Seated in the back of the Kia, Jenn readjusted the belt across her chest. Last night, at the kitchen table, Sam promised they’d leave the house at dawn, but when Gary finally woke up around 7:00, he insisted they wait until Carla’s regular opening hours. Sam agreed, which sparked ire in Jenn. However, still feeling the guilt of storming off at Minute Tire and blaming herself for Sam’s bloody lip, she resisted arguing. They pulled out of the driveway at 8:55 a.m.
“It’s hazy out,” Sam observed from the front seat. He leaned forward and peered up through the windshield. The sky was a muted blue-gray. But no clouds.
“Might be smoke,” Gary said.
“Smoke?” Jenn rolled down her window and sniffed the air, but she didn’t smell smoke. Not really.
“From the city. There’re probably fires. That’s what happened after Hiroshima.”
Even if a bomb exploded above the Air Force base in Glendale and spared Jenn’s home in Peoria, fires could spread. What if her parents thought there was fallout and had holed up somewhere to ride it out? Would they leave and try to escape if a fire threatened them? And what about the smoke? If it had already wafted up to Flagstaff, how bad would it be in the city? Would they be able to breathe?
Then again, this wasn’t Hiroshima, and it was 2062, not 1945. Things could be different here. The houses in Phoenix all had stucco exteriors, not that paper and wood she’d seen in old pictures of Japan. Larger structures, like the ones downtown, were made of concrete and glass. The Twin Towers didn’t burst into flames on 9/11. There were fires, yes, but only because the jet fuel ignited. They never spread to adjacent buildings or the rest of New York City.
Maybe the smoke had come from wildfires. Every spring and summer, forest fires sprung up across the western United States and Canada. Sometimes, the smoke blew into Arizona. In fact, when Jenn first moved into the Ruiz house two Septembers ago, smoke from a fire in Utah inundated Flagstaff. It was so thick that people on campus wore masks. Maria, because of her COPD, wouldn’t even go outside.
“What about wildfires?” Jenn asked.
“Maybe,” Gary said, sounding unconvinced. “A little early in the year for that.”
Sam didn’t weigh in either way.
The car jerked as Gary turned onto Leroux Street from Route 66. He’d kept the autodrive off, of course, and drove in manual.
On their left was an old brick building from the early 1900s. Blue signs reading FOR LEASE hung in most of the windows. The building across the street was a century newer. On the bottom floor was a place called Pawndemonium. Pawn shops, Jenn noted, might be the only truly depression-proof business.
According to Gary, downtown was a lot livelier before the giant new Go Market, Flagstaff’s second, opened by the university a decade ago. After that, he’d said, the stores here stopped trying to compete. Many of the bars and restaurants survived a little longer, but America’s declaration of war on China and Russia sent the cost of food skyrocketing. The government’s failure to impose rationing or price controls was the nail in the restaurant industry’s coffin, and most establishments closed within two or three years. A few of the swankiest remained, but only a privileged few—and definitely not Jenn or the Ruiz family—could afford to eat there.
Every time she helped Gary refill Maria’s oxygen tanks, downtown was quiet. Today, though, it felt eerie. Not a soul walked the streets, not even on Milton. Most of the town was probably still hiding from imaginary radiation. Jenn just hoped that Carla had decided to camp out at her shop overnight and would be there now.
Gary weaved between a white SUV and a red hatchback and rolled through Aspen Avenue, then pulled off to the right and stopped the Kia across from Carla’s pharmacy. Floor-to-ceiling windows flanked either side of the front door. Those on the left were broken. Obviously, the lights were off, so the interior remained dark, but Jenn made out the till and some of the larger inventory: wheelchairs and walkers, mostly.
She stepped out of the car. The men followed as she went to retrieve Gary’s wheelbarrow from the trunk. Bringing it was smart thinking on his part; what they came for would be heavy. Extra oxygen tanks would help Maria in the short term but wouldn’t do her much good if the power stayed off for more than a few days. She needed a compressor, and Carla supplied mobile, battery-powered ones. If they survived the EMP and Gary could find a working solar panel somewhere in town—the police station, maybe, or the hospital, since both had been hardened against EMPs and had backup electricity—he could keep the batteries charged and Maria would be okay. Otherwise, they’d take as many tanks as they could, buying them enough time to come up with another plan.
The wheelbarrow was too big for the trunk, so Gary had secured it with two bungee cords. Jenn unlatched them and gripped the wheelbarrow’s handles. Sam, bags hanging beneath his eyes, appeared from the passenger side, took hold of the front wheel, and helped her heave it up and out.
Anxious about the broken window and eager to see if Carla was here, Jenn pointed the wheelbarrow at the shop, then, almost by reflex, checked her right and left for cars driving past. On the opposite sidewalk, she parked the wheelbarrow and stepped up to the front door. The handle didn’t budge. She tried a second time for good measure.
“It’s locked,” she said.
Gary and Sam watched her from the middle of the street. She inspected the building’s face, noticing the concrete wall between the window and the sidewalk. It stood less than two feet high, low enough for her to hop over and avoid cutting herself on any remaining glass shards.
She brought her feet together and bent her knees, ready to jump, but second-guessed what she was doing. Yesterday, without much more than a cursory thought, she took a chair and banged it on the bay doors in Minute Tire. In the end, she wound up pinned to the floor while Sam received a fist to the jaw. What if the cops hadn’t shown up? Would that man have hit Sam again? Or worse? Leaping into Carla’s place unannounced might put her and Sam, and now Gary, at risk; whoever had smashed the window could still be inside.
Jenn clicked her tongue and turned to face them. Hands in his pockets, Sam shrugged at her. He’d support her no matter what, so she focused on Gary, who, surprisingly, offered her a nod and a thumbs-up. “Just be careful,” he said. “Watch out for glass in there.”
Again, she examined the pharmacy’s interior for movement or any sign of the vandals. It was dark, but from this close, she made out some more details while her memory filled in the gaps. Like an island, the cashier’s till stood in the middle of the store, and along the walls were shelves stocked with painkillers, over-the-counter drugs, Band-Aids, and so on.
But no movement.
Confident the place was empty, Jenn closed her eyes and hopped inside. Her shoes landed on the sea of broken glass strewn across the floor.
Her sudden entrance could have brought the vandals out of hiding, so she scanned the shop again. Satisfied she was alone, she wiped her palms on her jeans and made her way toward the till. With each step, glass crunched beneath her runners. The few times she’d come here with Gary, Carla or one of her staff always went into the back storeroom to fill Maria’s tanks. The mobile compressors and the batteries were likely stored in there as well.
She called out to Gary and Sam, “The place looks—”
“Put your hands where I can see them!” a woman commanded before Jenn could finish.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she froze mid-stride. That order meant one thing: someone had a gun trained on her. She brought her hands above her waist but didn’t dare turn her head, move a muscle, or even take another breath.
“Keep them up, palms open,” the woman continued. “And face this way.”
Jenn complied, careful not to make any sudden movements.
She turned and caught sight of a Black woman standing behind the till, a shotgun in her hands and pointed straight at Jenn. Carla. She wore the white lab coat her staff used as a uniform. Her curly dark hair was longer than Jenn remembered, and it hung below her shoulders. The barrel of the gun remained level and steady. Not for a second did Jenn doubt that Carla would fire if she felt threatened.
“Carla,” Gary said softly from outside. “Carla, it’s Gary Ruiz. It’s okay. Jenn’s with me.”
Shotgun still up, Carla refused to take her eyes off Jenn as she asked, “Gary, why’s she breaking into my store?”
“We’re here for an oxygen compressor,” Jenn blurted out, desperate to explain herself so Carla would lower her weapon. “A battery-powered one.”
“I’m closed,” Carla said with a sense of finality.
“I know, but—”
“Gary,” she shouted, “you best get her out of here so I don’t fill her with double-aught buck.”
Jenn swallowed. Carla kept the shotgun steady, but she blinked hard and slow, then gave her head a quick shake.
“No problem, Carla,” Gary said. “Come on out, Jenn.”
She considered Gary’s Glock. He’d brought it with him, and part of her wondered why he hadn’t yet turned it on Carla. If he did, maybe she would surrender and they could find what they came for. The rest of her, the bigger part, pictured Carla pulling the trigger. “I’m leaving,” Jenn said, then took a big step away.
Her knees shook as glass crunched beneath her feet once more, telling her she was close to the window. Carla stepped out from behind the till. Jenn shot a glance at Gary and Sam. Both stood motionless, hands out to their sides.
Finally, after what felt like minutes but was probably only a handful of seconds, Gary crept forward and broke the silence. “Carla, we’re here to ask for your help. That’s all. You remember my wife, Maria, don’t you?”
Carla remained stone still. “Of course I do.”
“Her oxygen compressor’s down.” He stopped at the sidewalk. “It needs power and won’t work. She’s using tanks, but I’m afraid they’ll only last a couple of days. We might be in trouble if this blackout lasts longer than that. We’re hoping you can help us.”
Jenn reached the windows and couldn’t back up any farther. To leave Carla’s store, she’d have to hop outside. She didn’t want to make any sudden movements, though, and the gun seemed lower than before Gary had started talking, so she let the conversation unfold.
“Okay,” Carla said, trying in vain to suppress a yawn, “but that doesn’t explain what she’s doing in my store when I’m clearly not open.”
“That’s my fault. We saw your window was broken and figured you might be in trouble. I asked Jenn to go in and see if everything was all right. Sorry we didn’t try letting you know we were here.”
Nice save, Jenn thought, impressed by Gary’s quick thinking. Hopefully Carla would believe him. Indeed, her arms relaxed a little, and her shoulders fell. A good sign.
“Listen,” Gary continued, “you mind if we come in and talk? It’s been a rough twenty-four hours, but we need to stick together and support each other.”
For the first time since this ordeal began, Carla’s eyes left Jenn and wandered toward Gary. “I assume an ex-cop like you is armed?”
“I am. I’m happy to let you take it while we chat.”
Carla mulled that over. A few agonizing seconds later, she yawned again and lowered the gun. Jenn unclenched her jaw and loosed a breath she hadn’t realized her lungs had been holding.
“No, it’s fine,” Carla said. “You can come in, but no funny business. I’m choosing to trust you because everyone in this town seems to like you and because you’ve been a regular for a while now.” She unlocked the front door and pushed it open. Gary came in first, followed by Sam, who was as stiff as a board, his face whiter than usual.
At the till, Gary asked, “What happened to your window? Is everyone okay?”
Carla, the shotgun at her side, leaned against the counter. “Yeah, yeah. Everyone’s fine. None of the staff were here. Junkies were poking around last night, probably looking for drugs. I don’t remember what time it was. After midnight. They threw a brick straight through the window without any warning at all. Must’ve known my alarm wouldn’t work. Anyway, I guess I was asleep, but the crash woke me up. I fired at one of them. Missed, but it worked all the same. They ran off and left me alone. I haven’t slept much since then. I think I was dozing when you showed up. Scared me half to death.”
“Sorry about that,” Gary said. “Glad everything’s all right.”
Evidently trusting Gary enough to lay the shotgun on the till, Carla rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Police aren’t any help. They hardly come downtown anymore, so I guess it’s up to me.”
“Good thing you’re prepared and keeping things in order.”
Jenn understood what he was doing: making Carla feel safe with him in preparation for broaching the issue of the oxygen compressor. But they couldn’t spend the whole morning avoiding the topic at hand, not with the clock on her parents ticking. She needed to expedite this process and drive to them in Phoenix. “So like Gary was saying,” she started, trying to keep her tone even and respectful, “we hoped you could help. You have those battery-powered compressors, right? The ones you rent out to travelers and stuff?”
Carla spoke to Gary like Jenn was a ghost. “I have three of them and a dozen or so batteries in the stock room. They’re charged and weren’t plugged in, so whatever fried everything yesterday didn’t wreck them. But as I mentioned, I’m closed.”
“Yeah—” Jenn said, but Gary cut her off.
“We don’t want to intrude, but one of those compressors and some batteries would be a big help to us.”
“How are you planning to pay for them?” Carla asked. “My computers are down and I can’t give them to you for free. I’ve had enough trouble making ends meet, and now I have to replace that window.”
Carla’s bluntness hit Jenn like a punch to the gut. Sam crinkled his nose in disgust. Maria’s life depended on a compressor and some batteries, yet Carla wanted money as though it were all that mattered. Did she think the power would come on tomorrow? The next day? The EMP, the bombs, Maria—it all dwarfed the woman’s petty concerns about profit and her window. She’d spent so long living for her shop that she refused to see past its front doors, and it made Jenn sick. She was tempted to lash out but managed to bite her tongue. Carla wouldn’t even look at her, let alone listen to what she had to say. They had to play Carla’s game so Maria could breathe, and Gary could play it better than Jenn, so she waited for his response.
“Can we take them on credit?” he asked, outwardly unfazed by Carla’s callousness.
“Nope.” She laid a finger on the stock of her shotgun. “I don’t know if you’re good for it.”
Jenn sensed that Carla was losing patience and maybe trust. Keeping up the pressure without giving her what she wanted might encourage her to pick up that gun and ask them to leave. But what could they offer her? Jenn couldn’t remember the last time she had any cash, and she doubted that Sam had any, either. Gary might, but not enough to cover what they needed.
“My car,” Gary said.
Jenn’s jaw fell open and Carla perked up. Gary had finally spoken her language. “Are you still driving that Kia?”
“I am.” He reached into his pocket and found his keys. “Take it as collateral. If the power comes on and I can pay, I get it back. Otherwise, you keep it.”
“I assume it’s working,” Carla said skeptically, a finger on her chin. “I’ve seen a few dead ones around.”
“We drove it here.” Gary turned his body so Carla could see through her front windows and across the street. “There it is. Right over there.”
Jenn couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug Gary or slap him. She certainly didn’t expect him to offer Carla his car, of all things. It was worth far more than an oxygen compressor and a few batteries. Plus, he took pride in his vehicle. Every Saturday afternoon, he would spend time waxing the paint, detailing the interior, and simply taking drives into the mountains. He loved it.
But he loved Maria more, and he wasn’t stupid. He knew as well as Jenn that this blackout wouldn’t end tomorrow or even in a week or a month. Carla’s singular focus hid that reality from her. Without power to charge it, Gary’s Kia was a hunk of metal, little more, and Maria, without oxygen, was as good as dead. No, his choice was the obvious one—the only one.
Carla held out her open palm, beckoning for the keys. “Deal.”
Not for a nanosecond did Gary hesitate in handing them over.
Twirling the keys on her finger, Carla said, “So one compressor and batteries. How many do you need?”
Jenn answered, “All of them. We’ll take as many as we can.”
From her pocket, Carla pulled out her own set of keys and headed for the rear of the store. “I have a dozen or so, but if you find some working solar somewhere, you should be able to charge them. Just remember”—she stopped and faced Gary, her mouth tight and her eyebrows low—“if you can’t pay for them when the power comes back on, I’m keeping that car. As far as I’m concerned, it’s mine until you settle up.”
Gary nodded once. “I understand.”
Sam squeezed Jenn’s arm and said, “I’ll grab the wheelbarrow.”