Deep Shadows (39 page)

He peered inside, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “Shelby, I've never seen a candy bar in your house.”

“That's because I hide them.”

“You hide them?”

“I don't want to tempt Carter, but…”

“But what?” Now Max was grinning, even as he pawed through her secret stash.

“But a woman needs chocolate occasionally. I don't have diabetes. You can't expect me to give up sweets for a lifetime. Well, I would, you know, if that would help him.”

Max pulled a chocolate kiss out of the tin, unwrapped it, and offered it to her. The minute the sugar and cocoa hit her taste buds, she groaned. He unwrapped a KitKat bar, broke it in half, and popped it into his mouth. Shelby chose a Snickers.

“How is Carter doing? Any major spikes or dips in his sugar levels?”

“Not that he's told me about.”

“So he's adjusting to the change in his diet. And you've ensured that his future supply is safely refrigerated the majority of the time. You were smart to find a way to do that.”

Shelby knew what Max was trying to do—help her see the bright side, focus on the good things, be thankful.

It wasn't working.

Her mood plummeted as she thought of the danger they'd been in, perhaps still were in. But it did nothing to dampen her appetite. She finished the candy bar and chased it with the soda. When the carbohydrates hit her system, she'd be full of energy—for about thirty minutes. After that,
she would crash and enjoy the sleep of the innocent. At least it had always worked that way before.

Max grabbed her wrapper, wadded it up with his, and stuck the trash in his pocket.

So he would take care of the evidence. A man who would hide your chocolate wrappers and keep your secrets—even the silly ones—was a decent guy in Shelby's opinion.

The fatigue must be softening her attitude.

It would be better to get Max out of her house before she did something she would regret—like tell him how she truly felt, or admit her fears, or have yet another good cry on his shoulder.

She stood, faked a yawn, and waited for him to take the hint.

As he walked toward the door, he gestured toward the bins she'd arranged in front of the couch.

“Packing?”

“Not exactly.” She looked toward the floor to avoid his eyes.

“Is that what you've been working on?”

“It's nothing.”

“It doesn't look like nothing.” He crossed his arms and frowned at her. “Why don't you tell me what you're up to?”

“Can't a girl de-clutter when she feels like it?”

“During a global crisis? I'm not buying it.”

She opened the front door. “Do you think they'll attack again?”

He must have been tired, because he didn't fight her changing the subject. “Not during the daylight. Probably not at all.”

Stepping out onto the front porch with him, it surprised her to see the sun peeking over the horizon and a mockingbird lighting on her fence. Life went on.

“Why do you say that? Why wouldn't they attack again?”

“They weren't expecting an organized defense. When they drove up to our section, we aimed and took strategic shots, conserving our ammunition. We did not barrage them with a massive show of force—”

“Which we didn't actually have.”

“We had enough. I think they understood that we were ready for them, and that we were not panicked. Jake's equipment was a big help.”

Max reached up and brushed the mass of curls back away from her face.

“I'm a mess.”

“You're beautiful.”

Shelby shook her head, closed her eyes, and tried to think of something to say. “So we're safe?”

“As safe as we can be. Get some rest.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. Before she could protest, he turned and walked toward his house.

S
IXTY
-F
IVE

S
helby resisted the urge to slap her forehead.

Why had she let him kiss her? Getting romantically involved with Max would only complicate her life, especially now.

She walked back into her living room and stared at the three bins she'd been working on. There was a bin for what she hoped to trade with neighbors, and another for items she might be able to get cash for from a trade shop. Such trading posts had opened in the last few days. Finally there was the bin of items she would take with her to Austin.

After all, once she found the insulin that Carter needed, she didn't know if the seller would even accept cash. She would take her most valuable items with her.

She knelt on the floor in front of the third bin and fingered the box that held her wedding ring—a small diamond on a simple gold band. Setting it down, she picked up a slightly larger box. Inside it she had placed a velvet bag, which held her parents' wedding rings. Her mother's engagement ring—a single-carat diamond in the center with a small ruby inset on each side—was probably the most valuable thing she owned. Though she treasured that tenuous connection with her mom and dad, she also knew without any doubt whatsoever that her parents would tell her to trade it.

They would have given up anything for their grandson. A diamond ring and two gold bands? She envisioned an old-fashioned balance scale—one used to weigh precious things. Were she to place the jewelry in her hand on one side of the scale, and her parents' love for Carter on the other,
there would be no contest. From the day her son was born, their love had been both deep and wide, as it had been for her.

Thinking of them caused a heavy sorrow to stir deep in her chest, and she paused to rub her hand against her breastbone. Her parents had passed more than ten years ago in an auto accident that had killed them both instantly. She had no doubt she would be reunited with them one day. She'd long ago memorized the passage in Revelation that promised no more death or mourning or crying or pain. The future was certain. It was the present that sometimes gave her trouble. Just when she thought she'd learned to live with the loss of her parents, moments like this brought home how much she missed them.

“What would you think of Abney now?” She whispered the question, but expected no answer. Her parents had been plain, hardworking, faithful people. They would tell her to soldier on and keep the faith. They would tell her she was doing the right thing.

The last item in the bin was a nearly full gallon-sized Ziploc bag. More than any of the other items, she thought it might bring bartering power. She fingered the prescription bottles and peered down at the labels.

Tramadol from a minor day surgery the year before. She'd taken two, but hated the way it made her feel—the bottle was nearly full.

Ibuprofen, 600 milligrams. Her doctor had prescribed it when she'd developed tennis elbow from typing too much. Once she'd made her writing deadline, she hadn't needed the anti-inflammatory drug. At least half of the pills remained.

Hydrocodone from when she'd had a gall bladder attack.

Tylenol with codeine prescribed for Carter the summer before when he'd had his wisdom teeth removed.

Celebrex from the one time she'd tried jogging and injured her knee.

The other medications didn't stand out in her memory. She couldn't remember their purpose or why they'd been prescribed—unfinished antibiotics mostly. Would she need them in the future? Maybe. But she needed them now more. Nine bottles in all. Why had she even kept them? She couldn't imagine, but they represented her biggest hope. She imagined her backpack becoming a little lighter each week as Carter used the insulin doses she'd been able to purchase.

Perhaps someone would be willing to trade one drug for another.

Was it illegal for her to do so?

She wasn't sure. It would be illegal to sell them, but she wasn't selling. She was trading, trading for something she desperately needed. Their pharmacy had officially closed the day before. The nurses and aides at Green Acres had been talking about it. Apparently there was a sign on the door stating they'd reopen when they had a delivery of medications.

Shelby sat back on her heels and studied the three bins. They represented the extent of what she could do for her son. And if they didn't work? She'd find another way. She would not give up on Carter.

She covered the bins with a blanket she kept across the back of the couch, and then she walked over and closed the curtains. No use tempting fate. As she had learned the last few hours, people were becoming increasingly desperate.

S
IXTY
-S
IX

I
n Carter's dream, he raised his rifle as Max told him to, held the weapon steady, fired, and missed. Instead of coming to a stop, the vehicle accelerated, barreling into their barricade of trucks and running over his friends and family.

Killing those he loved.

Maiming his neighbors.

Destroying Abney like they had destroyed Croghan.

He sat straight up, reaching for the rifle, but his fingers touched only the quilt that had been on his bed for as long as he could remember. Sweat ran off his face and down his underarms, and his heart knocked against his chest like a jackhammer. He blinked once, twice, and then he sank back onto his pillow as he realized he was in his bedroom.

Morning sunlight peeked around the curtains, which he'd pulled shut. There was no breeze coming through anyway, and since they'd arrived home as the morning sky was lightening, he'd hoped to sleep until noon.

No such luck.

The watch he was wearing confirmed that it was twenty minutes after nine. He supposed three and a half hours was better than nothing.

The night before had been a nightmare. Yes, there had been a certain camaraderie—standing next to his mom, Max on her other side, men and women and other teens stretching to the right and left. But it had also been terrifying. The darkness thick around them, he worried that a rocket launcher would land in their midst before they realized it was headed their way.

He worried about hand grenades and snipers.

He worried about Kaitlyn and wondered whether she was at home with her mom.

Carter had always dreamed of the day when he could leave Abney, shake off the dust of his hometown, and walk into a future in a bigger town and a nicer place. But as he'd helped to hold the line around Abney, he had realized that
this
was his town. No matter where he travelled in the future, Abney would always be where he'd begun. He didn't want to see what he cared about destroyed by ruthless men with greed on their minds.

Kicking off his covers, he grabbed the cleanest set of clothes he could find and threw them on, not bothering to see if he'd put the shirt on right side out. He stumbled outside to the latrine. It was mercifully empty, though already the summer heat was warming the small space. Once he'd taken care of his bathroom needs, he wandered back into the house. Did they have anything left to eat? His stomach grumbled, and he vowed to devour the first thing he saw.

He needn't have worried.

His mom had set out a package of crackers and cheese—the kind she used to put in his lunch box. Long after he outgrew having his lunch packed, she'd kept eating them, saying they were full of protein and good for a quick lunch. In this case, they would be good for a quick breakfast—along with a bottle of water and some canned fruit cocktail in natural juice.

His mom had also left a note:
Wake me when you get up.

She'd gone to bed after he had, so he took his time eating. He went to his room and separated his clothes into disgusting and less disgusting, and looked through his dresser drawers for something clean. By the time he was staring at the washer, realizing he couldn't use it, his mom had joined him.

“We'll find a way to wash them.”

“Tell me I don't have to use a rock down by the river as you keep watch for bandits.”

Instead of answering, she ruffled his hair and backtracked to the kitchen. When he caught up with her, she was staring mournfully at the coffeepot.

“Headache?” he asked.

“No.”

“But—”

“But I could sure use a cup right now. I'd give my eyeteeth for one.”

“Really? You'd let someone pull a tooth out of your head, just for a cup of coffee?”

“Maybe.”

“You have a serious addiction.”

“Had, Carter. I
had
a serious addiction.”

By the time she'd found something to eat and changed into clean clothes, Frank was at their door.

“We need help down at the park if you two can spare the time.”

“I'm supposed to be at Green Acres by noon.”

“And I'm supposed to meet up with Coach Parish at the high school. We're… we're working on stuff.” Carter didn't know how to explain their projects, and so far only the oven had actually been used. The windmill made of bicycle parts was still in the R&D phase.