by Stone, Kyla
Julian glanced at his mother, frowning. “That’s it then? We just table it because of a few old boomers who can’t get with the times?”
Rosamond pursed her lips. “That’s what the council is for.”
“They’re wrong!”
“That’s enough.” Rosamond shot Julian a tense look of disapproval but kept her own voice even and steady. “The decision has already been made.”
“But—”
“Enough. You’re embarrassing yourself, Julian. Was that your intention?”
She didn’t have to raise her voice. It had a way of transforming from sweet and melodious to sharp in an instant.
Chastised, Julian leaned back with an indignant huff and crossed his arms over his chest, face reddening with embarrassment.
Noah placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, brother,” he said quietly.
Bristling, Julian shrugged him off.
Noah tried not to take it personally. Julian never could think clearly when he was mad. He’d always been a hothead, letting his emotions get the best of him. A day or two and he’d be back to his old self—Noah’s best friend again.
At least, he hoped so.
37
Octavia Riley
Day Six
Octavia Riley was too damn exhausted to move. She slumped against the concrete wall and groaned. The wooden bench was uncomfortable as hell and made her butt ache, especially after being stuck in this craphole for the last twenty-four hours.
Maybe it had been longer. They had no clocks in here. No way to tell time but the slop their guard fed them every once in a while. Three meals—nasty canned beans and beets and water.
She couldn’t care less about the soggy, tasteless food. It was something else she craved.
Her nerves were raw and thrummed with need. Cold sweat prickled her forehead. She flashed hot and cold and hot again despite the near-freezing temps.
A shivery fever wracked her entire body. She’d hurled twice already in the piss bucket. The entire cell reeked of sour sweat, body odor, and vomit.
All she wanted was more. More and more and more. She needed it. Craved it. It was the only thing that took away the darkness, that made her pathetic miserable life seem different, brighter, better.
“I’ll kill you, Atticus Bishop, you hear me!” Ray shouted. “I’ll cut off your teeny-tiny dipstick and feed it to you and that rat-faced cop Sheridan!”
Octavia moaned, shifting again to try to get comfortable but failing. She was so damn exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come. “Stop it already, would you? I’ve got a killer headache.”
Ray just continued his pacing. “I’ll make him pay for this! I’ll make them all pay!”
He’d been stalking the narrow cell for hours, spitting and cursing, screaming and howling and banging his fists on the ancient iron bars like that might make a difference.
They were in the basement of the historic courthouse. She’d never been inside but had driven by it on Main Street a thousand times. It was tucked between the Asian Bistro and the laundromat and across from the town’s only stoplight.
The courthouse had been preserved, though it was used now as a museum for school kids, occasional fancy fundraising dinners, and boring township council meetings.
The single holding cell in the basement was a hundred and thirty years old and still in pristine working condition, in case anyone cared. Iron bars. Concrete walls. A single kerosene lantern hanging on a hook by the stairs.
One of the cops had smashed a glass case that housed the antique key ring and used it to lock them in here. They’d probably throw away the key.
“Let me out!” Ray screamed. “I’m coming for you!”
Octavia barely cracked her eyes open. Less than ten feet across from her, Ray’s four cousins were stacked in a row along a second wooden bench. Tommy was sleeping, mouth open and snoring loudly, his head flung back against the bars.
Randy, nicknamed “Nickel” for some asinine reason she couldn’t recall, and the youngest brother, Bucky, were sitting still, heads down and hunched over, their forearms resting on their knees. They’d been muttering quietly to each other, cursing and fantasizing about what they’d do to these mothers once they got out of this damn cell.
Billy was the scariest. He sat ramrod straight, skinny shoulders pulled back, his eyes shiny and black as a beetle shell. He had a lazy eye that made him seem like he was looking through you rather than at you.
She didn’t think he’d slept since they’d been hauled in a few hours after Ray and Octavia. Octavia couldn’t remember ever seeing him sleeping.
He’d killed people, Ray had told her. Pulled one guy out of his trailer and strangled him with his bare hands. Cut up his body with a chainsaw and threw the pieces into Lake Michigan. She believed it.
Billy and his brothers hadn’t even done anything this time. Stupid small-town cops thought they could do anything, were above the law. Right after they’d arrested Ray and Octavia, they’d gone after the Carters. Arrested them right on their own property.
Ray’s cousins had been hungover, drowsy, unprepared. Without cell phones, Octavia and Ray had had no way to warn them.
The automatic weapons were stored in the cellar behind a false wall. Due to their numerous prison records, the Carters hid the arsenal they’d collected over the years: AR-15s, AK-47s, M4 carbines, and all the shiny ammo to go with them.
Tommy only had time to grab a hunting rifle and storm onto the porch. He’d opened fire, but more cops arrived before the fireworks could really start.
They’d been arrested and handcuffed before they’d even gotten a chance to fight.
Octavia seethed with fury. She knew Ray and the others felt the same. They’d been scorned and humiliated. Treated like utter garbage.
They weren’t beasts to be caged in a dank, damp underground. They deserved better, so much better.
All this—the way they were being so unfairly treated—it had to be against the law or something. No lawyers. No damn phone call.
She’d been arrested plenty of times before. She knew how it was supposed to go.
They hadn’t let any visitors down to see them. Wouldn’t even let her own daughter in to see her. If she would even come.
Why would you think she’d ever want to visit you? She hates you. And you deserve it.
Octavia tried to push that nasty, sniveling voice right out of her head. That was what the dope was for. To get rid of all the ugly thoughts. All the dark and nasty things she didn’t like thinking about, would rather pretend out of existence.
Billy was still watching her. So still, except for that bizarre wandering eye. It gave her the creeps. Everything about him gave her the creeps.
She had worse things to think about than Ray’s maniacal cousin. Her anxious, fractured brain could hardly settle on any single thought. Only the need, that desperate craving clawing through her veins.
She had to get out of here, had to get her next fix, no matter what. She felt like she’d die without it. She’d die right here, shivering in a miserable pool of her own piss and vomit.
38
Noah
Day Six
“We’re making a pit stop,” Julian yelled back at Noah. He’d parked his snowmobile in front of Crossway Church and removed his helmet.
Noah eased up beside him and switched off the coughing, rattling engine. He pulled off his helmet and driving snow struck him full in the face. “What? Why? It’s time to go home. The storm’s coming. Hell, it feels like it’s already here.”
It was nearly dusk. Low black clouds roiled across the sky just above the tree line.
The winter shadows grew long and dark. The bone-chilling wind howled around the buildings, rattling and creaking through the trees. The wind swept crystals off the snow in great clouds and sent debris skittering along the sidewalks.
Fall Creek was a ghost town, but instead of tumbleweeds, cold and ice and snow swirled like tiny tornadoes.
“It’ll j
ust take a minute.” Julian slid off his machine and rewrapped his scarf over the lower half of his face. His voice was muffled through the fabric. “Relax, Sheridan.”
Julian kicked through the snow, strode up the concrete steps, and rapped his gloved knuckles against Crossway Church’s solid wood double front doors.
Reluctantly, Noah followed. He ducked his head against the stinging snow and pulled his hood tighter around his face. His cheeks, lips, and nose were raw and chapped. He could feel the little hairs in his nose freezing.
It had to be below zero degrees at least. The lethal, unrelenting cold was deadly. The low temperatures were breaking Michigan records day after day after day.
They’d probably get a foot or more in the next few hours, which would put them over three feet just in the last week. It felt like they were trapped here, cut off almost entirely from the outside world.
It was making everyone short-tempered and antsy. They were all under an incredible amount of stress.
“I still don’t understand what we’re doing here,” Noah said. “I already told you, Bishop wants to do his own thing. I don’t see why he shouldn’t be able to. He’s giving away everything he has.”
Four more snowmobiles pulled up behind them, snow swirling and diving in the yellow cones of their headlights. Two men were officers—Hayes and Reynoso—and two more were ex-military volunteers from the community that Chief Briggs grudgingly deputized as reserve officers a few days ago.
The townspeople were getting more and more disgruntled with each passing day. Rosamond was starting to lose her hold on the town. Chief Briggs, too. Everyone wanted someone to blame, especially when no one knew who had really done this to them, or why.
Everyone was cold and hungry and tired of scrambling for every single thing they needed. Water no longer came from the tap. Food didn’t just appear on grocery store shelves. Heat wasn’t a simple adjustment to the thermostat.
Guilt pricked him. He and Milo were the lucky ones.
Several break-ins had been attempted in the last three days, the majority in the community of Winter Haven. Someone had defaced and vandalized Thomas Blair’s house with crude images.
And last night, a couple of teenagers had climbed onto the roof of Mary Jones’s home and dismantled two of the solar panels before she’d caught them and threatened to shoot off their balls.
Noah had had to let them go with a stern warning. They had nowhere to keep them, since the single holding cell in the basement of the historic courthouse was currently being utilized by Ray Shultz, Octavia Riley, and the Carter brothers until they figured out what to do with them.
Julian shot him a look. His nose and cheeks were reddened, his eyes bloodshot. “The superintendent’s orders.”
“But the chief—”
“Briggs needs to get with the times. And so do you, Sheridan.” There was an edge in Julian’s voice. He sounded tense. Angry.
Much like Noah felt now, standing here half-freezing, his legs like lead, his ears and nose numb, snow freezing in his eyebrows and eyelashes.
The door swung open and Atticus Bishop stood there, all burly arms, broad shoulders, and big afro, dressed in his quintessential black leather jacket and a new Hawaiian shirt—this one blue with palm trees.
Bishop didn’t look at Noah. He stared at Julian for several seconds before slowly sweeping his gaze to the bundled men standing at the foot of the steps, bracing themselves against the wind and snow.
Everyone was armed, though weapons were holstered.
Bishop’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Sinclair. What are you doing here?”
Julian pushed down his scarf so he could speak clearly. “We’re just making rounds and requesting help from the community. We’ve got almost a hundred hungry kids at the emergency shelter and only a few days left of food. I’m sure you understand how it is.”
“I understand that I’m helping the people who come to me. I understand that me and my congregation bought and paid for the cans and boxes of food and bottles of water inside this building. I get to decide what to do with it.”
“Wow, dude. Slow your roll.” Julian raised both hands in a placating gesture and gave a wide, guileless smile. “We’re not forcing anything, Bishop. You misunderstand us. We’re offering our aid. Our help. We’re just asking you for a little something in return. Not for us, but for those hungry kids. Think about them.”
Bishop didn’t break Julian’s gaze. “I am thinking about them. And everyone else. Seems to me you’ll start here, and when you get what you want, you’ll keep going. Seems like your ‘innocent’ asking might quickly turn into demanding.”
Julian stiffened. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Bishop said evenly.
“You always were too paranoid for your own good, Bishop.”
“The government oversteps. It’s what they do.”
Noah’s stomach knotted with apprehension. Julian and Bishop together never ended well. He didn’t know whether Julian was jealous of his friendship with Bishop or if it was something else, but they’d always been tense and edgy around each other.
Noah was always the peacemaker between them, always walking a tightrope of neutrality. He didn’t feel like walking it tonight.
He just wanted to get home to Milo. After helping serve dinner at the church, Quinn had taken him back to the new house in Winter Haven to build Lego spaceships.
He longed for a warm, relaxing evening in front of the fireplace reading 3000 Leagues Under the Sea or Treasure Island to Milo until he fell asleep. After Hannah had gone, Milo had asked Noah to sing over and over, but Noah was no good at singing. Reading, though, he could do.
“We just want to help,” Noah said.
Bishop’s expression shuttered. “Be careful, Noah. Make sure you know whose side you’re on.”
“Oh, we’re taking sides already?” Julian looked hurt. Or he went for a hurt expression. But Noah knew him well enough to see the anger flashing behind his eyes. “We’re just trying to keep the peace here. You get to be home with your family, all nice and warm and cozy, while we’re out here freezing, trying to save the town. Seems mighty selfish to refuse to help even a little, doesn’t it?”
Bishop shrugged. “What you think isn’t my problem. It’s time for you to go now.”
Julian lurched forward, his hands balling into fists. “Now wait just a minute—”
Noah stepped quickly between them. He held out a placating hand, forcing Julian back. “Hey! Remember where we are and what we’re doing. No one is the enemy here. We’re all friends.”
“Are we?” Julian said darkly. “Because it looks to me like some folks are just in this for themselves, everyone else be damned.”
The men behind him murmured in disgruntled agreement. Frowning, Reynoso moved to the bottom step, ready to back Julian up.
Noah’s stomach sank. He hated the tension thrumming through the air, the anger and resentment bristling just below the surface. He’d do just about anything to make it go away.
“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Bishop said evenly. “But I know I’m doing the right thing. And that’s not going to change.”
“Atticus?” Daphne came up behind her husband and inched beside him in the doorway. She held a blond-haired toddler wrapped in a blanket on her hip—the same little boy from yesterday. Candlelight flickered across her pretty features. “Is everything okay?”
Behind them past the foyer, Noah could see people moving around inside the sanctuary, most of them lying on the pews and the floor with blankets and pillows. They looked warm and comfortable, if not happy.
“Everything is fine, Daphne,” Noah said. “We were just stopping by to check on you. That’s all.”
“We’re offering protection,” Julian said, “for you and the families here. Just like we’re doing at Friendly’s, the gas station, and Vinson Pharmacy. We’re dealing with looting and break-ins every night.”
Daphne looked at Bishop uncertainly.
/>
Bishop shook his head. “No thanks.”
“Why not?”
“One, I already have protection. Two, I don’t accept help that comes with a price.”
“What does that mean?” Noah asked.
Bishop folded his arms across his chest, unmoved. “It’s not the ‘help’ that’s the problem. It’s the cost.”
Julian’s lip curled in scorn. “That’s a bunch of bull—”
“God will protect us,” Daphne said softly. She patted the back of the child, who curled his tiny body against hers. Inside the sanctuary, a baby started crying. “Like my husband just said. God and our armed deacons, our faithful parishioners who’ve volunteered to keep an eye on the church.”
“But—”
“Thank you for your offer, gentlemen. Sincerely. We do appreciate you thinking of us. But we’ll be fine. Please come by the pantry tomorrow. We’ll be handing out the last of the packaged pies before they go bad. We have a few pecan ones leftover from Christmas.”
“That’s not what I—” Julian sputtered.
“Thank you for your generosity,” Noah said over Julian’s protests. “We’ll be sure to stop by.”
Daphne’s smile broadened, a hint of relief in her eyes. She dipped her chin at Noah. They were both working to diffuse the tension. “I’ll save you one, Officer Sinclair. God bless you and keep you safe.”
The heavy double doors closed. Just like that, they were dismissed.
Noah and Julian stood for a moment on the steps in the cold and the dark. The men returned to their snowmobiles and waited for them. The only light came from the beams of the snowmobiles’ headlights.
Heavy snow fell in thick spiraling gusts. Frozen branches creaked as the wind howled and moaned around the church.
Julian whirled on Noah. “He’s being selfish for no reason. How do you not see that? It won’t help anyone if those meth heads get ahold of their supplies. Then everyone will go hungry.”