No Ordinary Day | Book 1 | No Ordinary Day

by Tate, Harley

  “I didn’t care which towels. Not like they’re contagious or something.” Irma plucked towels out of her husband’s arms and handed them first to Holly and Emma then John. She took the last and draped it over Tank, giving him a good rub down. As she pulled back, Tank shook from head to tail, sending the last bits of water trapped in his fur into the air.

  Gil sputtered and cursed. “Only thing worse than a wet dog is wet dog water all over me.”

  Ignoring her husband, Irma ushered everyone inside, past a cozy living room with an afghan draped over the back of the sofa and a recliner facing the TV, and into a farmhouse kitchen with black and white linoleum and metal-edged Formica counters.

  She pointed to the kitchen table. “Y’all sit right here and I’ll get some water heating for tea. Then we’ll see what we can do about your clothes.”

  “I’ve got clothes for me and probably Emma.” Holly glanced her way. “Assuming you don’t mind?”

  Relief coated Emma’s voice. “Not at all. Anything you have would be great.” Sure beat the completely sheer blouse she was now wearing thanks to the rain. Luckily, the towel was large enough to wrap around her shoulders and her front.

  “Then all we need is some men’s clothes.” Irma sized up John before turning to her husband. “You two look about the same size. Go fish him out a pair of jeans and a work shirt.”

  “You don’t have to trouble yourself for me.” John glanced at his soaked sweater. “I’ll dry.”

  Gil had half-risen out of his chair, but he sat in response to John. “See? He doesn’t need any.”

  Irma pointed with a handful of spoons. “If you don’t go get him some dry clothes, I’ll be feedin’ the dog your bowl of chili.”

  Holly suppressed a giggle and Irma winked at her. Gil stomped off once again, on the hunt this time for dry clothes.

  “Now, where were we?” Irma smiled and launched into directions to the bathroom for Holly, who promptly disappeared with her duffel bag. A few minutes later, she emerged, carrying a wet bundle of laundry.

  Irma pointed across the kitchen. “Dryer’s straight through that door in the pantry. You shove those clothes in and once everybody’s changed, we’ll fire it up.”

  Holly handed Emma her soppy duffel bag. “Everything inside is dry. Help yourself to whatever you’d like.”

  Emma took the bag with a grateful smile and hurried to change. Stepping into the tiny bathroom transported her back in time nearly seventy years. Pink and yellow tiles adorned the floor and walls and a pink toilet made her smile. As a child in Idaho, her best friend’s bathroom looked almost identical.

  Holly’s sweatpants only reached mid-calf, but the oversized sweatshirt did the job. After changing, Emma entered the kitchen to find John already changed and looking more like a lumberjack than a financial auditor. He tugged on the collar of the red flannel and grimaced.

  She suppressed a laugh as she turned to Irma. “We can’t thank you enough for inviting us in. Is there anything we can do?”

  “You could start by shoving off.” Gil stomped about the kitchen, sour expression on his face.

  “Pay him no heed.” Irma reached for the tea kettle as it began to hiss. “As soon as I pour you a cup of tea, you can help me with dinner.”

  With extra hands, it didn’t take long to set the table for five instead of two. Emma sliced fresh-baked cornbread, Holly set out plates, napkins, and silverware, and even John chipped in, filling water glasses from the tap. Irma scooped chili into bowls while Tank took up residence beneath the table. After a begrudging saying of thanks from Gil, everyone dug in, Emma and her companions too hungry to talk.

  As spoons scraped along empty bowls, Holly broke the silence. “That was delicious. Thank you.” Irma stood up and fetched another bowl of chili layered with crumbled cornbread and set it on the floor beneath the table. Tank ate so fast, the bowl scooted out from beneath the table and he followed it, licking it clean as it whacked against the cabinet.

  Emma and Holly both laughed. Before entering this welcoming home, when was the last time she enjoyed a meal? When was the last time she laughed this often and this hard? It was easy in the company of Irma, and even Gil, to forget her troubles.

  CropForward. The blackout.

  She glanced at the oil lamp on the table. Did Gil and Irma know what might be coming? Only one way to find out. She motioned to the lamp. “Are you always this prepared for a power outage?”

  Irma nodded. “Back in the day, power used to go off all the time around here, isn’t that right, honey? We were the only house for quite a ways before the highway went in, so we were on our own.”

  “More sense in being prepared than not.” Gil reached for his plate, but Emma stood and urged him to sit back down.

  “I’m happy to clear. It’s the least I can do.”

  “We met this guy on the road today, and he told us this blackout might be really bad,” Holly began. She glanced at Emma before continuing. “He said the power might not come back for years. And that bad things would happen as a result.”

  It was a simplistic way of explaining it, but it wasn’t wrong. Emma collected the last plate and carried them to the sink. “Have you all seen any news or heard any reports?” The last thing she wanted was for good people like this to be caught off guard.

  Gil leaned back in his chair. “We know all about it. Got myself a HAM.”

  “I don’t see what meat has to do with this?” Holly said, her brow knit in confusion.

  Irma laughed. “Not a piece of pig, a HAM radio. We’ve been talking to people all over. Seems like the power’s out everywhere from Arizona to Florida to New York. Doesn’t sound like it’s coming back on anytime soon either.”

  Emma set the dishes in the sink. “You can reach that far with a HAM?”

  Gil shrugged. “We’ve heard from people who heard from people. It’s not that hard. But I can’t run it all the time. Generator takes too much fuel. So I haven’t listened today.”

  Without thinking, Emma turned on the hot water. Within moments, she pulled away to keep from being burned and blinked in surprise. “Are you all on gas?”

  “Propane. Got the tank out back.” Gil leaned forward in his chair, a gleam of pride in his eye. “Heat the house with a wood stove, don’t need no air-conditioning. Water’s from a good, deep well. We can be here forever. Fridge is the only thing I’m gonna miss. When we moved here fifty years ago it was what, ten miles to the nearest neighbor?”

  Irma nodded. “School bus had to drive a fifty-mile route just to pick up the kids. Barely filled that schoolhouse over in Hamden.”

  “You’re not worried?”

  “Didn’t say that.” Gil rubbed at the stubble peppering his chin. “Things will probably get a bit rough. But we’re all alone, we’ve got all we need, and I can defend myself.”

  He seemed confident, but at his age, Emma had to wonder. If someone younger and more determined showed up, would Gil and Irma have a chance? She pushed the thought aside as she finished washing the dishes.

  Throughout the whole conversation, John hadn’t said a word. At first, she thought he was still seething over stopping at the farmhouse. But the more she watched him from the corner of her eye, the more his expressions changed as they talked. He was thinking and whatever it was about, it wasn’t good.

  “Where are you all headed?” Irma asked the question with a warm smile.

  “My friend Gloria’s place. She’s got a cabin. It’s pretty remote, but she’s set up not all that different from you all here.” Emma smiled back at Irma. “If this power outage lasts a while, it’s as good a place to be as any.”

  “Good.” Irma placed her hand over her heart. “I confess, I’ve been worried about you, not knowing where you’re going or if you have a plan.”

  Gil cleared his throat. “We’ve got a barn out back. There’s some hay that’s relatively fresh. You all can sleep there tonight if you don’t want to hit the road.”

  Irma swatted his arm. “D
on’t be daft. We have a guest room and John can sleep on the couch. You ladies don’t mind sharing, do you? It’s two twin beds.”

  Holly and Emma shook their heads. “Not at all.”

  Irma stood, ready to show Emma and Holly the room.

  Gil nodded at John. “How do you like single malt scotch?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  John

  An ice cube slid to the bottom of the glass as John tipped it back. The last drop of whiskey landed on his tongue and he closed his eyes. It had been too long since he’d taken a moment to relax. The strain of this assignment was getting to him.

  “Thanks.” He set the glass on the coffee table. “That’s good whiskey.”

  “What my pa drank and his pa before him. Good old Monongahela rye. Gotta go to the little guys to find it now that Old Overholt’s gone to corn, but it’s still out there.” Gil drained the last of his glass and set it on the table beside him. He leaned forward and pushed off his knees to stand up. “Come with me to the barn. Got somethin’ to show ya.”

  John arched his brow but followed Gil from the room. What the old man had to show him, he couldn’t guess.

  Gil walked with a bit of a limp, swaying as his left leg fought to catch up with his right. “You ever been in a situation like this before?”

  John tensed. “Like what?”

  “Somethin’ real serious.”

  He wasn’t sure what the old man was getting at. “You mean the blackout?”

  Gil snorted as he braced himself against the hall. “I’d expect a man like yourself would know we’re way past blackout.”

  “A man like me?”

  Gil wagged a finger at John’s waist. “I see that fancy piece you’re wearin’ and that haircut and the way you walk. Military no doubt. Had to see some action, too, by my judgment.”

  All true, more or less. John tipped his head in acknowledgement. “You’re observant for an old man.”

  “Don’t tell that to Irma or she’ll get on me for not painting the porch when it needed it.” He opened the back door with a chuckle. “Barn’s out this way.”

  Following a few steps behind, John took a moment to reassess Gil. The man might be old, but he wasn’t without his faculties. How much had he figured out already?

  “At least it quit rainin’.” Gil fumbled with a lock to an old sliding door in the dark, finally managing to turn the key as he cursed the rusting metal. “Help me slide this, will ’ya? My arthritis hates this weather.”

  John did as requested, pulling the solid wood door wide enough for Gil to fit through. Cloud cover obscured the moon and John couldn’t see a thing inside. “What are we here for?”

  “Give me a second to get this lit…” A little flame flickered to light as Gil lit the wick of an oil lamp. “There we go.” The glow from the lamp cast the dirt floor in rich hues of brown and gold as Gil held it up. “Now, take a look at this.”

  He swung the lamp and an old Chevy pickup with rusted fenders and chipped teal paint came into view. It sat on a set of whitewalls with barely any tread and rusted holes marred the passenger door where the handle used to be.

  “I know it ain’t much now, but back in the day she was a real beaut. 1958 Chevy Cameo.” Gil ran his hand over the dusty chrome fender. “They don’t make ’em like they used to.”

  “It’s um… nice, I guess.” John didn’t have a clue why they were there, admiring a truck old enough to drink before he was born.

  “You can have it.”

  John blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Gil turned to face him, and the lamp light spilled over John’s boots like a warm blanket. “I used to use her on the farm, but it’s too much trouble these days. I still crank her up every month, so the battery’s still good. I don’t know how far she’ll get you but—”

  “What’s the catch?”

  Gil lifted the light higher and John squinted. “There’s no catch.”

  “I don’t understand. You don’t know me. You’ve already taken us in, fed us, given me your clothes.” John ran his hand down the warm flannel shirt. “Why offer me your truck?”

  The old man was quiet for a moment. “Because you’ve got two women and a dog to look after and no amount of military acumen is going to get y’all out of what’s comin’ if you don’t got some wheels.”

  John stepped back. Here he’d thought Gil had sussed him out; that he was taking him to the barn to give him a stern talking to or to tell him to shove off. Instead, he’d offered him transportation. A means of escape. If only he knew what John had to do.

  He ran a hand down his face. “I appreciate the offer, but—”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, take the damn truck.” Gil grabbed John’s wrist and turned his hand over before plopping a set of keys in his palm. “Sometimes even heroes need some help.”

  “I’m no hero.”

  “Any man who’s willing to defend this country and protect his family is a hero in my book.”

  “They aren’t my family.”

  Gil’s eyes twinkled in the lamp light. “Not by blood, maybe. But don’t let that fool you.” He brushed past John and headed toward the door. “You lock up when you’re done, you hear? I got to get inside. This arthritis is givin’ me heck.”

  John stared at the man as he set the oil lamp on the corner of a work bench and headed back out into the night. It took a few minutes for Gil to truck across the yard and disappear inside the house, but John watched the entire way.

  He ran a hand over his hair, rubbing the short strands back and forth.

  When was the last time someone had been this kind, expecting nothing in return? He thought back to Mrs. Durham and her unlimited willingness to forgive his missteps and embrace his inner hurt. He swallowed hard. If Gil knew why he was accompanying Emma, if he knew his real motivation…

  John turned to face the truck. Could he take this man’s generosity and follow through on his assignment? He’d been so careful for years to not blur the lines. Easier to have no life than to end up confused or compromised. He’d boxed up everything that went wrong in the desert and never stopped to think or wonder or question… anything.

  He pulled out his phone and scrolled his messages. His boss had never had reason to question his motives before. Not in Afghanistan, not now in the private sector. Ever since they’d returned a battered, veteran unit who’d seen more classified action than all but a handful of other Marines, they’d stuck together. No one back home understood what they’d been through. A few of the guys couldn’t handle it; the ones with wives and kids…

  One had stuck a tube on the end of his exhaust pipe and breathed his life away six months after getting back. Another wrapped his Camaro around a telephone pole. But John, his boss, Willy, and a few other guys had formed a support group of sorts. First it was target practice in the woods. Then it was… more aggressive action. When his boss came to him with the first assignment all those years ago, it had been a relief.

  Finally, something he was good at. Something he could focus on instead of the emptiness of his daily life. Ever since then, their tiny operation had been the closest thing to a family John had for years. A screwed up, assassin-for-hire, order-following family, but a family all the same.

  How could he turn his back on all of it for a mark he’d just met and the kindness of a stranger?

  Something sounded behind him and John reached for his gun. He spun, pulling the Sig free and aiming it straight ahead on instinct. A pair of yellow eyes reflected the lamp light as Tank padded into the barn. John lowered the gun.

  “What are you doing out—” Emma emerged from the dark, cutting off her question as she caught sight of the gun. “We didn’t mean to scare you.”

  John shoved his phone in his pocket and holstered the weapon. “You didn’t.” The words came out harsh and angry. “What are you doing out here?”

  She wrapped her hands around her arms in defense. “Tank had to go out. I saw the light and…” She trailed off, breaking eye contact to
focus on the floor.

  John cursed himself. He needed to keep on Emma’s good side, not push her away. “Sorry. I was lost in thought.” He motioned at the truck. “Gil’s offered it to us.”

  Emma squinted into the dark. “Does it run?”

  “He says it does. Not sure how far it’ll get us before it dies, but might be worth a shot.” Tank sidled up beside John and butted his head into his thigh. John reached down and scratched behind the dog’s ear. “If you’d rather walk…”

  “Not hardly. I just hate taking something from an elderly man.” Emma turned back to John. “Do you think they’ll be all right?”

  “Irma and Gil?” John thought it over. “My gut says yes. They seem prepared.”

  “Do you believe what they heard on the radio? About the power outages and the grid? I keep thinking about that guy we met earlier today, Eugene. He acted like this was the end of the world. If what he and Gil say are true—”

  John sobered. He’d been so wrapped up in his own issues, he hadn’t stopped to think about the bigger picture. What if the grid was gone? Would society collapse? He didn’t need to answer the question to know the answer. He’d seen what electricity insecurity did firsthand. He pinched the back of his neck. “It could get ugly, fast. We already saw a hint of it in the sporting goods store.”

  “It was chaos. I’ve never seen so many people so frightened.”

  A worst-case scenario unfurled in John’s mind with ransacked stores and vigilantes and widespread panic. He shoved the thoughts aside and motioned toward the house. “We should get some sleep. The morning’s going to come whether we want it to or not.”

  Emma’s face pinched in, hurt at his brusque tone, but John couldn’t engage. Not with this decision weighing him down. He needed to come to terms with either taking her out or turning his back on his life. Until then, he couldn’t think about what was happening all around them.

  He snuffed out the oil lamp and waited for Emma and Tank to exit the barn.