Deep Shadows (3 page)

“I did some research, for a book—”

“You write romance stories.”

“Yes, but they're historical. For last year's release, I researched the Carrington Event, the last major CME—”

“CME?” Bianca pushed into Patrick's space, so that both of their heads were comically hanging over the seat back. “I thought you said it was a solar flare.”

“A CME is a coronal mass ejection.”

“Sounds bad.” Patrick sank back against his seat. “God help us if what you're saying is true.”

“So it's not a solar flare?” Bianca asked.

“Not all solar flares produce CMEs, and not all CMEs accompany solar flares.” She hesitated, and then she added, “That's about all I remember. I need to get home and make sure Carter is all right.”

“Why wouldn't he be?” Max asked. He'd been relatively quiet, focusing on the road, but now he turned his attention to her.

“I don't know. I… I need to be sure.”

Shelby glanced back at her friends.

Patrick stared out the window, his large shoulders tense and his expression unreadable. Whatever they were in for, Patrick would be a port in a storm. Actually, everyone in the truck would be.

Bianca was still trying to make a call.

“It won't work,” Shelby said. “Every call is routed through a satellite, and the satellites are almost certainly fried.”

Max tugged the bill of his ball cap lower, possibly trying to block out the aurora. As for the catastrophe they faced, he drove as if he could outrun it.

T
HREE

M
ax knew he couldn't elude what was happening, but the urgency to get his friends back home spurred him to push the old truck. He was an intelligent guy. You didn't make it through four years of college and three years of law school if you were even marginally slow. But what Shelby was suggesting—well, it was difficult to wrap his mind around.

He kept glancing toward her, but she stared resolutely out the window. The cab was oddly quiet, each person lost in images of a world turned upside down. The fear in Shelby's eyes had convinced him of the seriousness of their situation. He'd lived next door to her most of his life, long enough to know that she didn't spook easily. If she thought the aurora was a problem, then he would treat it as such.

His mind shifted to the planes. If all air flight was suspended, it would affect their economy drastically. They'd seen that after September 11. Not to mention the loss of life from those planes caught en route at the time of the flare.

Some would make it, though. Pilots were trained in how to land aircraft without instrumentation. If they could find a safe spot to set down, they would be okay. A field, parking lot, even roadways would work if they were cleared.

The situation was drastic, but they would find a way to deal with it. He didn't for a minute question the validity of what Shelby had described. She might be stubborn and increasingly silent about her feelings, but she wasn't one to overreact.

The truck practically sailed over the last cattle guard, and they flew
past the sign that read “You Are Leaving Colorado Bend State Park.” He might have sped right past Sad Sam's Bait Shop, but the sheer number of cars caused him to slam on the brakes.

“We're stopping?” Patrick asked.

“Looks like we have to.”

The normally vacant store was brimming with people. A few cars were double-parked next to the building, and some even spilled out onto the road. Max slowed to maneuver around a particularly long sedan.

“Maybe we should go in.” Patrick rolled down his window. “Might be better to know what we're driving into.”

That would be Patrick's military training kicking in. He'd been out five years, but old habits died hard.

“And they might know something about the planes,” Bianca said.

Max glanced at Shelby, who shrugged.

“I suppose a few minutes wouldn't hurt,” Shelby said. “I'm worried about Carter, but I'd also like to know what these people have heard. As long as we can make it a quick in and out.”

As they exited the truck, Max noticed Patrick hanging back. He pulled his pack from the truck bed, unzipped it, and removed his pistol, which he then slipped into a paddle holster.

“Do you really think you're going to need that?”

“Certainly hope not.” Patrick's shirt had been tucked into his hiking pants. He pulled it out, then checked to be sure it covered his firearm.

“I think you're overreacting.”

“I don't.”

“We want to keep this low-key. I'm hoping no one will even notice we're here.”

The girls had stopped walking toward the store and turned to watch them. So instead of arguing, Max shrugged and they hurried to catch up.

The four walked together in a tight group, and Max heard Bianca ask Shelby, “Do you think my parents will be okay?”

A year earlier her father had suffered a broken hip and was currently living in their town's only rehabilitation and retirement center, Green Acres. Miguel Lopez had healed from the hip replacement, but other health issues kept him at Green Acres. Currently his main problem seemed to be decreased lung capacity due to years of firefighting in the Houston area.

“
Mamá
is fragile and old, but she doesn't seem to realize it.”

“Still rising early every day to bake fresh tortillas?” Shelby asked.

“Yes. When they're ready, she climbs into the old Buick, which she'd never driven before
Papá
was hospitalized, and she takes him breakfast.
Mamá
claims he would waste away to nothing eating the food at the rehab facility.”

Max was thinking that it helped to speak of something normal, to calm their nerves so they didn't feel like they were flying apart.

Once they reached the door of the small store, Max glanced at Shelby, who was running her thumbnail back and forth across her bottom lip. Bianca continued to clutch her phone in her right hand. Patrick's eyes scanned left to right and then back again.

“They'll be okay,” Patrick assured Bianca. “Your mom will be home by now.”

“But
Papá
—”

“Green Acres has a generator.” Max reached for the handle of the old screen door. “With any luck, that will be working.”

Bianca nodded once, and then they pushed their way through the store's squeaky door. They had stopped there a few times before, always after hiking at the Bend. The place had not been updated since its construction more than a hundred years before. Faded wood siding greeted customers, and the shelves held a surprising variety of goods. Max enjoyed stopping at the old place. For one thing, it wasn't crowded like the large gas stations on the major roads.

Usually.

Tonight the place was packed with people. Every person's attention was trained on the man at the front of the room—Sam Collins, the owner of Sad Sam's.

Max slid along the back wall, just inside the door, and the rest followed.

“Quiet down. Toby's been able to get some news over his ham radio. It's high frequency, so he's heard reports from as far away as Houston.”

“He should be able to reach a lot farther than that,” someone grumbled.

“Yeah, I should, but I can't.” A man with a giant belly extending over his belt and tattoos dancing down his arms stood up. “Y'all know me—Toby Nix. My place is up on the hill to the south of the Pecan Bottoms. Normally I can pick up transmissions from all over the US. What I'm getting since the aurora hit is mainly static.”

“So you can't tell us anything.” This from a woman who was sitting on top of the ice-cream cooler, a shotgun resting across her legs.

Max surveyed the room. About half the people were openly carrying either shotguns or rifles. Several others were wearing paddle holsters with pistols. Texas had recently become an open carry state, which allowed citizens with a concealed carry license to openly carry handguns as long as they were in a shoulder or belt holster.

“I didn't say that. I've picked up a few transmissions from Abney, Austin, even Houston. The news is all bad.”

F
OUR

T
he room went deathly quiet, and Max questioned the wisdom of their having stopped. This situation could turn ugly very quickly. Too many people, too many weapons, and fear were not a good combination. Shelby stepped closer to Bianca, who clasped her hand. Max and Patrick stood on either side of the women, as if they could protect them from what this man was about to say.

An old man at the back was the first to break the silence. “Tell us about the planes.”

“From what I can put together, air traffic control is down completely.”

“Everywhere?”

“Seems that way—Houston Hobby, George Bush Intercontinental, DFW, even the regional airports like Killeen. It's mostly chatter. There's been no official word, but when you hear the same thing from several different sources, you can trust it's correct.”

Max wasn't sure he agreed with that statement. Lies spread as quickly as truth. But in this case, he was afraid Toby was right.

“So they're crashing? Falling into our fields and highways?”

“I don't know, Mr. Bowman. I realize your son is a pilot. It's possible that he found a safe place to land or that he wasn't in the air at the time.”

The old man nodded and stared at the floor.

“That last explosion wasn't a plane.” This from a middle-aged woman in the middle of the room. “I heard it all the way from my place on the east side. Folks are saying two of the freight trains collided. What would cause that? And what if those trains were carrying hazardous materials?”

Toby looked to Sam Collins, who stood and cleared his throat.

“I believe it was two trains, and I can't tell you why they crashed into each other. I've owned this shop since I was a twenty-two-year-old pup. Never went to college and sure couldn't fly a plane or drive a train.” Sam ran a weathered hand up and down his jaw. “There's going to be a lot of questions about this thing and precious few answers. I can't tell you what was on those trains or why they collided. We're going to have to deal with problems one at a time, as we receive information about them. But if we focus on what we don't know, this thing is going to beat us before the first night has passed.”

He sat down, indicating that Toby should continue.

“In some places power is out completely. Other places it fades in and out.”

“We've been without power before,” someone called out.

“From what I'm hearing—the big transformers are going down, one by one. That has never happened before, and according to the experts it means the power could stay down for some time.”

“Because of this?” Another elderly man pointed out the window. Though it was now nearly ten in the evening, the cars were bathed in the red light of the aurora.

“There's all sorts of theories,” Toby said. “Solar flares, grid overload, EMP attack…”

“Who would attack us?” the woman with the shotgun asked.

From the opposite side of the room, Max heard someone mutter, “Want a list?”

“Could be domestic, could be foreign.” Toby hitched up his pants. “I can't tell you, and there are too many theories coming over the ham to make any sense of it.”

“Could be the aliens have come to fetch D.J. back to their ship.”

This was said by a tall, gangly boy, who was apparently standing next to D.J. The teenager beside him slapped the first on the back of the head, and then they both laughed.

It eased some of the tension in the room, but not much.

Sam stood back up. “I suggest everyone go home and try to get a good night's rest. Tomorrow is apt to be… challenging. Keep a watch out for strangers.”

“Any strangers appear on my place, and I won't bother with a warning shot.” The woman sitting on top of the cooler patted her shotgun. “And don't bother telling me I can't. I know my rights.”

“We have a right to defend ourselves,” Toby agreed, trying to quiet the group.

But suddenly everyone was talking, and it all sounded reactionary to Max. He glanced at Patrick, who shook his head once, his eyes still scanning the crowd.

“Calm down, folks.” Sam raised his voice to be heard over the crowd. “The last thing we need is for everyone to panic and start shooting the first person they see. More than likely that will be one of your neighbors coming to ask to borrow something.”

“Best make yourself known before you step on my place.” An old man from the back stood and walked to the front of the room. He wore faded dungarees and a soiled ball cap. “I've been warning you all for years, but no one would listen to me. You made fun and talked about my conspiracy theories.”

He paused to spit into a cup. “Mind you, there are those who will take advantage of this situation, and you have a right to protect yourself. That's what the castle law says, and I for one plan to take full advantage of my rights if need be.”