Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  In addition to finding Carl at his table in front of Masterson’s, he could often be seen tapping his cane along Second Street toward the east, where the road ended at McCann Park. The park was just about a mile out of town and was situated next to the Little Bear River, which ran near Cottonwood. Old Blind Carl loved to sit in McCann Park and listen to the river—to the sounds of birds, insects, and people playing and picnicking nearby. Once in a while, he could hear the sound of a jet plane in the sky far overhead, and at those times, he imagined the passengers riding inside, traveling perhaps to some faraway destination where they would get the chance to hear some exciting stories.

  On this particular day, Old Blind Carl left his house and headed toward McCann Park. Though he lived several blocks off of the normally busy Main Street, the moment he walked out his door, he knew there was something different about the day and about Cottonwood. The silence told him this. It reminded him of the way the town sounded very early on a Sunday morning or after a night of heavy snowfall when silence filled the air.

  But it was Friday and not Sunday, summer and not winter, and afternoon not morning—something was happening in Cottonwood. Old Blind Carl knew this was true, beyond all doubt.

  He tapped down the sidewalk from his house to where his street intersected with Second Street, and then he stopped. He heard the sound of a bird somewhere in the distance, and closer still, he heard the sound of footsteps. Two people were approaching from his left, walking up Second Street. They were very close now and then stopped.

  “Hello, Rebecca,” said Old Blind Carl. “And hello, Diane.”

  “Hello, Carl,” said Diane D’Arcy as she stood next to Rebecca. “You always amaze me when you do that.”

  “Not so amazing,” said Carl. “Everybody sings a different song when they walk. No two walks are the same. You and Rebecca even make up a unique pattern when you’re together. I’ve heard you two walking together so many years, I can identify you comin’ a block away. Anyway, what’s happening in town right now? It’s very quiet.”

  “That’s a good question,” said Diane. “All the traffic has stopped.”

  “Some kind of accident or something?” asked Carl.

  “No,” said Rebecca, in somewhat of a daze. “All the cars, trucks, and even motorcycles have just stopped working. They all just died right there on Main Street—and everywhere else in town it seems.”

  Carl turned his head to listen and took a deep breath of the clean air. “Yes,” he then said, “you’re right. Not a car or truck or anything running right now. How odd and how amazing!”

  “Maybe amazing, if you don’t need to drive anywhere,” said Diane. “I’m sure plenty of people are getting annoyed by all this, so I think ‘amazing’ is an interesting choice of words.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that amazing necessarily means a good thing—if that’s how you took it. I just meant that for all this traffic to just stop all at once—well, something very rare has happened. That’s the kind of amazing I meant.”

  “I think you’re right, Carl, it is amazing,” said Rebecca. “I was standing right on the corner of Second and Main in front of Rhonda’s when it happened. One moment everything was its normal noisiness, and the next moment it all went silent. It was so quiet I could even hear a meadowlark!”

  “I hear those all the time when I’m down by the river,” said Carl. “But they get lost in the background of the traffic noise here in town, so I’m not sure they even attempt to sing here anymore. Why should they?”

  “As if meadowlarks could decide where they choose to sing or not,” said Diane.

  “I have no reason to think they can’t,” replied Carl. “But anyway, what’s being done about all this? I’m sure lots of people are making a fuss over it.”

  Neither Rebecca nor Diane immediately responded. Then Diane said, “We don’t know. I’m sure the mayor and others are working on some sort of plan. It’s such a weird thing to happen, I’m sure it’s going to take some time to figure out exactly what to do. Who knows—maybe the traffic will start back up before they even get a chance to develop a plan.”

  “I guess this is one of those times I’m really glad I don’t drive,” said Carl. “I can’t see how this will affect me all that much, except maybe I’ll get to breathe some cleaner air, and it will be a little safer for me crossin’ the streets!” Carl then turned and said, “Well, I guess I’ll be getting on down to the river now. If I’m lucky, there’ll even be a nice breeze coming off the river for me to smell. You ladies have a wonderfully nice day.”

  They said their good-byes, and Old Blind Carl continued walking and tapping his way down the street. A few moments later, he heard Rebecca call out, “Oh Carl, by the way, Matthew Duncan’s back in town—didn’t know if you’d heard.”

  Carl turned and smiled. “No, I hadn’t heard. Thanks. Can’t wait to see him.”

  He then continued east along Second Street toward McCann Park. Though the traffic was now silent, there were many other sounds filling Carl’s world as he walked along. There were the sounds of his cane tapping and his feet scuffing on the concrete, his breath coming in and out of his nostrils, and his pant legs occasionally rubbing together. There were children’s voices several houses away as they laughed and played in the water and the occasional songs of birds singing nearby and sometimes in the distance. Carl smiled as he walked along, realizing the wonderful opportunity at hand for the other citizens of his town. They might realize something he’d learned long ago—there was far more to the world that passed unnoticed by most, because they had become too accustomed to experiencing it through a single, narrow opening. Yes, he was blind, but his other senses had blossomed and allowed him to touch a larger world often missed by others. As he approached the river and the park, he began to hear the bubbling, babbling, rolling, and churning of the water of Little Bear River, and Old Blind Carl’s experience of a larger and deeper world was about to go far beyond his expectations but, perhaps, not his dreams.

  Eighteen

  No Reason

  Vince Pasternack had tried starting every car, truck, and motorcycle that should otherwise have been able to start at his garage as well as two emergency gas-powered generators. Each one acted exactly the same—meeting Vince’s attempts with stubborn and complete silence—not a click, not a buzz, not a hum—nothing.

  “There’s just no reason for it,” Vince said to Duke McKenna, who’d stayed around watching his friend’s futile attempts. “Mechanically speaking, they should all start right up, or at least make some kind of sound when I try to start ‘em.”

  “The damn strangest thing I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure,” replied Duke sitting on a tall barstool inside the work area of the garage, sipping his coffee. Colin, the stranger from out of town whose car Vince had attempted to start earlier, had left long before, abandoning his Toyota at the garage and walking down to get a room at the Cottonwood Inn.

  Vince wiped his hands on a rag and picked up his mug of cold coffee from the workbench. Cold or not, it tasted good because it made sense and tasted exactly like cold coffee should. Vince needed something that made sense. “There must be something I’ve missed. Some little thing I’m not thinkin’ of. Maybe something fried the ignition circuits or something. These things are more computers than cars anymore.”

  “Fried all of them? Across the whole town?” asked Duke.

  “I dunno,” said Vince. “I’m just guessin’, but maybe some big electromagnetic pulse or something shot through this whole valley and fried all the ignition circuits.”

  Duke stared at the garage full of dead vehicles and took another sip of coffee. “I don’t know as much as you do about these things, but that sounds pretty farfetched to me,” he finally said.

  Just then, the bell out in the lobby rang out, indicating a customer had walked in. Duke followed Vince out to the lobby. It was Deputy Sparky.

  “Hey boys,” said Sparky. “Any luck in getting anything started down here?” He walk
ed over to the counter where Vince kept the coffee pot. He picked up the pot and poured, managing to get only half a cup. “Jeez, Vince, you think you could keep the pot full for customers.”

  “It was full…for customers…you ain’t a customer,” said Vince, sipping down the last drop from his own mug and walking over to Sparky. “All right you cry baby, I’ll make another pot, but it’s gonna be a while.”

  “That’s all right,” Sparky said as he walked over and sat in one of the lobby chairs near Duke, who had similarly planted himself. “I think I’ve got some time, unless you’ve got a working car I can take from you right now.”

  “Not a one,” said Vince as he threw the old coffee filter into the trash can. “I can’t even get a gas-powered leaf blower started. Nothing’s come close to starting.” He paused, looking intently at Sparky, and said, “But what do you mean by ‘take’ from me?”

  “The sheriff has authorized me to take command of any working vehicle I can find. It’s hard to do our duties without wheels, you know.”

  “Well, good luck,” interjected Duke. “I haven’t seen or heard anything drive by in several hours. I think you’re gonna be out of luck, Sparky.”

  Vince finished starting the new pot of coffee and joined the other two men sitting in the old lobby chairs—with dirty chrome trim and cracked, black imitation-leather seats.

  “Can the sheriff do that?” asked Vince.

  “This is startin’ to be an emergency,” said Sparky. “The sheriff can do pretty much whatever he needs to during an emergency.”

  Both men stared at Sparky for a moment, and then Duke said, “Well, if I had a working car right now, I sure wouldn’t give it to the sheriff— or you.”

  Sparky looked at him. “You wouldn’t have to give it to us—we’d just take it.”

  “Over my dead body,” said Duke without a smile.

  “If that’s the way you’d like us to leave you, then we’d oblige you just fine,” said Sparky, matching Duke’s expression.

  Duke looked down at Sparky’s gun and then back to Sparky. “Everybody here’s got guns, Sparky—and most can probably shoot a damn sight better than you. I think you’d have a tough time takin’ someone’s car from them, at least from me, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Sparky stared at Duke for a moment and then turned to Vince. “What’s wrong with ‘em anyway? Any ideas?”

  “No idea whatsoever,” said Vince, “and that’s what really pisses me off.”

  “Tell him about your electronic-pulse idea or whatever you were talking about,” said Duke.

  Sparky stared at Vince. “Does this involve Big Foot?”

  Vince glared at Sparky. “You wanna make fun or you wanna hear my theory?”

  “Sorry,” replied Sparky. “Go ahead.”

  “Well,” began Vince, “when I was in the army, we learned about something called electromagnetic-pulse weapons. They can basically turn electronic parts into a kind of Jell-o. They don’t melt them as much as fry things up real good inside so they just don’t work anymore. The ignitions in all these cars and trucks are electronic, so they might have all been fried by a huge electromagnetic pulse.”

  “Well, where would an electromagnetic pulse come from around here?” asked Sparky.

  “Dunno,” said Vince. “There’s that army testing area out toward Paradox Valley near the Utah border. Maybe they were testing something and it accidentally hit our area.”

  “That’s what—a hundred or so miles away? Are they that powerful?” asked Sparky.

  “Dunno that either,” said Vince. “Again, I’m just speculating and don’t really know that much about these weapons. I only know they exist and can do a number on electronic parts. That’s all.”

  “It does sound pretty farfetched,” said Duke. “Maybe it is another Big Foot sighting. Maybe Big Foot was using electromagnetic-pulse weapons on us.”

  “Fuck you,” said Vince, frowning at Duke. “You never even saw my pictures of those tracks—so shut the hell up.”

  “No, but I’ve done plenty of huntin’ up there in the wilderness area, and I can tell you that there’s no place for a big hairy ape-man to hide without us seein’ him, eventually. You just always go for the craziest answers to things. Your pictures only prove that the tracks of some hunter melted out in the snow to form what you decided were Big Foot tracks. Or hell, maybe someone was just playin’ a big joke on you.”

  “I don’t care about all that,” said Sparky, stepping in. “Something sure as hell has stopped all the traffic in town, and the sheriff sent me over here to commandeer a vehicle. He ain’t gonna be too happy that you don’t have one for me to commandeer.”

  “Well I don’t have what I don’t have,” said Vince without expression.

  “I understand that,” said Sparky. “But if you, of all people, can’t get something running, then we’ve got some serious problems here in Cottonwood.”

  Sparky had just finished his last words when something moving outside caught Vince’s attention and then the other’s. Through the dirt-streaked lobby window, they saw a shiny blue car pulling into the lot. It was Ned Quinlan driving his recently purchased all-electric sedan. It was the only one in town, and he had been showing it off the past few weeks.

  Vince and Duke looked at Sparky. “Boys,” said Sparky, “I just got me a new police car.”

  The three got up from their seats and headed out to greet Ned at his car. Ned was getting out just as they walked up to him.

  “Hi guys,” said Ned.

  “Hey Ned,” they said in unison.

  “I thought I might find some activity over here. It seems I’ve got the only working car in town right now.”

  “We noticed,” said Sparky.

  The electric car was midnight blue. It appeared recently washed and waxed and sparkled nicely in the afternoon sun.

  Duke looked over at Vince. “What does this do to your electro-whatever pulse theory? You can’t tell me this doesn’t have a whole bunch of electronic parts inside of it. Hell, that’s probably all it has.”

  Vince just stared at it for a moment and then said to Ned, “I’d like you to start it up while I look under the hood. Maybe I can figure something out.”

  “Uh…it’s already running,” said Ned.

  “Oh yeah, right. Sneaky little things,” said Vince, forgetting how quiet all-electric vehicles were. He’d only come across a handful before. “I guess we’d better be careful crossing the streets now. We won’t be able to hear it coming. Old Blind Carl better be especially careful.” He paused for a moment and then said, “Well why don’t you hop in and turn it off, and then—”

  Sparky cut him off. “Just hold on a minute, Ned. Don’t be turning anything off here. You’ve got the only working car in town, and I’ve got to officially inform you that under authority of the Cottonwood Sheriff’s Department, I am taking possession of this car.”

  “What?!” said Ned. “Like hell you are. You can’t do that. This is my car and you’ve got no right to—”

  “Save it, Ned,” Sparky said. “Of course, I can do it. I’m pretty sure that the mayor and others on the emergency committee are going to be meetin’ pretty soon and declaring an official state of emergency here in Cottonwood. I’m on orders from John to find any working vehicle in town and take control of it—and that’s just what I’m doing. If you’ve got an issue with that, talk to the sheriff.”

  Vince and Duke looked at Ned. He fell silent. His car was his baby and everyone knew that. Sparky was asking him to turn over his only child.

  “This is ridiculous,” Ned said finally. “And I won’t bother talking to the sheriff since the mayor is my next-door neighbor.”

  “Just give me the keys,” said Sparky, holding out his hand.

  “It’s running,” said Ned. “They’re in the car.”

  “Oh…right,” Sparky said as he dropped his hand and walked toward the open driver’s door.

  “You’ll park it in your garage at night?” Ned
said, following behind Sparky.

  “I’ll take care of it like it was one of my own,” said Sparky, stepping into the car. “The town really appreciates your donation.”

  Ned only glared at him. “You’ll get about two hundred fifty miles between charges if you’re just driving on the streets around here,” said Ned, stepping over to the open door and looking down at Sparky. “I charged it last night, so it’s fresh today. There’s a retractable AC power cord up front under the grill. Just plug it in each night, and you’re good to go in the morning.”

  Sparky rubbed his hands across the top of the steering wheel and looked around the inside of the car. “It’s pretty comfy for an all-electric. Roomy even,” he said. “Maybe I’ll recommend to the sheriff that we get a few of these when it comes time to replace our old Fords.”

  “Just take care of it,” Ned said slowly.

  “Don’t worry,” Sparky said, reaching out to close the door, forcing Ned to step back to where Vince and Duke were standing. “I’ll probably be lucky to put ten miles on it before this whole crazy thing is over. I’ll personally drop it off at your house when our patrol cars are running again. Thanks again, Ned.”

  Sparky closed the door, shifted into drive, and slowly and silently pulled out of the lot, leaving the three men to watch him drive away.

  Vince looked at Ned. “He could have at least given you a ride home.”

  Ned said nothing but looked like a parent watching his young child leaving for the first day of school.

  Vince nudged Ned on the arm. “C’mon,” he said, “I’ve got some fresh coffee inside. At least Sparky didn’t get any of that.”

  Ned eventually turned, and the three men started walking toward the front door of the garage. It was Vince who glanced back over his shoulder to Ned’s midnight blue electric car that was now nearly out of sight. “That car has more electronics in it than any others in town,” he said. “It makes no god-damn sense that it should be the only one running.”