“You were right about my needing to forgive. I’m sorry, Max. That isn’t fair to you. The past needs to stay in the past. I’ll try to do better.” When he didn’t answer, she pushed on. “Obviously our living at Bianca’s isn’t going to work as a long-term solution. I talked to Pastor Tony, and our other options aren’t any better. There are members in our church who have a single room they will lend us indefinitely. While I appreciate their kindness, that doesn’t seem like a good option either.”
Instead of answering, Max leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and waited.
“Carter’s not doing well. His moods have been up and down since the flare, but at least when there was work and Kaitlyn I saw some light in his eyes. Now he just lies on the couch, barely eats, shuffles through his chores.”
“Carter will bounce back.”
“I think so. I pray so.” She paused, forcing back the tears that threatened to consume her. Why did she feel so vulnerable when she had to accept kindness from someone else? Why couldn’t she just be grateful? “What I’m saying is, if you’ll still have us, and if you believe there’s room at your parents’ place—”
Max was on his feet before she could finish, drawing her into his arms and practically crushing her with his embrace. She pulled back, needing to say the rest, needing to say it all.
“A change of place, it will be good for Carter,” he assured her.
She pulled away from him and stood with a small amount of space between them, yet it felt bigger than the West Texas prairie. “Your parents have always been like family to both me and Carter, but we don’t want to be a burden. I’ve talked it over with him—as much as he will talk, which is mostly nodding and staring at the ground—and we’re willing to work around the place and help in any way we can to earn our room and board.”
Max backed up to the patio railing, and Shelby wondered if maybe he could see her in the light from the dining room. For some reason she felt exposed, as if he might be able to discern what she wasn’t telling him. She walked to his side, and stared out at the live oak trees that shaded the apartment.
“There’s more,” she said.
“All right.”
“There’s something that I… that I have to do. After we get Carter settled.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, she pressed on. “Promise me that you won’t try to talk me out of it, and no, I’m not ready to share the details. That’s my only condition, Max.”
She turned toward him, her arms crossed around her middle, hugging herself tightly—trying to keep from touching his face, from walking back into his embrace, from begging him to take them to High Fields.
He didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t admonish her about foolish plans and dangers and their uncertain future. Instead he pulled her hand free, entwined his fingers with hers, and said, “We’ll leave at six sharp.”
When she walked back into the apartment, she hugged Patrick tightly and whispered, “Please take care of Bianca.”
“Of course I will.”
“And watch your back. Keep an eye on Bhatti. I know he doesn’t seem like the devious type, but something about the man bothers me. You know he buried something in the backyard?”
“I do, and I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Max insisted on accompanying her back to Bianca’s parents’ home. They didn’t talk, didn’t plan out the next day, didn’t discuss the dangers. Whatever happened would happen, and all they could do was pray for God’s protection and his wisdom. Twice he stumbled over something on the sidewalk. He was exhausted, that much was certain.
After Bianca opened the front door, he squeezed Shelby’s hand and said, “See you in the morning.”
She thought she wouldn’t sleep, but she did—more soundly than she had since the explosion. She’d set the alarm on the old sports watch that Carter had given her, but she woke fifteen minutes before it was set to go off. Silencing the alarm, she folded her blanket, straightened the pillows on the couch, and stacked their belongings by the door. It was a pitifully small pile.
By the time Max arrived, she’d had her first cup of coffee. She sat in the kitchen with Bianca while Rosa attempted to feed Miguel a little oatmeal. Carter got up the first time she called him—another sign that things weren’t quite normal.
If anything, Max looked more haggard than he had the night before. When she asked him about it, he waved her off, promising, “I’ll be fine.” Not I am fine, but I will be fine. Twice she noticed he turned his back to the morning sun, as if afraid it might burn him. He was acting odd. His Stetson was pulled so low that it tilted over his forehead. Something was off, but there was no time to quiz him about it.
After hugging Rosa and saying her goodbyes to Miguel, the four of them—Bianca, Carter, Max, and herself—carried their pillowcases stuffed with items, the plastic container of writing supplies, and the three bins of valuables out to Max’s truck. She was surprised to see that nothing was in the bed. Everything Max had packed was stuffed into the backseat, and he piled their goods on top of it. She only let go of the backpack when he insisted, “You can’t wear it, and there won’t be room up front with the three of us sitting there.”
Carter allowed Bianca to hug him, and then he climbed into the truck. He sat near the window, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the sky had begun to lighten. Pinks and purples spread across the sky suggesting this was any other normal day, but it wasn’t. This was the day they were starting their life over.
“Vaya con Dios,” Bianca whispered in her ear.
Shelby hugged her tightly. “I’ll be praying for you and your parents.”
Max pulled out a map and traced their path with his index finger. “We’ll take the state highway north through Townsen Mills, past both of these farm roads, and turn here—across from the cemetery.”
“That’s the long way.”
“Yes, but the roads are better. I don’t want to get caught on either of these roads.” He retraced back toward Townsen Mills. “They’re not paved, and it would be a perfect place for someone to stage an ambush.”
“Why are you showing me this? You’re driving.”
Max closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Are you okay? Is there a problem? Maybe we should wait—”
“We’re doing this today. Now. I wanted you to know, is all.”
Then he motioned for her to climb into the truck. She sat squeezed between Max and Carter, and they drove out of Abney.
SEVENTY-FIVE
They hit the first snag leaving town.
They left Bianca’s home, drove down Main Street, and were approaching the outskirts of town when Max spied several large diesel trucks parked across the road. To the left, and the right, and the left again. They made a sort of obstacle course. Max could navigate between them only if he drove slowly, and if someone removed the roadblock constructed of lumber and orange warning signs positioned in the middle.
He turned off the ignition to his own truck, murmured, “Wait here,” and stepped out to talk to the folks manning the barricade.
“Could be an expensive place to park your vehicle,” he said.
“Can’t afford to drive them anymore,” Josh Hunter explained, walking up and shaking his hand.
Max had handled a small misdemeanor matter for Josh several years ago, and the boy had cleaned up nicely. Now he was on patrol for the mayor—not bad for a kid who could have ended up in juvie for calling in a fake bomb threat when he was in middle school.
“Has anyone tried to breach it?” Shelby asked.
Max wasn’t even a little surprised that she hadn’t waited in the truck.
“Not yet. Our policy is to search folks for weapons before we allow them through, then someone escorts them to the south side of town. Once they’re past the southern barrier, we return their weapons.”
“So the road isn’t closed.” Shelby crossed her arms and tried to peer around the t
rucks to the road beyond.
“No. Being a direct route to Austin, Mayor Perkins doesn’t want to stop legitimate folks from travelling if they have the means.”
“If they have the gasoline,” Max said.
“Exactly.”
“So you let everyone through?” Max asked.
“Not everyone. They have to surrender their weapons while they travel through town, otherwise they’re turned away.”
Max hadn’t heard about this, but then he’d missed the last city meeting. He’d decided helping to bury folks was more important, and besides—he wouldn’t be in Abney for long, so what they decided seemed irrelevant to him. But confiscating weapons? Unless someone had suspended the Second Amendment, that was illegal.
Josh was yawning, having apparently pulled the night shift. He resettled the ball cap he wore and added, “We’ve had a few turn around and say they would find another way.”
“No altercations?”
Josh shrugged. “Two nights ago we had some rough-looking guys threaten us.”
“Bunch of drug addicts from the looks of them,” said Karen Schneider, who had walked over to join them. She was also patrolling the barricade. Max knew very little about her, only that she’d been a corrections officer at the women’s prison in the town south of Abney. “Couldn’t stop scratching and had the most awful smell.”
“Bad time to try and go clean,” Shelby said.
Karen shrugged. “Not much choice, I guess.”
“Other than that, it’s been quiet.” Josh carried a rifle, which he switched from his right hand to his left. “The first few days, there were a lot of people going through. Lately it’s been maybe one or two cars a shift. Not many.”
Max thought about the tank full of gas he’d managed to barter for. He’d traded most of the food left in his house because Farhan hadn’t needed the canned goods. He was receiving rations from the city in exchange for his work at the nursing home and hospital.
More than anything else they carried, the gas in the truck made them vulnerable to thieves—but it was also their only way to get to High Fields. That worry was one of the reasons he’d wanted to leave early in the day.
“We’re headed up to my parents’ ranch.”
“Good luck,” Karen said. “I’ll go tell the guys to move the barricades.”
Shelby had begun walking toward the truck when Josh reached for Max’s arm and pulled him back. “I don’t want to seem like an alarmist.”
“But—”
“There have been rumors about problems to the north of here.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Thugs, gangs, whatever you want to call them. They hide off the road in the brush and pull out when you’re too close to stop. They take whatever they want, leaving you barely enough gas to get away. Word is they’ve even killed a few.”
“And you talked to someone who saw this with their own eyes?”
“Not exactly.” Josh again shifted the rifle. “I have heard it from three different people now. Each of them heard it from someone else.”
“Hearsay. Not exactly solid information.”
“Solid enough.”
“Wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.”
“Yeah, but the thing is, this isn’t a courtroom. And these people who told us were terrified. You know what I mean? They rode in groups, left early in the morning, made sure they had someone armed and visible in the front or bed of the vehicle.”
“All right.” Max rubbed at the pulsing in his temple. He knew what the pain meant—what would overtake him soon—but he pushed the thought away. He would get Shelby and Carter to High Fields.
“Watch for red bandanas.”
“Seriously?”
“I know. Sounds like something out of a B-rated Western, but apparently they cover up their faces so they can’t be identified.”
“I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Sure thing. Y’all take care.”
Josh again took up his position watching the road toward town, and Max jogged back to his truck. When he opened the door, the world tilted momentarily. He clutched the doorframe and waited for the sensation to pass. Fortunately, Shelby didn’t notice. She was turned around and checking the backpack of medication. He pulled in a deep breath, climbed into the truck, and started the engine.
“What was that about?” Shelby asked. She nodded toward Josh.
Carter seemed to be asleep, but Max knew that could be an act. He shook his head, unwilling to add worry to what the boy had already endured, and drove forward.
SEVENTY-SIX
It had been a couple of years since Carter had seen Max’s parents, Georgia and Ted. When Max had first moved back to Abney, Carter had gone nearly every weekend to High Fields. Somewhere along the way life had become busy, and he always had to be somewhere else, doing something besides visiting them.
Not anymore. He had all the time in the world.
One part of his mind knew that he had to pull himself out of his pit of despair. He needed to be there for his mom.
Life wasn’t fair.
He’d heard those words from every teacher he’d ever had, or so it seemed. Carter hadn’t understood the truth of that statement until he’d held Kaitlyn’s lifeless body in his arms.
Each time the memory passed through his mind, a ball of grief burned in his gut. He wondered why she had died but he had lived, and he regretted that he hadn’t been able to save her. His thoughts were caught in a loop, and the round and round exhausted him. The effort required to eat or work or even speak seemed too much.
He’d agreed they should move to High Fields because his mother thought it was a good idea. She wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise. There was something else going on with her, though—something she wasn’t talking about yet.
Carter settled against the truck door, now that they were finally moving. The barricade at the edge of town had seemed totally lame. Anyone with a big rig could have busted through it. And what were they protecting? There wasn’t anything left in Abney—nothing in the grocery store, no money in the bank, no hope that things would improve. Abney was a great big zero, a total loss, something already in the past.
The lull of the engine helped Carter to relax, and he felt himself slipping into a light sleep. He could hear Max talking to his mom about red bandanas and bandits and danger and rumors. He heard it all, but the words reached him like static on a radio. He opened his eyes once to see Max rubbing at his neck, holding it stiffly at an odd angle. His mom was staring straight ahead when her eyes widened in alarm.
“This place looks like a ghost town.”
Carter came fully awake, sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked around.
She was right. Townsen Mills had been a true one-light town. But now there was nothing. Carter didn’t see a single person.
As they drove slowly past the gas station, Max pointed toward the broken windows in the front.
The café was simply closed, boards nailed over windows.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“I suppose it’s a hard spot to protect.” Max gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “And there’s no money to be made if you have no supplies to sell.”
“No upside to staying open.” His mom gawked out the window as they drove past the last building—an antique store that looked as if it had been emptied out.
Carter tried to process what he was seeing, attempting to understand how an entire town had disappeared. It was true that Townsen Mills wasn’t much. Their kids came to school in Abney, but they were a town. Where had the people gone?
He was staring out his side window when he heard Max shout, “Hold on.”
Carter’s attention swiveled to the front, and in a split second he saw half a dozen jacked-up trucks pulling out of the brush. Sporting oversized wheels, they belonged in a monster truck competition. Each had cranked up suspension for off-road driving. Hanging out the windows were g
uys wearing red bandanas and brandishing pistols.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Max slammed the brakes to the floor, sending the truck into a spin and throwing everyone against their restraints.
“Get down!” Max pushed on Shelby’s head, but she was buckled into the seat and it did no more than bend her over. Maybe that was what he was trying to do.
She fought against Max and clawed at Carter’s seat belt, attempting to hit the release button. “Hurry. You need to—”
They were now facing the direction they had come. Max had jerked the wheel and stopped their spin, but before he could accelerate, something hit the side-view mirror and shattered it. Carter guessed it was a bullet. Hands shaking, he unbuckled his seat belt and attempted to crouch in between the seat and dashboard, but he didn’t fit in the floor space. He only succeeded in falling off the bench seat and lodging the lower half of himself between the glove compartment and the seat. His mom was trying to lie across the top of him—smothering him, cutting off his air supply, and causing his legs to cramp.
“Get off me. Just get off!”
He exploded up out of the floorboard as Max accelerated. The force knocked his mom across the seat. Carter steadied her, pushed her back toward Max, and raised up to see out the back window.
“They’re not giving up,” he said.
“I see that.” Max glanced into the rearview window.
If he crouched down he could be killed in a collision, which they were surely about to have. If he sat up and faced the front of the truck, he could be shot in the back of the head. Neither seemed like a good option.
His mom hollered at Max to be careful, as if he had a choice in the matter. They jostled left and right, Max driving like a crazy person intent on creating his own personal roller coaster. Carter tried to avoid the hail of gunfire that was sailing around them—popping like firecrackers on some nightmarish Independence Day celebration. A bullet popped against the top of the cab, ricocheting off it. Carter could hear pings on the tailgate, and then another bullet spidered the glass of his side-view mirror.
“They’re either intentionally missing us or they’re terrible shots,” he said.
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