Rebecca and Matthew arrived at her home a little after midnight. She had left as a single woman, living alone—that was a lifetime ago. She now returned, married to a man she had thought, only one day prior, would be missing from her life forever. The changes of the past day were like the changes brought upon a small mountain stream from a sudden flash flood—the landscape is quickly transformed forever without any hint beforehand of what was to come. The realities of all that her new status meant, and would mean over the years, were not yet apparent. It was still a dream to her. It was her wedding night. Reality, whatever it would bring, and whatever it meant, could wait for the morning.
“Shall I fix some tea?” Rebecca asked, while turning on a light and letting her keys fall onto the coffee table by the door.
Matthew looked at her and smiled. “Do you want some tea?” he asked, in way that seemed to both answer the question and reveal its silliness.
Rebecca caught his meaning.
The two moved closer and embraced and kissed, long and deeply.
“I’ve waited so long for you,” she whispered into his ear, nibbling it slightly, her heart pounding once more to a beat she’d not felt for years.
“And I’ve gone in a great circle to come back to you,” he said, pulling her closer, kissing her rose and cream cheek and neck, and then finding her soft lips once more.
Rebecca pulled back and stood staring into his loving and longing eyes. She began to unbutton his shirt down to the last button. She helped him slip it off, and it fell to the earthen-tone carpet beneath them. She moved her hands up from his muscular stomach, across his sculpted chest, then each hand in parallel around his shoulders and down his arms. She felt each muscle and each hair. She moved down to his strong hands, grasping each tenderly with hers.
“Would you like to listen to some music?” she asked.
He pulled her close and kissed her again. He nibbled playfully on her earlobe and whispered in her ear, “Your breath…your voice…are music to me—anything else would be a waste.”
Rebecca looked into his eyes. They were intensity itself—vital and alive, longing, but not desperate. She released one hand but held the other and led him down a short hallway to the bedroom.
The bedroom was lit by a small nightlight. She led Matthew over to the bed and patted the bed lightly. Matthew sat down. The bedroom window was open, and a slight breeze carried in the coolness and freshness of life from the summer night.
“I’ll be right back,” Rebecca said, letting go of Matthew’s hand and leaving the room.
Matthew looked around the room. Even in the dim light, he could see the theme of life. The room was filled with the patterns of flowers. Pictures and wallpaper painted a garden of beauty on every wall. A potpourri on the dresser filled the room with the scent of jasmine.
Rebecca returned, carrying several candles in holders. She placed them around the room on the dresser and on the nightstand. She lit them carefully, almost ceremoniously. Matthew stayed seated on the bed but followed her around the room with his eyes. As she moved around the room, occasionally she would glance over at him, and they would exchange the look and smile of calm anticipation. She wanted to remember every second of this night—to relish every nuance, every taste, every sensation, and the meanings they would share. There was nothing hurried. There was nowhere to go or to be but where they were.
Finally, Rebecca was done with the candles and walked within a few feet of him, facing him and looking down into his brilliant eyes. Without speaking and without taking her eyes off of him, she slowly undid the buttons on her blouse, releasing it to the floor. Under her blouse was a sleeveless cotton T-shirt with a colorful flower design, and underneath the design were the words Gardening is Life. She crossed her arms, pulling the T-shirt off in one motion and tossing it somewhere behind her into the dimly lit room. She reached behind her, unclasping her bra, and let it join the blouse on the floor. A few more snaps and zippers, and she stood fully revealed before her husband as a newborn babe. Her long auburn hair was now let down to flow over her shoulders, her womanhood revealed fully before him.
She stepped up to him, while at the same time he reached slowly up and put a warm hand on each of her hips. He brought her close to him, keeping his gaze up at her; he gently kissed her smooth stomach. He moved upward on her body with his gentle lips, slowly and tenderly lighting each pore of her body aflame with the electric vitality of love’s passion. Flame meeting flame, fire joining fire, their reunion was complete.
Rebecca and Matthew’s shadows danced their wedding dance throughout the night—their shadows cast by candlelight and painted on the walls amongst the flowers and the scent of jasmine.
Thirty-Three
The State Arrives
Late in the evening on Friday, the day traffic had come to a halt in Cottonwood, the Colorado State Patrol set up roadblocks on Highway 550 several miles outside of town, approaching from the north and south. No traffic was being allowed past these roadblocks without permission from state authorities. All internal-combustion vehicles would simply stall out a mile or so inside the roadblocks. The state patrol didn’t need the headache of rescuing any more stranded motorists. Even the few motorists attempting to travel through Cottonwood in electric vehicles were not to be allowed past the roadblocks without permission. Cottonwood’s police and fire departments lacked any sort of response capabilities, and ill-intended outsiders could easily take advantage of that shortcoming, if so desired.
The state’s response to the Cottonwood emergency was being coordinated by the Colorado Division of Emergency Management, also known as CDEM. The director of the Western Slope Bureau was Gwendolyn Mercer. Professionally, she always went by Ms. Mercer, though her friends called her Gwendolyn but never Gwen. She was one of the few women at such a high level of emergency management, and she hadn’t achieved her position by being anything other than tough and businesslike.
It was Gwendolyn Mercer who had first ordered the roadblocks positioned outside of Cottonwood, and it was she who was driving the lead car of three in a caravan of electric vehicles that had left from Grand Junction early Saturday morning. Including Gwendolyn, eight CDEM employees were traveling to Cottonwood to assess the situation.
As they slowed to a stop at the roadblock, about six miles north of Cottonwood, a state patrol officer approached the lead vehicle. He wore a wide-brimmed felt hat, similar to that worn by a U.S. Forest Ranger, only his was dark blue-gray in color, rather than olive drab. The hat contained the rather unusual insignia of the Colorado State Patrol—a spoke tire with angel’s wings coming out from each side. The officer was dressed in an impeccably neat and crisp uniform, complete with sunglasses.
“Good morning, Officer,” said Gwendolyn through her open window. “I believe you’ve been notified of our arrival here? I’m Gwendolyn Mercer with CDEM.” Gwendolyn held up her CDEM identification badge attached to a lanyard around her neck.
The officer glanced at the badge for a moment. “Yes, we’ve been expecting you, Ms. Mercer,” he said. He looked back at the other two vehicles in line behind the lead car. “And it’s just these three vehicles?”
“That’s right—three vehicles with a total of eight of us in the group.”
Gwendolyn reached down beside her seat and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here’s a list of all the people on the team, including their full names and contact information.”
The officer took the list and seemed a bit surprised. “I’m not sure I’ll need this, but thanks,” he said.
Gwendolyn was nothing, if not thorough. “You never know. More information is better than less, I always say,” she said, smiling at the officer over her own efficiency. “We should be back this way later today, probably well before sunset, I would think.”
“Sounds good.” said the officer. “I’m pulling a twelve-hour shift today, so I’ll probably still be here. Just be aware that you’ll need to dodge around some of the stalled-out vehicles further on up in the ‘Dead
Zone,’ which is what we’ve started calling it. You’ll even see one of our own state patrol cars stalled out. It got stranded when an officer tried to help some of the motorists. The officer wasn’t too happy about having to walk back out.”
“Just to let you know,” said Gwendolyn, “I’ve already ordered a few all-electric tow trucks to be sent down here to start clearing those vehicles off the road. They should be arriving later this morning.”
“Thanks. We’ll be on the lookout for them,” replied the officer. He then allowed the three vehicles to pass through the roadblock, carefully writing down their license plate numbers.
About a mile inside the roadblock, the caravan came upon the beginning of the Dead Zone. Trucks, cars, busses, and a state patrol car were all parked right on the highway, exactly where they’d stopped running. The caravan had to weave gently from lane to lane to maneuver around the stalled vehicles. Along one side of the road was a stalled motorcycle. It was light enough that the owner had been able to push it off to the shoulder.
About four miles north of Cottonwood, the caravan passed a large brick building on the right side of the road. A sign in front of the building near the highway read The Colorado Western State Home for the Developmentally Disabled. Gwendolyn took note of the facility and continued on toward the town. In total, by the time the caravan arrived in Cottonwood, they’d counted forty-seven abandoned and stalled-out vehicles of various types, with many of those along Main Street, which the highway was named as it passed through the town.
Gwendolyn parked right on the street in front of the town hall, not even bothering to pull into a parking space, as there was no other moving traffic to worry about. Gwendolyn had phoned ahead and let Fire Chief Redmond know when to expect their arrival. The Cottonwood emergency committee, with the noted absence of Sheriff O’Neil, was waiting and met with the CDEM group in the large conference room inside the hall.
Mayor Gilmore started the meeting with introductions, but Gwendolyn quickly assumed the role of chairperson. Mayor Gilmore sat next to her with his head tipped to one side as though paying intense attention but not looking directly at her.
“Perhaps,” began Gwendolyn, “we can start out now with a situation report from both our teams. Chief Redmond, if you could begin by giving us an update on the situation here in Cottonwood this morning.”
A large square grouping of tables had been set up with an open area in the middle. Chief Redmond sat at the opposite side of the arrangement from Gwendolyn and the mayor. He stood up as he began talking:
“Actually, overnight, things were pretty quiet. We’ve had lots of phone calls, of course, from people wondering what we’re doing to solve this crisis, but so far we haven’t seen any real complications from it. As a matter of fact, I’m a light sleeper and always sleep with all the windows closed for complete silence, but last night I slept with them open for the first time in a long time—I slept like a baby.”
The chief smiled at his last comment, but it quickly faded away when he glanced at Gwendolyn, who did not seem interested or amused by his personal story.
“So you’ve had no disruptions thus far? No emergencies? No fires? No shortages?” Gwendolyn asked the chief.
“Not really,” said the chief. “Nothing critical.”
“Thank you then for that report, Chief Redmond.” The fire chief took his seat as Gwendolyn turned to Mayor Gilmore. “And how about the crime situation here, Mayor? Is your sheriff here to give us a report?”
“I understand he’s on official business right now,” the mayor said. “He called me early this morning. I guess we do have a report of a possible missing person.”
“A missing person?” Gwendolyn said, noting the mayor’s comments carefully into a notebook. “Is it related to the emergency?”
“All I know is it’s one of our citizens. I don’t have any more information right now.”
Gwendolyn jotted down a few more notes in her notebook and then clicked her pen closed. “All right then,” she said, “but I expect a briefing from your sheriff—and soon.” She then turned and looked toward her right. “I guess it’s time for a briefing from our team. Bill, would you please do the honors?”
The Bill she referred to was William Dressler, the manager of operations for CDEM. He oversaw all communications and general support functions for any emergency operation conducted by the organization. Some people called him Bill and some William. It really didn’t seem to matter to him either way. He was seated a few chairs to the right of Gwendolyn. He also stood up as he addressed the group:
“Thanks, Gwendolyn. As of this morning, the highway patrol had a total of eighty-five stalled vehicles reported to them on the highways and roads around Cottonwood. We counted over forty of those on our drive in from the north today. Last night the state patrol set up roadblocks at both entrances to the town, just outside what it seems they are calling the ‘Cottonwood Dead Zone.’ This is, of course, meant with no disrespect to the people of Cottonwood, as it is clear that you are all quite alive, and it’s only your vehicles that are dead.”
Some chuckles went up from the group, except for Gwendolyn, who was once more taking notes and only glanced up long enough to give William Dressler a glare.
William noted the glare, erased the smile from his face, and continued: “All stranded passengers seem to have made it to either Cottonwood or other surrounding locations, as there are no reports of travelers still with their vehicles or walking on the highway away from Cottonwood. With the information that Chief Redmond just related to us, there don’t seem to be any immediate emergencies, injuries, or fatalities reported, so far, as a result of this crisis—though I will be interested in hearing more about this missing person as we get more details. The biggest issue we’re facing is not what’s happening here in Cottonwood, but more of a regional issue. Traffic is being rerouted around this area, and that seems to be causing some disruptions, especially on the highways around Telluride.
“As far as Cottonwood is concerned, we are most concerned now with potential impacts on food supplies and how the town might be able to handle an emergency, should it arise, such as a fire or other public-safety emergency requiring the use of vehicles. The state is working along side Chief Redmond to secure some all-electric emergency vehicles, but so far they’ve proven hard to locate, and the handful we’ve found that might be available are all, apparently, in Europe!”
There were a few more chuckles from the group following the “Europe” comment by William. He also seemed to want to chuckle but refrained after glancing at Gwendolyn, who kept her expressionless face looking down at her rapidly filling notebook.
After the chuckles died out, he continued: “So we may not be able to get all-electric vehicles built specifically for emergency purposes in here for some time and may have to make do with more general-purpose electric vehicles for a while, if this crisis continues. That pretty much concludes my overview.” He then sat down and looked at Gwendolyn.
“Thank you, Bill,” said Gwendolyn. “I want to let you all know that the state is prepared to bring food in by helicopter, if necessary, if this crisis continues beyond a few more days.” She looked once more at the mayor. “Your food supply is holding up for now?”
“We’ve had no reports from anybody complaining about the lack of food, so far,” the mayor said. “I’ve even heard a story that at our local diner here…” The mayor paused, for at that moment, Sheriff O’Neil walked into the conference room. The mayor then added, “Oh, it looks like our town sheriff, John O’Neil, has been able to join us after all.”
“Sorry I was delayed,” said Sheriff O’Neil as he moved to an empty seat near Chief Redmond, “but there is an issue we are dealing with this morning.”
“Nice of you to join us, Sheriff,” interjected Gwendolyn. “I’m Gwendolyn Mercer, the regional director of CDEM. I’ll introduce the rest of our team later. We understand that you’ve been dealing with a missing person this morning. Maybe you could tell us abou
t that and give us a full public-safety update. Does this missing person case appear to be related to the transportation crisis here?”
The sheriff glanced at the mayor and then back to Gwendolyn. The sheriff had taken his seat and remained seated as he addressed the group:
“Well, I’m not sure if it is or isn’t related to the crisis, but we did get the report of a possible missing person last night, and now this morning, I’m sad to report that it sure looks like we do, indeed, have a missing person.”
“Who is it?” the mayor asked.
“It’s Old Blind Carl,” replied the sheriff.
There were a few hushed whispers and looks of surprise from the Cottonwood members at the meeting.
“Is this a local citizen?” asked Gwendolyn.
“He’s one of our oldest and best known,” answered Mayor Gilmore, “and sort of a ‘town favorite’ everyone knows and likes. He’s about the last person I’d ever expect to go missing.”
“We’ve searched everywhere for him,” interjected the sheriff as he looked at the mayor, “including his home, of course, and down on Main Street in front of Masterson’s, and even McCann Park, but unfortunately—there’s not a trace of him anywhere.”
“It’s odd this would happen the same time as your traffic emergency. Do you see a possible connection?” asked Gwendolyn.
“I’m not sure what to think just now, and I’d really prefer not to give too many details, as our investigation is obviously ongoing. Let’s just say that we have some leads we’re working on. My deputy sheriff is following up on them as we speak.”
“Well,” began Gwendolyn, with as much concern as it seemed she could express in her voice, “I sure hope this turns out better than it looks right now. Please keep us updated as appropriate. How about any other security issues, Sheriff?”
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