"It’s supplies downstairs, Sheriff. We agreed you would provide security."
"And? They're behind a locked door, aren't they?"
He nodded and licked his thin lips. "Yes, but my stores are to be separate, are they not? Did we not agree this?"
Paulie sighed. "Seriously, Custer? You've survived an apocalypse only to haggle about who owns what? Hasn't this given you the slightest perspective?"
He blinked a couple of times, as if the question surprised him. "World has not ended, Sheriff. Nearly, perhaps, but not quite. One day, rebuilding will begin, but that is no use if there are no supplies."
Behind his almost comical appearance and speech patterns lay the mind of a ruthless entrepreneur, Paulie knew. He wanted to be in a position to make money—or whatever would pass for currency in the coming months—both during the crisis and once it was over. She admired his optimism, but not his motivation.
"Look, Custer, you'll have to take it up with the mayor."
"I did," he responded. "She sent me to you. Security matter."
Paulie couldn't help rolling her eyes. "I'm not wasting a deputy on guard duty. The door is locked, and no one's allowed in on their own. That'll have to do for now, unless you want to hire your own security guards."
The little man tutted and turned on his heels. "Maybe I will do that, Sheriff."
She watched him go, wondering whether, in fact, that hadn't been exactly the answer he'd been hoping for.
"Sheriff!"
It seemed she couldn't go more than a few yards without someone calling out her name. This time, however, it was a more welcome voice that stopped her.
The tubby figure of Deputy Jon Graf was striding along the corridor as she left the nursery. Since he'd returned to the fold, Graf had become her right-hand man. In fact, she'd tried to persuade him to be Sheriff, but he'd refused. Experience meant little in current circumstances, he said, and he was happy enough supporting her. In her more cynical moments, she wondered whether all these fine folks who pushed her forward were simply using her as a shield to duck behind.
"Hi Jon, what's the latest?"
He moved into step alongside her, puffing a little having climbed two flights of stairs. "We're nearly ready to test the generator. The last of the beds are now in and I've got Marvin and Mike out scavenging fuel, so we can keep it running."
"That's fantastic news. How many will be moving in?"
"Just three to begin with, so we'll have a couple of spare beds."
The town's local hospital had been over the bridge in western Arbroath. It had been stripped of drugs and much of its portable equipment in the first hours of the emergency, but a thorough search of the town had recovered some of it. The hospital itself—which hadn't been exactly state of the art before the catastrophe—had been badly damaged by looters and those simply wanting help, and it couldn't in any case be defended. So, the mayor had ordered a medical facility to be set up in Aldays and Jon had taken on the job of handling the practicalities, with the first order of business being the restoration of power.
Three qualified people survived the first couple of days—one gynecological specialist and two nurses—and they were overseeing the setup, but the actual work had been achieved by muscle power as the hospital's generator had been hauled out of its basement and pushed along the gridlocked streets, across the bridge and into the former department store. Fortunately, a couple of engineers had also survived and were able to supervise the installation.
The generator was a pretty ancient Toshiba running on diesel and it would only supply a limited current. When not needed for hospital equipment, it would at least provide some lighting and, they hoped, the means to heat water for at least part of the day. It seemed that civilization could manage without many things; coffee was not one of them.
Paulie followed Jon down to the far corner of the ground floor. It had been curtained off, though the drapes were currently open. She shook hands with Doctor Ashmal, who was fussing over the positioning of the monitoring equipment and drip stands.
"This looks fantastic, Doctor," she said.
Ashmal shrugged. "I have seen worse," he said. "In Iraq. But it will serve for now."
She left the doctor and Graf to it and strode out of the building and onto Main Street. Again, she was struck by how normal it looked. People walked back and forth on business of their own and, though there were no vehicles in sight, there was a surprising vibrancy to the place. She had to remind herself that the official population of Arbroath, WA was now 616 and the streets beyond the bridge still belonged to the dead. And the people she could see were not free to do what they wished. Everyone had tasks they'd been assigned and, though the center of town was now free of corpses, they still had a long way to go before they'd restored anything approaching normality.
Then there was the matter of grief. It had been ten days since the night of the apocalypse and while the initial shock had worn off, the entire population seemed to be waiting until they felt safe enough to let their true grieving begin. It wasn't just immediate family, of course. Just about every one of the residents of Arbroath had relatives spread across the country and no idea whether those people were still alive or whether they should be grieving for them also.
Paulie felt a tug on her heart. She'd heard nothing from her brother Alejandro since that first night. At first, it seemed as though the calls were connecting but he wasn't answering, but she clung to the hope that it was just a blip in a collapsing cell network. Her rational mind told her that it was a forlorn hope, but she continued to believe that it might be so, because the alternative would take her mind on a dark path that she might never emerge from. She'd had her share of grief, a husband who'd been killed on active duty in the Middle East and parents who'd died young and poor, but the prospect of losing her daughter, not to mention Alejandro, was one she could not face.
A voice called across the street. "Sheriff!"
Deputy Friedman was running along the sidewalk, her breath billowing behind her like a steam train. She was red faced and wheezing when she caught up with the sheriff.
"What's going on, Nicky?" Paulie said, helping the deputy stand upright.
"Man... approaching... on the river road," she managed, waving her arms along Main Street.
"Alone? Is he armed?"
She shook her head, then nodded. "Sorry. Yes, he's alone. Couldn't see a weapon, though he'd be mad to be traveling without one."
Paulie began to jog along the sidewalk toward the barricade on the eastern side of town. "And none of you recognized him?"
"Hodges says he's not from around here."
"And he knows everyone," Paulie said, accelerating her pace and leaving Friedman behind.
The deputy's voice called out from behind. "Oh, and he's a priest!"
Paulie climbed up onto the barricade and took the binoculars from Hodges. The man was now no more than a hundred yards away and was walking with arms wide above his head. It was late in the day and he was heading into the sun, so every now and again the light would bounce off the silver crucifix that peeked out from beneath his brown leather coat.
"Please don't shoot!" he was calling. "I'm a man of peace. I come seeking shelter just as the blessed mother of our Lord and Savior did two thousand years ago."
"Wait there," she called before turning to Hodges, "Drop the ladder and cover me."
Paulie clambered down the outside of the barricade and holstered her weapon, relying on the firepower behind her to discourage any dangerous moves from the stranger. "Please keep your hands raised," she said before stepping close and patting him down. She felt in his pockets and rummaged through his shoulder bag before pulling out a handgun. "Military issue M9," she said, holding up the Beretta.
The man shrugged. "You would know better than I what it is. I found it on my travels. It could certainly not help the poor soul who owned it before me, though he was not a soldier."
She flipped out the magazine—five rounds remained—and cleare
d the chamber before handing it back. "It's an antique, but it'll do the job. You can have the rounds back when you leave; we don't allow loaded weapons inside the town."
"You have succeeded in establishing security here?"
She nodded. "We have a safe zone the other side of the barricade."
He smiled with obvious relief. "Then I understand your assiduous attitude to frisking me, Deputy."
"Sheriff, actually," she said, surprised to hear herself correcting him. "Field promotion. Sheriff Ramos."
He took her hand. "Reverend Daniel Smith, but 'Pastor' is fine by me. Or, indeed, Daniel."
"You'll have to climb over the barrier, I'm afraid. We haven't had time to install a front door."
Again, he gave her a warm smile as he nodded and, helped by the arms reaching down from above, entered the town.
By the time she stepped back onto terra firma on the safe side of the wall, Paulie could see that word had gotten around already. Mayor Vogelbach was striding forward to greet him and behind her a crowd had gathered. Paulie didn't like the hungry look on their faces, but she knew that while, as sheriff, she could help provide them with bodily security, she could do nothing about their souls.
Paulie ran over to catch up, gesturing Hodges and Friedman to stand between the crowd and the preacher.
"This is Pastor Smith," Paulie said. "Pastor, this is Mayor Vogelbach."
The two shook hands and then, to Paulie's surprise, Vogelbach drew him into an embrace. "Welcome, welcome. We have such need of you," she said.
The reverend smiled. "I am pleased to be here, mayor. Tonight, I will sleep in safety for the first time in many, many days."
"Mayor, I suggest we find Reverend Smith some food and drink while we debrief him."
Vogelbach shrugged. "Debrief? Is that necessary, Sheriff? Can't we give the man some time to rest before subjecting him to an inquisition."
Paulie went to protest when Smith spoke. "It is quite alright, Mayor. I have walked far today, and I am tired, but the sheriff is perfectly correct to put the security of this town ahead of my comfort."
"We need to know what the situation on the road is, and that's best done in private, I think."
"Lead on, Sheriff," Smith said with another smile.
Paulie was glad to get into bed that night. She had a bed in one of the old stock rooms on the ground floor of Aldays, though she spent almost no time there. She put the candle she was carrying down on a wooden chair and quickly pulled off her clothes and dressed in the thermal pajamas she'd brought from her old apartment.
Smith had painted a harsh and desperate picture of the world outside. He'd come from the East Coast where he'd been visiting family, though he was from Seattle himself. According to his account, he'd spent the ten days since the night of death trudging and car-hopping across the country. Most of the major highways were impassable near the cities, so he'd been forced onto country lanes and then, as cars ran out of gas, he'd crossed the country on foot. It was quite an achievement.
She quickly realized that steel lay behind his ready smile. If he was to be believed, most of the cars he'd used had previously been occupied. She'd seen enough dead bodies in the past days, but at least those had been out in the open air or in cool rooms in a frigid climate, not locked up and festering in cars along the highways. She admired the man's stomach and found herself warming to him.
When he'd encountered people, he'd paused to help those who welcome spiritual assistance, but kept heading westward. She was shocked, saddened and oddly proud to hear that Arbroath was the first settlement he'd come across that had re-established law and order. He'd seen no sign of law enforcement or the military on his travels—no living sign, anyway—though he'd seen more than enough ruination to believe the end of days was at hand. For now, however, he was keen to render assistance and the mayor was just as keen to receive it.
As exhaustion caught up with her, Paulie had left them talking and now sat on the bed as she dropped the candle onto the bedside table. She climbed into the welcome warmth and blew out the flame. She closed her eyes and was just drifting off when the room filled with light. Paulie snapped upwards and looked around.
Her smartphone lay on the little table. It had been dead since the second day and she'd had no way to recharge it but, more from force of habit than for any other reason, she'd brought it with her from her apartment and plugged in the charger. Graff had been running the generator for a while and this little room must have been on the same circuit as the makeshift hospital.
Now the smartphone screen lit up and she grabbed it, swiping the unlock screen and squinting at what it showed as her eyes adjusted to the bright screen.
It was a text. The date was Saturday the 14th at 4 p.m.—the day after the night of death.
Mommy, where are you? I'm scared.
Luna
Chapter 18
"I wouldn't have pulled the trigger," Solly said for what felt like the tenth time.
Janice sat on the couch between the two boys and watched as they sipped on their hot chocolate. Ross stood by them with an expression of sullen resentment on his face. He held the flashlight like an offensive weapon.
"Can we question them now?" Solly asked.
Janice gave a sigh, looked up at him and nodded.
"What are your names?" he began.
The boys ignored him, focusing their attention on the dregs of their instant hot chocolate. Both looked as though they were African American and Solly put the elder at around fifteen and the younger at maybe ten.
"Would it help if we told you ours?" Janice said in a soothing voice. "I'm Janice. That's Solly and that's Ross."
The older boy followed her hand as she gestured. Solly caught fear and defiance in his eyes as they met briefly before moving on to Ross who returned the glare with interest. The younger boy acted as if Janice hadn't spoken at all.
"Jaxon," the older boy said, directing his words at Janice. "With an X. Most people call me JD. This is my bro, Dion."
Janice looked up at Solly, who gave a resigned gesture and sat down in the armchair.
"Why did you break in, Jaxon?" Janice asked.
The boy began to fidget with his cup; shaking his head as if to deny he'd done it. "Can't break into what's your own," he said. "This is our place."
"What do you mean?"
Jaxon swept his arm around the room. "We live here."
"But it was empty."
The boy shook his head again, as if she were too stupid for words. "No, we live here, in this park. Pine Wood, it's ours."
Solly's patience expired. "Don't be ridiculous. There must be fifty homes here, so why break into the one we're in?"
"Well, there's more'n just me and D," Jaxon spat. "There's hundreds of us. You're surrounded and your little piece ain't gonna keep you safe for long, not once the old man hears what you was gonna do to me."
"Old man?"
"Oh, you'll see him soon enough, that's for sure," Jaxon said.
But Solly could tell he was no great actor. The boy was frightened.
"Well, we can't do anything until the sun's up," Janice said. "I'll make us some coffee and warm up some beans."
Solly drew the revolver from his pocket and pulled back the curtain to gaze out the window. He thought he could detect the very first hint of light between the trees.
Without warning, the younger boy leaped up and sprinted out of the living room. Ross yelled, and ran after him, but Dion had managed to open the door and disappear into the darkness before Ross could reach him.
"No!" Janice said as he went to follow the younger boy. "We have to stay together."
Solly returned to the window as Jaxon sat on the sofa, wearing a smirk that was almost entirely convincing.
They came as light spread through the park. At least two dozen children surrounded the little house. So, Jaxon had exaggerated their numbers. Solly watched them through the living room window. Most looked younger than Jaxon, some were no more than five or six, a
nd there was a roughly even mix of girls and boys. Many looked African American, but he saw Caucasians and Hispanics as well as an Asian boy. He could see no firearms or bladed weapons, but they each carried something that could do damage—baseball bats, pipes and, in the case of the smaller children, rocks.
Solly pocketed the revolver and gestured to Jaxon to get up. There was no point holding him any longer since Solly wasn't about to fire on children in any event.
Jaxon sneered at Solly as he opened the door. A huge cheer went up as he pranced down the steps like a returning hero before another boy of a similar age whispered in his ear. Jaxon turned around and, hands on hips, addressed his former captors who stood watching from the door.
"I got some bad news," he shouted, "the old man wants to see you." He put on a voice like a commentator at a boxing match and gestured them forward.
"Come on now, ain't gonna help none if we have to come in there and get you."
Solly nodded to the others. He'd slipped the semi-automatic into a drawer on their way out as he didn't doubt they'd take his gun from him and he'd rather sacrifice Mona's revolver. To his surprise, however, the children simply escorted them noisily across the wet grass and onto the circuit road. They were singing as they went and, despite the danger, Solly relished the sound; it had a vitality to it that he'd missed in the past days.
A large mobile home sat near the center of the community. Solly noticed that a flexible pipe had been attached to the chimney—an air conditioning conduit, maybe—and ran down the far side of the house to disappear into the trees. He guessed there was heating inside, and the hose took the warm exhaust air away and dissipated it in the woods. Clever.
The door opened as they went up the ramp and an older girl stood there. "You must wait here," she said as Jaxon made to follow. He gave a grunt of annoyance but obeyed instantly.
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