Deep Shadows (17 page)

His mom gave Max the
What?
look, but Max only shrugged.

There wasn't time for her to grill him, because Pastor Tony had moved to the center of the podium and was holding up his hands.

“Can we pray?”

Carter mostly closed his eyes and waited when they were praying. What was he supposed to say? If God was as omnipotent as everyone claimed he was, he'd know Carter had his doubts. There was no fooling God. That was Carter's position. So he kept his head down and waited for the prayer to end.

Pastor Tony thanked them all for coming, and then he got down to business. “I've spoken with the mayor, and most everything will be coordinated through your neighborhood leaders. But there are some things that we, as the church, need to address.”

He went on to talk about providing clothes and even lodging for people who had been stranded in their town. Stranded! Carter thought his life had taken a turn for the worse, but at least he wasn't away from home when his car refused to start.

Pastor Tony had a list, and he worked his way down it.

Check on your neighbors.

Share your food.

Be alert and call for help if you see anything suspicious.

Take meals and water to the elderly.

Pretty much it was commonsense stuff. Their pastor seemed like a nice guy, but he was a bit intense in Carter's opinion. Maybe it came from all the praying, or maybe he simply believed what he preached. People began to grow restless, but then Tony hit his stride.

“Lastly, I want to remind you that our God is the god of the universe. I encourage each of you to go home, search your heart, and open your Bible to the book of Job. Read of Job's trials and of how he questioned God.” Tony paused, peering left and right, taking in the whole crowd. “Do we question God? When our world is turned upside down, do we trust or doubt? When the heavens themselves seem to bring destruction on our lives, do we cry out
why
?”

Carter heard someone weeping to his right. He stared down at his hands, hoping the service would end soon.

“Job questions God, and God answers. ‘Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its
dimensions?' That is our God. Remember that he was not surprised by the solar flare.” Tony motioned out the window, where the day's sun was nearly gone and the aurora continued to spin, brighten, fade, repeat.

“Go home. Read God's entire answer to Job. And tomorrow, when you rise to another day in a world that is confusing to us with its unique dangers and opportunities, go out and be the body of Christ to one another.”

That was it?

Those were his words of advice? Read the Bible and help each other?

“We'll have one service here tomorrow morning at ten a.m. Invite your neighbors. It could be that this is the moment they need to hear some good news.”

Carter was suddenly weary, and they still had to walk home. He didn't even want to think about walking back in the morning. And in the afternoon, what? Start digging latrines?

Five minutes later, he wished he had such simple worries. As they walked home, Max told them about the governor's message, and that the federal and state governments might be fighting over who was in charge. It was like a debate in his high school government class, only this was real life. The grown-ups were fighting like a bunch of kids.

They reached the corner where Patrick needed to turn off of Main Street, and he promised to see them the next day. He also said he would check on Bianca and her parents. As Patrick turned right, Max said, “I need to go over to the hotel.”

“Why?” The word popped out of Carter's mouth before he could snatch it back. It was none of his business where Max was going or why he was going there.

“There's a doctor who was stranded here in town. I'm going to ask him to help at Green Acres.”

“Why would he do that?” Carter asked.

“Because it's the right thing to do.” Max studied him a moment in the waning light. “Some people will do the right thing during this, Carter. You won't be able to count on everyone, but the good people… you'll be able to depend on them.”

Carter shrugged. He wasn't so sure about that. At the Market earlier, he'd had a hard time telling who the good people were.

As they continued toward their street, he told his mom about the guy
who pulled the gun. Surprisingly, she didn't freak out. She hitched her bag up on her shoulder and glanced around.

“Anything good happen today?” she asked.

“I don't know. I had lunch with Kaitlyn.”

“The girl you were watching at church?”

“I wasn't watching her.”

“Well, I'm glad you had lunch together.”

“Kaitlyn said if she'd had any money she would have given it to the mom who needed milk. I don't know if I would have done that or not.” When his mom didn't comment, he continued. “I'd want to, but what if you needed the money? What if Max did? What if I helped to feed her kids, but it caused the people I care about to go hungry?”

They had reached their house. Instead of putting her key in the lock, his mom sat down on the front porch step. Carter dropped beside her. It was probably cooler out here than inside anyway.

“It's not always easy to know what the right or wrong thing is.”

“That's not helpful, Mom.”

“Remember when Pastor Tony told us to go home and read our Bible?”

“Yeah.”

“It helps. There's a lot in there about right and wrong.”

“My Bible was on my e-reader.” He hadn't opened the reader in months, but he remembered how happy his mom had been when she'd bought it for him. “Now it probably doesn't work.”

“That's all right, son. We have the old-fashioned paper kind in the house.”

“Paper?”

His mom put her palms together, flat against one another, and then she rotated her thumbs out. “It opens like this.”

He laughed at her stupid joke. He couldn't help it.

The world might twirl into chaos, and his life might take a completely different path than he'd envisioned, but his mom would remain the same. She was one constant he could count on.

T
WENTY
-F
OUR

M
ax walked toward the lobby of the Star Hotel.

Most towns now had at least one chain hotel, but Abney clung to its heritage. The Star Hotel was part of the town's history. It had been built in the 1870s when people were still visiting Abney for the curative powers of the spring water. The hotel was situated to the east of downtown, across from the stagecoach stop and later the railroad depot. In recent years the small depot had been turned into half a dozen artist shops. Abney was no longer a tourist destination, but people still came to visit family or to use the town as a jumping-off spot for the hill country. The shops and the hotel made a respectable profit.

Max wasn't surprised to see that the Star Hotel's parking lot was half-full. When he glanced upward, he saw the aurora continuing to spin in the night sky, the colors alternately growing bolder before fading.

As he walked toward the front door, weariness threatened to overwhelm him. What was he going to say to Dr. Bhatti? How would he convince a man he didn't know to help the folks of Abney? He couldn't even offer him a salary. He was there because Mayor Perkins had asked him to appeal to the man's sense of moral responsibility. Max knew from his courtroom experience that such an approach often didn't work.

Instead of marching into the hotel and demanding the doctor's room number, he paused under the canopy and read the historical marker on the building's front wall: Texas Historic Landmark. Star Hotel, 1870.

The marker further explained that the building had once housed a famous stagecoach inn. The windows were placed within keystone arches,
and native rock had been hauled in by oxen. Originally the site included additional buildings, which were now gone after years of neglect. They had been replaced by the city park, a walking garden, and a fenced dog park. Max turned and studied the darkness. In 1870 this community had thrived, and it had done so without the benefit of electricity. They could flourish again, but steps backward were usually more difficult than steps forward. He prayed that his friends and neighbors would rise to the challenge, that he would have the words to convince Dr. Bhatti to help, and that God would continue to watch over them. Then he pulled in a deep breath and walked into the hotel.

It occurred to him that he was getting older as he looked at the teenage boy behind the desk. Was he old enough to cover the night watch of the hotel? Nearly six feet tall, the clerk had lanky, blond hair and large owlish glasses. His uniform hung on his slight frame like a garment on a coatrack. According to the tag on his shirt, his name was Skip.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I'm looking for a Dr. Bhatti.”

Skip looked to his computer, and then he seemed to remember that it wasn't going to provide him any information. “I'm sorry, but I can't give out room numbers on guests. I would ring him for you if the phones were working.”

“Landlines are down too?”

“Yes, sir, which doesn't make much sense to me.” Skip pushed his lanky hair out of his eyes. “I thought that was the only benefit of landlines—that they would work when the electricity went out.”

“In most situations that might be true, but this is something we've never dealt with before.”

“I heard someone was killed for their car today. It's like we're living in an apocalyptic video game.”

Max reached for his wallet and pulled out a business card. He rarely bothered to throw around his credentials, but sometimes it opened doors. In this case, maybe the correct door. “I really need to speak to Dr. Bhatti.”

“You're the lawyer with an office on the square?”

“I am.”

“You helped my friend with his MIP charge.”

“Did your friend stop drinking after his minor in possession?”

“He sure did—for now anyway, until he's old enough. Said he couldn't stand to clean out another kennel.”

“Community service sometimes has a lingering influence on what we are and are not willing to do.”

“I wish I could help you.” Skip glanced toward the windows. “Does this have to do with the aurora thing?”

“The mayor asked me to stop by, and yes. It does have to do with our current situation.”

“The thing is, I need this job more than ever now. My dad works in Killeen, and there's no way he can drive back and forth until the gas pumps start working again.”

“I understand, Skip. Maybe you could just tell me the last place you saw Dr. Bhatti.”

“I suppose I can do that. Courtyard, down at the end. He was sitting outside having a smoke.”

“You're a good man.” Max turned and started across the lobby.

“Mr. Berkman?” Skip had his elbows propped on the counter, and he was nervously running his fingers up and down his jawline. “Are they going to be able to fix this? Like, we're not all going to die or anything, are we?”

Max thought of the historic marker, of the many people who had walked through the Star Hotel's lobby before him. “This place is pretty old.” He glanced at the brick entry and the large plate-glass windows that looked out onto the courtyard. “Folks built it without electricity, and they survived.”

Skip nodded thoughtfully, and the barest hint of a smile curved his lips. “True that, Mr. Berkman. Stop by anytime.”

Max stepped into the courtyard, which had been decorated with Western patio furniture and native landscaping. He was surprised to see lights shining next to rosemary, Texas sage, and a flowering crepe myrtle. Solar lights. Unlike everything else, they hadn't been fried. He filed that thought under a mental
check out later
folder. Turning left, he walked toward the end of the building, where a man sat smoking a cigarette.

T
WENTY
-F
IVE

D
r. Bhatti?”

From his name, Max had guessed the man in question might be Pakistani. What he saw as the man stood and put out his cigarette seemed to confirm that. Five feet ten and slight, he had light brown skin and dark hair. His voice, when he responded, was soft and lilting. “I am.”

“My name is Max Berkman. The mayor sent me here to speak with you.”

“Does she have a way for me to return to Austin?”

“No. I'm afraid not.”

Dr. Bhatti sank back into the chair, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Max, who shook his head. As the man lit up, Max sat on a three-foot wall that enclosed a border of landscaping. The exhaustion he'd felt before entering the hotel returned. He didn't trust himself to stand and negotiate.

“I gave up this habit eleven years ago when I turned thirty. It didn't seem proper for a physician to bear the smell of nicotine.” He stared at the end of the cigarette. “After the solar flare… well, I thought,
Why not?
I walked to your local store and bought one of the last packs.”