Superintendent Doyle knocked on the back door one blustery day. Stan opened it just wide enough for the policeman to slip in. Snow dusted his shoulders and the top of his head. His beard was thick and black, but strands of grey were making an appearance.
“I’m going around making sure everybody’s all right,” Doyle said, stamping his feet to knock the snow from them.
“We’re okay,” Stan assured him, noticing how Doyle’s coat hung loosely on his shoulders and his snow pants sagged on his hips.
“You were smart to lay in a good supply of wood,” Doyle said. “Not everybody did and now they’re out in this weather looking for something to burn.”
“Come in and sit awhile.” Miriam smiled weakly from her chair next to the heater. “We still have coffee too.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Doyle hung his coat on a chair. “The thermometer at the station says it’s minus 30. Something hot will be welcome.”
“How is the rest of the town doing?” Stan dropped coffee into the basket of the tin percolator. “I’ve taken some wood over to the hospital but I didn’t see anybody.”
Danny shuffled his chair away from the stove, leaving room for their guest. His eyes seemed too big for his gaunt face. His mother had tried to cut his hair and it stuck out in tufts around his ears.
Doyle sat and stretched his legs toward the stove. The room was warm and smelled like coffee. Outside, snow buffeted the window.
“They’re okay at the hospital for now. I think one more patient died. One of the nurse’s kids moved in with them. He had run away but found out pretty quickly that his mom was smarter than he thought.” He looked at Danny. “You might know him. He’s about your age. Name is Bobby I think.”
Danny shook his head. “Don’t know him.”
The policeman leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Nice and cozy in here.” He commented.
Stan handed him a mug of steaming coffee. “Better enjoy it,” he laughed, but his eyes were worried. “We’re stretching our supply. Don’t know when we’ll get more.”
“I know.” The policeman took a sip. “Most people are drinking hot water.” He reached over and set the cup on the counter. “You need to make sure you lock up around here. Desperate times and all that. Don, on the corner, said his woodpile disappeared the other night while he was sleeping. Me and the others are camping out at the station so we’re easy to find if you ever need us.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.” Stan nodded. “Usually, me and Danny are out during the day either chopping wood or checking our snares.” He glanced at his wife who was staring at the floor. “Miriam is here alone, aren’t you, Dear?”
She looked up, seeming to come out of a trance. “What? Am I alone? I guess I am. But it's okay. I’ll keep the doors locked.”
Doyle studied her. Her fingers coiled around each other, in constant movement, while the rest of her body remained eerily still. Aside from greeting him when he came in, she had not spoken.
Stan noticed the look and nodded silently. His wife wasn’t sleeping well and being alone in the empty house all day was giving her too much time to worry about Tara. It was too cold for her to venture out on one of her ‘shopping’ trips, even if there was anything else to find. He worried about her, but it was imperative that he go out every day, or they wouldn’t eat.
Ralph Doyle stood up and reached for his coat. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said, draining the cup. “I have a few more houses to check before it gets dark.” He looked towards Miriam again. “I’ll send someone by once in a while just to check that everything’s okay.”
“We appreciate that.” Stan shook his hand. “And if we get any extra meat, I’ll bring it by the station.”
Standing on the snow-covered step, Doyle asked. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“We’re fine. We have enough to eat for now, even if it is mostly rabbit, and we’re warm.” He grinned weakly. “All we need is for the power to come back on and our daughter home, and we’ll be great.”
The door closed and Doyle pulled his toque down over his ears and moved on to the next home.
Part III – Final Search
Chapter 20 - Hope
Stan stood on the back step and surveyed the yard. Patches of snow were piled against the fence. The lawn had disappeared into a sea of mud where he had chopped wood through the winter. Wispy clouds skidded across the top of the fence. The apple tree in the corner bent and twisted, seeming to dance with the wind.
The door behind him opened and Danny joined him.
“Are we going hunting today?” the boy asked. “Maybe we can get another deer.”
A month before they had finally managed to shoot something bigger than a rabbit. At first, Danny had been repelled at the thought of killing something so beautiful, but his reluctance had given way to practicality. They had given half to the hospital and now were down to the last few pieces, hanging frozen in the garage.
Stan shook his head. “No. At this time of year, the animals are hunkering down to have their babies. Besides, it's going to snow later. Can’t you smell it?”
The boy lifted his head and took a deep breath. “I guess so. But it's so nice out right now, I thought we’d go out.” He glanced back at the door. “I wish Mom would come outside.”
“I know.” Stan’s voice lowered. “She doesn’t want to do anything these days. She feels guilty about Tara.”
Danny sighed. He was worried about his mom. She sat by the stove all day, only moving to prepare meals for his dad and him. Since they were down to wild meat and an occasional can of carrots, even that didn’t occupy her for long. He tried to interest her in the puzzle he had spread out on the living room floor, or the book he was reading, but she only smiled at him and said the living room was too cold, and he’d be okay with whatever he was doing. He wished she would remember that she had two kids and one of them was still here. Sometimes he was angry at his sister for ruining their lives, but then he remembered all the other things that had changed, and his anger waned.
His dad’s voice brought him back to the present. “I think I’ll take my bike and ride out to some of the acreages,” Stan said. “It’ll kill two birds with one stone. I can check on how people are doing and ask about Tara at the same time.”
“What about the snow?” Danny asked.
“I think I’ll be okay for a couple of hours.” Stan snugged his coat closed. “Why don’t you carry some wood in for your mom?”
The gate squealed when Stan pushed it open. It had stood ajar through most of the winter but he had closed it last week, worried about someone stealing their firewood. The hinges needed oiling; a small chore that had got lost in the more urgent ones. As he stepped into the alley, Stan glanced at the old Ford utility van he had been restoring in his old life. Dead leaves littered the roof and the tires had sunk into the mud. One of the side mirrors had been twisted off, probably by a bored or frustrated neighbour. The fenders were rusted almost to the point of extinction. A spiderweb of cracks covered the windshield.
Struck by a sudden idea, Stan yelled through the gate. “Danny, do you know where the keys are to the old truck?”
“Uh, yeah.” Danny raised the axe over his head and brought it down with a ‘thwack’. The log he had aimed it at split perfectly. “It’s hanging in the garage with the rest of the useless keys.”
Stan appeared at his side. “I’m thinking that the old truck doesn’t have any computer parts in it. It’s a pretty simple motor and I know it ran last summer.” He grinned. “I’m gonna try it.”
Danny’s eyes widened and he grinned back. “I’ll get the key.”
The door slammed as he ran into the house. He grabbed the garage key from its hook. As he rushed back, he saw that his mother had not moved from her position by the stove.
The garage was dim and dusty and Danny stumbled over an empty box. He fumbled through the keys, at least finding the one hanging from a plastic holder. He stepped carefully around the box, glanced at
the bikes leaning against the wall and pushed his way through the wooden door. Stan had pried the driver’s door open and was sitting behind the wheel. He took the key from his son, and with a small prayer, inserted it into the ignition. The motor whirred. He tried again and it rumbled once but didn’t start.
“It’s going to start.” He grinned. “Let’s take the battery out and clean the terminals. I’ll check the carburetor and spark plugs. We’re going to have wheels by the end of the day, or I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
Danny whooped and gave him a high five through the open window.
Quickly they got to work with wrenches and oily rags. As they bent over the hood, they talked about how having a vehicle would make their lives easier.
“We don’t have to carry logs in a wheelbarrow.” Danny exulted.
“Or walk to the pump for water,” Stan said.
“We can go check on Gramma and Grampa.”
“I can go look for Tara.” Their gazes locked. “I can go look for Tara,” Stan repeated.
“We should tell Mom,” said Danny.
“Not yet. Let’s not get her hopes up until this old thing is running.” Stan brushed a mouse nest from behind the rusted grill.
It was almost dark when he tightened the battery terminals. “Go ahead, try it.” He ordered.
Danny leaped into the driver’s seat. Carefully he engaged the clutch and turned the key. The truck trembled and whined for a moment. Then with a blast of black smoke, it roared into life. Startled, the boy released the clutch. The truck lurched forward and died.
“Oh, no. Sorry, Dad. I killed it.”
“No, you didn’t. Try again, and this time, release the clutch slowly. Make sure it’s in neutral.”
Danny tried again, and again the truck roared into life. This time with less black smoke.
“We did it!” Danny jumped to the ground and hugged his dad. “We did it! We have wheels!”
Miriam poked her head through the gate, her eyes wide and frightened-looking. Stan strode over to her and put his arms around her thin shoulders. As he did, he noticed how her hair was showing streaks of grey through the auburn, and how frail she looked under the parka she wore.
“Look, Honey. We got the truck going.”
“But how?” Miriam asked. “I thought all the motors quit.”
“So did I. But maybe things are improving. There are no computerized parts in this old thing, and hardly any electrical parts, so I thought it was worth a try.” Stan grinned down at her. “And it worked.”
Tears filled her eyes. “So now we have a truck. So what?” She turned back towards the house. “I need my daughter home more than I need a ride.”
“But don’t you see?” Stan grabbed her retreating shoulder and turned her to face him. “Now I can go and look further afield. There are lots of farmhouses and sheds and barns I can get to now.”
“You’re right!” Her eyes brightened. “When can you go?”
“Well, not today.” Stan laughed. “It’s starting to snow and I have to see if I can find tires. All of these have been sitting rotting for a few years. And I’ll need gas.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped.
“C’mon, Mom.” Danny watched her turn away. His heart ached, both for her apparent disregard for her second child, and her sadness over the first. “In a few days, maybe she’ll be home.”
“Maybe.” Father and son watched as she trudged through the gathering darkness. The door closed behind her.
Stan put his arm around his son’s shoulders. “Let’s clean this stuff up.” He squeezed the boy slightly. “She loves you, Son. There’s just no room in her heart for anything except her grief right now.”
Danny sniffed. “Sure Dad. Let’s clean this stuff up.”
Chapter 21 – Winter Returns
Danny lifted his head. The kitchen window showed a dim gray morning. He could see snow floating gently down, and groaned. They would not be driving anywhere today. He buried his head deeper into the cocoon of warmth.
His parents were arguing, and he hated that. It made an already gloomy day even worse.
“You need to get out there and look for her,” Miriam said, her voice heavy with tears.
“We will,” Stan answered. “But I can’t just drive out into the wilderness. I need to find gas. And I want to go and check on my parents.”
“Your parents are fine. Maureen and Tim are there to look after them.”
Stan mumbled something unintelligible.
Danny felt his mom get up. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out their voices.
Apparently, Mom didn’t care if he heard, because her voice rose and became shrill. “Who is more important, Stan? She could be out there cold and hungry, or worse. We need to find her!”
“I know, I know. Please lay down, Honey. Look out the window. It’s a blizzard. We have all day to discuss this. Lie down and I’ll get the fire going.”
Danny poked his head up and blinked, pretending he had just woken up. Heat lingered around the heater, but the rest of the kitchen was freezing. His mom stood over the mattress, shivering. She was dressed in her flannel pyjamas and wrapped in a fleecy robe. Her feet were covered with the thick, woollen socks she slept in.
Stan reached up and tried to pull her back down onto the bed, but she stepped away. The lid of the stove clanged as she threw it open and dropped a piece of wood into it. The heater puffed, releasing the air that had been trapped inside all night. Sparks flew up and Miriam stepped back, realizing she had forgotten to open the flue.
Danny and Stan jumped to their feet as the sparks fell harmlessly back into the firebox.
Miriam covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep thinking about the chance of actually starting to search.” She lowered her hands and Stan took her in his arms. “I dreamed about her,” Miriam continued. “She was calling me. She’s out there and needs me.”
“Of course, she is,” her husband soothed. “But I can’t go off unprepared. I’ll go out today and see if I can find gas for the truck and let Doyle know it's running. Maybe there are other vehicles in town that people can use too.”
Danny pulled his jeans over the long underwear he wore. He hoped his dad would let him come with him while he was searching. Carefully he lifted the stove lid and dropped more wood inside. He lifted the kettle from the floor beside it and after checking that it had water in it, set it on top to boil. His mom would feel better after a cup of tea, even one made with a twice-used teabag and no sugar.
She sighed heavily and plopped down into the kitchen chair where she spent her days. Danny handed her a mug of tea and she took it into her two hands, barely acknowledging her son.
Stan turned away so she didn’t see the look of despair on his face. “I’ll heat up the soup,” he said. “Then Danny and I will carry in some wood.”
The snow was still falling when the man and boy set out for the police station. They followed the trail leading down the middle of the street. Many footsteps had cleared the narrow path during the winter, but it was almost hidden by the new-fallen snow. Overnight the wind had blown waist high drifts against fences and hedges. They waved at their neighbours who were on their way to find wood or dipping clean snow into buckets. Wisps of smoke drifted from makeshift chimneys, leaving a dark smear against the grey clouds that seemed to meet the earth.
Stan kicked at a snowbank. “See the problem here, Danny? Your mom thinks we will just get out and drive. But, if the streets are still covered imagine what the highways are like.”
Danny nodded in agreement.
“And the tires are rotten.” Stan dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “And I can only go so far on a tank of gas, even if we can find some.” His shoulders slumped.
Danny cleared his throat. “We’re here.”
Stan looked up and saw that they were standing outside the RCMP detachment. A bell tinkled when they stepped through the frosted glass doors.
A young woman appeared behind the smudged glass. She wore jeans and a heavy wool coat. Her cap balanced on a pile of scarves she had wrapped around her head.
“Can I help you?” her voice wavered.
“Is Superintendent Doyle here?” Stan asked.
She shook her head, causing the precariously balanced cap to fall forward. She watched but made no move to catch it as it slid to the desktop. “He went home about a week ago and I haven’t seen him since.” Her voice caught.
“Did you go try to find him?” Stan asked.
“Of course, I did.” She sank to the chair. “There was nobody home.”
“What about his wife?”
“Didn’t he tell you?” Tear filled blue eyes gazed back at him. “His wife and daughters never came home after the blackout.”
Stan blinked. All the times the officer had come around to check on him and his family, he had never thought to return the favour.
“Did you try to get in?”
“Of course, I did! Do you think I’m stupid?” She pushed the chair back and leaped to her feet. “What do you want anyway?”
“We have a truck!” Danny spoke up, his voice betraying his excitement.
“We have cars too.” The young woman said bitterly. “For all the good they do us. I’d rather have food and light.”
“No, no.” Danny pressed his face closer to the glass barrier. “The truck started. Dad thinks it’s because it's old and has no computers in it.”
Stan was focused on her thin face. “Why are you still here?” he asked.
The Incident | Book 3 | Winter of Darkness Page 8