Deep Shadows

by Vannetta Chapman

  Shelby sat down on the porch step. “Please don’t lecture me.”

  “Why would I do that?” Max sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder. As he glanced out at the street, it seemed to him that if he were patient and looked hard enough, he would see the younger versions of Shelby and himself riding bicycles on a June afternoon. “What would I lecture you about, Shelby?”

  “You’ll tell me that this is our new life.”

  “It is.”

  “And that I need to toughen up.” Her voice faltered on a sob. She pulled in a deep breath. “Remind me that ultimately God is in control.”

  Max did none of those things. He just sat beside her and allowed her to rest, to tune in to the birds that still sang in the bushes and the breeze that rustled the leaves of the red oak tree in the front yard.

  “Mr. Evans always brought me a jar full of those small red cherries.” Shelby stared at her hands. “He claimed they’d be good with ice cream.”

  “They were from his backyard. I didn’t realize you could even grow cherries in Texas.”

  “Small and tart.”

  “Barely worth messing with by the time you removed the seeds.”

  “But we did it every year—because Mr. Evans always brought a jarful, and he always looked so pleased about them.” Then Shelby did something Max couldn’t have imagined her doing even twenty-four hours before. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

  Max placed an arm around her and again simply waited.

  That was one thing Max was good at—waiting.

  “Carter’s at work?” she asked.

  “For his full shift.”

  “Do you think… Is he safe there?”

  “I think the Market is probably one of the safest places in town. By the time I left, the mayor had stationed a patrolman out front, and people were queuing up for their turn to shop.”

  Shelby nodded, again swiped at her nose, and then sat up—straight and tall, shoulders squared, as if to convince Max that she could handle whatever came at them next.

  SEVENTEEN

  Carter had seen all kinds of crazy before, or at least he thought he had.

  But as he took his lunch break and let his mind run back over the morning, he decided they had entered a whole new realm of insanity.

  People trying to purchase twelve bags of dog food. Henry had added to the list of rules, “Only two of any item,” and then he had restocked ten of the bags.

  Max buying beans and peanut butter and a large sack of potatoes, even though his pantry was completely full. Carter knew because he’d looked in it when he was filling containers up with water.

  An old gentlemen who was nearly toothless dropping ten different packages of candy bars on the conveyor belt at Carter’s register. “We can grow taters and corn, but these… I believe we’re going to miss the sweets.”

  It had all creeped him out. He still couldn’t grasp that this might be it, that possibly they would have to live without the conveniences of modern life.

  No Internet?

  No phones?

  No electricity or toilets?

  No, he didn’t believe it. How did people survive without those things? Sure, he’d watched the zombie apocalypse and natural disaster shows, but those were products of an overactive imagination. They were entertaining because they hadn’t happened, couldn’t happen, and wouldn’t happen. His generation was so far ahead of his mom’s that it almost embarrassed him. It wasn’t that older people were slow at learning certain things, like how to Skype. It was that the entire digital world was foreign to them.

  For people Carter’s age, computing was natural—more natural than learning to ride a bike. With 3D printers, they could produce prosthetics for missing body parts. He knew a boy at school who had a 3D-printed hand, yet the kid had beaten him at Ping-Pong. They could clone animals and even create hybrid animals. They could grow crops in the desert and design auto-piloted cars. His generation was only limited by what they couldn’t imagine.

  Which was why he was convinced there was a way around this, or through it. He refused to believe that they were stuck in the Dark Ages.

  He was finishing his lunch—low-fat string cheese, a package of nuts, and a bottle of unsweetened tea—when Kaitlyn walked outside to join him at the picnic table.

  “Two more checkers arrived.” She plopped down next to him and stared at her sack lunch.

  “We’re going to need them.”

  “I’ll say. Even with only ten customers at a time, it’s like they never stop coming.”

  “Yeah, remember the old days—”

  “Yesterday?”

  “When we’d have those slow periods and had to straighten the register displays.”

  “And clean the conveyor belt.”

  “And check the bathrooms!”

  Kaitlyn glanced sideways at Carter and smiled. Then she reached into her sack and pulled out a peanut butter sandwich.

  “Thanks, Carter.”

  “For?”

  “For making me feel normal, even if it doesn’t last.” She took a bite of the sandwich, which must have had too much peanut butter because she seemed to have trouble chewing. After swallowing she placed the sandwich back in her sack.

  “You didn’t eat much.”

  “I can’t. I keep thinking about that mom with two kids who was in my line.”

  “Graves explained to her that we were only accepting cash.”

  “But she didn’t have any.” Kaitlyn’s face puckered up—wrinkles between her eyes, her bottom lip sticking out as if she was pouting. Still, she looked beautiful. “If I’d had any money on me, I would have paid for it—at least for the milk. What are people going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Carter hesitated, and then he added, “Pastor Tony came through my line. He said there’s going to be a meeting later tonight. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.”

  “I hope so.”

  Carter didn’t know that much about Kaitlyn. She had visited their church a few times after she and her mom had moved to Abney at the beginning of June. She was going to be a senior in the fall, her dad wasn’t in the picture, and she was the prettiest girl he knew.

  She stood and stretched, and then she peeked around the corner of the building at the line of people. “I can’t watch many more moms with hungry kids go through my line and walk away empty-handed.”

  Though she’d barely had any break at all, they walked back into the store together. They made their way through the shipping and receiving area, which was eerily dark and quiet. Next they passed the freezers, which were quickly emptying of food. As they rounded the corner to the front of the store, they heard a man shouting.

  A large, burly guy stood in Tina’s line. Carter could just make out his profile. He had long hair in need of a cut, a scruffy beard, and tattoos across the side and back of his neck.

  Henry stood beside Tina, while the officer at the front door split his attention between the escalating situation inside the store and the crowd outside.

  “I have cash,” the man said. “You have to sell me stuff if I have the cash.”

  “No, sir. We don’t. The sign on the front of the store says—”

  “I don’t care what the sign says.”

  “We’re not selling you ten boxes of diapers.”

  Suddenly the man pulled a gun. As soon as Carter saw the emergency lights reflect off the metal, he pushed Kaitlyn back into one of the side aisles.

  “Was that a gun?” she whispered.

  He nodded, put a finger to his lips, and peeked back around the corner.

  “Sir, I need you to drop the gun and put your hands in the air.” The officer had also pulled his weapon and was pointing it straight at the agitated man.

  Customers started screaming and dropping to the ground, attempting to make themselves invisible. The burly man stared at the gun in his hand—his expression indicating he didn’t understand what it was or how it had ended up there.

  “Put the gun down, sir, on t
he conveyor belt, and take two steps back. I’m sure this is a misunderstanding that we can work out.”

  Carter thought the man might shoot. A look of stark anger passed over his features, but then a baby cried and the spell was broken. The gun clattered onto the conveyor belt. Tina stood frozen next to the register, but Henry snatched up the gun. “What did you think you were going to do? Shoot somebody? For diapers? If that’s your solution now, I don’t want to think about what you’re going to be desperate enough to do in a month.”

  Mr. Burly tossed some money onto the belt, and snatched up two of the boxes. The Abney police officer reached for the gun the man had dropped. When he’d secured it, he holstered his own weapon and then grabbed the man by the arm. He gripped his bicep to prevent him from running away, but he didn’t cuff him. Together they walked out of the store.

  “Everybody get back to work,” Henry growled.

  Carter turned back to Kaitlyn and nearly knocked her over.

  “Crazy,” she murmured.

  Which was exactly what Carter had been thinking. The question was, how much worse would it get before someone thought of a solution?

  EIGHTEEN

  Max hurried up the steps of Green Acres—a square brick building on the north side of town. A glance at his watch confirmed it was ten minutes past the time he had agreed to meet Shelby, Bianca, and Patrick to help with Bianca’s father. From the front visitors’ room, windows looked out over a pitifully small park area—barely large enough for a few residents to sit around in their wheelchairs and watch birds from the single feeder.

  The area was empty of residents and birds.

  Neither was there anyone at the receptionist’s desk. Max took the hall to the right, passing framed photos of the 1965 television sitcom Green Acres starring Eddie Albert and Eva Gabor.

  The hall was strangely empty, each resident inside their room. He knew the generator was working because he heard the beep of equipment, but windows had been opened, and a shade rattled from the slight breeze passing through.

  The temperature was warm but not hot. How would residents survive the hundred-degree temps common in July and August?

  Bianca’s father was in room 23. Max tapped on the door, and motioned for Shelby to join him in the hall.

  “We’re really doing this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you agree with Bianca, that it’s the right thing to do?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think, Max. Bianca and her mom want him at home.”

  “All right. What can I do?”

  “I was packing up his personal items. Patrick is carrying things out to his car.”

  “And Bianca’s mom?”

  “She’s still trying to explain to Mr. Lopez why we’re taking him home.”

  Max pulled back his shoulders and adjusted his cowboy hat. “Where’s Bianca?”

  “She left a few minutes ago to speak with a nurse about her father’s medication schedule.”

  “Sounds like you girls have it under control. Maybe I’ll join the old guy in the rec room for a game of checkers.”

  Shelby swatted his arm and turned back toward Mr. Lopez’s room. She turned around as she pushed the door open and said, “You could find us a wheelchair.”

  Then she was gone, leaving Max in the empty hall.

  He walked toward the nursing station. The place was eerily quiet—deserted almost. Where was everyone? He’d expected the nurses to be overworked. Probably the same shift had been working since the aurora began. He stood at the counter, waiting, glancing left and right, and then he saw a familiar face.

  Connie Hartman was sixty, with white hair cut in a straight, low-maintenance style. Her normally pleasant expression was gone, and in its place wrinkles had sprouted between her eyes and around her mouth. Max had known her for years. He was fairly sure that she’d taught a Sunday school class he had attended, and he vaguely remembered her carrying candy in her pocket.

  “I haven’t seen you since mission night,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

  “Once a month, come rain or shine, I’m your man to stack food on shelves.”

  “And we appreciate that. Bill and I need all the help we can get, and our community is going to need those resources now more than ever.”

  “I’m here to help move Mr. Lopez,” Max said. “I hope this is the right thing to do.”

  “He’ll be with his family,” Connie said. “In difficult times, that might be the most important thing.”

  Max had been watching the hall, but now he turned to study her. Connie was unfailingly optimistic, but she was also a by-the-book type of person.

  “So you approve of a hasty discharge?”

  “Normally I wouldn’t.”

  “But—”

  “Everything’s changed, Max. You realize that.”

  “You don’t think it could be dangerous? There will only be Bianca and Mrs. Lopez to look after him.”

  “Officially, I can never recommend a patient discharge against medical advice.”

  “How is this different?”

  “There’s no one to ask! I have no way to contact a doctor.”

  “Mason and Jones?”

  “Have their hands full at the hospital.”

  “So what are you saying, exactly?”

  “I’m trying to answer your question—should they take him home? I don’t know, but I do know that I’m severely short-staffed. Between you and me, his family can probably give him better care than we can at the moment.”

  Max ran his hand across the back of his neck where the muscles felt tight and achy. The thought passed through his mind that his migraines often began this way, but he pushed the worry to the back of his mind. Now was not the time for him to be down and out for six hours—which was usually what happened after taking the medicine his doctor had prescribed. He would take deep breaths and stay hydrated, and maybe he would be able to avoid the migraine.

  “I’m not sure what we’re going to do,” she admitted.

  “About?”

  “All of it. The next shift hasn’t shown up.”

  “Nurses?”

  “Well, I’m here, and the state only requires that we have RN coverage eight hours a day. That said, I can hardly leave given the situation we’re in.”

  “So you stayed through the night.”

  “And my replacement didn’t show up this morning.”

  “Who—”

  “Half of my aides didn’t report to work this morning, and I haven’t heard from the administrator, supervisor, director of nurses, or assistant director of nurses.”

  “Do you want me to go and knock on doors?”

  “Why? They know they’re supposed to be here. Either they’re unable to come or they’re unwilling. In that case, your presence wouldn’t change their mind.”

  She was probably right, but it didn’t sit well with Max. People had responsibilities, especially people in the healthcare profession. They couldn’t just bail at the first sign of trouble. But even as he had the thought, he knew it wasn’t an honest one.

  Henry Graves was a grocer, and he was vital to their community. Nearly every position was critical to their community—police officers, emergency personnel, pharmacists, drugstore cashiers, city workers, and store clerks. Teachers were temporarily off the hook since it was summer, but come fall they would still need to educate the town’s children. Abney worked because people made sure it did.

  They would need every man, woman, and teenager to fulfill their jobs if they were going to see their way through this. Each one was equally important. As far as bailing, wasn’t that what he was going to do when he left for High Fields? But what choice did he have? Family came first. Family had to come first, because they were the people that you would sacrifice your life for.

  “What about the residents here?” he asked. “Are they safe?”

  “We have a generator that operates off natural gas. It provides enough power to keep the equipment working.”<
br />
  “Medication?”

  “It’s delivered every two weeks. Our last delivery was a week ago.”

  “So what is your most immediate need, other than workers?”

  “Our main problem is food. Two out of six kitchen workers showed up. They’re doing the best job they can, but they can’t keep up. Many of our patients have special dietary requirements. I don’t want to reassign the few employees who are here. They’re needed on the floor.”

  “We’re having a city meeting in a few hours, and after that a church meeting. I’ll get you some help in the kitchen. I’ll also try to find out where your supervisors are. Maybe someone has heard something.”

  She nodded her thanks, but her gaze kept darting toward a closed door.

  “What is it? What else do you need?”

  Instead of answering, she pulled him around the corner, glancing furtively right and left as she did so.

  “Who are we hiding from?”

  “No one, but I’d rather not upset the patients.”

  “Why would they be upset?”

  “Deceased patients are in three of the rooms.”

  “Deceased?”

  “I pronounced the time of death myself and notated it in their charts.”

  “Do you need a doctor to sign their death certificate?”

  “Eventually, yes. The funeral director usually handles that. I sent an aide over to the funeral home, but no one answered the door.”

  “So they’re just lying there? Have you contacted their families?”

  “How would we?” Connie straightened her nursing smock, a soft purple color that he supposed was chosen to calm and encourage the patients.

  Max rubbed a hand up and down his jawline. It would take more than pastel colors to calm residents once they discovered their neighbors were dropping dead.

  “Connie, what did they die of?”

  “They were old and worn-out.” She shook her head, causing her white hair to sway softly back and forth. “It wasn’t Green Acres’ fault, if that’s what you’re asking. For all I know, this aurora or solar flare or whatever we’re experiencing, maybe it had some effect on their lungs or hearts or kidneys.”