"Something. Anything.”
"You saw what the sheriff just went through with his mother? You think you have some better option of how to treat the elderly and the mortally wounded? You have some solution that the sheriff wasn’t aware of?"
Ford buried his face in his hands, rambling through his fingers. He stripped his hat off his head, shaking his head in anguish. He clenched his hands into fists, pulling at his own hair, unable to accept the situation. "What the FUCK!"
Rosa’s moaning drew Jim’s attention back to her. He touched her forearm and spoke softly to her. "If this deputy will let me, I will leave you a gun, but I cannot shoot you. You have to convince him, because he won’t listen to me."
Ford's eyes flew to Jim's. "Listen, dammit, what she's asking for is wrong. It's against the law and against everything I've been taught as a law enforcement officer. Surely you can't expect me to be a part of this?"
Jim sighed. "I guess I don't really care if you're a part of it or not, but this is what she wants. I hope you won’t try to stop it."
"I can't believe you're okay with this!" Ford erupted. “What kind of person are you?”
"I've been here before, Ford. I try to be a decent person. I may not always succeed. I’m pretty sure I fuck it up a lot, but I try to be a good person."
"Are you one of those death angels? Like those employees in the nursing homes who euthanize everybody they think no longer has any quality-of-life? Do you get off playing God?"
Jim shook his head and stared angrily at Ford. "It's not about me at all, but I can imagine what it would be like to be her right now. That a place you'd like to be? What if it was you laying there with a busted hip, no family, and praying you don’t have to spend your life being a burden to someone else?"
Ford was silent.
"Put yourself in her shoes, Ford. Everyone you've known and loved in the world is dead. You've sustained an injury that will create a permanent, painful disability. Your freedom and your peace are gone forever. What would you want?"
Ford shoved himself to his feet and waved a finger at Jim. "You do what you have to do! You do what you can live with, but I won't be a part of it. I'm going on to the operations center and I'll meet you out in front of this house when I'm done."
Ford backed through the kitchen and left out the French doors. It hit Jim at that moment, the impact of the situation he’d put himself in again. He was awash with emotion at the decision he’d been forced to make as a teenager and the long term impacts that might have had on him as adult. He’d never considered it. He had done what he felt was right then and he still felt it was right now. A hand clasped his, pulling him back to the moment. He looked down to see Rosa’s yellow-tinged eyes brimming with tears. He knew she was in tremendous pain, yet he couldn’t help but think some of those tears were for him, an acknowledgment of the struggle he was going through.
"Thank you," she croaked.
Jim clasped his other hand over top of hers and held them for a moment. "What can I do for you?"
She struggled to swallow. "My daughter's bedroom is at the top of the stairs on the left. You'll know it because the walls are pink and the furniture is white. There’s a picture on the nightstand of Charles, my daughter, and I. It was taken one summer when we went out west and it was the best time of my life. Would you bring that to me? I want to hold it."
Jim pushed himself up from the floor, fighting tears of his own, and went through the living room. In the foyer, he turned up the stairs. It was quite cold, and his breath clouded in front of his face as he ascended. He was aware that his squeaking shoes were damp and probably leaving water spots on the beautiful maple steps. Then it occurred to him it likely didn’t matter. No one that loved this house and cared about these steps would ever be climbing them again.
At the top of the steps, a carved wooden ball the size of a cantaloupe sat atop the newel post. Its surface was worn smooth by the touch of so many hands that it barely appeared to be wood anymore, assuming instead the polished golden depth of amber or topaz. Unable to stop himself, Jim made the mistake of touching it. It was like being hit by lightning, the sudden awareness of how many lives it took for a piece of wood to become that polished.
He was profoundly moved by that awareness in a way he would never understand. He knew Charles Fairlane had installed those steps himself and he could imagine a younger Charles touching the fruit of his handiwork with deep pride. He imagined that same newel touched by the tentative fingers of a young woman coming up those steps for the first time as a bride and knowing that this was the house where she would raise her family. He sensed within it the trailing fingers of a child who could barely reach it when she moved into the room at the top of the stairs, both excited at having a room of her own yet terrified to be away from her parents. It contained the faith of a man who made this house his own but, ravaged by old age, depended on that newel to stabilize himself before he descended those stairs into the twilight of his very life.
Jim pulled himself away from the emotional wormhole and found the room he was looking for. Opening the door was like entering a fifty-year-old time castle and it was another gut punch to Jim, already reeling from the intensity of the moment. He had been in rooms like this before, left as monuments to the dead with nothing ever moved or changed. It was a tomb in every way except for containing a body. Jim tried to avoid taking in too many details of the room, simply focusing on getting the picture he was looking for and getting back out.
He entered the hall and closed the door behind him. That was when he heard the gunshot.
Jim flew down the steps and tore through the house. In the kitchen he found Rosa bleeding profusely through the gaping wound in the top of her skull. There was a clatter as her arm relaxed and hit the floor, dropping the gun. Jim took in a deep breath as he recognized a dull black Glock falling from her hand. It had to be Ford’s gun. Either she’d pulled the gun from his holster or it had fallen out while they were in the floor helping her. In the end, he guessed it didn't really matter.
"Oh, Rosa," he sighed.
Jim found a heavy bedspread and carefully rolled Rosa’s body into it, the picture she’d asked for placed on her chest. He did his best to avoid looking at her damaged head and distorted face. He selected a spot in the backyard for her grave. His first choice was by a tree but he knew there would be too many roots to deal with so he selected a spot in Mr. Fairlane's garden. The dirt was softer there and the digging easy. It was a place both she and Charles loved and spent many peaceful hours.
JIM WAS FILLING the muddy grave when Ford came walking around the corner of the house. Jim was muddy to his waist, struggling to toss shovelfuls of dirt back into the hole. He was still two feet shy of ground level and thick mud clung to the point of his shovel, making the work difficult. Jim regarded Ford without comment, then resumed his work. Ford noticed a mattock lying near the grave and used it to rake dirt into the grave.
They worked for several minutes before Jim broke the silence. "For what it's worth, I didn’t do it.”
Ford raised a hand to silence Jim. "I didn't ask."
"I know you didn't ask but I didn't want you wondering either. I’ve seen some hard things since this happened. I guess I’ve seen so much I’ve become numb to it and I assume everyone else is too."
Ford went back to raking clumps of mud into the hole. "I don't know what the fuck you've seen but I know I never want to see it."
Jim stopped shoveling for a moment, removed a glove, and reached behind his back. He retrieved the Glock that Rosa had shot herself with and extended it to Ford.
Ford immediately pawed at his holster and found the pistol missing. “Where did you find that?”
“I guess she either took it from your holster or it fell out while we were on the floor helping her. I was upstairs looking for a picture she asked for when I heard the shot.”
Ford regarded his Glock with a disgusted look. Jim was certain the look reflected Ford’s own disgust at losing his wea
pon. The pair continued to work in silence and shortly the hole was filled. Jim used the bottom of the shovel to pat the surface flat, then spread a little snow across the grave, wanting to camouflage the nature of the hole.
He stretched his back, dropped the shovel, and sat down on a concrete garden bench. “What did you find at the operations center?"
Ford stood nearby, leaning against a tree and staring at the grave. "The woman and her daughter were still there. I told them there was supposed to be an announcement about the power and that they would be able to find food and shelter at the fairgrounds."
"Did you tell them about the rules?"
Ford shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It's a starving mother and her half-starved child. She won't give a shit had about any conditions."
Ford was right. For some people it wouldn't matter.
"What about you, Ford? I’ve always assumed you’d stay with us but I never asked. You going to stay with us or move to the fairgrounds?"
"I've been a cop for a long time. Before I was a cop I served three years in the military. I can’t imagine a world where I didn't have the right to defend myself. So for now, I'll stick with you guys see how this plays out."
"I'm glad to hear that, Ford.”
Ford chuckled. "Really?"
Jim nodded seriously. "Yeah, I am. We need people like you."
Ford nodded toward the house. "I wasn't sure after that thing back there. I just haven't had to deal with many situations where my training didn’t help out. There was nothing in my experience that told me what to do there. All I could see was my own mom or grandmother laying there and me not being able to do a damn thing about it."
“The training doesn’t stop you from being human. Sometimes the irrational, emotional human part forces its way out.”
“I noticed.”
"I guess I'm getting more able to detach myself when I need to," Jim said.
"You might've made a good cop."
Jim laughed at shook his head. "I don't think so. For the most part I hate people."
"I’ve heard you say that before, but everything I've seen you do has been for people. I think you care about people more than you can admit."
Jim thought about that. "Maybe I like the people I know."
"Maybe. Or maybe you feel obligated to help people and that obligation is what you hate."
“If this is therapy, I’m not interested,” Jim said. He looked toward Rosa's house. "Normally I'd want to go through that house from end to end. The only family she has left is a son in California and I don't know if he'll make it back here before vandals pick it clean. She's probably got all kinds of nice items from the old days that would be helpful to people without power."
Ford looked at the house and nodded. "You're too close. Maybe I could come back tomorrow and bring Gary and Randi. Or Will if Randi doesn't want to come. It would be easier for people who didn't know her."
"That’s fine with me. I'm starting to feel the same way about town that Randi does. Every trip in brings something worse than the last time. I’m not sure it's worth it."
Before they left, Jim went back in the house with his pack while Ford watched the horses. He stopped on the porch and stared at his muddy boots, then took them off before continuing. He went inside and climbed the steps. At the top, he unscrewed the wooden ball from the newel post and slipped it inside his pack. He wasn’t completely sure why he did it and perhaps he’d never mention it to anyone. Yet he knew beyond any doubt that it was the right thing to do. It was an act of preservation. An act of remembrance.
FROM THE FAIRLANE HOUSE, it took them a little less than an hour to get to the intersection where they turned off to Kyle's place. The first thing Jim noticed was that there was much more open pavement there. Several heavy trucks of some kind flattened the snow, making it melt much faster. From there, it took them less than thirty minutes to reach Kyle's driveway. Jim paused there, taking in the information at the scene presented to him. He was confused by the appearance of trucks in their community. He was immediately concerned that the military trucks may have ventured out in this direction.
"The trucks all turned here," Ford said.
"They did," Jim agreed. “Right up Kyle’s driveway.”
Jim didn't see that sitting there and speculating was helping them figure anything out so he nudged his horse toward Kyle's driveway. At the top of the steep incline he found a large parking area marked by more truck tracks. There also a lot of boot prints and they were different enough that it was clearly not Kyle.
"I don't get it," Jim said. “I guess they could be military trucks. Maybe they came to recruit Kyle to help with the power restoration."
Ford shook his head. "Nope. Not military. Wrong tread pattern."
Jim could see all the way to Kyle's cabin now and there were no trucks in sight anywhere. A tendril of smoke rose from the chimney. The cattle dogs, familiar now with Jim, looked wary but didn’t growl.
"Stay here," Jim said. "His wife may be home alone and I don't want to spook her."
"Fair enough."
Jim nudged his horse into motion and it plodded down the muddy farm road toward the cabin. The trucks had not gone this far onto the farm. The snow was marked only by the traffic of human and animals. A muddy stream ran down each track of the farm road, water splashing from the horse’s heavy steps.
Jim tied his horse off at the gate and called. Kim came to the door, a dishtowel in one hand, a pistol in the other. She was all smiles, which put Jim at ease. If Kyle had been kidnapped by the military, forced to go work on their project, she would not be this cheery.
"Hey, Jim, what's up?"
Jim smiled. "I was in town and thought I'd ride out here to see if Kyle had an opportunity to think about what we discussed."
"Did he ever. You know how he is. Once he got that on his mind he couldn't do much else. He goes from one obsession to the next. He already got a plan together and put it in action."
Jim was troubled by that news. He wished Kyle had not proceeded without discussing it with him. He especially didn't like the idea of those guys out there running around without a security detail to watch their backs while they worked. This needed to be a coordinated effort.
Jim didn't want to give Kyle's wife the impression that he was not excited about what Kyle was doing. Anyway, he was not so much displeased as concerned. He gestured back toward the driveway. “Does his plan have anything to do with all those tire tracks down there? How did he get access to power company trucks and the fuel to run them?"
She laughed. "Oh, those aren’t power company trucks. Those are frozen food trucks from that distributor in the industrial park. They run on propane. Kyle and one of his buddies from the power company were able to get them running. I wish he’d thought of that earlier."
Jim was floored. He had never considered the idea of looking at who may have a propane fleet that might still have running trucks. He wished he’d thought of that earlier too. "It looks like he has several."
"Yeah, he's got a couple of trucks and a whole crew of men. They’re working at the substation now. I don't know how late they intend to work he said not to worry about dinner and not to wait up on him."
"I guess he figured out a good place to make a connection to the high voltage transmission system?"
"One of the senior guys, Orfield, knew a good spot. It’s up the road toward Belfast."
Jim’s stomach sank at the news. Belfast was completely on the other side of the valley from where he was now. It could take him two or three hours to get back to the valley, then another three hours to ride to Belfast. By that time, the crew would probably be gone. There was no way Jim was going to catch up with them today.
"Can I give him a message?" Kim asked.
Jim shook his head. "I guess not. Just tell him to be careful. I may bring some people by there tomorrow to see if he needs any help. If nothing else, we can just keep an eye out while they work."
"Keep an eye out? You don'
t think they're in danger, do you?"
"No more than anybody else," Jim lied.
Anyone out there operating a vehicle now had a big target on their back. Jim would have felt a lot more comfortable if he had a heavily armed man in the passenger seat of each one of those trucks. If nothing else, the presence of an armed passenger might serve as a deterrent. They could talk about that tomorrow. Jim was concerned that Kyle might become so focused on getting the power back on that he lost track of maintaining security.
Jim said his goodbyes to Kim and the kids. He walked his horse back down the farm road where he relayed the story to Ford. Ford didn't know what to think about the whole mess. Most of his days were about right and wrong, rules and laws. He’d dealt with some crazy situations sometimes but this entire week had been a whole new level of crazy. He didn't know how he was ever going to return to normal life after this. In fact, he didn't know how any of them would.
21
When Boss initially seized the power plant it was a damn good time. He very much enjoyed it. Setting up the entire operation had been exciting and it was the type of fieldwork that he loved. As more people arrived, the honeymoon was soon over. The last couple of weeks his job had taken on the feel of an administrative and management function. It was like he was the regional manager of some bland company, like maybe a fast food franchise.
He knew his ability to function both as a field operative and a manager was why he was in this position to begin with. The folks in charge of the realignment, as they called it, needed people like him who could wear both hats. If he had a choice, he much preferred the life of a field operative. Today, he got to return to that role.
Yesterday he had recon teams running vehicle patrols throughout the area. The idea was for the men to familiarize themselves with the area, note any sizable inhabited compounds, and observe anything unusual. The patrols were a mix of foreign troops and Americans. Some of the Americans were military, some contractors, and some came from a federal law enforcement background. Most teams returned with similar reports of looted dwellings, hungry residents, and indications of violence. A mixed team of Americans and Turks had returned with photographs of tracks made by a convoy of heavy, dual-wheeled trucks. That piqued Boss’s interest enough that he had to observe the tracks for himself. That meant a field day.
Switched On: Book Six in The Borrowed World Series Page 20