Flashpoint (Book 4): Decay

by Ellis, Tara

  “Earth to Chloe!” Crissy called out in a sing-song voice.

  Chloe dropped her pitchfork and stared at her friend in surprise. She was working at the far end of one of the nearest fields, but it was still a good walk from the house. Crissy was picking her way through the tall grass and wiping her hands on one of Sandy’s smocks she’d starting wearing when working with the chickens. Her long blonde hair was arranged in practical braids and she was makeup free. She looked healthy, and Chloe noticed with some suspicion that she had a curious spring in her step that bordered on happiness.

  “I’ve got at least another hour of work out here,” Chloe said before Crissy could get a word in. “If you’re done with the chickens and gardening, you should grab a pitchfork!”

  Crissy snorted. “Yeah, sure. Like I’ll ever be done with the endless supply of weeds in that jungle Sandy calls a garden. This—” she said while grabbing the tool out of Chloe’s hands, “is called taking a break, Chlo. You know…where you sit down and do something silly, like talk with your best friend?” She unslung a bag from her shoulder, and pulled out a water bottle and piece of jerky. “I swear, I’ve hardly seen you in the past three days! You’re out here before I even get up, and it seems like one of us is always asleep when the other one goes to bed.”

  Crissy was right, except she was exaggerating about their being separated. They’d just sat together at the barbeque the night before. Although, Chloe couldn’t remember saying more than a few words to each other over the meal. She hadn’t been in the best of moods. Feeling somewhat guilty, she took the offered snack and smiled at Crissy. “Thanks. And you’re right, we need to make sure we do something together every once in a while besides work, eat, and sleep.”

  Crissy’s smile widened. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Uh-oh.” Chloe had the distinct feeling she’d just been set up.

  “Next week, on the Fourth of July, Tim is having a barn dance.” Crissy clasped her hands together and stared excitedly at Chloe.

  “Tim?”

  Crissy rolled her eyes. “Tim. Tall, lanky, always wears that ridiculous straw-colored cowboy hat?”

  “The guy that threw up when he had to help clean out Miss Hannigan’s toilet?” Chloe raised an eyebrow, frowning at the thought of a barn full of dystopia-laden teens.

  “That’s the one,” Crissy giggled. “But we don’t talk about that day. Ever.”

  Laughing, Chloe chewed on the tasty jerky while trying to come up with a good enough excuse to bow out of the dance.

  “You’re not getting out of it,” Crissy said, reading her mind. “It’s already settled. Apparently, it’s what passes around here for a party. A literal barn dance. I thought that was only something people sang about in country songs. Except that Tim’s parents will be there, so there isn’t going to be any alcohol, and only live music.” Crissy stared off into space for a moment and then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter! It’s an excuse to take a bath, put on what passes for clean clothes, and have some fun!”

  Maybe Crissy was right. While it felt almost disrespectful to have a party, at the same time, they were still kids. They were still alive, and they needed to find a way to move forward. If playing some bad banjo music in a barn for a few hours helped, then who was she to judge?

  Chloe took a swig of water and then held the bottle out to Crissy with a smile. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Really?” Crissy sounded suspicious. “Because I thought I was going to have to learn how to hogtie you and throw you over a horse or something.”

  “I’m not that boring!” Chloe laughed. Or was she? She’d never actually been to a school dance. The thought reminded her that she didn’t really know how to dance. Not that she planned on doing it at the barn, but what if someone asked her? That led to her worrying about what she’d wear. Sighing, Chloe grabbed the pitchfork and took a vicious stab at the hay bale. It was much easier to just work at the farm.

  Sandy came into view in the distance, driving several cows ahead of her. Chloe was always impressed with the physical strength that the fifty-six-year-old woman displayed. Though not much taller than average, she was solidly built and could probably hold her own against most men. She sat tall and proud in the saddle, her black hair loose and trailing behind her, flowing out from under her cowboy hat.

  “Where’d she come from?” Crissy asked, stepping up next to Chloe.

  “Had to go find some cows that wandered off,” Chloe explained, and then pointed to the south. “She’s pretty worried about that weird storm that’s been building up. Says it’s got the animals all spooked.”

  Crissy raised a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the lowering sun and stared at the immense wall of clouds at the edge of the valley. “Are you sure it’s even coming this way? I swear it’s been swirling down there for more than a day.”

  Chloe hefted the last chunk of hay and walked with it to the feeder. Several cows had already lumbered over and more were on their way. “Sandy was sure of it this morning, and I think she’s right. It definitely looks closer now. Come on.” Chloe hooked an arm through Crissy’s and started walking. “Come with me to the barn. If you help me muck the stalls, we’ll have time for a game of gin rummy before we start dinner.”

  Crissy wrinkled her nose but didn’t resist. “Only if you go with me after dinner to help collect eggs.”

  “Deal.” Chloe knew it wasn’t exactly a fair trade, but since it gave Crissy more of her desired “friend time”, then she figured it wasn’t really taking advantage of her.

  As they approached the barn, they could hear Bishop hammering on something inside. Chloe thought he’d still be fishing and was surprised to find him bending over what looked like a giant wheel, propped up on sawhorses.

  “Did you go fishing?” Chloe asked when he paused and looked up. There was an edge to her voice and he frowned at her. She might be totally sick of fish, but it was currently still one of their main sources of protein and what they’d planning to have for dinner.

  Bishop waved wordlessly to a five-gallon bucket near the entrance. Chloe walked back to look inside and saw that there were four nice-looking trout. “Sorry,” she offered, going back to stand next to him. “What are you working on?”

  Pausing for a moment to give her one of his infamous “Bishop looks” to let her know he was going to let her rudeness pass while still acknowledging it. He then gestured to the wheel. “It’s what it looks like. We desperately need another wagon. Not only for here on the farm, but for use around town. I studied the other one thoroughly, and I think that with some help from the local tradesmen, we should be able to make one. Maybe several, eventually.”

  Chloe was impressed. It was a brilliant idea. Without the ability to get any of the cars or tractors working in the near future, not to mention the whole gas-supply issue, the wagon was their best option. Especially with the amount of snow she was told they would get there in the winter. They’d need something tall enough to be able to plow through several feet of snow.

  Bishop set his oversized hammer aside and lifted the wheel before setting it upright. Rolling it back and forth to check how even it was, he smiled in satisfaction. Crissy wasn’t the only one who seemed to be benefiting from the farm life. Bishop looked comfortable in his role as a handyman and the large man seemed content wielding heavy tools and living off the land.

  “Bishop, I’m glad you’re here,” Sandy called from the other end of the barn. She was still on her horse and Chloe thought she looked anxious. “I got those blasted cows back, but I need your help securing the upper pasture. That storm is coming fast now. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I don’t want to have to go chasing after hundreds of cattle in its wake.”

  Bishop set the wheel back down without a word and started for his horse, which was still saddled and ready to go back out.

  “Can we help?” Chloe offered.

  “No,” Sandy replied. “The two of us can handle it. Go ahead and work on dinner
. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  As Bishop got on his horse and lifted a hand in a parting gesture, the sound of a galloping horse approaching made him pause. Chloe spun around to see a huge man riding up, and recognized him as Bishop’s friend, Tane Latu.

  “Bishop!” Tane shouted as he reached the barn. “I’ve been trying to call you on the handheld, but we think the storm is interfering with it.”

  “What’s going on?” Sandy asked, having turned back. “What happened?”

  Tane glanced at Crissy, and Chloe’s stomach clenched.

  “There was an accident this afternoon with the wagon.” Tane shifted in his saddle and his mouth formed a grim line. “Three people died, Bishop, including Ned Allen.”

  Chloe struggled to remember who Ned Allen was, as Crissy leaned in close to her and whispered, “I think he was the old mayor of Mercy.”

  Sandy brought her horse farther into the barn, obviously upset by the news. “That’s horrible, Tane! Is someone with his wife?”

  Tane nodded and looked at Crissy again. “We also had a couple of others injured.”

  Crissy grasped Chloe’s hand and they braced themselves.

  “Your friend Trevor was seriously hurt, girls,” Tane finally said. “I need you to come with me. He’s asking for you.”

  Chapter 17

  PATTY

  City Hall, Mercy, Montana

  Patty stared at the faces surrounding her at the large table, tired of being in the same position yet again. It would never get any easier.

  Caleb reached out and enveloped her hand with his, stopping their movement. Patty looked down at the contrast of his dark skin against hers and blinked a few times to clear her head. She hadn’t even realized she was rubbing them together, almost frantically. She knew she was suffering from some post-traumatic stress. Even as a seasoned, albeit retired nurse, there were still some things that she’d see when she closed her eyes at night.

  Patty resisted the urge to throw Caleb’s hands off and check under her nails for blood. Ned Allen’s blood. She took a shuddering breath. Once she allowed herself to cry, later that night while safe at home, she would be okay. She just had to keep it together for a couple more hours.

  Closing her eyes, Patty didn’t care that everyone was waiting for her to speak, to open the meeting. Just that morning, she’d still been holding out some hope that Ned would step back in as the mayor. Patty hadn’t realized just how much she’d been relying on the older man’s guidance and wisdom. What would she do without him?

  Someone cleared their throat. Several people shifted in their chairs, and a man coughed. Patty turned and looked at Caleb for a moment, steeling herself for what had to be done. “We lost three good people today,” she finally said, addressing the group. “Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, who volunteered to transport the water, and…Councilman Ned Allen.”

  There were a couple of gasps and Betty, their other councilwoman, sobbed openly. Patty didn’t know if it was because they somehow hadn’t heard the news yet, or if perhaps having it said out loud made it more real and inescapable. She wished Bishop and Sandy were there. Although they’d recently had their disagreements, they were both people the other town leaders looked up to. Patty of all people understood that securing the herd ahead of the storm was more important than a meeting, but the extra support would have been nice.

  “From what we could tell at the accident scene, and based on Trevor’s account of what happened, it’s likely the water container shifted when they hit a pothole,” Sheriff Waters explained. “It was the steepest part of the gravel road and they were going too fast. That old wagon simply wasn’t able to handle it. The right wheel broke off and the whole thing rolled over the edge of the road.”

  Patty shuddered, recalling the grisly scene. When she and Caleb arrived with Melissa, several people were trying to pull the five-hundred-gallon water tank off their bodies using ropes and horses. It was positioned so that they couldn’t easily release the water from it.

  Bishop had done the math early on in their venture to transport the spring water, so Patty knew the container weighed over four thousand pounds. The Fergusons had been instantly crushed to death. Ned Allen hadn’t been so lucky. They managed to get his mangled body back to the clinic, where Patty sat with him for over an hour while he died. Melissa tried to keep on top of his pain with morphine, but…Patty shook her head, realizing she was rubbing her hands together again.

  “That wagon should have never been used to transport so much weight in the first place,” Gary interjected.

  “According to the history books, those wagons were designed to haul up to six tons of freight,” Fire Chief Martinez yelled at Gary. “I did the research myself. The water wasn’t more than two tons!”

  “It was almost two hundred years old!” Gary countered. “Is it even salvageable?”

  Melissa’s head jerked at the comment and she glared at Gary. “Seriously, Gary?” the doctor gasped. “Three people are dead, and your main concern is the wagon?”

  Gary at least had the decency to appear chastised, though he didn’t look away from Melissa. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but we’re in a lot of trouble without our main means of transportation. Someone here needs to be thinking about that,” he had the nerve to add while staring pointedly at Patty.

  “He’s right,” Patty said before anyone else could get involved. Caleb raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. “This tragedy needs to serve as yet another reminder of the constant, precarious situation we’re in,” she said with emotion. “We’ve already started building two new wagons, and if it continues to go well, the first one should be ready in a day or two.”

  “We’re going to salvage some of the parts from the old one to speed the process up,” Sheriff Waters added. “Manufacturing those more specific pieces was going to be the greatest challenge to—”

  “When are the funerals?” Betty interrupted. Everyone turned to look at the young schoolteacher. “I understand how important the wagon is. I just think Ned deserves more respect. And the Fergusons. Their daughter was in my class. So…when is the funeral?” she asked again, turning that time to look at the new pastor, Father Rogers, who quietly leaned against the back wall.

  Patty groaned inwardly. She’d forgotten that in the midst of everything that had happened, while leaving the clinic she’d invited both of the priests to the impromptu meeting. Her intent had been to acknowledge their help and introduce Father Russell Rogers. Father White declined the invitation, saying he was too tired and wasn’t feeling well.

  “Father White will be meeting with the remaining family members or close friends tomorrow, to discuss plans for a service and burial,” Russell explained, his voice smooth and calming. He subtly pushed away from the wall and took a step closer to Betty. “I apologize that I don’t know who the deceased’s relatives are, but I can assure you Father White will handle it all respectfully.”

  Betty appeared placated and Patty silently thanked Russell for his intervention. He certainly had a way with people. “I’m sorry for not introducing Father Rogers sooner,” Patty said, gesturing to the handsome man. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about his arrival by now and that he’s come to us all the way from Wyoming. He’s already been a great help and is staying in the church apartment.”

  Patty leaned back in her seat and welcomed the reprieve the few minutes of introductions gave her. Russell worked his way around the table, taking time to meet each person and exchange some sort of pleasantry. All of them responded positively; a couple even laughed at whatever he said.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Sullivan, the old storekeeper stood and raised a hand in the air while speaking.

  “Go ahead,” Patty encouraged. Mr. Sullivan never spoke much at the meetings. Although there wasn’t much left in his store, he still had a vast knowledge from his many years of living in Mercy.

  “We’re…um, we seem to be all out of toilet paper.” He sat back down amid some chuckles and open laughter from
around the room.

  “This is actually a very legitimate concern,” Fire Chief Martinez said. “If people start putting things in their septic systems that aren’t compatible, no one’s going to be laughing about it.”

  The laughter died down as everyone contemplated one of the simplest things they’d taken for granted throughout their lives. Toilet paper. Patty put a hand to her forehead. She simply didn’t have the resolve to think about anything else that night. Not even the demise of their septics and raw backsides.

  “If you’d like, I can talk with a couple of the ladies who are supplying me with their homemade soaps and other products,” Mr. Sullivan offered. “They might have some ideas.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan,” Patty said with sincerity. “Since this isn’t one of our normal meetings, I didn’t bring any of the binders with me. I’ll come by tomorrow or the next day with a new one for you and we can come up with some more plans. Okay?”

  Mr. Sullivan nodded, satisfied with the plan, and Patty turned her focus back to the rest of the weary group. “I think that’s more than enough for now. I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I know Caleb and I would really like to get home before that storm lets loose on us.”

  There were several mumbles of agreement, but Melissa stood before Patty could officially close the meeting. “One more thing,” she called out above the din. “Trevor, the young man who has been helping me so diligently at the clinic, was also hurt in the wagon accident. He’s going to be okay, but will be off his feet for some time. With only one nurse and two other volunteers helping me, I’m going to be struggling again to get around and check on everyone.”

  “I’d be happy to help you,” Father Rogers said without any hesitation.