“Whose height?”
She paused at the door. “Our son. He’s with the Lord now… God rest his soul.” She walked out of the room, looking somber. Colby felt awkward. Uncomfortable even. It wasn’t just the aches he felt in his muscles or the pain in his side that seemed to be a damaged rib — it was the confusion. He couldn’t recollect a damn thing. Not even his name.
A storm door, a warm greeting, heavy boots, then whispering.
“Okay. That’s fine. Thank you, love,” a male voice said.
A heavyset man entered the room. A bushy beard dwarfed his face, white as snow. He had to have been at least six foot two in height. He was wearing blue jeans and brown work boots. There was faded ink peeking out from underneath his plaid shirt. “You’re awake. That’s good to see.” He removed a raggedy baseball cap from his bald head and wiped sweat from his brow with a thick forearm before setting the cap back on. It was clear he’d been a farmer all his life — his skin was tanned, his body strong even though age had caught up with him. “The name’s Jebediah,” he said, stepping forward and extending a hand. Colby shook it and would have told him his but… “I hear you’re having trouble remembering. That right?”
“Yeah. It appears so.”
“Concussion. It’ll probably come back to you. In the meantime, I’ll call you Joe. So, you hungry, Joe?” He didn’t respond. “Of course you are.”
Jenna appeared in the doorway with clothes. “Grandma said to use these.”
“Ah, thank you, Jenna.”
He took the pile and placed them at the foot of the bed. There was a pair of black jeans, a blue jean shirt and a white T-shirt. On top of that, boots. “The boots might not fit, but we have another pair from our second son if those don’t.”
Colby just smiled. Still awkward.
“Are you a fallen angel?” Jenna asked.
“Child,” Jebediah scolded her. “Where are your manners?”
“Sorry. I had to ask.”
She walked away, and Jebediah grinned. “Kids. They say the darndest things. She saw the scars on your back, from the beating you took, thought you were an angel that had its wings clipped.” He chuckled. Colby didn’t know what to say. He found it amusing but deeply disturbing at the same time. Jebediah reached down and lifted a bedpan. “Guessing you don’t remember this.”
“No.”
“I wish I could forget,” he said with a chuckle as he walked out of the room. “Take your time. There’s a washroom down the hall. No running water, so use what’s in the bucket.”
“No running water?”
Jebediah looked at him, then flipped the switch on the wall up and down. “No power either. You really don’t recall anything, do you?”
“I’m sorry. I… What happened?”
“There was an event eleven days ago. The power grid is down, cars don’t work, and all communication is gone.”
When he didn’t register the event, Jebediah rapped his knuckles against the wall. “That’s all right. It will come back to you, so will your strength. If you’re up to eating, we’ll be in the kitchen. I’ll bring you up to speed, and maybe you can see what you can remember. But first... wash.” His tone was warm but firm.
He was about to walk away when Colby said, “I do remember one thing.”
“What?”
“A tattoo of a spider.”
THREE Dan Wilder
Humboldt, California
The three bodies twisted in the breeze below Alderpoint Bridge. The rope creaked, a sound that he would not forget. The sight of them hanging there would no doubt find its way into his nightmares. Sheriff Dan Wilder knew them all. They’d been missing for nine days, he remembered the day well, as it was the second day after the event, and Hank had been in, accusing the Rikers.
Although he didn’t want to believe that the Rikers were responsible, it would have been foolish to rule them out, especially after the accusations laid against them by Luke. But with so much responsibility resting on his shoulders, other things had taken precedence. To add insult to injury, he’d told Hank that perhaps they’d left town, but he refused to believe it. He kept pointing the finger at the Rikers.
They were the ones.
I know it was them.
Arrest them now.
It was all hearsay. Nevertheless, that same day he’d sent a couple of deputies up to the Riker property to take a statement on their whereabouts, but that was a waste of time. It was nothing more than procedure, and Hank knew it. No one from their family would admit if they’d done this crime any more than Hank would acknowledge his involvement in Bruce Riker’s death. It was tit-for-tat, but there was no telling him that.
Still, it would have been better if their bodies hadn’t shown up, easier to dismiss, easier to keep the Stricklands at bay, but now this would change everything.
Almost two weeks had passed and he’d stopped thinking about them. They were missing. What was new? They were like many others that disappeared on the mountain, just faces that found their way onto flyers, except without electricity, there were no flyers to be pinned up, no media reports to be heard, and that pissed Hank off.
Dan thought he’d heard the last of it but now finding their bodies would mark a new and deadly milestone in the feud between the two families.
Standing on the bank of the River Eel, with Deputy Steve Johnson and four other officers, he stared up, squinting behind aviators, foot resting on a rock, a hand on his service weapon.
“Does Hank know?”
“Not unless someone else told him,” Johnson said. “I told Jim to say nothing.”
Jim Caruthers, the owner of an auto parts store, had seen the bodies on his way into Garberville that morning. Dan had been in talks with him only a few days earlier to see if he could work with local mechanics to get the department’s cruisers working. Based on what he’d gleaned from Hank about the EMP, the computer
