“You sure I can’t try to get the bus going?” Roy asked.
My dad shook his head. “There’s no point. It won’t work.”
Under his breath to me he said, “I hope this cart holds up to the load.” He was looking at Roy, and I saw that the driver was dad’s biggest worry. He was a large guy, maybe two hundred fifty pounds. Coupled with the weight of a dozen youngsters, it did seem like a lot.
The children were practically on top of one another but I liked the fact they’d keep each other warm. I encouraged them to dig into the hay. When they were settled, I said in a loud voice, “Okay, who would rather ride with me on horseback?”
I realized my mistake instantly when every single hand but Roy’s went up and the cart started creaking as they all jumped to their feet, crying, “Me! I want to!”
“Whoa!” shouted my dad. “Sit down, all of you!”
They did. My father is a big teddy bear at heart but his voice can sound tough if you don’t know him. He surveyed the children and picked out the two biggest kids. “Think you can fit them, Lex?”
I looked at the kids. They may have been big for kindergarteners, but they were still just kids. “Yup,” I said.
Once my dad got them in front of me, where I circled them with one arm and showed them how to hang on, we started out, moving slowly. My father rode Spirit, a good-natured thoroughbred, so he wouldn’t add more weight to the cart. The bus driver sat against the front rail, telling him which way to go.
Snow was falling and I felt the light flakes settling on my face and eyelashes. A few of the kids were sticking out their tongues to catch the flakes. I smiled. But my dad looked at the cart worriedly every time it creaked or groaned over the uneven driveway.
With Roy directing us, we managed to drop off the first child in about twenty minutes. The home had a circular drive, allowing us to take the cart right up to the front. The boy’s mom opened the door before Dad even had a chance to knock. She stared at our cart like it was an incredible sight, but seeing the bus driver in it seemed to settle any doubts she had.
Dad explained quickly about the bus breaking down. Whether or not she knew yet that nothing was working I couldn’t tell, but we had to hurry on to get the other kids home before we all froze. Or, we would have hurried except that when my father went to help the child climb out of the cart, Dad saw that I hadn’t harnessed the horses to it properly. He gave me a reproving look while he fixed the hitch.
I hate getting that look from my dad. I’m glad that he caught my error before the horses became unhitched, perhaps while we were moving. I doubt it would have caused an injury to anyone but I would have felt a lot worse.
At the next house the mother greeted us with anxious, excited tones. I couldn’t make out her words since I remained at the street but my dad spoke to her and I saw him gesturing and then her gesturing, and finally he turned to go.
“She don’t like it,” said Roy, watching. “Neither do I. But we’re all in the same boat.”
I nodded.
“Except for you guys. You’re ready.”
He sounded resentful. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. As my father neared us, we heard the woman call to him. “What should I do?”
Dad turned his horse. He called, “Do you own a woodstove?”
She nodded, yes.
“Build a fire! Stay warm,” he said.
I could tell he didn’t enjoy leaving a woman with so little help or information, but what choice did he have? As we left, I turned to look back. The sight of that woman holding her child, staring at us forlornly as we left, seemed sad. Was there a husband and father who had gone to work and could be stranded somewhere? Would he make it home to help his family? I didn’t know.
Two hours later we were down to the last child, my passenger, whose teeth chattered despite the blanket and my arm wrapped around him. The cart waited at the street while I rode him up the driveway to the door. Both parents were home. Like all the others they were eager to ask questions. I was surprised they expected me, a teenage girl, to have answers; or else they were just desperate to talk like most people with no means of communication with the outside world.
Anyway, the cold was starting to numb my fingers right through my gloves. Roy, who probably did not have wool socks like Dad and I, had laboriously climbed out of the cart at each stop; and then lumbered his big bulk over the rail and into it again. He used the time to stamp his feet, trying to hold off the numbness and threat of frostbite.
“Okay, which way to your place?” Dad asked.
“I need to get back to the bus before I go home,” Roy said. “I left my stuff there.” Dad shook his head.
“Didn’t you say you lived north-west of here? The bus is south. Can’t do it.”
“I need my stuff,” he returned. “I left my wallet there.”
“Look,” said my father. “I’ll get your things and get them to you at a later time when it’s not this cold. But I’m not heading in the wrong direction. We want to get home so we need to take you to where you belong right now.”
Roy hesitated. “Why don’t I go home with you and I’ll get my stuff tomorrow?”
I felt decidedly creeped out. Roy wanted to come home with us, no doubt about it. I looked at my dad, silently pleading with him not to agree. I gave him what I hoped was an intense stare. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold and I realized mine were likely the same.
To my relief Dad said, “I’d rather not have to make this trip tomorrow. We’ll take you home now.”
“Look, my house keys are on the bus. I won’t be able to get in without them and I don’t have a woodstove like you all. I’ll freeze, even if I could get in.”
Dad took a breath. “How do you heat your home?” he asked.
Rhema stamped one foot impatiently. I felt exactly the same way.
“Propane,” said Roy.
“Then you’ve got the means to start a fire,” said Dad, as if that settled everything.
“What—what—I don’t know how to do that! I’ll blow the house up!”
“I’ll help you,” my father said.
“But the keys,” he persisted.
“We’ll get in.” I loved my Dad at that moment. There’s nothing like a good man standing strong to make a girl feel secure. Rhema snorted and Dad looked at me. “Hey, Lex, I want you to go on home. I’ll get Roy to his house. No sense in both of us staying out in this cold any longer than we have to.”
I gave him a worried look. I wanted to go home alright, but not until I knew for sure that Roy wasn’t coming too. I shook my head.
“That’s okay. I’ll wait for you.” Dad almost grinned. He understood me so well.
“No, sweetie. But you know what? Let’s switch what we’re doing here. You take the cart back and I’ll take Roy on Rhema.”
“What? I got to get up on that horse?” Roy exclaimed.
“I’d rather wait for you, Dad,” I said. He motioned me over to him and reached for something from behind his back. Keeping it out of sight from Roy, he pulled out his Glock 26 and handed it to me. Surprised, I searched his face.
“Why do I need this?”
“Because I’ve read too many disaster scenarios where people get violent. You’ve got horses. People on foot may want a horse. That’s why.”
“I don’t want it, Dad.” There was no way I would ever shoot a person, I was sure.
“It’s loaded but not chambered,” he said, in a low voice. “Keep it in your front coat pocket. It’s safe unless you pull the trigger.” He paused. “You know what you’re doing.”
I did. Mom, dad and I were all well-versed in gun safety and how to use a firearm. And I wasn’t surprised Dad had it with him; he was licensed to carry. But I was reluctant to take it. This wasn’t target practice. He was giving it to me so I could use it in self-defense. This was different. This was a real life situation.
“I’ll never use it, Dad!” I whispered, fiercely.
“You shou
ldn’t need to use it,” he returned, calmly. “Just be ready to show it. Nine times out of ten that’ll be enough.”
His eyes looked deeply into mine. My Dad has a way of really being with you, of meeting you where you are by looking into your eyes.
“You won’t need to use it,” he repeated, reassuringly. “It’s only day one. Most people aren’t even aware yet of what’s ahead. But I need to know you have it with you. And in case any trouble should start, all you need to do is show it.”
When I still hesitated, he added in that same gentle tone, “I need to know you have it.”
I took the gun, my hands instantly remembering how to handle it. I tucked it in my pocket, making sure it was in as deep as it could go. I didn’t want to lose dad’s favorite firearm. I felt an eerie sensation at the thought that I might need to defend myself. But I also felt skeptical: Wasn’t this the sort of thing that people made fun of preppers for? Being paranoid? Thinking that every disaster meant the coming of the apocalypse? Was my dad becoming one of those paranoid extremists, like they showed on National Geographic’s “Doomsday Preppers”? We’d actually rolled our eyes at what some of those people felt they needed to do to “prepare,” like building deadly traps around their properties for the zombie hordes they expected to come after them, or buying a grenade launcher. We were nothing like them, just an ordinary family hoping to get by if times got tough.
The gun in my pocket didn’t feel ordinary.
“Don’t stop for anyone, no matter what. I’ll be along shortly on my way back and if there’s someone who needs help, I’ll get to them. But don’t you stop.” He gazed at me. He knew I’d normally stop for anyone or for an animal in distress.
“Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I think she’s right and we should all stick together,” called Roy. I’d almost forgotten he was there. I wanted to stick together—but only with my dad. Hearing Roy say it filled me with fresh distrust.
“Go on, Lex. I love you, honey,” Dad said.
“I love you, Dad,” I said. Under my breath I added, “Be careful!” He nodded.
“You, too.”
LEXIE
JANUARY 12
DAY TWO
When night fell the dark was heavy, even with snow on the ground. From my upstairs window I couldn’t see a single light outside other than the “canopy of the heavens” (that’s from a poem I read). I’m thankful we have oil-lamps inside. They glow softly and cast shadows, making things feel cozy. Except Dad still isn’t back.
It’s hard to focus on anything else. I had no trouble getting the cart home. And I saw no one on the road at all, just the same few empty cars we’d passed earlier when we were taking the kids home. Roy obviously wasn’t the only one who got stuck out there but I have no idea where the other motorists went.
Anyways, I’m worried; I keep praying that the bus driver didn’t turn out to be a psychopath—you never know. Mom and I agree he gave us a bad feeling.
Laura and Lainie are watching us for clues on whether they should be worried or not, so we pretend everything’s fine and Dad will be home shortly. But Mom and I got off alone and agreed in prayer for Dad’s safety. Actually we prayed for a lot more than that. With this EMP, there’ll be a lot of people without adequate shelter or food. Mom and I prayed for everyone we could think of and for our country. We prayed for our friends from church, and I prayed for friends at school and their families. You’d think that would be a downer but I usually feel better after prayer, and yesterday was no different. I still wish he’d walk in the door but I feel deep inside that he is okay. Thank you, Lord!
But we’re short on distractions. Once the girls are put to bed, I’m usually on my PC, or I watch a movie with my folks if I’m done with homework. I can’t quite believe that movies and news and documentaries are now a thing of the past—for now, anyways. I wonder how Andrea and Sarah are taking this. Besides Meredith at church, Andrea and Sarah are my best friends. I can’t get on Facebook or send a text and it gives me a strange powerless feeling. I hope Andrea is okay. She isn’t always happy at home.
I stayed up late last night hoping Dad would walk in the door. It started snowing again when I was out there star gazing and it seemed beautiful and poignant—but also sad. Anyways, I camped out on the sofa so I would hear when he got in. Only he didn’t. Mom slept on the other couch for the same reason.
“Mom?” I had trouble sleeping. I wasn’t sure if she was still awake but she answered me, sleepily.
“Mmmm?”
“Do you think we should have let Roy come to the house? Like he wanted to? Dad would be here, then.” She was silent for a moment.
“I don’t know, honey. We had that bad feeling about him. I think he’s a polecat. (That’s southern for ‘a bad person.’) I do wish your dad would get back, though.”
“What do you think’s held him up?”
She sighed. “Could be Roy wanted company, I don’t know.”
That sounded weak and in a moment we both chuckled.
“Well, it could be horse trouble,” she said, in a tone with more conviction. I felt a pang of concern for Rhema. We’ve been together for five years and I love my horse dearly. But I hoped mom was right, surprising even myself. I’d much rather think horse trouble was keeping dad than human trouble. Because if it was people trouble, it would be serious. But he would give a horse time to rest if it needed it.
LATE MORNING
I’m going to the Buchanans’ to see if they’ll help me look for Dad. Blake and his family are good friends as well as being part of our church body. They live on the other side of town, which sounds close but our town is larger than some counties. It’s certainly not walking distance. I should be able to get there on Rhema in maybe an hour. Wait, Dad has Rhema! I’ll use Promised Land. I’m going to be cautious and stay off road where I can, sticking to the edge of fields like deer do. I know my dad would want that.
I think my parents are extreme in their caution, but it’s such a part of the prepper worldview that I guess they couldn’t altogether avoid it—and maybe it’s passed on to me, too. Anyways, the Buchanans are preppers like us. They won’t be in a panic over this. They’ll help me search for Dad, I know it.
I told Mom my plan. She frowned but then slowly nodded. “I guess one of us will have to go but I think it ought to be me.”
“Mom, you have to stay with the little ones,” I said. “What if something happened to you? We’d be orphans.”
“Don’t say that,” she scolded. “I believe your father is perfectly safe. He’s just been held up.” She stared at me like she couldn’t comprehend why I’d uttered such a negative statement.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said. “I just meant it would seem like we were if both you and Dad are gone.” I felt my face get red. I hate it when my face gets red. Whenever that happened at school, I always wished I could climb beneath a rock. At least it was just my mom seeing my red face.
“If he’s not home soon I guess I’ll have to let you go.” She looked at me worriedly. “You’ll have to take the firearm.”
Like I said, I guess my parents are a little extreme in their caution. Maybe all preppers are.
Time is going by and tension is mounting here. We can’t keep our minds off Dad. Mom and I dragged in wood, heated water, washed dishes by hand and checked our lamps for nighttime, but I’m itching to be off.
Two days ago we could have reached Dad by cell phone. Now, it’s like we’re living in another century.
I’ve had enough. I’m going to saddle up and go talk to the Buchanans.
I’ve gone and returned home and Dad still isn’t here. I was so hoping he’d be back! All I got from the Buchanans was bad news. Here’s what happened: When I got to their house at first no one came to the door. I saw their vehicles in the driveway, so I knew they hadn’t got stranded elsewhere—they had to be home. I led Promised Land around the house and knocked on the back door. I banged on it. Then the basemen
t door. When there was still no answer, I banged on a window. Hard. I was getting angry. Why didn’t they answer? Then I started calling for Blake.
I searched the windows for movement, hoping he would answer. I was just ready to give up (and ready to cry, too) when I saw the drapes move, and there was Blake! He looked surprised, but I couldn’t help noticing that he was not happy to see me.
A minute later the back door opened and I hurried over. Mr. Buchanan came out—at least I thought it was him—because he was covered with a tarp-like poncho and wore a gas mask! I felt a little frightened, honestly, by his appearance. But when he lifted the mask and started to speak, I felt better. It was Mr. Buchanan alright. The same Mr. Buchanan who supplied our church every Sunday with coffee and tea and donuts or other goodies. He was not a super smiley man, but he was nevertheless jocular if you spoke to him, and always helpful. My parents were good friends with him and his wife. I trusted him implicitly.
“What are you doing here, Lexie? Is everything okay?”
“Dad’s missing.”
He frowned. “You’d better come in.” He was looking me over in a strange way though, like looking for a wound or something.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Uh, no,” he said, bending down and picking up a yellow plastic thing. He handed it to me. “You’d better put this on over your clothes. Just in case.”
I stared at the yellow plastic in his hand.
“It’s a haz-mat suit,” he said. “I can’t bring you to our safe room unless you put it over your clothing.”
I thought it was a strange request, but I took the suit. He waited while I tied up Promised Land and positioned a feed bag beneath her head; then opened the door and allowed me to move inside ahead of him. I put the one-size-fits most suit over my clothing while he shook off his tarp and stomped his boots. He gave me light blue thingies, and said, “Put these over your shoes.” I felt like I was a leper or something—I had no clue why he was making me do this, but like I said; We trust the Buchanans. I did what he asked. Only later did I find out the reason—which was to avoid possible fallout in case the EMP had been caused by a nuclear warhead. I’ll get to that in a minute.
The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set Page 6