CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kat and I rejoin the group for dinner, and afterward, the six of us do little more than lie around and goof off. We discuss last week’s YouTube videos and Reddit posts, along with new games that are supposed to be released for the Xbox One.
The sound of a truck approaching along the drive is our first indicator that the men have returned from town. All activity ceases as we wait for them to enter.
Mr. Miller is the first one through the door, and he gives his wife a kiss as she hands him a glass of water. The other two men follow closely behind and duplicate the Millers’ actions.
Red faced and covered in dirt and sweat, the three men look as if they’ve been gone a week instead of a day. Blood discolors the sleeve of Mr. Eisenbeis’ left arm, and his pants are torn just below his left knee. He slowly lowers himself to the floor, and his wife starts to tend his wounds.
I notice a strange odor and see traces of black ash on their clothes. Raul takes a step forward and breaks the silence, “What’s happening in town?”
Mr. DeLaPortilla crosses the room and sits in one of the chairs. He slowly rubs his neck before bending down to remove his shoes. Afterward, he quietly begins to tell us about the condition of Harrow.
“The news reports were right,” he says. “The flare caused most electrical circuits to overload. There are fires everywhere, and the wind is making everything worse.”
He looks down at his hands and then rubs them against the sides of his legs. The black stains smear onto his jeans, but much of it remains on his palms. A partially filled bottle of water sits on the table, and Mrs. DeLaPortilla pours a little onto a piece of cloth. Gently, she takes her husband’s hand and begins to wipe the grime from it.
He barely acknowledges the gesture before proceeding with his account. “The huge blast you all heard was the underground transformer on Espada Street. It exploded…blew windows out of every house within a hundred yards, and sent a huge ball of fire into the air.”
A sandwich is placed on the table in front of him, and he takes a hefty bite before continuing. “More than half the homes in town are burning. We don’t know if the electricity just traveled from home to home causing fires, or if the wind spread it all over, or if it’s all just a freak occurrence.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he releases the air, his chest shakes a little, and he looks very tired.
“So many of the houses are old, and it’s possible that the copper wiring served as a conductor. The volunteer fire department is overwhelmed. They’ve never faced anything like this, and now we have to consider the impending water shortage.”
He rubs his hand over his face and takes another bite of his sandwich. As he chews, he gestures toward Mr. Miller.
Kat’s dad puts his empty water glass on the table, looks around the room, and sits down. “I have to go back after I rest a little,” he says. “I’m not sure where the chief and other officers are, but I need to go check in.”
He leans backward in a stretch and moves his head from side to side. “It’s really bad out there. Cuts and bruises are nothing compared to the burns a lot of people have. That electric current…it…”
He pauses, as if at a loss for words, then reaches out toward his wife and encloses her hand between both of his. His right hand moves in a small circling pattern around her knuckles until he finally speaks again.
His voice is soft when he says, “Our house is gone. Everything’s gone.”
Mrs. Miller’s jaw drops, her eyes fill with tears, and she stares at the top of her husband’s bowed head. With his eyes focused on the floor, he murmurs, “By the time we got there, the fire had already engulfed both floors of our house and several other houses on our street. I couldn’t save anything. There was nothing left to save. I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers and kneels down before him. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just stuff. We’ll get more.” She takes a small sniff and steadies herself. “It’ll be ok; at least we are all safe.”
I look at Kat and see tears coursing down her cheeks. I step closer to her and put my arm across her back. She looks at me and tilts her head to my shoulder.
Everyone is silent. Emily is sitting beside her father. After a beat, she looks up at him and asks, “Dad? Are you ok?”
He reaches over and pats her leg a couple of times. “I tripped over some debris. It’s just a small cut… nothing you need to worry yourself about.”
Mr. Eisenbeis looks around the room at each of us. When he speaks, he’s looking at Eric. “You did well, son. I wasn’t completely convinced that this was such a serious situation, but you were right. I’m glad we followed your lead.”
Eric stands and walks over to his dad. “Is our house ok?” he asks as he sits down with his family.
“Well, yes, for now, but with that awful wind…I think it’s best that we stay here for a while.”
All this talk about ruined homes has me worried. “What about my house?” I ask.
“We didn’t drive in that direction,” says Eric’s dad, “but I didn’t notice any fire on this side of Main Street. Most of the damage occurred on the west side and center of town.”
My mom has been silently listening until now. She takes a small step forward and asks, “Is there anything we can do to help? Are many people injured?”
Shaking his head, Mr. Eisenbeis says, “It was so chaotic when we left; I don’t know how many people were affected. The houses that didn’t suffer any damage initially, now face the spread of fire from the weather. The wind is unrelenting, and it’s tough to decide how to use the water supply.”
Mom frowns and asks for more details.
Wiping moisture from the corner of his eye, he explains, “Remember how the TV reporters were warning of possible electrical fires and explosions? Now many of the people from town are missing. We’re not sure if they evacuated or…something worse.”
Mr. DeLaPortilla interjects, “We’re really fortunate that you kids decided to stay in this barn last night. It’s possible the current in town formed some sort of electric field in the air. It must have acted like lightning and sent arcs everywhere. With all the rain we’ve had, the moisture that was trapped in the ground made a perfect conductor for the electricity. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard of. There are charred bodies all over the place.”
“Should we offer our help at the hospital?” Mom asks.
Mr. Eisenbeis stands up. “Let us go back and check things. We’ll run by the hospital and see what they need. Their backup generator should be working, but without additional fuel, all those systems will stop within a couple of weeks or so.”
Mr. Miller nods in agreement. “There are still fires burning in town,” he says and then shifts his eyes quickly toward Raul’s dad. “There are some new people in town; they look pretty rough. They have weapons, and there are quite a lot of them. We want you kids to stay around here today.”
Mr. DeLaPortilla’s head dips in some sort of silent agreement, and he clasps his hands together. “There’s something else that you all need to know.” Scanning the room, he makes sure everyone is paying attention.
“A body was found this afternoon.”
“Just one?” asks Matthew, a bit flippantly. “You said there are bodies all over town.”
“This one is different,” the older man says abruptly. He sits up straighter and continues. “It wasn’t far from here, by the Eastside Cemetery. It’s a young girl.”
The room is completely quiet as we wait for more information.
“I don’t know her name, but I spoke with a couple of people in town who said she’s a senior at the high school. They say she didn’t die from the electrical storm or the fires,” says Mr. DeLaPortilla.
Kat inhales a loud breath, and Emily whispers, “Oh no.”
I notice Mom’s hands clinch tightly before I turn back to Raul’s dad.
“There’s been no time for any investigations,” he says. “But s
he’d been strangled. Looks similar to how they described finding Maisy Cuthbertson.”
Mr. Miller walks over, puts his arm around Kat and Matthew, and pulls them close. “You kids need to keep an eye on each other,” he says. “Don’t go off anywhere on your own… you girls especially. Harrow isn’t safe anymore. There are a lot of gun-toting strangers on the streets. And more importantly, there’s a psychopath around here.”
He looks at each one of us, and we all nod our heads in unison.
The rest of the evening goes by in a blur. The mood in the barn is very somber, and no one except the boys is hungry for dinner. The men clean up and return to town, and while the moms whisper among themselves, Emily and I try to comfort Kat over the loss of her home. We lie down close to her and offer condolences until her breathing slows, and I can tell that she’s asleep.
It’s well into the night before I drift off. All sorts of images keep passing through my mind. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m emotionally overloaded.
I’m stressed from whatever is happening to my hand. I’m worried about my friends in town. I’m feeling guilty for having fun earlier, and I’m concerned about Kat…and in case that wasn’t enough, there’s a serial killer somewhere nearby.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Green grass sprinkled with the morning dew cushions my body, and my head is pillowed on Raul’s muscular arm. Marshmallow white clouds stare down at us from clear blue skies, and a yellow warbler flits along the ground nearby looking for a tasty morning snack.
Raul props himself up slightly and gazes longingly into my eyes. His left hand reaches across my body and lightly caresses my chin and up along my jaw. I lower my eyelashes and give a shy smile. Wispy, light fingers brush a tendril of hair from my cheek and guide it to rest behind my ear.
“You are so beautiful, Mya,” he whispers. Then he leans down closer to my face, and from the corner of my eye, I see the hooded bird approach. Its beak opens, and it begins to emit a song, but the music is loud and tinny. The bird hops closer and the racket becomes deafening.
My beautiful dream vanishes, and I snap my eyes open. I jerk my head toward the increasingly annoying clanking and am startled to see my mother holding a metal spoon in one hand and a tin pan in the other.
“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!”
Oh, man. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Please let this be just a nightmare. If there has to be a batty person in our newly-formed group, why is it my mom? I am never going to hear the end of this.
I jump up and run over to where she’s standing. “Mom! Stop! What are you doing? Can’t you see that everyone’s still sleeping?”
She rubbernecks her head sideways and stares at me. “I see all you kids still sleeping, Mya, but the rest of us have been up for hours. Bad things have happened, but our lives still go on. There are things to be done, so you all need to get up and help.”
I look behind her and see that the table is set for six, and in the center sits a bowl of mixed fruits and a plastic bag full of cinnamon rolls.
The boys are approaching the table when suddenly, Raul stops, scrunches up his nose, and says, “Awe, Ms. B, not more carbs and fruit. I need meat.”
Ever the people pleaser, my mother smiles and says sweetly, “I’d be more than happy to cook that bacon before it goes bad, Raul.” The satisfied smile that covers his face changes with her next comment. “I just need you to clear a space outside and build a firepit, first.”
◌◌◌
For a large portion of the population, Sunday is a day of rest. It’s a time of reflection and familial bonding. For my mom, Sunday is a day to catch up on chores and prepare for the following week. I’ve never really minded, but now that I’m surrounded by several of my peers, I wish my mother were a little more observant of religious practices.
Before eating, we’re directed to an area behind the barn. A plastic makeshift basin has been set up for washing our hands and faces. We’re instructed to limit our water usage, but to make sure we stay clean, to prevent illness from the spread of bacteria.
Once our measly breakfast is complete, Kat and Matthew are called to help wash the dishes from yesterday and this morning. Mrs. Miller says that the chores will be rotated daily, and we’ll be divided into teams: Matthew and Kat, Eric and Emily, and Raul and me.
I knew that being an only child had to come with some benefit. Raul has four older siblings, but they’re all married and live in San Antonio and Dallas; so in effect, he’s an only child too. I don’t care if I have to clean the toilet area for the entire week; nothing can seem too bad, as long as Raul is cleaning beside me.
Eric and Emily are assigned the task of sweeping out the barn, taking all trash to a newly-created compost area, and cleaning out the loft. After the dishes are cleaned, Matthew and Kat will begin transferring some of the supplies to the upstairs storage space. Since I have the most camping experience, Raul and I are told to build the cooking pit.
The area needs to be fairly close to the barn, so that we don’t have to carry supplies and food very far, but it also needs to be far enough away to prevent burning down our living structure. As we walk around to the front of the building, I see the perfect spot.
I point to the brick footpath, “Do you think your mom would mind if we move the birdbath?”
The walkway surrounding the stone bowl forms a nice, large circle that will be perfect for our cooking pit. While Raul works to remove the bath, I fetch the shovels from inside. Luckily, the recent rain has made the ground soft, and the area is easily excavated.
After about an hour of digging in the dirt, our pit is sufficiently deep and ready to be lined with small gravel. Rocks are not always required, but since we may have to use this site for a while, I decide that drainage is necessary. I don’t want to create a puddled, breeding zone for Zika-infected mosquitoes. I think we already have enough complications ahead of us without adding the threat of a killer virus.
We make several trips to the gravel driveway before we finish covering the bottom of the pit. My clothes are covered in dirt and dust, and even though the temperature is reasonable outside, I’m sweating from all the exertion.
This isn’t exactly how I envisioned my time alone with Raul. I’m tired, I’m filthy, and I stink. To top things off, Raul stinks too. I don’t know how skunks can stand to be around each other. Either they actually enjoy putrid odors, or their noses don’t work. My money’s on the first one.
“I need a break,” I say. “Let’s go get a drink and sit in the shade.”
Raul follows me inside, and we each grab a liter bottle of water. Kat and Matthew are also taking a short rest. They too take a drink, and the four of us collapse under one of the larger oak trees.
Raul swigs down half of his water in an instant, and then offers up a warning. “When we finish this thing, your mom had better have some bacon to cook.”
“Or what?”
“Or nothing, Mya. She’d just better have some bacon,” he says. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past few hours. It’s become a mantra for me: just keep going, and you’ll get some bacon; just keep going, and you’ll get some bacon.”
“Mmm,” agrees Matthew. “I’d love some bacon right now too. Any day is a good day if you have bacon.”
“Well,” I offer with sarcasm and a smile, “I certainly hope that we can get this fire pit ready before all the ice in the cooler melts, and the bacon is no good. I’d hate for you two to have a bad day.”
Raul stands up and offers me a hand. “We’d better get back to it. If I sit here much longer, I’m going to fall asleep.”
I brush off the backside of my pants and begin walking toward the pit. “We just need to build some sort of draw holes in a couple of places so the fire can get some air.”
“Can you use some of the walkway bricks?” suggests Matthew.
Raul stops and spins around. “No man, don’t touch the walkway. Ma will go ballistic… but…I think there are some leftover bric
ks in back of the barn.”
“Oh good,” I mock in reply. “Yes, let’s carry a bunch of bricks from the other side of the barn. That’s just what I was hoping we could do.”
◌◌◌
It’s evening by the time we finish with the pit and have the wood burning. My mother is true to her word and produces a cast iron skillet and a couple of pounds of bacon.
Mom is an expert cook; and once the bacon begins to sizzle, everyone is salivating at the smell. Raul quickly claims the first piece, and I jump in for the second. It’s thick cut, applewood smoked bacon that simply melts in my mouth.
As I swallow my first delicious bite, I find that Matthew is correct in his assessment of bacon’s ability to save the day and cure all evils. With my taste buds so overwhelmed, I can no longer feel my sore muscles. Whenever I find myself on my deathbed, I hope that someone gives me a piece of bacon, so I can die happy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Under normal circumstances, right now I would be jumping out of the shower, preparing to go to school, and hoping that I haven’t forgotten some project that’s due today. Instead, once again, I’m oblivious as to what I should be doing.
My back and arms ache from all the physical exertion yesterday, and I’m beginning to suffer from electronic withdrawal. Since the lights flickered Saturday night, there’s been no other indication that the power is being restored. I hope the spreading fires didn’t destroy all the electrical lines. I want to play Zelda, I want to watch a video, I want to text someone. I want the electricity to work.
I feel my frustration building, and I’m certain that today is going to be bad. I try to talk to Kat, but she’s still upset about her house. I accept my dismissal when she rolls over on her blanket and pulls the pillow over her head. I know she needs time to process all that’s happened. After giving her a supportive pat on the back, I go in search of some food.
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