Deep Shadows (15 page)

Now the crowd was deathly quiet, watching the man who had served them for over twenty years struggling with his emotions.

“The first place I served as a fireman was in a little one-stoplight town in West Texas. It's a dusty, dry, hot, godforsaken place—at least it was then, and I expect it still is today. Fire was our biggest fear because of the heat,
low humidity, and our lack of water. When there were fires, we cut breaks to slow it down, removed any people or animals in its path, and waited for the fire to burn itself out. It's not a good way to fight fires, but for now it's what we'll have to do.”

He scanned the crowd, nodding at his wife in the back of the crowd.

Shelby wondered what would that be like—to know that your husband was on the front lines, standing between the town and obliteration.

“The city manager will explain the water crisis. I want to remind you to keep your generators outside, keep the area around them clear, and only use propane camping stoves outdoors. Candles need to be kept well away from curtains, and besides—you'll want to save those for when the batteries in your flashlights run out. Think safety first, folks.”

When he stepped away from the podium, there was utter silence.

“He didn't bother softening the news,” Patrick murmured.

“Castillo always tells it like it is,” Max said.

Shelby could hardly take it all in. There had been no real surprises so far, but each announcement felt like another nail in their collective coffin. As she looked upward, she noticed the aurora diminishing in strength.

Perkins approached the podium and offered a shaky smile. “I want to thank Chief Bryant and Chief Castillo for their service to our town. While I would never ask for a catastrophe”—she waved toward the sky—“if I have to endure a dramatic change in our society, in the very way we live our lives, I'm proud to do it with the folks on this podium with me, and with citizens like those found in Abney, Texas. Now Danny Vail has a few words to share with you.”

Shelby again found herself leaning forward, listening intently to Danny. He'd always been persuasive, exuding confidence and calm. She realized that this was something Abney desperately needed, as much as they needed water and food and gas.

“We have assessed what resources we have within the borders of our town. There's enough food to last us at least a month if we're careful.”

“What are we supposed to do in July?” Someone at the back stood up and repeated the question, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd.

“By July you need to have vegetables growing in your front yard.” Vail waited for his words to sink in and conversations to cease. “If you live in
an apartment building, you'll be assigned a section in one of the parks to farm.”

They had decided this in twelve hours? Corn growing in the public parks? Front yards replaced with okra? Shelby had known the danger was real, but she could not fathom how quickly their town officials had made major decisions. It was unprecedented. The wheels of bureaucracy always moved slowly. How had Perkins convinced the others to respond with strong and decisive measures?

Shelby glanced over at Max. Eyebrows raised, he shrugged his shoulders. Yeah, he had the same questions she did. She knew him well enough to read his thoughts, as if there was a digital display on his forehead.

“Use dishwater and bathwater to nourish those crops.”

He paused and glanced at several folks in the crowd, older men and women who were nodding their heads in agreement.

Clearing his voice, Vail said, “You know how it was done during the Great War, the war to end all wars. Families did the same during the Second World War. You've heard your grandparents talk about ripping out the flower beds and planting green beans and okra and squash. They called them victory gardens.”

“You want me to pull up the sod I spent a thousand dollars putting in?”

Shelby was certain that this question came from one of the Archer Heights residents. It was the wealthiest portion of their town, with McMansion-style houses and professionally manicured lawns.

“If you want to eat, you will.” Vail didn't blink. He just waited until the man once again sat down. “We're fighting a different kind of war than that of our grandparents—one against nature instead of man, but it will take the same type of dedication and ingenuity that this country showed in 1914 and again in 1941. It can be done. Am I right?”

Several of the old-timers near Shelby raised their hands as if to testify.

“It can be done. As far as the water, we will not die of thirst in Abney. While we might not have enough water to fight fires, we have enough to drink.”

“The springs?”

“Are you kidding?”

“I'm not drinking that water.”

Vail held up his hand to ward off the arguments. “Our springs have
been open to the public for over one hundred years. The water bubbles straight out of the limestone, and though it's laced with sulfur, it's perfectly fine for drinking and cooking.”

“How much water do the springs produce?” someone asked.

“The pool on the north side of town holds three hundred thousand gallons. It bubbles out of the ground at seventy gallons per second. We will use city vehicles to bring that water to your neighborhood. It might not be enough to wash the stink of the day's work away”—he waited for the laughter to subside, and then he continued—“but it will be enough to drink. We are more fortunate than most. Many towns will be depending on their lakes or streams. We have an unlimited abundance of fresh water. Yes, it has a sulfuric smell—”

“Like rotten eggs,” someone called out.

“I positively hated that odor growing up.” Vail laughed at himself, but grew serious once again. “The taste might initially be bitter on your tongue, but it will sustain us through this trying time.”

He went on to tell them that sewage would be a major issue. Instructions for building outhouses would be disseminated through the neighborhood watch leaders.

“What about my money?” a small woman in the front asked. She had one child on her lap, another in a stroller, and a third standing beside her. “I need to buy diapers and food. I tried to use the ATM machine, but it didn't work.”

Vail looked directly at the woman. “Ma'am, I can't guarantee you diapers, but we will be sure you have food. As far as cash on hand, banks are required to keep a reserve of 3 percent for checking accounts. There is no required reserve for savings accounts.”

“There's only 3 percent of my money in the bank?” the woman asked.

“No. I'm afraid there is less than that. Not all of a bank's holdings are at each local branch. Our bank's main branch is in Killeen, so one third of their reserves is kept there. I've confirmed with the bank manager that he has on hand 2 percent of checking deposits.”

“You're saying there's no money in the bank.” This from an African-American rancher standing at the back of the crowd, holding his horse by the reins. He looked weathered by many years of working outdoors.

It wasn't lost on Shelby that he was already using the horse for travel,
saving the fuel he had for what? To power his tractor? In case of an emergency?

“There's 2 percent, and that's what you'll be able to withdraw beginning Monday morning.”

“So it won't be open tomorrow?”

“No. Monday morning.” Vail hesitated, and for the first time an expression of doubt colored his face. He cleared his throat and added, “Folks, you need to realize that for as long as this crisis lasts, money is of limited value. What are you going to purchase with it? Until the federal government steps in with a solution, you need to think of bartering as your primary means of purchasing items.”

“Some people have money stuck under the mattress,” the woman said. “They're going to buy up all the food and all the medicine.”

“No, they're not.” Mayor Perkins stepped forward. “We will limit what each family can purchase. No one will be hoarding in this town, not if I can help it.”

There was a pause in the meeting as a police cruiser pulled up and Eugene Stone stepped out. The man was as round as he was tall, which Shelby guessed wasn't over five feet seven or eight. He always dressed a bit too nattily for her tastes. His blond hair was professionally cut, and she would swear he had regular manicures. He'd attended the high school graduation ceremony, and Shelby had found herself standing near him as they made a tunnel with their hands for the seniors to exit through. The man's cologne had been too strong—something she and Max had laughed about later.

But this was nothing to laugh at.

“Eugene Stone is trouble,” Patrick muttered.

“Why did he bring the vehicle?” Shelby asked. “City hall is two blocks from here.”

“And he didn't come alone.” Max nodded toward the officer who had been driving. He stood beside the police cruiser, scanning the crowd.

“Who is that?” Shelby asked.

Max couldn't remember his name, but Patrick leaned forward, lowered his voice, and said, “Stewart Nash—new police recruit. Moved here from south Austin. Word is that Austin PD asked him to resign, but we hired him anyway.”

“Gossip,” Max cautioned them. “I've heard the same rumors, but they're only that.”

“Where there's smoke…” Patrick started to say more, but suddenly the crowd grew quiet as the scene up front took yet another turn for the worse.

T
WENTY
-O
NE

S
tone thrust an envelope in the mayor's hands. She looked at it but didn't speak.

Max had the sinking feeling that whatever information Stone brought was only going to intensify the severity of their situation. The man delighted in bad news, and he was in his element delivering it in front of a crowd of people.

Shelby scooted closer to Max and glanced toward Carter, who was still standing a few yards from her. Patrick reached over and squeezed her hand.

Max had his attention focused on the podium, but he felt Shelby's shoulder touching his. He felt the same alarm at seeing Stone that she did. Leaning back, he glanced at Patrick, who shook his head.

Perkins had stepped off the podium to confer with her mayor pro tem. Max couldn't make out what was said, but he knew the dynamics of the town's leadership well enough to guess. Stone had no doubt strategically picked his moment to arrive on the scene. In Max's opinion, the man had never recovered from losing the mayor's seat. Bitterness rolled off him like pollen off a tree in the spring.

When Perkins stared down at the letter, her normally composed expression colored with anger. Though she raised her voice, there were too many other conversations going on around them, and Max couldn't make out a single word. After Stone tried to push his way onto the stage, Perkins took back the letter, read it, and then slowly climbed the steps back up to the podium.

“We have personnel monitoring the radio waves, trying to catch some
sort of official word. What we've been able to discern has been spotty and uncorroborated. I will share it with you when I know more.” She held up the sheet. “According to Councilman Stone, this letter is from Washington. He insisted that I share its contents with you.”

Perkins cleared her throat and began to read. “From the desk of the president of the United States of America… On Friday, June 10, at seventeen minutes after nine in the evening Eastern Standard Time, our atmosphere was hit by a massive solar flare that affected nearly every aspect of our infrastructure. Although there are pockets of areas less affected than others, it appears the event was felt worldwide.”

She took a deep breath, and Max thought he saw her hand shaking as she glanced up and back down at the letter.

“Be assured that the United States government is at work to protect our country from enemies both foreign and domestic. In addition, we are aggressively seeking a way to restore basic services to affected areas. Until that time, we ask you to remain calm and to assist other people in your area.”

The crowd must have thought she was done, because everyone started talking at once.

“Quiet,” she barked. “I'm not finished. Quiet, please.”

She continued to read. “If you have a job in the area where you find yourself, show up for work. If you don't have a job, ask for one.”

“I'm supposed to work for free?” a heavyset man asked. “Not likely.”

Perkins kept going. “If you are a praying person, pray that your leaders will find a way through this dark time.”

Perkins glanced over at Stone. To Max the man looked almost smug, as if he was enjoying himself.

“Due to the vulnerability of our current situation and recent riots in many of our metropolitan areas, I am hereby declaring a national state of emergency and implementing martial law. Where necessary, I am authorizing the US military to perform law enforcement functions—”

Max never heard the rest. Suddenly, everyone was on their feet. Some people shouted at the mayor, others at Stone, and a few argued with one another.