If Darkness Takes Us Page 8

  “Sweetheart, I can’t fix him. I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t fix Harry. I couldn’t fix the power or the cars or any freaking thing. I could not have been more goddamned sorry.

  Mazie would not let up. She continued to screech and cry and plead for help for Harry while the other kids surrounded her in a tangle of embraces. I reached into the pile of crying children and extracted Mazie.

  I pulled her into my chest, saying, “Shh, sweetie, shh. . . .” while she clung to me fiercely and her shrieks subsided to gasps for air. The room was silent except for the sobbing. At last I felt Mazie melt in my arms. She took stuttering breaths, and I continued to hold her.

  “He was such a sweet and friendly dog,” I said. We’d always thought of Harry as Hank’s dog, because Hank brought him home as a puppy, and he loved to play with Hank. But Harry was my daily companion during those years when Hank went out to his job and I worked from home. Harry kept me from getting lonely. He followed me around and made me laugh. I already missed him mightily.

  And Hank was going to kill me.

  I went outside to hunt for a place to bury our dog. Mr. Jeffers passed by, so I told him what happened.

  “Aw, I’m sorry, Bea. He was a good dog.”

  “He had a fever. I don’t know how long he had it, but I gave him some Tylenol—”

  “You can’t give Tylenol to a dog!”

  “What? Are you kidding me?” More tears filled my eyes.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” he said.

  “Do you think the Tylenol killed him?” I wanted to jump off a cliff, but we didn’t have one around here.

  “I don’t know, but it didn’t help.”

  “Oh my God. I’ve done everything wrong when it comes to that dog. What if I mess up that way with the kids?”

  “You won’t, Bea. You love them too much.” He smiled at me with understanding.

  “I loved Harry, too,” I said.

  “Yes, but you have much more experience with kids. You’re not a veterinarian, but you’re an awful good mother.”

  It was weak of me to need his reassurance so badly, but I definitely needed it.

  “Thank you,” I muttered, hanging my head in shame. I peeked back at Mr. Jeffers. “Keep an eye on me, will you? Don’t let me screw anything else up so bad.”

  “I will,” he said, “but you won’t.” I didn’t know how he could be so sure about that.

  I couldn’t tell the kids about the Tylenol. I needed them to have confidence in me, even if I didn’t have much in myself.

  I let Milo dig Harry’s grave. The boy was devastated, and I hoped that doing something for Harry would help.

  We buried our good dog in a square of dirt on the side of the house, outside the backyard. Neighbors came by to inquire what we were doing and offer condolences. Some extra kids stuck around for our little ceremony where each of us said something good about Harry and all of us cried.

  A tall teenage boy with a reddish ponytail stood among the extra mourners. When Tasha’s crying grew fevered, he stepped up to her.

  “I’m sorry about your dog,” he said.

  Tasha nodded, a puzzled and embarrassed look on her teary face. “Thank you, but who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m Chas. What’s your name?”

  “Tasha,” she muttered, her face flushing.

  “I’m sorry about your dog, pretty Tasha. You look like you need a hug.” He opened his arms wide, and she leaned in for a quick hug, a shy grin spreading over her face.

  Isn’t that nice? I thought. Tasha had found herself a friend.

  Later that day, Keno took me aside. “Nana, there’s this old farm where my dad used to take us to swim in the creek.”

  “You’re thinking of it for water? That creek’s probably dried up in this drought.”

  “I know, but it had a well—a deep one. The pump’s hidden under a falling-down barn.”

  “Really? So, who owns the place? Where is it?”

  “Out past Manchaca. I don’t know who owns it. No one was ever there.”

  “Do you know how to get there?” I asked.

  “I can figure it out with a map.”

  “But how would you get a bunch of water home?”

  “Silas and them could go with me. We’ll take wheelbarrows and wagons and stuff.”

  What Keno was contemplating was extremely dangerous. Thirsty people will kill you for water in a heartbeat. But the boy was almost a man and needed to feel his worth.

  “Kiddo, there’s a local road atlas on the bookshelves by Grandpa’s side of the bed.”

  Keno gave me the slightest of grins and bounded upstairs. I wondered if I should tell him about the cistern, to save him the risk of hiking miles for water and hauling it home. But the cistern only held ten thousand gallons. It sounded like a huge amount, but Hank and I alone had sometimes used two thousand gallons in a hot month. We were using a tiny fraction of that now, but with all these kids to cook for and keep clean, we needed alternative sources. And Keno needed to fight back for his family.

  The risk worried me sick, but if anything was worth exposing oneself to danger over, water was it.

  This is what I kept telling myself while my heart treaded water in an ocean of dread.

  For days, we couldn’t stop crying over Harry. We organized the downstairs and garage while we sobbed and sniffled and sighed. I guessed Harry’s death was a kind of catalyst to make us openly grieve about the entirety of our ordeal.

  The only thing Milo got energetic about was bouncing a tennis ball against the garage door from the driveway, shaking the whole house and driving me mad. Ka-thunk, ka-thunk, every time I let the boy out of my sight.

  On one of those afternoons, Mazie was helping make lunch when she stopped to look at me. “You said Harry wouldn’t ever want to leave me, but he did.”

  “He didn’t want to leave you. He couldn’t help it.”

  “But you let him get sick and die, right?”

  “Honey, I’m not God. I don’t have any control over who gets sick and dies.”

  “But you’re supposed to take care of everybody.”

  I breathed a long sigh. “I try, but I made a huge mistake. Sometimes people make mistakes. Can you forgive me, do you think?”

  Mazie studied me, wrinkling her brow. “What if you forget me and leave me somewhere?”

  I took hold of Mazie’s arms and lowered my face near to hers. “Sweetheart, I will never forget you. Never ever.”

  “Do you think my mama forgot me?”

  “Mazie, your mother’s love for you is bigger than the sky. She couldn’t possibly forget you.”

  “Well, when’s she coming back?”

  “As soon as she can, my love. As soon as she can.”

  TEN

  THREE DAYS AFTER HARRY DIED, nine days since the electromagnetic event, Keno and Tasha started bickering upstairs, but I couldn’t make out their words.

  Then Tasha said, “Don’t tell her! Let’s just go.”

  “I’m telling her,” Keno insisted.

  “Don’t!” Tasha yanked Keno toward her as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Both kids were wearing backpacks and carrying empty duffle bags.

  “Tell me what?” I met them in the entryway, hands on my hips.

  “We’re—”

  “Keno, shut up!”

  “No, Tasha. You hush.”

  “Stop arguing and tell me.”

  My red-faced grandson snapped his head around to lock his eyes on mine.

  “We’re going to our house,” he said.

  “What? You can’t!”

  “Yes, we can, and you can’t stop us!” Tasha retorted.

  “Tasha, shut up. Nana, we’ll be home in a few hours.”

  I was stunned. But Tasha was right. I couldn’t stop them without pulling a gun. Desperately, I made one last try.

  “What will your mother say when I tell her you disobeyed me?”

  Tears came to Tasha’s eyes, but Keno said, rather coldly, �
�Our mom’s not here.”

  Milo ran in from the kitchen, hollering, “I’m going, too!”

  “Oh, hell no!”

  “No, Milo. Stay here,” Keno said. “Take care of Mazie and Nana.”

  “It’s not fair!” Milo cried, jerking his hands at me in some kind of agitated plea.

  “All of you need to stop this crap about things not being fair,” I said. “Nothing is fair anymore.”

  Keno opened the front door, and Tasha rushed outside. Keno looked back.

  “Sorry, but we have to,” he said.

  I wanted to sink through the floor or fly into a rage. “Do you have food and water?” I muttered.

  “Yes. Bye,” he said, and they were gone.

  I couldn’t get my nerves under control after this teenage revolt. Milo and Mazie slouched around all morning. I tried to get them to play ball or one of the board games we’d uncovered, but they just wanted to mope. I might have moped myself if I hadn’t been so scared and pissed-off.

  I fired up the grill and tried cooking biscuits in a cast-iron skillet atop the fire. I figured if I kept turning them over, it might work. The biscuits were oddly shaped, but they tasted good. We still had about a quart of melted margarine left. I hoped that the chemical preservatives would prove useful for once and keep the oleo from spoiling before we could finish it off.

  For lunch we had biscuits, margarine, and a can of chili. Then I gave the kids washcloths, bars of soap, and plastic tubs full of water, and I sent them to separate rooms to clean up.

  “I wanna wash my hair,” Mazie said.

  “That will have to wait. Get your face, your armpits, and your filthy feet. And don’t forget your private parts.”

  “Nana, don’t talk about private parts!” Mazie marched to her room with her tub of water.

  I took water to my own room, cleaned up, and tried to read a novel by the sunlight streaming through the window. But it was hard to see the words with my weak eyes, and my warring emotions had exhausted me.

  “Nana!”

  I woke to Mazie’s cry and a loud bang on my bedroom door. I leapt to my feet.

  “What?” I barked.

  “I’m hungry,” Mazie shouted through the door.

  “Hungry?” Good lord, it was almost dark outside. My wind-up wristwatch read 6:45. “Mazie, are Keno and Tasha home?”

  “No. Where are they?”

  Oh my God. They should have been home hours ago.

  “I don’t know, honey.” I rushed out of my bedroom and down the stairs. “Mazie, come help me light candles and make some food.”

  Why did I fall asleep, and why for so long? How could I feed Mazie and Milo when I needed to go find Keno and Tasha? And how could I even go find them?

  “Where’s Milo?” I asked, out of breath.

  “He went outside a long time ago,” Mazie said.

  I opened the back door and yelled, “Milo? Milo, come home!” No response. I rushed to the side fence and shouted louder, “Milo Raintree, where are you?” A bunch of kids laughed down the street. I went through the gate to the front yard with Mazie tagging along.

  “Milo!” she shrieked in a pitch shrill enough to wake the dead.

  “What?” he hollered.

  “Come home!” Mazie ordered.

  “Who says?”

  “I say, Milo,” I cried. “Get over here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I watched him approach in the quickly fading light, and when he reached our corner, I headed for the backyard. “Come with me, kids. I need your help. Milo, have you seen Tasha and Keno?”

  “Hey, no. Why aren’t they home?”

  “I wish I knew.” I lit two kerosene lanterns. “Milo, you cannot leave this house without permission.”

  “But you were asleep.”

  “Then you should’ve stayed home. You left Mazie all alone. Here, take these lanterns very carefully and set them on the sidewalk that leads to our front door. Not the big sidewalk, the little one.”

  “Why?” he whined.

  “So Keno and Tasha can see.”

  Milo headed slowly for the front yard, carrying the lanterns. I sent Mazie to light candles in the front room. I went to the kitchen, where I lit more candles and scrounged for food. Way up high in the pantry was an old box of graham crackers out of my reach. Why did I have to be short at a time like this? I swatted at the crackers with a long-handled spatula until I knocked them off the shelf and caught them before they hit the floor.

  I grabbed a paper plate, a jar of peanut butter, and a plastic bear with a few ounces of honey left inside. I frantically smeared peanut butter and honey on several graham crackers.

  “Mazie, come eat.” I poured her a cup of water.

  “This is my dinner?” She sneered at the messy plate in the candlelight.

  “It’s a special treat dinner, since you had to stay home today.” I slapped together another “special treat dinner” for Milo.

  I can’t raise these kids, I thought. I’m too old. I need Hank to help me. Before he’d grown so cranky, he’d been good help with the grandkids. Keno and Tasha wouldn’t have dared defy their grandfather.

  “Come with me, Mazie. Bring your food and water.” I took Milo’s plate and cup and headed for the front door with Mazie in tow.

  “Here’s your dinner,” I said to my grandson, who was bouncing that danged tennis ball against the garage door by lantern light.

  “That’s dinner?” He caught the ball, wrinkling his nose.

  “It’s a special treat dinner,” Mazie said with her mouth full.

  “Take this plate and cup, Milo. Hurry up.”

  “Okay. Geez Louise.”

  “That’s what Daddy says, ‘Geez Louise.’” Graham cracker crumbs flew out of Mazie’s mouth.

  “Is that so?” I stepped to the middle of the street and strode back and forth. It was black as a dungeon out here. Where was the glowing horizon when I needed it?

  Keno. Tasha. I kept repeating their names in my head like a magic chant, in between calling myself an idiot for letting them get away.

  “Kids, stay here and be on the lookout for Keno and Tasha. I’m going to see if Mr. Jeffers can help us find them.” But as soon as I stepped farther from the lanterns, I couldn’t see anything except blurry candlelight in a few spots across the street.

  “Milo, run and get me a flashlight!”

  “I’m eating!”

  “Well, stop eating and go get a flashlight.”

  “Geez, Louise,” Mazie said. “Nana’s mad.” In the lantern light, I saw Milo shoot me an angry look before he ran inside.

  “I’m not mad. I’m worried.”

  “I told you not to let them go,” she said.

  “I didn’t let them go. They just went.”

  As Milo came running outside with the bobbing flashlight, a rifle shot zinged through the air. Crap, it was close.

  “What was that?” Milo shouted.

  “In the house, kids. Now!”

  “Why?” Mazie said.

  “Gunshot. Go!” Though I barely had the strength, I yanked Mazie across the threshold with me.

  Once inside, the panic-stricken kids went straight to the front window.

  “Get away from that window!” I was nearly hysterical.

  They got away, but after I paced the room, freaking out, I went to that window myself, straining my eyes for sight of my grandkids or a gunman, my ears about to pop from listening so hard. No more shots. Not yet. I stepped away to start pacing again.

  “Is that a bell?” Milo asked. He and Mazie rushed to the window with me.

  “I don’t hear a—”

  A dinging bell rang through the dark—a bicycle bell.

  “There they are!” Mazie said. Sure enough, two flickering lights were approaching. Two bells sounded, and two sets of tires whooshed against the asphalt.

  “We’re here!” Keno hollered.

  I rushed outside to meet Tasha and Keno, practically shoving them into the ho
use, bicycles, backpacks, and all.

  Tasha said, “What are you—”

  “Get inside. Quick!”

  I grabbed the lanterns and dashed inside behind the kids and bikes.

  “Did you guys hear that gunshot?” I asked, completely out of breath. I set the lanterns on the coffee table and plopped down in the rocking chair. I’d like to see Hank try to get this chair away from me now.

  “What gunshot?” Keno said.

  Tasha let her bike clatter to the tile floor and ran over to smother me with a hug. “I was so scared. It’s so dark.”

  “What happened?” was all I could manage to say.

  “The wheel popped loose on my bike. I fell and scraped up my hands.” She reached her hands into the lantern light. Her palms were covered in red abrasions, and her cheeks were stained with dust and crisscrossed by tear tracks.

  “Ouch,” I said. “Thank God you didn’t break a bone.”

  Keno stood his bike with the kickstand. “I had to fix Tasha’s bike,” he said. “Good thing I got some tools from home.”

  “If you had listened to me, you wouldn’t have needed tools. What if something had happened to you? How would I have known it? I have to ground you, you know.”

  “Yeah, I figured,” Keno muttered with his eyes fixed on the floor. He looked up but past me. “Milo, come help me unload stuff.”

  “I’m eating.” Milo took a defiant bite out of a graham cracker.

  “I’ll help.” Mazie ran to Keno’s bike and pulled off a bag so heavy it almost knocked her to the floor.

  “What are you eating?” Tasha asked with a laugh.

  “A special treat supper,” Mazie said.

  I tried to smile, but that gunshot. Why was it so damned close?

  Tasha and Keno unloaded bags full of hoodies and other clothes, plus a little food and a six-pack of good old Coca-Cola. I told them they had to go to bed at dark for a week. I couldn’t exactly take away their TV or driving privileges. They didn’t complain much. I think their rebel excursion had spooked them.

  “Mazie, look what I found from when I was little,” Tasha said. She pulled a pink, ruffled skirt from her backpack.

  “A Disney princess skirt?” Mazie said, in an excited state of awe. “I love it!”