“ People you see don’t smile, Bobby. They don’t even talk. They just walk around like they’re lost, like they’re trying to find their bearings.”
“ Maybe they are.”
Hansel thought so, too. All of them out there were feeling it. Some had been affected by it, many in very devastating ways. But the majority were just confused, trying to make sense. Trying to understand why reality had been unplugged and they were about to fall headlong down a steep incline. One without a bottom.
“ I got units that aren’t reporting in,” Moreland said. “That scares me the worse. But what can I do? Call the governor and say that this town needs psychiatric help? How would that sound?”
“ Like you were cracking up,” Hansel told him.
“ I am.”
“ No, not yet you aren’t.”
Moreland studied his hands for a long time and when he spoke, he did not look up and meet the other man’s eyes. “You want to hear a confession, Ray? One that won’t sound so good at all.”
“ Sure.”
“ I’m scared,” Moreland admitted. “I’m scared like I’ve never been scared in my life. I’m scared for the world. But more than that, I’m scared for Greenlawn.”
But Hansel understood. For he was scared himself. He licked his dry lips, said, “Sad thing is, by the time this is over, Bobby, I’m afraid there won’t be anything left of civilization. Now how’s that for drama? People going crazy, people acting like animals. Six months from now we might be living the way our ancestors did. A world lit only by fire…”
24
When they got over to his house, Louis went upstairs and cleaned up, got a new shirt on. Then he came back down and took a belt of whiskey. It didn’t do him much good, but he figured he was better with it than without.
Michelle still wasn’t home.
She was not answering her cell and Louis was starting to worry. Mainly because when they’d been outside, he could smell smoke like maybe there was a house burning somewhere. Smell smoke and hear more sirens and all that told him that whatever was going on was far from finished. It was still rolling. Maybe gaining momentum.
He picked up his cell and called Farm Bureau Insurance.
The phone rang and rang over there, but nobody picked it up. It was after hours now. Well past closing time. Michelle was not there and neither was anyone else. That meant she was either on her way home or…
Well, he wasn’t going there.
Not yet.
“I wish I knew where my mom was,” Macy said, sitting there on the couch, tense and expectant.
Louis just swallowed. “She’s…she’s probably out shopping or visiting someone.”
“I guess.”
Louis could not look at her.
He walked over to the window by the door and watched the streets, wishing as he’d never wished before to see Michelle’s little Datsun come swinging down the block. But he was disappointed. Not only was Michelle not coming but no one else was either. It was Friday night. People should have been coming and going.
And what is that saying to you, Louis? What exactly do you think that means?
Honestly, he thought it was time for a good panic attack, but that would hardly solve anything. And he had to consider Macy. She was scared and he knew it. Maybe she was sixteen years old, but that was still a kid. He could not go to pieces on her. She needed him and for the first time in his life, Louis had a newfound sense of respect for parents. Because parenting was an awesome responsibility when you actually thought about it. He was worried sick about Michelle, but she was an adult and whatever was happening out there, she was better equipped to handle it than Macy was.
“Listen,” he said. “Do you have any relatives in town? Somewhere your mom might have gone?”
Macy shook her head. “Not really. They all live other places. There’s Aunt Eileen, but she’s way down in Greencastle. She sends a Christmas card every year, but her and mom don’t get along.”
Surprise, surprise. “Anybody else?”
“Um…well, there’s Uncle Clyde. He lives here. Way on the other side of town, but him and mom never talk. I haven’t even seen him in two or three years.”
Louis figured that this Uncle Clyde was family anyway. That was something. Worse came to worse, he could farm Macy off on him. But that was later.
“I got an idea,” Louis said. “Let’s take a ride.”
“A ride?” She brightened a bit.
“Sure. Beats sitting around here staring at each other. Let’s see if we can find Michelle and we’ll keep an eye out for your mom, too.” He shrugged. “Michelle will probably pull in the driveway five minutes after we leave, but at least we’ll be doing something besides twiddling our thumbs.”
“Yeah,” Macy said. “Okay. I just thought of something, though. Mrs. Brackenbury down the street. Sometimes mom goes over there.”
Mrs. Brackenbury was an old lady who lived alone with about twenty cats. She had to be pushing eighty. Her husband had been dead for years. Just her and the cats. Louis had heard about Jillian going over there, not to visit, but to borrow money from the old lady. It was rumored she had quite a pile.
Louis tossed Macy his cell. “Why don’t you give the old gal a ring? I’ll go write Michelle a note.”
Macy pulled back her hair and tightened her pony tail ring, then started punching up Mrs. Brackenbury’s number.
Louis walked into the kitchen, glad to be away from her for a moment.
God, she was a sweet kid, but he felt so responsible for her. He didn’t like that. And mainly because he did not know if he was up to it. Up to watching over anyone in a crisis. He quickly scratched a note to Michelle and hung it on the fridge.
They’d take a drive and at least they’d be able to see what was going on. Something had to be done and quick. He had to tell someone about Jillian’s body over there and then he was going to have to break it to Macy.
But first things first.
He jogged down into the basement and grabbed his tackle box. He took a Schrade lockblade knife out. The blade was six-inches long and razor sharp. He stuck the knife in his pocket. Maybe there would be no trouble out there at all, but you just never knew. If things continued like they had been, Greenlawn was going to be like the deep dark woods come nightfall and you just never knew when the wolves might show when you were on your way to grandmother’s house…
25
Across the street, Dick Starling covered himself in mud.
After roasting his wife’s corpse in the kitchen and feeding on it, he went out into the backyard, feeling the sun on him. It warmed him. He stripped off his filthy clothes which were crusty with bloodstains and danced around, arms upraised, soaking in that sun and feeling its wonder.
The sprinkler was going.
Down on his haunches, tensed, ready to spring, he watched it shooting gouts of water into the air. He was fascinated by it. He honestly had no cognitive recall of setting out the sprinkler that morning to water the flowerbeds. In fact, by that point, he really did not know what a sprinkler was. There was some gray area in his brain associated with it, but he shook it away.
