. "Can't you see that I can't stand?"
"Crawl then," he replied coldly.
Turnello could not understand why this suddenly seemed like a reasonable request. He lowered himself to the floor onto his hands and knees and crawled to the old man and took the bottle from him. The warmth of the fire from this distance felt wonderful. It seemed to penetrate his bones which all seemed damp and achy.
He held the bottle out so he could read it in the firelight. The date on the bottle was nearly five years old, and it was a prescription for Oxycodone. There were about six tablets in the bottle. He crawled back to the bed and swallowed one pill with the cup of tea. Then he pulled the blanket off the bed and crawled back to the fireplace. He threw more wood on the fire and then lay on the hearth wrapped in the thin wool covering.
"That's it now," said the old man as he rocked on his chair, "you get some rest. You'll need all the rest you can get. It will be a long month and you have a lot to do."
Turnello wasn't quite paying attention to the old man. He stared at the fire, the dancing flames hypnotizing him. He found the sound of the man's voice comforting. Soon his eyelids became heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.
The night was deathly quiet. A light cool breeze blew, waking him. He opened his eyes and found himself at the edge of a lake. The moon, full and bright, shone with enough intensity to cast nighttime shadows.
The rhythmical sound of a paddle dipping into the water came to him from the distance and he soon saw a canoe appear from out of the darkness. It glided on the water, propelled by a lone dark figure sitting in the back of the craft. He watched it get closer and closer until he realized the old man paddled it.
The canoe grounded in front of him and Turnello pushed it free as he got in. The only sound was the dip of the paddle into the water. Soon, the shore where he boarded disappeared.
For a while, a blackness surrounded them so complete and vast, they might have been in space. Then, in the distance, the silhouette of a building appeared. It stood on a hill whose end became a sheer rocky cliff at the shore.
The old man grounded the canoe on a narrow rocky beach at the foot of the cliffs. Turnello turned to ask him something, but no one was there. When he turned back, the man was standing on the shore offering his hand to Turnello to help him out of the canoe.
Turnello stood and took his hand. The hand was icy cold and hard and when he stepped onto the ground he looked down to see the bony hand of a skeleton holding his. The sight of it sent a jolt of fear through him and he recoiled violently.
He lost his footing on the rocky ground and fell onto sharp edges of stones that felt like a bed of nails. The old man's cackled echoed across the water and faded.
When Turnello picked himself up off the ground, he found he was alone and standing in front of the building. It was a large multistory hotel, dark except for a neon sign that flickered and buzzed "VACANCY" like an insect against a glass window.
He walked up to the glass and aluminum doors and they slid open like a giant mouth that swallowed him into the lobby.
His feet thudded on the lobby floor and he looked down to find they were bare. He moved to the elevators and one of them opened the moment he approached. He got in and punched the last button. The doors closed, and an electronic female voice announced the
floors.
"Area forty-nine." Ding. "Area fifty." Ding. "Area fifty-one." Ding. "Area fifty-two.” Ding. The doors opened to a bare gray concrete hallway. He stepped out and the iciness of the floor made him gasp. Unsure which way to go, he walked forward slowly, sensing the warmth escape his body with every step. His breath hung in the air.
A distant repetitive thud echoed through the corridor. He walked toward it. On either side of the hall, he passed long rectangular windows that opened on dimly lit empty rooms. The thud came closer and closer as he moved forward.
Behind the next window stood a figure with its back to Turnello. He walked up to the window to see into the room more clearly. The figure bumped into the table mindlessly, over and over. When Turnello placed his hand on the window, the figure turned and lunged forward striking the glass with his whole body.
Startled, he leapt back. Turnello instantly recognized it to be Raj even though half his face was bloody and disfigured. The eyes were clouded white and unseeing. He began to rhythmically bump his hands and face against the glass leaving smudges of blood and gore stuck to it. Turnello looked away and continued down the hall.
Potted plants filled the next room. Pots were on a table in the center of the room and all along the floor. The plants were identical, and they seemed familiar. He tried the door to the room, but it was locked.
He put his forehead against the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes, trying to cut down on the glare. The plants had a sharp quality about them. They had spiky flower clusters and leaves that looked palm-like with seven saw-toothed leaflets on each. They were something he had seen before, but he couldn't remember the name.
He turned away from the glass and noticed the room across the hall contained a figure seated at a table. He approached cautiously and saw a woman in a lab coat with long blonde hair looking into a microscope.
Absorbed in her work, she didn't notice him. He was contemplating if he should try to get her attention when a door at the far end of the darkened hallway burst open and dozens of large-headed alien-looking creatures poured into the hallway heading straight for him.
A Bad Day (Book 2): A Bad Day Page 3
