by Dana Fraser
Blinking away the threat of tears, she angled her head until it matched her mother's stubborn tilt. Bypassing Eleanor, she went into the kitchen where her two children were eating breakfast. Gabby was closest and she bent down to kiss the seven-year-old's cheek before she moved on to Jason.
"All of this only works when we make every penny count," Marie called out to remind her mother. "It's the end of the month, that means double coupons and my last chance to use up the fuel points before they expire."
"If the pumps are working," Eleanor cautioned.
"Hank has hand pumps — at least if the EPA hasn’t shut him down in the last two weeks.”
Kneeling alongside the table, she kissed her five-year-old son before whispering in his ear. "What is rule number one?"
His mouth turned down before answering.
"Don't touch the guns."
Marie shot a look at Gabby, who nodded dutifully in silent assurance that she would help keep her little brother in check and keep her own small hands off the shotgun.
"At least take your car instead," Eleanor pleaded. "You know Cash keeps your vehicle running better than his own."
Sighing, Marie stood and walked over to her mother, planting one last kiss before turning toward the front door. "Mae will have the post office open for a little while at least. The solar panels Cash ordered might be in and I don't think they'll fit in my trunk. And Hank'll let me use my points to fill the five gallon containers since I'll still be under twenty-five gallons."
"You won't be able to call if anything happens," Eleanor protested.
Her hand resting on the front door handle, Marie paused and looked over her shoulder. "Nothing is going to happen, mama."
Noticing the flood of doubt and worry in her mother's gaze, Marie marched over to the ottoman, unzipped her backpack and lowered it so Eleanor could see the Sig Sauer P238 resting at the bottom, the red Cerakote grip making it easy to spot in the bag's shadowy interior.
It had hurt like hell pulling the lockbox down from the top of her closet and retrieving the pistol. The sick feeling she always got around guns was multiplied by the need she felt to take it into town. But they had gathered enough information listening to the regular radio stations still running and all the chatter on the CB to know the phones and power were out for hundreds of miles around them. Even the landlines were supposedly dead.
Eleanor grabbed Marie's wrist. "If you're carrying that, then you know you should stay home."
Gently extracting her arm from her mother's grip, Marie shook her head and lied. "It was my backup plan to stop you from arguing with me, mama. Be reasonable. They are going to slash the prices on anything they need to keep refrigerated and then they will close up until the power comes back on — which it will."
Tilting her chin down, Marie used the stony stare she had tamed so many high schoolers with back in Louisville before half her life had ended with her husband's death.
"Be careful," Eleanor said, relenting at last. With a nod toward the backpack, she offered a final caution before Marie could leave.
“If it comes down to it, don't hesitate."
Easing onto the chair, Eleanor watched her daughter drive off in the white Ford F250 Cash had purchased used two years ago for hauling stuff around the homestead. A 2005 model, it was older than either of her grandkids, but it had four-wheel drive and a lift kit that made it good for getting around the back acres of the homestead.
When it wanted to run.
Eleanor sipped at her tea and tried not to think about everything that could go wrong in town. In her mid-thirties, Marie was still a fine looking woman with an athletic body. She didn't leave it to her baby brother to handle all the backbreaking work on the property. She had helped him frame out the greenhouse and clear another five acres of trees for seeding. She had stacked just as many logs and hoed just as many rows as Cash.
Putting the teacup down, Eleanor struggled to stand, her cheeks turning red with effort. When she was sure she had her balance, she reached for the shotgun and carried it into her bedroom. Placing the weapon across her bed, she sat down on the mattress then lowered herself onto the floor, the left knee planted and the right leg thrust behind her.
She rubbed at a spot halfway down the thigh of the extended leg. Fall had barely begun but it was going to be a short one and the winter that followed would be brutal, even for their part of Tennessee. Her bones told her so. She only hoped a hard winter was all her family would have to deal with.
Bringing her hands together, her elbows resting on the bed, she bent her head and prayed.
Dear Lord, if you see fit, if we are now entering a time of great reckoning, do not let me be a burden to my children.
Hearing the hinges creak on her door, she paused.
Little Gabby stepped carefully over Eleanor's leg to stand at the foot of the bed.
"You're not supposed to be on the ground, Nana Nori," Gabby said, practicing her mother's stern stare.
Suppressing a smile, Eleanor lifted bushy eyebrows at her granddaughter. "I was saying my prayers, little one. Even a king must humble himself when speaking to the Lord."
Torn between multiple authorities, the little girl frowned but repeated the admonition.
"You're not supposed to be on the ground. Mama said so."
"Go and get my cane, then."
She waited until Gabby started on the errand then bent her head in prayer once more.
They're stubborn, Lord, like their mother. But they need you. Please keep them safe. Love them as I have taught them to love You. Amen.
Marie hit the post office first, catching Mae as she was about to close up the lobby. The solar panels were in and the semi-retired postal worker let Marie use the handcart to get the heavy boxes out to the truck.
"Have you been by the Piggly Wiggly?" Mae asked as Marie returned the cart to the loading dock of the post office.
"Just to see that the parking lot was full. I was betting on the panels being in, then hitting the deli before Piggly Wiggly."
"Good bet on the panels," Mae smiled. "My niece called a few minutes before you showed up and said the Kroger out by Fort Campbell was already running out of a few things. The poor dear was in tears..."
Hearing Mae's voice trail off, Marie focused her attention on the woman's face. Mae offered a weak smile. Fort Campbell was home to the 101st Airborne Division and the 160th Special Aviation Operations Division. The niece in question was married to a helicopter pilot — one of the “Night Stalkers" as they were called because of the timing of most of their missions.
"I heard some chatter on the CB that more than a few ‘birds’ were up in the air last night."
Mae pressed her lips into a thin line. If the niece had said anything about her husband's unit mobilizing, Mae wasn't going to repeat the information.
"Thank you for letting me get the panels," Marie said, moving in to lightly wrap her arms around the woman. "And for the use of the hand truck."
"Stay safe, dear," Mae said, locking the back door. "And stay out of town until this all clears up. There won't be anything left on the shelves you can't live without."
Marie responded with a polite, non-binding, nod as she climbed up into the cab of the truck. Backing the truck away from the woman, Marie’s chest tightened as she caught a glimpse of Mae wiping at one cheek.
"God," she whispered, leaving the lot and pointing her truck in the direction of the deli. "Please don't let it be as bad as mama and Mae think it is."
Reaching the deli, her spirits sank a little lower. The parking lot was empty, a CLOSED sign duct taped across the front doors and written in black Sharpie on cardboard.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the crowded lot of Piggly Wiggly, the parking situation deceptive as most of the people were in line already with their carts overflowing. Grabbing the last cart, she headed for dairy and meats.
Even if she left the store without a single piece of food, Marie knew the family would be okay for months, with the
menu only slightly lacking in variety. They had their own stocked pond, the greenhouse, the fields and another twenty acres of nut bearing trees. The cold cellar was stocked with plenty of dry and canned goods, and the two freezers running on the original solar panels Cash had installed were loaded with wild game. Cash would fill the units with more game when he got back.
Marie closed her eyes, her head suddenly full of helium as a tremor of panic ran through her. Shaking and uncertain of her balance, she reached blindly for the open freezer chest she had stopped in front of. Neither she nor her mother had heard from Cash since the morning after his truck broke down in Madison when he was trying to get a ride to Chicago. He had intended to find a load that would bring him south. As it was, she didn’t know if he had even reached Chicago.
"He'll make it back," she whispered. He had promised to help raise her kids, solemnly delivering the vow across her dead husband's casket that he would always put family first.
Sensing she was no longer alone among the leftover tripe and cow's tongue, Marie opened her eyes to find Amanda Petty staring daggers in her direction. Cold drizzled down her body as the emaciated sixty-two year old stumbled toward her.
A walking cliché, Amanda Petty wore a snakeskin mini-skirt, her hand clutching a purse with the same print. Sooty circles that would embarrass a raccoon ringed Amanda’s eyes, her lipstick just as smudged and powder caked into the lines of her face.
“Marie Lodge, as I live and breathe,” Amanda growled.
Cursing herself for leaving the backpack zipped, Marie placed her hand on the bag without trying to look obvious. Amanda kept her gaze locked on Marie's face as she closed in. Marie put a hand up, blocking Amanda from butting into her chest. The smell of alcohol hung in the air.
No surprise, Amanda Petty was drunk.
"Happy with ya'self, slut?" she asked, jabbing a sharp-tipped finger against Marie's collarbone. "Whole country is going to hell and I ain't got my boy to take care of me."
Marie grabbed the woman's wrist, flattened her forearm against Amanda's chest and slowly pushed her away. Wobbling on the high-heeled boots she wore, Amanda started to dig in her purse.
"Ya couldn't keep your mouth shut," she shrieked. “Now I’m gonna shut it for you."
Marie yanked the zipper open on her bag, jammed her hand inside and wrapped her fingers around the Sig's grip. Thumbing off the safety as she drew the weapon toward her, she froze as Amanda's hand emerged holding a Virginia Slim. Gnarled fingers dipped into the purse a second time and came up with a lighter.
Staggering as she lit the cigarette, Amanda crashed into Marie's cart.
Marie's heart hammered against the back of her ribs. Her thoughts were a collision of Cash's instructions on using the handgun and her mother's final words.
Finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot, Sis.
Don't hesitate.
"Amanda Lynn Petty, you know you can't smoke that in here!"
The voice belonged to Deputy Bill Riddle.
Marie eased the safety on and let the Sig slide deeper into her bag. Cash had been trying to get her comfortable with shooting on the Smith & Wesson .22LR Victory that he used for target practice, but whether it was the Sig or the smaller caliber Victory, she had to put the pistol down around the sixth shot, which was when she usually started feeling the need to close her eyes while her finger was squeezing the trigger.
So she hadn’t been able to complete the official class and range test for a license to conceal carry.
"Here's ya boyfriend, come to rescue his lady fair!" Amanda rolled the hand holding the cigarette in a drunken attempt at a royal wave. Trying to curtsey at the same time, she staggered hard into the glass door of the milk display.
Marie closed the zipper on her bag and steered the cart in the opposite direction as Deputy Riddle and the new store manager came down the aisle.
"Told you she was drunk," the man said. "She cussed me out good and snubbed her last cigarette out on a tomato."
"You here to get your reward from this slut?" Amanda asked, jabbing a finger in Marie's direction. "She let you inside them uptight panties for putting my boy away?"
She screamed the question at the deputy, the spray of her saliva leaving dark spots on his pressed uniform. Without a word, he sidestepped the woman's outstretched hand, grabbed her wrist, and quickly swung her so that the front of Amanda’s torso was pressed against the glass door. By the time she actually came into contact with the glass, he had captured her second hand and had both behind her back.
Reaching along his utility belt, Deputy Riddle unhooked his handcuffs and clicked one cuff around Amanda's wrist. "Amanda Lynn Petty, you are under arrest for disturbing the peace—"
"Trespassing, too," the manager interrupted.
The lawman cut a look at the store manager, silencing the man as he clicked the second handcuff in place.
"You and that slut are under arrest!" Amanda screeched. "You think I don't know what both ya'll were up to, what kinda things she did for you to put Banker away again? I know!"
Living on nothing more than alcohol and tobacco, Amanda wriggled one skeletal wrist out of Deputy Riddle's cuffs.
He jammed a hard elbow against the center of her back, preventing her from twisting out of his hold. Then he reached into his pocket and came up with a looped set of cable ties. He wrestled one of her wrists in then the other and tightened down the ties.
"Your boy violated parole," he growled. "If you had so much as a pot to piss in, I'd sue you for slander."
"I own my place, I own my place!" she screeched, purposefully slamming her head against the glass freezer door. “You are under arrest for false imprisonment! You and your slut!”
Riddle curled his hand around her forehead as she reared back to slam it again. Wheeling the drunken woman into the center of the aisle, he nodded at the manager.
"I already got her for disturbing the peace. Once I get her to take a Breathalyzer or get blood drawn, I got her on drunk in public.”
"I ain't drunk in public you lying slab of bacon!” she yelled. "I'm drunk in the Piggly Wiggly."
Amanda burped, her body listing forward and her face going slack so that Marie thought the woman was going to hurl all over the store’s clean white floor.
"You want to press charges on the trespass or...uh...vandalizing your tomatoes, you're gonna have to come down to the station."
"I'll be over as soon as the store closes," the manager said, wagging a finger at the suddenly subdued Amanda Lynn Petty.
"I need to list you as a witness, Mrs. Lodge," Riddle said, his gaze careful not to land on Marie for more than a few seconds. "She do anything you want to press charges on?"
"No," Marie answered without hesitation. She wanted to get home to her family, not spend time down at the sheriff's station with a gun in her purse she wasn't supposed to be carrying around.
"Send me away!" Amanda yelled. "Send me away, you slut! Put me with my boy."
"Please, just get her out of here," Marie begged. "I need to get home to my family."
Without another word, Riddle dragged Amanda off. As they disappeared around the corner, the manager walking behind them, Marie heard more shouting, this time a man's voice. More raised voices joined the first. Marie looked around, dismayed by how little was left. If people were starting to fight, it was best she leave without additional delay. She'd already managed to get the most important items — the full gas tank, extra fuel and the solar panels.
Leaving the cart in the aisle, she hurried toward the front of the store. Riddle had Amanda secured to a Little Debbie snack stand while he wrestled a giant of a man onto the floor. Marie kept walking. Guilt knotted in her chest, but her need to take care of her family was like a hand against the small of her back propelling her away from the ugly mob forming at the checkout lanes.
Free of the store, she ran to the truck, sweat dotting her face despite it being the last day of September. Jumping into the cab, she slammed the door, locked
it then jammed the key into the ignition. Backing out of the space, she heard glass shattering.
She jerked her head left to see one of the store's front windowpanes broken, a cash register in pieces on the ground. A woman burst through the door, pushing a shopping cart, none of the items bagged and the store manager running after her.
Marie pulled hard on the steering wheel then straightened it, her foot hitting the gas as a body went through the hole the cash register had left. Driving too fast for a parking lot, she eased off the accelerator for a second before her mother's words came back to her.
Don't hesitate.
Chapter Five
The driver of a 1965 Chevy C30 flatbed truck dropped Cash off at an Effingham truck stop a little after sunset. At least a few decades older than his vehicle, the driver hadn't let Cash into the cab of the truck even though the passenger seat was empty. Instead, Cash had been forced to push two pouches of tobacco through the back window then lay flat and hold onto the raised edges of the bed's frame for the forty plus miles from Arcola to Effingham, his backpack alternating between serving as an anchor and a sail.
It was his third and last ride of the day, and he was out of the loose tobacco he'd bought in Champaign to use as an alternate form of currency for those who had figured out that the twenties remaining in his wallet were nothing more than paper. Anything else he bartered with would have to come from the supplies in his pack meant to last him the trip home.
Climbing off the truck, his legs immobile for the last hour as the old man had to slow down to avoid cars stalled along the road, Cash pitched forward. Both arms flailing, he managed to wrap his fingers around the edge of the truck bed for support.
The old man honked and revved the engine.
Cash pulled away, his mouth set in a grim line as the driver gunned it and peeled out of the lot, the dually's tires kicking up loose asphalt. Turning toward the station and the rows of stalled cars, Cash saw why the old man had been in such a hurry to leave. A dozen or so people approached where Cash had been dropped off.
