Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  Official protocol called for the emergency committee to meet privately, but the phones had been ringing off the hook at town hall ever since vehicles started stalling out. This prompted Mayor Gilmore’s decision to hold a special town hall meeting where citizens could get information and vent their concerns. The emergency committee decided it would listen to citizen input and then hold a private meeting afterwards.

  The meeting was scheduled for 5 p.m. in the community room of the Cottonwood town hall, which also housed the courthouse and library. The early evening air was still and warm, and the air conditioning in the room had a hard time keeping the standing-room-only crowd cool. The emergency committee members were seated behind a table at the front of the room, with Mayor Gilmore at its center.

  The mayor banged a gavel on the table, and eventually the general buzz in the room quieted down. “I’d like to call this special public meeting of the Cottonwood emergency committee to order,” he said with his customary loud and authoritative voice. The acoustics in the room were good, and there was no need for microphones. “I’m glad to see so many of you interested in the current situation right now in our town. I see a great many familiar faces this evening and also some new faces in the audience. I’m guessing many of you have probably become stranded in our community as a result of this unusual occurrence. Welcome to Cottonwood, and though we’re certainly sorry it’s under these circumstances, we hope you’ll take this opportunity to look around our lovely town and maybe even do some shopping.”

  The mayor paused as a few chuckles came from the audience and then he continued: “I want to, first of all, assure everyone here that we are working diligently on finding both the cause and the solution to our traffic situation. We will be working around the clock to do just that. During this meeting, we will try to answer as many questions as we can and give you the latest information that we have. So, right now I think I’d like to have Fire Chief Redmond give us an update on the situation. Chief Redmond…”

  Fire Chief Redmond, a tall man with silver gray hair and gray mustache, nodded to the mayor and stood up as he began to speak: “Thank you, Mayor. As most of you know by now, motorized vehicles in and around the town of Cottonwood began stalling out earlier today, shortly before the noon hour. Not only did they stall out, but they also refused to start. We’ve had our town’s best mechanic, Vince Pasternack, looking at the problem, but so far without success. He’s as stumped as the rest of us about what’s caused this event. In terms of how widespread this thing is…well, our best guess right now is that the affected area extends out approximately five miles north and south of the town along the highway and perhaps east and west as well. We just aren’t sure yet.”

  The crowd quieted to a near complete silence as Chief Redmond continued: “Obviously, this is a most unusual circumstance but not completely unlike other types of emergencies we’ve faced before here in Cottonwood. Our current lack of mobility is not unlike what we’ve faced before during severe winter storms. Those storms, which we all know can sometimes be so bad that the plows can’t even get through, cause all traffic to come to a standstill, much like the situation we face now. In many regards, we are actually much better off in this current crisis than we might be during a winter storm. Because it’s summer, we can all ride bikes or walk to places we need to get to. Also, there’s not the prospect of someone freezing to death, as one might in a snowstorm.

  “Our biggest concern right now is with potential emergency situations, such as a fire or some sort of medical emergency in which someone might require an ambulance or paramedic. These emergencies could present major problems for us. Right now, miraculously enough, we’ve had no emergency calls since this episode began. We’ll keep our fingers crossed that this trend continues until this emergency comes to an end. Currently, Sheriff O’Neil has the only working vehicle that we know of in the area, and it’s an all-electric one. He’s promised to make it available in any emergency situation. We certainly want to thank Ned Quinlan for the use of his car. We promise to take good care of it, Ned—if you’re out there in the audience somewhere.

  “Finally, I can tell you that I’ve been in touch with State of Colorado emergency management officials and have given them a briefing on the situation. They are forming a team and planning to drive down here from their regional office in Grand Junction. They are trying to round up some electric vehicles to make the trip. I think that’s pretty much all I can tell you at this time. So far, everyone seems to be safe, and outside of having to walk a bit more, life in Cottonwood is pretty much going on as usual.”

  Fire Chief Redmond sat down, and the crowd began to chat amongst themselves. Though the room was filled mostly with Cottonwood citizens, as the mayor had observed, scattered amongst them were several travelers whose cars, trucks, motorcycles, and even one tour bus had stalled out along the highway north and south of town. Leaning against the wall at the very back of the room was a tall man holding a cane. He spoke to no one, but rolled the cane over and over in his fingers and looked at it as though he was closely studying it.

  As the crowd’s conversation continued to rise once more to a higher volume, Mayor Gilmore banged his gavel on the table. “If I could have your attention, please,” he began. “Now, I am sure that many of you probably have some questions, and so right now we’d like to hear from you. Please speak up so that we and everyone else in the room can hear your questions. We’ll try to answer them as best we can with what we know at this time.”

  Several hands immediately went up in the air. Mayor Gilmore picked one belonging to a face he recognized in the front row. It was Bethany Crawford, the mayor’s neighbor and organist at the First Methodist Church of Cottonwood. “Yes, Bethany,” the mayor said, pointing at her.

  “Cameron, uh…Mayor,” began the petite gray-haired Bethany, “I’d like to hear more about what anyone knows about the cause of this. I’ve heard some rumors that maybe the government or military has been testing some sort of new secret weapon in the area, and that’s what caused this mess. What do you know about that?”

  All eyes were on the mayor, who cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I too have heard those rumors, and let me assure you they are just that. I have spoken with several officials at the state level who have been in contact with federal officials, including the military. They have assured me that, to the best of their knowledge, there is no known government or military involvement in what has happened here in Cottonwood. They are as puzzled as we are.”

  “Thank you, Mayor,” Bethany said politely as she sat down.

  More hands were raised. The mayor pointed to a dark-haired man in his forties who was sitting a few rows back and to the right of Bethany. The mayor didn’t recognize the man and assumed he was from out of town.

  The man stood up as he began to speak: “I was just wondering about the food supply, Mayor. I’m staying down at the Cottonwood Inn, and earlier I was eating dinner in the little diner across the street when I overheard them talking about running out of food if the delivery trucks couldn’t get to Cottonwood. Do you think food could be a problem if this emergency continues?”

  “Well, I’ve seen nothing to indicate that the food supply in Cottonwood is at all in peril,” said the mayor. “This crisis is not even a day old. Naturally, if this thing drags on a few days, we might see minor shortages of a few items, but nothing that would constitute a threat to the whole food supply of the town. That just won’t happen.”

  The man sat back down as the mayor added, “And by the way, I think you were probably talking about Ernie’s Diner. I spoke with the owner just a while ago, and he assures me his food stocks are holding up just fine, and as long as you’ll be staying with us here in Cottonwood for a bit, we hope you’ll enjoy a few more fine meals at Ernie’s and leave some more of your money with us before you go.”

  This comment brought some more chuckles from the audience. The quick-witted mayor then added, “and if I didn’t know our own chamber of commerce president b
etter, who happens to be the owner of Ernie’s Diner, I’d suspect he was behind this whole thing as a way to trap tourists into staying in Cottonwood, spending their money here whether they want to or not.” Again, there were more laughs from the crowd.

  There were several more questions from around the room, until the number of raised hands dwindled down to only a few. What became obvious to those listening to the flow of questions and answers was that the emergency committee really had no idea what had caused the sudden stoppage of vehicles in the area, but they didn’t expect it to last very long or cause any real problems, so long as there wasn’t a fire or other real emergency requiring a rapid response by the police or fire departments. Generally, the mood of the crowd improved the longer the meeting went on, especially as the mayor continued with his witty and light-hearted responses.

  As the number of raised hands trickled down to next to nothing, the mayor said, “Okay, I think we’ve got time for one more question.” He looked to the back of the room where a tall man had his hand up. “Yes, in the back of the room,” the mayor said, pointing right at Matthew Duncan.

  “Cameron,” Matthew began, assuming an air of familiarity and informality that seemed to catch the mayor and others off guard. Heads turned to see who had addressed the mayor so casually; only someone who knew the mayor well would certainly be so bold. “You are the leader of this town and ultimately have responsibility for the health and welfare of all the people in this room. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Of course,” said the mayor nodding and then adding, “And by the way, do I know you, sir?”

  “Yes, I think you probably do,” said Matthew. “I’ve been away for a while, but the name is Matthew Duncan.”

  Upon hearing this, many heads in the audience once more turned to look back at the man who was speaking to the mayor. Down the row from the mayor, another set of eyes, those of Sheriff John O’Neil, stared at Matthew.

  The mayor smiled politely. “Matt Duncan! Of course, I know you. I wasn’t aware you were back in town. You sure picked an interesting time to return. Welcome back to Cottonwood!”

  “Thank you,” Matthew answered politely and then quickly returned to his previous question. “So as mayor, you are responsible for the health and welfare of this town, and it appears that by holding this meeting you obviously take that responsibility seriously. I suppose then that you are working hard to try to restore Cottonwood to the way it was before all the traffic stopped?”

  “Of course, I am,” said the mayor most assuredly. He then glanced down the table at the other emergency committee members and then back to Matthew. “I can assure you that everyone seated here is completely committed to ending this crisis and returning life to normal here in Cottonwood.”

  “From what I’ve seen in my first day back here, Cameron, normal isn’t all that great these days—there are a lot of boarded-up shops along Main Street.”

  The mayor paused for a moment and said, “I’m sorry, but I fail to see the connection to the issue at hand.”

  Matthew smiled and said, “I know you don’t, but I think you will eventually. But my final question is this—how can you be sure that the way things are right now is not better than the way they were before all the traffic stopped?” Several muted chuckles rolled their way through the crowd.

  The mayor stared once more at Matthew, glanced down the table at Chief Redmond while rolling his eyes, and then looked back toward Matthew. “Excuse me, Matt, but I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re getting at. Are you saying that it’s better for all of us to have to walk or ride a bike everywhere we go? Or what if one of our homes caught fire? Would it be better if the fire department couldn’t make it over to put it out because their trucks couldn’t run, and then maybe the next house would catch fire, and then the next, until the whole town burnt down? Or maybe, if this thing went on for months, it would be better that we’d all starve to death because no grocery or food supply trucks could get through. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  Mayor Gilmore was getting a bit red in the face, and his voice had grown louder and higher. “As the mayor of Cottonwood, I am responsible for the health and welfare of this community, and I can emphatically say that I am completely certain that the way things were before we had this crisis is the way we want things to return to and the way we will be returning things to, very shortly.”

  “Thank you for that answer, Cameron. I just wanted to completely understand your position on everything—and I have just one more question. Have you ever—”

  Mayor Gilmore cut him off. “I thought the previous one was your last question? I think we need to conclude this—”

  “It’s very short,” Matthew interrupted as the crowd’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two men.

  The mayor paused for a moment, and then a forced smile washed across his face. “Very well, then. Since it’s your first day back in town, why not? Go ahead…”

  “Thank you, Cameron. I just wanted to know if you’ve ever heard the song of the Western Meadowlark here in town?”

  Mayor Gilmore squinted at Matthew as though it might help him understand something better. “I…” he hesitated, shaking his head before continuing, “I once more fail to see what your question has to do with anything we’ve been talking about, but to answer this last question of yours—I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t know the song of a Western Meadowlark from a sparrow, robin, or whatever, and I think that concludes our questions for now.”

  The mayor then banged his gavel and adjourned the meeting. The crowd began to trickle out of the building, with more than a few people glancing at Matthew and then whispering to the person next to them. No one, however, came over to greet him, and more importantly, no one paid any attention to the cane he was holding.

  The emergency committee stayed behind, waiting for the crowd to disperse. Sheriff O’Neil motioned to Sparky, who had been standing close by throughout the meeting, to come over to the table where he was seated.

  “I want you to discreetly follow Mr. Duncan,” Sheriff O’Neil whispered to Sparky. “Find out where he’s staying here in town. I think we need to keep close tabs on him. Marlene told me he’d been talking oddly earlier today. My cop sense is telling me that he could be trouble for us.”

  “Can I use the electric car?” asked Sparky.

  The sheriff stared at Sparky for a moment. “Now, how discreet could you be by following him in the only running car in town?”

  “Oh, yeah, I get your point,” answered Sparky.

  “Now get going before he gets too far. Report back to me later.” Sparky turned to leave, but the sheriff stopped him. “Uh, Sparky, one more thing…the keys to the electric car? I’ll be taking it home tonight.”

  Sparky started reaching into his pocket but stopped. “I don’t have ‘em,” he said. “I left the car running, because I was afraid it might not start again. It’s parked right out front. It’s got plenty of charge, but Ned said to plug it in each night just to make sure.”

  Sheriff O’Neil nodded his head and made a shooing motion with his hand. Sparky turned and headed for the door. Matthew had already left the room, so Sparky hurried to catch up.

  Outside the town hall building, Sparky scanned up and down the street at the dispersing crowd and quickly spotted Matthew to his right, heading south in the general direction of Ernie’s Diner.

  As the deputy sheriff of Cottonwood, it was a rare occasion for Sparky to get a chance to follow someone. This was just one more added bit of excitement to an already extraordinary day. He had commandeered a car and was now tailing someone discreetly. Being cautious, he hung back near the town hall entrance, allowing Matthew to get a few blocks ahead.

  As Sparky focused his attention on the important task given him by the sheriff, he overlooked one important detail missing from the street in front of the town hall. The electric car Sparky had so officially commandeered earlier that day, and had driven so proudly around the town during the afternoon, was no l
onger parked where he had left it. Sparky walked right by the empty parking spot as he followed Matthew Duncan.

  At that very moment, Cottonwood’s only official operational vehicle, Ned Quinlan’s pride and joy, was now many miles from town, traveling north on Colorado Highway 550, passing through Montrose and on to Grand Junction. Behind the wheel was an inexperienced driver who was, however, learning with astonishing ease. The driver was amazed and pleased at how quiet the electric vehicle was and rolling down all the windows, listened deeply and joyfully to the chirping symphony of crickets in the tall grasses and fields along the highway. The driver was enjoying the music of an ancient song, as the small though skilled musicians had inhabited the earth for millions of years before the arrival of humans and were perfectly connected and in tune with their world—singing in rhythm to the temperature of the cooling evening air.

  Twenty-Four

  Ernie’s Diner

  The customers gathered in Ernie’s Diner were in unusually high spirits, especially considering that the town was officially on emergency footing, as designated by the official Cottonwood emergency committee. Every table in the diner was filled, and there was, for the first time that any current employee could recall, an actual waiting list with a lobby full of customers eagerly wanting to sit down for a meal.

  Many of those gathered at Ernie’s had come straight from the town hall meeting and were still buzzing and chattering about what was discussed—the emergency and whether or not the mayor had been telling the truth when he said the military wasn’t involved in some way in the event. Conspiracy theories abounded, but not one person seemed too upset thus far with the “emergency.” No one had really been inconvenienced, except maybe for Ned Quinlan. The general good feelings and sociability of the crowd might instantly turn, of course, if the anticipated one or two-day temporary break from their comfortable daily routines lingered much longer than that or forced some greater inconvenience upon their lives. All in all, the mood in Ernie’s Diner was much like you’d expect on a holiday—jovial, cordial, and high in spirits.