Raging Storm

by Vannetta Chapman

  Max gripped the wheel tighter.

  “Where did they all come from?” Shelby asked.

  “Bill mentioned apartments that had burned closer to downtown.” Bhatti spoke without looking at her, as if he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the tragedy outside the window. “Apparently they migrated out to a better neighborhood.”

  “Migrated? Is that what you call it?” Shelby’s question was accusatory, but her tone was simply tired.

  Max glanced in the rearview mirror. Bhatti looked back at him and shrugged.

  The guy was a doctor, a scientist basically. He spoke in scientific terms. He wasn’t being disrespectful, only blunt.

  Max sucked in a quick breath, and Shelby clutched her seat belt as if it might protect her. Ahead of them, across the width of the street and at least as deep, a throng of people moved their way. Some held rifles and handguns. Some carried cases of beer. Others held children. A few pushed wheelchairs holding the elderly.

  Were they actually going to drive through that many people?

  Bill had warned them that they might have to, had assured him that the people always parted, though sometimes at the last second.

  Fortunately, they didn’t have to test that theory. When they were still a hundred yards away from the throng, Bill made a right. Max was practically on his bumper, and Patrick was just as close.

  He understood now why Bill had wanted them to stay so close together. Space in between the vehicles would equal an opening, and an opening could be taken advantage of.

  The street they turned on was in no better shape, but the people looked to be less of a threat.

  One family sat in the back of a mail truck, staring at them as they passed.

  Another walked slowly down the sidewalk, pushing a shopping cart filled with children.

  The next block was entirely burned out. Sitting in front of the charred remains of an apartment building was a dog. It looked to Max like a chocolate Labrador. Was he waiting for his family to return? How long would the dog stay? He’d heard stories of dogs waiting weeks, even longer, for a family to come home. But whoever had left this place wasn’t coming back. What was there to come back to?

  Max was looking at that, at the dog, when Bill suddenly applied his brakes.

  “Don’t hit him!” Shelby’s foot stomped the floor, where the brake would be if she were in the driver’s seat.

  Bhatti reached forward and grabbed the back of the front seat.

  Brakes squealed, and then they were stopped, inches from Bill’s back bumper.

  Patrick, who had been watching more closely, stopped several feet from the Dodge.

  Everyone piled out of the vehicles at once.

  Bill was already talking to a thin man wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, his cap turned backwards, and tattoos snaking down his arms.

  “Why are we stopping?” Max asked, as he approached the two men.

  “Because we need to know what the situation is, and Raven probably knows.”

  “Raven?” Max realized with a start that the man was a woman. He would never have guessed, which was perhaps her intent.

  “It’s not safe to talk here,” she said. “Keep going another block, turn right into the alley. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

  She walked on in the opposite direction.

  “You trust her?” Patrick asked.

  “I do. She’s given me good information in the past.”

  Before they could ask any additional questions, Bill was back in his car, pulling away. The others hurried to their vehicles to catch up.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Shelby slammed her door shut.

  “You want the insulin?” Max asked.

  “Of course I do,” she snapped.

  “Then we have to trust somebody. We’re not going to find it lying on the ground.”

  “So we’re just going to follow this guy. Follow Bill into what could very well be a trap. Why? We can find the capitol without him.”

  “Donna and Clay recommended him. That’s good enough for me.”

  Shelby crossed her arms and stared at him. “How far do you think we are from where we need to be, Max? Three or four miles? Miles. We could cover that in five to ten minutes.”

  “A month ago—maybe, but not today.” He jerked down on his ball cap. “Shelby, I understand you have trust issues. I do, and I respect that, but you have to give me a little slack here.”

  “We’re going in the wrong direction.”

  “Let’s just follow him. Okay? Let’s see what Raven has to say, and then we can re-assess.”

  They pulled into an alley, which fortunately was open at the other end. The last thing Max wanted was to get trapped between two half-burned-out buildings.

  They once again all spilled out of their cars, and then they waited.

  “She’s helped you before?” Max asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think she can tell us?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m waiting.”

  “This is a waste of time.” Shelby began pacing between the cars.

  Bhatti stood halfway between Shelby and the Dodge. Patrick had his back to them. He was watching the west end of the alley, and Bianca was watching the east end. They both had their weapons out. If this was a trap, they’d go down fighting.

  Raven walked in alone, straight up to Bill. She slapped his hand, shook, and then smiled.

  “Long time, man.”

  “Yeah, two or three days.”

  “That’s a long time in the new world.”

  “Is that what you call this? The new world? Because it looks pretty old and wrecked to me.” Shelby’s tone was aggressive. She’d been sitting around too long, and perhaps her patience had reached its limit. Too late Max realized she’d moved even closer, right up into the girl’s space. Max stepped forward to pull her back, to try and keep their situation from spiraling out of control, but he was too late, and he knew it even before his eyes and ears told him so.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Shelby couldn’t have said what made her do it.

  Fear?

  Desperation?

  Stupidity?

  Maybe the girl’s clothes were too purposely ragged or her attitude too condescending. Possibly the gun that she was wearing boldly on her hip irritated Shelby, or maybe it was the casual way Raven and Bill greeted one another—as if this were another day in paradise, as if her son’s life weren’t hanging on whether or not they were successful.

  She stepped forward and challenged the girl, but instead of backing down, Raven stepped closer and began shouting back.

  In the back of her mind, Shelby registered the fact that Patrick was shouting for them all to get down, and Bianca had raised her rifle, and Bill was hollering for everyone to put down their weapons.

  “Tell that to your sniper on the roof!” Patrick snarled.

  Shelby turned, saw the direction that Patrick had his own rifle aimed, and spied the rifle barrel and the top of someone’s head.

  “He’s with me!” Raven shouted. “Zane is with me, so everyone just chill.”

  No one moved. No one lowered their weapon. Raven marched over to Patrick, pulled her weapon, thumbed off the safety, and pointed it directly at him. “The dude on the roof is with me, so if you’re thinking about shooting him, you’d better have someone shoot me at the exact second you pull the trigger.”

  “Better not hesitate,” Patrick said.

  “I never do.”

  Bill pushed in between them. “We are wasting time.”

  But Patrick was still talking to Raven. “Why do you need a sniper on the roof?”

  “Because without him I’d already be dead several times over.”

  “Is that why he was following you out on the main drag?”

  “Yeah, and it’s why he’s here now.”

  “So you don’t trust anyone?”

  “Bill I trust. You, not so much.”

  If Patrick
was bothered by the girl’s audacity, he didn’t show it. He grinned and said, “Looks like we have ourselves a Wild West standoff then. Tell Zane to lower his weapon, and I’ll lower mine.”

  Shelby thought that Raven would walk away at that point, taking whatever information she had with her. Instead she whistled, and made a circle motion around the top of her head. The guy on the roof disappeared. Patrick lowered his weapon. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just wait here to make sure he doesn’t come back.”

  “Suit yourself.” Raven nodded toward Bill’s vehicle, and the two of them moved away.

  Bianca stayed at her end of the alley, still on alert.

  Patrick remained where he was, rifle down, but at the ready.

  Max, Shelby, and Bhatti followed Bill.

  “This your idea? Bringing crazy people into my hood as if I don’t have enough to deal with?”

  Bill shrugged.

  It was Bhatti who asked, “What makes the neighborhood yours?”

  “Because I’m taking care of it.” She turned back to Bill. “What did you bring me today?”

  He opened the trunk of his vehicle, pulled out a box of MREs and a case of water.

  Raven whistled again—this time two short notes and one long.

  There was the sound of someone, her sniper Shelby supposed, running across the roof and then down a ladder near the end. When he stepped closer, Shelby saw that he looked to be Carter’s age, had a buzz haircut, and wore a shirt with the sleeves cut out. Maybe it was a type of uniform. Without a word to any of them, he slung his rifle over his shoulder, picked up the supplies and hurried out of the alley.

  Bill closed the trunk of the sedan. “Can he get those back to your people okay?”

  “Zane? Zane’s like a cat. He can get in and out before anyone knows he’s there.”

  “Who are the supplies going to?” Bhatti asked.

  Shelby turned to stare at him. He’d shown more interest in the last hour than he had since they left Abney. What was with this guy? The closer they got to the city center, the more intense his gaze became, and his questions had taken on an urgent tone.

  “Old folks, mostly.” Raven looked him up and down. “You want to join us in the fight? Something tells me you’d fit in better with us than with this group.”

  “What fight?” Shelby asked.

  “What fight?” Raven’s voice went lower, harder. “The fight to survive, maybe? Or how about the fight to just outlive the hundreds of cowards who’d rather take from old people than figure out how to make it on their own? There’s about a dozen fights—so choose whichever you’d like, pick up a weapon, and jump in.” Now she stepped closer to Shelby. “Or get out of my way.”

  Shelby didn’t need anyone to come to her rescue, but Max made an attempt anyway. “Shelby’s in a fight of her own. We’re looking for insulin. Do you know where we can get any?”

  “No, man. All the meds around here—they’re gone. The few people I know who have them, you don’t want to deal with. Plus, the only thing they will trade for is cocaine, heroin, or weed. Unless you have one of those, you’re not getting what they have.”

  “I’m taking them to the capitol buildings,” Bill said. “Or as close as we can get.”

  “They won’t let you in. The government people aren’t letting anyone in.”

  “Let us worry about that,” Shelby said. “It’s not your fight.”

  It had been a long time since Shelby had been in an actual physical altercation—in fact, she’d only been in one, her sophomore year in high school when a girl had been talking trash about her and Max. The memory came over her like a wave, and she felt sixteen again—young and strong, full of anger, and ready to take on the world.

  Her adrenaline had just surged, and she’d stepped forward to confront Raven, maybe push her or force her back, when Raven punched her in the mouth.

  She stumbled backwards. Bhatti and Max stepped in between them, and Bill backed Raven away from the group.

  “You need to watch your mouth.” Raven jerked her arm out of Bill’s grasp. “Let me go. I’m not going to hit her again.”

  “Shelby, are you okay?” Max’s back was to her, effectively blocking Raven from moving any closer. “Are you okay?”

  Shelby almost gasped at the pain that radiated through her jaw. She tasted copper, put her hand to her mouth, pulled it away and stared at her red fingers. Her lip was swelling already, but a quick check with her tongue assured her no teeth were loose. Bianca started toward her, but Shelby waved her away and marched back over to where Raven stood. She pushed her way through Bill and Max. She didn’t stop until she was standing toe-to-toe with her newly sworn enemy.

  “You hit me again, and I’m going to scratch your eyes out.”

  “We don’t have time for this.” Bill sounded disgusted, but Shelby ignored him.

  “What is your problem?”

  “My problem?” Raven’s mouth twisted in a snarl. “You want to know what my problem is? I watched two more babies die this morning, that’s one of my problems. And the old people? Well, they sit silently in their wheelchairs and soiled clothing waiting for help to come—but it ain’t coming. It’s me, and you, and the hoodlums who are trying to take what we have. We’re all that’s left.”

  A tiny bit of Shelby’s anger slipped away, but her tone remained hostile. “You’re struggling. I get that. We’re all struggling.”

  “Yeah, you look like you’re starving—driving around in your cars like nothing’s happened.”

  “We are looking for insulin. You don’t know where we can find it? Fine. Tell Bill you’ve got no information for him. We’ll keep going without your help.”

  She’d turned away and was stomping back toward the Dodge when Raven called out, “Stay off North Lamar.”

  “That route was open two days ago,” Bill said.

  “Yeah, well, that was two days ago. Now it’s Diego’s territory, and you won’t get through even with G.I. Joe and G.I. Jane tagging along.”

  “How do you suggest we get through to the capitol square then?” Bhatti asked.

  “I don’t. I suggest you go back wherever you came from.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Max said.

  “It’s your life. Do what you want with it.”

  “Suggested route?” Bill asked.

  Raven shrugged. “Stay on the west side of the park area. Diego’s in what’s left of the apartments and businesses on the east side. He hasn’t crossed the park yet. I’m not sure why.”

  “Thank you,” Bill said.

  “Sure, and next time you come into my neighborhood? Do yourself a favor. Come alone.”

  Raven walked to the end side of the alley, past Bianca, and disappeared out onto the main road. Shelby stared after the girl, wondering what had just happened, suddenly imagining the kind of life she had been forced to live. Remorse tugged at her, but she shoved it away.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Max tried to touch her lip, but Shelby squirmed out of his reach. “I’m fine. You got any ice?”

  “No.”

  Max stepped away from her, shook his head, and then strode right back up to her, stopping only inches away. “You put us all in danger here.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes. You did. Why? Because a girl you’d just met failed to offer the hand of friendship to you?”

  “She was arrogant.”

  “Grow up, Shelby. We have to learn to work with people we don’t like.”

  She didn’t know how to answer that, so she jerked open the car door and collapsed into the passenger seat.

  They drove out of the alley, parallel to the street they had been on, and turned back in the direction they had come. Shelby stared out the window, Max’s words pricking her heart like thistles. Had she put them in danger? What had happened to the sweet Christian woman who sat at her computer and pounded out clean romances? How long had it been since she’d even prayed about their situation? Praying had
come easily enough when her biggest concern was an approaching deadline.

  She wanted to cry out in frustration. She wanted a do-over for the last twenty minutes.

  But there were no do-overs. Maybe there never had been.

  It seemed to Shelby that for every step forward, she took three steps back. Soon she’d find herself in Abney and then at High Fields with only an empty cargo area and a fat lip to show for it.

  THIRTY

  They drove north, tried three different times to cross Shoal Creek, which was full to overflowing from the recent rains. Once Shelby would have sworn she saw a kangaroo drinking from the stream. Another time they swerved to miss a crocodile that was lying in the middle of the street. The city park brimmed over with tents, RVs, even trucks with tarps propped up and thrown over the bed. Each time they tried to cross into the park, cross over the creek, their way was barred by semipermanent piles of debris, which had no doubt been stacked there for that very purpose—to keep people out. To keep Diego and his thugs from using the park as a thoroughfare.

  Finally they came to a stop in a vacant lot across from the park. They’d left at four thirty, and it was now close to six. They were farther from their destination than when they started. Shelby didn’t want to think about what they’d do if they were stuck outside after dark.

  Everyone piled out of the cars. Bill looked unhappy, but then again Shelby had yet to see him smile. That wasn’t quite true, though. One of the children had come up to him at the school, and he’d squatted down and handed her something from his pocket. It had been a doll—some kind of Polly Pocket thing. The memory stuck in Shelby’s throat, blocked any words she might have said.

  Bhatti wandered toward the street, as if he needed to study it, to remember it.

  Max, Shelby, Patrick, and Bianca walked up to where Bill was waiting by the door of his huge, decrepit sedan. The thing was like a tank, which was exactly what he needed in this situation.

  “I was hoping I could get you closer.” Bill ran a hand up and over the top of his bald head. “As we were warned, the situation is deteriorating.”