Smiling grimly, Soren scanned Wyndemere Circle to be sure none of the other looters were near, then hurried inside to help Toril. He felt strangely elated. Newfound vitality coursed through his veins.
Toril was shooing the kids ahead of her. Both had bulging backpacks and Magni was protesting, “But, Mom, I want my GamePro. And what about my skimboard?”
“Enough,” Soren said sternly. “You will do as your mother says without argument. Is that understood?”
Magni was startled. “Sorry.”
Freya had been gnawing on her lower lip. “Where are we going, Dad? Do you know somewhere safe?”
“Anywhere is safer than here.” Soren hustled them to the pickup. He gave Magni and Freya a boost into the backseat.
A man holding a busted chair leg came running toward them but stopped at the sight of the crumpled forms in the driveway.
Soren climbed in. Toril had her hands clasped on her knees, her knuckles white. He set Mjolnir between them and gunned the engine.
“What will happen to us, Soren? Will we be all right?”
Soren patted Mjolnir. “We’ll be fine.”
Nebraska
Professor Diana Trevor reacted without thinking. In the blink of an eye she had the mace up and out and had pressed the stud.
Amos Stiggims had started to raise the tire iron when the spray caught him full in the face. He staggered back, screeching.
“My eyes are burning!” Blinking and coughing, he stumbled, fell to one knee, and let go of the tire iron. “You had no call to do that.”
“You were about to hit me.” Bending, Diana grabbed the tire iron and skipped out of his reach. “I was defending myself.”
Stiggims couldn’t stop shedding tears. Hiking his dirty shirt up around his scrawny chest, he daubed at his eyes. “Are you loco?” he demanded between swipes. “I was taking that inside is” all.”
“Sure you were. You need to change the tires on your couch.
Is that how it goes?”
“Damn, you’ve got a suspicious nature. My freezer jams sometimes and that iron is how I pry it open.”
Diana refused to take him at his word. “Why would you want to open your freezer?”
Stiggims stopped blinking long enough to glare. “I was thinking of inviting you to supper. But you can starve for all I care.”
“I’d like to believe you. I really would.” Diana was awash in a distinct sense of the absurd. “Here.” She slid a hand under his arm and hoisted him to his feet. The skin-and-bones old goat was lighter than a feather.
Stiggims tore loose and moved toward the house. His face pressed to his shirt, he muttered under his breath.
Diana caught a few of his comments; they weren’t flattering.
Snatching her backpack, she ran ahead of him onto a dilapidated porch. “Here. Let me.” She pulled on a screen door with more holes than screen.
“I don’t want your help.” Stiggims sulked. “Go back to the road and find someone else to pick on.”
“I’m sorry.” Diana followed him in and almost gagged.
“What’s that terrible smell?”
Stiggims stopped wiping and sniffed. “I don’t smell anything but that stuff you sprayed me with. If I go blind it’ll be your fault.”
“You won’t lose your sight,” Diana assured him. She was so concerned about misjudging him that she hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings. Now she did, and she inwardly recoiled. The place was a pigsty. The floor was inches deep in trash and the walls were spattered with grime and food stains.
“How can you live like this?”
“Like what? Alone? I don’t cotton to people much.”
Diana turned and something cracked under her foot. It was a chicken bone, partially chewed, the meat shriveled and moldy.
Suddenly she needed out of there. She went onto the porch and gulped deep lungfuls of hot air. She was still holding the tire iron in one hand and her backpack and the mace in the other. Setting the pack down, she slid the mace into her pocket and went to lean the tire iron against the wall.
A growl brought her up short.
Out of the depths of the barn came a mongrel. A huge dog, mostly black but speckled with white, it had the build of a St.
Bernard. Blocky head hung low, it stalked toward her and bared its fangs.
“Mr. Stiggims!” Diana called. “Can you come out here, please?
Your dog isn’t happy to see me.”
The old farmer didn’t answer. Diana slowly backed to the screen door and opened it. “Mr. Stiggims?” The dog was still advancing so she backed inside.
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in the small of her back.
“Drop that iron, dearie, and do it quick. If’n you don’t, I’ll cut you.”
Diana glanced over her shoulder. Tears still streamed from Stiggims’ eyes, but he had stopped blinking and was holding a knife to her spine. “What is this?”
The farmer jabbed harder. “I won’t tell you again.”
The dog was almost to the porch. It had stopped at the sound of Stiggims’ voice but its hackles were up and it was snarling.
Diana let go of the tire iron and held her arms out from her sides. “There. Don’t do anything hasty.”
“I never do, girlie.” Stiggims chuckled and came around in front of her. A spot of red was on the tip of the blade. “You had me worried for a bit. But now I can take you out to the barn.” He jerked a thumb at the dog. “Hercules, there, will keep you company.”
“Wait,” Diana said, stalling. “Why are you doing this? What is it you want with me?”
“It’s the end of the world, dearie. Armageddon. Just like in Scripture. Pretty soon the angels will sound their trumpets.”
“But that doesn’t explain what you want with me.”
“I want your company is all. A man shouldn’t have to face the end times alone.” Stiggims did a double take. “Oh. Was you thinking I had ideas? Dearie, I’m too old for such tomfoolery.
We’ll talk, and maybe play dominos, or cards if you like.”
Diana thought he was insane.
Squaring his slim shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height, Stiggims solemnly declared, ” ‘For the great day of His
