Through the Storm(7)

Neal tapped the pistol in his vest. Don’t be paranoid. He forced a smile, grabbed the crescent wrenches from the car seat, and stepped out.

The man looked him up and down.

Neal took a few cautious steps. “If your car won’t start, it’s probably because of the CME.”

The man cast him a confused glance.

“The storm on the sun.” Neal held up the tools. “I might be able to start it.”

“I wondered if that was why all the cars stopped.” The man nodded toward the other two vehicles. “That’s probably why my wife can’t call the auto club.”

Neal smiled. “Yeah, no tow trucks today.” He shook the man’s hand and introduced himself.

“My name is Chris Bowman. That’s my wife, Ellie.”

She waved from the passenger seat and continued to tap on her phone.

Chris shook his head. “I wish she’d give up trying to call our kids.”

Neal grinned at the man’s frustration, and then explained why the car stopped and what he would be doing. He pulled the first battery cable loose.

“Is this how you got your car going?”

Neal nodded. “And hopefully your car will be next.”

As Neal continued to work, Chris talked. “We flew down to San Francisco to visit friends. I didn’t think much about the storm on the sun thing until they announced that all the flights that night were canceled. Then the wife wanted to leave. I borrowed this car and headed north. Ellie wanted to be near family in Portland, but well ….” He shrugged. “We didn’t make it.”

Neal reconnected both cables. “You still might. Get in and try to start it.”

Chris slid behind the wheel and turned the key.

The car roared.

Neal shut the hood with a thud.

Chris and Ellie smiled at him.

Neal dropped the wrenches into his car and smiled back. Helping others felt good.

Chris leaned out the window. “Thanks.” His eyes focused farther down the highway and then widened in fear.

Neal turned. Only fifty yards away, three men ran toward him. The lead man’s long gray hair bounced as he ran. He wore a faded T-shirt and jeans, but Neal’s eyes shifted from the man’s scruffy appearance to the pistol in his hand.

As he stepped toward his vehicle, Neal drew his own weapon.

The three slowed to a walk, formed a line before Neal, and continued to edge closer. The two on either side of the scruffy old guy were younger and wore somewhat better clothes but could have been sons.

Scruffy held up his free hand. “We just need help with our cars.”

“Do you usually ask favors with a gun in your hand?”

“You have one. I need to protect myself.”

Neal had no interest in arguing about who had drawn first. “Back up and we can talk.”

“All I want to know is why your car is running, and how you got this one to go.”

“Disconnect the battery cables for a few seconds and reconnect them.” But in your case, I hope it doesn’t work.

Scruffy cast Neal an incredulous look. “You expect me to believe that? Show me on our cars.”

Chris nodded from his running vehicle. “That’s all he did and it worked.”

Scruffy stepped forward. “You put the gun down and show me exactly how you did it.”

Neal shook his head. “I think you can figure it out.”

Scruffy inched forward.

Stepping backward, Neal adjusted his aim. “Don’t come any closer.”

“You won’t shoot. You’re not the type.” Scruffy laughed and jumped forward.

A gun fired.

*

Rural Lewis County, Washington, Sunday, September 4th

Drake’s family had lived on the farm for most of his life, and in all that time the animals were fed before he ate. His mother had usually cooked breakfast while he and his brother took care of chores. After she died, Dad regularly prepared the meal, although it often consisted of just cold cereal or oatmeal. Cooked breakfasts were a rare treat, usually made by Dad or Conner. For reasons he seldom concerned himself with, Drake had never been asked to cook any meal. He yawned and stretched. His breakfast would come first this morning.

Gruff, their Labrador retriever, hurried to Drake’s side the moment he opened the bedroom door. “Yeah, we’ll get breakfast soon.” Drake used the bathroom and drank water. The flow from the faucet seemed weak, but he took little notice.

Moving on to the living room, he tapped the remote to turn on the TV. Still tired from the party, he yawned and looked about. The couch had been pulled up close to the television for video game playing. Paper plates lay scattered on the floor, along with bits of chips, dip, and popcorn. Several glasses sat half full on tables. He didn’t look forward to a day of housework.

When the television remained black, he recalled the power outage. What do you do when the power is off? Should I call the electric company? What’s their number?

They owned a generator, but he decided not to use it. The power would certainly be back on soon.

Drake retrieved the phone handset from the floor and returned it to the receiver. He hoped no one had tried to call him. He didn’t want his dad, or even Conner, asking too many questions about the weekend.

Stomach grumbles pushed Drake toward the kitchen as memories of the party flitted through his mind. Ashley nearly beat him at two video games. She played well but seemed more interested in talking. He prayed that the opportunity for another party would soon occur.