Winds of Change (4 page)

Unfortunately, the other members of the
family didn’t share their mother’s virtues.

Jesse Weaver and his boys had resorted to
cigarettes to calm their shaken nerves. Normally, I would have told
them to put the Marlboros out. But these were unusual
circumstances. The clouds of smoke drifted through the air like
materialized ghosts. It wasn’t hard to envision those same clouds
as the freed spirits of all those who had died the moment they left
the confines of the store. I think we all watched the wispy curls
of smoke drift off into the atmosphere for several minutes, needing
any excuse we could find to give our minds a rest.

Only the young married couple separated
themselves from everyone else. They sat side-by-side on the service
desk counter and whispered to each other when they thought we
weren’t watching. They weren’t holding hands. They weren’t even
touching. Only whispering. It all seemed a little strange to me
since we had caught them making out in one of the hammocks out in
garden center. Yet different people handled trauma in different
ways I supposed.

“We could use some organization here,” I
suggested at last. “Let’s gather up everything we need for a
meeting. I’d really like to talk without quite so much darkness. A
game plan is what we need at the moment. I think we’ll have better
luck coming up with one if we’ve got a little light on the
subject.”

“Arm yourselves, too,” Chuck spoke up. “Grab
anything you can find that you might be able to use as a potential
weapon if things get out of hand. A hammer, an axe, crowbar,
whatever. If you can use it to crush someone’s skull into little
bits, it might be a good thing to hang on to. Remember, we don’t
know what we’re up against here.”

I wasn’t pleased that Chuck had mentioned the
possibility that we might have to fight some unseen invader for our
lives. But I guess that was reality and it was better to be
prepared for it than to have an enemy sneak up and catch us off
guard.

It didn’t take long for everyone to grab
something comfortable that they could use to defend themselves
with. The two Weavers boys grabbed battery-powered nail guns. Jesse
Weaver found a scythe that made him look like the Grim Reaper. The
married couple found two pitchforks. Pete the plumber armed himself
with a twenty-pound sledgehammer and was immediately transformed
into a reasonable facsimile of Thor. The old guy chose a machete.
Steven and I both grabbed gas-powered chainsaws that were to our
liking. But it was Chuck that took the cake. I couldn’t help
laughing at him as he rejoined the group.

His face was obscured by the oversized air
mask that he wore over his mouth and nose. A thin ray of light
emanated from the miner’s hat he wore. The tool belt around his
waist looked like something out of a Batman comic, complete with
utility items galore. In one hand he held a pick axe. In the other
he brandished a blow torch.

“What?” he said when he realized we were all
staring at him in disbelief. “I just wanted to be prepared, is that
such a crime?”

While we had been waiting for Chuck to ‘suit
up,’ Steven and I had rounded up flashlights for everyone. The
light was somewhat of a reassurance, if only a small one. I
suddenly felt like a boy at summer camp again. Only now, it was
clear that there were things in the darkness to be afraid of, and
the light had absolutely no effect on whatever it was that was
reducing men to dust.

“This sucks,” Jake Weaver said as we stood
there with our flashlights, trying to act brave and hopeful even
though we had no reason to be. “I would rather be any place else
but here with these losers.”

“Jake, hush,” his mother said. “This isn’t
the time. Everyone’s doing the best they can under the
circumstances.”

“Who cares? I was supposed to meet Becky
tonight.”

“You wouldn’t have known what to do with her
anyway,” Kenneth Weaver said with a laugh that was as big as his
belly. “Now me on the other hand, I could have shown her some
tricks. Shown her what kind of man the Weaver family tree really
produces.”

“Watch your mouth, fat boy,” Jake growled,
making fists. “It’ll be hard to eat your weight in Twinkies if your
lips are swollen shut.”

“Enough,” Jesse Weaver roared, “both of you.
I’m sick of listening to it.”

The boys cowered in their father’s shadow. It
was an impressive thing to witness in person, especially with Jake.
Of the brothers, he seemed to be the more hardened of the two.

A tall boy, almost as imposing as his father,
Jake looked like a pale, gaunt scarecrow standing there in the
dark. Like his father and younger brother, he had that same greasy
mane of dingy blonde hair too. He had a growing reputation in town
for doing some of the best tattoos around. Judging by the artwork
on Jesse Weaver’s arms, the reputation was well deserved. I
wondered if the reputation for vandalism was just as valid.

Kenneth Weaver, on the other hand, looked
like the poster child for fat kid jokes. He was obese in that
white-trash sort of way, looking like a real life version of the
Michelin Man with his fat rolls, pasty white skin, and
three-day-old beard. It didn’t help matters any that he was wearing
a white wifebeater with sweat rings around the neck and armpits. In
true redneck fashion, the back pocket of his jeans had the
tell-tale ring of a snuff can. He couldn’t have been any more
trailer-park if he had tried.

I didn’t have any trouble envisioning either
of their pictures on Wanted posters in post offices across the
country. The very thought of criminal activity reminded me of our
malfunctioning generator. I wanted to believe that the Weaver boys
had something to do with it, but I couldn’t with any real
conviction. The malfunctioning generator had to be tied to
everything else that was going on. And, crafty as they were, I was
sure that they had absolutely nothing to do with the curse that
befell anyone who stepped out into the elements. Which meant they
probably had nothing to do with the generator either. The boys were
professional delinquents, but they knew nothing about biochemical
warfare, if that’s indeed what this was. And even if it wasn’t some
sort of chemical agent, the boys were even further removed from the
skill of Biblical curses. They were off the hook as far as I was
concerned. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t cause trouble if
given the opportunity. I just hoped Jesse Weaver kept his sons in
line.

“So when are we getting to leave this dump?”
Jake asked. “Shouldn’t the National Guard be coming along soon?” It
was almost like he hadn’t heard what his father had told him less
than two minutes before.

“At this point, it’s hard to say when we’ll
get to leave,” I told Jake. “The bad thing is that there really
isn’t anything we can do about it. Going outside right now is
suicide. The way it’s looking, we might be here awhile. You’ll just
have to get used to it, like it or not.”

Although what I said had been directed toward
Jake Weaver, the young bride took it to heart and immediately began
to weep. I think most of us felt sorry for her. Her husband simply
looked at her with disgust. It was like watching an aristocrat look
down his nose at a homeless person. I don’t know what any of the
other guys were thinking, but I wanted to crack the guy’s skull
right there. He was about as cold and as lifeless as I had ever
seen any husband be.

Realizing that somebody needed to do
something, the old guy went to her side and put a reassuring hand
on her shoulder when it became clear that her husband wasn’t going
to make any attempt to comfort her.

“No need to do all that crying,” he said
gently like a grandfather. “We’ll get out of this thing.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” the young woman
wept.

“And you can’t be sure that we won’t,” the
old man said. “So let’s hope for the better of the two outcomes and
pray for that. By the way, name’s Leland Kennedy. Pleased to meet
you.”

The young woman laughed through her tears.
“I’m stupid. I know it. I’m in the same shape everyone else is in,
and all I can think about is myself.”

“Well who else would you be thinking about?”
Leland Kennedy replied. “Certainly not that cretin of a
husband.”

“He’s not that bad, really,” the young woman
said in her husband’s defense.

“Well if I were a little younger, you
wouldn’t have to worry about having a man around to comfort you
when you needed one. I can promise you that. You may not realize it
now, but Old Leland was quite the playboy in his day. You betcha I
was.”

Her husband scowled and crossed his arms.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, you old fool,” he
muttered under his breath.

“Old fool or not,” Leland said. “I know how
to treat a lady. That seems like an area in which you’re
deficient.”

“I do fine,” the husband grumbled.

“Fine is what causes your wife to end up in
bed with another man,” Leland reminded him. “You’d better do a
sight better than fine if you want to hold on to this sweet young
lady.”

“Piss off, Moses. Nobody asked you.”

“Well, if either of you get tired of her,
I’ll show her a thing or two,” Kenneth Weaver spoke up.

“The only thing you’ll be able to show her is
how to clean out a buffet,” Jake Weaver said. Kenneth’s face
reddened like a beet.

“Bite me,” he said, averting his eyes.

“I’ve heard just about enough from both of
you,” Vera Weaver said. “Your father told you both to hush. Now I’m
telling you. Don’t make the same mistake again. Neither of you are
too old to get a switch to your behind. And I know that there
aren’t any switches available, but there are plenty of extension
cords in this store that will work just the same.”

Both of the boys looked ashamed. That sort of
went with the territory when your mother called you out in public.
Somehow, I didn’t think we’d be hearing anything from them for a
while, at least until the sting of public humiliation wore off.

“Maybe we should all introduce ourselves
since it seems we may be here indefinitely,” I suggested, trying to
change the subject, “get to know each other a little. It will help
ease the tension.”

Much to my surprise, everyone agreed.

Of course, just about everybody knew Jesse,
Vera, Jake, and Kenneth Weaver. Still they introduced themselves
without incident. That in itself was a small miracle. We all knew
Leland Kennedy by now too. Pete’s last name was Herbert. The young
couple was Wayne and Ashley Richards. Then there was Chuck, Steven,
and me.

It was an odd family to be a part of, yet a
family is exactly what it was at the moment, a nucleus of people
who had to depend on each other until we found some way out.
Somehow, given the eerie silence of the world around us, I knew it
might be quite a while before escape was an option. In other words,
this family was an indefinite arrangement, permanent until we died
or another similar miracle rescued us from the winds of change that
were blowing outside.

For a while we just made small talk, hoping
to skirt the real issues and divert our minds. Chuck and Steven
talked about sports. The Weaver boys discussed new tattoo designs,
heavy metal, the advantages of Red Man over Skoal. Ashley and Wayne
Richards whispered to each other in sharp, muted bursts of
conversation as had been their habit from the start. Pete and I
talked about the plumbing problems in my house. Leland Kennedy kept
to himself the whole time, listening to every word that was said.
The problems around us ceased to exist for a few minutes, then
Chuck went and got a bright idea which reminded us of everything we
were trying so hard to forget.

“The radios we sell use batteries. We sell
batteries. Why didn’t we think of that earlier?”

“Maybe it had something to do with the fact
that the world was falling apart all around us,” Steven reminded
him. “But let’s all make a note to self in the future. In case of
Biblical catastrophe, never forget that the radios in Kingsley’s
Hardware and Appliance use batteries.”

“You don’t have to try and be cute about the
whole thing,” Chuck said. “And it’s not Biblical. It’s Al
Qaeda.”

Chuck fiddled with the radio for several
minutes before realizing that he’d put the batteries in backwards.
Steven and I laughed at him. He never did things the right way, but
he was determined where he wasn't skillful. The batteries went in
correctly the second time. The speakers hissed with static and bits
of random speech that were too garbled to be understood.

Chuck rolled the dial through the gamut of
stations. All we picked up was white noise and machine gun bursts
of chatter, even on the stations that were normally strong enough
to bleed through into several frequencies. We did hear someone call
for help once over the airwaves. That was enough to make all of us
groan and to fear for our own lives. Then the static quickly turned
to silence. It was almost as if Chuck had turned the radio off
entirely. But the little red light on the side of the radio glowed
like a smoldering coal. The radio was definitely on, there just
wasn't anybody left to broadcast.

The silence was even worse than the news we
had feared. It meant that this wasn’t a narrow window of disaster.
Whatever had happened out in the world was affecting a surrounding
radius of several hundred miles at least. Help wouldn’t be coming
any time soon. And those that did arrive to lend a hand would
definitely have their work cut out for them. There was no telling
how long it would take them to get to us.

"Looks we're screwed," Jesse Weaver said,
spitting a long stream of tobacco juice behind one of the cash
registers.

“Don’t think like that,” Vera chided her
husband. “Try to be positive and have a little faith in God. Do
something you’ve never done in your life and believe.”