Authors: Al Lamanda
“Yeah, but they have those trucks which could drive through anything. They could load up on supplies and be here in two days,” McCoy said.
“I could try to reach them by radio,” Peck said. “In the meantime, we have to do whatever we can to make sure people are safe. That means we do whatever it takes.”
Father Regan and McCoy looked at Peck. In unison, they nodded their heads.
A fire crackled in the woodstove in the corner of Peck’s office as he lit a cigarette and looked at Bender and Ed Kranston. Warmth radiated from the stove and spread throughout the room, raising the temperature to a comfortable level.
Bender sat behind his desk and doodled on a pad with a pencil. Kranston occupied the chair opposite Peck’s desk. Peck looked at the town manager and waited for him to speak.
“My bones,” Kranston complained. “Something happens to a man when he turns sixty. It seems impossible to get warm.” He removed a fresh stick of gum from his pack and placed it in his mouth.
Peck reached into the bottom desk drawer for an unopened, bottle of scotch. “Will this help?”
Kranston looked at the scotch. “That’s the bottle I gave you for Christmas.”
Peck removed the seal and twisted off the cap. “Got any glasses, Jay?”
Bender opened a desk drawer and removed a sleeve of plastic cups. “From the Christmas party,” he explained.
Peck poured two fingers of scotch into three cups, and then gave one cup to each man.
Kranston tossed his gum into a trashcan, then took a shallow sip of the liquor and grimaced. “Next year, remind me to get you the good stuff.”
“I wouldn’t know what the good stuff is on a cop’s pension.” Peck lit a cigarette and turned to Bender. “How many candles we have left?”
“A box of a dozen,” Bender said. “I can probably get more from the church if we need to.”
“I seem to remember a kerosene lantern around here somewhere,” Kranston said.
“I think it’s in the tax office. Want me to check?” Bender said.
Peck nodded and Bender stood up and left the room.
Kranston took another sip of scotch. “The batteries in my short wave went dead. I can’t contact Augusta or anybody else for an update.”
“Mine are low, but I got enough for a few more calls. I can always bring it to the hospital and run it off the generator.”
“Good idea. Speaking of the hospital, what’s the situation look like?” Kranston asked.
“By tomorrow, a hundred people in the hospital and church. It’s going to get crowded, but at least it will be warm and the food will be hot for a while.”
“Hot?”
“Deb’s running the diner off a generator for as long as she can.”
Bender returned with a kerosene lantern. “Got it.” He struck a match and ignited the lantern, then blew out the burning candles.
Kranston shook his head. “Hygiene is going to be a mess. With just a few bathrooms and no running water, it’s going to get ugly quick.”
Bender sat behind his desk, opened a drawer and removed a Hershey Bar. “Remember the state fair we had for the Fourth?”
Kranston turned to look at Bender.
“Those six portable toilets we rented,” Bender said. “Remember?”
“We can’t exactly rent them in…...”
“No,” Bender said. “We never returned them. They’re still sitting in the garage over at the landfill. Nobody ever came to pick them up after they were emptied and cleaned.”
Peck leaned forward in his seat. “That’s right.”
“I’ll see which good ole boys got their trucks next door and go pick a few up,” Bender said. “We could set two in back of the church and hospital. Maybe another out back of Deb’s.”
“Excellent,” Kranston said.
“Might as well get started,” Bender said.
“Bring your walkie-talkie,” Peck said. “I don’t need you getting lost out there in this.”
Bender picked up his walkie-talkie, stuck it in his jacket pocket, grinned at Peck and left the room.
“He’s turning out to be a fine deputy,” Kranston said. “I had my doubts at first, but not anymore.”
Peck nodded his agreement. “I hesitated to hire a man without experience, but Jay has proven to be a fast learner with a good feel for the job. We might want to consider a raise for him.”
“When this is over, maybe we’ll talk about that. First, and as soon as we’re able, I want to call a town meeting to talk about a revision to the budget,” Kranston said. “We need to be more proactive in our emergency planning, even if it means higher taxes.”
“Higher taxes?” Peck said. “Come on, Ed, gas is up to thirty cents a gallon as it is. Cigarettes are what, forty cents a pack?”
“I know it, but there is no other way to generate the income we…”
Peck held up his right hand. “Hold on, Ed. I just thought of something. We don’t need the generator at the church to run during the day, do we?”
“I suppose not. Why?”
“I can have it moved to the gas station to run the pumps and fill the gas cans. We can power the hospital, church and diner for weeks.”
“He just got a delivery the other day, didn’t he? Those tanks should be close to full. Good idea, Dave.”
“I have another good idea, Ed. Let’s find out what Deb has on the grill. You can finish telling me about higher taxes over Deb’s meatloaf.”
It was a full house at the diner. All twenty tables and the dozen counter stools sat occupied. The dishwasher, a Mexican named Paco Ramirez acted as a messenger to the church and hospital, informing town residents of empty tables. Father Regan and Doctor McCoy assigned seating arrangements to keep things orderly. Everybody, it seemed, did their part to make things as comfortable as possible while they rode out the storm.
Peck and Kranston shared a table near the window. There was nothing fancy about the diner. It could have been one of thousands anywhere in the country. Tabletops were green, the counter held a dozen backless stools. The order of the day was Deb’s prized meatloaf special with gravy and mashed potatoes. Peck resisted the temptation to ask her for seconds, opting to fill his stomach with bread and a slice of apple pie for dessert.
As Kranston sipped coffee, he studied Peck. “I knew it was the right move bringing you in, Dave. Remember our first meeting?”
Peck looked up from his apple pie. “Yes, I do.”
Eighteen months ago, Peck met Kranston in Cole Farms restaurant in the small town of Gray, some six hours south of Dunston Falls. Peck made the trip from Baltimore the previous day, stayed over in a small motel in the nearby town of Windham and then met Kranston for their planned, luncheon meeting. For a small restaurant in the middle of nowhere, the pot roast was excellent and Peck had seconds.
Kranston had a copy of Peck’s resume and cover letter. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Peck. I was surprised and pleased when thirty-five police captains and detectives like yourself answered my ad for sheriff. However, not a one of them was as honest and forthright as you were in your letter.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Kranston,” Peck said.
“No, I do. It makes my choice rather easy.” Kranston picked up Peck’s resume and studied it briefly. “You spent fourteen years as a patrolman, thirteen years as a detective in vice and homicide. You retired as a lieutenant. Dozens of citations and awards, it is all very impressive. However, what struck me is what you said in your letter. That you were applying for the position simply because after two years in retirement you were bored.”
“That’s true and I am,” Peck said.
A waitress stopped by to refill their coffee cups.
“Where else can you get coffee for a nickel with unlimited refills?” Kranston said.
“Your ad said this is a new position, Mr. Kranston. Is that correct?’
“Yes. Dunston Falls is a very small town, Mr. Peck,” Kranston said. “However, it sits on a vast amount of land owned by the Great Northern Paper Company. Do you know anything about paper?”
“It’s good for writing,” Peck said.
Kranston smiled. “True, but in today’s modern era, it is used more and more for things like paper plates and party goods, frozen dinners and so on. That means expansion. That means Dunston Falls will grow and we need to grow along with it.”
“You want a police force in place before you need it, rather than need it and not have it,” Peck said.
“Exactly,” Kranston agreed. “But, it’s more than that. The wave of the future is upon us and it is in one hell of a hurry. Ten years ago, I did not own a television set. Today, I have a color one, even though ninety percent of the programs are in black and white. I need to modernize my town or it will be left behind, I’m afraid. Like you said, it’s better to have than need.”
“I can appreciate that,” Peck agreed. “Before I left the department, all kinds of new procedures and equipment were being tested. It used to take weeks for an FBI lab to match a set of fingerprints. Now, they can do it in a matter of days. By the mid sixties, who knows what they’ll be capable of?”
Kranston took a sip of his coffee and looked at Peck over the rim of the cup. “I notice that ring you wear isn’t police.”
“No, it’s Marine Corp,” Peck said.
“You served during the war?”
“Three years in the pacific.”
Kranston set his cup aside and folded his hands on the table. “Let me be honest, Mr. Peck. The position only has a budget of one hundred twenty five a week, but you get to live rent free in a completely furnished, very comfortable home.”
“The salary is fine, Mr. Kranston. I have a decent pension after twenty seven years,” Peck said. “And I’m glad the house is furnished because I don’t own much.”
“Good. Now, what do you know about Maine?”
“I can find it on a map.”
Peck’s recollection ended when Deb approached the table with a fresh pot of coffee.
“No more for me,” Kranston said. “I’ll have trouble sleeping as it is.”
Deb looked at Peck and he nodded his head. She filled the cup, and then slid onto a chair next to Peck. “I have to get off these feet.”
Kranston stood up. “I’m going home and get some sleep. I suggest you do the same, Dave.”
“Last cup,” Peck said. He suddenly became aware of Deb’s knee against his leg. Feeling like some stupid high school kid, he left his leg against her knee and it felt comfortable.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a helmet of some sort?” Kranston said.
Peck shook his head. “Put it on next year’s budget.”
“I can get you a spaghetti pot from the kitchen,” Deb said.
“I’m not walking down Main Street with a pot on my head.”
Peck grinned at Deb. “She’s right, Ed. That hail has a sting to it.”
Deb stood up. “I’ll make it a nice one without too many dents.”
Peck stifled a laugh when a minute later, Kranston left the diner with Deb’s spaghetti pot on his head. From behind the counter, Deb grinned, and then rejoined Peck at his table. “How long do you think it will take Ed to go deaf from the hail bouncing off that pot?” Peck said.
“My guess is about thirty seconds.”
Grinning, Peck said, “Are you going to run the place all night?”
“All night, or until everyone is fed, whichever comes first. Either way, I’m here for the duration.”
“I’m going to the office,” Peck said as he stood up. “If you need a ride home, come get me.”
“Paco has his truck, but maybe you could pick me up tomorrow?”
Peck nodded and walked to the door. “Save me another slice of apple pie for later. I may need it.”
After making a roaring fire in the office woodstove, Peck assembled a cot from storage near his desk. He had a lumpy pillow and a green, army type blanket. After stripping down to his underwear, Peck sat at his desk to smoke a cigarette, eat a second slice of apple pie and wash it down from a plastic cup with one finger of scotch in it.
He took his time, sipping the scotch, tasting its blend on his tongue. When his eyelids began to droop, Peck stripped off his uniform, tucked himself in, and fell asleep listening to the logs in the fire crackle.
Some time later, Peck opened his eyes when something woke him up. He did not know what that something was. In the background, the fire still crackled in the woodstove, so he could not have been asleep for very long, maybe an hour.
Peck shifted his weight in the uncomfortable cot, closed his eyes and was about to drift back to sleep when from the street came the loud crack of a rifle shot. He bolted up and out of the cot in a heartbeat and ran to the desk for his pants and shirt. As he was strapping on his sidearm, another rifle shot sounded. Stepping into his boots, half out of his jacket, Peck ran out of the office to the steps of the municipal building.. Removing the flashlight from his belt, he scanned the immediate area. The beam of light from the flashlight glistened in the falling ice.
Across the street in the hospital window the light of a candle suddenly appeared. With hail falling all around him and sticking to his hair, Peck walked down the steps and crossed the street. He was half way to the hospital as another booming rifle shot sounded, echoing loudly. Peck ran to the curb as another loud crash boomed in the distance.
A dozen town residents exited the hospital and stood under the protective awning, which extended, nearly to the curb. Doctor McCoy was out front of the group and spotted Peck.
“What the hell was that, Dave?” McCoy shouted.
“I don’t know,” Peck admitted.
“Sounded life a rifle,” somebody in the group said.
“A rifle shot?” McCoy said. “Who in the hell would be firing a rifle in the middle of the night in this weather?”
As dozens of town residents now occupied the street, Father Regan joined Peck and McCoy. “What’s happening?” the priest wanted to know.
At that moment, another loud crack sounded, followed by a thunderous boom.
Peck stepped forward. “It’s coming from the woods.”
“He’s right,” somebody said. “I think it’s the woods to our left.”
McCoy looked at Peck. “Somebody’s in the woods with a gun? In a storm like this, I find that hard to believe.”
An old man stepped forward and stood next to Peck. “Listen”
Peck looked at the old man. “Listen to what?”
The old man moved out to the street, away from the shelter of the awning. His eyes lifted upward, above the line of sight of the town and toward the woods. After a few moments, he turned and stared at Peck. “It’s the trees,” the old man said.