“They took my dog right out of the backyard,” one elderly gentleman said. “Cut the leash. Must’ve been this morning sometime. One of them left a footprint in the mud. Maybe you can do an impression of it and figure out what kind of shoes they were wearing.”
James promised to look into it when he had a chance.
“Someone threw a rock through my shed window,” a woman said. “I heard what sounded like a kid laughing and running down the alleyway. My husband tried to chase him, but he got a head start.”
One after the other, they shared their complaints, and James jotted down notes for each one in a small notebook. It took Shane a minute to realize there was a second smaller crowd in the hallway behind the reception area, and these people were giving their complaints to Mike, who was seated on a stool with a small notepad in his lap.
It’s not quite like being a deputy in the Wild West, Shane thought. I wonder if Mike knew he’d spend most of his time taking complaints?
Shane finally took a seat in an inconspicuous corner and waited. James noticed him at one point and began trying to speed up his reports, but it still took a good hour or more before the lobby was empty. Eventually, with a big sigh of relief, James dropped into a seat across from Shane.
“The whole town’s falling apart,” Mike called from the hallway. “Theft and vandalism, theft and vandalism, and one accusation of attempted murder.” He stepped into the room. “I’ve got ten pages of scribbles, Sheriff. What do we do now?”
“We take a break,” James replied, fanning his face with his hat. The air inside the sheriff’s office was stuffy and damp. “Check on that loser in the cell, make sure he’s not dead. Later, we’ll work our way down the list and check on the reports. It’ll be fun.”
“Do I really have to check on that waste of space?”
“You don’t have to talk to him,” James said. “Just poke your head through the holding area door and make sure he’s not dead.”
“Pike wouldn’t kill himself,” Mike said, shuffling toward the back of the hall. “He likes complaining and threatening people too much.”
James turned the page in his notebook, lifted his ballpoint pen, and turned to Shane.
“Now, how can I help you today, young man?” he said with a smile.
“This looks exhausting,” Shane said. The little plastic chair was uncomfortable, so he stood up and leaned his back against the wall instead.
“Oh, it is,” James replied. “The only reason I can handle it is because I have voluntarily reduced my jurisdiction. I only serve the neighborhood east of Macon, and that’s it. Even then, it’s more than I can keep up with. I’m glad for Mike’s help.”
“Good idea,” Shane said. “Hopefully, things will start to settle down.”
“No sign of that, sadly.” James pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow, then he put his hat back on. “How can I help you, Mr. McDonald?”
“I’ll get right to the point,” Shane said. “Is Mayor Frank going to be a problem? I understand the purpose in pooling resources from local stores. It makes sense, but when he starts advocating seizing private property, then he’s dangerously close to tyranny.” To make the issue just a little more pressing for the sheriff, he added, “Beth is practically beside herself. She’s ready to wage war.”
James grimaced at the mention of Beth. It had the intended effect, as he began to pace back and forth in the room. As he was doing that, Mike reappeared, pulling the holding area door shut behind him with a thunderous bang. He dragged his stool to the reception area and sat down.
“Pike is sleeping like a baby in a puddle of his own sweat and misery,” he said.
“Good,” James replied, then to Shane, “Mayor Frank is not a bad guy.”
“He’s a bad guy if he tries to invade my home,” Shane said. “It’s not going to happen, James. At this point, I wouldn’t give the guy a single green bean. He’s not going to threaten my family.”
“I know. I know,” James said wearily. “What I mean is, Frank would never have suggested such a thing before all of this happened. He is not a bully by nature—or a thief or, as you put it, a tyrant. I’ve known him for almost twenty years, and I can see that he’s panicking. People in his community are starving to death before his eyes, and he doesn’t know what to do. So when he hears a rumor about a big cache of food, something that could possibly solve his problem right away, he’s tempted. He reacted poorly, and I don’t excuse him for that.”
“Is he going to be a problem?” Shane asked again.
James looked at him for a second, then looked over at Mike. He hesitated a moment and finally said, “I can’t discount the risk. Panic can induce even reasonable people to do stupid things.”
“That’s what I thought,” Shane said. “Thanks for being honest with me. I know Frank is your friend.”
“He’s a professional acquaintance,” James corrected, “but I won’t cover for him.”
“I know. You stood up for us at the town meeting.”
James shook his head. “I just wish I’d known. I mean, I understand that Beth doesn’t want to broadcast the fact that she’s a prepper, but you all could have trusted me with that information. To be honest, I suspected she had something stashed away somewhere, and you’ve made a few comments in my presence that piqued my interested, but I didn’t think it was my place to ask. It’s true, isn’t it?”
Shane hesitated only a second before answering. If he couldn’t trust James, then he really couldn’t trust anyone outside of his immediate family. The sheriff had proved himself more than anyone. Jodi owed her life to the man. Surely it was right to take him fully into their confidence.
“It’s true,” Shane replied. “Beth has a secret storehouse full of food. Canned vegetables, fruit, meat, freeze-dried food, various grains, a ton of MREs…heck, I don’t even know what all she’s got. She keeps a meticulous written inventory. I’ve looked at it, and the list was enormous. I couldn’t read it all. Anyway, the room is well-hidden.”
James took his hat off again and dabbed another sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Wow, when did she have the time to put all of this together?”
Mike piped up. “She’s been working on it since before our dad died. He wasn’t a fan, so the bigger parts of her project had to wait until he’d gone up to the spirit in the sky. She had a nice life insurance payout that could have changed her life. She could have bought a big RV and toured the country for the rest of her life, but instead, she dumped all the money into various prepper projects.”
“Wow, I didn’t know,” James said. “I mean, I saw a few magazines lying around the house, but I didn’t realize what it meant. I’m impressed. As it turns out, spending all that money preparing for a worldwide calamity was a smart decision.”
“What are we going to do about the mayor?” Shane said, bringing it back to his essential concern. “I’m not letting people come into our house and root through our stuff.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” James said. “I’m with you, Shane. Frank isn’t thinking straight, but he’s still a reasonable man. We can talk him out of this idea of redistributing private food stores.”
“I’m not feeding the town just so my kids can go hungry,” Shane said.
“I get it. I understand, Shane. I do.”
But there was something—maybe a slight quaver in his voice, maybe the way he wouldn’t quite meet Shane’s gaze. Did the sheriff totally agree with Shane’s point of view? Shane was tempted to let it go, but he decided to dig deeper. He didn’t want to leave any uncertainty.
“You have doubts,” Shane said. “Something about the situation bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t say that.” James walked again toward the far wall.
“James.”
The sheriff turned to him but still wouldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” Shane said, “you can share it with me. I won’t hold it against you. Please, I have to know exact
ly where you stand.”
“Be a pal,” Mike said. “Level with us, Sheriff.”
“Look, I’ll do anything I can to help Beth and her family,” James said, finally, hanging his head. “If you must know, I’m a little conflicted, that’s all.”
“Why?” Shane asked, leaning in to force eye contact.
“You don’t want your kids to starve,” James said, “but I’ve got a whole community full of kids that might starve. I’m worried about them, Shane. I feel responsible.”
“Their parents are responsible,” Shane said.
“Directly, yes, but they’re all turning to me for help.” He reached out and grabbed Shane’s arm. “Listen, I’m not saying I agree with Frank. We’re not going to let anyone take your private property. I’ll stand with you guys. Got it?”
Shane nodded, though he felt a slight unease.
James was just being honest, he told himself. Of course, he feels conflicted. It doesn’t mean he’ll turn on you.
“You can trust me,” the sheriff said.
“I know.”
6
Violet felt the soft book covers as she slid her fingers along the shelf. Finally, a slender volume caught her interest. Braille on the spine indicated that it was a book about growing peppers. Few libraries had such a generous collection of braille books, which was particularly impressive considering how small this neighborhood library was. She could tell just by the dull, echoless quality of her voice that she was standing in cramped quarters. She loved the smell of a library more than just about anything in the world: old paper and musty air, a slight undercurrent of some cleaning product. When a library had a nice braille collection like this one, it felt welcoming.
“What did you find?” Zoe asked.
The head librarian had a pleasant voice. Soft, almost musical, and warm. If she wasn’t already a grandma, she certainly needed to be.
“A book on gardening,” Violet said, pulling the book off the shelf and flipping it open. She ran her fingers along the open page, feeling those familiar bumps. The sentence had something to do with tilling soil, but she shut the book and put it back on the shelf. “You have so many braille books here.”
“My younger sister was visually impaired,” Zoe said. “She loved to read. That sweet girl didn’t go anywhere without a book tucked under her arm.”
Violet noted that she spoke of her sister in the past tense, but she didn’t feel comfortable asking about it. She made sure the spine of the book was lined up with the books on either side. Then she reached down and grabbed Ruby’s harness.
The front doors of the library swung open then. Violet heard the distinctive whoosh of air as multiple people entered the room. Even before they spoke, she knew it was the Horton kids. When they were together, they made specific restless noises. It was a strange thing to be able to identify a group of people simply by the way they moved together.
“Hey, ma’am.” Libby’s voice. “A bunch of people are out there now. Should we get started?”
“Yes, I’m on my way,” Zoe said. “Please tell them to sit tight.”
“Got it,” Libby replied.
“They’re kind of a weird-looking group,” Amelia said. “Kind of desperate and dirty, you know what I mean?”
“Oh, like David?” Libby said.
“Hey, shut your mouth,” David said. “I’m not as dirty as you. At least I washed my hair this week.”
Violet let Ruby guide her across the room. Her well-trained companion zigzagged back and forth. Violet brushed lightly against the edges of chairs, tables, and shelves, but Ruby prevented her from bumping into anything. Of course, anytime Violet was in an unfamiliar environment, she was hyper-aware of her dog’s subtlest movements. It was vital to her survival, especially when she didn’t have family or her guide cane to help.
Her shoulder still hurt quite a bit, though the doctor said she’d been very lucky in the attack. She no longer wore a sling, but she still tended to keep her right arm folded in against her body. Big arm movements caused sharp twinges of pain, which made bumping into objects a bigger risk than ever. As she neared the front door, her sleeve grazed the corner of what might have been a low shelf, and she instinctively jerked away. This caused her to pull Ruby’s harness to the left, but the dog deftly adjusted and padded away from the shelf.
“Good girl,” Violet said.
“You have a well-trained little friend there,” Zoe said. “I’ll bet she’s a lot of help.”
“Yeah, she sure is,” Violet replied.
She was immediately wary that the woman might come over and start messing with Ruby. Usually, when people complimented the dog, they also tried to pet her or talk to her. That always threw Ruby off. Fortunately, Zoe didn’t do that. Instead, she went through the door and stepped outside.
Violet followed her. As soon as she pushed through the lobby, she heard the buzz of a small crowd nearby. It sounded like at least two dozen people. She heard a mix of emotions: some were excited, some anxious, a few bored, and at least one sounded very annoyed. Though she didn’t know the layout of the lawn in front of the library, she sensed that the people were sitting close together, most of them facing the building. The Horton kids were off to her right, their voices coming from slightly higher as if they were sitting or standing on a raised ledge.
“Find me a seat, Ruby,” she said, bending down toward the dog. “A seat.”
Even with the distraction of two dozen chattering people, Ruby turned to the right and moved confidently toward the Horton kids. When the dog came to a stop, Violet leaned down and felt with her hand. Her fingers brushed the warm concrete corner of a low wall. She sat down, and Ruby lay down at her feet.
“Good girl,” Violet said.
Zoe stepped up on the ledge nearby and began to speak.
“Folks, I want to thank you for coming,” she said, in that soothing voice. “Today, we’re going to guide you through some of the basics of gardening. As you can see, we have some pots, soil, and seeds here today. We have whole bunch of gardening tools over there. I’ll take you through all of it. These are my helpers. Introduce yourselves, kids.”
“I’m Libby.”
“David.”
“I’m Amelia.”
The Horton kids introduced themselves one by one. Then a weird moment of silence ensued, and Violet realized they were waiting on her.
“I’m Violet McDonald,” she said, and winced as her voice cracked.
Some of the people began talking about her. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but she could tell. Over the years, she’d gotten attuned to the sound of curious whispers, the kind that followed when people first became aware of her condition. She could guess what they were saying. The usual.
“I think that girl’s blind.”
“You’re right. She is blind.”
“How nice that they’re including her.”
It made her feel so self-conscious, she wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. Sadly, things quickly got worse. As the workshop began, it didn’t take long to realize she had no real way to contribute. Zoe had the Horton kids pass out the pots and bags of soil. One of the Hortons—she thought it was Libby—set a pot beside her. Violet felt for it. A small ceramic flowerpot with a circumference of maybe six inches, which she pulled onto her lap. A moment later someone dumped soil into it. It had a distinct pungent smell quite different from regular dirt.
Technically, she had volunteered to help lead the workshop, but while Zoe kept calling on the Horton kids, Violet found herself sitting on the ledge and following along like just another student. She heard all the happy little conversations, and she tried to fend off her growing resentment. Her grandmother had taught her quite a few things about gardening. She could definitely contribute, but she didn’t want to speak up without being invited. However, Zoe never called on her.
Finally, she leaned in close to Ruby and whispered in the dog’s ear. “I guess we’re just the mascots today, girl. I’m sorry.”
But this only caused people to resume talking about her.
“Oh, look at that sweet little dog.”
“They’re like buddies.”
Violet tried to tune it out and focus her attention on the potted soil. Zoe was currently telling them how deep to plant different kinds of seeds, and she instructed them to make a dent in the fresh soil with their fingers.
“The power of positive weeding,” Zoe said. “That’s what we want to talk about next. Keeping weeds out of your garden is a state of mind. Don’t wait until the crabgrass is already choking the life out of your okra.”
In a fit of boldness, and wanting to stave off her growing resentment at being treated like a decoration, Violet blurted out, “You have to remove the roots fully, or a weed will just grow back.”
The timing was awkward, and Zoe seemed caught off guard, but Violet was sure she heard at least one woman in the crowd say, “Aw!” As if Violet were a little baby that had just taken its first step. She sorely wanted to throw her flowerpot in the direction of the voice.
“Very good, Violet,” Zoe said. “You’re absolutely right. We’ll get to that in a minute, but thank you for mentioning it. Now, I want everyone to gather in a little closer. You can put your pots down.”
Violet was satisfied that she’d spoken up.
When she starts talking about canning the vegetables, I’m going to speak up again, she told herself. Just you wait and see. Grandma taught me a lot about canning, and I will be heard.
That made her smile, despite herself. Unfortunately, the smile was apparently seen, and she heard a couple of people chatting about her nearby, even as Zoe continued to ramble on in the background about different kinds of Georgia weeds.
“I think that’s her daughter,” a woman said. She had what Violet thought of as a grandma voice. “Do you think it’s her daughter?”
“Might be,” a man replied. Definitely a grandpa, his voice full of warmth, grit, and gravel. “I’m pretty sure she’s blind, but it sounds like she knows a thing or two.”
Surviving The End (Book 3): New World Page 6