Waiting Out Winter (2 page)

The next two hours were quiet, except for the popping of tent worms under speeding tires. Two more gas stations without gas and only one other vehicle on the road had made all three men glance at each other with raised eyebrows and unspoken questions. Nick noticed fly-strips hanging in clusters from every house they passed along the desolate stretch of the small less-traveled county road. Maybe they’d always been there. Maybe he was just noticing them because of the gas station bathroom. But something in the pit of his stomach rolled over.

“Turn the radio on.” Nick’s request broke the silence and startled Jerry. Scott remained slouched against the window and Nick presumed his life-long friend had fallen asleep in the quiet truck.

“Sure. Am I taking requests?”

“See if you can find any news.”

“News? Your vacation isn’t over until Monday morning. You have a whole ‘nother day to relax.”

“Just humor me.” Nick was mildly annoyed Scott had not given up shotgun before he took a nap. The roadtrip rule had been practiced for over a decade, and if he were in front, Nick would be able to flip stations without voicing his desire for news rather than music. He could have avoided Jerry’s ribbing, and wanted to punish Scott by shaking his seat to wake him, but he let it slide.

The crackling and hissing from the radio came on louder than expected and Jerry turned the volume down before hitting scan to get off his preset stations. They weren’t close enough to home for any of those to come in clearly and he would have to search for the nearest one. Broken static occasionally interrupted the quiet of the speakers as the tuner searched fruitlessly. Nick met Jerry’s eyes in the review mirror and understood instantly that neither of them was sure whether it was out-of-range stations or hiccups in the towers causing the off-air sounds. Jerry pressed the button and resumed scanning. The digital numbers went through their full range twice but produced nothing. None of the popping and crackling of weak stations were even strong enough to pause the search mode. Jerry glanced back at Nick. “I’ve got a few CDs in the glove box.”

“Nah, I really was looking for news.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Over-active imagination.”

Outside his window, past the green and black smear the bug-slathered highway had become, Nick watched the wildlife, or rather, lack thereof. He noted the crows that should have dotted the shoulder, eating whatever they could find on the pavement--road kill or even the grisly remains of millions of tent worms--were absent. He was debating the possibility of the stench being too much for even the decay-eating scavengers and vermin of the area, when he spotted a coyote wandering along the opposite side of the road ahead of them. Nick blamed the visible limp for the predator’s strange canter. As they neared the wild dog, he saw the normal onset of winter mange was much worse than it should have been. Crusted mud in the animal’s fur pulled clumps of matted hair in every direction and gave the illusion of bald patches.

While there was a noticeable lack of living wildlife amongst the overabundance of worms, regular roadkill--raccoon, skunk and deer--still punctuated the highway. There seemed to be a lot of them, but there always were this time of year, so Nick blew it off and studied the worm-ruined bare trees instead. The foliage was all but gone. When they’d left for their trip, two weeks beforehand, it had looked like only certain trees were going to suffer under the onslaught of tent worms. Now, however, the truth settled in, as Nick noticed the only trees untouched by the vile caterpillars was the evergreens. Apparently the little bastards preferred leaves to needles.

The last time he’d seen the worms swarm had been back in high school, but it wasn’t as bad as this year. He remembered them saying there was a cycle for the insects. He didn’t remember the exact number they’d said back then but guessed this year was peak season again--and then some. He also didn’t remember the smell. Maybe it was worse this year, or maybe it was just one of those memories you don’t preserve. As a teen, he’d found sick humor in the whole thing, and they’d tossed the bugs into bonfires by the shovelful that summer. As an adult, he still had a sick sense of humor, but the destructive nature of the creatures affected him more, perhaps because he had more to lose--it was
his
trees,
his
lawn, and
his
tax dollars fighting them. Either way, the worms were back and doing a bang-up job of imitating a biblical locust raid.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, intending to relax rather than sleep, “How much longer?”

“A few hours or so. Depends on traffic.” Jerry snickered at his own joke regarding the abnormal lack of vehicles. Nick smiled for Jerry’s benefit and let his mind wander behind closed lids. “So at least an hour before we’re out of the deadzone?”

“At least. Fucking hills block towers up here even when you’re right next to them.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t help that we don’t have a national company. The little local boys suck for reception.” Nick listened to the popping of the worms. “Why don’t you throw a CD in just for some noise?”

“You got it.” Jerry reached over and pulled a blue CD from the glove box. Nick was unconscious before the first song started.

At the outskirts of town they tried the radio again, knowing exactly which channels should work. None did. Static greeted them from the speakers, screaming volumes of silence their echoed glances told Nick he had unnerved them both.

As they rolled into what should have been a busy weekend downtown, they found the streets empty. School was out, but no kids were anywhere to be seen. Half the cars that
should
have been parked on the streets were missing.

While Nick’s leg began to bounce in nervous habit, he noticed the streetlights were set to flashing yellow one direction, red the other. The A&W and Dairy Queen both had their “Closed for the Season” signs hung and front windows boarded--and it was only the beginning of September. Several dogs and a cat wandered around, their collars marking them as pets rather than feral. Yet, they seemed mangy, wild, and limped with a similarity that made them tame versions of the coyote he’d seen earlier.

Jerry slapped Scott’s leg, jostling him from sleep, and pointed to the empty beachfront. They raised eyebrows at each other and Scott turned toward Nick. Nick nodded and allowed his thoughts to roll freely. The town was too quiet. Something had happened. Jerry tried the radio again, while Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat as they passed the closed grocery store and unoccupied playgrounds. Nick flipped his phone open and hit the speed dial for home. It disconnected immediately with a popup on his screen that declared “network busy.” Scott tried his phone and judging from the look he gave him, Nick assumed Scott had gotten the same message.

Jerry didn’t bother with his phone. “Did we go to war?”

There it was. The question Nick figured they were all wondering, given power by being uttered by someone other than him.

“We’d know, wouldn’t we?” Scott tried denial. It was odd for Nick to see the accountant act that way. Scott was a straight facts kind of guy, always construing from the given to come up with the logical conclusion. Obviously, something had happened, but not even Scott was going to voice which of the several horrible possibilities it could be.

Unlike Nick, Jerry had no imagination. Unlike Scott, he didn’t deduce from fact. Jerry worked off gut instinct, and his gut usually worked through his mouth. “Well what else could it be?” He fumbled in the backpack on the seat between Scott and himself, and pulled out his chew. “Damn Middle East has been just waiting to explode for how long?” He flicked his wrist several times, tobacco audibly slapping the inside of the tin.

“No, we definitely would have heard about it. Something. Mike would have managed a call from whatever hellhole he’s in this week and let us know.” Scott argued, trying to negate the horrendous possibility.

“How? Our cell phones had no range in the woods. We couldn’t even call home the last few weeks, let alone the damn Middle East.” Nick interjected and Jerry shot him a glare in the review mirror, making him wish he’d have let them argue through it on their own.

“Well then, at the gas stations or something.” Scott turned to Nick.

“But we didn’t ask either. Maybe they assumed we knew?” Nick shrugged.

“Not war. Doesn’t seem right.” Jerry recanted his conclusion as he shoved a thick pinch of raw tobacco into his mouth and used his tongue to wedge it between his lip and gum. “Something happening somewhere else wouldn’t get kids off the street. Wouldn’t leave pets wandering...”

“True. Maybe we should just get home and find out.”

“Ok. You first, Nick?”

“Sure, I’m closest.” He chewed his lip, trying to figure out what could have possibly cleared the streets.

They pulled up in front of Nick’s house at the west edge of town. His street looked like the rest of Hayward had: vehicles were missing and several windows were covered with what appeared to be plastic.

“Early winter storm?” Through the side window, he checked his neighborhood and then up towards the sky.

“Sky doesn’t look rainy, let alone snowy.” Jerry spit tobacco juice into the empty Coke bottle in his hands. “And storms are broadcast on all the channels, but there’s only dead air.”

“Let’s just get home and recoup, figure out what the hell is up.” Jerry didn’t look at Nick, not even via the rearview mirror. He stared forward at the empty street in front of him.

Nick grabbed his bags from the back of the pickup and told them to call him when they got home. They nodded and drove away.

“Shut the door!” Jamie ran toward Nick from the kitchen. He dodged his wife as she slammed the door shut and patted down the duct tape that had been put up all around it. “You’ll let them in, for God’s sake! What are you thinking?”

“Jamie...” He stopped, her expression melted from panic to relief. She wrapped her arms around his neck and fell against him.

“Oh, thank God you’re home.” She lifted her hand and he thought she was going to slap him for a moment. Instead, she felt his forehead. “No fever? Any signs of sickness? Are you guys all ok? We’ve been so worried...” Her questions ran together, her speech sped up like an anxious teenager.

“Daddy!” Nick saw the boys behind Jamie and knelt down in time to catch Hunter and Tyler as they launched themselves at him. He squeezed them together in a group hug and then pulled back to look in their faces.

“Mommy says I can go hunting with you in a few years.”

“Yes, you can. When you’re twelve, Hunter.”

“What about me?”

“When you’re twelve.”

“But twelve is forever. Will we be able to go outside again when I’m twelve?”

Nick looked up at Jamie, unsure how to answer a question he didn’t understand and waiting for her to explain. Instead she pulled the boys from Nick and shooed them back toward the kitchen.

“You can play with daddy and plan your trips in a bit. Right now I need to talk to him.”

“But ma…”

“No.” She spoke sternly but through a smile that was classic Jamie and made Nick feel better about the strange circumstances. “Now go finish your snacks and color for a while. Tall talk.”

Tyler kicked at the carpet and turned away. Hunter squeezed his father again and left the room without looking at his mother. Nick smiled at the boys but the grin was meant for Jamie and her stolen Jurassic Park line they’d adopted years beforehand.

“Jamie?” For the first time since walking in the door, Nick looked around the room. He didn’t recognize his own home. He noted the plastic, duct tape and mismatched cardboard from boxes and soda packs covering all the windows. Vents were blocked. Furniture was rearranged. And fly-strips hung like tinsel from everything that would hold a tack. Some were old and covered in dust and dead black bodies. Others were fresh, shining with new glue.

He and the guys had spent two years coordinating the two-week hunting trip. The wives were fine with it, as they’d always done weekend trips ice fishing or camping over the years. They’d almost cancelled when Mike’s unit was called back to the Middle East, but the trip had turned into a need rather than want when Scott’s divorce got ugly and ended with his ex-wife moving two states away with his children, but calling him almost every day to continue to complain about this, that and the other thing. Scott needed to get away from everything and everyone, and the remaining three decided to go with Mike. The trip had included more campfire and beer than it had hunting, but had been rejuvenating. The house around him, though--combined with Jamie’s behavior and Tyler’s question--made him think he’d returned to an alternate universe.

“What the hell is going on? Other than the hospital parking lot, it looks like the whole damn town has gone into hiding or been evacuated.”

“They have. It has. Stop joking around.” She backed up and stared at him a moment. “You haven’t heard? You’re not… You’re not joking...”

“Jamie--“

“The flies. Well, I suppose it was really the tent worms.”

“The worms?”

“No, the DNR and their fucking brilliant ideas. That’s what it was.” Anger sharpened her voice as she rambled at him.

“What? Slow down.” He led her to the couch and eased her down, watching her face the entire time. “What happened? From the beginning.”