FOUR
Shelby walked out of the municipal building wondering how their plan could go so wrong so quickly.
“Nearly nine, Max. We should be well on our way to Austin by now.”
“I agree.” He pulled her over to a bench that sat under the shade of a crepe myrtle tree. “We need to think long haul though.”
“Which is why we’re looking for more insulin.”
“Exactly. We hope for the best—”
“But plan for the worst.”
“Look.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “My folks are going to need more fuel. If there were an emergency at High Fields, if we had to get to Abney in a hurry…say if someone got shot or injured…there are doctors here.”
She closed her eyes against the bright pink of the crepe myrtle flowers. The color hurt her somehow. The idea that nature went on as civilization crumbled.
“One hour.” She opened her eyes and leveled her most serious stare at Max. “If Bhatti hasn’t shown up in one hour, then you promise me we will find a way through or around the southern roadblock.”
“Deal.”
She didn’t want to see the smile on his face. She didn’t want her pulse to jump when he squeezed her hand. She certainly didn’t want to admit how close they’d become in the last week at the ranch—how natural it felt to sit side by side, hips touching, his hand on hers. She jerked her hand away and jumped up. Perhaps she’d had too much caffeine and not enough food. Remembering the sack lunch his mother had pressed on them, she strode back toward the Dodge. She’d just opened the door when a 1965 red Ford Mustang pulled up beside them and Patrick Goodnight stepped out.
Shelby threw herself into his arms.
“I knew you’d miss me.” Patrick was forty-one, a few years younger than Shelby. Retired military, he had kept the bearing and looks of an enlisted man. His size spoke to his years on the high school football team playing the position of linebacker. And the way he hugged her tight, well that was a real testament to their friendship.
She reached up and ran a hand over his nearly bald head. “Still maintaining your good looks despite…everything.”
“Good to see you, man.” Max slapped Patrick on the back, a grin spreading across his face. “How did you know we were here?”
“Grapevine. It’s nearly as fast as texting.”
Shelby hadn’t realized how much she’d missed their group.
Patrick was the most uncomplicated person she’d ever met. He saw things in black and white, and he rarely hesitated. He was physically intimidating to most people, but to Shelby he was simply one of her closest friends.
Max, on the other hand, could easily have posed for a cover shoot for Texas Monthly—tall, gangly, and always wearing a cowboy hat or ball cap. More than once, her mother had said, “Max Berkman is one tall, refreshing glass of water.” Add the fact that he was a small town lawyer who had never married, and Max became quite the sought after bachelor.
He’d been in her life for as long as she could remember. They’d grown up next door to each other. He’d been the first to break her heart, and the first to step in and offer help years later when her marriage fell apart. When Carter’s father died, he’d become like a surrogate parent to her son.
“How are you?” Shelby asked, pulling a container of shelled pecans out of her lunch sack and offering some to Patrick.
“No, thanks. Had my MRE already.”
“Seriously?” Patrick had long been a proponent of field rations, which could be bought at military surplus stores. He had even brought them along on their hiking trips. To Shelby the pork and rice BBQ tasted exactly like the beef stew. And the jambalaya? Revolting was the only word that came to mind.
“I told you to buy them in bulk and keep them in your pantry, but you said—”
Shelby interrupted him, not wanting to hear his lecture on the merits of Meals, Ready-to-Eat. “How’s Bianca?”
Patrick ran a hand over his closely cropped hair and refused to meet her gaze. She knew immediately that something was wrong.
“What happened?” Max pulled off his ball cap and slapped it against his pant leg.
“She’s fine. Bianca’s fine, but her father…he died two days after you left.”
“How many are we going to lose?” Shelby tried to squelch the panic that threatened to choke her.
“He wasn’t healthy even before the lights went out,” Patrick said.
“But he had a chance. Before he had a chance. In this world? Not so much.”
“Let’s go see Bianca and her mother.” Max nodded toward Patrick’s car.
“Leave the Dodge?”
“No one’s going to mess with our vehicle, Shelby. Perkins has guards posted around city hall.”
But what if the guards were desperate enough to steal?
She pushed the thought from her mind and focused on what she would say to the Lopez family.
When Bianca opened the door, Shelby didn’t even try to check her tears. She stood there, in the middle of the doorway, her arms wrapped around her best friend.
She tried to absorb some of the misery and mourning.
She tried to give Bianca a little of her strength.
Finally they stepped into the house. As usual, the smell of fresh coffee wafted toward them. Rosa walked into the room, wearing her customary apron and herding them all into the kitchen.
Once they were settled at the table, Max and Shelby offered their condolences. Shelby pulled out her notebook and added Miguel Lopez to her list of casualties, as well as the date he’d died and that it was from complications of a previous medical condition.
“He was a good man, my Miguel. But this life?” Rosa banged a frying pan onto a Coleman stove that had been set up on the cabinet near the open kitchen window. “I miss him, but this life es una prueba terrible.”
Rosa shrugged her shoulders and began frying eggs.
“The chickens are still laying more than we can eat,” Bianca explained. “The flare didn’t affect the poultry at all.”
“I imagine the eggs are good for trading.” Max sipped from his mug of coffee.
Shelby couldn’t remember if this was their third or fourth cup. If they didn’t mix some food with it soon, they’d both be able to run to Austin.
The back screen door squeaked open, and a middle-aged Hispanic woman stepped inside. “They would be good for trading, if Mamá didn’t give them all away.”
“We’ve been over this, Camilla.” Rosa didn’t bother to turn around from the stove. “We help those we can, and they will help us in return.”
Camilla didn’t seem convinced.
Bianca had apparently heard the argument before. She nodded toward the woman and said, “Max and Shelby, this is mi hermana, Camilla.”
There was no denying the family resemblance—same long, straight black hair, round brown eyes, and oval-shaped face. Both of the women were short, though Bianca was thinner than her sister. Shelby remembered meeting Camilla once before, but it had been years ago.
“How did you get to Abney? Last I remember you lived west of here.”
“I was worried about my parents, so I caught a ride. Fortunately, I arrived just hours before my father passed.” Placing both hands on her hips, she turned to Bianca. “Did you finish the laundry already? Because I don’t see any sheets on the line.”
“Let her visit with her friends, Camilla.”
Camilla made a harrumph sound and marched out of the room.
“My oldest daughter copes with her grief by working.” Rosa placed fried eggs in front of Max, Shelby, and Patrick. She’d also warmed half a dozen tortillas on the stove and now added those to the middle of the table, placing a jar of homemade salsa beside it. “I wish I had cheese.”
“This is more than enough,” Max assured her.
“Actually, I already—” Patrick made an effort to nudge his plate in Bianca’s direction.
“Do not tell me you already ate an MRE.” Bianca frowned at Patrick
and pushed the plate back toward him. “Real food. That’s what you need. Mamá fed me hours ago.”
“Where did you find the ingredients to make tortillas?” Shelby asked.
“I never could abide fast food. We had quite a bit of staples in the pantry before the flare changed our lives. Now eat up. You are going on a journey, yes? A mission?”
Shelby nodded, a lump in her throat suddenly making it difficult to swallow. She and Carter had stayed a few nights in the Lopez house after their own home had been demolished in the gas line explosion. She’d forgotten the kindness, love, and hospitality of Rosa Lopez.
Rosa poured herself a cup of coffee and listened as they told of their trip to High Fields, being shot at by the group that called themselves the Bandits, and Max falling unconscious as they bumped over the caliche road toward High Fields.
“You have had the migraines for many years.” Rosa sipped her coffee, which must have been cold by now.
“I have,” he said simply.
“What were you writing in the notebook?” Bianca asked Shelby.
So she explained about her idea that what they were going through should be written down, that their children or grandchildren might want the details of what had happened as well as the names of those who had died.
“Es muy bueno, Shelby.” Rosa reached across and patted her hand. “Gracias.”
They were quiet for a moment, and then Shelby shared the details of their plan to travel to Austin and the mayor’s insistence that they take Dr. Bhatti with them.
“I’m going with you,” Patrick said.
“No. You’re not.” Max pushed away his plate. “I won’t be responsible for taking anyone else along.”
“It’s not your choice. It’s mine, and I’m going.”
“So am I.”
They all turned to stare at Bianca.
“Shelby and Max and Dr. Bhatti in the Dodge. Patrick and I will follow in his Mustang.”
Max carried his plate to the sink, and then he turned around to study them. “Patrick’s Mustang is hardly a car you can sneak in and out of Austin with.”
“You can’t do that anyway,” Patrick reasoned. “Any car on the roads is noticeable and suspect. At least this way, we’ll have each other’s backs.”
“But Bianca…” Shelby glanced at Rosa. “Your mom. I imagine she needs you here.”
“I do. So bring her back.” Rosa clucked her tongue. “The mayor is right. We must have medicine if we’re to survive the next few months. I expect the four of you to get down there, let the doctor find what we need…and for heaven’s sake get plenty of insulin for Carter. Go and do what you need to do, and when you’re done, bring my daughter home.”
FIVE
Max, Shelby, Patrick, and Bianca were waiting outside city hall when their pastor, Tony Ramos, walked up. “Is it true? You’re heading to Austin?”
Shelby nodded, and Max gave Tony the condensed version of their mission. The pastor was a big man, and if Max had met him on the street, he never would have guessed his profession to be the ministry. He had a blunt way about him, but always with the hint of a smile and a kind voice—so folks rarely took offense.
As they were talking, a police cruiser drove up and dropped off Dr. Farhan Bhatti. Five foot, ten inches, with light brown skin, dark hair, and a gentle manner, Bhatti had been an ear, nose, and throat specialist before the flare.
Max had first recruited him to help with Abney’s medical needs when Bhatti was stranded in town. The man could have found a way out in the intervening nineteen days, but he’d chosen to stay. Whether that was for altruistic reasons, or because there was something he didn’t want to return to, Max couldn’t say.
“Dr. Bhatti. How are you?”
Bhatti readjusted his backpack and shifted his doctor’s bag to his left hand so that he could shake hands. “Call me by my first name, Max. I am living in your house.”
“How’s that going? I didn’t have a chance to drive by and check out the neighborhood.”
“We are slowly putting things back together after the explosion. Your house had very little damage—though I had it checked before I spent a night there.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Shelby glowered at the doctor.
Max thought she must have noticed the look that passed between her friends, because she bit down her impatience and tried again.
“You’ve been a big help here in Abney, and I appreciate that, but this trip—this is about my son, about finding a way for him to survive.”
“I understand—”
“You don’t. You couldn’t possibly. And just so you know, it wasn’t our idea to take you with us. The mayor…insisted.”
Max couldn’t tell if Bhatti was offended or amused. He said, “Mayor Perkins can be a very persuasive woman,” and left them to say hello to the rest of the group.
They proceeded to transfer some of their supplies to Patrick’s car to make room for Bhatti. He’d be sitting behind Max, where Shelby could keep an eye on him. The second seat in the Dodge Ramcharger offered plenty of room, but there were no doors to the area. The only way in was to move the front seat forward and climb in. On the bright side, it would be harder for anyone to carjack them.
As they were shuffling boxes of supplies, Pastor Tony pulled Max and Patrick away from the group.
“I’m sure you realize how dangerous this is.”
“We do,” they said in unison.
“Is there no other way to get the medications we need?”
Max sighed and looked back toward their motley group. “I’m all ears, if you have suggestions.”
“No. No, I don’t…but there is something I need to tell you.”
He turned his back to the group, so Max and Patrick did the same. Max barely had time to register what Tony had told them, was trying to formulate which question to ask first, when the door of city hall banged open, and Mayor Perkins hurried out toward them. She handed both Max and Patrick a radio. “It’s only a precaution, but this way you can talk to each other.”
She told them the designated frequency to use and then the emergency frequency for Abney. “Which will only work if you’re within a mile or so of a roadblock.”
“We’ll return them on our way back through, when we pick up the fuel.”
“Safe travels, and again—thank you.” Without another word, the mayor walked away.
Bianca was waiting in the passenger seat of the Mustang, and Bhatti had climbed into the backseat of the Dodge. Shelby stood next to the SUV, tapping her foot and staring pointedly at her watch.
Max turned back to their pastor. “Are you sure? How do you even know? Who was your source?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I know because more than one person from outside Abney has told me, and I can’t tell you who my source is.”
Patrick rubbed the top of his head. “And you trust these people?”
“Yes.” Tony didn’t hesitate. “I pray it’s not information that you need, but if you find yourself in a tight spot…”
“Okay,” Max said. “We understand.”
“One other thing. Be careful who you share the information with.”
“Right.” Patrick shook the pastor’s hand, Max did the same, and then the two of them walked back to their vehicles. They made a U-turn on the nearly empty street and pulled away from the town square.
Mayor Perkins must have notified the southern roadblock that they were on their way. Max barely had to slow when they reached it—the guards were already backing up a plow to make room for them to snake through.
They’d decided to take State Highway 183, which travelled southeast, allowing them to bypass Croghan completely. The first twenty miles passed without incident, which should have eased the knot of tension taking up permanent residence in Max’s neck. It didn’t. The apparently abandoned roads seemed more like a storm building on the horizon. It wasn’t a matter of if they would run into trouble, only a matter of when.
Shelby checked the r
adio twice to be sure they could communicate with Patrick and Bianca. As long as they stayed no more than a few car lengths apart, the radios worked fine.
They passed more abandoned cars, but no people.
The radio crackled, and Patrick said, “Could be trouble in Briggs. I suggest we stop this side of it and use the scopes.”
Max glanced at Shelby, who nodded once. There had been no time to discuss this, but they’d both seen enough abandoned cars riddled with bullet holes. The more remote the location, the bigger risk of being attacked. Hopefully, once they reached Austin city limits, there would be some semblance of law.
Max moved over onto the shoulder just short of a hilltop, and Patrick pulled in behind him. Shelby held out the radio, but Max waved it away, flashed what he hoped was a confident smile, and grabbed his rifle from the backseat. Patrick was waiting for him by the time he stepped out of the Dodge. Together they jogged to the top of the hill.
After a moment, Max asked, “Can they see us?”
“If we can see them, it’s possible for them to see us.” Patrick lowered his rifle and swiped at the sweat running down his face.
Not yet noon, but Max guessed the temperature was nearing the ninety mark.
“All I see is a woman hanging out clothes back behind the building.”
“I doubt she’s alone.” Patrick scanned left to right. “Looks like they’re living in the convenience store.”
“One that fronts a state highway? Seems like a dangerous place to settle down.”
“Probably can’t tell anyone’s there from the road. If we hadn’t been looking through a scope, I doubt we would have seen her.”
“It could be a trap.”
“But I don’t think it is.”
“Drive through or stop?”
“Information would be helpful.” Patrick lowered his rifle. “I say stop.”
“Agreed.”
Patrick pointed to a clump of trees halfway between their position and the store. “I’ll pull over there and wait for your okay.”
“If there’s trouble—”
“I can make a shot from that distance.”
They jogged back to the vehicles and shared their plan. Max expected an argument from Shelby, but she surprised him.
Raging Storm Page 3