Cruel World(40)

“We should. I spoke to my mom right after this all started. She was having a good day, knew who I was and where she was, but that might’ve changed by the afternoon. I would’ve went sooner, but it all happened so fast.”

“It was like a wildfire,” Quinn said, gazing at the floor. One of the brothers’ boot prints was still there, faded and ghostly.

“Exactly. I have to know if she’s okay or not.”

Quinn glanced at her, the set to her jaw and the way her eyes lanced the room with their brightness.

“Graham has a car, but it’s really small and sporty. Mallory has a minivan, since she nearly always made the runs into town for groceries.” Quinn looked at his hands and then out the window. “But if you’re set on leaving today, you should take the Tahoe in the garage. It’s the newest and has four-wheel-drive.”

“But that’s your car. We can’t take yours.”

“I’ve got the other two. You guys need the Tahoe.”

“Quinn, no—”

“Look, you have people to worry about and I don’t.”

Alice opened her mouth to say something and stopped. He turned and shuffled the dishes around on the counter into a pile, keeping his back to her.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“What?”

“Helping us?”

He faced her, not able to hold her gaze for more than a second. “Because it’s the right thing to do.” When she merely studied him, he motioned to the rear of the house. “I’ll try to get the generator running so you can take some water with you, have a shower or a bath too if you’d like.” He didn’t wait for a reply. Grabbing the manual from the counter and dislodging the ice chisel from beneath the kitchen doorknob, he walked outside.

The day was cool again, but the clouds were gone, and an unblemished powder-blue-sky awaited him. He stayed still for over a minute on the stoop, studying the trees and listening for any movement. When nothing but birds flitted in the very tops of the pines, he stepped down into the yard. Dew soaked his shoes within steps, but he barely noticed. There would be a lot to do to get Alice and Ty ready to leave. Then it would be just him, alone again in the big house. He and the three graves.

The wind was negligible, and the waves coasting in below the cliffs were murmurs as he rounded the house and opened the generator enclosure. After ten minutes of reading, he saw nothing that was indicative of the generator’s inability to run. He tried hitting the start button again, but it merely produced the same dry click. There were four twist-locks set into a panel below the controls, and he undid them, setting the loose piece of steel to the side before crouching to look into the generator’s housing. All was fuses and bundles of wires leading into darkness within the shroud. The more he studied the components, the more they blended together into one confusing mass. He sat there, staring at the alien mechanics of the machine, while all he could see was the open road beyond the gates—the breeze blowing in through the window of the Tahoe coating his skin as they drove, trees whipping past in a blur of green on either side.

He blinked, coming back to the present. His ankle throbbed from the position he sat in, and his legs were cramping. He was about to return the panel to its former position and lock it home when he spotted a wide, plastic switch set above a row of long fuses. There were no markings on or around it, and when he put pressure on it, there was resistance. He pushed harder, and the switch snapped in the direction he pressed it. There was an electrical click of contactors engaging, and the generator’s engine cranked into life. The entire enclosure resounded with the machine’s vibrations as the engine rose to a steady hum.

“Yes!” Quinn said, his eyes widening.

He replaced the panel cover and climbed free of the housing. With the door shut, the machine’s growl became much lower, and when he rounded the side of the house, it was lost to him completely.

In the garage, he climbed into the Tahoe and keyed the ignition on. The fuel gauge sprung to a hair’s width of the full mark. His father must have filled up in Portland before coming home. He found two semi-full gas cans in one corner and loaded them in the back, leaving the hatch cracked for the fumes. He was about to go into the house when he spotted a small, wooden dowel sitting on one of the shelves. It stuck out from beneath a pile of loose lumber that Foster kept for odd projects. When he pulled it free, he measured it by holding it out before him in one hand. In the drawer of the workbench, he found a roll of black electrical tape and carefully wrapped the dowel until none of the wood was visible. He tested the strength one time, bending it. It sprung back into a straight line.