Something Bad (11 page)

The farmhouse was built in the early 1900’s and was added to several times, most recently in 1954. A 500-foot driveway that led to a circle of trees surrounding the compound separated it from the gravel county road. The house was on the left, perched on top of a small knoll that overlooked equipment sheds to the right, the barn and silo to the rear, and a large slough to the left.

The first shudder came at nine thirty in the evening. All but one member of the family was asleep following the “early to bed, early to rise” life of the farm family.

The man paused over his daughter’s bed and admired how the nightlight enhanced the angelic look slumber always caressed onto her face. He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Daddy’s girl,” he whispered.

He was half way down the stairs when the low frequency vibrations started with barely perceptible movements of open doors, small furniture, dishes and glasses. They immediately placed a strain on the beams and joists of the older part of the structure. As he entered the bedroom, the intensity of the vibrations increased, and trinkets and other displayed objects fell off shelves and within cupboards. The aged wood of the old house began to separate and crack.

The earthquake spanned the resonant frequency of the house frame, so the shaking of the old house increased quickly to the verge of structural collapse. The man stood still. Before the turbidity of fatigue allowed a reaction, the second story of the old house collapsed onto the first, dragging the upper floor of the addition down and forward into a pile. The raking action of the upper floor ripped the sidewalls of the first floor addition, causing a sudden oblique shear of the outermost part of the wing, down through the lower level until the house was leveled. The one exception was the farthest, short wall of the rectangular addition, both stories of which remained perfectly erect. It stood guard over the crumpled remains of the house like a headstone marking the site of a family burial.

The entire collapse took just thirty seconds and the temblor was gone. It was barely felt in any of the surrounding farms. If not for the tremendous sound of the collapse and the late night habits of one of the neighbors, the catastrophe would have gone undetected until the following day.

G
ABE COMPLETED HIS
required three calls for the emergency network and headed out to the site. He was one of the first on the scene and he immediately began digging through the wreckage looking for survivors. The devastation of what appeared to be the master bedroom was so severe, he left it alone. Instead he concentrated on the compressed wreckage of the upper floor of the new wing.

As others randomly removed debris from the pile, Gabe searched for items of bedding and parts of beds. With his more orderly strategy, he quickly found the lifeless bodies of two of the children. His heart pounded out the cadence for an increased fervor of his search. He knew the family had four children. Surely they couldn’t all be gone. He put the thought out of his mind—he needed his head clear, focused. He needed to control his emotions, for now.

A partially buried bed sheet and comforter glowed through the otherwise colorless wreckage, about six feet away. Gabe picked his way through the debris and shoved broken wood and wallboard from the site. He stopped. A faint sound leaked from a pile of newer wood about ten feet away. He homed in on the sound, heaving shattered wood fragments as fast as he could, trying to find the source of the muffled cries.

His heart pounded in his chest well beyond its speed limit as the cries came to him, louder. He pushed aside a smashed chest-of-drawers and uncovered a small tent-like pocket formed by the slanting fall of two opposite walls. A young girl was wedged in the tent, curled in a fetal position, hugging a doll to her chest with her arms and knees. She didn’t respond to Gabe’s shout, but continued the sobbing that attracted his attention in first place.

Gabe pulled her from the wooden shards and cradled her in his arms. He looked for signs of trauma and was surprised to see that she was virtually unscathed. There was no blood, no mangled or misaligned limbs, only the dust of a hundred year-old building staining her clothing.

He pulled the little girl to his chest and trudged through the rubble toward the emergency vehicles. The family had just one girl, the youngest, around three or four. He spotted the sheriff. “Sam. Over here. She’s alive.”

Then he stopped short. He turned the girl in his arms and faced her away from the circle of trucks. On the ground were spread five white sheets, each mounded in the middle. Two were stained red. His heart jumped to his throat and he worked hard to suppress his tears. He hugged the little girl and kissed her forehead. She relaxed in his arms.

Gabe didn’t sleep. His thoughts kept running to the little girl, now without a shred of family. He watched the clock approach and pass each numeral until the roosters celebrated another day free from the chopping block.

No snooze button on the farm, he thought as he shuffled to the bathroom. He wanted to get to his chores right away, then head back out to the accident site. He liked to help Sam sort out the details of those infrequent events in the Tri-counties that carried some mystery.

Gabe found Sam standing on the knoll, near the remains of the house.

“Look at that, Gabe. The barn and silo are fine. I’ve been through them. The barn was as old as the house. And all of the other buildings. Not a hint of damage.”

Gabe turned a circle. “Any damage in the surrounding farms?”

“None at all.”

“What do you make of it?” He pushed a broken board with his foot.

Sam shook his head. “Maybe an explosion. From a gas leak. That’s about all I can figure.”

Gabe walked down the far side of the knoll. “Sam. You might want to look here.”

Sam jogged to Gabe’s side.

“What do you make of this?” Gabe said.

Several land slippages around the knoll suggested that some sort of earth movement had taken place.

“Think an explosion would cause these?”

Sam shook his head. “Not likely. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“How you going to write it up?”

“For now, I’ll call it an accidental collapse of elderly structure.”

Just like the death of an elderly person is ascribed to “old age” when the cause of death is not overtly evident, Gabe thought.

Tendrils of mist blew in and Gabe zippered his jacket and raised the collar. His mind tried to make a connection, and one flickered for a moment, then took on life.

He was a young boy, on his bike, riding through a morning fog. He had always enjoyed riding through the earth-bound clouds. On this trip, he wished he lived three or four miles from town instead of only two. He pedaled his bike through the mist, counting on memory to avoid the chuckholes and washboard ruts of the gravel road that led from his house to the county road. Everything was quiet and gray, and the cool mist that flowed past him as he cut through the thick air felt good on his face, like he was plowing through serenity on his way to inner peace. He liked the fog because it was wet, and yet it wasn’t wet. Like a wetness that didn’t stick. The mental contradiction added to his feeling of freedom. Pumping his pedals backward, he joined them in clicking their pleasure at the release from responsibility.

As he pedaled up to speed, he let his breathing fall into rhythm: in … two … out … two … in … two … out… two. Mind works best in the backdrop of that kind of order. He’d need it. He had to formulate his list of sins and it wasn’t a banner week. He hadn’t cussed. He hadn’t been mean to anyone in his family. But he did covet Mac McKenna’s new ballpoint pen. The one that had three different colors of ink, with three different plungers to push the tips of the ink cartridges through the clear plastic barrel. Covet was a good word for it. He would never think of stealing the pen, but he sure did want it. He didn’t want one like it. He wanted it. It wouldn’t do any good to have a duplicate—he would have to be the only one with such a marvelous pen. Covet was the perfect word.

The fog thickened as he coasted around the corner of the rectory and up to the back door of the church. The thicker fog carried a chill so he hurried to the door and gave the knob a twist. It was locked, as was any additional wisp of his memory.

Gabe shook his head back to the present as a fog surrounded him. “Something bad.”

I
T WAS
A slow day in the Herndon’s Edge and the tone fit Gabe’s mood. Still devastated by the limited success of the rescue operation, he watched Deena Lee pay a visit to the two other customers and then come his way. He sat up straight.

Deena Lee slid up to the counter and centered herself directly in front of Gabe’s broad shoulders. She leaned over, placed both elbows on the counter, rested her chin on both palms, and looked directly into his eyes.

He slowly swept his eyes upward from his food and returned her stare. Instead of a smile, he furrowed his brow. He could have sworn the top button of her blouse was fastened just a few minutes ago.

Deena Lee’s smile faded a little. “What’s the matter? Did I startle you?”

Gabe put on his best “great to see you” smile. “No.

I was just trying to figure something out.”

Deena Lee’s full smile returned. “You’re pretty good at figuring, I hear. Any ideas on how we can both get rich and run away together to some island in the ocean?”

Her flirtation caught him off guard. His face felt hot. Usually one to watch a situation until he was familiar with its boundaries, and only then jump in, he decided to leap at this one.

“We could buy some tickets to the Lotto. If that don’t work, I have a decent sum saved up. It won’t get us a long stay at an island, but it would get us a bit of fun for awhile.” He looked in her eyes again, to see her response as well as to hear it.

“A good bit of fun is what I’m needing. It’s been a long time since any’s come knocking on my door.”

“I’m surprised that men aren’t lined up at your door—to have some fun, I mean.” His face returned to hot. “Uhhh—to want to take you out for dinner or something.”

Deena Lee stood up straight and laughed. She turned and gave Teddy a wink. “I’ve been wondering. You live alone with Wanna. She’s your sister, right?”

Of all people, Gabe wanted to be truthful with Deena Lee. But would she understand? Worse yet, if she knew, would that turn her away? Today was a major event for him. She was flirting. No doubt about that. Now wasn’t the time to introduce such a complication.

“Yeah. When my Daddy died, we just decided to keep the farm going ourselves. I was nearly on my own a few years back when Wanna was sweet on the Robertson boy, but that didn’t work out, so here we are.”

Deena Lee leaned back on the counter. “And what about you? Any hot romancing come your way?” She didn’t smile.

“Had my flings, but none seemed like the settling down type.”

His mind caught a snag. On more than one occasion, Wanna had told him that he was too slow in his relationships. “Your romancing is like your driving — at least ten miles per hour below the speed limit,” she had said. Evidently, in this part of the country, once courting was initiated, it quickly filed through all of the local formalities leading to matrimony. Anything less than an accelerating succession of requisite events in the relationship was viewed as a lack of significant interest.

Before he could say anything else, Deena Lee’s attention was swiped by a request from one of the other customers. As she busied herself to satisfy the patron’s needs, she opened a long-range conversation with Teddy.

“Teddy, I’m needing a partner for the couple’s bowling tournament on the twelfth. You know anybody who can knock down a pin or two?” She shifted her eyes in Gabe’s direction.