Winds of Change

by Jason Brannon

  Pete didn’t give me a chance to respond before he got up and followed Chuck and Steven. Leland and the Richards’ were close behind. Sighing, I got up too. The six of us went to the front of the store, leaving the Weavers to themselves. Jesse Weaver and his sons were still tending to Vera. From what I could tell, she wasn’t doing well at all. One of the boys was fanning her with one of our catalogs. The other was holding her hand. Jesse Weaver kept kissing her on the forehead. Vera didn’t move much in response to any of that.

  I wasn’t sure how long she could last without medical attention. For that matter, I wasn’t sure if there was anyone left who could give her medical attention.

  I tried to put it out of my mind as I stared out the window. Aside from the two flaming cars that had met head on and the one that had crashed into a tree, there wasn’t much of note going on in the parking lot. The highway that passed in front of the store was deserted. All of the businesses around us were dark. We didn’t see anyone huddling at those windows, however, that didn’t mean there weren’t people alive inside. But that didn’t mean that they hadn’t been reduced to dust either.

  Where the dust was concerned, the wind had done a pretty efficient job of cleaning the mess up. In that regard, Mother Nature was better equipped to handle the dead than any undertaker.

  Yet, the way it was starting to look for us, she still had a pretty big job on her hands.

  II.

  None of us said anything for a while. We just stood there waiting for something to happen. It was kind of strange watching the dust clouds roll across the parking lot and realizing that those used to be people. The asphalt was littered with dentures, watches, wedding rings, a glass eye, belt buckles, wallets, stainless steel pins that might have been used to hold broken bones together, and a whole lot of other items that weren’t readily identifiable through the glass.

  I thought about what kinds of things I would leave behind if the same fate befell me and realized that there wouldn’t be much; a few cents in change, a few fillings, and a pocket knife. In other words, there wouldn’t be anything to distinguish my heap of dust from the others. I thought of that song by Kansas, Dust in the Wind, and realized that those words held more truth than anyone could have ever realized.

  The generator we had set up coughed and sputtered as its fuel supply ran low. The lights that were running off of the generator flickered twice before stabilizing. Without a word, Steven went to refill the gas tank. It reminded me that none of us had ever gone to check on the store’s backup generator. Too many things had happened all at once, and I, for one, had forgotten about it in the midst of so much tragedy. I decided to quietly slip away and have a look. Maybe it was something minor that I could fix. Maybe a cable had simply gotten disconnected. Or maybe there was a switch that I could flip to get the thing working. At this point, getting that generator fixed would surely raise the group’s morale, and I knew we needed all the help we could get.

  I gripped my keys tightly in my hand and tried to convince myself that I was brave for checking this out by myself, but I wasn’t. I realized that when Pete met me at the door, and I shrieked like a little girl.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought you might want a little help with whatever it is that you’re doing.”

  “No problem,” I gasped, still trying to catch my breath. “I was going to see if I could figure out what is wrong with the store’s backup generator.”

  “Well, then, let’s have a look,” Pete said. “I’ve had a little experience with generators in the past.” Although I would never admit it aloud, having him there with me made me feel a little better, and it had absolutely nothing to do with his generator experience. With all the things that had gone wrong in the past few hours, I was glad to have another witness there to convince me that I wasn’t going crazy.

  I inserted my key to the maintenance room door with a shaky hand. Fortunately for me, Pete had brought a flashlight along.

  He directed the beam of light into the dark room as I opened the door. I think both of us immediately realized why the generator hadn’t kicked in as it was built to do once the light reflected back from the machine’s polished surface.

  Something (and I use that word knowingly) had demolished the generator. Deep gashes ripped through its metal side. It reminded me of the marks that a bear’s massive claws will leave on the bark of a tree.

  “Definitely not a malfunction,” Pete muttered, taking a hesitant step into the room. “This room been locked the entire time?”

  “Only the managers have a key.”

  “It looks like Freddy Krueger got a hold of that thing,” Pete said. “There’s no way we’re going to fix that.”

  I took the flashlight from him and knelt closer to the machine to examine it further.

  “Look at this,” I said, pulling a white feather out of the ragged metal.

  “So what?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, unsure of what this could possibly mean. It was strange enough that someone had gained access to the locked maintenance room given that there were only three of us with a key. It was even stranger still now that we saw the kind of damage that had been done.

  “Something supernatural did this,” I said, not caring what Pete thought of me. “When you consider everything else that’s going on around us, this has got to be the result of supernatural intervention.”

  “That gave me a thought,” Pete said. “I’m just not sure if I want to say it aloud.”

  “If you’ve got any idea what’s going on here, I want to know.”

  “I don’t have any concrete ideas about any of this. It just seems weird that Vera Weaver was speaking in tongues, the theoretical language of angels, and then we find a feather stuck in the wreckage of the broken generator.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that an angel is responsible for this?” I exclaimed. “I’ve been able to accept a lot of strange things thus far, but I’m not sure if I can swallow that explanation. Can’t you come up with something else?”

  “Sorry,” Pete sighed. “A fallen angel is the best answer I can come up with.”

  “Any other insights you care to share about this whole thing? Any lessons from Sunday School that might seem timely?”

  Pete hesitated. It was clear that there was something else on his mind, and he was uncertain whether or not to say it aloud.

  “Don’t hold back,” I said. “If you’ve got other information, no matter how crazy it seems, you need to let me know. At this point, none of us know what is going on. All we know is that it’s becoming more and more likely that we won’t survive. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s going to sound crazy,” Pete said, “but I’ll tell you anyway. Most Sundays when I went to church with my grandmother, I didn’t listen to anything the preacher said. There was one time, though, when he started talking about the end of the world and the Book of Revelations. That Sunday, I was riveted to my seat. I don’t remember everything he said that day, but I do remember one verse he read about seven angels pouring the wrath of God out of seven vials. Maybe that’s what is happening now. Maybe one of the seven angels poured out the contents of one of the vials.”

  “And we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?” I asked.

  Pete nodded. “Who’s to say that the contents of one of those vials couldn’t be some sort of chemically engineered germ?”

  I was busy considering Pete’s theory when I heard Chuck calling my name from the front of the store.

  “They’re looking for us,” I said. “We should get back. I don’t think we should mention what happened to the generator or your theory about the angel either.”

  “Agreed,” Pete said. “We’ll keep this under our hats. No need sending the group into a panic over something we can’t control. There’s enough stuff to worry about right now without adding another item to the list.”

  The group all watched us carefully as we walked down the ill-lit a
isle. “We both had to go to the men’s room,” I lied, hoping they would believe the excuse. Nobody said anything to the contrary, but I think a few of them thought the explanation was a little fishy.

  “Any new developments?” I asked, not really expecting that there would be.

  “There’s somebody in that restaurant over there,” Chuck said. “I saw them walk in front of the window.”

  “Really?” Pete asked.

  “Yeah, really,” Steven replied. “Watch.”

  It wasn’t long before the same shadowy figure passed in front of the restaurant window again, confirming what Chuck had said.

  “Why couldn’t we have gotten stuck in a restaurant instead of a home improvement store?” Steven asked. “At least then, we wouldn’t have had to worry about food for a while.”

  “Depends on how many people are inside,” Leland Kennedy spoke up. “They may be in the same shape as we are if you divide the amount of food they’ve got left by the amount of hungry mouths in need of feeding.”

  “We should try to get to them,” Ashley Richards spoke up, “see if they know any more than we do. Maybe they’ve got some answers.”

  Wayne Richards looked at his wife carefully. It was clear he was just as surprised by her suggestion as the rest of us were. “Are you stupid? It’s suicide to go outside. We’ve seen what can happen. You can go if you want to. I’m staying right here until help arrives.”

  “So we wait here until we starve to death?” Ashley asked, on the verge of tears again. Her lower lip quivered as she spoke. “We were supposed to have our whole lives ahead of us. We were supposed to have a family, kids, even grandkids someday. We were supposed to buy a house that we could call our own. We were supposed to fall asleep in each other’s arms for the next fifty years. How can we do that if we die here after a week or two?”

  It was clear that Wayne Richards didn’t have the answers. It was clear that he didn’t care either. Sadly, no one really expected him to.

  “I think Ashley’s right,” Leland spoke up. “We’re going to die either way. Might as well give it a shot while we’re still strong enough to fight for our lives. Maybe we could make some sort of containment suit out of trash bags. I saw it on a science-fiction movie once.”

  “I’ve got some more air masks in hardware,” Chuck said. “The kind with a strong microfilter. I’ve got thick rubber gloves and boots too. Those might do the trick.”

  “Whoever goes should take a walkie-talkie. It’s not more than a couple hundred yards to the restaurant. We shouldn’t have any trouble communicating over that distance.”

  “So who is going to be the one to risk their life?” I asked. It was clear nobody had thought about that part of the deal.

  “I’ll go,” Leland Kennedy said. “I’m the oldest. I’m the one who’s lived his life and enjoyed the good times. If anybody should take the chance, it should be me. I’ve got the least left to lose.”

  Although we should have argued with the old guy, he was right. The rest of us still had a lot of good years left provided that we made it out of this situation alive.

  “I’ll go round up the stuff,” Chuck said.

  About ten minutes later Chuck returned with a shopping cart full of supplies: duct tape, garbage bags, boots, gloves, an air mask, goggles, and a two-way radio along with a bagful of batteries.

  “Go ahead and wrap me up,” Leland said. “I’m ready to do this. Who knows? Maybe I’ll actually make it over there without turning into a food additive.”

  We couldn’t help but laugh at that as we started covering every exposed inch of Leland Kennedy in plastic. When we finished he looked like a futuristic mummy. He walked like one too.

  “This getup feels like I’m wearing cardboard. I should have asked for the designer version.”

  Before any of us could say any words of encouragement or thanks, Ashley Richards kissed the old man on the cheek. The cheek was covered in plastic, but the gesture wasn’t lost in the translation.

  “Thank you for what you’re doing,” she said. “Even if it doesn’t work, you are one of the bravest men I’ve ever met.”

  “Don’t cry for me yet, missy,” Leland rasped through the air mask. “If I make it back alive, you’re going to cook supper for me one night.”

  “I’m still learning to cook,” Ashley confessed.

  “Fine. You can buy me dinner then. But be warned I’m a healthy eater.”

  “Deal,” she said.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” Leland said. “Now, how do I work this walkie-talkie thing?”

  “Just push the button on the side and speak into the receiver,” Chuck explained. “I gave you a lot of extra batteries so we can talk freely once you get to the restaurant.”

  “You’ve got a lot of faith in me,” Leland said.

  “You’re all we’ve got,” Chuck replied.

  “Well here goes nothing,” Leland sighed, pushing the doors open. Steven and I closed them almost before the old man could get out.

  I think all of us expected him to turn to dust at any minute. But he didn’t. Not after the first step. Not after the tenth step. About halfway to the restaurant he even turned and waved at us to show us he was O.K.

  “Talk to him, Chuck,” I said.

  “What’s it like out there?” Chuck asked as the radio crackled and popped.

  “It’s kind of like walking through a graveyard at midnight,” Leland replied. Given the nature of the dust that was swirling around him out there, the analogy wasn’t that far off base.

  “Does everything feel O.K.?” Chuck asked.

  “Everything’s fine,” Leland said. “I just hope they’ll let me in once I get there. I could use a good steak right now. That sandwich didn’t do the trick.”

  “We hope so too,” Chuck replied. “Eat one for us once you get there.”

  “Roger that.”

  After a few more seconds Leland reached the front door of the dark restaurant. At first it seemed as though we might have been mistaken about there being other people inside. Then the door swung open quickly and Leland was pulled in.

  “Made it,” Leland exclaimed as the two-way radio squealed and sputtered.

  We all looked at each other and smiled. The fact that he had survived meant that there was hope for all of us.

  Wayne Richards, however, didn’t share our enthusiasm.

  “He’s in on it,” he said. “Whatever the terrorists have planned, that old codger is in on it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Pete asked him.

  “Think about this logically. It was his idea to go out there. So far he’s the only one who hasn’t disintegrated in front of our eyes. And the only reason he can give for wanting to be the sacrificial lamb is because he’s lived longer than the rest of us? Please. He may be old, but that doesn’t mean he’s just going to play the role of martyr for a bunch of strangers he doesn’t know.”

  This time it was Ashley’s turn to wheel on him. “Why do you always have to be negative about everything? You think it’s impossible that someone could be so unselfish because it’s something you would never consider.”

  “It’s got to be something biological,” Wayne Richards said, ignoring his wife. “Maybe Leland Kennedy is the one who released the contagion. He certainly seems to know how to survive with it flying all around us. For all we know, we could have already breathed the stuff in. Maybe walking out of here like he did was his way of escaping. Or maybe he’s been inoculated against the virus and is just putting on a show to make us think he’s afraid of the air.”

  None of us were convinced. Maybe it was because Wayne was the one presenting the argument. Or maybe it was simply because we didn’t want to believe that Leland Kennedy might be capable of the things Wayne was suggesting. Either way, Wayne didn’t have our vote on the matter.

  “Just because Leland didn’t turn to dust doesn’t necessarily mean he had anything to do with it,” I said. “Maybe it was God’s will for him to stay alive. For a
ll we know he could have gone out there in nothing but his birthday suit and made it. You seem awfully ready to discount God in all of this, and maybe he’s the only thing that’s kept us alive so far.”

  “But we don’t know that either,” Wayne said. “All we’ve got to go on right now is the fact that Leland was wearing the suit and that he survived. The two are linked in my opinion.”

  “We’re not listening to your opinion anymore,” Pete said. “Whether you like it or not, God is definitely involved here. Think about Vera Weaver speaking in tongues. That definitely shows some level of divine intervention.”

  “Little kids never do stop wanting to believe in Santa Claus,” Wayne said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I guess this is sort of the same thing.”

  “It’s a non-issue at this point,” I grumbled. “We haven’t gotten to the stage where we all wrap ourselves in plastic and pray to the Almighty and run outside with the hope that we don’t turn to dust. That comes later. I think we should wait a little while longer and see what Leland does first. Then we make further decisions and evaluations.”

  “I agree,” Chuck said. He held the two-way radio up to his face. “Leland?”

  But Leland didn’t reply. Chuck adjusted one of the knobs on the radio and spoke again. Leland still didn’t answer.

  “What’s going on?” Wayne Richards asked.

  I glared at him. “You know the same things we know.”

  Wayne shrugged his shoulders and peered out the window. “I still see movement in the restaurant.”

  “That doesn’t mean the movements are Leland’s,” I reminded him.

  Chuck tried talking to the old man a few more times before giving up. None of us were quite sure what had happened. But the fact that Leland had stopped communicating with us was a bad sign.

  “See, I told you,” Wayne gloated. “Now that Leland’s away from us, he can expose his true colors. I was right.”

  Wayne was still trying to convince us that his theory about Leland Kennedy was valid when another explosion shook the back of the store.