by J. L. Salter
“What’re you thinking about?” Mitch had been watching her intently.
“Nothing. Just looking around one last time.” Some things sound better when they stay inside your head.
Mitch grunted. He limped a bit as they walked a few steps and both looked again at the aftermath of the chaotic danger recently ended.
After a moment, Kelly looked up into his eyes and thought she saw something besides relief and fatigue. “What’s the matter, Mitch?” She halted him.
Mitch shook his head and hugged her closely again.
Kelly disengaged and held him at arm’s length. “No, really. What’s wrong?”
“You’ll think it’s sappy.”
Her expression induced him to explain.
“Okay. I know when the media glosses over this, it won’t sound as dangerous and scary as it felt while actually happening.”
Kelly nodded.
“But I was afraid I might not, I mean, that you might be…”
Kelly hugged him closely and her eyes filled.
Mitch’s voice cracked in places. “Kelly, I thought I’d be right next to you at the barricade. But in all the rushing around, we were sent in different directions and I never got a chance to say goodbye.” His shoulders shuddered a bit.
Kelly squeezed him so hard that he had trouble breathing. “We don’t need any goodbyes.”
Mitch nodded as they clung to each other. Then he noisily inhaled the contents of his sinuses. “I don’t think I can listen — not right now, I mean. But, sometime soon, will you tell me what all happened here on the barricade?”
“Yes, I will. And I still want to hear about your patrol.” A drop of blood slid down along her breast and tickled slightly as it disappeared beneath her brassiere. She suddenly realized all the squeezing had re-opened her injury.
“You’re bleeding!” Mitch tenderly pulled back her V-neck hem and touched lightly away from her wound.
She winced. “They said it was a ricochet. Nicked by a chip of pavement, probably. Maybe some glass.”
“You want to go to ER and have it looked at?” He peered from a slightly different angle.
“During what remains of this haywire drill, the ER will be flooded with designated casualties. They’re still trying to figure out how to pull together a community to respond when there’s a disaster of some kind.”
“This little community here was nearly a disaster. If it hadn’t been for you and all these other folks, over a hundred households would’ve been wiped out. And in the process maybe some of these old residents would’ve been badly injured or even killed.” Mitch closely examined her wound. “A few months ago, you’re whacked by a revolver barrel and now you’re hit by a ricochet.” He scrutinized again. “You sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”
“No. Let’s go home, Mitch. I’m tired.” She hugged him once more, wincing slightly when his shirt button pressed near her wound. She also got another strong whiff of sweat and cordite and fear. “And somebody needs a shower.”
Chapter Forty-Three
October 11 — Thursday
It was pitch black at Kelly’s cabin in the northern outskirts of Somerset, except for the Suttons’ cellar light to the south, the Normans’ porch light eastward, and a few bulbs around the Fultons’ farm complex northerly. As if washing away all of that harrowing afternoon’s activity, danger, and emotions, rain had started late Wednesday night during the new moon.
After a long shower, Mitch had stayed that night, on the couch… one of very few overnights Kelly had allowed. But after coffee Thursday morning, he hurried back to his place for a quick shave. Then off to his midmorning interview with one of the lake residents.
Rain continued to drizzle until midday; it had also turned dramatically colder. That was the kind of October weather Kelly had come to expect over the past five autumns. She remained inside her warm, dry cabin most of the day and even skipped her morning run to the library for e-mail.
Except for a brief dash outside to join the neighbor dog’s chorus, barking at some invisible intruder, Perra stayed indoors. Gato looked up when Perra went out and eyed her again when the little dog returned, but otherwise the big feline just slept. Cats manage that very well on cold, rainy days.
After Mitch conducted his single morning interview, he’d gone home to type notes on his laptop and returned to Kelly’s cabin about four p.m.
Both were on the love seat, Kelly’s extended legs resting on his lap. They’d spoken more about the previous eventful day. Kelly had recounted everything she remembered about the barricade group’s activity and Mitch finally explained what happened on his flanking patrol. At last Kelly understood Wade’s reference, a deer put in charge of wolves.
“Mitch, you think there’s an article in this for one of us? Maybe both?”
“Sure, I could see all kinds of short features about some of those old veterans being called to arms again. Might be able to get a couple of extra pages for that special section you’re working on.”
“Oh, right. But I meant for the Lexington paper, and maybe the AP wire would even pick it up.” Kelly rose and went to the fridge for some juice.
“Hmm. Not sure, but I figure crime wouldn’t be such big news in Lexington.” Mitch yawned slightly.
“Even when it backfires on the criminals?”
“I got a feeling they wouldn’t touch a story about a group of geriatric vigilantes holding off a gang of armed thugs.” Mitch’s hand patted the empty cushion next to him.
“Yeah. It’s only newsworthy if the criminal succeeds in killing someone.” Still in the kitchen, Kelly frowned.
“Well, let’s see if your local editor wants a first-hand account. Unless he’s already assigned it to the crime reporter… if there is one.”
“It has to be us. If some other reporter like Fincher goes out and interviews the two dozen local people involved, he’d just have twenty-four different little stories. Nobody could make heads or tails of what happened or why.” Kelly paused. “I’ll check with Kohlick tomorrow.”
“Did you notice how everybody just stood around afterwards, even after the authorities left and the street was mostly clear?”
She returned to her seat and again stretched her legs back upon his lap. “Yeah. Wasn’t that odd?”
“It was like nobody wanted to leave, after what we’d all been through.”
“And didn’t know what to do with our hands either. I found myself touching people over and over again.” Kelly demonstrated the motions.
“I didn’t get all touchy-feely with anybody but you.” His hand, resting on her ankles, moved up around her calves. “But yeah, I saw what you mean. Especially the older folks. It seemed to be some kind of comfort or reassurance.”
“Or maybe validation.”
“Huh?” The notion apparently went over Mitch’s head.
“Validation that they did the right thing taking that risk, facing those thugs. It was the right thing, even though nobody expected it and everyone in authority would’ve discouraged it.”
Mitch likely understood but didn’t comment further.
Later, when the rain finally stopped, Perra looked up like it was a signal to exit. She did, barking as she burst through the pet hatch and hit the chilly outside air. Within moments, Perra came back inside and shook off the wetness with a loud flapping of her bat-wing ears. Kelly patted the little dog’s head and then rubbed that moisture off on her jeans.
Kelly remembered something. “Oh, Roger called this morning. You know how nobody with local cell numbers could get phone service yesterday?”
Mitch nodded.
“Roger found out that some of the tests they’d devised somehow caused multiple overloads on other towers or satellites, or other somethings. So those overloads triggered re-routing of huge numbers of calls they hadn’t anticipated. Not just from this area. It back-flashed all over the regional grid, way beyond the test sample.”
Mitch scrunched his face. “Well, some service was avai
lable. Because the Suttons could make and receive calls with their Louisiana area code and Pete’s granddaughter was able to text with her old Bowling Green number.”
“Yeah, I still don’t understand how Ashley could text but couldn’t talk. She said it was low signal or fringe area or something.” Kelly pulled her own phone out of her pocket. “I don’t have text service, but that doesn’t make much sense.”
Mitch didn’t text either.
****
The lower meadow had faint traces of a running stream down in Disappearing Creek, a typical result of rain for a dozen hours straight. But it barely made a splash as Ellie drove up Butler Cemetery Road and turned into Kelly’s long driveway. Chet rode with her; both were invited for an early supper.
Chet had obviously been reading a newspaper article to Ellie on the way. When he looked up and saw they’d reached Kelly’s cabin, he got out of the truck, trudged up the steps to the porch, sat down in a rocker, and resumed reading out loud.
“The entire front page is stuff about yesterday’s drill — what went wrong and what didn’t.” He cleared his throat loudly. “And there’s this little story down at the bottom. Listen ta this.” He read it with perfect diction, but a thick Kentucky accent.
“Ordinary crime took no holiday Wednesday during the county-wide drill conducted jointly by Homeland Security and numerous local and regional agencies cooperating with the county civil defense authority. City and county authorities arrested as many as sixteen individuals in a single roundup as they allegedly attempted to rob numerous residences in a development in southwest Somerset.
“Reports at press time were sketchy, but authorities claim the alleged perpetrators had three large trucks, all presumably stolen. Names of the individuals arrested were not yet available but a police spokesman said most of them were from Jefferson County near Louisville.”
Kelly shivered in the cold and Mitch hugged her from behind.
Seemingly unaware his captive porch audience was freezing, Chet resumed reading. “It runs over ta page five. Let’s see. Okay:
“At least two robbery suspects sustained gunshot wounds, but it was not known who was responsible. They were taken to Lake Cumberland Regional Hospital where they were said to be in satisfactory condition and also under arrest. Several of the other individuals arrested were also treated for injuries which they allege were inflicted by their intended victims.
“None of the neighborhood victims’ names had been verified as of press time, but at least one resident was treated for a reportedly superficial gunshot wound to the foot. Minor injuries were reported by other residents and a few local people presumed to be visiting in that development. Some were treated on the scene by paramedics but none were hospitalized.
“The Pulaski Sheriff and Somerset Chief of Police separately announced they will hold a joint press conference, which was scheduled for Thursday morning. At that time, it was believed, details should be clearer concerning the identities of the robbery suspects and their medical conditions, plus identities of the intended victims, as well as other aspects of the events which unfolded during a period of approximately two hours Wednesday afternoon. Representatives of the BATFE are also expected to be on hand to respond to questions about illegal explosives which may have been involved in the robbery attempt.”
It was difficult for Chet to finish reading the article because he began chuckling at the mention of that federal department. “Revenuers!”
“Well, I’ll be a Bless George coon hound. They don’t say nothing a’tall about us holding them varmints with that barry-cade and keeping them from hauling away all that stolen loot.” Ellie seemed genuinely disappointed.
Kelly looked up into Mitch’s face. “I wonder if that’s just the reporter not yet having the story or if the authorities put a lid on it.” Then she moved toward the front door. “Let’s everybody go inside. Warmer.”
As Ellie and Chet shed their jackets and got situated in the living area, Kelly thought about Sergeant Henley’s indefatigable efforts the previous day. He’d coordinated the Honor Guard for the funeral, co-hosted a huge luncheon, and then defended his neighborhood against a gang of barbarians. “Pete sure had a busy day.”
“I didn’t like that task force assignment he gave me,” Mitch admitted. “But I’ll say this, Pete sure was a good organizer. Kept a calm head, good battlefield vision.”
“Coolness under fire,” Kelly intoned. “He’s a sergeant’s sergeant.”
There was a lot more Chet could have said about Pete — fellow WW II veteran, American Legion associate, Honor Guard member, Sunday school classmate, and close friend. But had Chet verbalized anything else right then, he could have become emotional. So Chet just grunted. Sometimes that conveyed enough. But, after a further brief silence, Chet spoke up. “Well, Earl’s big old Caddy must’ve caught three dozen bullets, not ta mention tires shot out and side windows busted.”
“This whole thing’s an insurance nightmare.” Mitch shook his head.
“Earl said the insurance feller practically called him a liar. He told Earl, ‘Stuff like that don’t happen here in Somerset’.”
“That’s the same thing we’d have said before yesterday.” Kelly shrugged.
Mitch remembered something. “Roger told me they called in the bomb disposal unit about Art’s minefield. Is that true?”
Chet laughed and then cleared his throat loudly. “The bomb squad had ta come out there ta defuse them dirt holes and speaker wires.” It’s difficult to speak with a grin as wide as Chet’s while he described the scene. “Art tries ta explain they wasn’t nothing but cake pans and tries ta explain why he planted ‘em. But they say procedures is procedures and blah blah.”
“I guess I was tied up with somebody else and missed all that.” Kelly looked at Chet. “What happened?”
“Two of them in padded suits and big hood helmets was out there digging up them tin pans real gentle-like and being real careful with the speaker wire and ball point pens.”
“No explosion, I trust.” Kelly winked.
“Well, one of them bomb fellers must’ve soiled his britches pretty bad. When that clock alarm went off, he jumped ten feet straight up.” Chet chuckled. “Just wouldn’t listen ta Art when he tried ta explain everything. When they waved him off, I guess he forgot ta mention that clock alarm he’d set for 3:33.”
Later, the four of them ate Kelly’s supper — Mulligan Stew. Delicious. Ellie had brought fresh-baked biscuits which she and Chet ate with honey, Kelly with butter, and Mitch with jelly.
Perra whined for stew meat nibbles until Kelly put out the little dog and covered the pet hatch. Gato waited patiently until one of the plates with honey ended up near the sink, then he went over and licked it clean.
After supper, the men gravitated to the most comfortable seats. Ellie began helping Kelly in the small kitchen.
“Don’t fool with that now.” Kelly waved her hand. “I’ll get those later.”
“Might as well fix them now. You cooked, I’ll clean.”
Kelly remained in the kitchen to assist her helper. “Ellie, I’ve been wanting to ask why you pitched in with such fervor to help all those residents.” Kelly’s question emerged more as a statement.
“Emma’s husband’s uncle-by-marriage — he lives out there, somewheres.”
Kelly smiled softly. “Your sister’s husband’s uncle is not even blood-related to your sister, and certainly not to you, Ellie. Simple genealogy.”
“Well I ain’t no Bless George gerontologist, but family is family.”
Mitch must have heard the ladies’ conversation because he asked Chet a similar question in the living room.
“They needed help. Some of them old codgers, well, they’re my buddies. Friends help their buddies.” Chet’s reply was simple, direct, even elegantly succinct.
Chapter Forty-Four
October 12 — Friday
Columbus Day [Actual]
After rain over Kelly’s cabin all Wednesday
night and Thursday until mid-afternoon, the clouds had finally crept eastward and left hovering cold temperatures. Finally, the Friday morning sky was clear with shining sun.
Perra had memorized Kelly’s morning routine: get out of bed, sit on water stool, wash face, drink hot stuff, eat something, feed me and that horrid cat, drink more hot stuff, put on shoes, go outside, and get in noisy rolling thing.
Kelly had just finished her breakfast — instant oatmeal since wintry weather typically chased away her tolerance for cold cereal.
Her ricochet wound was healing nicely, the minor swelling already down significantly. Just slight bruising and the cut itself, more like a shallow gouge, needed only a circular Band-Aid.
Standing inside her cabin, Kelly drank a second coffee as she watched Perra romp on the hillside.
Despite the drought of the past two summers, the large field across Macon Circle had been harvested twice that season — late May and early September — by the same man who mowed Chet’s acreage only once. The rain had come too late to save her landlord’s second crop.