Chapter Sixteen #3
And she had gasoline.
If not Lawrence Dietrich then others like him—and meth was an ongoing problem in the area—would know that come morning she’d
be emptying the tanks. People had been deliberately spreading the news, just as she’d asked them to do. If anyone intended
to steal the gas for themselves, they had to get it tonight, before people started lining up tomorrow. She expected people
would start showing up well before dawn, and once they did, the opportunity for theft was gone. The best time to steal the
gasoline was . . . now.
She threw off the blanket and surged to her feet. No one was stealing her gasoline.
Quickly she banked the fire, and threw on as many clothes as she could wear. She grabbed what she thought she’d need: a bottle
of water, a probably stale granola bar, her .22 rifle, and a box of shells that she shoved into her coat pocket. She also
got a couple of hand warmers from the camping supplies she’d bought that first day, along with her most powerful flashlight,
and headed out. She was twenty yards down the road when she stopped.
What the heck was she doing?
The thought resonated. Her steps slowed, and she turned back. Why walk when she could drive? Seeing her SUV parked at the
store should be a deterrent to anyone who was thinking about stealing the gas.
She might be inventing drama, seeing threat where none existed. She wasn’t a gutsy heroine who would face down the bad guys
with moxie, wit, and incredible courage. On the other hand, she would do her best to protect her family and the people in
the valley who were expecting her to make decisions and look out for their common interests.
If that meant spending an uncomfortable night in a cold store, so be it. With luck, that was all that would happen. She had
always erred on the side of caution, anyway. By some twisted logic she was putting herself in potential danger by being extra
cautious. Rock, meet hard place.
She thought about stopping by Mike Kilgore’s house and telling him what she was doing. He could help watch . . . but Mike
and the others in the community patrol were already putting in long hours, and given that he’d been the one to fetch her early
this morning he’d had even less sleep than she had. If she knew there was a threat to the gas supply of course she’d wake
him, and anyone else who could help her, but she was guessing.
Guessing or not, she’d have to be a fool to go there and not let anyone else know.
Almost everyone in the valley had gotten in the habit of going to bed early, to save batteries and lamp oil. Carol’s house
was dark, too, when she pulled into the driveway, but she figured Nancy Meador at least would be easily roused.
Sure enough, when Sela knocked on the door, only a minute passed before Nancy said, “Who is it?”
“Sela.”
Nancy quickly opened the door, looked out at Sela’s SUV. “Has something else happened?”
“No, everything’s okay. I’m spending the night at the store and I just wanted someone to know.”
Nancy peered at her in sleepy confusion. “Why’re you doing that?”
“Because if anyone wants to steal the gasoline, they’ll have to do it tonight because tomorrow will be too late.”
“But—you can’t do that by yourself! It’s too dangerous!”
“I’m probably overreacting, and just parking my car there should be enough to keep anyone from trying anything.”
“Or,” Nancy said shrewdly, “you’re right on the money in your thinking and anyone who wants to steal the gas might not balk
at hurting anyone who gets in his way.”
Hearing it put like that, Sela wavered. Then she sucked it up and said, “I have my .22. I should be okay.”
Nancy regarded her silently for a minute, then patted her arm. “You be careful.”
“I will.”
She drove to the store and slowly circled it, searching with her headlights to see if anyone was parked in the shadows. She
didn’t see anything, thank goodness. She started to park by the door then had a second thought and parked on top of the access
to the tanks. If anyone wanted to get to those tanks they’d have to push her vehicle out of the way first.
Letting herself into the empty store was always a little bit of a shock to her system, no matter how many times she’d done
it. This store had been her livelihood, and now it was barren. When the power came back on . . . what then? The world wouldn’t
immediately snap back to normal. Improvements would come in fits and starts as manufacturing slowly geared up, as food production
got started again. Likely it would be a year after the power came back on before supplies began trickling in. How would banks
work? Credit? She had her supply of cash—thanks to Ben’s warning—but what would she be able to buy?
For the foreseeable future, likely the store wasn’t going to be her livelihood. Come spring, everyone would plant gardens.
Instead of people buying potato chips, they’d be growing and preserving their own food. If she sold anything, it would be
gasoline and a few staples like flour, salt and pepper, sugar, and some spices if she could get them.
Sighing, she used the flashlight to check the store, looking in the storage area, the coolers, the bathrooms. Empty. She didn’t
lock the door behind her. She needed to be able to get out quickly, without fiddling with the lock. In the deep silence the
sound of the lock turning was loud, and would alert anyone who might be in the parking lot.
Surprise was her friend.
She placed the rifle on the counter, the box of shells beside it, then turned the flashlight off and settled in the chair
behind the counter. From there she could see almost the entire parking lot, and certainly anyone who approached by road. The
moon was almost full, and provided enough light that she thought she’d be able to spot any trouble.
The interior of the store was icy cold, but with the multiple layers of clothes she was wearing, the extra socks and down
coat, she was, if not comfortable, at least not miserable. She figured that would change, as the hours wore on. Maybe people
would start lining up early, really early, which would nullify anyone’s idea of stealing the gasoline, and all of them could
build a fire outside, away from the tanks, and stand around talking for the rest of the night.
She wished Ben were there with her. The conditions weren’t favorable for making out, but just having him beside her would
make her happy. They might not talk much, but sit beside each other the way they had the night of the red aurora. She smiled
in the dark, then thought of how he tasted and felt and the smile turned into a soft sigh of longing.
Her gaze was drawn from the empty parking lot to Cove Mountain, looming dark and silent in front of her. She couldn’t pinpoint
where Ben’s house was because there were no lights, but she could get close. He was up there right now with his shower and
his dog, with his solar panels and his wood-burning stove and goodness only knows what else. If he couldn’t be here with her,
she wished she was there with him. Lord knows they’d both be more comfortable.
What time was it? She knew she hadn’t taken more than half an hour—more like twenty minutes—to get dressed, stop by Carol’s,
and get here. Likely it was no later than eleven; that meant she had about seven more long hours of darkness to get through.
Sitting here in the cold and the dark was boring, but boring was good. Boring meant nothing was happening.
When we have sex . . .
Their conversation kept running through her mind, along with her acute memory of his arms, and his fine ass in those jeans
he always wore, and his face, which was masculine and well proportioned and all-in-all drool worthy. She didn’t fantasize
about men, not movie stars or musicians or men she knew. Her brain didn’t work that way. But here she sat, definitely fantasizing
about Ben Jernigan and getting herself worked up. At least thinking about him kept her from feeling so cold, and definitely
kept her awake.
Movement and a flicker of light at the left corner front window caught her eye. Sela stood quickly, lifting her rifle, not
pointing the weapon but wanting it in her hand. Someone was approaching the store.
A split second later, thanks to the full moon, she recognized the form headed her way.
Olivia opened the door and stepped inside, the weak beam from her flashlight pointed to the floor.
“What are you thinking?” Sela snapped as she set the rifle aside. She seldom got sharp with anyone, but Olivia had just scared
the crap out of her. What if she hadn’t recognized the girl? What if she’d panicked and shot without thinking? She wasn’t
the type to panic, but Olivia was dear to her and her imagination threw up too many what-if situations that could have happened.
Olivia had dressed much like Sela had, with boots and a heavy coat. Carol’s .22 was slung over the teenager’s shoulder, along
with two small tote bags.
“I was thinking you shouldn’t be here on your own,” Olivia said calmly, in answer to Sela’s question.
“I can’t believe Nancy would let you—”
“She doesn’t know. I slipped out the back door, but I did leave a note on my bed so they’ll know where I am. I heard you drive
up and listened to what you said. I went back to bed, but then got worried about you being here by yourself, so I got up,
got dressed, and here I am.”
“You need to go back home.”
“I will when you will.” Stubbornness laced Olivia’s tone. She went to the back of the store to grab her own chair, which she
placed beside Sela’s. She put the rifle on the counter and the bags on the floor at her side. She turned off her flashlight,
saving the already-weakened batteries.
Sela battled with herself. How did she scold Olivia—who was young but had grown up a lot over the past couple of months—for
doing exactly what she herself was doing? Finally she said, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Olivia returned, to which there was no argument.
They sat in silence for a while. Then Olivia reached into her left coat pocket and pulled out something that rustled as she