Through the Storm(55)

“Yes.”

The word had been a whisper. Had he really heard it? He stared at her for confirmation.

“I’ll go with you.”

*

Rural Lewis County, Washington, Sunday, September 11th

Drake watched as Pastor Wayne pulled the ancient rope to ring the bell high in the steeple of the old brick church. Drake sat in the front pew and stared at his sore and blistered hands. Over the weekend, he had worked with neighbors to extend the fence past his property. He hoped that it helped, but the fence ended a hundred yards beyond his place. The bad guys could just walk around it.

Pastor Wayne and Michael, the ornery old farmer he had met four days ago, walked to the front of the sanctuary, talking about harvesting food from nearby fields.

“Anyway, that was a good service this morning,” Michael said.

“You should come more often.”

Michael laughed. “Maybe I should.” Then he walked away.

Dozens soon arrived for the community meeting. Drake lost count and restarted at the back with a slow walk forward toward Pastor Wayne.

“You’re doing Sunday services?” Gail rocked the baby in her arms.

“I never stopped. Nine every Sunday morning.” Pastor Wayne smiled at the baby. “How are—”

Sixty-eight. “You should ring the bell for services, like in the old days,” Drake said.

Pastor Wayne rubbed his chin. “I should.” He looked around. “Where did Gail go?”

Drake looked for the woman with the baby. The sanctuary was fuller than he had ever seen it. He shrugged. “I don’t see her or the crazy guy she lives with.”

Max, the beekeeper, stepped over to the preacher. “We’re ready to start.”

Pastor Wayne nodded and stepped onto the podium. “Good evening, everyone. We wanted to talk about how the fence project is going and about the food and water problems.”

“The fence stops hundreds of yards before my place,” a man in the back yelled. “It isn’t going to keep anyone out.”

“Where can we get water?” a woman shouted. “I’ve been using a stream.”

Pastor Wayne held up a hand. “We can figure it out if we work together.”

Outside the church, an engine rumbled.

Silence fell on those inside. Drake and several others ran out to investigate.

A Humvee pulled into the church parking lot and parked. Deputy Campbell stepped from the vehicle. “I heard the bell and figured you were having another meeting.”

“Do you have news?” a man asked.

Campbell sighed. “Yeah, I’ve got some.”

The group surrounded the deputy and ushered him to the front of the church.

Pastor Wayne shook Campbell’s hand and then stepped aside.

“Well, I’m afraid this is a good news, bad news day,” the deputy started.

Calls for the good news mixed with an audible groan that swept the sanctuary.

“You people on Fremont Hill have done well in getting organized. Reports of gang activity here and in Riverbank are down.”

“I’m guessing that’s the good news,” someone shouted. “What’s the bad?”

“The gangs seem to be gaining members and growing bolder. Don’t travel outside of the Riverbank and Fremont Hill areas. They have roadblocks along the freeway and state highway both to the north and south.”





Day Nine

Clark County, Washington, Monday, September 12th

While he waited for Claire to catch up, Neal leaned against an abandoned red Corvette. He pulled on the door handle, but it didn’t open and no keys were in the ignition. A low grumble of irritation escaped from him. With this car he could have been home in less than an hour. Neal pulled his shoe off a sore and blistered foot.

Ginger sniffed the shoe but turned her nose away and pawed at Neal’s backpack.

“I’ll feed you later.” Neal took several gulps of water and then squirted some into his hand for Ginger.

As the dog lapped at the water, Neal watched Claire shuffle closer. At this rate, her husband might reach Riverbank before we do.

He shook his head. Don’t be mean.

Neal mustered his patience and fixed a smile on his face.

Despite being fifteen or so years younger, pregnancy slowed Claire more than age and blisters slowed him. Well, the backpack and sleeping bag she carried reduced her pace, but what could he do? She had insisted on carrying them.

That morning, before they departed, Claire had visited several neighbors and told them where she would be. Neal painted a similar message, including his address, on the living room wall. If Claire’s husband searched, he would know where to go.

He envied the love she had for her husband and the new life she would soon bring into the world. Neal once had that with Beth—years ago.

The conference in Vegas had been an escape. A means of avoiding painful memories. A reprieve from his teenage sons.

But now, reaching home filled his waking moments. Please God, let them be okay.

He hated his irritation with Claire’s ponderous pace. He understood that pregnancy caused it, but he was so close to home. Even at this slow rate, they might reach Riverbank by tomorrow evening, but each mile closer made him more eager to complete the journey.

Claire ambled to the Corvette, leaned against it, and drank some water. “Are we still on schedule?”