Sunfall (Book 3): Impact

by Gideon, D.

  The sweater was thick and heavy, with a cable-knit design. He held it up to his shoulders and shook his head in wonder. It was damn near perfect.

  “And here’s for your other half,” she said, pushing another stack at him. “I mean, except for the underwear. I don’t do underwear here. But do you know I’ve had people ask? Used underwear. Blech.”

  He reached for the pair of sweatpants on top and checked the size. They’d fit his waist. He pulled them off of the stack and held them up.

  “I hope you’re not too picky. I know the waists will fit you, but the length is hit or miss,” she said. “It’s not so bad with sweatpants, most people wear ‘em scrunched up over their calves anyway. The jeans are where we’ll have to get creative.”

  He shifted the pile to the first pair of jeans and checked inside the waist.

  “How’d you guess my waist size?”

  Lisa actually looked offended. “I’ve had this shop for ten years. This is what I do. This is my art. The day I can’t guess the waist size on a fit man is the day I need to lock my doors.”

  The jeans fell about halfway down his calves.

  Damnit.

  He must have broadcast that thought with his expression, because Lisa fluttered her hands. “Don’t get discouraged! The waist and hips are what’s most important. The length we can fix. Look here.”

  She reached under the counter and came up with a laundry basket full of denim. She thrust her hands into the basket and lifted them up, letting the cloth fall down like rain.

  “I pick up a lot of men’s jeans at yard sales with little holes in the crotch,” she said. “I don’t know what it is, men digging at their junk all day or something, but it seems like the crotch is always the first to go. Anyway, I cut those up, and make my Denny Bears.”

  Lisa pointed to the denim teddy bears on the shelves. “Aren’t they adorable? They sell like hotcakes at the holiday craft fair. Well, they did. Don’t guess we’ll be having one this year.”

  He pulled a piece of denim off of the pile and turned it over.

  “We find some leg pieces in there that are the same width as those jeans, and we add them on as extensions. It might look a little different, but it’s better than nothing, right?”

  Anything was better than nothing. Then again, nothing was ever free.

  “I don’t have money,” he said.

  She put her hands flat on the counter, leaned forward, and spoke sternly. “I. Almost. Killed you yesterday.” She straightened. “Let me make it up to you. Please. It’s not like I can wear this stuff, it’s all way too big for me. And no one else is walking in here wanting new clothes. They’ve all got closets stuffed full and more in boxes out in their sheds. They’re drowning in clothes. Take the stuff. Please?”

  When he hesitated, she held a finger up and hurried around the counter, plucked a bear from the shelf, and hustled back. She thrust it at him.

  “I’ll even throw in a Denny Bear. This one looks like it was made for you,” she said. “ Look at him. You can’t say no to that cute little demonic face.”

  He took the bear from her. It was a faded blue, like an old favorite pair of jeans. Its four paws ended in patches of soft black leather, and the insides of his ear tabs were leather, too. It had dark red buttons for eyes, and some black thread for a nose. He turned it over, and found a little skull and crossbones design on its back.

  It looked like a little hell raiser. It was perfect.

  “Look at that, he can smile,” Lisa said.

  The little chime sounded and they both turned to the door. Ripley stuck her head and shoulders in, squinting as her eyes adjusted.

  “Oh, thank god,” she said. “Preacher...I need you.”

  Preacher

  Preacher followed Ripley up the road, both of them walking straight up the center as if cars didn’t exist. It was no matter to step to the side when the Guard came barreling through; they could see for hundreds of feet in each direction. It wasn’t like the big diesel engines could sneak up on them, anyway.

  “You were my only option,” Ripley was saying. “It was nearly daylight when the guys got home, so they’re still asleep. Thomas is helping my Dad put up the plywood they brought back--and how they can sleep through that, I have no idea--and I can’t take Mel up there and have someone recognize her.”

  The sun was merciless, and he felt like he was going to sweat through the long-sleeved button down Ripley had made him put on. Better if we can hide the tattoos, she’d said. Then you’ll be less recognizable later on.

  He wasn’t quite sure what she expected to happen later on, but trying to keep as low a profile as possible made sense.

  Walking straight past all the Guard in their tents on the Rec Center grounds and presenting themselves at the front doors was the opposite of low-profile.

  A dark-skinned, female Guardsman stood next to a table, holding a clipboard. There was a short line of people waiting to get inside; she seemed to be questioning them. A few other Guardsmen stood nearby, rifles at the ready, and a tall skinny kid whose uniform was about to slip off of him was wanding each person that made it past the clipboard lady. The extra Guardsmen hadn’t even glanced at anyone else since he’d gotten in line. Their suspicious stares were nothing new. He pasted on his neutral expression and stared over their heads.

  “State your purpose for admittance,” Clipboard Queen said when they finally made it to the table.

  “We’re just here to get a couple meals and take them home,” Ripley said.

  Clipboard Queen, whose name tag read Wilson, shook her head. “The rules changed. Only one meal per person, and you gotta eat it here.”

  According to what Marco had told them, that was different.

  “Really? Why?” Ripley asked.

  “The Lieutenant Mayor said so. Something about people hoarding the MREs, and maybe selling them. Black market kind of thing. I dunno, not my problem. We’re just here to provide support, we don’t get to make the rules. Name, street, and ID?”

  “Jennifer Miller and Thomas Winters,” Ripley responded. She flipped her wallet open and handed over her driver’s license. “We’re over on Washington Street.”

  Clipboard Queen flipped through the papers on her clipboard, read for a moment, then marked something off. She handed back Ripley’s license and held out her hand, wiggling her fingers at him.

  “His wallet was stolen,” Ripley said.

  “I’ve got this piece of mail,” he said, pulling a crumpled and slightly damp envelope from his pocket and handing it over.

  In truth, his wallet was under the counter in Teddy’s shop, along with the clothes and the little Denny Bear Lisa had forced on him. Ripley had made him leave it, and had shoved the envelope at him. It was a reminder from the DMV to renew the license plates on Thomas’ truck.

  Letter from the state, can’t get more official than that, she’d said.

  “Uh-huh,” Wilson said, checking the name on the envelope and then leafing through the papers on her clipboard. Her brows drew together. “Says here on the voter registration form that you’re black.”

  He blinked. “It was a phase.”

  Wilson’s brows flew up. “A phase?”

  “Everyone was identifying as something they’re not. I convinced the lady at the DMV that I come from a black family, so I identify as black,” he said, shrugging.

  Ripley caught on. “I still can’t believe you had her thinking you’d use the Civil Rights Act to get her fired if she discriminated against your identity.”

  “I can be intimidating sometimes,” he deadpanned.

  Wilson stood looking from one to the other, her eyebrows still sky high. “Uh-huh,” she said again. “I’m supposed to believe that you got your wallet stolen. You. A man big enough to knock over a horse?”

  “Well I wasn’t gonna hit a woman,” he said.

  “A woman robbed you?”

  “Mean slip of a girl. Held a gun on me,” he said. He held his hand up even with the top
of Ripley’s head. “About yea high, brown hair.”

  Wilson blinked at him, her mouth hanging open a little. Okay, maybe he’d pushed it a little too far, but he was flying by the seat of his pants here.

  “Look, you’ve verified I’m a resident, and I vouch for him; isn’t that enough?” Ripley asked.

  Wilson shook her head. “I’d love to let you in, big boy. I haven’t been entertained this much since we got called up for this shit post. But I can’t let in unidentified people or guests of residents. Y’all would have to be married or something-“

  Ripley held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. She was still wearing Mel’s diamond. “Does fiancé count?”

  “You’re shitting me,” Wilson said.

  “He proposed right before I went back to school,” Ripley said with a smile.

  “Wedding’s April first,” he added.

  Wilson blinked at them some more, then shook her head. “Girl, you like to live dangerously,” she finally said. She thrust the envelope back at Preacher. “You know what? I think the bullshit’s getting too high out here. I’m getting the vapors.” She put her clipboard down on the table and pointed at the skinny guy with the wand. “You two get past him, and you can do whatever the hell you want. I’m taking a break.” She motioned to one of the extra Guardsmen. “Sisson, get over here and relieve me. I’m going for a walk.”

  “Go, go,” Ripley whispered, pushing him from behind.

  He went.

  They made it through the wanding and into the building’s lobby before Ripley spun on him and punched him in the arm.

  “You nearly blew this!” she hissed.

  He held his hand up to the top of her forehead. “Mean girl,” he said. “Yea high.”

  “I didn’t steal your wallet, I just made you leave it behind.”

  “Engaged for ten minutes, already broke.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “There’s no loitering in the lobby,” A woman called out. Preacher looked up to find a middle-aged woman, pasty and plump, standing behind a big curved counter.

  Ripley faked a concerned look and spun around. “I haven’t been in here before. I’m not sure where to go.”

  The lobby was a big open area, with a polished floor and a few groupings of furniture. There were only three ways to go; the doors they’d come through and two wide hallways on either side of the reception desk.

  The woman pointed to the hall on their right as they walked to the big counter. “Meals and registration for the shelter are down that hall,” she pointed to the opposite opening. “The City’s temporary offices are down that one. What are you here for?”

  “I...need to report an attempted assault,” Ripley said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Yesterday a bunch of men in a pickup truck threatened to shoot me and another girl if we didn’t tell them what food we had”

  “Oh dear,” the woman said. “Things have gotten so bad out there. You’ll be wanting the county clerk’s office. She’s handling the police reports until they can find someone else. First door on the right.”

  The clerk was a harried-looking woman with lots of freckles and reddish hair in a tiny office. A wide filing cabinet behind her held stacks of paper at varying heights, and plastic bins lined the walls stacked up in twos and threes. When Ripley repeated her story to her, she sighed and took a sheet of paper off of a stack behind her and handed it over.

  “Fill this out with as much detail as you can remember,” she said. “Be sure to put the location, too. I’ll be honest with you, though: it’s not likely that they’ll be found. We’ve got so many reports coming in daily of vandalism and robbery that we’ll be backed up for months trying to follow-up on them all.”

  “Well these guys were pretending to be police officers,” Ripley said. “Wouldn’t that mark it as urgent?”

  The woman made a disgusted noise. “There’s been people in neon yellow vests pretending to be power workers to gain entry to houses, and people dressed like those Mormon people—you know, the ones that ride the bikes—telling residents they were taking donations for the church. I guess it’s just the next step for them to start dressing like police men.”

  “Plain clothed,” Preacher said.

  Ripley nodded. “Yeah, they didn’t have on uniforms. That’s what made us suspicious. But they had these forms they wanted us to fill out.”

  The woman perked up. “Oh sweetie, do you mean the census? Here.” She leaned over to a plastic bin under the window with a stack of papers on it nearly a foot high. She pulled off the top sheet and handed it to Ripley. “Did it look like this?”

  Preacher leaned over Ripley’s shoulder and looked. It was the same form they’d been given, only this one was completely filled out.

  “This is it,” Ripley said, nodding. “You mean it’s legit? The City really wants to know all this stuff?”

  The woman nodded. “The City has to get this information. The Governor wants every resource accounted for.”

  Ripley’s voice was full of doubt. “The Governor wants to know how much food we have? Seriously?”

  “Honest to God.”

  “And those men, they weren’t pretending to be police officers?”

  “That was most likely our new Police Chief, Frank Stalls. He’s deputized some men as officers to work with him. You don’t remember him being Deputy Sheriff?”

  “I’ve been away at college for more than a year, and I just made it home yesterday,” Ripley lied, handing the census form back. “I don’t even know who’s who anymore. The Sheriff, the Mayor-”

  “Oh it’s still Kenny Wilhelm,” the clerk said, putting the form back onto its pile. “But he’s not just the Mayor anymore. He’s also Judge Wilhelm, and the Governor has appointed him Civil Officer, at least until all this is over. As for Sheriff, we’ve still got Simon Kane, not that he’s doing any good.“

  “What’s he doing?” Preacher asked.

  “He made this big scene at a town hall,” the clerk said. “Tried to get a lot of people in trouble. Even nearly got the Mayor killed out at the park during another town hall because he wouldn’t provide enough security.”

  “Sounds pretty bad,” Preacher said. Dotty had told him what had happened at those two town halls, and from what she’d said, any rioting had been the Mayor’s fault.

  The clerk nodded. “He’s been useless.” She leaned one elbow on her desk and started ticking off things on her fingers. “Won’t do a thing the City Council tells him to do. Wouldn’t assign his deputies to protect the government here in town. Isn’t using his deputies to protect the people now. He’s the biggest part of the reason we’ve had to move the town operations here to the Rec Center.”

  “God. Can’t he be recalled or something?” Ripley asked.

  “We’re trying. Problem is, it can’t just be a town vote, like the emergency one we held to make the Mayor a judge. Sheriff is a county position, and the whole county has to be involved in a recall vote. The Mayor’s working on it, but without phones and email it’s slow going. And it’s just getting more and more dangerous out there the longer the Sheriff’s refusing to do his job.”

  “Sounds like hell,” Preacher said.

  The clerk nodded. “There’s just so much to get done and no one’s willing to help. The Mayor’s just swamped, bless his heart. He’s working himself to death for this town.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to unload on you, or seem like I’m gossiping.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Ripley said, leaning forward in her chair. “I’m thankful for the information. I didn’t know any of this. I mean, I didn’t even know you guys were here at the Rec Center until I went to City Hall today and saw the sign.”

  “See?” The clerk said. “The Sheriff needs to be getting that info out. Notices on all the doors or something. Ugh. But you two really should get some things together and move here, into the Rec center. At least until the Guard can get things under control. It’s a lot safer than being out there
with all the vandals and druggies running around.”

  Ripley looked up at him as if looking for his agreement. “We could do that, honey. Get the dog, some stuff, and come back this afternoon.”

  The clerk shook her head. “You can’t bring any pets. Just yourselves.”

  Ripley looked genuinely confused now. “How are we supposed to keep our dog safe and healthy if we don’t bring him?”

  “Just put him in an indoor room, leave him some food and water. Pets are resilient. He’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not safe enough for me to be out there, but it’s safe enough for my dog-“ Ripley started, and Preacher hopped in before she pissed the clerk off.

  “Is there anything special we have to do to get into the shelter? Pay money?”

  “Oh goodness no. It’s free. You just have to bring your clothes, and toiletries...here, let me see.” She stood and crossed the room to a filing cabinet, and leafed through some papers there. “Here we go. Here’s a full set of the rules and what you need to bring.” She handed the paper to him. “The Guard is providing two meals a day, and cots in the gym. Everything else is your responsibility.”

  Preacher pretended to scan over the list and handed it to Ripley. “If it’ll be safer in here…”

  “Yeah,” Ripley said. “Maybe we should.”

  “Oh you really should,” the clerk said. “A pretty young girl like you? Young people like yourselves, out there alone? I shudder to think what could happen.”

  “Could we...see the facilities?” Ripley asked.

  “Well we don’t allow anyone who isn’t signed in to go back there, but I could take a few minutes and give you a tour, if you want?”

  Anything that would allow them to gather more info that might be useful against the City was something both he and Ripley wanted.

  “That sounds like just what we need,” Preacher said.

  Dotty

  The next morning was cool, with a thick fog hanging in the air. Preacher had gone to the corner and returned, with Sheriff Kane in tow. Dotty had sat with them on the front porch, enjoying the cooler weather, as everyone else was waking up and doing their morning routines. Dotty and Preacher filled Simon in on everything he and Ripley had learned the day before at the Rec Center, including the clerk’s personal opinion about the job he was doing.