Pop-pop-pop.
It was over in under two seconds.
The man in the doorway flopped backward, his hand making a last clutch at the door frame and then he collapsed.
“That’s right. That’s what I’m talking about!” Jerry exclaimed. He sounded like a high school linebacker who had just flattened a receiver.
“Jesus,” Eleanor said.
Alex lay on the ground.
“You all stay right where you are,” Jerry said. “We need to make sure he didn’t have company.”
He kept his body low and closed in on Alex. When he got to her, he gave the thumbs-up sign to indicate she wasn’t hurt. Then, still crouching, he made his way to the porch. He pasted himself against the wall next to the front door.
“Crack shot,” Lyle said to Eleanor.
“All clear!” Jerry said. “Let’s get these kids inside where it’s warm.”
Eleanor grabbed Lyle by the sides of the face and turned him her direction.
“Are you seeing something here you recognize—medically? If so, I would really appreciate you communicating it to me.”
He switched his gaze from Eleanor to Alex, watching how she watched him—with some fascination. He needed to talk to her.
The porch lit up, presumably from Jerry flicking a switch inside the door. Now it was clear that there was another building, to the right and set back slightly from the house. Out here it might be called a carriage house or even a barn, but in the city, another living quarters, like a cottage. Out front of it sat a sedan. It had only a dusting of snow on it. The image suggested to Lyle that people were inside the small building.
“Have you ever had a seizure?” Lyle asked Eleanor.
“Yes.”
“You have?”
“Two, actually, minor, when I was young, some strange syndrome that passed.”
“You remember what they were like?”
She remembered. Like her world had locked up. “These people had seizures, or are having them?”
“It’s just seizures aren’t viral.”
“So it’s not a seizure.”
“I’m not sure. When you had a seizure, what do you remember about it?”
“I just told you; the world paused.”
“Sorry, what did you remember about what happened beforehand, like, what were you doing when it happened?”
Eleanor processed the question. She couldn’t remember a thing, that was the problem; she felt like she’d lost hours of her life, like they’d gone blank. She told Lyle. He nodded. Short-term memory loss, he said, a common side effect.
“I need you to talk to me, Dr. Martin. I’m not sure what or who to trust and I need information. I’m not trying to play captain here. I’m trying to play reasonable adult in a totally alien situation. What would we do if this were another planet?”
“I’d take you to dinner.”
“What?” She laughed, seeming both slightly irritated by and appreciative of the random nature of the comment.
“It’s been a long time since I met someone who welcomed my opinion in an adult conversation,” he said.
“Hold it together, Dr. Martin.”
“I don’t know who or what to trust at this point.”
“You can trust me,” Eleanor said.
“Yep.”
Lyle reached into the glove compartment and fumbled around. His hand returned with a pen that he used to write something on a yellow scrap of paper he’d found. He scribbled on the paper and ripped it in half. He handed half to Eleanor.
“Put this in your pocket,” he said.
“What is it?”
“A note. Put it in your pocket. For later.”
She looked at it quizzically.
“Trust me.” He caught her eyes with his own and held the look for emphasis.
Then he stuck the other half of the scrap of paper in his back pocket. Lyle looked again at Eleanor and said, “You want to know the thing that my ex-wife hated most about me?”
“Not right now.”
“The thing she hated most was that I had instincts about things that I couldn’t prove, that often seemed wildly off base but that wound up being true. Like when I realized she was pregnant with someone else’s child even though I had no real basis for knowing it was true.”
“There are children in the car.”
“This is one of those times.”
“So you handed me a piece of paper with scribbles on it?”
“Something’s about to happen,” Lyle said. He slid out of the pickup.
He got out of the vehicle, sensing Alex and Jerry were watching his every move. He guessed that Jerry would be furious he’d had this intimate exchange with Eleanor, face-to-face.
“You gotta see something,” Jerry said. “Get a load of this.”
He was standing in the doorway of the house, gesturing to Lyle. Every part of Lyle wanted to ignore him.
“What are you afraid of, Lover Boy?” Jerry said.
Lyle saw that Jerry was trying to play off his lover boy comment as no big thing. He was clearly pissed while Alex’s face was implacable.
“What are you afraid of?” Jerry repeated and gestured Lyle over with his gun. Lyle couldn’t figure a way around it. He walked up the slick stairs onto the porch. He stared down at the body and then peeked inside the house and found himself fascinated. What was it about this place and this man that left him unharmed—well, until he was gunned down? The first thing Lyle saw was the image of the serpent. Along the far wall on the first floor, a banner hung with a picture of a snake. Lyle took a step inside. It smelled of cooking, boiled meat, Lyle guessed, coming from an open-style kitchen separated from the room where Lyle stood by a yellow linoleum countertop. The place was lit by a camping lamp. It showed a couch with a blanket folded neatly across it and a recliner. Along the wall to the right, a startling sight: stacks of canned goods—corn was the first thing that struck Lyle’s eye, and peas and chili—and cases of bottled water. Someone was ready for the apocalypse. To the left, there was a trophy case made of thick glass. It was filled not with trophies but with guns, big, powerful guns, stacked horizontally.
In the middle of the room, though, were the two things that most caught Lyle’s attention: a camping light that lit the cabin and a small black radio.
“What is that?” Lyle asked Jerry.
“Narrowband radio.”
“Who uses it?”
“Public safety folks, hobbyists. You know what kills me?”
“What?”
“I took out one of the good guys.”
“What do you mean?”
“Prepper.”
Lyle took his meaning and knew it was right. This dead guy was one of those militarized citizens who was “prepping,” preparing for the collapse of the government or society. Not just planning for it but hoping for it, probably. When the whole thing collapsed, the spoils would go to the ones who had stocked up on guns and food and the tools of survival.
Lyle started walking through the house taking everything in. The place was orderly to the point of being pristine. A room behind the kitchen was too dark to make out but seemed to be an office. A doorway to the right of the kitchen was padlocked. Back in the living room, he looked at the banner of the serpent: Don’t Tread on Me.
Jerry was no longer in the room. Alex fiddled with her phone.
“I’m getting a signal,” she said. “I think the network is back.”
Lyle couldn’t pinpoint what was so extraordinary about this place.
“Something’s changed,” Alex said. “Things are making sense to you.”
He stared at her. Was she turning insane?
“I don’t know you that well but you seem to be in a kind of thrall,” she said.
“He doesn’t have electricity,” Lyle answered. “That’s it. He’s off the grid.” He looked again at Alex. “Tell me how you’re feeling? Does your head hurt?
“Have you stopped limping?”
He stared at her leg. It no longer had that nuanced rectitude in it. He shook his head, wondering what to make of this new puzzle piece. Something about her immune system? No, it meant something else.
“You don’t really care about her,” Alex said, ignoring his question.
“I think you need to lie down.”
“Eleanor, the captain. That was an act, wasn’t it?”
Outside, the car honked. It honked again.
Alex smirked. “I’ve been watching you.”
He stopped now and stared at her as if she were lying on the autopsy bed. Outside, the honking was going nonstop.
“Please, lie down,” Lyle said. He started walking to the door. He felt his phone buzz. Then he felt Alex’s hand on his arm. He turned and saw an odd look on her face, like she had grand plans.