Raul and Eric are outside roasting the last of our frozen meat over the open flame. The smell of sausage links and flank steak greets my nose, and my stomach rumbles.
“That smells so good,” I say. “Is there enough for me?”
“There’s enough for everybody,” says Eric. “Your mom said we might as well cook everything; we don’t have any way of keeping the meat cold. She said it’s all just going to spoil.”
“Eric and I have already eaten a ton of it,” says Raul. “Help yourself. The steak is really good, and there are a few tortillas if you want to wrap your meat.”
The boys have a couple of forks sitting to the side, so I grab one and stab a piece of meat. Hot, savory juices explode in my mouth, and I smile.
“Here I was thinking that today was going to be a bad day, and you two have changed everything.”
“Fill up, Mya,” says Eric. “My dad’s planning to take some of the extra food into town. He says there are a lot of people who don’t have anything to eat. The school wasn’t badly damaged, so the cafeteria has been converted to a sort of ‘soup kitchen’ for those in need.”
“Are you going with him?” I ask.
Using his tongue to remove a piece of meat from his front teeth, he mumbles a denial.
“We’re gonna walk down to the road in a bit,” says Raul. “Wanna join us?”
Taking a link of sausage, I turn to Raul and nod. “Ok, sure,” I say, “are we going into town?”
“No, we’re still supposed to stay here. Pa said a lot of people are leaving town and heading toward some of the bigger cities, like San Antonio. They’ll have to pass down the main highway, so Eric and I thought we’d check out who all is leaving.”
A bit confused, I frown. “Why are they going to San Antonio? That’s where all the rioting is. Things can’t be any better there, can they?”
“San Antonio is a huge city with a ton of backup generators,” says Eric. “Dad says the nearby refinery will have gas, so it’s possible the living conditions won’t be so rustic for a while.”
He looks at Raul and raises his eyebrows. “But we were just saying that if the power is out for months, Harrow is the better place to be. Like you said, San Antonio’s got rioting. With over a million people living there, it’s bound to turn ugly.”
◌◌◌
Another hour passes before the boys and I finish cooking up the rest of the meat. Kat and her family offer a short greeting and grab a bite before heading into town. Mrs. Miller wants to see the damage to the neighborhood, and all four of them want to look for anything that might have been spared from the flames.
“Wish us luck,” says Kat. “If I find anything that belongs to me, I’ll be so happy.”
Raising my hand and crossing my fingers, I call out, “Luck!” Then I run over and give my friend a big hug. Before returning to the firepit, I give her arm a light squeeze. “Even if you don’t find anything, remember that everything that’s mine is also yours.”
With a sad smile, she climbs into the car and shuts the door, just as Emily emerges from the barn.
Carrying several plastic bags, Eric’s sister approaches the boys. “Dad wants half of the meat put in these bags and loaded into the truck. He and Mr. DeLaPortilla are going to stop by the school and check in at the hospital.”
I watch Kat’s family drive off and then turn toward the fire, stab a piece of steak, and hand it to Emily. “Have you eaten any of this? It’s really good…it may be awhile before we get anymore good meat.”
With tongue in cheek, Eric adds, “But don’t worry, Em. Any rats we catch, I’ll be sure to share with you.”
A sarcastic curl lifts her lip, and she responds, “Oh, are you into cannibalism now?” Stepping toward the pit, she grabs a second slice, squints at her brother, and heads back into the barn.
Once the bags are filled, we cross over to the truck and meet up with the men. Two of the large plastic barrels filled with water are sitting in the bed of the truck, along with some of our extra blankets and lamps.
“We may be gone most of the day,” says Mr. Eisenbeis, as he hops in the passenger seat. “Look after your mom and sister.”
“We’ll be fine, Dad,” says Eric. “Come get us if you need more help.”
Dust kicks up behind the vehicle as it rolls down the rocky path. The three of us watch silently, until the truck can no longer be seen.
With hands on my hips, I turn to the guys. “Let’s move the rest of the meat to the far edge of the fire, so it stays warm. Even if it dries out, we can still eat it later. Then let’s head down to the road.”
◌◌◌
The sound of souped-up engines racing down the street reaches our ears long before we can see any cars.
“Somebody’s putting on a show,” I say, shuffling my feet along the dirt and rocks. “That seems dumb. Plus, it’s a waste of gas.”
“That may not be any of our neighbors,” says Eric. “Remember what we were told about strangers in town. My dad said they’ve been harassing people and stealing food and supplies. We should be careful.”
We reach the road just in time to see two large trucks barreling past and driving toward the center of town. A quick glimpse reveals faces I don’t recognize, but soon after, people I do know appear.
The procession heading out of town is small and sporadic. Most stop and chat with us before continuing on their way. Some are in cars, some are on bikes, and a few are on foot. We have a 24-pack of water bottles with us, and we give a bottle to anyone in need.
As I wave goodbye to one of my classmates, I hear Eric gasp in surprise. I turn around and see that he’s sprinting down the road. Louisa Mendez, the town librarian, and her family have just come into sight.
Over the years, Mrs. Mendez has helped students with English papers, science projects, and history reports. She’s a central figure of our town, and Eric has always been fond of her.
I watch as he extends his hand to her husband and then takes the handle to the wagon being pulled. A toddler, surrounded by a blanket and water bottles, sits quietly in the tow. A second child wears a huge grin and sits atop her father’s shoulders. The severity of the situation is unknown to her.
As the family approaches, a white Corvette guns its engine and powers down the road. Behind the driver’s wheel, Patrick Hastings sits leisurely in its red leather seats. Beside him, Miguel Fernandez hangs his head out the passenger-side window, like a Beagle with its tongue flapping in the wind.
The car slows slightly and swerves toward Raul and me. Miguel throws his hands out the window and screams, “Aahhhh!”
Raul and I leap backward and tumble into the roadside ditch. Furious, I jump up and run to the road. Standing on the tips of my toes, I reach my hand into the air and shake my fist. “Idiots!” I scream.
The sound of feet pounding down the road draws my attention, and I turn to see Eric running up. “Are you ok?” he says, reaching up to pull something from my hair.
“Can you believe that?!” I ask. A sneer forms on my face as I motion with my chin to the duo who just drove past. “Jerks.”
I look behind me and see that the Corvette has spun around 180 degrees and is once again bearing down on us.
“Mya, move!” shouts Raul as he climbs from the ditch and starts toward me.
“I refuse to be cowed by them,” I reply and stand my ground.
Eric grabs my arm and pulls. “Mya,” he says, “don’t be stupid. Move off the road.”
The car continues to approach, but suddenly slams on its breaks. Very slowly, Patrick drives up beside me and stops.
The driver’s side window rolls down, and I lock eyes with the imbecile behind the wheel.
“Well, well, well,” he says, while laughing and sweeping his blonde hair out of his eyes. “Mya Bernal. I thought that was you. Wasn’t quite sure with all the dirt and grass all over you.”
The car engine shuts off, and Patrick opens his door. Expensive leather boots hit the asphalt and walk over t
o me. “If you can manage to clean yourself up, Mya, I might be interested in taking you for a little ride.”
Miguel jumps from the passenger seat and runs around the back of the Corvette to stand beside his crony. “Oye, Mya,” he sings out to me. Then placing one hand on his stomach and the other in the air, he thrusts his hips forward and says, “Vamos a bailar, Amorcito…Let’s dance.”
From behind me, a low voice growls out, “I don’t think so.” Although he’s a year younger than the two seniors, Raul’s height and width make him an intimidating force. His hand gently grasps my arm and pulls me to his side. “Get back in your car and go home, guys,” he says.
Ignoring Raul, Patrick raises his eyebrows at me. “Mya? What do you say?”
I don’t like him, so I snap, “I may have a little dirt on me right now, Patrick, but you’ll always be a pig…it’s too bad that your daddy isn’t keeping you penned anymore. We have enough problems without having to deal with all your antics again.”
His straight white teeth shimmer in the light when he smiles, “Like the Bible says, ‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.’ I’m just living life according to the scriptures.” With that brief retort, he returns to his car and sits down.
“Same with me,” Miguel adds, and he slowly walks back to the passenger side. Before opening the door, he glares at me, waggles his tongue back and forth, and kisses the air.
I approach Patrick’s window and lean in. “It also says, ‘There will be a time for every activity and a time to judge every deed.’ ”
I put my elbows on his window frame and continue, “You don’t care about anyone but yourself, and you’ll have to face the consequences. Your daddy was right to lock you and your friends away.”
With one final frown, I blink my eyes and turn my back. After my first step, Patrick calls out to me. “Better watch your back, Mya. There’s already two girls dead.”
I spin around quickly. “Are you threatening me, Patrick?” I take a step toward him. “Do the police need to have a little chat with you? You know, I’m suddenly realizing that you fit the profile of a psychotic killer. I think Mr. Miller might want to talk to you.”
“Bring him on,” says Patrick. “I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”
Giving him my back again, I walk away from the car and cross to where the Mendez family is standing.
Eric and Raul follow, and Patrick drives off. Silently, I watch as the Corvette nears the turn in the road. Taking a couple of steps away from the others, I covertly give Patrick the middle finger and grumble under my breath, “You and your stupid car. I hope your tires blow out.”
A tremor runs across my hand, and my finger tingles. I start to look down, when a loud “bang” sounds. My mouth drops open, and I watch in amazement as the Corvette skids and squeals into the grass. Like a white whale rising from the ocean, the car surges from the ditch, flips over and slams to the ground.
My eyes go round, and I freeze in place. Being the good guys that they are, Raul, Eric, and Mr. Mendez rush past me and down the street.
I turn toward the librarian and ask, “Did you see that?”
“No,” she says. “We were all talking. I hope the boys are ok. They were driving so recklessly.”
“They weren’t even at the curve yet,” I say. “I wonder what happened.”
As we watch, two cars approach and stop to help. Raul and Mr. Mendez pull Patrick from the window, as Eric and the newcomers help Miguel.
I watch Patrick trudge to the rear of his car, and I squeeze my lips together as his indignant yells reach my ears. With his right foot, he kicks the trunk and pounds his fists along the exposed underside.
Raul and the others stand helplessly as the tantrum continues. After a couple of minutes, Patrick and Miguel climb into one of the other vehicles and are taken back into town.
My friends and Mr. Mendez return saying that the boys were a bit rattled, but they weren’t hurt. A good Samaritan is taking them to the Hastings’ home.
The driver of the first car pulls up to our group and asks where we’re all headed. Eric explains that we three are not leaving, and Mr. Mendez says his mom and sister live in Poteet. Since they’re all traveling in the same direction, the librarian’s family wishes us well, climbs into the car, and heads out of town.
Raul, Eric, and I pick up our few remaining bottles of water and decide to return to the barn. It’s been a long afternoon, and this last bit of excitement has worn us all out.
“Well Mya, you’re full of surprises,” says Eric.
Unsure of what he’s referring to, I pause and look questioningly at him.
Smiling, he claps me on the back and says, “I didn’t know you can quote Bible scripture.”
We begin walking again, and after a few minutes of silence, I ask, “What happened? Did Patrick hit something in the road?”
Raul shifts the water bottles he’s carrying, and chills run up my arms as he answers. “He didn’t hit anything. It was just bum luck, I guess. Both of his back tires blew.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Another day means another search through the food bags.
Pastries and fruit are the easiest items available, so I grab a partially-blackened banana and step outside into the sunlight.
Emily is sitting under the large oak tree, and I decide to join her.
“Any plans today?” I ask, as I sit and peel one side of my breakfast.
“My parents are heading into town in a few minutes.”
“Are you going with them?”
Emily picks up a twig and snaps it. “Yeah, mom wants me to go into the hospital.”
“What’ll you do there?” I ask and then take a big bite.
“I’m not really sure,” she says. “On Saturdays, I usually volunteer by answering the help desk phone and directing visitors. I know my way around pretty well. I guess I’ll do whatever someone tells me to do.”
Anything sounds better than staying here and falling victim to another one of my mother’s labor-intensive chores. Before taking another bite, I ask, “Can I go too?”
She seems quite surprised by my request, but responds with a grin. “Really? That’d be great!”
I spring to my feet. “Let me go tell my mom and wash my hands. How long do you think we’ll be gone?”
The morning sun shines in her squinting eyes as she looks up at me. Her eyebrows and shoulders rise at the same time. “It just depends on how much help is needed. It may be all day.” She blinks and looks down at the ground. “It’s ok if you don’t want to go.”
I shake the hand holding the now empty banana peel. “Oh, I’m going. I just need to let my mom know I may be back late.”
◌◌◌
Mr. Eisenbeis doesn’t seem to mind the gravel rocks on the driveway throwing dirt everywhere and pummeling the underside of his Ford Explorer. I noticed several dents and scratches in the deep green paint when Emily and I climbed into the back seat. I suppose he doesn’t fret over maintenance issues the same way that my mom does.
We finally reach the end of the drive, make a right turn, and head toward town. The hospital is on the opposite side of Harrow, and the journey gives us a few minutes to scan the flare’s damage.
Main Street looks like the set of a disaster movie, minus the cameras and crew. A residual gray smoke hangs in the air. Entire neighborhood blocks are void of anything but rubble. Large concrete slabs with protruding metal poles and pipes sit covered in blackened debris. A bicycle skeleton leans against a charred vehicle, and the chains from a child’s swing set hang without seats. Most of the fires have burned out; however, there’s still a bit of activity toward the western edge of town.
Cleanup efforts have begun, but it’s a big job and may take months to clear. Mr. Eisenbeis says that the land just south of town is being used as a dumping area for much of the trash and unusable items.
We approach Espada Street, and I see all the charred debris and broken windows from the e
xplosion Saturday morning. The transformer must have been located just beneath the walkway leading into the Quickie Mart, for nothing remains of the ice house that once provided this neighborhood with snacks and drinks.
Harrow’s Medical Center is located in a large concrete area with very few trees. Only one of the three buildings shows any ruin from fire, and the main facility appears completely undamaged. We cut across a side street and approach the hospital from the north. A few people are milling about outside, but things aren’t as I’d imagined. I lean toward the front seat to get Mr. Eisenbeis’ attention.
“I’m surprised that the hospital seems so empty. From everything I heard, I expected a lot more casualties.”
“Most of the injured arrived Sunday morning. The fire department is still combing the area for victims, but they don’t expect to find many more. I think a lot of people headed out of town or…were killed.”
The thought of encountering a dead body sends a chill up my arms, and I shiver. Looking at the nearby houses, I frown as I ask, “What do they do with the bodies?”
“I’m not sure,” he says. “I expect they’ll have to dig mass graves. I don’t think the charred remains are a biological hazard, but any of the decomposing bodies need to be removed quickly to avoid attracting wild animals or contaminating the underground water supply. We’re already concerned about the amount of water we have; we don’t want to have to be worried about the quality of that water too.”
A sudden clearing of a throat causes Mr. Eisenbeis to stop talking. “There’s no sense in going into all of that,” lectures his wife. “You’ll just scare the girls.”
“They’re big girls, honey, and they need to be prepared. If the rest of the world has been affected as bad as Harrow, these girls are going to have to grow up pretty quickly.”
Emily and I turn, look at each other, and grimace, just as Mr. Eisenbeis parks the car. Then we each open the car doors and step out.
◌◌◌
The first thing I notice when we enter the hospital reception area is the coolness from the air conditioner. The emergency lights are on, and the intercom system is working. The backup generator must be functioning as intended.
SURGE Page 8
