Deep Shadows (41 page)

“What happened?” Shelby asked.

“I don't know what happened,” he snapped. Running a hand over his face, he repeated, “I don't know.”

He had swiftly turned back into the building and locked the door.

“Is he living there?” she asked her son.

“Looks like it.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. He's never been a good boss, but since the Drop—” He paused when Shelby glanced at him, her eyebrows raised. “The flare, I mean. Since that night, his attitude has changed from bad to terrible. And did you notice how awful he smells?”

“We need to tell somebody. Maybe Max can speak with him.”

Carter hesitated a moment before he asked, “When is Max leaving for the ranch?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Saturday?”

“Yeah.”

“It's going to seem strange—not seeing him next door.”

“We'll be okay, though.”

“I know we will, but… well, it's none of my business, but it seems to me that he likes you.”

“He likes me?”

“Don't tell me you haven't noticed.”

Shelby willed her face not to blush. “Max and I have known each other—”

“Yeah. I know, but he does like you, Mom,
more
than like. You know what I mean, and he asked us to go with him.”

They'd nearly reached Main Street. Shelby automatically stopped at the light, and then she realized there was no reason to—no cars were on the street. Everyone was saving their fuel for an emergency. “Is that what you want, Carter? To go with him?”

“I don't know. I wouldn't want to leave my friends.”

“Or Kaitlyn, who I would like to meet sometime.”

Carter grinned and resumed walking. “I guess we'll be fine staying in Abney.”

“Of course we will be.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a continuous, low rumble. Peering down the street, Shelby saw a military jeep pulling onto Main, followed by another and another after that. A long line of transports, medical aid vehicles, fuel supply trucks, and even a few tanks.

They stood there watching, mouths gaping, as others joined them.

“Maybe they're here to help,” someone said.

“Nah. They're not even going to stop.”

After that, no one said anything. They all stood there, a small group of Abney citizens, watching the long line of military vehicles roll past. Did it mean the federal government was once again in control? Did it mean help had arrived? Was there at least a plan for dealing with the effects of the flare?

As far as Shelby could tell, it didn't mean any of those things. The vehicles trundled out of sight. No doubt, the commander had told Perkins to open up the roadblocks to allow for their passage. And why wouldn't she? Who was going to stand up to a tank?

When the street was again empty, they resumed walking toward home.
They were still a few blocks away, when Carter peeled off to the left. “Going to see Kaitlyn,” he explained.

As Shelby continued toward home, she thought of Carter and Kaitlyn and groceries and Max. When she glanced up, she saw a man crouched in front of the front door at the corner house.

“Mr. Smitty?”

He looked her way and raised a hand in greeting.

Shelby hurried over to where he was working. “What are you doing here?”

He wiped a hand across his brow. “Didn't I tell you? I'm a master locksmith.”

“You are?”

Had it been only a week ago that they had picked this man up off the side of the road? Now he and his wife were living in Abney, and he was working on locks. She thought her life had changed dramatically since the flare, but in that moment she realized that other people had endured more—had endured worse.

“I was. I retired a few years ago.”

“But you're back on the job now?”

“I am. Fortunately, the hardware store still has a good supply of dead bolts, and since Mrs. Franklin here was robbed, she thought—”

“Robbed?” The word came out louder than she'd intended. She forced her voice lower and said, “When was she robbed? What did they take? Is she okay?”

He took off the baseball cap he was wearing, swiped at the perspiration beading on his forehead, and resettled the cap. “She's fine, wasn't even home when it happened. But she came back around noon, found the lock jimmied and her best silver gone.”

“Silver?”

“I suppose it's good for trading.”

“So she wants a dead bolt.”

“She does. Because she already had a garden planted before this thing happened, she's willing to trade me a bag of tomatoes, squash, and green beans to install the lock. Joyce will be real happy with that. She makes the best vegetable stew—”

“Wait. I thought you were staying at the church?”

“We were. The pastor found us a place to stay with Maxine Welch. Do you know her?”

“I do.”

“Nice lady. Widow. She had that big old house and was afraid to stay alone. She and Joyce are getting on nicely. Eases my mind, since I'm busy installing new locks for the folks who have been robbed.”

“There's more than one?” Shelby reached a hand out to the porch railing.

“I'd say half a dozen in the last day or so.”

“And you think locks will stop them?”

“I don't know about that. In my experience, if folks want in badly enough, they'll just break a window. Although, if they see a good sturdy lock, they might pass on to an easier target.”

“How is this happening? The roads are blocked. Strangers can't even get into Abney.”

“Which means it's not strangers.” His expression softened, and he said, “I wouldn't worry. You live next door to Max. No one is going to mess with you.”

Except that Max was leaving, and then she'd be alone with Carter.

What if someone had already broken into her house?

What if the three bins were gone?

She said goodbye and practically jogged home. She unlocked the door—a flimsy door handle lock, not a dead bolt like Dale Smitty had been installing for Mrs. Franklin. One look at her living room and she nearly melted in relief. The three bins were right where she had left them.

She stacked them near the front door and hurried to the storage room. Somewhere in there she had a collapsible two-wheel dolly cart. The thing was old and flimsy, but it might just work. Hurrying back to the living room, she fought the panic clawing at her throat. She had to hide the bins, put them somewhere no one would look.

She readjusted the backpack straps. It seemed she only took the thing off to eat. But she couldn't carry three bins' worth of goods on her back. Instead, she unfolded the dolly and stacked the bins on it, one on top of the other. She opened the front door and backed slowly out. When she reached forward to lock and shut the door, the dolly and the bins teetered.

Suddenly Max was beside her, steadying the load and looking down on her with something akin to pity.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to… have to take these somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Because there are thieves, Max! Here in Abney.” She glanced around him as if a cat burglar might be lurking in the bushes.

“Slow down.” He placed one hand on each of her shoulders.

“I don't have time—”

“Just take a deep breath, Shelby. One more. Good. Now, tell me why you're doing this.”

So she told him about Dale Smitty and Mrs. Franklin and the recent string of robberies.

“I heard something about that at City Hall today.”

“You're leaving! It doesn't matter to you.”

“Of course it matters.” The change in his tone was like a slap in her face.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

“Yes, you did. But that's okay.” Max pulled her over to the front porch rockers, dropped his cowboy hat on the table, and insisted she sit. “You're worried about whatever is in those bins. You're worried because—”

“Most of the day no one is here. And all we have is that flimsy lock!”

“Do you want a dead bolt? We might be able to trade—”

“No! I need anything I can trade.”

“All right.” They were both silent for a moment, studying the stack of bins. Finally, Max slapped the arm of his rocker and said, “What you need is to leave these with someone who is home all day. Right? These burglars, these cowardly thieves, they're hitting empty homes.”

“I guess—”

“So who do we know that is home all the time?”

Shelby's panic had finally receded. Her head had begun to clear, and she knew in that moment who Max meant.

“Do you think she'll take them?”

“Of course. Has Bianca ever told you no?”

“And she's home all day—”

“To sit with her father.” He stood, grabbed his cowboy hat off the table, and grinned. “Come on. I'll carry one, and you should be able to pull two on that contraption.”

“It's a two-wheel dolly.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I paid a lot of money for it. Because it's collapsible.”

He didn't respond to that, but he helped her stack two of the crates and fasten a bungee cord around them. He picked up the entire thing and carried it down the stairs, and then he went back for the third bin.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

She should have thought of Bianca herself. It was the perfect solution. She and Max walked side by side down the sidewalk, shadows lengthening in front of them.

“Max.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Thank you.”

He stopped, stared at her for a minute, and Shelby thought of what Carter had said.
He does like you—
more
than like.

Max grinned as if he could read her thoughts. As they walked down the streets of Abney toward her best friend's house, he began to whistle.

S
IXTY
-N
INE

S
helby wasn't surprised when she stepped out the front door of Green Acres and saw Max standing outside waiting for her. It was a straight shot home—five blocks west on Fourth Street, followed by a left turn onto Kaufman. Several hours of daylight remained. She appreciated his concern, but she thought he was being a tad paranoid.

“You don't have to walk me home.”

“So you want to deny me one of the few pleasures left in my life?”

“Pleasures, huh?”

“Video games—gone.”

“You were terrible at video games.”

“Television—a distant memory.”

“You only watched sports.”

“Pizza.”

She shook her head in mock despair. “Why did you bring that up? Do you know what I'd give for a piece of stuffed pepperoni at this moment?”

“Which brings me back to the few remaining pleasures in my life.”

“Oh good grief.”

“Seeing your smiling face and the way your hair…” He cocked his head and walked around her slowly. “How does your hair do that?” he asked, coming to stop in front of her again. He reached out to touch it. “It's like a halo, like a wreath growing around your head. It's like—”

“That's quite enough.” Shelby slapped his hand away, hitched the backpack up higher on her shoulders, and started down the sidewalk. “If we're going to talk about my hair, I'd rather we just walk in silence.”

“I don't remember you ever being silent.”

Instead of defending herself, Shelby changed the subject. “What has put you in such a fine mood today?”

“Am I?”

“You certainly seem to be.”

They walked to the end of the parking area and turned right onto Fourth Street. Her watch said six thirty, and the homes they passed reflected that. Children played in front yards, from those barely toddling up through teenagers. Two middle school boys lay on the grass, a chessboard positioned between them. A teenage girl fed a bottle to an infant as she sat in a rocker on the front porch. In other yards, moms were setting dinner out on picnic tables or blankets. It was simply too hot to eat inside the house.

It all looked so picturesque, so 1950s American. A time traveler from the past might think it was the perfect life. Shelby could almost blot out recent memories and believe it herself.

If she hadn't lived in Abney the last week…

If she didn't know the people who had died…

If she hadn't fought fires or manned a barricade…