Josh perched on the stool in the dark storage room, the violin at his chin. Time was measured by storms now, and this was number four. The rich melody filled the space, calming him.
The timer went off, and he peeked his head through the door. She shrugged and gave him her apology-grimace. His shoulders tightened.
“Right.” He shuffled across the room to help her.
Two weeks ago, if anyone had told him he’d be helping a girl he didn’t know go to the toilet, he’d have laughed in his face.
He waited for her to finish, heat burning his cheeks. Still, he hovered outside the door, just in case. She emerged, and he took her arm, but she pushed past him and walked to the couch on her own.
She sat down and tightened her ponytail. “Does the shower work?”
“Um…well…yeah. If the circuit holds. Do y—”
“Yes. I do, and any food?” She scanned the kitchen cabinets.
“Umm.” He opened a cabinet and grabbed several packets of soup. “Chicken noodle, vegetable, or tomato?”
“Oh, tomato. Got any cheese?”
“Cheese? Uh, no cheese. I have peanut butter and jelly.”
“You cook, and I’ll shower.” She stood and headed to the bathroom.
“Clean clothes? You want some?”
She nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. He rummaged through the box and found another clean T-shirt and pair of sweats.
He knocked on the door. “They’re on the floor.”
She popped her hand out, scooped the clothes into her arms, and shut the door, whiffs of steam escaping.
He resisted the urge to peek and grinned. He’d done it, healed her. After Mom, he wasn’t sure.
Well, this time he was doing something right.
****
She was on her fourth spoonful of soup, but he’d finished his entire bowl. He sat and munched on crackers, crumbs falling on his chest.
The lights flickered and went out. Emma’s head jerked up.
“Great. I’ll light some candles.”
“Listen.” She held a finger to her lips.
“The wind?” He rose from his chair.
“It’s so quiet.”
“I should go check the solar panels and see what happened before the sun goes down.”
He took her bowl and set it in the sink then stirred the fire and added more wood. The flames brightened the room in a warm glow. She’d eaten the whole bowl, which was one less thing to worry about. Now he had to sort out the solar circuit.
He put on his jacket, and she frowned at him. He slipped on his shoes. “Don’t you want lights?” She didn’t respond.
“I won’t be long.” He climbed the stairs and pushed on the door, but it didn’t open. He pushed harder, and sunlight burst through the crack, catching him off guard. Humidity was affecting every door in the house, it seemed.
He leaned all his weight against the door. Debris must have collected, blocking it. He poked his finger at the bottom of the crack and encountered debris packed against the door. Pressing the door, he used his foot to kick away the fir needles and debris.
It gave way, and he stumbled into the hall. He left the basement door open to let the brisk breeze blow in. So far, the front door had held against the winds and looters. Climbing over pillows of insulation, pinecones, paper, and torn curtains, he staggered into the living room. Light filtered in through holes in the walls. Those were new.
He stepped onto the porch. Bugger’s blue paint peeked from under a fir tree, roofing caught in the fence, branches covering the ground. The winds had been off the charts, like Dad had said they would. It was a miracle the circuit had held together as long as it did. He rubbed the cramp in his neck.
A piece of green metal roofing from the barn tilted against the fence. The barn would need a new roof soon. Josh gazed beyond the barn to the sun sitting low in the western sky. He squinted, taking in the billowing clouds against a blue sky and golden horizon.
“Beautiful.” He stood with his hands balled in his pockets. Did Emma like sunsets?
With slow, deliberate steps, he climbed over debris to the solar panel circuits. Two had been twisted out of the frame, but the metal wasn’t broken. The breeze blew his hair back, and clouds gathered to the southwest. The scent of fir trees on the soft breeze caressed him. Clouds streaked across the sky. Did he have enough daylight to repair the circuit?
He climbed the steps to the back porch and checked the gas level in the generator. He still needed the radio, so he hit the start button. It roared to life. He hit the transfer switch in the breaker box and made his way into the basement.
“What was that noise? Is another storm coming?” Emma slumped on the couch. The edge of impatience in her voice cut through the air. She must be feeling better if she was getting cranky.
“It’s just the generator,” he said. “I don’t want to miss any radio messages.” He flipped the switch, and the radio came on. “No storm yet. I should be able to fix the circuit in a matter of minutes, but—”
“I better go with you.” She pushed herself up.
“Wait. Um, but I just got the lights back on.”
“I’m going.”
He scratched his head. “Are you strong enough?”
She pushed the covers to her knees, and he held up a hand, but she didn’t stop.
He reached for her. “Wait. I can’t watch you and work on—”
“I don’t care. I’ve been on this couch long enough.” She swung her legs off the couch.
“What? I mean, what if you have t—?” His face grew warm.
“I’m fine.” She turned red, but the thin line of her lips kept him quiet.
Why did the wrong thing always fly from his mouth? He put a hand to his cheek. He was probably as red as she was.
Emma wobbled, and he reached for her arm.
“You have to stay—”
“I’m not staying inside.”
“Okay, listen, I’ll help you up the steps and onto the front porch, but you will sit there while I work on the panels. Deal?” He glared at her, but her face was so serious, he almost laughed.
“Deal.” She hitched up the sweats.
He held her elbow, and they took the stairs one at a time. She did seem stronger, but she sank onto the top step. She scanned the barn and driveway with a grin that made him want to laugh again. Grandpa said it was the little things in life, and Josh was pretty sure he meant moments like this.
“I don’t remember how I got here,” she said.
“You don’t? Well, the back door was closer, so—”
“Even if it wasn’t to this door, shouldn’t I remember something?”
“You were pretty sick.”
The grin never left her face. She didn’t seem to mind not remembering. He shrugged. Girls.
“The panels are on the other side of the house, so remember our deal?”
She nodded. He jogged to the pantry and flipped off the switch on the breaker box, grabbed his pack filled with tools and fasteners and the duct tape, the universal fix-all. He’d tape those panels in if he had to.
Grandpa would have had every inch of the circuit checked and repaired already. Josh would have too if Emma wasn’t so sick. He grinned. Grandpa would like her.
He charged out the back door and around the corner to the solar panels. The kitchen porch and yard were protected by the house, but turning the corner, branches and insulation and a small tree blocked his path. Did each storm have to leave so much destruction and more work? He could barely keep up.
He removed branches from the first panel separated from the frame and swinging loose. He repositioned it and replaced fasteners, securing the connections, then went to the next one.
He stretched his back as sunrays burst through the clouds and shadows from the trees still standing spread across the yard and house. It really was the little things in life that kept him going. He wiped his hands on his jeans and grabbed his tool belt.
He walked around to the porch but stopped. Where was she? He scanned the driveway, the barn, and across the pasture. No girl. Did she fall behind a pile of something?
“Emma?” he called. Mom had been healthy when she fell down the stairs. He raced into the house and peered into the basement. No Emma, thank God.
He ran back outside. “Emma!”
“I’m in here.”
Her voice came from the barn. He marched across the yard and slipped through the giant door that was hanging off one of its hinges. Emma stood in the middle of dad’s weather instruments and equipment at back of the barn.
“I thought we had a deal?” His eyes adjusted, and he could make out her face. A slow burn consumed him.
“I didn’t go far.” She rummaged through Dad’s equipment, lifting one thing, examining it, then lifting something else.
“What are you’re doing?”
“Helping.”
“How is this helping? And don’t touch that.” He balled his fists and marched across the barn.
She opened the stall door and stepped into the paddock. She opened the weather station door, a small metal box on stilt-like legs. “What’s this?” she asked, pointing.
“It’s an anemometer. It measures wind direction and speeds. Inside are some other instruments: a thermometer, barometer, and—”
“What’s this?” She picked something up and waved it at him.
Dad’s sling psychrometer? “Careful. That’s fragile.” He grabbed for it as she held it like a toothbrush. “How did you get all the way out here? You could hardly do the steps by yourself.”
She closed the weather station door and tripped as she walked into the barn. He flinched. The sweatpants hung off her thin waist and bagged around her ankles. She blinked at him, small and frail. She spun his grandfather’s rusty weathervane with one finger, and he clenched his fists.
“You should be—”
“What is all this stuff?” She brushed her hands on her sweatpants. “It looks old.”
“Some of it is old.” He glared at her, but she didn’t notice. “That is my dad’s weather station.” He pointed outside. “We gather weather readings even when the electricity goes out. Low-tech.”
“So, he can read storms?” She stared from one piece of equipment to another.
“Yes. He gets humidity readings and wind speeds, stuff like that.” Maybe she’d tire herself out, and he could get her back inside before the next storm. She was feeling better, and this is what he got, a nosy girl poking through Dad’s things.
“This reads air pressure.” He pointed to the barometer. “The weather patterns are changing, but some people don’t believe it.”
“I bet they do now.” Was she in control now, and how had that happened?
“Maybe. Or they’ll call this an act of God now that it’s too late.”
She scanned the walls of the hayloft above them. “Is that a fishing net?”
“No, a cargo net. We use it for strapping down hay in the back of the truck.” Emma wobbled, and he reached out and took her arm.
“Thanks.” She grinned at him. “Maybe I should go in now.”
“You think?” At least he’d get her inside without a fight. “You’ve probably done the equivalent of a marathon for someone in your condition.”
She chuckled and held his arm in a light grip. They made their way one step at a time into the basement as the radio transmitted a message. He settled Emma on the couch, grabbed a pencil, but recited the message aloud:
"At hospital. Sis feverish. Truck won’t start."
“You understood that?”
“I guess I did.” He bit his cheek. Fever meant Mom wasn’t getting better, and if the truck didn’t start, no one was coming? Why couldn’t she be fine? The radio clattered in the background repeating the message.
“What if we there’s another storm?” Emma asked.
“Not if, when, and when it comes, we’ll deal with it.” He handed her a glass, and she held it.
“How?”
“You need to drink, or you’ll relapse.” What was with all the questions?
“I want to help.”
What could she do? He rubbed his temples, clamping his eyes shut. He couldn’t take any more. He backed to the stairs and ran. He stopped beyond the barn, leaned on Bugger’s bumper, wiping his eyes. A branch punctured the front of the car. Good thing the engine was in the back.
He rolled his shoulders. She wanted to help, and that was a good thing, right? Did all girls ask so many questions?
Branches rustled, and he jerked his head around, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Was that a flash of red? Bill wore red, but Larson had him in custody.
He jogged back to the house, glancing over his shoulder several times. The flash of red had to be garbage. It was something from the barn or Highway 96 blown in by the storm. He closed the front door and locked it, crossed to the basement door, and locked it too, then rushed downstairs. Messages came in one after another, and he turned the volume low.
“Where’d you go? Messages are coming nonstop.” Emma scrunched her forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“Shhh.” He grabbed a pencil and paper, ignoring the icy fingers of fear. He swallowed hard. “They’re warnings.”
“I still can’t believe you can und—”
“Shhh.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth.
“People are running out of food and water. Communities are creating relief centers.”
“Who says?”
“Emergency radio operators. They keep communications open, share info.” He clenched his jaw, trying to decide if he should tell her the part about the people getting killed for water and food or that the smell of food attracted looters, or about the patch of red he’d seen by the barn.
He had to be honest with her, though, for both of their safety.
“I saw something out by the barn.”
“What?” Her mouth dropped open.
A crash upstairs startled Josh. Footsteps sounded on the floor above them, and Emma shut her mouth.
“Shhh!” He scrambled to the top of the stairs and pressed his ear to the door. One pair of shoes crunched over glass shards, but whose?
Josh’s pulse pounded in his ears. Was it Uncle Carl? He would have called out. Bill and Dean? How did they get away from Larson?
The radio.
He sank onto the top stair, his legs numb.
“Who is it?” Emma sat forward, her hands on each side of her face.
“Maybe it’s upstairs, Bill.”
Josh shivered. Bill was back, but he didn’t recognize the other voice.
“Shhh.” He rushed down the stairs to her side. “Whoever it is, we can’t let them know we’re down here.”
“But we have to do something.”
He met her gaze. Her white fingers clutched the blankets. A clunk came from upstairs. They were going through drawers.
“We need a plan,” he whispered. He scanned the room, but his brain wouldn’t stop whirring. He gazed into the flickering fire.
“What plan?” she asked. Her voice shook.
How had Bill escaped? “Those guys killed someone. We have to get out of here.” He sat beside her and held her hand. “You are still sick, so it won’t be easy.”
“Look. If we need to plan, I’m helping.”
“I don’t hear them anymore.” He scanned the ceiling. He stood and paced the floor, pictured them climbing the steps to the bedrooms, his mother’s jewelry.
“What about that little room where you play your violin. We could hide in there, right?”
“The storage room? That will work.” He sank onto a kitchen chair. “Actually, it’s how we’re going to get out of here. We’ll pack some bags and head to your grandparents’ farm.”
“What?”
“Keep your voice down,” he whispered. He glanced at the ceiling and then at Emma. “Your grandparents live about two miles from here. Let’s hope they are home because the hospital is another three. That’s five miles. I don’t think you’re strong enough for that yet.”
Emma sat with her hands folded in her lap, her lips quivering.
“This is going to take more energy than you have right now, but we can’t stay. If we leave now, we might make it before another storm hits.” He flinched when she gasped.
“Another storm? We just had a storm.” Her face grew pale and waxy. “When will this be over?”
“Those guys will break the door down to get into the basement when the storm hits.”
As if on cue, a crash followed by a muffled shout and another set of footsteps crunched across the floor.
“We’d better hurry,” Emma whispered.
“Fir—”
“What first?”
“You need warmer clothes.” He rushed to the donation box, grabbed a jacket, and threw it to her. He carried the box to the couch and set it between them. Emma opened the lid and held up another sweatshirt and a hat. She put the sweatshirt on, and he poured R into bottles and threw protein bars and crackers in his pack and pulled on his coat.
“What now?” She slipped into the jacket and zipped it.
He opened the door to the storage room. “Follow me. This will get us outside.” He pointed to the root cellar door halfway up the wall. The footsteps crunched through the living room. They were coming.
“Okay?” She leaned back to check out the door and swayed.
He grasped her arm, helped her inside the storage room, grabbed the backpacks, and shut the door behind them. He turned on his flashlight, pointed the beam of light at the stepladder that led to the root cellar door.
“We might see spiders or earwigs.”
“Yuk.” She shivered.
“Just don’t scream.”
Emma climbed, one rung at a time. He climbed behind her and reached over her shoulder to unlatch the door. His body pressed against hers, and she turned her face to his. He could feel her breath against his cheek, and he climbed down two rungs, touched his cheek where her breath had caressed him.
“Just crawl up, and you’re in the root cellar. I’m right behind you.” Real smooth, Josh. Is she more dangerous than Bill?
She climbed to the top and stopped. “What is a root cellar, anyways? Looks like a grocery store.” She’d gone from scared to curious in two seconds.
“It’s cold storage for our carrots, beets potatoes, apples and pears, all the stuff we grow.” He patted a crate full of carrots covered with sand. Boxes and bins were stacked on one side of the root cellar, and garden tools hung on the other. It had an order and organization that only Grandpa could give it. He pointed to a red door with a rounded top and a half-circle window.
“Like Bilbo’s door.” She turned to him and grinned.
“Gran’s idea. Now, keep your voice down.” He stepped toward the door.
Emma grabbed her middle and doubled over. “Oh.”
“Gas?” He clamped a hand over his mouth. Did he say that out loud?
Emma’s cheeks turned pink then white.
“Are you okay?” He couldn’t believe he’d said that either. Of course, she wasn’t okay, but if it was Bill… Bill would never meet Emma, if Josh could help it.
“We can always come back if I can’t make it, right?” She scanned the root cellar.
“Uh. Sure. That’s not the best option, but…”
He put a hand on her shaking shoulder. She was running on adrenaline, but that wouldn’t last for long. “It could take an hour to get to your grandparents’.” He paused. “Maybe two.”
She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Then we need to be gone already, because with my luck it will take five.”
He opened the door and looked at his watch. “It’s 6:12 am. It won’t be light for an hour, so stay close, and be quiet. If we can make it to the road without being seen, we’ll be in the clear.”
“Okay.”
Her belly rumbled, and she glanced at him and leaned forward. He reached for her, but she turned her head and retched out the door.