The Things That Keep Us Here (13 page)

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, honey.”

She layered the comforters across the sleeping bags, folding down the tops and tucking in the ends, and plumped up the pillows and set them out. At last she stood back, hands on her hips, and studied her handiwork. It looked cozy. Those big windows would be a problem, though. She could already feel the cold seeping in from where she stood. She’d have to fashion some sort of weatherproofing system with plastic wrap and duct tape.

“That looks nice,” Maddie said.

Ann turned to smile at her.

Maddie was holding a paintbrush. Not one of those thin plastic ones that came in all those crayon colors but a full-sized brush with a real wood handle. It looked, in fact, exactly like the very expensive sable one Peter had given her for their first anniversary. The one she knew they couldn’t afford but which she couldn’t give up. The one she’d used to paint her first watercolor, the deep vibrant purples of violets against the rich green grass.

Ann sucked in her breath. “Where did you get that?”

Maddie swirled bristles across a sheet of paper. “This box.”

“Where’s this box?”

“Downstairs.”

“On the top shelf?”

“Uh-huh.”

Ann came over. She plucked the brush from Maddie’s hand and plunged it in the cup of water.

“Don’t, Mommy. What about my picture?”

Twisted tubes of paint lay scattered across the table, alongside a plastic palette still smeared with the last colors Ann had ever used. She couldn’t bear to look at their hopeful brightness. “Did you open the other box, too?”

“No.”

Ann reached for the tube of aquamarine and screwed the cap tight. The umber lay uncapped, too, and the ebony. “You should have asked me first.” She had taped those box flaps shut. Maddie would have had to work to open them, and that should have signaled to her that that box wasn’t to be touched. “This isn’t for you.” Her voice trembled with anger.

“Then who is it for?” Kate said from behind her.

“Me.” Everything seemed intact. She would retape the box and hide it in her bedroom closet.

Maddie pushed herself back from the table. “But you don’t use this stuff. Why can’t I?”

All those things had given her so much joy, but they’d belonged to a different Ann. The person she was now couldn’t bear to look at them.

“Shut up,” Kate said. “She’s just telling you.”

“Mommy, she said ‘shut up’ to me.” But Ann wasn’t listening.

“DON’T GO, MOMMY,” MADDIE SAID
.

“I won’t, sweetheart.” Ann held the red-and-white candy-striped candle steady on a plate. It gave off a halo of light, enough for them to see by.

Maddie pulled the nightgown over her head. “Are you still there?” Her voice was muffled by flannel. “I’m right here.”

Maddie poked her head through the neck and pushed her arms through the sleeves of her nightgown.

“See?” Ann said. “Here I am.”

The candlelight cast Maddie’s face in shadow, played over the smooth curves of her cheeks, made her eyes huge and watchful. Ann set down the candle and helped her daughter into her flannel bathrobe. “You look beautiful,” she said, tying the sash securely. “Just like a princess.” She held out her arm. “Are you ready, Your Majesty?”

Maddie giggled, a sound that lifted Ann’s heart.

She clutched Ann’s elbow as they went down the stairs. When they rounded the landing, Ann saw flames leaping in the hearth. It looked so warm and inviting. “See?” she said to Maddie. “Just like camping. Only without the bears.”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Maddie asked.

Ann glanced at Peter. It’d be a tight fit for him to share the mattress with Kate. He nodded. Maddie had been so subdued all evening.

They arranged themselves on the air mattresses, the girls in the middle, Ann and Peter on either side. Shazia curled up on the couch. The candle flickered on the table in the corner. Ann would have to wait for Maddie to be ready before she could blow it out.

“I’m f-freezing,” Kate said. “How long before the power comes back on?”

Peter said, “I’m sure they’re working on it right now.”

“So, tomorrow?”

“I hope so.” Ann reached over and tugged the blanket to Kate’s chin. “The homesteaders were just fine without electricity.”

“We’re not homesteaders,” Kate said, flipping over on her back and out of Ann’s reach.

“Who are they?” Maddie said.

“The people who settled the American West,” Ann said. “Oh. People from long ago.”

“That’s right.”

The fire crackled. Kate glared at the ceiling. Maddie was pressed up against Ann. Ann slid an arm around her and leaned in to kiss her daughter’s cheek, so soft and full. She’d get Maddie her own paint set. Maddie turned nine in March, only three months away. It could be her birthday present. By then, everything would surely be back to normal.

“So, Maddie,” Peter said. “Tell me something.”

Maddie lifted her head.

“Would you rather ride a magic carpet or shake hands with a leprechaun?”

Ann smiled and waited for her daughter’s reply.

“Could a magic carpet take me anywhere?” Maddie asked.

“Sure,” Peter said.

“Like to Disney World or Toys ‘R’ Us?”

“You bet.”

“I guess I’d shake hands with a leprechaun. Then I could ask him where the end of the rainbow is.”

That was pure Maddie, taking an opportunity and cracking it wide open. Ann squeezed her close.

Maddie said, “Kate?”

Kate’s voice was muffled by her pillow. “What?”

“Would you rather have to read the dictionary or go to school in your underwear?”

“They both suck. This is a stupid game.”

“Come on, Kate,” Maddie said. “Play.”

“It’s all right.” Ann leaned over Maddie and rubbed Kate’s back. “She doesn’t have to.”

Kate shrugged off Ann’s hand and rolled away. “Well, I want to,” Maddie said. “Daddy?”

“Yes-s?” Peter growled out the word.

Maddie giggled. “Would you rather eat a cup of sugar or have an extra toe?”

“Hmm. A toughie. I’m going to have to go with the toe. How about you, Maddie? Would you rather be ten inches tall or … ten feet tall?”

“Um. Ten feet.”

“Ten feet’s ridiculous,” Kate said. “Your head would bump the ceiling.”

“I thought you weren’t playing,” Maddie said. “Shazia? Would you rather have to walk around the world backwards or swim through every ocean?”

“Oh. Well, I like swimming. Can I say that?”

“There aren’t any rules. You can say whatever.”

“Okay.”

“You take a turn. You ask someone. Ask Mommy something.”

“I can’t think of anything.”

Orange embers glowed. A soft chunk from the fireplace as a log collapsed, a shower of bright sparks. Ann rose up on an elbow and blew out the candle. The warm smell of burned wick spiraled into the air.

“I’ve got one,” Kate said. “Would you rather live forever or save someone else’s life?”

“Who are you asking?” Maddie said.

“Mom.”

Ann sank back against her pillow. Where was Kate going with this? “That’s a hard one. I’d have to think about it.” But she couldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t.

“Wouldn’t that depend on whose life it was?” Shazia said.

“Maybe not,” Peter said.

Ann felt him looking at her across the bodies of their children. What did he want from her? Did he think she would believe him now, after all these years?

“Anybody,” Kate said. “It doesn’t matter. Hitler.”

“Santa Claus,” Maddie said. “Would you save Santa Claus?”

“How about a homeless drunk?” Kate said. “Mom?”

Maddie yawned. “I bet the power will come back on tomorrow.”

“Dream on,” Kate said, but her voice had no heat to it. She’d grown sleepy.

Ann lay there, staring unseeing at the ceiling. After a while, Shazia sighed and Ann knew she’d fallen asleep, too. The fire died down, shrouding the room in darkness.

He wouldn’t want to be called William. He’d go by Will. He’d crouch beside Peter, watching his father’s every move as he built the fire. By the next day, he’d have mastered fire building.
I got it
, he’d say. He’d lug in the log and heave it onto the fireplace, wipe his palms on his pants.
Better stand back, Mom. I’ve got to close the grate
.

“Ann,” Peter said.

She knew what he was thinking. It was all she ever thought about. Rolling over, she stared into darkness. She’d had her chance to save someone’s life. And they both knew how that had turned out.

SEVENTEEN

P
ETER SNAPPED OFF THE RADIO, CLIMBED OUT OF THE
truck, and slammed the door. The sound echoed around the garage.

Three days without electricity, seventy-two hours without so much as a brief flicker to suggest anyone was working on it. The only vehicle going up and down the street had been Singh’s powerful SUV, and even that had gotten stuck the first time out. Peter had helped push the vehicle onto the main road. Wherever the plows were, they hadn’t ventured out here to the suburbs. Singh told him that he hadn’t seen an open grocery store in over a week. “I don’t think they’re getting deliveries. This snow only made things worse.”

“What about the hospital? Are you getting supplies?”

“Yes, but it’s sporadic. Better keep that to yourself, though. We don’t want a riot on our hands.” Singh shook his head and climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’ll let you know if I see anything open. I’ll put a note in your mailbox.”

But so far, their mailbox had remained empty.

Going in through the back door, Peter bent down and untied his boots. It felt as cold in here as it was out in the garage. He could see his breath.

Ann stood in the family room, her hand on the phone. She was staring out the window. Upstairs, he could hear raised voices—Kate and Maddie, bickering again. A door slammed. He winced, but Ann was motionless, her gaze distant. “You okay?”

“Dad’s treatment is being postponed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What can you do? Everything’s on hold.” She turned and looked at him, her face taut with worry. A length of hair had escaped her clip and curved along her cheek. There was nothing he could say to reassure her, nothing that she wouldn’t see through to the false hope it held. “Any news?”

“They’ve raised the number of fatalities to thirteen. They still haven’t gotten everyone out.”

“Those poor people.”

“They’re telling people to stay home if they’re sick.”

“But what if you develop pneumonia? You’d have to see a doctor.”

She watched him, waited for him to confirm this. Wanted him to. It was an unbearable notion, thinking that medical assistance wouldn’t be available if you needed it. The announcer hadn’t mentioned any exceptions, but of course people would still flock to their doctors’ offices. A radio announcement wouldn’t keep them from lining up outside the hospitals. It was human nature. If one of his girls got sick, he’d be the first to pound on the emergency room door.

“Of course,” he said, knowing better. Those resources were rapidly being depleted. Soon doctors would be unable to get medical supplies, most of which were imported from China. That country had been virtually shut down. Antibiotics, too, were in finite supply. “I’m going to drive around the neighborhood. Maybe I can learn something.”

She frowned. “It’s not safe. The roads aren’t even plowed.”

“The sun’s been working on them. Singh’s been able to get in and out.”

“What about the gas?”

“I won’t go far.”

“All right. Just … be careful.”

He backed his pickup out of the driveway and bumped into the grooves Singh’s SUV had carved. They carried him down to the main road. There, a pair of parallel ruts ran down the middle, snow packed high on either side.

A cement-colored sky hung above, showing no sign of sun or cloud, nothing to indicate whether or not more snow was on its way. Everything was draped in snow dirtied by the passage of time. Nothing moved but smoke trickling from chimneys. No hawks wheeled overhead. No little fat chickadees hopped from branch to branch. The virus had gotten to them. There was no other explanation. He gripped the steering wheel and stared hard at the road before him.

The tracks swerved around a fallen tree, swung back, vanished beneath blowing snow. He slowed to a crawl and they reemerged.

Glancing down side streets, he saw people out working the snowbanks with shovels. They paused to watch him drive by. He lifted his hand in greeting, got some nods and waves in return. Kids sledded down a far embankment. The day before, he’d persuaded the girls to go sledding. Shazia had ended up staying home, so it had been just him and his girls. It had been fun at first, Kate and Maddie laughing and rosy-cheeked, traipsing alongside him through the deep snow. But when they arrived at the park and saw the masked children and the parents standing guard at the top of the hill, his daughters’ moods turned somber. They’d refused to go anywhere since.

He was getting warm, thawing out for the first time in days. Pulling off his hat and gloves, he rolled down the window. It might have been a good idea to bring the girls along and let them warm up, too, but he knew Ann would never have permitted it.

A gold sedan appeared in the distance heading toward him. Peter slowed, wondering how they were both going to manage to stay on the road. One of them would have to leave the safety of the ruts. Peter, probably, since he was in the bigger vehicle. But then the car turned onto an adjacent street. It was gone by the time Peter reached the intersection.

He heard a droning noise. He lifted his foot from the accelerator and listened. The sound grew louder and took shape, attenuated into the wasplike whine of a power tool. A few blocks away, he found its source—two men standing beside a red minivan, knee-deep in the snow. One held a power saw, working it through a fat tree limb. The other man grabbed hold of the drooping branch and tugged. Snow sifted down. The second fellow caught sight of Peter’s truck and elbowed his buddy, who turned and stared. The power saw muttered into silence.

Peter leaned his arm out the window. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Both men wore caps and quilted jackets, heavy boots, and gloves. Peter flashed back to the father and son up at Sparrow Lake all those weeks ago. These two bore a similar guarded watchfulness, but for a different reason. They were illegally chopping down street trees. “Cold day,” Peter said.

In other words,
I’m not here to bust you
.

The men exchanged a glance.

“Least it stopped snowing,” the shorter one said. “You look familiar. You got a kid who plays soccer?” Peter nodded. “My eight-year-old.”

“Yeah, okay. I guess I’ve seen you at games.”

“Know whether any stores are open?”

“I heard there was one out in Galway,” the shorter fellow said.

Galway was thirty minutes away. Was it worth the gas to check and see? They weren’t that low on food yet.

“Don’t even bother going out to Lancaster,” the guy continued. “Farmers there are chasing people away with guns.”

Peter frowned. “Hear anything about when the power might come back on?”

“Matter of fact, a guy from the power company just went by. Said they’ve got parts of downtown up and running.”

His apartment was downtown. If the power was on there, he could load everyone up, toss in some sleeping bags and some food. It’d be cramped quarters, but at least it’d be warm. They’d have running water and the use of a bathroom. And the Internet. “You know which areas?”

“Nah.” The taller man picked up the branch, dragged it over to the minivan, and pushed it through the yawning trunk door. “Dude was in a hurry to get going.”

“What about the university? Did he say anything about the power being on there?” They could camp out in his office. He could move his desk into the hall to make room. There was a kitchen, with a refrigerator, microwave, and coffeemaker. That’d be the better bet.

A shrug. “You could ask him yourself. He’s working that substation down on Summit.”

“South of Brant?”

“That’s the one.”

As Peter put the truck in gear, the shorter fellow took a step toward him. “Mind me passing on a piece of advice?” He nodded at Peter’s truck. “Better keep an eye on your vehicle. People have been going around puncturing gas tanks on big trucks like yours and siphoning off the gas.”

A few miles down the darkening road, Peter spied the fenced enclosure, the tall metal structures inside pointing skyward. A white van sat tilted off the road by the gate. Peter could see a man on the other side, shoveling. He rolled his truck to a stop and got out. The fellow looked over his shoulder, then turned and stopped, shovel clenched between both hands. “Don’t come any closer, sir.”

“Got it.” Peter stopped a good ten feet away.

The man wore a hard hat and an orange safety vest over a bulky gray jumpsuit. “You need something?”

“I hear you got the power on downtown.”

“That’s right. Where the hospital is.”

There was a bit of good news. Peter’s office was just a few blocks away. No doubt it was on the same power grid. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten the whole city back up yet.”

“This one’s been a real bitch. The storm took down a transmission tower and tripped failures all along the line.” He leaned the shovel against the fence. “Fire broke out. We lost a couple guys.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Spooked my line crew. Half of them didn’t show this morning. Couple called in sick, but you ask me, it wasn’t H5N1 that got them. They got family and they’re afraid to leave them. My foreman’s worried about his cat. Who’ll feed it if he gets stuck on the job?” The man laughed sourly. “Times like these, you can’t pay people enough. We tried to call in crews from other locations, but the storm hit them pretty hard, too.”

The radio announcer had been wrong then. No help was coming.

There was a crackle of static. The man fumbled for the radio clipped to his shoulder. “Go.” He bent his head, listening. “You sure about that?”

This substation fed his house. Maybe he could wait out the evening and see if the power came back on there. Otherwise, first thing in the morning, he’d load everyone up and head out. It was getting too late now. Ann would balk at driving after dark.

The man hooked the radio back into place. “Mind moving your truck?”

“Sure.” Peter stepped back from the fence. “You’re done here, then?”

The man crunched over and retrieved his shovel. “Haven’t even started. The tower went down again.”

“So, the power’s back off downtown?”

“Looks like it.” He stood by the gate, shovel in hand, and waited. He wasn’t going to move until Peter was far enough away. Peter backed up and the man worked the lock on the gate. “I’m not looking forward to trying to get back into the city.”

“I hear I-71’s closed.”

The man looked up. “You been down there?”

“No. Is it bad?”

The man shook his head. “Worst thing I ever seen, all those burned-out cars jammed end to end.” He slammed the gate shut. “There was nowhere for anyone to go. They just sat there and let the fire take them.”

THE SLEDDERS WERE GONE. ALL THAT REMAINED OF THE TWO
men stealing firewood was a scattering of fir tips staining the snow where they’d been working. Headlights blinked in the distance, then vanished. The sky above was turning black. Peter headed west, drawing the night with him.

By the time he pulled onto his street, it was full dark. His headlights threw up slanted cuts of snow and shadowed the gray slush hardened now into ridges. Windows flickered with candlelight. The brick house with the columns stood somber and unlighted. Was it better wherever that family had fled to? The small house beside it stood dark as well. Peter eyed it as he drove around the corner.

Light burst from a window onto the snow-packed bushes below, illuminating the wooden windowsill, a section of brick wall, and the spiky holly bushes beneath. Then just as suddenly, the light winked out.

Peter braked. There was no mistaking what he’d seen. He hesitated, then bumped the truck up onto the sidewalk. Anybody trying to get under his fuel tank would have to tunnel through the snow first.

He worked his way through the unshoveled snow and pounded on the door.

A dog barked from inside.

“Finn? It’s Peter Brooks. Your neighbor from down the street.”

“I know who it is,” said a voice behind him.

Peter wheeled around. A figure stood by the back gate. There wasn’t enough starlight to discern the man’s features, but he’d recognized the brusque voice. Walter Finn.

“What do you want?” the man asked.

“I saw your light. You have a generator, don’t you?”

“None of your business.”

“All I want is some information.”

A curt laugh. “Here’s some information for you, free of charge. Hell’s freezing over.”

“What about the vaccine they’re working on? You hear anything about that?”

“Come on, Brooks. You don’t really think there’s a vaccine, do you? They’re just shining us on, big G’s way of keeping the little people from complaining and asking too many questions.”

Big G
must mean the government. “I know the guy leading up the effort. I’ve worked with him. It’s not a lie. There really is a vaccine in the works.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for such a fool.”

“I can prove it.”

A pause. “How?”

“Let me online. I can show you.”

A beat, then Finn said, “Get your mask first.”

He meant a respiratory mask, and he was right. Peter should be wearing one. “Hold on. I’ve got one in my truck.”

A minute later, the front door creaked open as Peter worked his way back up the walk toward the house. A flashlight suddenly switched on. In the long beam of light, Peter saw heavy boots and work pants, four brown paws. He glimpsed the heavy black respirator strapped to Finn’s face. The light moved up and flared in Peter’s eyes.

He blinked and threw up his forearm. The light dropped away. The dog tried to push past, but Finn shoved him back with his knee. The door banged open. The dog panted happily up at him.

“This way.” Finn led him downstairs, shutting the door after them and switching on the light. In the sudden brightness, Peter saw concrete-block walls, small windows covered with black plastic, and a naked lightbulb screwed into the middle of the low ceiling. He rounded the steps and saw Finn’s work space. The man had everything.

On the large wooden table tucked into the corner sat a desktop computer, a short-wave radio, and a small television set. A portable heater glowed beneath, and a table fan whirred on top of the small bookcase. A sleeping bag had been unfolded across a narrow cot. Finn was living down here. It was definitely warmer. Barney trotted over to the folding chair and sat on the floor, looking expectant.