“How can there be so many in the hospital?” Stan swallowed. “There were only ten patients.”
“Ten live patients.” Miriam clarified. “When the power went out, anybody who was on a ventilator didn’t last long. And then the doctor and the police were moving the bodies they found over into the morgue.”
Stan nodded. “Yes, that’s where we took Milt and Ralph. I didn’t realize there had been so many. What are you doing with the new ones?”
Miriam sighed and lowered her head into her hands. “The men are going to dig graves when the ground thaws. We’re keeping a record of all the names if they have ID. Maybe someone will come looking for them.”
Stan put his spoon down and kissed the top of her head. “You did well, Honey.’
“Thank you.” She smiled up at his bearded face. “But it wasn’t just me. You can be proud of Danny. He’s been carrying wood to everybody who helped. Amanda has been organizing everybody, and anybody who has a vehicle has been driving around looking for bodies. The town has really come together for this.”
Danny blushed when his dad smiled approvingly in his direction.
Miriam sat up straighter and pulled her chair closer to the stove. “Okay, now tell us what you found.”
“Well, I went east.” Stan settled himself on a kitchen stool at the counter. “My idea was that those dumb kids would head for a city. The highway was covered in snow of course. I was sure thankful for the new tires. That old truck just kept purring along. I went to my parents and checked on them too.”
Danny ducked his head when his dad gave him a meaningful stare.
“They were glad to hear that their grandson had made it home okay. After he snuck out of there, they were worried sick. Uncle Tim went looking for him but gave up after a couple of kilometres. I guess he had more faith than Gramma and Grandpa. Anyway, they’re all fine. Holed up at the farm with a root cellar full of vegetables and a field full of cows. They gave me a box of potatoes and onions. The twins are growing like weeds. It was a good idea for Tim and Mo to go there.”
“Okay,” Miriam spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m glad they’re all okay and I get that we would have been better off there too. But how was the rest of the trip?”
“The same as the first part. I spent a lot of time checking cars and shovelling snow. I went as far as I could with the gas I had, and asked every person I saw if they had seen a young girl with red hair.” He sighed. “Nobody had.”
He didn’t add that some of the houses he checked were occupied by families who had not made it through the winter. Houses without fireplaces so the owners froze in their beds, or without food, so they starved. So many acreage homes did not have gardens or livestock to get them through more than a week. Young families dependent on grocery stores and central heat did not have the knowledge to survive. He would never erase from his mind the man he cut down from the rafters of his garage, while inside his wife and daughter lay frozen in a pool of their own blood. He could only pray that he never reached that level of despair.
Miriam watched as emotions played across her husband’s face. She knew him well enough to know that he was holding back. And she would not tell him of the things she was seeing every day while helping Amanda.
“Are you going out again?” Danny broke into their thoughts.
“I’ll go west this time.” Stan looked at his son. “As soon as I find more gas for the truck I’ll head out.”
“Not today though, right?”
Sensing his son’s concern, Stan ruffled his hair, realizing with a shock that he had to reach up. “Not today.” He agreed. “Today, I’ll look for more supplies and help you stockpile some more wood.”
Danny’s shoulders dropped in relief. “That’ll be good.” He said.
Chapter 25 – First Encounters
The sun was low in the east when Stan turned the key in the ignition. He hated to leave, but Miriam insisted. They were all exhausted; Danny from his woodcutting, Amanda and Miriam from the stress of managing the body pick up and Stan from trying to help them all. He had been home a mere two days. Gas had become harder to find now that people realized that their old vehicles would run. He had the pump and a couple of empty cans in the van and hoped to fill them from the stranded vehicles on the highway. He sighed as he put the truck into gear and drove slowly westward. He dreaded the prospect of stopping and viewing whatever or whoever was left in those stranded vehicles.
One of the men in town had attached a blade to his truck and cleared most of the streets making it much easier to navigate. He waved at Amanda who stood outside the police station talking to a group of men. They all turned to watch him drive by. He watched in the rear-view mirror as they dispersed. The young woman disappeared into the station.
Stan turned his eyes front. The two-lane highway stretched ahead, marked only by the occasional dark spot of exposed pavement. Snow had drifted against the line of trees giving him some idea of where the ditches started. The truck meandered drunkenly as he tried to avoid the biggest potholes.
He passed the turnoff to the beach. The narrow lane was completely hidden and only a gap in the trees indicated where it was. It brought memories flooding in, from when he had been a young man, hanging out at the beach with his friends, right up to a few summers ago when he had taken the family there for picnics. Where had the time gone? Suddenly Tara had been too busy with her own friends to spend time with her family. Then both kids had started part-time jobs, and before they knew it, it was too late. When the power went off in the middle of August, summer and all that went with it had skidded to a stop.
Stan was brought out of his reverie as the truck started to slide sideways. Damn, he had been so busy thinking about the past he hadn’t noticed the patch of ice in front of him. He forced himself to concentrate as the wheels straightened and he continued on his tentative way.
He passed a closed gate, the driveway beyond smooth and undisturbed since the last snowfall. A semi-truck was overturned, the driver’s door swinging back and forth. A car was pushed against its grill. He hoped the drivers had managed to escape. He didn’t stop. If they were still in there, it was way too late to help, and if they weren’t he would never know their fate.
He passed another side road. The wind had blown it clear of snow. He stopped the truck, considering. His mind was made up by a thin streak of smoke against the sky. Someone was home.
A gaunt scarecrow of a man was waiting on the front porch when he pulled into the yard. He held a rifle over his shoulder. Stan gave what he hoped was a friendly-looking grin as he climbed out. He left the motor running.
The man didn’t say anything as Stan climbed up the front steps, holding out his hand. He seemed mesmerized by the truck.
“Hello.” Stan lowered his hand when the man didn’t return the gesture. “I’m Stan Morrisson. I’m looking for my daughter and wondered if you could help me.”
“How did you get the truck to start?” The man still didn’t look at him. “Is the power coming back on?”
“There’s no power yet.” Stan moved closer. He could see now that the man was much younger than he had first thought. The heavy beard with its streaks of grey and the deep lines around his eyes were deceiving. “I came from Mores Lake. We found that all the older vehicles, without computers in them, would start.”
“That so?” Cold blue eyes turned in Stan’s direction. “You got any food?”
Stan stepped back, noticing that the man’s grip on the rifle had tightened.
“Just what my wife packed for a lunch. I’m going back home as soon as I find my daughter. Have you seen her? Bright red hair and about so tall.” He indicated his daughter’s height with one hand while taking small steps back.
The rifle swung around until it was pointed at Stan. “That’d suit me fine.” The man said. “And if I had a truck I could drive to Mores Lake and find that wife of yours.” He indicated the front door of the house with a turn of his head. “My wife and baby didn’t last the wi
nter, so you’re a lucky man.”
“I know I am.” Stan kept moving backwards. “Why don’t I get you the food out of the truck?” He bumped against the front of the truck. Keeping one eye on the rifle he moved carefully to the driver’s door and pulled it open. He reached across the seat and picked up a container of stewed deer meat. “Here!” He tossed it towards the house before jumping behind the wheel and slamming the door. The truck skidded backwards as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. He kept his head below the dash, expecting a shot to ring out. When he dared to look up the man had dropped the gun and was pulling the lid off.
The tires threw loose gravel and snow as Stan roared out of the driveway and back down the narrow lane. He breathed a sigh of relief. There were probably no shells in the rifle, otherwise, the man would have shot him, he was sure. Besides, if he had ammunition why hadn’t he gone hunting and saved his wife?
Half a mile down the road, Stan pulled to a stop. His hands trembled where they gripped the wheel. Breathing deeply, he lowered his forehead, allowing the tension to seep out of his shoulders. From now on, he would be more careful when approaching houses.
He sat for what must have been ten minutes before raising his head and wiping the sweat from his face. The encounter had scared him, but he felt sympathy for the man. He had lost his wife and baby and probably spent most of the winter alone and in despair. No wonder he was ready to shoot the first person he saw.
Stan straightened his back and put the truck into gear. It moved slowly through the drifted snow. Every few minutes the tires dropped into a giant pothole or struggled over some unseen obstacle. He hoped it was clods of ice or animal carcasses that were causing the hesitations. The thought that there were human bodies in the road was too gruesome to contemplate.
After a couple of hours, Stan saw smoke in the distance. He watched it grow closer but did not see any driveways. Trees pressed against the edge of the road, snow piled around the trunks. Once he saw a moose peering out of the forest. He wondered again why the man with the gun hadn’t been able to provide meat for his family. They were in the best hunting grounds in the world, and he and Danny had been able to keep their family fed. It was a bland diet, but it was food. The guy had waved the gun around like an amateur, so maybe he was a bad shot, or maybe he never did have any ammunition. So many of these people moved out to acreages but were city slickers at heart, with no idea of how to provide for themselves.
Stan chuckled to himself, remembering one of Tara’s friends being amazed to see potatoes being pulled out of the ground. She had never imagined that food didn’t come neatly packaged in the grocery store. He hoped that little girl was safe and warm now.
He jerked back to the present when the truck hit a particularly deep hole. Snow flew and the steering wheel spun wildly. He wrestled the truck back into a straight line and stopped. He’d better get out and make sure nothing had broken. He looked at the sky as he stepped out. The sun was hidden behind the mountain and shadows were dropping across the road ahead. He shivered as he walked around the truck checking for damage. Seeing none, he climbed back into the driver’s seat. The gas gauge said half full, so he could keep going for a while yet. The spare cans in the back would allow him about two days of travel.
He didn’t relish spending the night in the truck, especially since that would use up gas. And now he was nervous about approaching houses, even if he could find one in the dark. Slowly he moved forward, watching for farm gates or the glimmer of candlelight in a window. The snow was getting deeper and he didn’t want to drive off the road.
Finally, he saw an open gate with an expanse of snow between rows of trees. A driveway. Rather than take the chance of getting stuck, he stopped the truck in what would have been the middle of the country road. After grabbing his rifle and pack of supplies, he locked it and struggled through the unbroken snow towards what he hoped was a house.
Coming around a bend he saw a large house surrounded by muddy snow. The mountains and the rising moon were reflected in the picture window. Someone had cleared a path to the front door. A narrow trail led around the house, the snow churned into mud. So, someone lived here. Stan gripped his rifle harder and climbed the steps to the front door.
It was pulled open before he reached it. A small white-haired man was pointing a twenty-two through the screen.
Stan stepped back. “Don’t shoot!” he exclaimed. “I’m just looking for a place for the night.”
“Where did ya come from?” The old man’s voice was harsh. “We ain’t seen anyone all winter. Thought they were all dead.” The gun remained pointed at Stan.
“Not quite.” Stan carefully laid his rifle on the floor. “Lots are though.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m Stan Morrisson. I’m looking for my daughter.”
The gun was lowered and the old man pushed the screen door open. “Come on in. We don’t have your daughter but it’ll be nice to hear another voice around here.”
“Thanks.” Stan picked up his gun and stepped into the house. The old man was wearing a pair of heavy overalls under a plaid jacket. A tangled white beard reached to his chest. His feet were covered with thick woollen socks and a scarf was wrapped around his throat. He held out his hand.
“Nick.” He introduced himself. “Me and my wife have been holed up here ever since the power quit.” He called over his shoulder. “Mother. Company. Put the coffee on.”
A tiny woman, just as wizened and just as wrapped up in coats and pants peeked around the corner. She grinned, revealing toothless gums. “Coffee,” she chortled. “You must be drinking something a lot stronger than that to even ask.”
She shuffled across the hardwood floor and took Stan’s gloved hand in her own. “You can call me Ma,” she said. “Everybody does. Or at least they did when we had company. Come into the kitchen. We have a little heater in there.”
“I have food.” Stan offered his pack to her. “It needs heating.”
Ma grabbed the bag and hurried back the way she had come. “Thank you,” she muttered.
Stan followed the old couple into the kitchen. They had made themselves a cozy nest beside an old wood stove. Blankets were neatly folded on a double mattress. A kettle steamed cheerfully. A half-burned candle stood on the table, waiting for darkness. In the corner, an old dog snored peacefully.
Nick saw him looking at the dog. “That’s our trusty watchdog,” he grinned. “He’s too old to care anymore, just like us.”
He pulled a chair out of the corner. “Sit down. Tell us how you got here and what’s happening in the world. Does anybody know why we’ve been living in the dark all winter and are they fixing it?”
Stan shook his head. “Nobody knows. And if they do, there’s no way to tell us.” He looked around the room. “It looks like you’ve made out okay.”
The old woman snorted. “Well, if you can say huddling in a cave is making out okay. Here.” She poured some of the heated stew into a bowl. “Have some of your own food.”
“It’s okay.” Stan waved her away. “You eat it. I’m fine.”
Nick leaned back in his chair, raising the front legs off the floor. He had stuffed a pipe between his teeth.
“We appreciate you sharing,” he said. “But we don’t want to take your dinner. Don’t tell us you ate, because unless you stopped at the café up the road that can’t be true. Besides, we’re not that bad off. We’ve managed to keep going with our garden stuff and I can still hunt. Give him the bowl, Ma.”
Sheepishly, Stan accepted the bowl. The old couple helped themselves from the pot and for a few minutes conversation stopped. Stan hadn’t eaten since leaving home this morning and he was surprised at how hungry he was. When the dishes were scraped to the bottom, Ma reached into her pocket and dug out a small piece of chocolate that she handed to him. “Leftover from last Easter,” she explained. “I been keeping it for a special occasion, and you’re it.”
Stan grinned and popped the morsel into his mouth. “Now that’s a treat,” he
exclaimed. “All it needs is some wine to go with it.”
They all laughed and Nick chewed on his pipe stem. Ma lit the candle and poured each of them a mug of hot water. Shadows flickered in the corners as the elderly couple told Stan how they had coped through the winter.
“We had a cow,” Nick said sadly. “Poor old Bessie hung on as long as she could. Kept us in milk until after Christmas. Then she kept us alive with her meat.” He sighed. “She was a good cow.”
Ma nodded. “We dug this old range out of the chicken house, then we had chicken dinner for quite a while. And of course, we had a garden, so that helped.”
Stan told them about the young man with the gun.
“Yep.” Nick nodded. “Young folks don’t know how to survive. Soon as the computer quits, they don’t know what to do.”
“I hope my daughter knows how to survive,” Stan sighed. “She was so sure that this blackout was just temporary and took off with a bunch of hoodlums.” Tears came to his eyes, the first in a long time. “I just hope she’s okay.”
Ma patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find her,” she said soothingly. “In the meantime, you need a good night’s sleep. I’ll get you some blankets while Dad runs out and brings in some wood.”
“I’ll get the wood.” Stan reached for his coat. “Just point me to it.”
When he came back into the dim kitchen, a bed had been made for him on the floor. The couple were tucked under their own blankets. Just as he laid his head on the pillow, Nick spoke. “We’ve been thinking,” he said. “Back about Christmas time we thought someone had been in our barn. I looked for footprints and some led up the driveway. Maybe that was your girl.”
“Maybe,” Stan admitted. “But she was with a group, so there would have been more than one set of prints.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Nick laid his head back down. “Sure would like to know who was poking around here, though. It made us nervous for a couple of days.”
The Incident | Book 3 | Winter of Darkness Page 11
