Authors: Eric Walters
Everyone started to talk at once until Herb and my mom quieted them down and asked Wilson for a report. “They came from behind us and—”
“Are they gone?” Herb demanded.
“Gone?” Wilson said, almost like he didn’t understand what the word meant.
“Have they left, have you driven them away?”
“Yes, yes … well, except for…” He gestured to the two men lying on the ground.
Herb bent down and put his hand against the pulse point on the neck of one man and then the other. “Both men are dead.”
“By chance my patrol was almost right here when the shooting happened,” Sergeant Evans said. “They were shooting at us and we had no choice.”
“Of course you didn’t,” my mother said.
I stared at the two men on the ground. One was facedown while the second was on his back, his eyes wide open, reflecting light. I looked away.
“You said they came from behind,” Herb said.
“They just appeared behind us, and when we tried to stop them they opened fire on us!” Howie said.
“There were five or six of them,” Mr. Gomez said.
“Maybe more,” another added.
“That’s when Mike was hit!” Mr. Gomez said. “He was standing right behind me and then he was—”
“That’s when we arrived,” Sergeant Evans said. “We exchanged fire, and then they sprinted that way, toward the school. We chased them, two were hit—those two—and the rest ran. Some of them dropped what they’d taken.”
Howie pointed to some canvas bags lying on the ground off to the side.
“We checked them. They contain some food, but also jewelry, some electronics. They must have robbed some of the houses. They died for practically nothing,” Howie said.
“I’ve been on the force for fifteen years,” Sergeant Evans said. “I’ve never had to even take my service revolver from the holster … and now … I did this.” His voice cracked over the last few words.
“You didn’t have any choice,” my mother said. “They were a danger to everybody. You did what had to be done. Look, I want you to go to the doctor’s house and see how Mike Smith is doing, and then I want you to go, have a coffee, just rest, try to go to sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll talk.”
He nodded his head. “Thanks, Cap. Would it be all right if I just went home instead?”
“Of course, go. See your wife, check on your kids.”
“And know that because of you they’re safe,” Herb said. He reached out and took Sergeant Evans’s hand and shook it. “Son, I know you didn’t want to do this, none of us do, but you did the right thing. Tomorrow in the light of day you’ll see that.”
“Thanks … thanks so much.”
Sergeant Evans walked away, leaving us behind. We stood there until we couldn’t hear his footfalls any longer.
“I know this has been hard on everybody,” my mother said. “I need some people here on guard, but if any of you think you need to leave, go and we’ll take your duty.”
“I’m good,” one man said. “I’ll stay.”
“If it’s okay with you, I think I do need to go,” Mr. Gomez said. “I’m afraid I might throw up.”
“No problem,” my mother said. “Does anybody else need to go?”
Two more men put up their hands. They looked sheepish, embarrassed. I didn’t know if I would have been brave enough to put up my hand.
“Go and get some food in your stomachs. We’ll take care of things,” my mother said. She turned to me. “Drive them home, and then you go home as well.”
“But—”
“You have to go home. If your brother and sister wake up, they need to have somebody there. Besides,
I
need you to be there.”
I understood without her saying any more. If some people had gotten through the guards and sentries and checkpoints to break into some houses, what was to stop them from breaking into our house?
“I’m not going to be home for a while,” she said. “We have things to do.”
“Including removing the bodies,” Herb said. “Seeing them will only cause problems, upset, even panic among some people.”
I knew how much it was upsetting me. I was working to avert my eyes, not look at them, but it was hard. It was like passing a car crash on the side of the highway.
“Okay, you need to get going,” my mother said. “Don’t wait up.”
18
I knew I should get to sleep, but I couldn’t. After checking on the kids I’d made a conscious decision to sleep on the couch instead of my bed, so I could be downstairs—between them and anybody trying to come into the house. Usually the couch was comfortable and I’d fall asleep watching TV. Maybe I couldn’t sleep because there was no TV. More likely it had something to do with the fact that I had one eye and both ears open and had a gun tucked under my pillow. Then, when I did close my eyes, I couldn’t escape the images I’d seen. How was any of this possible? How could things go so bad, so fast? Had it really only been last Wednesday that I was in school, typing Todd’s essay in the computer lab?
I got up from the couch. I had to check the doors again. I wandered around the house—front door, garage door, side door, and then both sets of sliding doors. This house had way too many possible entrances, and that wasn’t counting the large front window or the three big windows off the kitchen. If somebody really wanted to break in, there was practically no way to stop them.
The house was dark and quiet. I could have lit some candles or turned on a flashlight, but it was better to blend into the background of the other dark houses than to be a beacon, a light leading people to a place where there was something valuable to take. Still, I could have really used a cup of tea, except the generator was off and there was no power. It was for the best, I thought. We still had lots of tea, but we’d run out of milk and, worse than that, we were running out of sugar. Black was one thing, but I needed sugar in my tea.
Then I noticed on the table the sheets that Herb had brought over. They were the list of everybody in the neighborhood—the key to the next steps.
I picked up the pages and went back to the living room. I closed the door, sat down, and flicked on my flashlight. I looked at the first page.
It listed everybody in our neighborhood, street by street, their names written in very careful handwriting. All of the streets were arranged in alphabetical order, and then the people by their address on the street. I flipped through the pages until I came to our street—Powderhorn Crescent. I started going through the list. I only knew a few people by name, and hardly any by what they actually did for a living. Our street had teachers, a couple of IT people, two engineers, a dentist, a vet, four nurses, a paramedic, and a whole bunch of retired people whose former occupation was listed. So many people with different skills. Was this what Herb had meant when he said that the people were our best resource?
I slid my finger down to our address. It listed my mother, myself, Rachel, and Danny. It didn’t list my father. My stomach did a flip. He wasn’t on the list because he wasn’t here. He was halfway across the country. I wished he was here to help out, to care for us. I just wished he was here. I’d heard enough to know that it was dangerous, that terrible things were happening and he was out there without us, without anybody. I didn’t even know if he was injured or— I stopped myself. I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t
let
myself think like that.
Then I noticed that there was a faint mark in the margins beside our name. It was a letter “F” and it was made with pencil. I traced my finger down the list and found a second “F” and then a third. Did that mean family? We certainly were a family. But wait, there was another “F” and it was beside an address where there was only one person listed—he was an engineer, but he certainly wasn’t a family. Then there was Todd and his parents—no “F”—and they were definitely a family.
I went from page to page looking at those marked with that faint but distinct “F.” They were mainly families, because almost everybody in the neighborhood was a family, but not all—there were singles and seniors. It looked like an “F” was placed beside about ten percent of the houses or, really, the people.
I searched the list and my mind to try to figure out if there was anything that all of these people had in common. Maybe it was about the occupations of the people.
I scanned back through the pages. All of the police officers in the neighborhood had a mark. That must be it. Then I noticed that two of the doctors had a mark but two didn’t. Of the six nurses only three were given an “F.” There were two paramedics, the judge, two lawyers, some of the engineers, only a few teachers, two social workers, two pharmacists, and the vet. Every single person listed as a mechanic, contractor, or builder of some kind had the “F.”
Was that it? Did the “F” have to do with a set of skills that were valuable? Maybe Herb should have put a plus mark or a star or something else. “F” was like they’d failed, and certainly that couldn’t be the failure group. Those would be the people who had the most to offer if the technology didn’t return.
I looked more closely at the mark by my family’s names. There was a definite “F,” but it looked like there had been more letters there and that the rest of the word had been erased, rubbed off. It was the same way with each mark—one letter and the following letters gone. If I could read what
had
been written, maybe the mystery would be solved, but I couldn’t make it out in the limited light.
I lit a candle and then a second and a third. I was amazed how bright it was, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. I held the one page up close. It was obvious that something had been erased but I still couldn’t see what it had said. I flipped through the pages, thinking maybe one hadn’t been erased as well as the others. Page by page, I looked at each “F.” It was a short word, no more than four or five letters, and the second letter was definitely an “a.” It was like his eraser was being worn down as he went back through the list.
I flipped to the last page, went down to the bottom, found the last mark, and held it right up to the light. Tilting the page, I saw four letters, the last three mostly erased but still visible. It read “Farm.”
“Farm … Why would he write ‘Farm’?” I whispered to myself.
Then I realized why he was so interested in the Peterson farm, why he’d gone out there and asked so many questions, why he had acted so concerned. Safeguarding the people in this neighborhood was one step, but it wasn’t the next. That involved the farm. I just wasn’t sure how.
If sleep had been nearly impossible before, it had become completely impossible now. I had counted—there were 158 people with marks. That left over 1,400 without. Was Herb’s plan for us to leave the neighborhood behind and go out to the farm? But what about everybody else? Without my mother and the other officers, without Herb himself, this neighborhood would soon be no different from every other place out there. The people who were left behind would be in danger. No, not just danger. If what Herb was saying was true, then a lot of them would die. And what about Todd and his family, the little girls and their mother who lived down the street, the Kramers, who had retired and were pretty old?
No, I had to be thinking wrong. Herb couldn’t want us to just take off and leave them behind. He would have told my mother and me if that was his plan. Maybe he
was
going to tell us before the gunfire drew us away. He had started to tell us things. I couldn’t make assumptions. I had to ask him, straight out. When he came back with my mother, I’d ask him and he’d tell me. I wouldn’t settle for questions from him when what I needed were answers.
19
I startled awake. Somebody had come in the front door. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. I rolled off the couch and dropped to my knees. Reaching back, I grabbed my pistol from its holster under the pillow. It was probably my mother coming home, but I couldn’t assume anything.
I stood up and silently made my way to the kitchen door and slowly opened it.
It creaked slightly but let in light. I peeked out. My mom and Herb were sitting quietly at the table, having a cup of coffee. I ducked back to the couch and tucked away the gun, then went to join them in the kitchen.
“Good morning!” my mother said. She sounded deliberately cheerful. I’d lived around her long enough to know that tone was a disguise. “Did you sleep well?”
“Probably better than either of you.”
“And the kids?” my mother asked.
“Still zoned out, I guess.”
“The sleep of the innocent,” Herb said.
That sounded ominous. Not unrealistic, but ominous.
“How is Mr. Smith doing?” I asked.
“The doctor couldn’t save him.” Herb looked grim as he took a sip from his mug.
“He’s dead?”
“We just came from the house. I told his wife.” My mother’s voice quavered.
“You handled it well,” Herb said. “We should send over a social worker to talk to them. I should see who’s qualified to offer counseling.” He looked at me. “Do you have the survey papers?”
“I’ll go and get them.”
Maybe he thought I shouldn’t have taken them and worried that I’d looked at them. I didn’t care. I brought them back and handed them to Herb, who put them into his pocket.
“I’ve learned that there’s a real role for counseling in traumatic situations. Death affects so many more people than only the one who dies,” Herb said.
“Normally we have a whole team that meets with victims. I also think we should send somebody over to speak to Sergeant Evans,” my mother suggested. “Poor man. It’s hard to take a life, even if it’s justified.”
“It is. I know it’s very hard,” Herb said.
My mother and I both turned to him. I think we weren’t the only ones surprised by what he’d let slip out.
“Yes, I’ve been in that position,” he admitted. “The first time is the hardest, although it never gets easy.”
“How many times have you…” I started to ask, then hesitated. “I guess that’s not something you want to talk about. Sorry.”