Each man, woman, and teenager gathered around Bryant’s cruiser. He reached into his glove box, pulled out a county map, and slapped it onto the hood of his cruiser. Someone fetched a flashlight and held it over the map. “We have a spotter in Stanford’s barn—here, to the west of the highway.”
“What about the east side?” Frank Kelton asked.
“I’ve put three men in the field. They have radio headsets. The spotter will let them know as soon as Stone makes his move, if he makes his move.”
“Seems awful risky for the men on the ground.” Mrs. Plumley squinted down at the map.
“They’re ex-military, recently returned from the Middle East. They can handle whatever comes at them. Cooper equipped both groups with high-powered rifles.”
“Do they have night scopes as well?” Max asked.
“Yes. If the town of Croghan makes a move, those men in the field will be our first line of defense.”
SIXTY-THREE
After Chief Bryant outlined their plan, an hour passed with no action. Carter was terrified he’d freeze up when the shooting started. What he hadn’t expected was to be fighting sleep from the battle line.
Max must have heard him yawn, because he stepped closer and offered him a bottle of water. “How are you doing?”
“Okay. Bored.”
“My dad fought in the Vietnam War. He once told me the only thing worse than being in battle was waiting on one.”
“This is all so surreal.” Carter stifled another yawn. “A week ago my biggest concern was who my college roommate was going to be.”
“We make war that we may live in peace.”
“Your dad said that?”
“Aristotle.” Shelby crowded in next to them, still clutching Max’s rifle.
Max had been given one of the high-powered rifles with a night vision scope. Carter was relieved to still be using his granddad’s Winchester—it was the only thing he’d ever shot, the only thing he felt truly comfortable holding.
“I’m beginning to think this isn’t going to happen.” His mom rested her back against the pickup bed they were positioned behind. “Maybe Eugene has come to his senses.”
Bryant’s radio crackled, and a voice said, “Approximately twenty men moving toward Abney, a mile out.”
His mom and Max hurried back to their positions. They were standing about six feet apart, and they’d been cautioned on when and when not to shoot.
The sound of gunfire echoed in the distance. The moon hung high, like a lantern in the sky. Carter’s heart rate accelerated as he made out three trucks speeding toward them, travelling side by side. They covered the width of the highway, and each had off-road lights mounted to the top of the cab. Suddenly Carter, his mom, Max—their entire line was bathed in the too-bright light.
Carter glanced at Max and saw him switch the night scope off.
Fitting the Winchester’s stock tight against his shoulder, he pulled in a steadying breath and concentrated on what he was seeing through his own scope.
Gunfire burst from the trucks in a deafening rain of noise. To Carter’s left was Frank, who stood, took aim at the truck on the left, and blew out the spotlights with three quick shots. The trucks in the middle and to the right suffered similar fates, and then the night scopes must have been flipped back on. Carter heard someone to his far left call out, “Half a dozen men approaching on foot.”
He didn’t hear much after that. His ears rang from the shots around him. Using the side of the truck as a stable rest, he peered through his scope and fired. His first shot went wide, but with the second and third he managed to shoot out the front tires of a truck. Max and his mom aimed at the men inside.
Their coordinated effort worked.
The truck swerved right, then left, and then sputtered to a halt. The driver slumped over the wheel. Two men spilled out the passenger door, but they didn’t make it very far, falling to the ground only a few feet from the truck.
Carter scanned left to right—left to right. His job was to disable anyone who made it within a hundred yards. He couldn’t see much farther than that.
Someone on the far side of his mom screamed, and his mom called out, “We need medical over here!”
He was glancing toward her, toward the sound of the man’s groans, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes. One of the men from Croghan was barreling toward them, running toward his mom as she turned to help the injured man. He held a pistol in front of him and was firing as he ran.
Carter didn’t have to think about it. He didn’t need to debate the right or wrong of the thing. Every ounce of his being was flooded with adrenaline, and his only thought was of his mother. He raised his rifle, took aim, and fired at the same time that Max did. The man was lifted off his feet and thrown backward.
The battle lasted a few more minutes, but they were basically mopping up stragglers. A shout of victory rose as anyone who hadn’t been killed or injured reversed directions and ran toward the south. What followed was an eerie silence as the moon continued to shine and the crickets resumed their chirping. Everything was the same as before, and everything had changed. Carter felt it like a weight on his chest.
“Will we go after them?” he asked Max.
“No. We won’t.” Max wiped at the sweat running down his face, and Carter saw blood dripping from a wound on his arm.
“You’ve been hit.”
Max looked surprised. He craned his neck, staring at his left shoulder as if it wasn’t attached to his left arm. “Didn’t feel it happen. Must have grazed me.”
“Sit down,” Carter’s mom commanded.
She pulled a roll of bandage out of her backpack and began wrapping the wound—down around, over, repeat.
“Easy, Nurse Nightingale.”
“Stop complaining.” She tugged the wrap to make sure it would hold and tied off the bandage.
“You stopped the bleeding, but you also halted all circulation.”
“I did not.”
“My fingers are blue.” Max held his hand up in front of his face.
She opened her mouth as if to argue with him, but no sound came out. Instead, her brave front crumpled and she dropped to her knees, weeping and covering her face with her hands.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s over now.” Max pulled her into his arms, glancing at Carter and shrugging.
“He’s right, Mom.” Carter clumsily patted his mother on the back. “We’re fine. We did it. We defended Abney.”
They stayed there a few moments, until Bryant walked down the line and thanked everyone. “Mayor Perkins is sending a fresh group to cover this roadblock. They had been providing extra support on the east side of town and are eager to do their part.” His radio beeped and he hurried off toward his cruiser.
Carter’s mind reeled with the memory of gunshots, the realization that dead men lay on the far side of their blockade, and the groans of those who had been injured on both sides.
Nodding toward the other side, he asked, “Will we help them?”
“We will,” Max assured him. “Once we can confirm it’s not a trap. Bryant’s men are sweeping east to west.” He stood and helped Carter’s mom to her feet.
She wiped at her face and made a valiant attempt to pull herself together. “What now?”
“We’re done here.” Max motioned for Carter to pick up his mom’s pack.
She squared her shoulders and pasted on a trembling smile. “Then let’s go home.”
SIXTY-FOUR
This is the longest night of my life.” Shelby sank into a chair at her kitchen table.
Carter was already asleep. He hadn’t bothered to eat, clean up, or change out of his filthy clothes, but she didn’t hassle him about it. Her watch reminded her that it was hours past midnight.
“I can’t believe… I can’t believe what we just did.”
“Only what we had to,” said Max.
“I guess.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose, shut her eyes, and forced back t
he tears. Crying was not helpful. She needed to be strong, especially now, but she was so tired.
“I’m a little afraid that if I sleep I’ll see them.”
“Maybe you should eat something.”
She nodded and foraged around in the cabinets, coming away with two warm sodas and a can of peanuts.
“Don’t you need to save these for Carter?”
“We all have to eat.” She popped the top on her soda and asked, “Doesn’t not eating bring on your migraines?”
Max shook his head and scooped up a handful of peanuts.
“No, it doesn’t? Or no, you don’t want to talk about it?”
“It’s like insomnia—if you don’t say the word, it might not happen to you.”
“So if we don’t say migraine—”
Max reached forward and placed two fingers on her lips, but Shelby batted his hand away.
“I saw you rubbing at your temples out there.”
“I did not.”
“You were standing next to me. Even in the darkness I could tell how tense your shoulders were.”
They fell silent as they munched on the peanuts and drank the warm soda. Shelby wasn’t sure she could keep any of it down, not as her mind combed over the events of the last twelve hours.
She stood, walked to a cabinet, reached in the back, and pulled out a metal tin. Setting the container on the table, she removed the lid and pushed it toward Max.
He peered inside, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “Shelby, I’ve never seen a candy bar in your house.”
“That’s because I hide them.”
“You hide them?”
“I don’t want to tempt Carter, but…”
“But what?” Now Max was grinning, even as he pawed through her secret stash.
“But a woman needs chocolate occasionally. I don’t have diabetes. You can’t expect me to give up sweets for a lifetime. Well, I would, you know, if that would help him.”
Max pulled a chocolate kiss out of the tin, unwrapped it, and offered it to her. The minute the sugar and cocoa hit her taste buds, she groaned. He unwrapped a KitKat bar, broke it in half, and popped it into his mouth. Shelby chose a Snickers.
“How is Carter doing? Any major spikes or dips in his sugar levels?”
“Not that he’s told me about.”
“So he’s adjusting to the change in his diet. And you’ve ensured that his future supply is safely refrigerated the majority of the time. You were smart to find a way to do that.”
Shelby knew what Max was trying to do—help her see the bright side, focus on the good things, be thankful.
It wasn’t working.
Her mood plummeted as she thought of the danger they’d been in, perhaps still were in. But it did nothing to dampen her appetite. She finished the candy bar and chased it with the soda. When the carbohydrates hit her system, she’d be full of energy—for about thirty minutes. After that, she would crash and enjoy the sleep of the innocent. At least it had always worked that way before.
Max grabbed her wrapper, wadded it up with his, and stuck the trash in his pocket.
So he would take care of the evidence. A man who would hide your chocolate wrappers and keep your secrets—even the silly ones—was a decent guy in Shelby’s opinion.
The fatigue must be softening her attitude.
It would be better to get Max out of her house before she did something she would regret—like tell him how she truly felt, or admit her fears, or have yet another good cry on his shoulder.
She stood, faked a yawn, and waited for him to take the hint.
As he walked toward the door, he gestured toward the bins she’d arranged in front of the couch.
“Packing?”
“Not exactly.” She looked toward the floor to avoid his eyes.
“Is that what you’ve been working on?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” He crossed his arms and frowned at her. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re up to?”
“Can’t a girl de-clutter when she feels like it?”
“During a global crisis? I’m not buying it.”
She opened the front door. “Do you think they’ll attack again?”
He must have been tired, because he didn’t fight her changing the subject. “Not during the daylight. Probably not at all.”
Stepping out onto the front porch with him, it surprised her to see the sun peeking over the horizon and a mockingbird lighting on her fence. Life went on.
“Why do you say that? Why wouldn’t they attack again?”
“They weren’t expecting an organized defense. When they drove up to our section, we aimed and took strategic shots, conserving our ammunition. We did not barrage them with a massive show of force—”
“Which we didn’t actually have.”
“We had enough. I think they understood that we were ready for them, and that we were not panicked. Jake’s equipment was a big help.”
Max reached up and brushed the mass of curls back away from her face.
“I’m a mess.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Shelby shook her head, closed her eyes, and tried to think of something to say. “So we’re safe?”
“As safe as we can be. Get some rest.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. Before she could protest, he turned and walked toward his house.
SIXTY-FIVE
Shelby resisted the urge to slap her forehead.
Why had she let him kiss her? Getting romantically involved with Max would only complicate her life, especially now.
She walked back into her living room and stared at the three bins she’d been working on. There was a bin for what she hoped to trade with neighbors, and another for items she might be able to get cash for from a trade shop. Such trading posts had opened in the last few days. Finally there was the bin of items she would take with her to Austin.
After all, once she found the insulin that Carter needed, she didn’t know if the seller would even accept cash. She would take her most valuable items with her.
She knelt on the floor in front of the third bin and fingered the box that held her wedding ring—a small diamond on a simple gold band. Setting it down, she picked up a slightly larger box. Inside it she had placed a velvet bag, which held her parents’ wedding rings. Her mother’s engagement ring—a single-carat diamond in the center with a small ruby inset on each side—was probably the most valuable thing she owned. Though she treasured that tenuous connection with her mom and dad, she also knew without any doubt whatsoever that her parents would tell her to trade it.
They would have given up anything for their grandson. A diamond ring and two gold bands? She envisioned an old-fashioned balance scale—one used to weigh precious things. Were she to place the jewelry in her hand on one side of the scale, and her parents’ love for Carter on the other, there would be no contest. From the day her son was born, their love had been both deep and wide, as it had been for her.
Thinking of them caused a heavy sorrow to stir deep in her chest, and she paused to rub her hand against her breastbone. Her parents had passed more than ten years ago in an auto accident that had killed them both instantly. She had no doubt she would be reunited with them one day. She’d long ago memorized the passage in Revelation that promised no more death or mourning or crying or pain. The future was certain. It was the present that sometimes gave her trouble. Just when she thought she’d learned to live with the loss of her parents, moments like this brought home how much she missed them.
“What would you think of Abney now?” She whispered the question, but expected no answer. Her parents had been plain, hardworking, faithful people. They would tell her to soldier on and keep the faith. They would tell her she was doing the right thing.
The last item in the bin was a nearly full gallon-sized Ziploc bag. More than any of the other items, she thought it might bring bartering power. She fingered the prescription bottles and p
eered down at the labels.
Tramadol from a minor day surgery the year before. She’d taken two, but hated the way it made her feel—the bottle was nearly full.
Ibuprofen, 600 milligrams. Her doctor had prescribed it when she’d developed tennis elbow from typing too much. Once she’d made her writing deadline, she hadn’t needed the anti-inflammatory drug. At least half of the pills remained.
Hydrocodone from when she’d had a gall bladder attack.
Tylenol with codeine prescribed for Carter the summer before when he’d had his wisdom teeth removed.
Celebrex from the one time she’d tried jogging and injured her knee.
The other medications didn’t stand out in her memory. She couldn’t remember their purpose or why they’d been prescribed—unfinished antibiotics mostly. Would she need them in the future? Maybe. But she needed them now more. Nine bottles in all. Why had she even kept them? She couldn’t imagine, but they represented her biggest hope. She imagined her backpack becoming a little lighter each week as Carter used the insulin doses she’d been able to purchase.
Perhaps someone would be willing to trade one drug for another.
Was it illegal for her to do so?
She wasn’t sure. It would be illegal to sell them, but she wasn’t selling. She was trading, trading for something she desperately needed. Their pharmacy had officially closed the day before. The nurses and aides at Green Acres had been talking about it. Apparently there was a sign on the door stating they’d reopen when they had a delivery of medications.
Shelby sat back on her heels and studied the three bins. They represented the extent of what she could do for her son. And if they didn’t work? She’d find another way. She would not give up on Carter.
She covered the bins with a blanket she kept across the back of the couch, and then she walked over and closed the curtains. No use tempting fate. As she had learned the last few hours, people were becoming increasingly desperate.
SIXTY-SIX
In Carter’s dream, he raised his rifle as Max told him to, held the weapon steady, fired, and missed. Instead of coming to a stop, the vehicle accelerated, barreling into their barricade of trucks and running over his friends and family.
Deep Shadows Page 27