When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  Amber interrupted, “What’s a quest?”

  “Sorry honey...it’s like a mission...an adventure.”

  “That’s for sure,” Amber said with a grin, “we sure had an adventure. I’ll never forget it.”

  “I’m sure you won’t, but this is where it ends. I mean...for me. I no longer play a role in your adventure.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we are not a team or a family...or even friends. We are strangers to each other and our time to separate has come. It’s time for you to go your own way. Make a life for yourself. Harold and Leland may take you in but I can’t and won’t let you stay here. Nothing personal, mind you, I just need to get back to my life. The life I had before the two of you interrupted it.”

  “OH.” Amber sat silently for several minutes, unsure and a bit frightened. The door she and Sheila had opened just a few days ago had been closed and locked. The family she imagined was not to be. What now? What if Sheila leaves? Should she go with her? What if Sheila doesn’t want her either? Panic began to creep into her conscience until she remembered her reason for making the journey North. She had a brother...he was blood...he wouldn’t turn her away. Would he?

  “Do you know where Leland is?” She asked softly, “I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s out in the dining room.” Faye said.

  “Thanks.” Amber rose slowly and shuffled into the dining room, closing the kitchen door on her way. She found Leland seated at the banquet table studying an array of paper maps of the region.

  “I have some of those.” Amber said happily, gesturing to the maps.

  “That’s cool. You have any maps of Canada?”

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?, Leland asked, somewhat confused by the question.

  “What did you call it...can a...”

  “Canada? You don’t know what Canada is?”

  “Would I ask if I did?” Amber asked, somewhat unsettled by the insinuation.

  “Canada is the country to our North. Up there.” Leland pointed out the North window and stopped speaking. A rain drop had found its way through the shutters and splashed against the dirty window tracing a path through years of accumulated soot and grunge. He leapt from the stool and ran screaming up the flight of stairs to the roof where he found his father lying on his back with his mouth open catching rain drops on his tongue.

  “It’s raining...hey Dad...it’s raining.”

  Harold smiled. “Yes, son. It is raining. I knew it would.”

  “I have to admit it, pops, you were right all along. Do you thing we’ll get much?”

  “Could be the start of a new weather pattern, let’s hope so...in the meantime, let’s enjoy it.”

  Leland stripped and hung his clothes over a railing.

  “Got any soap?” Leland hollered, “I’m gonna take a shower, I mean...it is a shower...I mean...oh to hell with what I mean” He leapt about the rooftop garden like a drunken garden gnome, splashing away the smalls puddle as they formed beneath his feet.

  Soon, Jerry, attracted by the unusual pounding on the rooftop, joined in the celebration, stripped naked he danced and sang, joyous at the suddenly changing world, working up a lather with the last of Dr. Bonner’s Magic Soaps (a gift from Faye after their first romantic interlude).

  Following along behind the pleasant shower came a towering cumulonimbus system churning and bubbling its way upward into the mesosphere as it fed on it’s own vapors like a demon in the sky. Then, like a burst dam, the great clouds emptied themselves, slinging stinging torrents over the naked men who scurried for shelter as the gusting wind began dismantling the roof-top terrace one twisted piece at a time until nothing but the rubber-roofing remained.

  #

  Amber gasped and stared as three naked men scrambled down stairs clutching shards of water-soaked clothing, each yelling a warning that, as best she could tell, was about a storm...a rain storm.

  “...we barely got off the roof...” Leland huffed and as he scrambled for some dry clothing.

  Jerry stood naked for the benefit of Amber who seemed to be inspecting his shrunken genitals with renewed interest. He blushed and turned searching in his grip for anything dry.

  Harold’s incessant chattering ceased as he held up his hand for quiet. Distant thunder shook the earth.

  “...that, I didn’t expect...” Harold said, we should be hearing the report, soon.”

  “Huh?” Amber was beginning to catch on. “Yall mean it’s raining? Then she hollered as loud as she could, “ SHELIA, WAKE UP...SHELIA...IT’S RAINING.” In spite of the pain, she continued her hollering until Sheila stirred.

  “Who the hell is making so much noise?” Sheila growled.

  Amber was at the pantry door, breathless and wheezing she managed to deliver the message. “It’s raining.”

  “Really?” Sheila cast a skeptical glance in Amber’s direction as lighting shattered her doubt.

  Amber stood stock still, smiling, nodding like a bobble head doll. “Really.”

  Lightning cracked struck again, punctuating the statement and all doubt vanished. Sheila threw the comforter aside and dashed to the door in time to see a large piece of sheet metal sail down the street.

  “HOLY SHIT...IT IS RAINING...sheetmetal...” She stood still, mesmerized by the element, wondering how the two-wheeler would handle on wet roads. She was shocked into the moment the instant she saw the coveted locomotive roll into view two blocks to the East headed out of town.

  “Holy shit...is that the train?” She stepped into the street, shielding her eyes from the downpour with her hands seeking confirmation.

  “HOLY SHIT...THE TRAIN...THE TRAIN. MY TRAIN..” Without further thought, she reacted, wearing nothing but sports bra, panties, and boots, she sprinted toward the train that was creeping along at a mere three-miles per hour.

  #

  Leland had one arm in a dry T-shirt when Sheila bolted out the door. He tossed it aside quickly reaching for footwear, he grabbed the closest items, one of Jerry’s boots and one of his. He realized his mistake the instant he forced his size eleven foot into a size nine shoe. He threw the shoe aside and dashed out the door hoping to catch up with Sheila. He cleared the doorway in time to see her racing along the tracks trying to mount the train. The short train disappeared from his vies as it passed between two river-side warehouses.

  He altered his course, running down an alley, hoping to make it to the trestle before the train crossed. He hurtled over one pile of debris after another until he reached the river’s bank. He was in thick brush now, thrashing wildly with his arms as he attempted to clear a path to the river. He planted his unshod foot on a jagged, rusted piece of steel, a remnant of the First Street bridge, and fell headlong into a thicket of Buckthorns where he lay, panting and exhausted, his foot screaming for attention, he lay motionless, fixated on a distant, lily-white figure clambering aboard the train.

  #

  Chapter 40

  Sheila reached the train within seconds and clung to it like she owned it. She attempted to jump aboard but lost her footing and was dragged several yards, refusing to let go as her legs banged and bounced against the granite stones that supported the rails. Ignoring her bloodied shins and battered knees, she hoisted herself aboard and lay on the cold steel, chest heaving from the exertion, she rested for a moment trying to gather her wits. She wasn’t prepared for this assault. Hypothermia was clouding her thoughts. She fought to maintain control of herself. Where the hell is the train going? Only one way to find out. She began making her way forward, taking unnecessary risks on the slippery steel surfaces as she jumped from one car to the next, unable to slow down, propelled by anger. Or was it greed?

  Minutes later she landed on the deck of the car directly behind the locomotive. She quickly examined the lock on the container, it had been opened. Dammit. What had she missed? Was it too late? She suppressed the urge to enter the container and examine the contents. It would have t
o wait. Somehow she had to stop the train. If Jordan was dead, who was driving this thing, anyway? She thought for a second that Jordan lied about being the engineer? Only one way to find out.

  She studied the gap between the last flat car and the rear of the locomotive. The distance was greater than before and handholds were few and slippery. Should she jump off and try to sprint along the service road to reach the cab? She was about to make her move but the service road terminated as the locomotive rolled onto the trestle. She froze, staring down between the railroad ties at the brown, viscous waters of the rejuvenated Mississippi, a liquid conveyor transporting decades worth of brush, boards and trash from the thousands of shanty-towns built along the dry riverbed. Falling into the slew was a death sentence. The debate ended. It was time to act. She slowly lowered herself into the thundering void between car and locomotive. She withdrew her boot knife and began sawing at a thick, black hose not sure of the consequences but willing to bet that something would happen. Hopefully it would be to her advantage.

  The air-hose ruptured with an explosive blast, blowing the green-eyed girl off the train. She fell screaming with the rain into the swirling Mississippi and clutched at the first piece of floating debris in the swill of humanity.

  Her eyes searched the shore for help as she was swept downriver.

  #

  The severed hose caused the air-pressure in the train’s brake system to plummet which triggered a fail-safe system, causing the train to squeal to a halt half-way across the trestle.

  “What the hell?” Jordan turned to look out the narrow window facing the rear of the train. Was it a mechanical malfunction or had the town clowns managed to stop him once again? He stepped out onto the catwalk, shielding his eyes from the torrential downpour, he made his way along the narrow plank to the rear of the locomotive to investigate the problem.

  He quickly noticed the severed brake hose. A cursory exam told him that it wasn’t equipment failure, someone had deliberately cut the hose. He had no intention of attempting repairs. Whomever had cut the hose could just as easily cut his throat. He wanted to put some distance between he and the town clowns.

  He returned to the engine compartment and threw the Override switch that deactivated the brake system, knowing the risks. Rolling again, he couldn’t resist taking another look. Maybe they were watching him. He should wave. He laughed with satisfaction. Another lesson learned. He opened the catwalk door and stepped into the storm and waved. Thunder erupted over town the instant a clean hole spoiled his cream-colored face and his brains evacuated his skull in the wake of a mushrooming 7.62x51mm NATO round. He fell silently over the rail into the now mighty Mississippi and drowned in a ten feet of raging water.

  #

  Leland lay still for watching Sheila make her way forward toward the locomotive. She was one hell of a warrior. He could learn a lot from her. His admiration turned to anguish as he watched her somersault into the raging river. Instantly, he pulled his impaled foot from the jagged steel and continued to the embankment overlooking the river. Without hesitating, he threw his body into the brown tide and swam toward Sheila’s red hair, like a bobber, bouncing in the water.

  #

  Amber stood alone in the doorway of Searles Restaurant clinging to a vestige of hope. She screamed into the wind, “SHEILA...WHERE ARE YOU...SHEILAAAA. SHEILA...COME BACK.”

  The storm drowned her pleas. What happened? Minutes ago she had a dream and a family. In an instant her dream was shattered like glass. She wanted to dash into the storm to find her friend but knew she did not have the strength to succeed. She stood shivering in the doorway, waiting for her dream to return. Eventually, her legs grew weary. Leaving the door open, she returned to the table and sat staring down the flooded street waiting and hoping.

  “Where are you Sheila?” she said quietly, like a prayer. She was heart sick. Her friend, her first friend, her best friend had left her behind. Abandoned her.

  #

  Faye moved quickly, closing her third-story bedroom window, the one that overlooked the river and the bridge, she wiped the water off the barrel and stock and ran a patch down the bore before slipping her great-grandfather’s M40 inside its case and securing it in the gun safe. She donned some dry clothes before returning to the dining room.

  Amber was fixated on something outside and didn’t seem to notice her as she made her way to the kitchen with a tray full of cups which spilled to the floor the second she saw water seeping from under the basement door flowing across the kitchen floor.

  “OH MY GOD...MY FOOD...MY FOOD,” she screamed as she dashed forward fumbling with the ring of keys caught on her belt. She unlocked the door and stepped back, alarmed by the cavalcade of buoyant items from her underground pantry that spilled over her.

  “Oh my god, oh my god...” she moaned as she frantically began to salvage what she could, piling sodden boxes on the kitchen counter.

  “Oh my god...the bodies,” she clapped a hand over her mouth. Had anyone heard?

  #

  Milton finished his business in locomotive’s tiny bathroom, oblivious to the events outside, able only to hear the thrumming diesel and the rhythmic clickety-clack of steel wheels passing over the joints in the rails indicating that the locomotive was picking up speed. It was about time. He was excited and apprehensive about his new partner, but willing to take things as they came. He had his Colt if things got ugly.

  He cinched his belt and stepped into the hall, making his way forward to the cab he found it empty. He panicked for an instant, then noticed the catwalk door was ajar. He closed it, staring, dumbfounded, out the window wondering where Jordan had gone. He would show up. That’s the way he was...like a ghost...first he’s here...then he’s gone.

  Milton turned his attention to the controls as the locomotive rounded a sweeping corner, picking up more speed as it leaned like a ship riding a wave. How the hell do you drive this thing? He was tempted to begin experimenting with the controls but thought it best to let the thing roll on of its own accord lest he unintentionally bring it to a halt. Fuck that. He was on his way to a new life. He gave the console a loving pat and sat back in the engineer’s chair and jumped up with a start as Redwing’s tail brushed his hand.”

  “WHOA...what...is that you? Redwing...right...Redwing....well what do you know...you looking for a fresh start, too?” A grin spread across his face as he gave the grateful dog his full attention.

  “Come here boy sit with me...that’s a good boy. No more oatmeal for us...we’re going to Detroit City.”

  #

  Jerry dropped the dirty shovel in the alley and reached for the back door leading to Faye’s kitchen. He was having a bad day and had only himself to blame. He needed the nurse.

  “Faye?” he called as he pulled open the door.

  “What the fuck? Hey Faye, what’s going on? What’s that smell?” No answer. He walked into the dining room and found Amber sitting silently in a chair.

  “What’s up girl? Where is everyone? Where is Faye?”

  Amber shrugged, “Sheila’s gone...Leland’s gone...Faye is gone...haven’t seen that Milton guy...your dad...I don’t know. Everyone is gone.”

  Jerry reached touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I’m here,” he said.

  Amber touched his hand, the warmth was comforting, she wanted more of him. If this was the end of her dream, she wanted something to make it all worthwhile. Something to remember. She wanted all of him. She pulled his face to hers and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Is that the way to do it,” she asked innocently.

  “Yes, Amber” Jerry laughed warmly as he held her close, “that’s the way.”

  “You need to teach me...I don’t have any experience with...with love and such.” Her cheeks turned a deep crimson as Jerry caressed her leg.

  “I don’t either,” he said, “but I’m sure we can figure it out.”

  “I’m sure we can...be careful, though, I’m in pretty bad shape.”

  �
�I know,” Jerry whispered, “maybe we should wait.”

  “I’m not waiting any longer...help me.”

  “My pleasure.”

  #

  Harold had scrounged some foul weather gear from Faye’s closet and returned to the roof to watch the storm’s progress. Taking notes, he was seated on the edge of the roof, leg’s dangling in the wind like a kid on a swing. He turned his attention from the weather to Faye who ran into view below, galloping down the street only to disappear through the front door of the abandoned flower shop. He expected her to reappear immediately but minutes passed without any sign of her. Had something happened to her? His felt compelled to check. He made his way down stairs and exited through the kitchen door, ignoring the muffled squeals of passion and pleasure coming from a mound of sleeping bags near the fireplace.

  He ran down the alley toward the flower shop as worse case scenarios flashed before him like movie trailers. He arrived at the back door of the flower shop which was secured with a sheet of half-inch plywood, now delaminated, hanging from it’s fasteners like wet cardboard. He shredded the plywood with his hands revealing the old wooden entry door. He gave it a kick and it gave way with little resistance. Light slipped by him as he stumbled over hastily discarded items that littered the hallway into the heart of the shop where old coolers stood empty as if waiting for the next shipment of roses.

  He could hear sobbing and followed the sounds to the head of the stairs that led to the basement. He found Faye sitting on the third step down, her feet in the murky water, her head leaning against the wall. She turned to look at Harold, then turned away without saying a word.

  Harold took pity on her and eased down beside her, hoping not to be rejected this time. It was then that he noticed that Faye was holding a body under water with her feet.

  Harold reeled from the sight, confused and scared he “What...who...Faye, Faye talk to me..what the hell are you doing?”