When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  #

  Harold woke at first light and began walking to Faye’s holding the aneroid barometer like a stop watch, tapping it occasionally as he delighted in watching the needle creep to the left of the set-needle indicating that atmospheric pressure continued to drop.

  As he walked, his mind wandered. He imagined that the approaching low-pressure would bring salvation and forgiveness for all. His son had killed. Jerry had killed. Sheila...Amber...killers. Faye? Was she a killer, too? Remnants of his Christian up-bringing challenged his conscience. Thou Shalt Not Kill. Would they all burn in hell?

  He was a alarmed to find the front door to Faye’s restaurant unlocked and slightly ajar. He entered the dining room, cautiously. It looked like a post-game locker room, strewn with dirty clothes and littered with a myriad of torn and emptied food packages scattered between humanoid lumps huddled under tattered blankets and zipper-less sleeping bags, faded and threadbare from years of daily use.

  He used his deductive skills to determine whom was present and who wasn’t. Leland was the tallest of the group and easily identifiable by his feet which were naked, projecting from his too-short sleeping bag. Jerry’s peculiar aroma, like a compost pile in July, permeated his surroundings and Milton snored a particularly odd snore, like a hog with it’s nose in a puddle, bubbling and snorting with every breath. The men were accounted for. The girls were missing. Faye was missing. He heard voices emanating from behind closed kitchen doors. He corrected his posture and walked boldly toward the doors, clutching the barometer in his left hand like a badge of merit, determined to set the record straight about the weather...and about Faye, too, dammit, after an apology. He regretted his odd behavior when last they were together and was ashamed for being pre-occupied and, perhaps, single-minded. On the other hand, he thought he had every right to be excited about the approaching low pressure system. It was not an event to be ignored. A second after the thought passed, he sashayed through the swinging doors to break the ice and hail the women-folk with good news.

  Faye heard the familiar hinge squeak and called from the from the makeshift steam room.

  “Who’s there?” Without waiting for an answer she continued. “There’s some hot coffee on the oven...”

  “It’s me...Harold...thanks.” Harold searched for words, something off topic, something profound or enlightening so she wouldn’t think that he was a useless old man. Useless. Old. The words rolled off his tongue like pasta from the press, raw, thick and sticky. He had had been useless for the most part. He couldn’t and wouldn’t deny that. He was old..er. Fifty wasn’t old but is was getting there. Or so his body reminded him on a daily basis. He noted the steam drifting from the pantry like fog at sunrise.

  “You taking a bath?” He called. The thought of Faye naked in a tub of hot water was stimulating.

  “No. Amber is,” Faye replied. “She’s hypothermic. She got cold...it’s a long story. I’ll be out in a sec.”

  “OK....good...I have something exciting to tell you.” Harold began pacing the aisle between the door and the walk-in freezer, counting the tiles as he walked, trying to maintain his composure.

  “Don’t start that again.” Faye’s tone was stern and frigid.

  Harold’s mood plummeted, “I’m not starting anything, I just want you to....”

  Faye cut him off. “You’re starting, Harold. Sit down and drink your coffee. Please.”

  Harold was offended by the dismissive retort. Dejected, he left the room, returning to the dining/bunk room to provoke the three stooges out of the sack.

  “Come on you guys, time to rise and whine.” He gave each lump a nudge with his foot.

  A fair amount of grumbling ensued as Milton, Jerry and Leland searched for their scattered clothing before making their way outside to urinate in the street. Once drained and dressed again in their filthy clothes, they assembled in the kitchen for coffee and an opportunity to catch up on current events.

  “Where are the girls...I mean women?” Jerry asked. He wanted to unload the burden that had troubled him all night. Suddenly his face registered alarm and he ran out the front door and squatted in the street, evacuating his bowels over the storm drain. When he returned, it was evident to all that he was ill.

  “Dude, I have the shit’s, bad.”

  “Thanks for telling us,” Milton mumbled as he tore open an energy bar, “I just lost my appetite.”

  “I’m not joking...” Jerry moaned loudly and bent over clutching his abdomen with both arms, he made another mad dash for the street, squatting over the storm drain.

  The unusual flurry of activity got Faye’s attention. “What’s going on out there?”

  “It’s Jerry, Harold called, “He’s got the sh...diarrhea...”

  Sheila overheard the exchange and called loudly from her bed. “I’m not surprised, I saw him drink some of the contaminated bottled water, yesterday.”

  “Just a mouthful,” Jerry protested, weakly from the doorway.

  “What?” Faye, again alarmed, hurried into the kitchen.

  “You drank some contaminated water, Jerry?”

  Jerry nodded, hanging his head in embarrassment.

  Faye shook her head in disbelief, “What were you think...never mind, the damage is done.”

  “Am I going to die?” Jerry whimpered.

  Faye gently touched him, “No, sweetheart, you are not going to die. I don’t think the water made you ill, it’s too soon. Your diarrhea was caused by something else. You may be allergic to something you ate. It’s hard to tell at this stage.

  Jerry rolled his eyes. He had pigged out in the Black Swan’s camp, sampling every food item they found. Any one of the items could have caused the illness.

  Faye tried to console him. “You will be uncomfortable for a while. Diarrhea causes one to rapidly lose one’s body fluids... as you just discovered. We have to keep you hydrated and you have to keep yourself clean so you don’t infect us...and this goes for all of you male animals. Wash your hands and do not use my street as your bathroom. That is disgusting, not to mention unsanitary. Take a shovel and dig a hole somewhere. Please.”

  “Can you help me?” Jerry couldn’t wait for an answer, he dashed outside empty handed.

  “There’s a shovel in the garage, will one of you guys help him out?”

  “I’ll go,” Leland said.

  “Thank you, honey. I think I have something to help him in my dispensary. I’ll be right back.”

  Harold followed her. If he had a tail, it would be wagging to the left.

  Faye turned abruptly and cautioned him, “Leave me alone, Harold. We can talk later. I have to help Jerry, now.”

  Harold whined like a lost puppy. “First Amber...now Jerry...when are you going to have time for me?”

  “Later.”

  #

  Faye mounted the staircase to the second floor. She moved several cases of coffee on the landing, revealing a locked door. She withdrew her key ring, selected the correct key and opened the deadbolt, stepped inside, closed the door and locked it. The bed room that once housed her children was filled from floor-boards to tin ceiling tiles with cases of stolen pharmaceutical supplies. Near the window, she had unpacked the most commonly used items, band-aids, gauze pads, sutures, alcohol wipes, antibiotics, and so on, all neatly arranged on shelving removed from Walgreens.

  She ran a finger along the alphabetically arranged stacks of boxes, shuddering at the memory of the terrible night that she had dispatched the owners, Melinda and Christine. They were the first to discover her tunneling operation and the first to be planted in the cellar...

  They heard the jackhammering and had come to investigate the source of the sound. They were shocked to find one of their neighbors creating a hole in the basement wall and confronted her.

  “What in god’s name are you doing, Faye?” Melinda demanded

  Faye was stunned and embarrassed. She had seen the two women packing their van and had presumed that they had left town and they had.
Two weeks later they had, unknown to Faye, returned with a large box truck to recover their inventory.

  Faye was upset with herself for being caught but was not to be deterred.

  “Making a hole,” she said casually as her mind searched for a reasonable explanation. Then it came to her.

  “I’m actually making an escape route,” she added flippantly.

  “Escape from what?” Melinda asked suspiciously.

  “I don’t know. Anything can happen these days. I just wanted another way out.”

  “Well you can just start fixing that hole. We...” Melinda turned to Christine to make sure they were thinking alike, with Christine’s consent, she continued. “We don’t want you...doing...destroying our walls or anything of that nature. “Goodness sakes alive, Faye. What has gotten into you?

  Faye wasn’t going to back down. She wanted the medical supplies. No, was not an option. She attempted to simply settle the matter.

  “I’ll pay you.”

  “Pay us? For what?”

  “Some medicine.”

  “Is that it? You want medicine? Why didn’t you come over and ask us like an ordinary person? Why are you breaking in?” Christine asked. She was very upset and yet wanted to give their long-time acquaintance the benefit of the doubt. Unable to hide her emotions, she began weeping.

  “I know why,” Melinda interjected as she comforted her partner, “she was going to steal them. It’s the painkillers, isn’t it? As I recall, you had a fondness for Oxycontin2. Are you addicted?

  There it was, out in the open, the ugly truth hung in the air like smoke from a burning tire. Faye panicked. So what if it wasn’t Oxycontin2 but morphine. If the word got out that she was a thief and drug addict, she would be ostracized in the close-knit community. She couldn’t afford the notoriety or the loss to her shrinking business, she had to eliminate the possibility. It was likely that no one knew of the couple’s return. It was likely they wouldn’t be missed.

  “Hold on, don’t jump to any conclusions. I want to make this right.” She lifted the heavy, electric jack-hammer while advancing toward the couple. Melinda and Christine began climbing backwards up the basement stairs coming to a halt at the heavy fire-door that separated them from their freedom.

  Faye charged up the stairs with her reciprocating lance and impaled the two women on the hardened-steel chisel like red meat on a shish kebob. Faye immediately retreated, turning away from the screams of surprise and anguish followed by the sucking sound of death as their intestines intermingled in a heap at the foot of the stairs. It was days before Faye returned to the scene. She was immediately sickened by the sight and smell of her victims but managed, still, to drag the swollen carcasses along her tunnel to the basement of the flower shop; the only basement with a dirt floor...

  Faye shook off the memory and withdrew a bottle from the case labeled Oral Rehydration Salts. She opened the case and pocketed a plastic bottle. She returned to the kitchen and poured the contents of the box into a boiling pot of water. She expected to be quizzed about her diagnostic abilities and her well-stocked dispensary by her usually inquisitive visitors, but the topic didn’t come up. She suspected that there was a more pressing concern.

  #

  CHAPTER 34

  “What’s going on with you guys? You’re all so quiet this morning...what’s up?”

  Milton opened the box of lies, “We’re tired I guess. We had a long day yesterday.”

  “You’re telling me? I was there, too, you know. I thought we were going to be straight with each other. You’re hiding something...what is it?”

  She poured the salts into a large mug and carried it to Jerry, who was slumped against the front door jamb, dabbing at the perspiration on his brow with his sleeve.

  “Drink this, honey. Drink it all and then take it easy, you need to rest.” Faye didn’t leave his side, she stared at him intently, waiting for an answer to her question.

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  “That Jordan dude is dead...I killed him.” Jerry said flatly, taking care not to establish eye contact with Sheila.

  “We killed him,” Leland blurted, not wanting Jerry to shoulder all of the blame or receive all the glory, depending.

  “We were all there...we’re all to blame.” Milton mumbled. He cowered in a corner, fearing the reaction of the wild-eyed Sheila. He stared at the floor waiting for the flames to consume him.

  “Say that again.” Sheila had dressed and was helping Amber into a booth on the far side of the dining room. She turned to face the cowering men.

  “Your brother is dead,” Leland said. “He double-crossed us, turned his gun on us...we defended ourselves. That’s all.”

  An audible gasp emanated from Amber.

  “That is not all,” Sheila said coldly. Her tone was terrifying.

  “I want to know exactly what happened.” She advanced toward the men, threatening their personal space with her heat.

  Jerry quickly retold the tale without embellishments. “...like I said...that’s all there is to it. He double crossed you, too.”

  “That’s right,” Milton said, “He didn’t give a shit about any of us. He just wanted the supplies and the water...he wanted the whole fucking train.” He bit his lip. He wanted the whole fucking train, too. He had more competition than he realized.

  Sheila, too, wanted the train and its contents. She was irritated by the news of her brother’s death, not mad. They had not had the opportunity to exchange any information. Jordan’s sudden appearance had put the group on guard. His friendly attitude had fooled the other’s but she knew him to be a good actor and doubted his every word. His death left nothing but questions. Where had he come from? How did he know she was in St. Cloud. What had he been doing for the past thirteen years? What was he after? If he was aboard the train all the time, why didn’t he contact them earlier? Like in Cedar Rapids, when they were attacked. The contents of the train were unknown, but undoubtedly valuable, but if he really had been at the controls of the train, why didn’t he hijack it earlier? Why did he wait? What the hell was he doing? Sheila was exasperated.

  These town folks needed supplies as well. She was sure they would want an opportunity to poke through the contents of the train. They were entitled. They had put up with the presence of the Black Swans for years. But she wasn’t going to let them have it. Unless they beat her to it. That was unlikely. It was time for her to make her move. She wasn’t going to dwell on her brother’s demise. Their brief interlude in the warehouse had been interesting, nothing more. Whatever Jordan had gotten himself into over the past thirteen years would remain a mystery. He was and would always be a stranger to her. A more pressing problem reared its head. How was she going to drive the train?

  Amber held a hand out to Sheila to comfort her. Her gesture was rudely rebuffed.

  “This wouldn’t have happened if he had never met you,” Sheila said, coldly.

  Her intentionally callous comment had the desired affect of placing a barrier between herself and Amber. She was conflicted and needed space. Innocent Amber had become dear to her heart. Maybe too much so; she was distracted by her presence and that was dangerous. Besides, she thought about Shania constantly. If only she could communicate with her...find out if she had survived the road trip with her rag-tag bunch of kids. She remembered that Shania had written the satellite phone number on one of the documents stashed in her backpack. She retrieved the backpack and headed for the door.

  “I have to take a dump. Where’s the shovel?” She asked innocently.

  “Outside, leaning against the wall, “Leland said.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  #

  “That was weird,” Amber observed the instant Sheila walked out the door.

  “I thought she would be really upset, but she acted like she didn’t care. What kind of person would treat their kin that way? I liked Jordan, he was real good to me. I’ll miss him even if she doesn’t. I wonder what will happen to his...mu
see...collections.”

  “What collections?” Milton asked, hoping to steer the topic of conversation away from the train. He too was intending to capitalize on Jordan’s death. The time to act is now, he just needed the gear lever for the locomotive. An instant after that thought passed, he remembered that Jordan had not been wearing or carrying anything of a personal nature nor anything resembling a gear lever. Whatever it looked like, it had to be a substantial tool with some weight to it. Likely too heavy to carry in one’s pocket. What had he said...he had gone for a walk? That was it...but where? Where did he hide his gear? He must have stashed it near the warehouse or on the train. Maybe in the locomotive? That made sense. There must be a locker somewhere inside the locomotive. Milton tried to visualize the engineer’s cab. He hadn’t paid much attention to the layout. His only choice was to get to the train and search until he found the lever. He had to get back to the train...alone. He looked at his companions. They were listening to Amber’s story.

  “...After we met, he took me to large building filled with all kinds of cool, old stuff that was left behind by...well, you know...dead folks. I lost the best thing he gave to me, though. Have any of you seen my hat?

  “What’s so special about your hat? I have hats. Faye has hats...lots of them,” Harold said mischievously. He looked at Faye. He longed for her to put on her lover’s hat. She stared at him blankly.

  “Oohhh...that’s right, yall don’t know about my NoVisVeil do yall?”

  Harold was amused, “Yall is right...what is a no vis veil?”

  “It’s kind of like a sheet that folds into the top of my hat. If I don’t want to be seen, I pull it down around my ankles like a bag...but it’s invisible and it makes me invisible when I’m under it. It’s really cool. I’m really sorry I lost it.”

  “Sounds like a lot of B.S. to me,” Harold mumbled.

  Milton was suddenly interested. “I don’t think so, HC. Jordan must have been wearing something like that when we bumped into each other last night. Scared the shit out of me...like being touched by a ghost.”

  Milton shuddered at the memory, but marveled at the technology. Being invisible would be a huge advantage. The veil that Amber had described was in her hat. Was Jordan wearing a hat? He couldn’t remember...if he was, it was buried. Not very deep, though. He could recover it...would be mighty handy...should do it.