Deep Shadows (22 page)

“We'll check with our neighborhood coordinator. There's supposed to be—”

“A red flag on the mailbox. I remember. Why wouldn't they just make Max our neighborhood coordinator? He's the smartest guy on the block.”

She suddenly remembered her late-night conversation with Max—the way he'd pleaded with her, the hurt in his eyes when she'd said no. She might be able to shield her son from some things, but he'd notice when Max wasn't around.

So she walked across the room, put her soda can in the recycling bin—would they still be recycling?—and turned back toward Carter. “Max can't be the neighborhood coordinator,” she said. “He's going to check on his parents.”

“He's leaving?”

“Not forever, just for… a while.”

Holding the apple core in his hand, Carter stared at her, openmouthed in surprise. He sat up straight and said, “Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Of course it does.”

“We'll be okay without him.”

Shelby walked back across the kitchen and sat down next to her son. “We have always been okay, just the two of us.”

“He makes killer coffee, though.” Carter reached forward and ruffled her hair, something she would never have tolerated from another person on the planet.

Her son was like that—resilient. She should have known that he'd take the news better than she had. While she'd tried to appear nonchalant the night before, the thought of Max leaving filled her with dread. He'd become a cornerstone in their life, and maybe she should have never let that happen.

“There's a lot I haven't figured out, Carter. I don't even have a watch. I keep fighting the urge to check my smartphone to see what time it is.”

“That's an easy enough problem to fix.” He sauntered out of the room, his hair sticking straight up, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. When he returned he was holding a watch she had bought him the year before.

“You laughed when I gave you this.”

“Yup. I told you that no one needed a watch anymore. I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you going to use?”

Carter set another nearly identical watch on the table. “Remember? Usually you and Max coordinate gifts, but last year you apparently didn't.”

Shelby did remember. Max had been at a law conference in Austin when he'd picked up the watch with a guitar imprinted beneath the glass. The neck of the guitar acted as the minute hand, and a star on the body of the guitar pointed toward the hour. Max's gift had been “way cool” according to her son, while hers had been practical. Carter had been late multiple times that year, and both she and Max had come up with the same solution—give the boy a watch.

“What are we going to do about my meds, mom?”

“We're good. I bought a thirty-day supply, and we already had two weeks.”

“The insurance approved that?”

“Not exactly.”

“So how much did a month's worth cost?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“How are we going to keep it refrigerated? What are we going to do when the supply is out? How am I going to eat right if there's barely any food?”

“I don't have the answers to all those questions, but I'm trying to think of something.”

Carter buried his head in his arms.

“It's not that bad.”

“It is,” he mumbled. After a moment he raised his head and forced a smile. “I'm not naive, Mom. All those television shows you hate—they pretty much cover the collapse of society.”

“So I may be asking
you
what to do next.”

Carter groaned. The sound made Shelby laugh.

“Check your levels, find yourself something more to eat, and I'll go change. We have a neighborhood meeting, followed by church at ten.”

“You might want to wash up.”

“I did that last night.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Okay. I'll do it again.”

“And add a ball cap,” he called after her.

When she took a good look in the mirror, she understood why he'd suggested a ball cap. Had she actually gone to bed with soot and leaves in her hair? Her face and arms were still charcoal colored, and now that she thought about it, she smelled.

It had been less than forty-eight hours, and already she wanted to trade her right arm for a night at the Hyatt—with power, please.

Since the Hyatt wasn't open, and it wasn't near Abney either, she made do and managed to be ready to go in fifteen minutes.

“Record time,” Carter said as she pulled the backpack out of the fridge. “And why are you carrying that with us?”

“There could be thieves.”

“Looking for insulin?”

“You never know.” She tried to sound flippant, but she was thinking that the supplies in her backpack probably had as much trading power as little bars of gold.

T
HIRTY
-T
HREE

C
arter stood next to his mom, listening to Frank Kelton explain how to build a latrine. The man was wiry and old, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. Carter definitely wasn't looking forward to digging a three-meter hole in the ground. He wasn't the best at metric conversion, but wasn't that around nine feet? How were they going to dig a hole that deep? With shovels?

He couldn't imagine how long that would take, but anything would be better than the current situation in their bathroom.

Someone at the back hollered out a question the minute Frank paused. “Does everyone need to build one of these?”

“No. Our goal is to build one for every five houses.”

There had to be forty people who had shown up for the meeting. Now all of them were talking at once.

“Look, folks. We don't have the supplies—”

“What supplies do we need?”

“Something to sit on when you're using the… facility. Lumber to build a frame that provides some sort of privacy. Are you going to be satisfied with a hole in the ground? Or do you want to have something where you can close the door?”

“We could just put up a sheet,” said an older woman who sat on a contraption that converted from a walker to a chair. “A sheet works fine, especially in the summer.”

“That's a great idea, unless it's raining. We have enough lumber and tarps to make coverings for one latrine for every five houses. Now look,
folks, you're free to use whatever supplies you can find, but it's going to take several people per latrine to get this done. Our neighborhood group covers this single block of Kaufman, from Third to Fourth Street. There are ten houses on each side, so we'll put latrines behind the third and eighth houses on each side. I've already spoken with the homeowners—”

“Lucky them,” Shelby muttered.

Carter could tell that she'd meant the comment for his ears only, but there had been a pause in Frank's lecture and everyone had heard.

“In one sense, yes they are.” Frank scratched at his right eyebrow. “The facilities will be closer to their back door. But look at it another way. Would you want folks traipsing through your backyard in the middle of the night when nature calls?”

Everyone laughed, and the tension in the crowd dissipated. After a few additional instructions, Frank started handing out assignments. Shelby pulled Carter back from the crowd.

“I just thought of a way I might be able to keep this stuff cold.” She shrugged her shoulders, indicating the insulin she was carrying around. He knew it was important—in some ways his life depended on it—but his mom was freaking out about this. It wasn't their only problem.

“Hasn't it already been exposed to the heat?”

“No. I wrapped it in ice packs. They're melted now, but they did pretty well the first twenty-four hours.”

“So what's your plan?”

“I'll explain later. We have an hour until church. Find out your team assignment and then—”

“Meet you there? Sure. But maybe I should stay and start working on our new bathroom.” It came out more sarcastic than he intended. No one had asked for this situation.

“Listen, Carter.” His mom pulled off the ball cap and finger-combed her hair away from her face, and then she set the cap back on her head. “There's a lot to do, and for the next few days or weeks, everything is going to be urgent. But if we don't attend to our spiritual needs, if we don't draw strength from our church family, well… this thing could roll over us like a bad storm.”

Carter reached up and tweaked her cap. “Message received. I'll see you there.”

“Meet me at the back of the sanctuary?”

“Sounds good.” He watched her disappear around the corner, then turned his attention back to Frank. He was trying to get everyone to listen as he explained about neighborhood patrols.

Apparently Abney wasn't the safe small town it had once been. Patrols would cover a stretch of two blocks with the cross street in the middle open to neighborhood residents only. The folks on patrol would be armed, and anyone sixteen or older was needed.

Carter signed up for a time slot. His mom might not like him standing guard, but they needed able-bodied people. It would only be two hours every afternoon—from four to six. He supposed the later shifts, the more dangerous ones, would be covered by the men in their neighborhood.

Frank pointed him toward a group of folks. “They're building the latrine closest to your home, son.”

So he moseyed over to his new group—which consisted of a single mom, someone's grandmother, and two couples who looked as if they hadn't moved from the couch much in the last few years. Those were all harsh thoughts. He realized it and murmured a low, “Sorry, God,” before he joined them.

Thirty minutes later they had a plan, and Carter asked to be excused so he'd have time to meet his mom.

One of the larger women, Rhonda, said, “How nice to see a young man attending church.” Her husband, Ed, joked that it might be a good idea for all of them to go.

But no one asked to join him, so Carter figured it was just chatter.

He thought of what his mom had said, about their spiritual needs and drawing strength from their church family. What were spiritual needs? He understood bodily needs—food, shelter, safety. But he wasn't exactly sure what his spiritual needs were. If it made his mom feel better, he'd go, but he had doubts as to whether going to church was practical or a waste of valuable time.

T
HIRTY
-F
OUR

C
arter walked the mile to the church. The parking lot was noticeably empty, but most folks had walked like he had. He pulled the door open and stepped inside, expecting to see the kind of crowd they'd had the night before. Instead the group was about half the size of what he'd see on a normal Sunday morning.

The smaller crowd made him feel conspicuous, so he stood at the back, scanning the room to see if his mom had arrived. He'd never been in the sanctuary when the lights weren't on. It gave the place an ancient feel, with light piercing through the stained-glass windows. His mom walked in a few minutes later with Max. Following a few steps behind them were Bianca and Patrick.

Carter let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He was being overly paranoid. It wasn't as if his mom could have disappeared between their house and the church.

He, his mom, and their friends found a pew halfway toward the front of the sanctuary. “How'd your errand turn out?” he asked.

“Great.” She offered him a smile that seemed a little pasted on.

“So where did you go?”

Before she could answer, the youth minister moved to the front of the sanctuary and told them all to stand for an opening prayer.

“I'll tell you later,” she assured him.

Sitting there between his mom and Max, listening to Chris pray to God for wisdom and mercy and grace, Carter convinced himself that everything would be fine. Whatever was ahead, they would face it together,
and they would be okay. But throughout the prayer and the next two songs—one a praise song, the other a hymn—his mind kept returning to the plans for their latrine. How were they going to dig a hole nine feet deep?

Pastor Tony moved to the front of the pulpit. As usual, he wore a dress shirt and tie. He had to be miserable in those clothes. The room was hotter than normal without air-conditioning or fans. Carter supposed the stained-glass windows looked nice, but they weren't very functional. They couldn't even be opened to allow a breeze inside.

If Pastor Tony noticed the heat, Carter couldn't tell.

Together they read some verses from the Old Testament, more from the New Testament, and finally some words from the Psalms.

“
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever.
Amen?”