Switched On: Book Six in The Borrowed World Series

by Franklin Horton

  "I'm sure we could find somebody to take you in if you feel like you need to get out of this house," Randi said.

  Though Randi’s intention was sincere, this was exactly the wrong thing to say. The normally dignified woman slapped the palm of her hand flat on the dining table, the noise thunderous in the still house. The cups rattled on their saucers, startling both Jim and Randi.

  Rosa Fairlane set her jaw and spoke to them in a low, angry voice. "I've been doing just fine, thank you very much. Just because I crossed your mind suddenly after thirty years doesn’t mean you’re obliged to take care of me. I am not interested in your charity or your welfare."

  "Geez, I'm sorry. We’re not here to piss you off," Randi muttered.

  "That crass expression does not fully capture the magnitude of my irritation," Mrs. Fairlane said. "This town is probably full of elderly folks just like myself who are getting by. We’re of tougher stock than you produce these days. While I’m sure many of them could use a hand, I feel certain that most still retain enough dignity they’re not interested in being anyone’s burden."

  Jim stood and put a hand on Mrs. Fairlane’s shoulder. “I appreciate that and I'm sorry if we upset you. We’ll be going. I just wanted to see if there was anything we could do to help."

  Rosa turned shakily toward him and raised her fiery eyes to meet his. "I neither want nor need your help, young man."

  "Then we’ll be leaving. By the way, there’s a message being broadcast on the radio that they’re going to start restoring power next week. We haven’t heard any details yet but that’s what we know. Maybe if they at least get some of it on we can find a more comfortable location for you. Maybe they’ll operate shelters or something."

  Rosa Fairlane gestured around her at the large empty house. Her fingers were gray and spotted, the palms pink and worn smooth. "This house means nothing to me anymore. It's the empty husk of a family that lived here and died. I'm like a little hermit crab that needs to crawl out and leave it behind. If there’s a better opportunity, I will consider it."

  "Then give us a few days to see what the government has planned then I’ll be back to check on you."

  “Well, just be aware that if it takes thirty more years for you to get back to me you’ll probably find nothing but dust and gnawed bones,” Mrs. Fairlane said.

  “Thanks for clarifying that,” Jim said, his mouth spreading into the fakest smile he could manage. “I’ll see if I can be more expeditious.”

  5

  Deputy Ford reigned in his horse near the emergency operations center and sat watching the dark building. A year ago, the place was a hive of activity. People were in and out twenty-four hours a day. County, state, and town law enforcement stored vehicles there. Drug raids were launched from there, dispatchers worked from there, and confiscated vehicles were stored there. Now, from all appearances, it was as dead as the rest of the town.

  It had been a couple of months since he’d been here and he assumed he’d find the place looted, but it didn’t appear to be any different from when he was here last. The building had plate glass windows on the front and although Ford expected to find them shattered, they appeared intact. They didn't house inmates here since it was only a dispatch center, and the building had none of the hardened surfaces a jail or temporary detention center might have. It looked more like an office building, which in fact was what it had been before the county purchased it.

  By nature, he was the cautious type, and Ford decided to ride the perimeter of the facility before he went any closer. The front of the building only gave him a little of the picture. The entrance was on the north side and everything there looked exactly as it had been when he last saw it. He rode to the right. The west had no entrances but was lined with narrow, recessed windows that looked into offices and conference rooms.

  The back side of the building looked undisturbed as well. It was a solid block wall with three heavy steel exterior doors and no windows. He steered his horse closer to those doors and saw no signs of tampering or prying. This surprised him, but then again, the emergency operations center was hidden in an industrial park on the fringes of town. Aside from Jim's parents, who lived within sight of the building, there weren’t many folks living out in that area.

  The deputy circled around the last side of the building, where a large parking lot provided parking for employees and emergency vehicles. There was a surplus MRAP, a HUMVEE, and a boat used for water rescues. There was a discreet black van for surveillance operations and drug raids. Several retired police cruisers were clustered together, some sitting on flats. There was a pickup that trustees used for trash collection on the highway medians.

  This side of the building was lined with more of the recessed windows but did have a single staff entrance at the end of a narrow sidewalk. The windows all had the same low-E reflective coating that appeared bronze in the strong sunlight. As Ford rode along, he looked at each window to make sure it had not been busted open. Each gave off the same identical reflection.

  Except for one.

  The deputy paused, studying the window. The windows were fixed panes of glass, which were non-operative. They didn't open. There was really no reason that one window in a line of identical windows should be giving off a different reflection unless it had been tampered with. The deputy looked around and saw no footprints coming or going from the building. There was nothing but undisturbed snow. Still, something seemed wrong about it.

  He dismounted his horse and tied it off to a light pole. He unslung his department-issued AR and held it at a low ready position. He moved close enough to the building that he had eyes on both the questionable window and the one next to it at the same time. Comparing the two windows side-by-side he could see that the decorative aluminum cladding on the frame of one window was missing. He didn't see those trim pieces anywhere but it was possible they were beneath the snow. Because the exposed gasket around the window was black it did not look altogether different from the dark bronze trim of the undisturbed window next to it.

  It was curious that someone would go to this extent to conceal their attempt to enter the building. Most people these days threw rocks through windows with complete abandon and didn’t give a shit who knew it. Why would someone go to such lengths to make the building appear undisturbed? Maybe they were taking shelter there and didn't want anyone else to know? Could that be it?

  The reflective coating on the windows made it difficult to see inside the building. With the bright sunlight shining against them the only way to really see inside was to get right up against the window and cup your hands around your eyes to keep the ambient light out. The move made the deputy a little apprehensive but he had come too far to turn around because of a suspicious window.

  The deputy crept closer to the building, set the butt of his rifle in the snow, and leaned it against the building. He pressed his nose to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes to cut out any stray light. He looked into the dim interior of an empty conference room, and right into the face of a young girl. By the time he figured out what he was looking at in the dim light, she erupted into a terrified scream.

  Ford raised his hands to assure her that he meant no harm but she bolted across the room toward an interior doorway.

  “It’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you!” he called, trying to follow her with his eyes.

  He caught a glimpse of movement. He squinted, trying to make out what he was looking at. It was the barrel of a gun.

  "No!" the deputy screamed, dropping to the ground.

  There was a deafening boom and glass rained down on him. The deputy kicked his feet out, shoving himself back as close to the wall as he could get.

  Boom.

  Another shot rang out and the remaining glass was blasted from the frame. Ford frantically tried to come up with a plan. There was no cover for at least fifty or sixty yards. He would have to get to one of the abandoned vehicles in the parking lot and hope he didn't catch lead in the backside while he wa
s doing it. Whoever it was inside had already shown a willingness to shoot and he couldn’t imagine he could get that far without them taking another shot. He had no choice but to try to buy himself some time, hoping that he might be able to bargain for his life.

  "I'm a deputy! I don't mean you any harm. I was just seeing if the building had been broken into. I was going to grab some supplies."

  There was no response but he was certain whoever had shot at him was still there. He could feel it. They were probably just waiting for him to pop up and reveal himself. Then he would die.

  "Honest! I'm a deputy. I don't mean you any harm." There was desperation in his voice and it was real. He didn’t want to die.

  "Then you better be raising a badge," came a terrified voice. "If I don't see a badge you’re a fucking dead man."

  It was a woman. A woman who sounded just as scared as he was. When he processed her words, he experienced another moment of panic. He wasn’t certain he had his badge. He hadn’t been wearing it because he didn't want to distinguish himself as a law enforcement officer and draw fire from someone with hostile feelings toward the police.

  He prayed he had shoved it in a pocket somewhere. He patted his chest and his sides. He patted his front pockets. Nothing.

  “I’m waiting!” the woman called, her fear increasing his own level of fear. Scared people made bad decisions, such as pulling the trigger on a cop.

  “I’m looking! Hold on!” He checked his back pockets, furiously shoving a hand into the damp material. There it was. He found it.

  "I've got it!” he called.

  "Raise it up slowly to where I can see it. If it's not a badge, you’re going to draw back a nub.”

  He hurriedly extracted the badge and raised it cautiously to the blasted out window, expecting that at any moment his hand was going to disappear into a spray of blood. "Can you see it?"

  "I see something but I can’t tell anything about it. You just sit still while I get a little closer. If you move, I'll shove this barrel through the window and drop buckshot right into the top of your head. You got it?"

  "I got it. Just settle down. I'm legit." He continued holding the badge up. His ears were ringing from the gun blast and he couldn't hear any indication of anyone moving around inside. He was terrified, wondering if at any moment she was going to shoot him in the top of the head. His scalp tingled at the thought, at the knowledge that he probably wouldn’t even hear the shot before he was already dead.

  "Okay, so it's a damn badge. How does that prove you ain't here to try to hurt us?"

  “I’m a cop, lady. I don’t go around hurting women and kids.”

  “You used to be a cop. A lot of people used to be a lot of different things. Now they’re all something else, just like you might be something else. A badge don’t mean shit.”

  "You’re right. I reckon it doesn't. If I was in your shoes I’m not sure if I would believe me either. You just have to take my word for that part. I swear to you that I’m not here to hurt anyone."

  "I ain’t big on people's word. Matter fact, I ain’t big on people,” she grumbled.

  Ford almost smiled. "Sounds like we would get along fine then."

  "I ain’t looking for anyone to get along with!”

  "Easy there, I didn't mean anything by it. I just meant that I’m not big on people either."

  She didn’t miss a beat, not disarmed at all by his casual conversational tone. “So why were you out there scaring my little girl?"

  "This building was the emergency operations center. This is where I worked from. I’ve been staying out of town, but I came into town this morning and I thought I'd make another run through to see if there were any supplies I missed.”

  "Well, my daughter and I have been staying here. We’ve found a little bit of food but not enough to share. Reckon you’re just going to have to get out of here.”

  "I don't mind to move on as long as you won’t kill me when I stand up.”

  “Don’t do anything that deserves killing and I won’t.”

  She had a point there. “How did you get in there anyway?"

  "I worked in construction before. I know how these windows go in. If you know that, it doesn’t take much to get one back out again.”

  "I barely noticed anything.”

  "That was the plan,” she said.

  "There may be more supplies in there you can use. That's what I came to look for."

  “You going to tell me where to find them?”

  “I don’t know where they are but I might be able to help you find them. There’s several places they could be and I have the keys to get into those places.”

  "How do I know I can trust you?"

  "I reckon you don't. All I can give you is my word."

  She mulled that over but hunger and concern for her daughter beat out caution. “I’ll let you in but you have to leave your guns outside. I’m not letting you around my daughter carrying your guns. I don’t trust you.”

  “Fair enough,” Ford said. “But if someone steals my shit I’m going to be pretty damn mad.”

  “Not my problem,” the woman replied.

  “Well, I’m standing up. My hands will be empty. Don’t shoot me.” Ford pushed himself to a squatting position then thrust his hands over his head.

  The woman gripped the gun tighter and stared as Ford’s hands appeared in front of the blasted out window opening. They were empty, as promised. He eased up, not liking the feeling of the gun pointed at his back.

  “I’m turning around now.”

  “Slowly,” she said.

  He turned until they were face-to-face. “Can I lower my hands now?”

  She nodded. “You can come on in but keep your distance. This gun is staying on you. Don’t make me nervous or something ugly might happen.”

  Ford didn’t like the sound of that, knowing that the ugliness that might happen would involve him bleeding out in a gory mess. He used a gloved hand to rake the small chunks of tempered glass free of the opening, the delicately climbed in. In his thick layers, he was not very graceful and ended up falling to the floor.

  “Don’t shoot,” he said, afraid that she might mistake his clumsiness as aggression.

  “I’m not shooting you for being an oaf.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I guess.”

  “Now find those supplies you were talking about,” she said.

  “What’s your name?” Ford asked.

  “None of your damn business.”

  Ford frowned. “What does it hurt to tell me your name?”

  “Was this just a trick to get inside? Do I need to kill you and roll you back out the window?”

  Ford sighed and got to his feet. “If you I help you find supplies will that convince you I mean you no harm?”

  “If you help us find supplies then get on out of here and leave us alone I will be convinced.”

  Ford started toward the hallway. The woman backed away nervously, training the shotgun on him again. “You go easy. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

  “Where’s your daughter?”

  “That ain’t none of your business either.”

  “I was just asking to make sure she was okay.”

  “She’s fine. She’s hiding. I know where she’s at.”

  “Got it,” Ford said. “Let’s start in the locker room.”

  He made his way down the hall and pushed through a door on the right with a sign that said Private. There were no windows and no light entered the room. Ford pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shone it around the room. Inside were six-foot tall lockers, a tile floor, and showers. It looked like any high school locker room.

  “The lockers are all locked,” the woman said. “The cops must not trust the other cops.” She smiled at that comment.

  “Locks just help keep people honest,” Ford said. “Besides, I know where the master key is.” He went to a locker with no padlock on it, opened the latch, and removed a set of bolt cutters.

/>   “That’s the master key?”

  “Even cops forget their keys sometimes,” Ford said, starting down the row and snipping off padlocks with surprising ease.

  The woman rushed to one and started pulling the broken padlock from the locker.

  “Easy now,” Ford said. “Some of these lockers have personal belongings in them. I’d rather you let me go through them. I’m just going to check for any food or snacks the guys may have left behind. I don’t want you going through their personal shit. I figure if they haven’t come back for the food by now they’re not coming.”

  The woman hesitantly conceded and backed away, taking a seat on a bench while Ford finished moving through the padlocks. When he was done, he slipped the cut lock out and opened the door.

  “So how did you guys end up here?” he asked, trying again for conversation.

  The woman looked at him, a snide comment on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. She sighed, rubbed her head in what seemed like frustration or exhaustion, and looked away from him.

  Ford found an unopened box of ten protein bars and pulled them out. “Here we go. All yours.” He tossed her the box.

  She reflexively laid the shotgun across her lap to catch the box, then panicked when she realized what she’d done, yanking the gun back up. Ford hadn’t moved. Hadn’t made any effort to go for her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m serious. This is why I came here. To look for leftover supplies.”

  “Then why should you share them? How do I know you’re not going to hurt me and my little girl and just take all of it?”

  “Because that’s not who I am. That’s all I can tell you.” He looked long and honest at her, trying to convince her, but uncertain if he was getting through whatever damage had been done to her.