by Scott Mackay
Tammy with her two little girls, and her husband, Denny, who was with the National Guard and trying to keep the peace in Raleigh? Jake came out onto the porch and, after a moment, so did Hanna.
“Is it a house fire?” said Jake.
“I think it must be the St. Martin place. I hope Tammy and her girls are okay.”
“Where’s the fire department?”
It was a good question, but one she already knew the answer to. Who’s afraid of the dark? They all were, including the men in the local fire department. People were afraid, and fear was driving them—driving them as much as the darkness. People weren’t showing up for their jobs. She was going to the nursing home only when she felt like it. All the stores were closed. The banks were closed.
Commerce, for the moment, had been suspended. And people were starting to fight each other. She glanced at Leigh’s place. Leigh had the right idea. Stock up, hunker down, and hope for the best.
“Maybe we should go up and help,” suggested Hanna.
Glenda looked around the yard, then along the highway, then out into the farms and fields beyond the highway.
“I think we should stay put.”
“Are they going to let it burn to the ground?” asked Jake.
“Kids, we’ve got to be real careful with those candles.”
She then saw another source of light, blue flashing police lights coming over the hill to the east, and a second later Sheriff Maynard Fulton’s police cruiser appeared. It came racing down the highway at seventy or eighty miles per hour, and in addition to her fear of the darkness, she now felt her long-standing fear of the sheriff. An old truck, one that bumped and rattled along the road, followed the sheriff’s cruiser, and she recognized the truck as that of the sheriff’s younger brother, Buzz Fulton. She felt an additional old fear, the fear of Gerry’s alcoholism. Because wasn’t Buzz Gerry’s favorite drinking
buddy in Old Hill? And hadn’t they gotten so magnificently plastered on more than one occasion that Sheriff Fulton had had to intervene? And hadn’t Sheriff Fulton then eyed her in an uncomfortable fashion when she had come to pick Gerry up in the drunk tank?
“Kids, get inside. Don’t let them see us.”
“Mom, it’s just the sheriff.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
She herded her kids inside and shut the door, just as the Fulton brothers sped by.
She hurried to the kitchen window where, in a moment, she got a view of the cruiser and truck hurtling west on the highway toward Tammy’s place. She gripped the edge of the counter for support.
She watched the fire burn for the next fifteen minutes, and her shoulders eased. At last she went back to the living room and sat in Gerry’s easy chair. She liked sitting in the chair because it had his smell. She thought the emergency was over, and that they could go back to the apprehension and ennui of total darkness twenty-four–seven. But then, glancing out the living room window, she saw headlights swinging back down the highway, coming from Tammy St. Martin’s place, and the two feared vehicles finally came up her drive; first the cruiser, then the truck.
Her body stiffened because she knew Fulton possessed all those characteristics you didn’t want in a cop. He was a man who was liable to abuse his power at the first opportunity.
She sprang from Gerry’s chair and rushed to the kitchen. She pulled their few cans of food from the shelves, shoved them into a canvas bag, quickly took it down to the basement, and hid it among all the boxes, then hurried upstairs just in time to hear Fulton knock at the front door.
“Kids, let me do the talking,” she said.
She smoothed her hair, walked to the front door, and opened it.
Fulton looked thin. He was a square-jawed man with a mustache, and squarish aquamarine eyes atop squarish red cheeks. His flashlight printed a cream circle on the porch step, and in its glow she saw an expression of mistrust on his face. Buzz came up behind the sheriff.
“We thought we’d check up on you, Glenda,” said Maynard.
“Howdy, Glenda,” said Buzz.
“Buzz here was telling me you usually go down to Marblehill around this time of the year, so we really didn’t expect to find you here.”
“No, we’re here.”
“I guess you would be,” said Buzz, “with Gerry stuck up on the Moon and all.”
“Matter of fact,” said the sheriff, “I’m glad you’re here. Gives us a chance to tell you about the changes we’ve been making.”
“Changes? What changes?”
“I wish they’d at least get radio up and running again,” said Maynard. “Me and Buzz have been doing a lot of door-to-door. And I’m getting a bit tired of it. Mind if we step inside?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
“Now, Glenda, you got to learn to trust the sheriff. It wasn’t your fault that I had to throw your husband in the drunk tank so often. I was only trying to help him.”
“You insulted him repeatedly. You made passes at me. And now you think I’m supposed to trust you, Maynard?”
“Oh, come on, Glenda,” said the sheriff. “Gerry can take a little kidding. That’s all it ever was. And you should be thanking us for coming round. We thought you’d be in Marblehill. Why ain’t you down there?
That’s where I’d be if I had half a chance. Buzz here tells me it’s quite a place. Huge. With a pool and tennis courts.”
“My husband’s decision to take Buzz down there three years ago was a mistake. Buzz, you were a bad influence on him.”
Buzz frowned. “He was a bad influence on his own self. He was the one doing all the drinking.”
“He embarrassed himself in front of his brother, his sister-in-law, and their kids. All because you were there to egg him on.”
“Let’s not dig up old dirt,” said the sheriff, breaking in. “We’re just here to check up on you, Glenda, that’s all. Because… truth be told, it’s getting harder to keep the peace in Wake County. I’ve had to deputize some of the boys, Buzz here included. Lot of people don’t know what’s going on, what with radio and TV being down. So I might as well tell you; we’re more or less on our own in Old Hill. Court’s been closed down. All the stores have been closed down. And because of this Western Secessionist thing, the delivery of emergency food supplies has been reduced to a trickle. Mayor’s gone away, we’re not sure where. Fire department’s gone AWOL. And I don’t mean to alarm you, but there have been a lot of home invasions in this area lately. The murder rate has climbed a bit. And it’s not because of the criminal element. People are trying to find enough food.” He glanced over at Leigh’s house. “How’s your neighbor? He bothering you at all?”
“Why would he bother me?”
“Pretty woman like yourself… Everyone knows about you and Leigh.”
“I resent that. There’s nothing between us. I’m a happily married woman.”
“Only your drunk of a husband has run off to the Moon.”
“Maynard, this is why I don’t respect you.”
Maynard’s face settled. “Well, Glenda, I think you better start respecting me soon. Because I’m the only one around here who can protect you. You’re a target, you realize that, don’t you? With law and order breaking down—and believe me, I’m doing my best to keep the peace—but with law and order breaking down, a lot of desperate young men, they find a pretty woman like you, and they realize they have nothing to lose, and they may want to have their way with you. So you’ve got to realize that you need a sheriff more than you ever have before. I don’t have to keep sheriffing. I’m doing it because I feel a responsibility to the people of Wake County. Lot of people want a sheriff around. Only we’re not getting any support out of Raleigh anymore. The chief is telling us we can walk if we want to, especially with the food situation getting so bad, and us having to look after our own families, but I feel it’s my civic responsibility to stay on.”
“Aren’t you noble?”
He shook his head. “Why do I even try wi
th you, Glenda? In any case, the nature of my job has changed. The Wake County Sheriff’s Department has undergone a… a…” He scratched his head. “What would you call it, Buzz? A restructuring, I guess? Folks understand they need a sheriff, and I do what I can for the Old Hill area, only, like I say, we’ve got no support from Raleigh—no food, no nothing—so if people want a sheriff’s department, they got to contribute. My officers need food. If you’ve got any extra food around—or maybe old Gerry has a couple stray bottles of bourbon.”
“There’s no alcohol in the house.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get so defensive.”
“And we don’t have any food. We’re starving like everybody else.”
“Then you know… there are other ways a pretty young woman like yourself can contribute.”
And here it was, what she knew he was going to get around to sooner or later—and Buzz, oddly, looking away, as if he were embarrassed by it but nonetheless willing to tolerate it.
“Get off my property, Maynard.”
“It just comes down to a question of whether you want my protection or not. We got Tammy and her kids in the cruiser. Her house burned down and she has nowhere else to go. Denny is God knows where.
A few days ago we asked her for food, but she didn’t want to give us any, and now her house burned down, because, you know, we can’t protect everyone; just the people who are willing to cooperate with us. Wouldn’t it be a shame if your house burned down too?”
Her insides shriveled in fear as she understood the game he was playing. “Maynard…please…I’ve got no food. And for God’s sake, I’m a married woman.”
“That ain’t stopping Tammy. She knows what she has to do to survive.”
“Please… just go.”
“You think about it, Mrs. Thorndike. Your situation’s similar to Tammy’s. You don’t have your husband around to protect you. You have only the sheriff.”
At work a few days later, Glenda pushed a food cart down the hall. The cart had stale tea biscuits on it, and an urn full of weak tea. The place stunk. The cleaning staff didn’t come anymore. It was only her and Whit trying to keep the place running. She lifted a biscuit and shoved it into her mouth. The place was dark and she had to wheel the cart down the hall using a flashlight. She saw another flashlight up ahead.
Her own beam sketched out Whit’s tall figure.
As Whit reached her, he said, “Mrs. Waters is dead.”
“Do you need help moving her?”
“It’s already done. Help yourself to another biscuit. And take a few for your kids.” Whit shook his head.
“I don’t know how much longer we can stay on, Glenda. There’s not much we can do.”
“So only twenty-seven residents left now?”
“Twenty-six.”
“And you’ve tried contacting their loved ones?”
He didn’t answer. In fact, he switched to another topic entirely, one he had grown obsessed with over the last couple of days. “I’m afraid those kids might come back. One of them has a gun.”
“If you have to defend yourself… I mean, if they give you no choice…”
“Why are they coming here anyway?”
Glenda shrugged. “I guess they think we have food.”
He motioned at the tea biscuits. “You call that food?”
“I wonder where their parents are?”
Whit reached in his pocket. “Take the keys to the dispensary. We’ve got asthma drugs in there.”
She was elated by the offer because she had thought often about the Cedarvale dispensary. She took the keys, shoved them in her nursing uniform pocket, stood on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks, Whit.”
“Haven’t been in touch with my family for years,” he said. “I have a brother in Detroit. Maybe I’ll head up there.”
So. There it was. The inevitable. “That’s it? I don’t have to come anymore?”
He looked away. “I appreciate you hanging on as long as you have.”
“It’s just that… my kids.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Glenda.”
“Then maybe after today—”
“I’m thinking of moving everybody up to 3C. To the single rooms. Everybody’s too spread out now.
I’m going to shut down the elevators and barricade the stairwells. We’ll put all the food in the sterile room. If those kids come…” He trailed off, not finishing his thought.
“How long do you think the food’s going to last?”
He shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Maybe another ten days.”
“Do you need help moving people? I could stay if you want.”
“Go to your children. Leave this cart to me.”
“Can I charge my car one last time?”
“You don’t have to ask. And you can come back and recharge it any time.”
She gave the cart to Whit, and hugged him.
She then negotiated the dark corridors with her flashlight.
She went to the dispensary and took all the asthma medicine she could find.
Next she went to the garage and charged her car. She checked the gauge on the generator and saw that it was good for another fifteen charges.
She drove the car herself—no satellite connections to drive the car for her anymore—and wondered if she would ever have to worry about getting another job again.
12
Having told everybody in the mayor’s office of his defection, Dr. Luke Langstrom now sat on the edge of his seat, elbows resting on the table, his upper lip hoisted in a tight smile, his blue eyes sitting like insensible marbles behind his narrowed eyelids. Gerry had that old familiar sensation that, while he had been fogging his brain with the ether of his own confused musings, someone else had comprehended the situation with the crispness of a high-powered microscope and had then pulled the rug out from under his feet.
He glanced at Malcolm Hulke, gauging the mayor’s reaction. The mayor gazed at the Martian with wide, perplexed eyes. Then it was over to Mitch Bennett, the AviOrbit representative. Mitch’s lips had twisted into a tremulous pout, and he looked like a sensitive schoolboy who had just been teased beyond endurance.
Ian Hamilton, smelling of last night’s drunk and sporting his rawhide cowboy hat, had his unshaven chin thrust forward and his brow set in an angry frown. “That’s the biggest bullshit story I’ve ever heard, Luke. Did Neil Thorndike put you up to this?”
The Martian shifted. “I won’t deny that Dr. Thorndike’s signature was on the drop. I’m honored that such a distinguished scientist thinks he can put my modest talents to good use.”
“So have they confirmed through genetic analysis that the chromosomal makeup of the xenophyta carapace might in fact be derived from the Martian specimens you’ve studied?” asked Gerry, wanting only to find out what he could.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Luke, we’re a team,” said Ian. “Just the other day you were telling me how you were personally behind Gerry a hundred percent.”
“I am. And I wish Gerry the best of luck.”
“Why can’t you discuss the carapace with us?” asked the mayor, his tone sounding as if he had bitten a lemon.
“The National Science Foundation Task Force on the Phytosphere thinks it’s better if we keep our research confidential. They prefer I use the American Legation’s drop system now.”
The mayor fought hard to disguise his disappointment. “I guess we can’t stop you.”
“The smug sons of bitches,” said Ian. “Gerry, you should send Neil a drop and tell him to butt out. He realized you had a good thing, so he came in and took over, like he always does.”
“I don’t look at it that way, Ian. We’re all in this together.”
But Ian wasn’t satisfied. “What did he give you, Luke? I know how Neil works. What’s on offer here?”
The Martian scientist shifted again. “Can’t we be civilized about this? Gerry’s right. Ultimately, we�
�re all trying to do the same thing. Defeat the phytosphere.”
“What Neil can’t steal, he always tries to buy,” said Ian. “What was your price? Everybody’s got a price.”
Langstrom frowned again. “The point is, this whole lunar effort is ridiculous. You have no money. You have no resources. And your chief scientist”—he nodded at Gerry—“is stalled in his primary research.
I’m not even convinced his primary research should be the main focus. I think the flagella will ultimately prove to be a side issue. Who cares if they behave one way in the lab, and differently when they’re in the phytosphere? I don’t think it matters.” The Martian’s tone grew defensive. “You’ve forgotten the most basic scientific principle, Gerry, that of Occam’s razor. The simplest theory is the best theory. All I can see of your research so far is that you’re trying to complicate—unnecessarily—what is really a simple problem. Take a page from your brother. The thing’s an organism. Therefore, it can be killed. And yes, it’s an interesting phenomenon to see the flagella behave differently in different environments. But solving that problem has no ultimate value, at least not in terms of destroying the phytosphere.”
In spite of himself, Gerry couldn’t help feeling hurt. “And my brother’s approach is so much better?”
“I can only speak in the broadest general terms because of the confidentiality issue, but in the wide spectrum of things, yes, it is.”
“And in the wide spectrum of things, what is he generally planning to do?”
Langstrom frowned. “For one thing, he has a plan. You don’t. I would even go so far as to call his plan a procedure; one with clear directions and logical steps that technicians and military personnel can follow.
Step one is to identify the chemical and biological makeup of the phytosphere, which he’s done, right down to mapping its entire genome, something we on the Moon don’t have the equipment or expertise to do. Step two is to break down its defenses; in other words, find a way through its carapace. That’s where I come in with my omniphage. Step three is the introduction of a comprehensive toxic agent that will ultimately prove fatal to the phytosphere.”