Dunston Falls (2 page)

“What about the church?” Bender said. “There’s plenty of room in the basement and halls.”

Kranston turned around in his chair to look at Bender. “That’s at least another hundred. That’s very good thinking, Jay.”

Bender nodded and said, “But without the shortwave or television, how do we reach anybody? Forty seven square miles is a lot of…”

“Door to door,” Peck said. “We go door to door.”

“In what?” Bender said. “The cruiser? It took you an hour just to drive here in that piece of junk. We’ll never make…...”

“We have two snowmobiles sitting in the basement garage not doing much of anything,” Peck said. “We can use them.”

“That’s right,” Bender said. “And extra gas cans we keep for the cruiser. We can use them.”

Peck looked at Kranston. “Talk to Doctor McCoy and Father Regan. Tell them we want to use the church and hospital as emergency shelters. We will need blankets, cots, water and food. Also, ask Deb at the diner if she can run a generator for hot food.”

Kranston nodded. “Tell people to bring whatever they can carry of their own food. The diner will run out pretty damn quick otherwise.”

Bender stood up from his desk and walked to the door. “Meet me in the basement in ten minutes, Dave. I should have them running by then.”

Kranston also stood up. “I’ll try the shortwave again before I talk to McCoy and the priest.”

“Remind me to hit you up for two new snowmobiles in next year’s budget,” Peck said.

“I thought you wanted a second deputy?”

“I’ll settle for one of each.”

After Kranston exited the office, Peck opened his bottom desk drawer and removed two large walkie-talkie radios. Power came from four large batteries, which he inserted into each unit.

Satisfied the radios were working properly; Peck spun his chair around and looked at the large map of Dunston Falls, which hung on the wall behind his desk. The borders of the forty-seven square mile town were marked in red. Most of the land, undeveloped, was property of the Great Northern Paper Company. Sprinkled throughout the interior were several hundred homes where paper company employees lived. The lone paved road that ran north to south cut directly through the heart of the small town square and looped around in a circle.

Peck took a sip of coffee as he studied the map. After eighteen months of living in Dunston Falls, he knew he was still a novice when it came to knowing the cut of the land. Even a native could easily lose his way in a storm, much less a city boy like himself.

Before he left the office, Peck used the tiny bathroom in the hallway. He stood in the dim light and inspected his face in the mirror. The fifty three year old man who looked back at him appeared surprisingly unaffected at having spent twenty-seven years as a Baltimore cop. The bags under his eyes were hardly noticeable, as were the creases in his forehead. His chest was firm, his stomach was flat, and the muscles in his arms bulged with the strength of his youth.

Turning away from the mirror, Peck slipped the yellow slicker over his jacket and left the bathroom.

In the basement garage of the municipal building, Peck and Bender stood before the two, late forties model snowmobiles. They were massive machines and their engines roared loudly in idle gear. Dark smoke filled the enclosed garage making it hard to see and breathe.

Peck waved a hand at the smoke. “Jesus.”

Bender said. “We picked them up from the warden service a few years back when they got approved to buy news ones. They run better in cold air.

“I’m amazed they run at all. What are they, ten years old?” Peck handed Bender a walkie-talkie. “Call every thirty minutes, if possible.”

Bender nodded. “I know the layout better than you, Dave. I’ll take the south and west where the homes are deeper in the woods. If you stay on the north fire roads, you should hit maybe thirty homes. Most of them are trailers without woodstoves.”

Peck agreed. “With a little luck, I’ll meet you back at Deb’s for dinner.”

Bender mounted a snowmobile, put it in gear, gunned it and raced up the exit ramp to the street.

Peck waited a moment, the older bull in not so much a hurry as the younger one, then climbed aboard his snowmobile. He put the machine in gear, and then gently guided it up the exit ramp to the street.

Peck accepted the hospitality of the Johnson family and stepped inside to warm himself by the fireplace and sip the hot chocolate Mrs. Johnson prepared by boiling milk in a pan over the fire.

Mr. Johnson’s first name was William and he went by Bill. He and his wife had two small children, which he supported by driving a truck for the paper company. Their home was a three bedroom, Tudor that was set back a hundred yards off a fire road. Bender was right, if you didn’t know the layout of the land, homes like the Johnson’s could be easily missed.

Peck said, “It would be better if you could get the kids to the church or hospital for a few days. Bring food, blankets and whatever water you can manage.”

Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “We don’t have a portable radio, sheriff. How much longer is the storm expected to last?”

“The weather service said another week, but power could be down for several weeks to a month,” Peck said in between sips of hot chocolate.

“Weeks to a month?” Bill said. “We don’t have enough food to last that long.”

“Nobody does, but the hospital has a freezer and so does the diner,” Peck said. “We’ll manage.”

“I’ll start packing,” Mrs. Johnson said.

Bill turned to his wife. “Don’t forget that case of Coca Cola in the basement. At seven cents a bottle, we might as well drink it.”

Peck handed Bill his cup. “Thanks for the coco. I’ll see you in town.”

Peck drove the snowmobile down a long, ice-covered dirt road on his way to his tenth stop of the morning. By the time he reached the driveway of Deb Robertson’s home, his slicker was encased in a frozen layer of ice. He shook it off, feeling like a wet dog as he walked up the two flights of steps to the front door.

Deb Robertson opened the door before Peck knocked. “I heard the snowmobile,” she said. She was a slim and very attractive woman of forty-five, with shoulder length, dark hair and gray eyes that were positively haunting.

Peck pulled the hood of the slicker off his face and stomped his feet to get some feeling going.

“What are you doing out in weather like this, sheriff?” Deb said.

“This storm. We have a statewide emergency. People need to be notified.”

Deb held the door open for Peck and stepped out of the way. “For God’s sake, come inside before you freeze to death.”

Logs crackled in the stone fireplace as Deb poured Peck a cup of coffee in the living room, where he sat on the sofa. Although rustic in design, the home contained every modern appliance and convenience of the day. Somehow, Deb managed to bring together the old and the new and make it fit so her home had an engaging and comfortable feel to it, like an old style bed and breakfast.

“I have a generator.” Deb explained. “I’ve been running it every two hours for fifteen minutes.” She poured a cup for herself and sat down next to Peck on the sofa.

“I have enough firewood out back to last until spring, so I’m not worried about myself.”

Peck sipped the hot coffee, felt it warm his stomach. “Can you run the diner by generator?”

“For as long as the gas holds out, maybe a week.”

“We’ll need it,” Peck said. “We’re setting up the hospital and church as shelters. We could have as much as two hundred people living in town by tonight. What do you have for food in storage?”

“I just had a delivery. Several weeks of frozen, a month of canned goods, but there is no way I can make it there in this.”

“I’ll stop back before dark and give you a lift.”

“Wait. Don’t go just yet. It’s so… creepy without the radio or TV. Just that ice hitting the roof. Not even a wind.” She nodded her head toward the massive, color television against the wall, which was more a piece of furniture than anything else was in the room. A large screen, color probably, encased in a walnut cabinet with doors that were presently closed and polished to a high shine.

Peck followed her eyes to the television cabinet, which looked like an RCA, then he looked at Deb and she smiled at him. “I still need to reach a lot of people before dark,” he said.

Deb reached for the coffeepot, which rested on a coaster on the coffee table. “Five minutes won’t make a bit of difference.” She refilled Peck’s cup and her own.

“Okay to smoke?”

“Sure.”

Peck removed his cigarettes from an inside pocket and lit one.

“I quit,” Deb said. “Ten years ago, but I could pick one up like it was five minutes ago.”

“So did I, but I started back up again.”

“How come?”

Peck thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Deb nodded her head. “What time will you pick me up?”

Peck glanced at his watch. “Four okay?”

Deb nodded. “Don’t be late.”

The sun was low in the dark sky when Peck reached Fire road 99. The barrage of hail made it difficult enough to see in daylight. After dark, it would be impossible. He turned the snowmobile around and headed back to Deb Robertson’s home.

During the fifty-minute drive to her home, Peck’s mind began to wander a bit. Deb Robertson was a very attractive woman and the way she smiled at him led him to believe she might be interested in more than just a ride to town. He toyed with the idea and reached the conclusion that his imagination had taken a turn down the wrong way of a one-way street. This was a time of emergency and stress levels were on high, it was only natural she might appear overly responsive and more friendly than normal. As he neared her home, Peck dismissed the idea from his mind and concentrated on the task before him, ensuring the public’s safety.

When Peck arrived at her home, Deb was dressed and ready to go. She wore a full-length winter raincoat, snowmobile boots and a plastic scarf covering a winter hat. “It isn’t glamorous, but it’s dry,” she said of the scarf.

Deb hopped on back of the snowmobile and held Peck around the waist. “Hold on,” Peck said as he gunned the engine.

Driving along the slick, ice covered dirt roads, Peck was aware of Deb’s hands around his waist. Even through his heavy jacket, they had a warming affect. He was uncertain if she knew what he was feeling, but he decided to keep it to himself.

Forty-five minutes later, Peck slowed the snowmobile to a stop in front of Deb’s Diner. She climbed off and smiled at Peck. “My bones are rattling. Can you do me a favor and go around back and start the generator?”

Peck spun around to the rear of the diner where a large generator sat inside a wood hut against the building. He parked the snowmobile, used a log to smash through the ice, and opened the door of the hut. He primed the engine, put the generator on start and pulled the cord. It started on the third pull, smoked and sputtered a bit, then roared to life.

Satisfied the generator would run, Peck mounted the snowmobile and drove to Main Street where he parked in front of the hospital. Dim light from candles were noticeable from the street. Peck shook off ice and entered the hospital through the front entrance. Dozens of town residents were milling about, looking to settle in. Some knew him by name and greeted Peck as he walked through the lobby to the small, hospital lounge. Entering the lounge, Peck found Doctor Tom McCoy at the table. Two candles burned for reading light as McCoy scribbled notes on a pad. He took a sip of coffee from a mug and looked at Peck.

“It isn’t good, but it’s hot,” McCoy said.

Peck lifted the metal pot from the burner behind McCoy and filled a mug, then took a seat at the table opposite the doctor. “How many have showed up so far?” Peck said.

“Maybe thirty, but they’re still rolling in.”

“What can you squeeze out of your generator?”

McCoy glanced at his pad. “I was just figuring that. At two hour intervals, I have enough gas for three days.”

“And no woodstove for backup.”

McCoy shook his head. “This is a hospital, not a hunting lodge.” At thirty-five, McCoy was slim of build and average in height. His sandy hair was medium in length, his brown eyes soft in nature. His ears were a bit too large for his face, but not unappealing to look at. “It’s going to get cold in here when the gas runs dry.”

Peck removed his cigarettes and lit one. He mulled the situation around in his mind. “We have some gas cans in the basement garage, but it’s not enough to run the hospital and church for more than a day or so extra.”

McCoy stood up to refill his mug. “I could use it.”

Peck said, “I’ve been out all day. Is there any news on the storm?”

The lounge door opened and Father Regan walked in. “I just had my transistor radio on. It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he said. “And by the way, does anybody have some extra 9 volt batteries?”

“I might have some,” Peck said. “I’ll check. If not, it might be a good idea to get the drugstore open.”

“I have an extra key around here someplace,” McCoy said. “I’ll take a look and give it to you, Dave.”

Peck nodded.

McCoy filled another mug with coffee and offered it to the priest. Regan took a sip and made a face. “That’s awful, Tom.”

“But hot,” McCoy said.

Regan took a chair next to Peck. The priest was a tall man of fifty, with broad shoulders and no fat on his waist. His thinning hair was brown and speckled with gray. A twinkle shown in his blue eyes that had a calming affect on his parishioners, as did his soothing voice.

“How are you doing, father?” Peck said.

“I’ve got three dozen families living in the church basement. I need cots, blankets, food and heat, but most of all heat.”

“How are you on gas?”

Regan shook his head at Peck. “Not nearly enough. Three days if I conserve.”

“Conserve,” Peck said.

McCoy sat down and looked at Peck. “We have to be able to do something other than conserve, Dave? Maybe we can send somebody to the paper company for help?”

“That’s a forty five mile trip,” Regan said. “Each way. No one will make that in this storm.”