Through the Storm(15)

Conner tried to grasp the magnitude of the disaster, but it overwhelmed him. “The situation is going to get bad very quickly.” He bit off another mouthful of burger. “Thanks for the food,” he mumbled around the bread and beef.

As Conner swallowed, guilt soured the taste. I left Drake alone. He prayed that his dad had returned home before the storms hit.

Conner had traveled about 250 miles from home to hunt. He knew a person could travel about four miles per hour across level ground. If he walked about twelve hours each day, it would take him five days to reach home.

He grinned inwardly. That was the first time in his life a math story problem had been useful.

His amusement faded. He recalled the mountains between him and home. His trip wouldn’t be along level ground.

*

Rural Lewis County, Washington, Monday, September 5th

Drake turned.

“Aren’t you the Evans’ boy?” An ancient man, maybe sixty years old, with thin gray hair ambled toward him.

Drake stepped back.

Gruff growled.

“I haven’t seen you in years.” The old man smiled. “You’re Beth’s boy, right?”

Drake relaxed a bit. “Yeah, she was my mother.”

The old man nodded. “She was a good person. I’m Pastor Wayne. You went to my church before your mom passed away.”

Drake glanced at the nearby community church.

From the porch of the home beside the church, a younger man shouted. “Dad, please get out of the sun. You don’t know what it might be doing to you.”

Pastor Wayne looked back. “That’s my boy, Dan. He thinks the sun is going to kill us all.”

“That’s silly.”

“I agree, but trying to convince Dan is hard.” Wayne smiled. “So, why are you casually walking around while the world’s falling apart?”

Drake had no clue what Pastor Wayne meant. “The power is out. I wondered why.”

The old man nodded his head a few times and rubbed his chin. “Where’s your dad?”

Drake felt nervous telling the truth. He was alone but didn’t want to admit it. He’d been taught to say that his dad was in the bathroom or the barn. “He’s at home, Conner, everyone they’re at home.”

“I’m not sure.” Pastor Wayne tilted his head. “Is he?”

Dan stepped from the house. “Dad, come back inside.”

Wayne waved him off. “Son, just because there was a storm on the sun doesn’t mean we’re all going to die.”

“Storm on the sun?” Drake repeated and took a step back.

“Yeah, probably knocked out power, computers, and cars everywhere.”

“That’s impossible.” Drake took more steps back.

“Smell that acrid smoke?” Pastor Wayne asked. “Do you hear any fire trucks racing to put it out?”

The son jogged across the road to his father. “Come on, Dad. Let’s get inside.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to go.” Drake pulled on Gruff’s leash and ran along the road toward town.

A hundred yards down the road, Drake caught his first view of Riverbank. Smoke swirled into the air from two house fires about a half mile away, but, as the old man said, he heard no alarms. From his vantage point on the hill, he should have been able to see firefighters, but all he saw were people standing and watching.

He continued along the road until he could see the freeway. A dozen cars and trucks were strung out along the portion of the highway visible to him, but, as if time had frozen, none moved. Only then did Drake see a group of people walking among the stationary vehicles.

Was it possible? Shielding his eyes with a hand, Drake lifted his gaze to the sky. Had power, phones, and cars stopped working worldwide? No TV? Drake could pump water by hand, but what about most people? What about food? Did he have enough for the winter?

Fear coursed through Drake and he ran toward home.

*

Lane County, Oregon, Monday, September 5th

Neal spun around at the sound of a male voice. He stumbled backward and pulled his pistol. A young man and woman, a little older than Conner’s eighteen years, stood in the far entry to the living room. The man had a duffle bag over one shoulder and a crowbar in his hand. The woman held a bat.

“We didn’t kill him,” the woman added hastily.

The old man looked dead, but, just in case, Neal bent over and, keeping one hand on his pistol, poked the body with his free hand.

The young man pointed with the crowbar. “That’s how we found him.”

Neal’s gaze shifted back and forth between the weapons in their hands.

“He was dead when we broke in.” Her words were pleading. “He was right there in the chair like you see him now.”

“We’re just looking for food.” The man tapped the bag with his crowbar. “We can give you some if you need it.”

Neal shook his head. “How did he die?”

The man shrugged. “He was old.”

“I know he had a pacemaker,” the woman added. “With every other electrical thing going on the blink, well, all I know for sure is, we didn’t do it.”

“You knew him?”

“I’m a visiting nurse.” She frowned. “I took care of him.”

Neal shook his head. And when you thought he was probably dead, you preyed upon him like a vulture.