by Gideon, D.
Dotty made a face and lowered her voice. “Can you get into the Rec Center?”
Simon
Simon leaned against the wall of the Rec Center’s gym and wiped his face with a handkerchief. It was hot enough in here to be criminal, despite the second day of cooler air outside. It was raining again today, and the wind had picked up. The doors at the end of the gym were propped open, but the breeze outside wasn’t helping things in here much at all.
Probably blowing the wrong way, Simon thought. Too bad it can’t get in here and clear some of this smell out.
The gym reeked of unwashed bodies, and the effect was nearly enough to make a person choke.
The National Guard had set up porta-potties, halfway between their makeshift camp and the gym doors. The entire thing was walled in by one of those instant fence contraptions that they’d erected all the way around the property. Shelter residents could step outside of the gym and walk around on the grounds or use the temporary facilities, but they couldn’t leave the Rec Center grounds from there.
If what Father Bill had found out was true, they couldn’t leave at all. Not without special permission, and that was hard to come by.
Getting kicked out, however, didn’t take nearly as much work.
He checked on Father Bill again—praying now with an older couple that must have been from his congregation—and moved closer to the outside doors. He didn’t want to get too far from the little man, but he needed more air.
That, and the looks he was getting from the shelter residents were making him feel heavily outnumbered.
He’d told Dotty that if there were rumors being spread about him there wasn’t much he could do, but hearing it was different than seeing the effects those rumors had had. There were more than a couple hundred townspeople crammed into this gymnasium, and he could’ve counted the number of friendly smiles he’d received on just one hand.
He pulled out his cellphone and checked it again. Marco had given him a power brick to take home with him last night so he could charge the thing up. It was set on camera and ready to go.
“Hey, you getting a signal?” A sickly-looking pale girl, about Ripley’s age, said from beside him. “Could I-?” She reached for the phone.
“No,” he said, moving it out of her reach.
“No what? No, I can’t make a call, or no, you’re not getting a signal?”
“Both,” he said, pocketing the phone. “I was just checking the time.”
“Yeah right,” the girl said. “Your watch isn’t good enough?”
“It’s slowing down. Needs a new battery.”
She gave him a flat look. Then her eyes lighted on his chest pocket and she pointed. “Then how about that? Can I have that?”
He looked at the Clif bar—one of the last from his stash in his office desk—and shook his head.
“Sorry, no to that, too,” he said. “It’s probably the only thing I’ll eat today.”
“Yeah right,” the girl said again. She snorted. “Guess it’s right, what they’re saying about you.”
“What are they saying?”
“They’re saying you’re living high on the hog out there, not doing your job. Say you’re holed up with some friends and a bunch of food that you refuse to donate to us here at the shelter.”
“That’s not true. Not a word of it.”
“And here you are, looking all nice and clean, with a working phone and so much food you’re carrying it around in your pocket. Sure, it’s not true.” She flipped him the bird and walked past, heading out into the rain.
He scanned the crowd and found a few people nearby regarding him with disgusted looks. When he caught them looking, they turned away and leaned close together, whispering.
I’ve had about enough of this, he thought. He pulled the pocket flap out from where he’d had it tucked in, and buttoned it in place. Now his Clif bar would be hidden, at least.
He hadn’t been lying. It probably would be the only food he’d have today. He had taken everything he had over to his mother’s house, and they were running low. He’d been eating as little as he could get away with, so it would last longer for her.
This apocalypse situation had taught him all kinds of things he’d never wanted to learn. For instance, if you’re used to eating three meals a day and suddenly go down to less than half a meal, the hunger pains can be enough to make you double over. He thought it might be better to just stop eating all together. Then the constant gnawing, burning pain in his stomach might finally give up and go away completely.
“Lost in thought?”
Simon blinked and found Father Bill standing at his elbow. That was something else: lack of food meant a lack of focus.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said.
“No need to apologize. We’ve all got a lot to think about. Are you ready for stage two?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Those doors over there lead to the side of the building with the offices, but they’re probably locked. We might have to go back around through the lobby.”
“They are locked,” Bill said. “The Johnsons just told me that King Kenny has kept them locked since the first night the shelter opened up. Let’s work our way around and get this over with.”
Moving back into the hallway was such a relief. The air conditioner was running in this part of the building.
“I’m surprised Wilhelm let the air stay on in this hallway,” he said. “Being that the shelter residents use it to get to the cafeteria.”
“I’m sure he’d shut it off if he could, but it keeps the Guard happy,” Bill said. They moved to the side as a few children ran by them, heading back to the gym. “As it is, the shelter residents are only allowed a half hour in the cafeteria. Twice per day if they volunteer, once per day if they don’t.”
They made their way through the lobby, Bill smiling and raising a hand to the receptionist. “The congregation’s doing well. We’ll be seeing about those patrols now,” he said.
“Clerk’s office is the first door on the right,” the receptionist said. She gave Bill a big smile in return, then glared at Simon once Bill passed by.
Can’t catch a break, he thought. Kinda makes what’s about to happen worth it.
Bill slipped into the clerk’s office with a big hello and lots of friendly chatter. Simon leaned against the doorframe and tried to look like nothing more than a dumb, bored bodyguard.
Don’t mind the Sheriff’s outfit. Nothing to see here.
Bill was telling the clerk about his congregation members outside of the shelter having trouble with vandalism, and asking when the new police chief was going to start patrols. The clerk was trying her best to dodge the question, focusing instead on getting him to fill out a police report on any crime he had specifics about.
“Could I get a handful of those?” Bill asked. “I know of at least ten different crimes that have taken place, but I’m not sure of the specifics. I could have my church members fill out the forms and then I could bring them all in at once.”
“Sure honey, that’ll work,” the clerk said, counting off forms. “What kind of crimes are we talking about?”
“One lady on the very same street as the church got up this morning to find two of her chickens missing,” Bill said. “That’s the third one to disappear. She’s getting very worried.”
Simon frowned. Dotty was missing more chickens? She’d thought the first one might have gotten out through carelessness, but it looked like that wasn’t the case.
Down the hall, Cindy Stalls came out of one of the offices and walked away from him, turning through an office door on the other side. Simon heard Mayor Wilhelm’s voice.
The clerk handed a bundle of forms to Bill.
That was his cue.
Simon straightened up, rolled his shoulders a bit, and stepped away from the doorway. When there was no objection by the clerk, he started down the hall.
There was another door on the right with a nerdy-looking fellow in glasses going over some map
s, muttering to himself. He didn’t even look up as Simon passed by. The next doors were on the left, directly next to each other. The restrooms. Both had shiny, heavy-duty clasps installed on them, and pins to keep the doors locked. Those must be the new ad-hoc jail cells.
He knocked softly on each door. There wasn’t a response.
Next he stopped and peered around the office Cindy had come out of. Unlike the clerk’s office, this one was larger and more well-appointed. There weren’t any stacks out at all, much less out of place, and a laptop sat open on the desk.
There were a number of additional doors dotting the length of the hall, but his target was here. He slipped the cellphone from his pocket and checked it again.
Ready to roll.
The door to the office Cindy had gone into was slightly ajar. He could hear the two of them talking. He pushed the door open silently, held the phone up, and started snapping pictures.
The digital shutter noise fired off rapidly and both of them looked up.
“Say cheese,” Simon said, tapping the video button.
“What the hell are you doing?” Cindy said, while Wilhelm took a more congenial approach.
“Sheriff. Are we missing some kind of joke?”
“No joke,” Simon said. “Just getting some good mug shots of you both. That way when I file a report to the FBI about what’s going on in this city, I’ll have great photos to go with the names.”
“The FBI?” Wilhelm sputtered. His big hands curled into fists. “Exactly what are you accusing us of?”
“Give me that goddamned phone,” Cindy said, starting around the desk.
“Don’t approach me aggressively, Lieutenant Mayor. My jail isn’t air conditioned like the ones you’ve got set up here.”
Cindy pulled up short. “I’m not aggressing upon you, Sheriff. I’m requesting that you delete those photos. I did not give you permission to photograph me.”
“I don’t need your permission,” Simon said. He turned to Wilhelm. “Yesterday, officers of this city spoke like that to your registered constituents. Officers who had your signature on a search warrant. These people were accused of no crime, they weren’t resisting, and yet your officers treated them with disrespect and accused them of being aggressive. Do your officers’ actions reflect the way you feel about your citizens, Mayor Wilhelm?”
“What the hell is this about, Simon?” Wilhelm said. “What are you trying to pull here? You want an apology? You won’t get it. We lawfully sent out those census forms and those families refused to cooperate. We lawfully followed up on the census and took our own inventory.” Wilhelm’s voice rose as he spoke.
“By what law?” Simon asked. “Only the federal government has the authority to conduct a census. If you want to do one, it has to be voluntary.”
“By the title granted to me by the Governor,” Wilhelm said. “You don’t like it? Take it up with him. Good luck getting across the Bay Bridge. Now get out of my office!”
That last was shouted. Simon nearly smiled.
“Not before he deletes those photos,” Cindy said. She held out her hand. “Hand it over.”
“No,” he said. “You have no right to take my personal property. Not unless you get your conveniently-elected pocket judge here to write a warrant out for it. Seems you like that whole chain of command-”
“Give me the goddamn phone!” Cindy yelled, swiping for it. Simon stepped back into the hall and held the phone in the air. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him the muttering nerd sticking his head into the hall, and further down, Bill doing the same.
“Oh dear,” Bill said. “I think you’d better go help.”
“I’d like to thank you both for your time and service to this county,” Simon started.
“Give it to me! Simon! Kenny, call Frank! Tell him to get down here immediately!”
The clerk rushed up next to him and made calming motions with her hands. “Okay everyone, settle down. I’m sure there’s a peaceful way to solve all this, yes?”
“I am being peaceful,” Simon said. “It’s the Lieutenant Mayor here who’s escalating the situation.”
Simon flicked his eyes towards the end of the hall. Bill slipped out of the clerk’s doorway, holding a very thick stack of papers. The little man hustled out into the lobby and around the corner.
“I’m not escalating anything, you’re the one who came in here uninvited and started taking our pictures without permission!” Cindy yelled.
“Well this is public property,” the clerk said. “Technically, he doesn’t need your permission. And being the Sheriff and all-”
“Not for long.” Cindy nearly spat. “Not if I’ve got anything to do with it.”
“Well, I can tell where I’m not welcome,” Simon said, faking a frown. “I guess I’ll go lick my wounds. And like I said, Mrs. Stalls, if you’d like these photos, just get a warrant.”
He turned and tipped an imaginary hat at the clerk, and set off down the hall. Cindy was barking orders at Wilhelm, who was bitching that he couldn’t get the radio to work.
No one tried to stop him.
The rain had let up again outside, and the weary Guardsmen nodded at him as he strode past. He made it to his car with no objections, and had the key in the engine before the door was even shut.
“Did you get them?” he asked, turning the wheel hard and weaving around the cones exiting the parking lot.
Bill patted the pile of sheets in his lap and smiled.
“They were right where Ripley said they were. I got every last one of them,” he said.
Preacher
Preacher pushed the wheelbarrow to the edge of Dotty’s yard and sat it down beside the burn barrel. None of the neighbors had shown up yet, but they’d be here within the hour. The census forms that Bill had nicked from the Rec Center wouldn’t be enough to keep the fire going, so he’d had to donate some wood to the effort. He’d picked the worst pieces he could find, but it still bugged him that this would mean less wood for the stove this winter.
I’ll just have to work harder to get some more. With all that’s been going on, been slacking on that anyway.
Thomas opened up his truck and sat inside for a moment, then music filled the air. After a second it cut off, and various levels of static shushed through the speakers as he flipped channels on the radio.
When Thomas finally gave up, the sound of hammering caught Preacher’s attention. He looked down the street to see Corey just on the other side of the trees at the far end of the Millers’ yard. He was hammering some two-by-fours together, while a hose barely trickled water at his feet.
“Guess I’ll have to go through my CDs,” Thomas said. “Hope they like nineties hip hop.” He got out of the truck and shut the door. “Too bad we can’t have some barbecue for this block party.”
“Too bad,” Preacher agreed. He tossed a couple of pieces of half-rotten wood into the barrel. Corey’s banging stopped with a muttered curse. Preacher looked back up to see Corey sucking his thumb and thumping his heel on the ground.
Preacher brushed his hands off on his too-short jeans and walked down to see what was up.
“You okay?” he asked.
Corey made a disgusted face and held his thumb out. “Damn hammer glanced off of the nail and banged my thumb, is all. Hurts like a mother.”
Preacher nodded and looked everything over. The hose snaked up out of the storm drain, looped around the bottom of the frame, and then lay on the ground between the frame’s supports.
He didn’t understand it.
“What’s the frame for?” he asked.
Corey pointed with the hammer. “The hose is supposed to come up on top of the frame, and I’m gonna clamp it down so it doesn’t slide off. Then I’ll attach that tub-” he pointed over to the sidewalk where a big plastic tub for christmas paper sat waiting-”to the bottom of the frame so people can’t walk off with it. The hose fills up the tub so we can dip containers in and take the water out, instead of waiting for
the hose to fill our container.”
“It’s not much flow,” Preacher said. “Would take forever to fill.”
“Yeah, that’s why the tub, you know? I’ll put a couple boards across it so folks can set their jugs under the stream and wait, if they want to. But with just these skinny garden hoses instead of irrigation piping, this dribble is as good as it’s going to get.”
“What about winter? Will it freeze?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Corey said. “Maybe I’ll box in the frame and stuff some insulation in it. Paint it black. Maybe use rocks instead of insulation; they’ll hold the heat and weight it down. The storm drains are below the frost line, so it should be okay there. And the water’s moving; that will help keep it from freezing. Guess we’ll just have to see.”
Corey bent over and started hammering again. Preacher scanned the street. Still quiet. Dotty and Bill were up on the porch swing talking, with Marco at the other end of the porch leafing through the stack of census forms. Last Preacher had seen, Marco was busy blacking out the names with a big marker. Now that Corey had brought the storm drain to his attention, he noticed them dotted here and there along the sidewalk’s edge. There was one just on the far edge of Cathy’s yard.
Hmm.
“Corey.”
“Yeah?”
“You got enough hose to exit there?” Preacher pointed.
Corey straightened up and cocked his head. He nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Why?”
He pointed at Cathy’s house. “She says Dotty’s selfish. We’re all selfish.”
“Yeah well, she’s a stuck-up idiot.”
Preacher pointed down. “Here, looks like it’s just for us.” He pointed at the drain by Cathy’s. “There, looks like it’s for everyone.”
“Putting it there makes it easier for her to get water than us. I’m not that nice, Preacher.”
“Easier for everyone to get water. At her yard.”
Corey thought about it for a minute, then his eyes widened. “That would drive her nuts. All those strangers coming to the edge of her yard? She’d flip.” His grin was a mile wide.