The Drought (27 page)

This time along with the tap, tap, tap, she thought she heard someone whisper her name. “
Beth, get up.
” Her senses were all wrong. It sounded like the voice was right beside her. Her eyes darted back and forth searching the darkened room. “Who’s there? What do you want?”

The only response was the persistent tapping at the front door. She cried weakly, “Go away, I can’t help you.”

But the presence didn’t go away.

The persistent tapping continued until she thought she would go mad. She lowered herself from the bed to the floor. She didn’t even attempt to stand. It would have been a wasted gesture. Once on the floor she crawled toward her bedroom door, the sheets still tangled around her legs, dragged behind her. She made it only a few feet before she passed out.

In the kitchen, the vent fan over the stove was going crazy. Along the lower paneling in the living room, the gray electrical tape Jar had hastily taped over each socket was starting to show signs of wear. The tacky surface, coated with gritty sand, was giving up its hold on the paneling. It was starting to peel away. Within the next few minutes the tape would peel back allowing those two miniature jet streams of sand to blow unhindered into the trailer.

While Beth was unconscious, a golden haze of sand floated in the air. Outside, the persistent tapping continued. Accompanied by the wind, the tapping became more urgent. The wind itself would have been nothing to note except that even in her unconscious state, she could hear it whispering,
“Wake up Beth. Wake up. Barry needs you.”

She opened her eyes. The strong smell of men’s cologne permeated the room. Recognizing the scent she choked out her husband’s name. “Robert.” She didn’t need to see her husband; she could feel him all around her.

Finding strength in his presence, she reached down and disentangled the sheets from her legs. A golden sheen covered her skin, lending a false glow of health to her pale, waiflike limbs. With trembling hands she searched the floor for something to wear. She pulled on a pair of jean shorts, ran a shaking hand through her tangled hair and wondered what Robert must think of her in her current state.

The air in the room tightened. The breath left her body as if she were being squeezed. For a moment she was engulfed in what felt like the biggest bear hug she had ever received. Then as quickly as it had come, the pressure was gone. She was alone in the room. Fighting back tears, she stood on wobbly legs and walked into the living room.

The sight of sand blowing in through the electrical sockets almost sent her screaming back into the other room. Frantic eyes searched the room and found the empty roll of electrical tape. She wanted to stop the sand. She wanted to cover the holes. She could feel herself slipping backward into the insanity of yesterday. The wind whispered.
“No time. We have to help Barry.”

She giggled. The laughter, in combination with her tangled mass of hair, thin body and haunted eyes presented a perfect image of insanity. She screamed at the sand. “Take it. You can have the whole place…” Her voice faltered for a moment as she searched for something to say. She didn’t understand the words when they came but somehow they felt right. “I’m no fucking tater!” Laughing, she flipped her middle finger out and said, “Serve this up Pipin’ hot.” Then she slung the sliding door wide and walked out into the full brunt of the sand storm.

The landscape of Junction had changed. The sky was dark, the air thick, and it was impossible to breathe. There were sand dunes forming against anything that didn’t move. Her heart tightened. Jared was out there. He was fighting against this same storm—She felt for her son, sending him a silent message.
Be safe. Be safe
.

The sand stung her face and eyes. It pelted her exposed arms and legs. Retreat was not an option. She would rather take her chances with the storm then sit alone and watch the sand hiss through the sockets. Raising her arm to shield herself against the wind she walked down the steps. Sand slid between her toes. She paused and looked down. No shoes. She wiggled her bare toes. The insane giggle bubbled up.
A lot of help you’re going to be
.

Visibility was at most four feet. Her plan if there was one was to take it four feet at a time. She moved away from the trailer, shuffling through the sand until she saw a dark shape at the edge of her yard. It was Robert’s truck. Turning away from the road, she walked toward the truck. When she opened the door, the damp odor of the Llano River hit her.

A thousand memories of swimming in the Llano River poured over her followed by images of Robert: Robert smiling and waving as he drove away to work, Jared riding on Robert’s lap as he drove into town, Robert kissing her softly through the open window of his truck. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

She climbed in and closed the door. “Well, here I am.” She sat perched in the driver’s seat with her hands on the wheel. She could smell the mildew and years of rot, but beneath it all she could still smell her husband. She murmured to the darkened cab. “I don’t know what you need from me. And I don’t know how I’m going to help anyone, especially Barry. Look at me, I’m a wreck. I can’t get across town and—” She looked out the back window. “—hell, I don’t even have enough nerve to go back in there and get my shoes.”

Staring out the window, she listened to the sand skitter across the glass. Like her son, she found the sight of it swirling against the glass ominous. It was almost better to be outside and feel the biting sting than to watch it try to find a way inside.

In anger, she hit the wheel with both hands. “Why? Why did you go to her? You should have stayed. We were your family.” Wiping away the tears, Beth saw something out of the corner of her eye and froze. Her heart stopped for a moment and she kept her eyes averted, afraid if she looked full on she might scare him away or go mad if he stayed.

She whispered into the steering wheel. “I can see you.”

Robert,
and it was Robert
, replied back. “I know. I can see you too.”

Pulling in a quivering breath, Beth said. “Murphy Jobes said Rod Sawyer saw you but he didn’t. She paused thinking about Jared and finally asked. “Am I going to die?”

“I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know.”

Still not looking at her dead husband, Beth nodded and sucked at her bottom lip. “Why are you here?”

“Barry needs your help.”

She felt a flash of anger. “What about Jared?

Robert’s ghost hesitated then replied. “You can’t help Jared. He’s got to find his own way back.”

She nodded, sensing the truth in his words. Finally, she asked a question that had been plaguing her for the past ten years. “Why did you go that night? Why didn’t you just call the Sheriff?”

He sighed. “It was never about Dora. I couldn’t stand the fact that Tanner was beating a woman. But she could make her own choices, she could have left. It was Barry. Tanner was threatening to hurt Barry if she left him. She didn’t think she could get Barry out of the house.”

She shook her head. “You never should have gone.”

“I can’t change the past Beth. God knows I wish I could. But you can change the future. You can save Barry. If you don’t get up to Tanner’s house, he’s going to kill him.”

“What am I going to stop him with?” She slammed her palms against the steering wheel. “My good looks? Look at me, Robert.” This time Beth turned and looked at Robert. He didn’t vanish. That stopped her for a moment. She couldn’t look away from his face; that beautiful face she had missed for the past ten years. “I don’t have a weapon. Hell, I don’t even have a way of getting up there.”

His next words made her doubt the entire conversation. Any minute now she was going to wake up and find herself still tangled in the sheets on her bed.

He said, “Drive the truck.”

“Robert, maybe you’ve forgotten, but the truck,” she thumped the seat and the smell of dank mildew rose up in the air. “The goddamn truck has been at the bottom of the Llano for the past ten years.

“So have I.”

Their eyes met—his the color of the sky, hers, warm earth. “This whole thing is just crazy.
I’m
probably crazy. I’m sitting here in the middle of a sandstorm talking to my dead husband while my son is out there lost or dying! You want me to try the truck? Fine, I’ll try the damn truck.” She touched the keys, hesitating for a moment before she turned the key in the ignition. The engine churned. The entire truck shuttered like an unbalanced load of laundry.
Whomp, whomp, whomp.
The carburetor wheezed, gasping for air like an old man dying of emphysema. Finally the tail pipes spat out a wad of gunk followed by black sludge.

The truck started.

She jerked her hand away from the keys as if burned. “That’s impossible.”

Robert started to fade. “Just help Barry… otherwise it was all for nothing.”

Certain she had gone crazy, Beth turned the steering wheel. The rusted steering column resisted, popped, and finally responded. She kept saying to herself,
this is impossible
. But the broken truck thumped its way down Highway 377 on four flat tires and up 20th Street, leaving a trail of rust and mud along the way.

When she came to the broken gates at Tanner’s estate, she didn’t stop. The twisted metal scraped against the side of the truck, tearing away a thick layer of dirt and paint. The thought of filing an insurance claim made her giggle as she drove up the long driveway.

At the end of the driveway, the house loomed over her, more intimidating than the man himself. She shut off the mud-clogged engine. Outside, the wind and the sand continued its onslaught. From the house she heard the faint sound of a gunshot. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped barefoot into the shifting sand.

They traveled East

Suzy strained to see out the window. Visibility was at most, two feet. She mumbled to herself, “Someone could pass right by us and not even know we’re here.” She reached down and flipped on the headlights, flicked them off and then on again. Not satisfied she pushed her palm against the horn.

The sound startled Jar out of a fitful doze. He blinked and asked in a croaky voice, “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? If the highway patrol is out there we need to let them know we’re here.” She kept pressing the horn and flicking the lights.

Jar let her go on for a few minutes before reaching out to stop her hand. He said, “You’ll just drain the battery.”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “Who cares? You think we’re going anywhere in this heap?”

“We might be stuck here until tomorrow. What if they send a rescue patrol out then? We won’t have any way of letting them know we’re here.”

She thought about it, gave a deep sigh and shut off the headlights. Jar was right, it was unlikely anyone would be out in the middle of the storm but tomorrow when the storm died down, they would need to clear the interstate and maybe someone would find them.

Jar opened the glove compartment and rummaged through wads of paper. “Your dad have a cell phone?” An unspent bullet fell to the floor. Jar reached down to retrieve it and felt heat coming off his backpack. He pulled back repulsed by the sensation that washed through him.

Suzy shook her head. “He’s anti-technology. Besides there’s not a clear signal in Junction. It’s a waste of money.”

Jar’s mom didn’t have one either. He didn’t know if she was against them or just couldn’t afford one. Not finding anything that could help them, he closed the glove compartment. Trying to put distance between himself and the bag, he pushed back against the seat and brought his legs under him.

As if reading his mind Suzy gestured toward the bag and said, “What do you suppose would happen if we just tossed that bag out into the storm?”

“You feel it too?”

“I can feel heat radiating out across the floorboards. At first I thought I left the truck on.” She eyed him. So, what do you say? You want to chuck it?”

Jar averted his gaze. “We can’t.”

She knew he was going to say that but she wasn’t about to let him off that easy. “Why not?”

He squirmed in his seat trying to find words. “We’re in this. We’ve got to finish it.”

She laughed and pointed to the darkened window. “We aren’t finishing anything. We’re stuck. We’re done. What are we going to do? Walk to Lousiana?” She was in the middle of her tirade when she stopped short and looked out the back window.

Jar followed her gaze. The bed of the pickup truck was filled with sand but beneath the thickening blanket he could make out the faint outline of a bike. The right handlebar jutted out like a hand reaching from the grave. “Is that what I think it is?”