Winds of Change (3 page)

I guess none of us considered the fact that
the store still had no power. Even if there would have been a radio
or t.v. handy, there wasn’t any electricity. It was one in a long
list of problems.

A few restaurants and a gas station were
within walking distance of our store. They didn’t seem to have any
power either. The blackout had claimed the entire west side of
town. That still didn’t explain why the generator wasn’t working.
But it was comforting in a way to know that there were other people
in the same shape we were in. I just wondered how many people had
unwittingly gone outside to their deaths before someone realized
that remaining inside was the safest alternative. To judge by the
amount of debris in the parking lot it looked like a fair number of
people had met their maker in the past hour.

"Look," Chuck said suddenly, pointing to one
of the aisles at the back of the store. The skylights let in just
enough illumination to see furtive shapes darting back and forth
from aisle to aisle. “Terrorists,” he hissed. “I told you, and you
didn’t believe me. Or, Steven, maybe those are really prophets back
there, seeking to spread the word of God. What do you think?”

"There are two of them," Steven said. “That’s
all I can be sure of. Well, that and the fact that I’m going to
hand you your teeth in about two seconds.”

"Those aren’t terrorists,” I interrupted,
“those are the Weaver boys. I knew they were in here someplace.
Just haven’t been able to track ‘em down yet.”

“Well, we know where they are now,” Chuck
said. “I think we need to corral them. No need for more unnecessary
surprises down the road. Having those two loose in the store is
almost like letting the bulls loose in the china shop. Anything
could happen.”

"And they aren't the only ones still inside,"
Steven said, directing his flashlight down one of the plumbing
aisles. A couple of burly plumbers were still gathering supplies by
moonlight like nothing was wrong.

"They don’t even realize what’s happening," I
said. “We’ve got to warn everyone of the dangers. We can catch up
to the Weaver boys later. We know those two are safe. For now, we
need to get the word out that nobody is to go outside. I just wish
the intercom worked. We could call everybody to the front of the
store and do things the easy way.”

“We know the Weaver boys are safe,” Chuck
reminded me. “But are we safe from them?”

It was a perfectly valid question. We just
didn’t have time to answer it. For all I knew people were muddling
through the aisles and making their way to the exits, unaware of
the dangers that lurked on the other side of the glass. I couldn’t
allow that to happen.

“Let’s get everyone together,” I said.
“Time’s a wasting.”

"We don’t even know what’s going on," Chuck
said, his fear coming through as agitation. "For all we know, one
of those little countries in the Middle East might have fired a
missile. We might have fired back. The world might be breaking down
around us even as we speak. If that’s the case, then it won’t
really matter what we do. Will it?"

Steven and I looked at each other, unable to
come up with a rebuttal for that possibility.

"We need to gather up everyone in the store
that's left and explain the situation to them,” I persisted. “We
don't want anybody else trying to go out those doors until we know
that things are safe. If things are as bad as you think they are,
then we’ll at least go out trying. If not, then our efforts may be
the thing that saves lives."

That statement held more truth than I ever
could have realized.

In truth, there were quite a few more people
in the store than I had realized. Twelve in all, counting Chuck,
Steven, and myself. The Weavers made four along with the two
plumbers. There was also a newly married couple who had taken
advantage of the darkness. I found them making out in one of the
hammocks out in the garden department. Chuck also found an elderly
man in the bathroom.

"What's going on here?" the old man asked. "I
just went in to take a leak. When I come out, the world's gone to
hell in a hand basket. Are we at war or something?"

"Honestly, none of us know what's going on,"
I admitted. "But we do know that there is something outside this
building that will kill you the minute you try to go to your
car.”

“Yeah, I know,” the old man said with a wave
of his bony hand. “It’s called the atmosphere. That’s what you
yuppies get for spraying all of that hair spray and deodorant and
toilet bowl cleaner. Walking outside is like walking inside of the
lung of a cigarette smoker.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I tried to
explain. “Just trust me when I tell you that going outside right
now would almost certainly mean death for you.”

“You’re putting me on,” the elderly man said.
“I may be old, but I’m not a fool.”

I sighed. “You can take my word for it or you
can look out the windows and see all the little mounds of dirt and
salt. That’s all that’s left of the people who tried to make it to
their cars.”

“Give me a break,” one of the plumbers said
to the other. “We’re not as stupid as you might think. You people
look down your nose at us until the crapper backs up or the pipes
burst. Then, we’re your personal heroes.”

“This has nothing to do with the way I view
you,” I maintained. “I realize that this is all a little hard to
swallow, but I’m asking you to believe me.”

“Why should I believe you?” the plumber
grumbled.

“Do you have kids?”

The plumber shifted from one foot to another.
“Two girls,” he said.

“Do you want those girls to grow up without a
father?” I asked him. “If I’m wrong about everything, the worst
that can happen is that you’ll feel like a fool. If I’m right,
listening to me might be the very thing that gets you home to your
daughters.”

“Matt’s right,” Steven said, coming to my
defense. “None of you have to like it, but this is reality now.
People are dying outside, and there’s nothing we can do about it
but sit here and wait for help to arrive. Trying to act like Rambo
isn’t going to do anything but get you killed.”

“Maybe this is the end of the world,” Jesse
Weaver said. “If that’s the case, then there’s nothing we can do
about it. Maybe we should all hold hands and sing Kumbaya. Or maybe
we should do whatever we want while there’s still time. This may be
our last chance to enjoy life. Anybody in here got a Heineken?
Boys, what do you say to that?”

Both of the no-good sons laughed at their
father’s stupid joke. Vera Weaver didn’t join her family in their
laughter. In all the years the Weavers had been coming in the
store, I had never even seen her smile. I knew she must have
regretted some of the choices she had made in life that brought her
to this point. Undoubtedly, letting Jesse get her pregnant ranked
at the top of that list. Still, she stood by her man. There was
something both admirable and sad in that.

I felt sorry for her. I also felt sorry for
the young couple that I had caught making out in the hammock. They
were the only ones out of the group who seemed to take what we said
seriously. They were also the ones who had the most to lose.

Even in the dark I could see that the young
girl was gripping her husband’s hand. He shrugged off her touch
once he saw us looking at him. It was almost as if he was ashamed
of his wife or didn’t know quite how to act. She reached for him
again, and he backed away from her.

He seemed nervous, erratic, like he had
something to hide. He was trying to keep himself in check, but I
could see the strain on his face. He was either very new at trying
to disguise his emotions or very bad at it. Either way, I felt like
I needed to keep an eye on him. Steven gave me a knowing glance,
indicating that he felt the same way.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” the girl
persisted. “If this is the end of the world, I don’t want to spend
it in here. I’ve got family that I want to check on. See if they’re
o.k.”

“We all want to go home,” Chuck said. “But
that’s not a good idea right now. In fact, it’s a terrible idea.
You won’t take more than a couple of steps before turning into a
pile of dust. I don’t know what’s going on outside. The only thing
I do know is that you don’t want to be out there. You need to stay
in here with the rest of us.”

“Prove what you’re saying,” the argumentative
plumber said.

I hit him in the face with the beam of my
flashlight, tired of the babysitting and the arguing. We didn’t
have time for any of this, and it seemed like I was the only one
who realized it.

“He doesn’t have to prove what he’s saying,”
I replied with an obvious hint of anger in my voice. “You don’t
have to believe any of us. You decide for yourself whether to
accept or deny what we say. I can’t speak for the other guys, but
it’s nothing to me one way or the other. I don’t know you. I don’t
care if I ever learn your name. You can do exactly as you please
and walk to that door feeling like you’re ten feet tall. That’s
about as far as you’ll get. Once you walk out that door, all you’ll
be is a ten foot tall pile of salt. It’s your choice.”

“I want a beer,” the plumber mumbled,
ignoring everything I just said. “There ain’t any here. Guess I’ll
have to get in my truck and go get some. Anybody here want one?
I’ll be sure to bring a few if I don’t turn to dust first.”

“I can’t hold you here against your will,” I
warned him for the last time. He took two steps forward, hoping to
intimidate me. I didn’t budge. Instead, I let him edge past me and
head for the door.

“Hold on, Jerry,” the other plumber said,
running after his friend. But Jerry had a point that he was
determined to make.

“Come on, Pete, you’re not going to let these
little pricks pull one over on us, are you?” Jerry said, sliding
the glass doors open and stumbling out into the night. Chuck had
followed us to the door and quickly jumped in front of Pete,
pulling the doors shut. Pete didn’t seem too eager to go any
further and made no move to push Chuck out of his way. It was the
smartest thing he could have done.

Jerry took only a couple of steps before he
ran back to the doors, beating on the glass with his fists. His
eyes were bloodshot and wide with fright. He slammed his fists
against the glass again. This time his fist exploded into a million
grains of the salt-like dust that composed the myriad mounds in the
parking lot. It was like watching a human-shaped sand sculpture
being demolished by hurricane-force winds.

The wind quickly swept Jerry away like a puff
of acrid smoke. I’m sure there would have been assassins around the
world who would have paid tens of thousands of dollars to learn how
to dispose of a body that efficiently. I suddenly felt sick to my
stomach. I obviously wasn’t the only one.

“Jesus,” Chuck shrieked, backing into Pete.
“Did you see what happened to him? One minute, he was there. The
next...”

Pete, the plumber, caught Chuck and kept him
from falling. But it was clear from the slack-jawed expression on
his face that he wasn’t in much better shape. “Oh my God,” he kept
muttering over and over again like a mantra.

“Jerry’s gone,” Steven said, grabbing Pete by
the shoulders to steady him. I don’t think Pete even heard what
Steven was saying until the third or fourth time he said it.

“Bush didn’t send our boys into Iraq in
time,” Chuck muttered. “A month or so earlier and all this might
have been avoided. One of them probably injected themselves with
some sort of biological agent and walked right into the midst of
us. They believe in suicide, you know? They think that sort of
thing is honorable. But seriously, can you believe it? Terrorists
here in Crowley’s Point? It seems surreal.”

Lots of things seemed surreal at that point.
Dozens of people had just walked to their deaths outside our store,
and there was scarcely a trace of them left save for the small
heaps of grayish-white sand that resembled oversized piles of
cigarette ashes. I remembered something I had heard in church a
long time ago about how all the Christians would be called up to
heaven while the sinners were left behind at the moment of Christ’s
return. I couldn’t help wondering if that might have been what
happened. It frightened me to think that I was one of the ones who
had no chance at a blissful eternity. Then, I realized the error in
my analysis of the situation. Jerry, the plumber, hardly seemed
like the righteous, devout type. If God, in fact, had called the
faithful up to heaven, I doubted that Jerry would have been
included in the rapture.

“Maybe we’ve been invaded by aliens,” Pete
muttered under his breath as he found a bench and sat down.

That got Steven’s attention. “I saw a falling
star earlier this evening. I went out back to smoke and was looking
up at the constellations when something fell out of the sky.”

“How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer,
son of the morning!” Pete, the plumber, added.

“Where did you learn that?” I asked, more
than a little surprised to hear him quoting scripture.

“Sunday School,” Pete replied. “My
grandmother used to take me when I was younger. I paid attention
sometimes, usually when they were talking about angels and demons.
The Bible is the best horror novel you’ll ever hope to read. At the
time, I just thought it sounded cool.”

“Maybe you and Steven can have a prayer
meeting together or something when this is all over with,” Chuck
said, taking every opportunity to get a dig in when he could.
Steven ignored him and stayed focused on me.

“So what are you implying?” I asked.

“I think he’s implying that maybe it wasn’t a
shooting star,” Vera Weaver suggested. “I tend to agree. Maybe this
is God’s way of punishing the wicked. Like one of the Egyptian
plagues.” Out of all of us, she was the one who seemed the least
frightened or surprised by the things that were going on. Maybe she
had some sort of inner wellspring of faith that kept her calm and
cool. Whatever the case, having her around made me feel a little
better about things. It was comforting to see that someone out of
the group was in control of their emotions yet it was hard to
believe that the source of my relief carried the Weaver name.