Raging Storm

by Vannetta Chapman

If he’d hoped to unsettle the woman, he was sorely disappointed. She’d simply replied, “Following orders, sir.” After which she stamped his hand and directed him to a chair.

  The protocol must have been to keep groups together if possible. Though how many groups were allowed in, Max wasn’t sure.

  The nurse checked Patrick, declared him fit as a horse, and stamped his hand. Bianca was next, and made it through with little comment from the nurse.

  But when Nurse Brown took a closer look at Shelby, she let out a long, low whistle. “Tell me one of these guys did not pop you in the mouth. Because if they did, I’d be happy to call an MP.”

  Shelby shook her head. “No. It was just a misunderstanding between me and one of the people on the outside.”

  The nurse cleansed the wound with antibiotic ointment, walked to a cabinet, and pulled out an Instant Cold Pack. Squeezing the pack in the middle, she handed it to Shelby and said, “Keep this on your lip for the next few hours. The last thing you want is to contract an infection. With the conditions we have, even here in the capitol compound, your biggest fear is infection because antibiotics are scarce.”

  “What I really need is insulin.”

  The nurse had been tapping away on her tablet. She set it down, walked back to the cabinet, and pulled out a testing strip.

  “No, it’s not for me. It’s for my son. That’s why we’re here. I need…I have to find insulin for him.”

  The nurse put the testing strip back into the cabinet. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you with that.”

  “But someone can. Someone here has medical supplies.”

  Max thought Nurse Brown wouldn’t answer, but she glanced at each of them and something seemed to deflate in the big woman—an emotional barrier she maintained in order to make it through the tragedies she saw each day. “Look, honey. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through or what you had to endure to get here. And I know that as a mother I would do absolutely anything to put my hands on whatever my child needed.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But I can’t get you any medication. It’s under lock and key, and I have to have three approvals to access anything stronger than that ice pack you’re holding.”

  “But there are supplies here, including insulin.”

  “Maybe. Possibly. Yes, I’m sure we do have insulin. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  Shelby threw her arms around the woman, who glanced over at the rest of the group and rolled her eyes. Gently, she pushed Shelby away. “Private Neff is waiting outside this room. You all follow him down to holding room number eight. And God bless you. I hope you find what you need.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Carter finished his chores by lunchtime and asked if he could take the four-wheeler over to see Monica.

  “Sure,” Roy said. “But out of curiosity—work or pleasure?”

  If the question had come from his mom, he would have sniped back at her, but coming from Roy he couldn’t take offense. Max’s dad glanced up with a smile tugging at his lips, winked, and then returned his attention to their lunch of beans and corn bread. The beans were pinto, and Georgia had found some pork to season them with. How was that possible in this heat? Somehow she did it, continually making them meals complete with protein and at least a couple of the food groups.

  The corn bread was a miracle, in Carter’s opinion. He still didn’t understand how she managed to cook in the big oven outside that looked more like a barbecue pit.

  “Work, actually,” Carter said, returning to Roy’s question. “Her family is having problems with hogs.”

  “Blasted beasts have been tearing up whatever they go near for a few years now.”

  “Well, the thing is, I started thinking about what you said, Roy. About domesticating them.”

  Georgia harrumphed and pushed the plate of freshly sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions his direction. “Roy’s been talking about that for years. He detests those pigs like I detest fruit flies. Both are a real nuisance.”

  “But they’re also food, right?”

  Georgia and Roy exchanged looks. Roy cleared his throat and said, “Boy has a good head on his shoulders.”

  “Don’t forget you’re the one who put the idea in my head.”

  “Yeah, but somehow in the day-to-day work of running a modern ranch with nineteenth-century tools, I’d forgotten about it. Or maybe I didn’t forget. Maybe I just wasn’t sure how I wanted to tackle the problem, and we haven’t been that desperate for food yet.”

  “There’s enough of them,” Georgia admitted. “And if they’re harvested correctly, the meat is plenty good to eat.”

  Carter picked up one of the slices of cucumber and popped it in his mouth. It was cool and crisp and lacked the bitterness of the ones they used to purchase at the grocery store. “The problem is that there’s no use in catching and butchering them now.”

  “Not in this heat,” Roy agreed. “And they’re harder to catch than you’d think.”

  “Monica’s dad has a nice setup with a deer feeder that is fenced in. We were thinking we could reinforce the fence, and then set the gate to close automatically using one of their motion sensor cameras.”

  “Thought they fizzled with the flare.”

  “Anything plugged in or anything mounted outside, yeah. But turns out he’d ordered a new one and it was still in the box. Looks like the circuits are still good.”

  “How can you close a gate with a camera?” Georgia asked, smiling as she crumbled a piece of corn bread into her glass of milk.

  Carter had taken on the task of milking their cow each morning, and he almost started laughing when he saw that glass of milk. To think that it had come from the work of his hands. Though to be fair, most of the work had been on the part of the cow.

  “It’s not as difficult as you’d think if he has the right supplies.”

  “Her dad is an amateur radio buff,” Georgia said. “I suppose he has quite a bit of electronics.”

  “He does.”

  “So what’s the design? How is the camera helpful?”

  “There’s a sensor on the camera. The sensor is what causes the camera to go off when there’s motion. A deer walks up, the camera senses it, and then takes a picture. What I want to do is use the sensor to close the gate, trapping the animal inside the fence that surrounds her feeder.”

  “You can do that?” Roy asked.

  “Maybe.” Carter shrugged. “Maybe not, but it doesn’t hurt to try. Unless you need me here to do something else.”

  “We’re ahead of my work schedule.” Roy carried his bowl to the sink and then turned around to study Carter. “Go on over there. If you find a way to trap hogs, especially a small number of them, we could domesticate them. A pig farm would really help the folks in this area.”

  Georgia stood and bustled around the kitchen, stacking dishes, wiping off the table, and swiping at a fly. “Chops, hams, roasts, ribs, and bacon. Oh, yes, we could use it. Not to mention headcheese, lard, and sausage. I think I even have a recipe in one of my cookbooks for scrapple.”

  Roy laughed at that. “Scrapple. There’s a word I didn’t expect to hear again.”

  Their laughter followed Carter outside. He liked having a project, something to work on that he knew he was adept at. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the Brainiacs, the group of geeks in Abney who had met to try to solve some of the community’s problems. They’d built solar ovens, a windmill from bike parts, and improved existing water reclamation systems. More than ever, the world needed their original ideas and unusual skills. But he didn’t regret coming to High Fields. He’d needed space from the fighting in Abney, from the destruction of his home, and most importantly from the death of Kaitlyn.

  He stopped outside the barn, where they stored the four-wheeler. The cow, Betsy, was grazing in the western pasture. He could hear Georgia’s chickens pecking in their pen, and when he looked south, he could see Roy’s crops were now chest high—corn and grain and sorghum. They w
ere crops Roy had planted in the spring, before the flare. They’d spent several nights designing the fall crops—wheat, rye, and peanuts. Carter had laughed at that, but Roy had assured him that peanuts were a big crop in west Texas, and perhaps the soil at High Fields would be compatible.

  As he stood there surveying the land, Carter realized he preferred life at the ranch. It was a bit solitary, but that’s what he craved right now. Time alone felt right. It eased some of the bad memories. He had nothing to remind him of Abney. And he preferred not having to make conversation with anyone.

  He climbed onto the four-wheeler, started it up, and rode away from High Fields. As he allowed his gaze to drift south toward his old town, he acknowledged to himself that he did miss his friends.

  And he missed his mom. This was the third day she and Max had been gone. It was too early to expect them to be back—probably. But that didn’t stop him from pulling over at the road’s high point and studying the skyline to the south. As if he could see anything that was a fair distance away. He couldn’t, not really. All he saw were cedar trees followed by more cedar, with the occasional pecan and oak tree poking through. Perhaps if there had been smoke signals, he would have seen them, but there were none of those. No sign of an approaching vehicle. No new fires. Perhaps the anarchists had burned and looted and moved on. Carter saw nothing but trees and cactus and hills.

  He continued down the white caliche road and with some effort pulled his attention back to catching hogs.

  FORTY-TWO

  Six hours!” Shelby paced back and forth from one side of the partitioned room to the other. Her outburst earned her a warning look from the warden—or whatever they wanted to call the person who wouldn’t let them leave.

  “Can’t you write in your notebook or something?” Max asked.

  “I already did that, and yes, I read back over it too.” She picked up the notebook and tossed it at him. “You look at it. I’m too antsy to hold a pen, let alone write with one.”

  She paced back and forth a few more times before stopping in front of her friends. “I’m pretty tired of being watched by a guard everywhere we go. When did this turn into a police state?”

  “Twenty-one days ago.” Patrick smiled at her and patted the ground next to him. “Today is July first. Did you realize that?”

  Shelby sank down beside him, and he tossed an arm over her shoulder. It was such a brotherly gesture that she nearly allowed herself to relax. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared at her dirty hiking boots. She’d be happy never to see those boots, or the clothes she had on, again.

  Max yawned and stretched his arms up over his head. “You should have slept like the rest of us. You’d be less cranky.”

  “Are you actually judging my mood?”

  In response Max held both hands up, palms out.

  “I think Shelby and I need to take a little walk,” Bianca said, reaching for her hands and pulling her to her feet.

  Arm in arm they trooped to the other end of the tent.

  Their room was less than the size of a football field, but not by much. And they were number eight? How large was the entire tented area? Twenty acres? Forty? Where did so much tent material come from? Who had set them up here and why?

  The so-called rooms had been partitioned off, and as the nurse had directed they’d followed Private Neff all the way down to room number eight. There were probably a couple hundred people in the room, some sitting in groups, some sleeping, others staring off into space, all waiting.

  But what were they waiting for?

  When they’d first arrived, Max and Patrick tried to get information from a few of their cell mates with no luck. Mostly people shrugged and turned away. They did learn that the people in their room were from all over the state—Corpus Christi, Midland, College Station.

  “No one from the metropolitan areas.”

  “Huh?” Bianca had been watching two children who were playing with a set of checkers.

  “There’s no one here from Dallas or Houston or San Antonio.”

  “Maybe they have their own compounds.”

  “But those people—” She nodded toward a young couple. “They’re from Corpus. If there were compounds all over the state, they would have gone to San Antonio. In fact, they had to go around San Antonio to end up here.”

  “So what are you thinking? They’re not letting people out of the cities?”

  “I don’t know. How do you fence in an entire city?”

  Bianca had no answer for that, though she did pause and speak to a group of Hispanic women.

  “They’re from west of here. Junction area.”

  “And?”

  “They had been warned to stay away from San Antonio.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “None.”

  “Why are they here?”

  “Thought they could move in with some family members who live in the area. Thought it would be better here.”

  They continued toward the portable potties that had been set up at the end of the room. Shelby did not need to use one, but it did feel good to stretch her legs, to be somewhere—anywhere other than their corner of room eight.

  She turned to see if the guard was watching them, let out a squeak, and shouted, “That’s Danny Vail.” Slapping her hand over her mouth, she tugged Bianca out of the potty line and rushed over to where their former city manager was standing. By the time they reached him, Max and Patrick had joined them.

  Shelby threw her arms around Danny and laughed when he picked her up off the ground before setting her back down. Straightening her shirt, she took a step back and grinned at her old friend.

  Danny looked much as he had the last time she’d seen him in Abney, when he’d come to her house and tried to convince her to leave town. His hair had been freshly buzzed in the military haircut that he always wore, causing his black scalp to reflect the light coming through the tent’s roof.

  Today he wore a military uniform. It reminded her of when they’d first met. She’d known Danny for close to twenty years, when he’d served with Carter’s father. When Alex had died from an overdose, Danny had felt responsible. For the next few years, he’d come around often, even to the point of asking Shelby out on a date several times. When she made it plain she wasn’t interested, she had seen less of him. But Danny Vail was a good man. He’d attended their church, and he’d served competently as their city manager until the day he disappeared from Abney. So what was he doing in the capitol compound?

  There was backslapping and How are you and I can’t believe you’re here. Then Danny walked away from them to speak to the room guard. She started to argue, and he said something sharp in return. The next thing Shelby knew, they were walking out of the room, out into the afternoon heat. After hours cooped up in the tented enclosure, even the blistering summer sun felt like heaven on her skin. She closed her eyes, raised her face to the sky, and allowed the muscles in her neck to relax for just a second. Then she keyed in on what Danny was saying.

  “I came straight here from Abney,” he was telling the rest of the group.

  “But why?” Shelby asked. “And why didn’t you tell anyone you were leaving?”

  Danny shrugged. “I honestly didn’t think there was anything else I could do for Abney. Mayor Perkins had her way of doing things, and let’s just say it didn’t sync with what I thought needed to be done.”

  Max exchanged a quick glance with Shelby. “We thought she was reacting well—logically, no panic, but with a firm hand at the helm.”

  “Are you kidding me, Berkman? If there had been a firm hand at the helm, Croghan would have never attacked. The violence you’re seeing in Abney—”

  “What violence?”

  Danny snapped his mouth shut in a solid straight line. With a shrug, he said, “Let’s just say not everyone was aware of everything that had happened.”

  “She had me go to the jail, Danny. To speak to some of the offenders.”

  “Yeah, those were the ones
you knew about. The others? They weren’t dealt with in any responsible manner. They were taken to the city limits and let go. She just let them go! As if that would solve anything. As if they wouldn’t sneak right back in.” Danny hitched up his belt, which Shelby noticed included a holster with a semiautomatic. So he was in the compound in some official capacity.

  Maybe he could help them.

  If he would help them.

  The only way she’d know would be to ask.

  FORTY-THREE

  Danny, the reason we’re here—and believe me getting here was no small feat—is to find insulin for Carter and medicine for Abney.”

  Danny began shaking his head before she’d finished speaking. “I don’t see that happening. The supplies we have here are here for the military.”

  “Yes, but what about the people outside the fence?”

  “The administration is working on that, but until we have a more solid footing, any supplies within this compound will stay here.”

  “What exactly is your capacity?” Max asked, arms folded across his chest and a scowl spreading across his face.

  Shelby cringed, suddenly aware of the underlying tension between Danny and Max. Was this how Max had felt when she confronted Raven? She glanced at Bianca, but her friend seemed content to take a backseat, watch, and listen.

  “Whatever Governor Reed needs me to do.”

  “That’s a bit vague.”

  “Well, duties are still being assigned.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck, and then he offered them his old familiar smile. “Listen, we might not agree on Abney and what should or shouldn’t be going on there, but we’re here now. So let me see if we can have you moved to some better accommodations.”

  “And the supplies?” Shelby asked.

  A flash of something—irritation?—crossed his face, but then it was gone, replaced by his old familiar smile. “Of course. I’ll check around, but please don’t get your hopes up.”

  He escorted them back into room number eight. Shelby actually thought about making a run for it, but where would she go? Soldiers patrolled the entire capitol compound. She wouldn’t make it twenty feet before she was stopped. Or shot.