Raging Storm

by Vannetta Chapman

  “This isn’t college.”

  “My point is that he’s a man now, and he doesn’t need his mother by his side.” Shelby was shaking her head, but Reed continued to push. “We need you, Shelby. You would be providing a great service, and your name would go down in history as the person who wrote the chronicles of this terrible disaster.”

  “I don’t want to go down in history.” Shelby picked up the notebook and stared at it a moment. Finally, she turned her attention back to Governor Reed. “I agree with you. It needs to be written down, and not just by me. I hope that other people—teachers, writers, students, and journalists—will also be documenting what is happening—”

  “But you could be a leader, a recorder of history in a world gone dark.”

  Shelby continued as if Reed hadn’t interrupted. “And one day, I hope those eyewitness accounts are gathered together into a history that will warn the next generation.”

  She stood calmly, pushed in her chair ever so gently, and clutched the notebook to her chest. Her insides were quaking. But she didn’t doubt for a minute that she was doing the right thing. “My priority is my family. Home with Carter, with Max’s parents. That is exactly where I plan to be tomorrow evening.”

  “I’d like you to at least consider what I’ve said.”

  “She has.” Max stood as well. “And you have your answer.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  Max was still awake when Shelby sat up, picked up her shoes, and tiptoed out of the room. He found her sitting on the grass in front of the building, staring up at the stars.

  He stopped, wondering if she’d rather be alone. Turning, he glanced back at the building they’d been given accommodations in—the John Reagan State Office Building. The offices on the inside of the five-story building had been emptied of their contents and filled with cots. There were restrooms on each hall. It was better than the tent they’d been in, and he could only guess at the occupants in the other rooms.

  There were no guards outside. No, the people in this building came and went as they pleased, as they needed.

  Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he continued toward Shelby and sat down on the grass. It was green, owing to the recent rains—soft and smelling of summer. He could close his eyes and pretend it was any other July day on the capitol lawn. Only it was nearly midnight, and if he listened closely enough he could hear the occasional sound of gunfire.

  “I wish I had a cigarette,” Shelby said.

  “You don’t smoke. You never have.”

  “I’m nervous, though. Maybe it would settle me down.”

  She turned toward him. It wasn’t that Max could see her in the dark. He couldn’t, except for some vague outline. But he knew when she turned toward him. It seemed that his body, every one of his senses, was finely tuned to Shelby Sparks.

  He leaned in toward her, his hand tracing the outline of her jaw, his lips finding hers. Softly, gently, he kissed her.

  She pulled away first, laughing nervously. “That didn’t settle me down.”

  So he reached for her hand and pulled it between his. “Your hands are always so cold.”

  “Low blood pressure.”

  “Even as the world is ending.”

  “Even then.”

  “You were so happy just a few hours ago. What happened?”

  “Fear crept in.”

  “Because of the meeting we had with Reed?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. When Governor Reed said she was giving us the supplies, I was ecstatic. When she asked me to work for her, I was surprised. But now I’m terrified. My mind keeps mulling over all that might still go wrong.”

  They sat there for a few minutes, neither feeling the need to speak. When he’d rubbed some warmth back into her hand, she pulled it away. Max flopped onto his back and stared up at the stars.

  “Light pollution seems to be a thing of the past.”

  Shelby lay back too, the side of her body pressed against his. It occurred to Max that they were really one person with two heads. Maybe they always had been.

  “We’re seeing stars as clearly as the cavemen did,” he said.

  “How can you joke at a time like this?”

  “Who’s joking?”

  “They are remarkable.”

  “That they are.”

  “I can see the Milky Way.”

  “And Orion’s Belt.”

  “Is that the one with Pleiades?”

  “Don’t you remember anything from Parish’s class?”

  “That was a long time ago, Max.”

  He thought of that. It was true. They’d both taken astronomy their junior year, Shelby one year later than him. He’d teased her because she nearly ruined her perfect GPA on an elective. For the final exam, she’d memorized the charts and pulled through. She’d aced it. No surprise there. Shelby could ace anything she set her mind to. She was one of the smartest, most resourceful people he knew.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “The answer is yes. I remember a little.”

  He raised his arm and pointed, though he wasn’t sure Shelby could see it. “That’s the Big Bear, also known as the Big Dipper.”

  “I can find a dozen big dippers—small ones too.”

  Her laughter eased a knot of tension in his shoulders, and when Max joined in, it lightened a weight pressing on his heart. But then their mood turned serious, almost simultaneously.

  “ ‘He is the Maker of the Bear and Orion, the Pleiades and the constellations of the south.’ Remember, Shelby? God did all of that.” He swept his arm from right to left and finally rested it next to her, seeking and finding her hand, intertwining their fingers.

  “And man messed it up.”

  “I don’t know.” He sat up facing her, crossing his legs Indian-style, still holding her hand. “The way our society has been living? It’s a long way from the way Job lived.”

  “Progress isn’t always bad.” She sat up too, facing him, though they still couldn’t see each other. “I guess…”

  She swiped at tears with her free hand. “I guess in the Old Testament world, Carter would have never lived. He would have died as a four-year-old when his symptoms first became critical.”

  “Maybe,” Max admitted. “Maybe not. Our ancestors had medicine. They weren’t technologically advanced, but they knew how to treat various diseases.”

  “Herbs and such.”

  “Sure, and it worked—Native Americans used herbs for everything from Alzheimer’s to depression to diabetes.”

  “Diabetes?”

  “Dandelion, ginseng, green tea, even prickly pear cactus were effective.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He plucked a blade of grass from the lawn, ran the pad of his thumb up and down it, and decided to be honest. Tomorrow wasn’t a given for them. Maybe it never had been. But somewhere along the way, he’d stepped back from Shelby. He’d decided the mistakes he’d made in the past were too big to overcome. With everything crashing around them, there was so little they had left—friends, their faith, their families, each other. So instead of stepping back, he stepped forward.

  “I made it a hobby, of sorts, to study that.”

  “Study what?”

  “Diabetes. Everything from medicinal herbs to the latest advancements in treatment.”

  “You never told me.”

  “I guess because you were doing all right, Shelby. You were doing well, and so was Carter. You didn’t need me or—”

  “We’ve always needed you.”

  He swallowed that confession from her. Let it slide all the way down to the bottom of his belly. Let it expand inside his chest.

  “I don’t want that for Carter.” Shelby’s voice was low and hoarse. “I don’t want to have to do that. To have to go back to the way diseases were treated hundreds of years ago. They used leeches, for heaven’s sake.”

  “But if you paired what our great-grandparents knew with the science we’ve learned since then, it seems like we might come u
p with something really effective.”

  “I’d rather have the insulin.”

  “I know you would, and we will. Reed promised, and she doesn’t strike me as someone who would go back on her word.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “But?”

  “But we’ll still only have enough for a year.”

  “When we get back, we’ll make a long-term plan. We’ll study the research I have stored in my room at High Fields.”

  “You took it to the ranch?”

  “When I knew I was leaving Abney, I put it in my truck before you agreed to go to High Fields. In case you and Carter showed up later. In case there was some way I could help.”

  She didn’t speak for a minute, but when she did, her voice was stronger. She sounded like the old Shelby. “Thank you, Max. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “If we get back home—”

  “When.”

  “When we get back home, I want you to show me what you have. Maybe, if it works, we could at least reduce the amount of insulin he needs. Make what we have last longer.”

  “That’s a great plan.”

  She stood, brushed off her jeans, and pulled him to his feet.

  “Think you can sleep now?” Max asked.

  “No. I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink, but it would feel good to lie down. I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a very long day.”

  “Today,” he corrected her.

  “Yeah. Today is going to be a very long day.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  In the end, Georgia had insisted he take two of the Advil from her medicine kit. “It will keep the swelling down.”

  Carter did it because he didn’t have the energy to argue with her. She suggested he sleep in the main house, but he’d waved away her worries, walked across to the cottage he shared with his mom, and dropped into bed fully dressed. Who knew that fighting could wear a person out like that? He was asleep before it was completely dark.

  But he woke when he always did, when Georgia’s roosters began their chorus of cock-a-doodle-doos. One thing was for certain. If you lived on a ranch, you did not need an alarm clock—nature provided its own.

  Surprisingly, he’d slept all night.

  His left shoulder was sore, and the muscles felt unusually tight. He closed his eyes and tried to remember some of the goofy yoga stretches his mom used to do back in their house in Abney. Standing, he slowly lifted both arms straight above his head, then began reaching toward the ceiling—first with his right hand and then with his left. The first stretch on his left side caused him to groan, but by the time he’d done ten of them, the shoulder was feeling looser.

  He followed the stretches up by pulling his right arm across his chest. He’d seen her do that plenty of times—right arm across, left hand cups the elbow, and then pulls it closer across the body.

  Breathe, Carter. That’s the key to yoga.

  He’d laughed at her a hundred times, maybe more.

  When he tried to pull his left arm across his chest, he actually stumbled backward from the pain.

  Breathe, Carter.

  So he did. He took it slow, closed his eyes, and forced his muscles to relax. By the time he was finished, he was able to put on a clean T-shirt, though it took twice as long as normal. He turned on the faucet and allowed a cupful of water to fill a basin Roy had placed in the sink. They didn’t waste a thing if they could help it. The dirty water was dumped into a bucket and then carried out to the garden.

  He sat at the small table, tested his blood sugar level, and dialed in the appropriate insulin dose. It was all so common, so everyday, and he had taken it for granted all of these years. That stopped today. He’d appreciate every dose, and he’d thank Max and his mom for risking their lives to find him more insulin. That would be the first thing he’d say to them.

  He brushed his teeth, made a futile attempt to wet down his cowlick, and then he remembered the hat. Clamping it on top of his head, he decided he looked almost normal, so he stepped out onto the front porch.

  The sky was ablaze with color, and the horizon looked on fire. His pulse raced, and then he realized there was no smell of smoke in the air. He wasn’t looking at a fire, or even the effects of the aurora borealis. God had simply provided a spectacular sunrise.

  He was halfway to the big house before he registered the fact that there was a horse tied to the front porch railing.

  Placing his hand on the horse’s neck, Carter said, “Hey, Pecos.”

  The brown gelding was fifteen hands tall, or so Jerry Lambert had mentioned when he’d first met the man. He owned the property next door. He rarely had time to stand around and visit, and he’d never stopped by at sunrise as far as Carter knew.

  Which meant something had happened.

  He took the front porch steps two at a time.

  Jerry was standing with his back to the kitchen counter. As Carter walked in, Georgia pushed a mug of coffee into the man’s hands. He nodded hello to Carter and thanked Georgia. Jerry was a big man—well over six feet and solid. He was a retired veterinarian, which made him a pretty important person. Already he’d been called on to treat people as well as animals, and Carter was pretty sure he’d taught Georgia everything she knew about first aid.

  “Morning, Carter.”

  “Sir.”

  “Heard you got into a bit of a scuffle yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And it’s not something you feel like Roy or I need to follow up on?”

  “No, sir.”

  “All right. I imagine I could guess who the boys involved were. We’ll trust you to tell us if the situation crops up again.”

  Carter nodded, pleased that they had confidence in his assessment. He honestly didn’t think Brandon would be any trouble in the future. The other kids all knew to stay clear of him, and Carter had proved he’d fight back. No, he wouldn’t be a problem. Brandon’s type would move on to a different kind of trouble, or he might straighten up and fly right. It was doubtful, but stranger things had happened.

  “You’re sure it wasn’t coyotes?” Roy asked, returning to their previous conversation.

  “No. There was no sign of a wild animal attack, and the Murphys have two Great Pyrenees. A pack of coyotes might win a fight, but those dogs would die protecting the goats.”

  “So why wouldn’t they attack someone trying to steal the goats?”

  “We think that whoever did this watched them for a while, learned their routines. Dereck feeds the dogs every afternoon at four. The thieves most likely waited until the dogs were eating and nabbed the goats.”

  “Awfully bold,” Carter said.

  “It is, and that’s part of what concerns us.”

  “Roadblocks didn’t report anything?”

  “No. We checked with both teams last night, when Dereck realized what had happened.”

  “And you’re sure he didn’t miscount or something?”

  “They keep good records. If Dereck and Leona say they lost a dozen kids, then they lost a dozen.”

  “Maybe the word is out.” Georgia set a large pot of oatmeal on the table and motioned for everyone to dig in. Doc Lambert didn’t even try to resist. “Maybe folks have heard that we’ve created a sort of…coalition here, and they’re trying to take advantage of that.”

  Roy nodded. “I hate to say it, but I think Georgia’s right.”

  They each dug into their bowls of oatmeal, and for a moment all Carter could hear was Georgia’s roosters and the soft cropping of Doc Lambert’s horse.

  When Roy had finished, he pushed his bowl away and clamped his hands around his coffee mug. “I was planning on checking the trotlines this morning, but Carter can take care of that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll warn the families on the east side if you can take the west.”

  “Done,” Lambert said.

  “Could be we need to step up patrols, and people need to be remi
nded to keep their firearms close at hand. We don’t want them trigger happy, but we do want them prepared.”

  “A gun in the house doesn’t help if someone attacks you while you’re in the field.” Doc Lambert stood and reached for the cowboy hat he’d set on the counter. “That goes for you too, Carter.”

  “Yes, sir. Roy insists I carry my rifle or a handgun with me even if I’m only going down to the creek.”

  “Sad times, we live in,” Georgia said. “Sad times, indeed.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Shelby looked up to see Danny walking toward their vehicles. He shook hands with Max and Patrick before nodding at her and Bianca.

  “I was sent to escort you out. Do you have everything you need?’

  “We do.” Shelby glanced back at the Dodge. “Gabe had to leave, but he made sure the medications were loaded and our tanks were filled up.”

  “Still need to pick up our weapons,” Patrick said.

  “Which you’ll be given once you pass through the perimeter gate.” Danny nodded toward two of his men, who pulled their jeep in front of the Dodge.

  The vehicle was slick and modern with darkly tinted windows. Shelby wondered how they could even afford to drive it. The gas mileage must have been horrendous.

  “Front gate’s backed up,” Danny explained. “The governor is sending out another squadron to begin clearing the roads. We’ll escort you out the back way.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Max said. “If you could direct us—”

  “I insist.” And before anyone else could argue, he turned and walked to a Humvee that had taken up position behind them.

  Max looked to Patrick, who was frowning, but he shrugged and climbed into the Mustang.

  Bianca squeezed Shelby’s hand and jogged back to Patrick’s car. The route wound toward the back of the compound, snaking through troops and then railroad cars stacked three high.

  “Supplies?” Shelby asked.

  “Could be, or it could be where the men are staying. I’ve seen them turned into accommodations before—nothing fancy, but it’s a dry place to grab a few hours’ sleep.”