Through the Storm(37)

Drake stayed close to the pastor as he strolled through the buzzing haze.

As they neared the front door a couple in their thirties stepped out.

“Hello, Pastor.” The man stepped forward and shook his hand.

“Hello, Emily, Max. How are your bees doing?” Pastor Wayne gestured toward the hives. “This isn’t all of your bees, is it?”

Max reached out and the two shook hands. “No, I’ve got more hives in the back. What brings you here today?”

Four kids, ranging from a boy about five years younger than Drake to a toddler, crowded near the doorway, trying to watch and listen.

Drake had seen them, even talked with the oldest, but didn’t really know them.

“Have you seen any prowlers or looters around your place?” Pastor Wayne asked.

“We’ve seen them.” Max nodded.

“Yes!” Emily snarled. “One of them, a really large creep, tried to lure Deb.” She pointed to a girl about ten years old.

“I think they’re picking soft targets to loot now, but food is getting harder to find.” Max frowned. “If things don’t change, they may…I hate to think what might happen. God help us all.”

“I agree, and God will help us, but while He is doing His part, I’ve called a meeting for this evening.” Pastor Wayne explained about the gathering and Max promised to attend.

After visiting a dozen fairly typical families, all short of food or out, concerned about prowlers, and hoping things would return to normal, Drake and Pastor Wayne arrived at a rusty, faded blue and dirty white mobile home a few feet off the road. Duct tape held a board over part of one dusty window.

“Does anyone live here?” Drake asked.

Pastor Wayne shrugged and then knocked.

The door flew open.

Drake stumbled back.

A man, about thirty years old with messy black hair, stood in the doorway. Arms, dotted with bloody red sores, extended from a threadbare and dirty shirt. “Who are you?” His eyes flared wide.

“I’m Pastor Wayne and—”

“Why are you here? To steal?” As he talked, he scratched his arms and face. “Is that why you have a gun? This is my place, my stuff!”

Drake grasped the sling of his rifle as his heart pounded.

“No.” Pastor Wayne shook his head. “That’s not why—”

“Are you with the police?”

“No.”

What’s wrong with this guy? Drake didn’t know whether to pull the rifle from his shoulder or grab the pastor and run.

A woman appeared in the doorway, her eyes red and tired; the entirety of her body seemed to sag. “Go back inside, Gordon.” She sighed. “I’ll talk to them.”

She might have been the same age as the man. It was hard to tell. From somewhere in the dark mobile home, a baby cried.

The crazy-eyed man retreated within. “They better not steal nothing.”

“I’m sorry about Gordon.” She looked over her shoulder. “My name’s Gail. He hasn’t been well the last couple of days.”

Pastor Wayne nodded and explained about the meeting.

“I’ll try to be there,” the woman mumbled. “But Gordon can’t care for the baby right now.”

“Bring the infant.” Pastor Wayne smiled. “It might be good for both of you to get out of the house for a few hours.”

After the woman nodded, Pastor Wayne and Drake left. As they walked, Drake thought about what they had just witnessed. “Was it drugs that caused Gordon to be so weird?”

“Withdrawing from them would be my guess. His supply probably dried up four days ago.” Pastor Wayne rested a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “That’s one reason I suggested she come to the meeting. It’ll be best if we get her and the baby away from Gordon. God help them both if they stay with him.”

As they neared the far end of Fremont Hill, the paved county road ended and they continued along a paved driveway.

“I’ve been down this road before.” Drake pointed to lines of trees ahead. “The guy, I don’t know his name, sells Christmas trees.”

Pastor Wayne nodded. “Ben Huntington and his wife, Louise. Years ago he managed a sawmill in Riverbank. He’s retired now but still sells trees and has a small mill on his property.”

In the clearing, a six-foot, wrought-iron fence surrounded the white, two-story home. Four snarling and barking dogs of different breeds greeted them at the gate.

A trim gray-haired man in jeans and collared shirt stepped out the front door.

“That’s Christmas tree guy.”

“Good to see you, Ben.” Pastor Wayne waved. “Can we talk?”

Ben called the dogs into the house and walked to the gate. “Hi there, Pastor. It’s nice to see you.”

Ben opened the gate and shook hands with both of them.

“How’s the mill?” Pastor Wayne gestured to a large, garage-like building near the house.

“It took me a few days to get the equipment running after the sun storm, but I’m back in business—well, if there is any business. Gas for my generator is the problem now. I’m running low, so I shut the mill down.” He shrugged. “Do you think things will get back to normal?”

“Not anytime soon.” Pastor Wayne explained about the meeting and invited him and Louise.