Raging Storm

by Vannetta Chapman

  “I want to drive straight through. Our goal is Austin. There’s no argument about that.” She glanced back at the doctor, who nodded in agreement. “But I’d rather get there alive. If the people in that store can help us, I agree that we should stop.”

  Max glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Bianca checking the magazine in her Glock. Satisfied, she returned the semiautomatic to her shoulder holster. Shelby removed her Ruger 22 handgun from her backpack and placed it on her lap.

  Bhatti was the only one to balk at carrying a weapon. “I’m a doctor, Max. Not a soldier.”

  “You want to keep doctoring? Better get used to protecting yourself.” He pulled a Smith & Wesson revolver out from under his seat and handed it to Bhatti, who confirmed there were bullets in the revolver.

  At least the man knew how to use a handgun.

  Max spoke into the radio, though his words were meant for the entire group. “We’re as ready as we can be. Keep your eyes open for anything out of place, any sign at all that these people are not a family camping in an abandoned convenience store.”

  He drove at a conservative speed, not wanting to frighten anyone in the building or anyone in their group. He was spooked enough for all of them. He could practically feel a rifle’s scope trained on their vehicles. Adrenaline pounded through his bloodstream, rendering him hyperalert.

  The sound of their tires against the pavement.

  The scent of last night’s rain.

  The peeling paint on the building.

  Every detail accosted his senses, and he was reminded of his granddad’s stories of fighting in World War II—the long days of boredom punctuated by moments when every detail was seared into his memory.

  Pulling into the service station, Max wasn’t surprised when no one came out of the building. Someone had painted CLOSED across ply board that had been placed haphazardly over the windows.

  “Bhatti, stay with the car. Shoot anyone who comes near it. Shelby, I want you over by the phone booth. And remember, Patrick has us covered. If we run into trouble, drop to the ground, and let him take care of it.”

  Max banged on the front door, but there was no answer. Motioning for Bhatti and Shelby to stay in their positions, he walked slowly around the building. He’d reached the back, was looking at the clothes drying on the line, when he heard a click—the cocking of a revolver. Then a voice behind him said, “Drop your weapon, and then get back in your vehicle, mister. Keep driving, and I won’t have to kill you.”

  SIX

  Carter had caught plenty of catfish in his life, but it had been years since he’d cleaned one.

  “Be sure to remove any dirt from your cutting area before you begin.” Roy paused to make sure that Carter was watching and following his directions to the letter. He had two five-pound catfish. Carter’s single fish was probably closer to three. Roy showed him the correct process for skinning and gutting the fish. “Once you’re done with that, you can cut the filets. First you put the fish on its side. Hold the head firmly.”

  Carter was standing beside Max’s dad, following his instructions step-by-step. Roy was a big one for learning by doing, not learning by listening.

  “Now insert your knife behind this front fin. It’s called the pectoral fin, but don’t suppose that matters.”

  “No quiz?”

  “No quiz, but if you fail to take Georgia some nice clean filets, she’ll want to know why.”

  “Got it.”

  “Cut downward to the backbone. You can feel it. Don’t cut through the backbone. It will dull your knife and achieves nothing.”

  “Yeah, I feel it.”

  “Now turn the knife, sharp side down, and work your way toward the tail.”

  Carter watched Roy, and then mimicked the motion. When he was done, he found himself holding a nice-sized filet.

  “Think you can do the rest?”

  “Sure.”

  “When you’re done, take three of the filets to the house for Georgia to fry up.”

  “And the other three?”

  Roy pointed to a four-wheeler. “Keys are in it. Wrap the extra in some of that old newspaper on the shelf, and then take it down to the Dunns’ place. You know where that is?”

  Carter shook his head. Was Roy actually giving him the keys to his four-wheeler?

  “Take the lane to the road and turn left. You’ll go down into a low water crossing. When you come back up, the Dunn place is on your left.”

  “I’ve never driven a four-wheeler,” Carter admitted.

  Roy shrugged. “Not that hard. There’s a gas pedal and a brake. Just don’t make any sharp turns. You turn that thing over and Georgia will filet me like you’re fileting that fish.”

  “Yes, sir.” Carter felt stupid for saying it, but he pushed ahead. “I could walk. If you’re…trying to save the charge on the four-wheeler.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but the generator’s holding up pretty well. I have an extra battery that I keep charged.” Roy walked over to the water pump and washed his hands. “I’ve loaded some firewood on the back that I’d like you to take to them as well. Last time I was over, they’d started cooking in an old wood stove that Charles had wrestled up onto the back porch.”

  “You got it.”

  Carter thought he would leave then. Roy never seemed to run out of work to do. Even in the short time since they’d arrived, he’d rarely seen the man sit down unless he was eating or it was dark outside. Even then, he’d go out one last time before bed to do an evening check.

  But instead of leaving, Roy leaned against the cattle fence. He wasn’t watching Carter work, which meant he had something else to say.

  “Your mom and Max…they care about you.”

  “I know that.”

  “When you have a child with you…” He held up a hand to stave off Carter’s argument. “I know you’re not a child, but I still think of Max that way, and he’s now forty-five.”

  Carter shrugged and picked up another fish, inserted the knife, and opened up the stomach to remove the guts.

  “The truth is, when you have your own flesh and blood with you, standing there beside you, it makes you hesitate. Makes you second-guess yourself. I suspect that’s why they didn’t want you along.”

  “So without me they’ll just rush headlong into trouble?”

  “I’ve never known Max to do that. He seemed to have lost any impulsiveness he once had when he was going through law school—they must have lectured it out of him.” Roy laughed, pulled a weed growing near the fence, and stuck it in his mouth. “Max is careful. He won’t let anything happen to your mom.”

  “I still don’t understand why I couldn’t go.”

  “With you here with us, they’ll be able to focus on one thing and one thing only—finding the insulin and getting back. Their love for you…it would slow them down.”

  “And I’m supposed to be happy about that?”

  “Doesn’t matter how you feel about it one way or the other. Just is.”

  Carter finished with the fish, placed the filets in a pan for Georgia, and dumped the head and bones into a bucket.

  “What are you going to do with this stuff?”

  “Set some traps.”

  “Traps?”

  “You’ll see. We’ll do it later this afternoon. There’s always food to be had on a ranch, Carter. But it doesn’t always walk up and present itself at your front door.”

  The old guy walked off, whistling a tune that Carter only vaguely recognized.

  All the talk about parents and children and love turned his thoughts to Kaitlyn, to her mom, even to the friends he’d left behind in Abney. Why had he done it? Why had he agreed to leave his entire life behind him? So he could hide out on a farm and learn to clean fish?

  Was that his future?

  Supposing he didn’t die from his diabetes, was this all he had to look forward to?

  No college.

  No girlfriend.

  No friend of any kind.


  If there was one thing he’d realized when their house blew up, it was that the changes that had occurred after the flare were permanent. The life he’d lived and the one he’d dreamed of living? Those were both things of the past.

  SEVEN

  Patrick’s shot embedded itself in the brick of the building, slightly to the left of where Max and his would-be assailant stood.

  “That’s my partner,” Max said, “and it was a warning shot.”

  Max turned around slowly, careful to keep his own weapon pointed toward the ground. He found himself face-to-face with a man who couldn’t have been out of his midtwenties—black, clean shaven, and weighing no more than one fifty.

  “Put your revolver on the ground and kick it toward me,” Max said.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you want me to give the all clear signal. Otherwise, the next bullet will be in you instead of beside you.”

  Visibly deflating, the man placed his revolver on the ground and pushed it toward Max with his left foot.

  Max picked up the gun and stuck it into the back of his pants.

  “What about the all clear signal?”

  “That was it. Now tell your wife everything is okay and she can come out.”

  “Uh-uh. Not happening.”

  “If we’d wanted to rob you, we would have done it already. Can we just have a civil conversation?”

  The man was shaking his head, refusing to listen to Max, when Shelby suddenly barreled around the corner of the building, clutching her revolver, and skidding to a halt a few feet from them. “What happened? I heard a shot. Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine. Let’s all go to the front—” Max stopped talking when they heard the sound of Patrick’s Mustang.

  They walked back to the front of the building, Max encouraging the man with his semiautomatic, which he kept out and at the ready. He had no desire to shoot anyone, especially not a young married guy who was desperate enough to live in this dump. But neither was he going to give the man a chance to run. In the back of his mind he realized this still could be a trap. What if there were more people than a man and woman? What if even now they were circling around Max’s group?

  Patrick and Bianca joined them. Bhatti walked over from the Dodge.

  It took another ten minutes to convince the man that they weren’t there to pilfer and plunder. The man’s hesitancy as well as the fear in his eyes persuaded Max that this was no trap. He was protecting his family, exactly like Max was intent on protecting Shelby, which was why they found themselves at something of a stalemate.

  Bianca was the one who stumbled on the magic words that lowered the man’s guard. “We don’t have time for this. Carter needs that medication, and Dr. Bhatti has patients to treat. Let’s go.”

  “You’re a doctor?” He stepped closer to Bhatti, his look of defiance replaced with uncertainty…and perhaps hope. “Seriously? Are you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “My son…” He glanced at Patrick and Max, and then he focused again on the doctor. “He hurt himself a few days back, and now he’s running a fever. Could you look at him?”

  “Of course.”

  They pulled their cars around to the back of the store and entered the building through the rear entrance. Soon they were crowded around an old Formica table in the convenience store’s workroom.

  Max introduced everyone from their group.

  “I’m Joel. Joel Allen. My wife is Danielle.”

  “And your son?” Shelby asked, her voice softening as she glanced toward the area where Bhatti was examining the boy. Bianca had volunteered to assist him.

  “Zack. His name is Zack.”

  There were only four chairs, so Joel pulled up old crates for them to sit on. A single window over a work sink provided a little light. An old blanket was folded and placed on the counter—no doubt for tacking over the window at night. Joel had hung several tarps to divide the large room into a sleeping area and living area.

  A few cans of supplies were stacked on the counter, but it was plain they didn’t have much. Max could just make out the edge of a sleeping bag in the area where they slept. He heard a young boy start to cry, and the mother—Danielle—say, “It’ll be all right, Zack. He’s going to help you.”

  Joel glanced that way. “We were headed to the north,” he said. “Hoping that things in the Dallas area would be better than Austin.”

  “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t make it that far.” Patrick rubbed a hand up and over his head. “Last we heard the area from downtown to the Trinity River was burning. No word at all as to what was going on in the suburbs, but it can’t be good.”

  “Then we’ll stay here,” Joel said. He sat back, crossed his arms, and studied them.

  “Here?” Shelby asked. “In the back of an abandoned convenience store?”

  “We’re doing all right. There’s an old pump out back where we get water. The toilets are still working.”

  Max stood and began pacing. “It’s not safe here, Joel.”

  “Where we came from was a lot less safe. And your friend Patrick just told me where we were planning to go is a bad idea too. This seems like our best option.”

  “But we could have easily killed you and—”

  All conversation stopped as Bhatti and Danielle walked into the room. Joel’s wife was the woman they’d seen hanging clothes. She was a little on the heavy side, medium height, and there was a hardness in her eyes that Max thought might be strength, or desperation. She was approximately the same age as Joel, with short chopped hair that framed her face.

  “Zack is nearly asleep,” Danielle said. “Bianca offered to sit with him for a few minutes.”

  Bhatti stripped off his disposable gloves, walked to the sink, and poured water from a pitcher into a large bowl set in the sink so he could thoroughly wash his hands. He accepted the bottle of drinking water that Max offered him, and then he turned his attention to Joel and Danielle. “I cleaned up the wound and applied antibiotic cream. You’re certain that it was a piece of glass he cut himself on?”

  “Yes.” Danielle sank into one of the chairs. “I had washed some glasses that we found here in the sink. He was helping me, standing on a stool, and he fell. His arm must have hit the glass.”

  “And he hasn’t complained of a headache? Trouble swallowing? Stiffness in his jaw?”

  Both Joel and Danielle shook their head to each question.

  “If you were near a medical facility, I’d recommend that you get a tetanus shot, just in case.” He rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. Max wondered if the man suffered from migraines or was simply worried.

  He also noted that Bhatti frowned at Shelby as she took notes in her journal. They were all becoming used to it, though Joel stopped questioning the doctor long enough to ask her what the point was.

  “Those pages, they won’t change anything—no offense.”

  “None taken.” Shelby looked down at what she’d written, allowed her fingertips to trace over the lines. “But we’ve lost so much already. Think of all the books, all the knowledge that was on e-readers. Gone—poof, in the blink of an eye.”

  “But those books were also printed and put in libraries,” Danielle said.

  “Some were—maybe most. But there are fewer and fewer libraries, fewer print books. For all we know, someone is using them for fuel in their wood-burning stove. And some books? Well, many of them were e-book-only releases. Those are gone. It just seems important that we have some record of this. You might be right, Joel. It might not help a bit, but if it guides the next generation even a little, then it will have been worth the time. Maybe my son’s generation, and your son’s, can learn from what has happened.”

  Bhatti cleared his throat. “Speaking of Zack, since we’re nowhere near a medical facility and they probably wouldn’t have any of the vaccine left even if we were, I want you to keep the wound clean and change the bandage once a day.”

  He reached into his
medical bag, rummaged around, and pulled out a bottle, which he passed to Danielle.

  “These will help him?” she asked.

  “They’re antibiotics and will fight the infection, but this dose…” he tapped the label on the side of the bottle. “It was for an adult male. You’ll have to cut the tablets in half.”

  “All right. Thank you.”

  Max noticed that her hand was shaking as she read the label on the bottle. She set it down, pushed it toward her husband, and said, “I had found some Tylenol, but it wasn’t helping the fever.”

  “It should work now when taken in conjunction with the antibiotics. Continue the Tylenol until his fever breaks.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” Joel stared at Bhatti and then Max. “I almost shot you, and you saved my boy.”

  “But you didn’t shoot us,” Max said. “And you were right to be looking out for your family.”

  “Now you need to move on.” Patrick glanced out the single window. “This place isn’t safe. You’re too close to the road. Even with the closed signs and boarded windows—”

  “There’s nothing left in the store or the gas pumps. There’s no reason for anyone to stop here.”

  “Some people don’t need a reason.” Shelby folded her arms on the table and studied the couple. “You need to go to Abney. It’s less than an hour’s drive north of here.”

  “We don’t know anyone there,” Danielle argued. “No one is going to help us.”

  “Tony Ramos will.” Bianca walked into the room and perched on the edge of one of the crates. “Tony has young boys, one about the same age as Zack. He’ll find you a place to stay, and the mayor has started sending out hunting parties. Everyone who works receives a share of the harvest.”

  “And those who legitimately can’t work are taken care of as well,” Patrick said. “It’s not perfect there—we’ve had some looting and unrest with the town to the south, but it’s better than here. Safer.”

  “Why aren’t you there, then? What’s so important that you would leave?”

  “My son needs insulin, and I’m going to find it.” Shelby met Max’s gaze. “My friends wouldn’t let me go alone.”