by Karen Randau
“We have enough to get us through a few days,” I said. “Cliff and I stored an emergency water supply in the crawl space under the house.” I thought back to this morning. Cliff filled the dog’s water bowl with tap water. “We need to get home and check on Hope. I need to call my mom and daughter. And Cliff’s Aunt Zelda.”
I turned right to avoid another traffic jam at the end of the street. As I snaked through neighborhoods toward my house, I called my mother.
Mom answered the phone with, “Oh, my stars! Rita, I’ve been tryin’ to call you.” Would I ever get used to a Texas accent from the mother who raised me in San Diego?
“I’m sorry,” I said, letting the concern in my mother’s voice sink in. “Do you and Robert have dead birds at your ranch?”
“A few, but nothin’ like what the news says happened in town,” she said. “We were watchin’ the playoffs when they broke in with the news. I think Arizona is goin’ to the World Series, and it’s gonna be in Phoenix. Are ya’ll okay?”
“No.” I couldn’t get out more.
“Talk to me, Lovely Rita.”
I coughed to clear the lump from my throat. “We just left Travis and Cliff at the hospital. The traffic is terrible. People are desperate. We’re almost back at my house. I heard it’s the water.”
“That’s what they’re sayin’ on the news. We have a well, and we’re gonna boil the water and put a drop of chlorine in it to be safe. Do you have enough bottled water at home? The news said people have stripped the store shelves bare.”
I wanted to stop and close my eyes to think, but I had to keep moving.
“Yes. We’ve also stored some in the crawl space under the house for emergencies. I’ll call Zoe to tell her and her husband not to come up for a visit this weekend. Then I’ll call Cliff’s Aunt Zelda and tell her not to come over for dinner tonight. You should stay at home, too. I have Katy and Neri, and we’re going to stay put in my house.”
“Take care.” Mom disconnected, leaving me with a feeling of emptiness.
I called Zoe but got her voicemail. “Zoe, honey, it’s Mom. Someone sabotaged the Rim Vista water treatment plant, and there are dead birds all over the place. You and Josh should cancel your plan to come up from Phoenix for a visit. We’ll be okay here, I think.”
The same thing happened when I called Zelda.
I turned into our cul-de-sac, parked in the garage, and rushed up the stairs to Hope’s crate. She lay on her side, her lifeless eyes staring at nothing, her legs stiff in front of her. I stifled a moan by biting my index finger.
“Is Hope okay?” Neri stood behind me.
I turned but positioned my body so Neri couldn’t see the dog or my tears. “No, I’m sorry. She’s not okay. Could you help Grandma by bringing a big towel from the bathroom?”
Katy led Neri away, and I sat to hold my head in my palms. What was happening to my loved ones?
My daughter-in-law returned moments later with a bath towel. She draped the towel over the crate, and placed her hand on my shoulder.
“You need to call Animal Control to come get her,” she said.
“I’m sure Animal Control is busy with the birds.” I pulled the towel further down on the front of the crate, so no one could see my precious friend. “I’ll call, though, to find out what I should do.”
“I need to get back to Neri. Are you okay?”
I nodded but didn’t feel okay. I wanted to lie down and cry for a week. I had to keep my emotions checked.
Katy rushed down the hallway to the bedroom she shared with Travis. The room where Travis had grown up. The room where I nursed my son when he was sick as a child. I wanted to be with him now. I wanted Cliff and my dog.
My phone buzzed. Caller ID said it was Taylor. I didn’t bother with my usual friendly greeting to the woman who cared for me when my first husband died.
“How are Cliff and Travis?” I asked.
“They’re stable.” She paused, creating a silence that further ravaged my nerves. “I wanted to let you know that, but there’s a steady stream of people coming in. I must go. Drink no tap water, including boiled. Stay inside. Use the masks I gave you. Don’t let the sewage smell build up inside your house. If you have it, try a teaspoon of colloidal silver in a gallon of bottled drinking water.” She disconnected.
I dropped the phone to my lap and leaned my head against the couch. How could this happen?
My family needed me to stay clearheaded. I used my phone to look up the number for Animal Control. My fingers trembled as I dialed the number.
“We are experiencing an unusually high volume of calls,” a recorded female voice said. “We will remove the dead birds from all Rim Vista neighborhoods as we are able. It’s important you refrain from touching not only the birds but any other dead animals you encounter. If you have a deceased pet, please accept our condolences. Please protect your hands and put the animal and its bedding in a plastic sack. Place your pet outside, then thoroughly wash your hands with bottled water. No tap water is safe until we know what the pathogen is. We will pick up your deceased pet when we get to your street to remove the birds. Thank you for your patience.”
Silence.
I walked to the gardening shed in the backyard and brought a large leaf bag inside. With the bag opened and sitting on the Persian rug next to my treasured dog, I picked up the entire crate and set it inside Hope’s plastic coffin. Tears spilled as I secured a twist tie at the top and carried the bundle out the front door, down the stairs, and out the security gate to the street.
Similar plastic bags sat in front of three of my neighbors’ homes.
I set the bag on the sidewalk and kneeled beside it, caressing the side as I said a final goodbye to the friend who had stayed with me in my greatest times of need. Pulling away felt like peeling skin off myself. I stood, stumbled to the gate, and looked back one last time.
Who would do this to our town? Why?
A noise caught my attention. I looked up to see Mary watching me, her shopping cart beside her. “Walled in park,” she said. “Found me. And a trolley washing. Must save her.” She turned and bolted away, her cart rattling over the uneven pavement.
6
“Katy, I’ll be right back.” I didn’t know if she heard me, but I dashed to catch up to Mary.
She glanced back and slowed before turning onto a street three blocks down. Was she leading me somewhere?
When I rounded the corner onto Ash Street, Mary stood in front of the fourth house on the right, her shopping cart facing the driveway.
Beside her, I leaned over and grabbed my knees to catch my breath. “I’m not a runner.”
Mary placed her palm on my back, and I turned my head to look up at her. She spoke in the most soothing alto I’d heard during my few encounters with her. “I was. Saw you. Then Afghanistan.” She touched the crescent-shaped scar on her cheek. “Brandish.” Jerking her hands outward, she said, “Sssshblamm.”
“You were in an explosion with someone named Brandish in Afghanistan?”
She nodded but continued to stare at the house ahead of us. “Then sick.” Her sigh held the heaviness of regret.
“How did you know the water caused the birds to die?”
“Drones. Same. Then sick.” She said it in such a matter-of-fact way, she may as well have reported the sky was blue. She raked her hair away from her face with her fingers in movements uncharacteristically smooth for her.
A truck rattled past on the main road and stole Mary’s calm demeanor. Her expression tightened. Choppiness returned to her movements.
Who lived here?
I stood straight to follow her line of sight, noting she was a couple inches taller than me, but much thinner. Too thin. She held her hands to her temples. “Not yet.” Her hand trembled as she pointed to the house, her sunken eyes pinched shut.
Like other houses on the block, the one Mary gestured toward was brown stucco. Solar panels covered the roof. A two-car garage stood on the left far side of an entryway, beside a d
rape-covered picture window. The wandering sidewalk led to an entrance where a child had abandoned a pink tricycle beside a crate of canned goods and bananas. An American flag flapped at the summit of a pole in the center of the granite-covered yard, next to a blue spruce. On the street-side of the tree, a wooden bench faced the house rather than the scenery of rolling hills visible behind us. Attached to a column between the garage and house were white tiles with a yellow border. The tiles contained blue numbers.
“Who lives at 932 North Ash Street in Rim Vista, Arizona?” I asked.
“Emma. David.” She turned her cart. “Must protect her. Back when dusk.” With a gesture that mimicked pushing someone, she yelled, “Not yet.”
She darted away and turned left to run down the hill away from my neighborhood. And the house where Emma and David lived, whoever they were.
7
I climbed the hill and turned right onto my street in time to see Katy place two suitcases in the trunk of her Prius, one black and one lavender. She pulled out two cases of bottled water and waddled up the steps to the front door, the muscles in her back and thighs bulging.
The sight reminded me of a young mother I used to see running up the hill I’d just climbed. Until a couple of winters ago, she’d pushed a three-wheeled jogging stroller. I remembered several occasions when I drove by, smiled at the pink bundle in the stroller, and waved to the runner.
Mary?
She was thirty pounds heavier. Long, sleek muscles under her stylish running tights. A big smile that seemed familiar, sparkling green eyes, and a hearty wave with striped mitten-clad hand. The friendliest neighbor I didn’t know.
She had no gaunt look in her face, like now. Her hair was pulled into a shiny ponytail. There was no shuffle or limp when she ran.
Did the explosion in Afghanistan cause Mary’s gait problem? If I understood her gibberish, she attributed her sickness to that blast. Drones, she had said. Was she comparing that attack to our current situation?
I remembered the overhead buzz waking me earlier in the week. Was that the sound of drones? Did Mary see them from whatever dumpster she had called home that night?
As I stepped through the opening where the security gate belonged, I realized the bag holding Hope was gone. No dead birds littered our street or any of the driveways.
Katy walked down the front stairs.
“When did they pick up…” The thought of never again playing fetch with Hope kept me from finishing my question. I pointed to the spot where I had placed the bag.
“A couple of minutes ago,” Katy said. “You probably heard the truck go by. I opened the gate, so they could clean off the drive and sidewalk.”
We stood in silence, staring at the cement until Katy spoke again.
“I’m taking Neri to my parents in Tucson,” she said. “Then I’ll go to my home in Chandler and make us some healthy meals for the freezer. If I know you, you’ll be putting that new private investigator certification to work before it gets dark tonight. You won’t take time to eat right. Or rest.”
“Good idea.” I tried to smile.
“I defrosted leftover spaghetti from the freezer. Neri and I had some, and I put yours in the refrigerator because you disappeared without telling me where you went. You should eat that before much longer. I’ll be back in two days with more frozen food and two more cases of water. I heard you say you have treated water in the crawl space under the house. Since we can’t guess how long this is going to last, maybe you should save it.”
I wrapped my arms around her. “I love you, Katy. I’ve always said Travis was lucky your bicycle ran over his foot when he was late for that microeconomics class at ASU.”
She pulled away and locked eyes with me. “And he’s lucky to have a strong and caring mother like you. If anyone can figure out what happened to this wonderful little town, it will be you.”
“Mommy?” Neri stood in the front doorway holding a stuffed penguin, limp from the years it had been my granddaughter’s sleeping companion.
“We’re ready to go, sweetie.” Katy gestured for Neri to join us, then turned back to face me. “I got a recording when I phoned the hospital. They’re too busy to answer all the calls they’re getting. How are we supposed to find out about Travis and Cliff?”
“My friend Taylor Finnegan said she’d keep me informed. I’ll call you the next time she gives me an update.” I kneeled to hug Neri. “You take care of your mommy, okay?”
Neri squeezed her arms around my neck. “Okay. Love you to the moon and back, Grandma.”
I cupped her cheeks. They were smooth and soft, probably like those of Mary’s Emma.
“I love you, Neri.” I worked to sound calm and happy. “And don’t worry about your daddy. They’ll take good care of him at the hospital.” I kissed her hand, stood, placed Katy’s arm in the crook of my elbow, and walked toward the Prius.
With a final embrace, Katy got in behind the steering wheel, and I helped Neri into her car seat behind Katy.
While I watched the Prius back into the street, I dreaded seeing the empty corner of my living room where Hope’s crate used to sit.
My knees wobbled when I remembered nestling my head against Cliff’s chest after a night of passion. Was that just yesterday? Would I ever see him again? Or my son?
As the Prius taillights disappeared, I walked to the oak tree in the middle of the yard. Travis and his dad Jared had planted it after Travis earned his environmental science badge for Boy Scouts. I leaned my back against the trunk and slid to the ground, finally releasing the emotions I’d bottled up all day.
Why would someone want to ruin our lives by damaging the water treatment plant? Would I wake up tomorrow to a new horror they’d dropped from drones only Mary saw? Would anyone even listen to someone the townspeople dubbed Crazy Mary if she tried to report a sighting to the police? Was it even a sighting, or was it merely a horrifying image she mixed up with others from the war?
My phone buzzed. I slid it from my pocket and looked at caller ID. Rim Vista Hospital.
8
“Someone wants to talk to you,” Taylor said when I answered the phone. “So far, they’re doing okay.”
Cliff’s voice replaced a flurry of rustling on the other end. “Hi, honey.” He sounded weak. Did I detect a smile? He was getting better. My husband would come home.
“Cliff.” I gulped a deep breath to pull joy into my voice. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I could dance a two-step.”
I exhaled a burst of laughter, the day’s stress draining a new round of tears from me. “That’s what we’ll do tomorrow, then.”
“Give me a week or two.” After a moment of silence, he added, “I wanted to tell you how very much I love you.” The smile was gone from his voice.
Heaviness descended on me. Was he saying a final goodbye?
“Travis and I are sharing a double room with two other guys,” he said. “I heard someone say they can’t identify the pathogen, and it’s drug resistant.”
The news hit me like a fist to the jaw. “They can’t cure you?”
“Not yet. The CDC has a team of both civilians and government employees working on it.” More silence. “They say we could last a few more days with whatever is in the IV fluids they’re giving us. Some people might recover. Taylor has something up her sleeve.”
What should I say? The love of my life was saying goodbye. My treasured only son was with him, dying from an unidentified infection, unless strangers somewhere discovered an elusive antidote. Or one of my best friends experimented with herbs.
“I can’t do life without you.” My fingernails dug into my palm.
“Yes, you can. But I hope you don’t have to. It isn’t over yet.” His voice wobbled.
“How’s Travis?” I held my breath as dozens of memories from my son’s childhood swept through my mind in the flash of a second. Playing on the beach in San Diego. Backpacking in the mountains near Flagstaff. Family Fight Night each Friday, when
his father taught us all self-defense.
“He’s on the phone with Katy and Neri. We’re both hanging in there. Taylor is making sure we get the attention we need. She checks on us after each of her ambulance runs. She slipped us some garlic supplements because it’s a natural antibiotic. I think the nurses suspect after smelling my breath though.”
I attempted a chuckle. A long silence followed before Cliff resumed speaking.
“Taylor looks more exhausted each time I see her. Travis wants to talk to you. I know you’ll investigate what happened. Be careful. And promise you’ll coordinate with the police. Call Ronald before doing anything.”
“I promise.”
“Bye, my love.”
“No, Cliff, wait.” I didn’t know what I wanted to tell him, but I wasn’t ready to let him go.
I heard a rustling, then Travis’ voice. “Hi, Mom. I wanted to say hello before I go back to sleep. I love you.”
“I love you, son. Stay strong. If you can, call your sister. I know this worries Zoe.”
“I will. Bye, Mom.”
The silence after he disconnected felt deafening. I cradled the phone against my chest and folded myself over my legs at the base of Travis’ oak tree. I turned and threw my arms around it. The bark bit into my cheek. At that moment, my son’s tree represented life. My life. Past, present, and future. It represented the lives of my husband and son. I couldn’t let go of that. I had to at least try to find the life-saving answer.
Mary could help me figure out what happened, and I guessed both Taylor and Katy were already working on a natural remedy. Thank goodness for their obsession with herbal medicine.
At last, I wiped the tears from my face and rose to confront the emptiness inside my home.
I staggered up the stairs, opened the door, and stepped into darkness. With my back against the door, I sat on the foyer tile to give my eyes time to adjust. And to wrap my mind around how different my life might be in the next few hours.
What should I do? Katy wanted me to eat. My gaze turned to the manila folder on the coffee table. What evidence did Cliff bring home?