The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 3

  I’m torn between wanting to stay to protect my mom, and a hunger to go with Daddy, to see if there’s any danger in town, and find the cause of the mysterious blackout.

  “Go on inside, Half-pint. Your Mamma needs you.” He kisses my cheek, the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafting to my nose.

  “Be careful, okay?” I want to tell him not to go, to stay here with us and wait until the morning, when it’s daylight and everything starts working again, but I see resolve in the set of his jaw and determined gaze. It’s something I’ve seen in my own reflection, and I know it means he’s not backing down.

  “I’m always careful, Tilly.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze and turns his attention to Mamma. “Lock the doors and windows, honey. I won’t be gone long. Just gonna grab Hank and Davey to walk a few blocks and make sure downtown’s secure and quiet.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you, too. Both of you.” With a quick turn, he descends the steps, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting up, the momentary flash of orange bright against the night.

  Mamma and I head inside.

  Even though I keep telling myself everything’s fine, it’s preposterous to think of stealthy terrorists attacking a little town of three thousand people, that rope of fear slithers around my chest.

  Chapter Five

  Mamma and I round up all the extra candles in the house and set them on the bar that divides the kitchen from the dining area.

  “Well, it looks like we’ve got at least ten.”

  I scratch into the waxy surface of a small votive in my hand. “Hopefully the power will come on soon and we won’t need ‘em.”

  “I’m sure it will.” She smiles gently, her fiery hair pulled into a ponytail with a few strands floating around her neck. Her gaze strays to the front door while her fingers slide the items into a neat pile, only to rearrange them again.

  Sometimes I forget how much she and I look alike.

  Creak.

  My attention snaps to the locked front door.

  Mamma holds an index finger to her lips and snatches a Remington shotgun from the gunrack. With quiet stealth, she tiptoes across the carpet and out of the circle of candle glow.

  Not wanting to be left behind, I also move toward the door, my heart pounding in my ears.

  It’s just a power outage—no big deal. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation why nobody’s phones or vehicles work, and there’s absolutely no way someone from our town would try to break inside our house.

  Another creak and rustle of clothing. Something clinks together.

  Mamma raises the shotgun’s barrel, leveling it at the door.

  If it was Daddy outside, he would’ve either knocked or hollered through the door, letting us know it was him.

  I grab a nearby fire poker, the heavy metal a comfort in my hands, and slide to my mom’s side, the tool over my shoulder and ready to strike the would-be intruder.

  The doorknob rattles.

  My grip firms, the knuckles of my hand tight and aching.

  Metal rasps against metal, and the door slides open a crack.

  Mamma’s finger hovers over the trigger.

  Spine straight and elbows out, I ready my arms for a hard swing.

  Blond hair contrasts against the darkness, and Daddy cranes his head inside, looking around.

  The barrel of the shotgun shakes a foot from his face.

  Eyes so round the whites seem to glow in the dark, his mouth falls open. “What in the fuck are you two doing?”

  The breath whooshes out of me and I drop the poker in immense relief.

  The gun still points at Daddy, but the metallic barrel gives a violent tremor.

  “Sarah.” Daddy eases himself inside, laying a hand on the stock. “It’s okay. Put the gun down.”

  “Oh, God.” With a muffled cry, she lets the weapon sag toward the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Daddy pries it from her grip with a gentle touch, then hugs her to his broad chest, one hand wrapped around her head and the other propping the gun against the wall. “I should’ve announced myself, but I thought you might be sleeping and I didn’t want to wake anyone up.”

  I move to a kitchen chair and sit, my body feeling heavy and drained.

  He pushes Mamma away and searches her eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Thank God I didn’t shoot you.” With a shudder, she sags into Daddy’s side. She nods, the ponytail slapping against her neck. “I’ve been imagining all sorts of things and was freaked out.”

  “It’s fine. It’s my fault for trying to be too quiet.”

  Her throat clears. “Everything good?”

  An arm snakes around her waist, and he walks her to the table, to the warm glow of dancing light, and they both take a seat.

  He fishes a .9mm from his waist, checks the safety, and sets it on the table.

  “Yep, as far as we can tell. The power’s off to the whole town, and everyone we ran into has the same story—nothing, including phones, smoke alarms, battery-powered clocks—you name it—works anymore.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, rubbing my sweaty palm against my jeans. Without air conditioning, even in April, it gets hot in this part of Texas.

  “It confirms what I suspect. Some sort of electromagnetic pulse was released, I think. We walked to the park to look for the lights of Abilene, and it was pitch black, too. So it’s widespread.” He tips the chair back and cracks his knuckles. “We checked downtown. Everything’s quiet. One police officer said he saw a ticker on the local news about an unidentified object detected in orbit around Earth right before everything went dark.”

  “What?” Mamma’s gasp competes with mine.

  “The hell?” I grip the edge of the old wooden table and lean closer to Daddy. “What do you think that means?”

  “I don’t know.” Daddy evens his chair, propping an elbow on the surface of the table, and tugs at his beard. “I can only think of two explanations. One: an enemy figured out a way to launch an EMP weapon into space and used it, or two: somebody from out there—” He stabs an index finger toward the ceiling. “—arrived.”

  His words send a cold chill across my skin, drying up the sweat as effectively as cool air conditioning.

  “Ricky Morgan.” She laughs a high, airy breath of air. “Are you saying aliens?” Her eyes roll and she looks at me.

  My mind casts around, thinking of Daddy’s words. “Would anyone have the technology to build such a weapon, you think?”

  “I don’t know, Half-pint.” He shakes his head. “I’m sure it’s not impossible, but I don’t see how they could’ve launched it into orbit without being detected. It would’ve taken a massive effort to get it into space, and then probably taken a while to get it into position to do whatever it needed to do.”

  Mamma’s gaze bounces from me to Daddy. “You’re serious? You think little green men did this?”

  “I don’t know, but whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing.” He leans into his chair and digs in a pocket, pulling out a cigarette.

  “Absolutely not.” She stands and props her fists on her hips. “You’re not smoking that disgusting thing in here.” Turning, she heads to the kitchen, as if ignoring the entire conversation. “What do y’all want for breakfast tomorrow? I made some strawberry jam the other day and was hoping to try it out on some biscuits this weekend.”

  My eyebrows scrunch together, and I glance at Daddy.

  With a slight shake of his head, he jams the unlit cigarette in his mouth. “Come on, Half-pint. Let’s go outside and get some fresh air.”

  “Okay...”

  Mamma busies herself in the dimly glowing kitchen, opening cabinets only to shut them again, mumbling under her breath.

  My attention flickers back to Daddy. “Is she going to be okay?”

  He nods. “Give her some space.” A quick squeeze to my shoulder, and he pulls me toward the door.

  “Great. While
she’s getting space, I’ll be inhaling lung cancer from your secondhand smoke.”

  “I’ll make sure to blow the fumes in the other direction.” He ruffles my hair as he passes. “She’ll be fine. You know how she likes to keep herself busy when something’s bothering her. I’m sure the power will be on by morning and everything will be normal.”

  I follow him through the door, casting one last look over my shoulder. An undeniable glint of fear flashes across Mamma’s face.

  Chapter Six

  Golden sunlight pours through my bedroom blinds, showing hints of the dark blue carpet blanketing the floor, peeking between piles of clothing, books, and CD cases.

  Man, I really should clean my room. I don’t know how I didn’t break my neck last night.

  This thought sends a shock through my limbs and I sit up. Grabbing my phone, I mash the home button. Nothing. I’d plugged it in last night hoping the electricity would come on and give it a full charge.

  “Damn it.” I throw myself out of bed and head into the kitchen.

  Mamma and Daddy sit across from each other, their voices a low murmur. When they see me, they stop talking.

  Daddy gives me a grin. “Mornin’ Half-pint.”

  Mamma wipes a cheek and turns a bright smile in my direction, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “We still don’t have power?” I ask, already dreading their answer because it means I’ll miss out on morning coffee.

  “Afraid not.” Shaking her head, waves of her reddish-copper hair brush her shoulders.

  “Well, this is a bunch of bull—”

  Daddy raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly at Mamma, who taps a fingernail on the table.

  Biting back a growl, I decide to adjust my word choice. “Crap. Surely the power company’s working on it.”

  “About that.” Daddy swallows, the sound loud in the small dining room. “I don’t think it’s coming on any time soon.” His tone is low and serious, and my heart speeds up.

  “Why do you think this?” I take a seat at the table, dread pooling in my stomach.

  “It’s more of a feeling.” He lifts a bottle of water to his mouth and gulps, as if taking time to think about his answer. With the back of his hand, he swipes his mouth and recaps the drink. “After talking to everyone last night, and giving it some thought, it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s weeks.”

  “Weeks? Are you freakin’ serious? We’re about to head into summer and it’s already like an oven.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Can humans even survive without air conditioning?” My arms cross over my chest. It was sultry and uncomfortable last night without a fan or air conditioner blowing on me.

  A loud laugh bursts from Daddy’s mouth. “Damn, Half-pint. How do you think our ancestors lived?”

  “Not very comfortably, that’s for sure,” I grumble.

  Mamma wrings her hands together, then moves them under the table. “Maybe I should…” Her eyes dart to the dining room window. “Maybe I should look through the fridge and see what can be salvaged. Everything’s still cold, but it’ll spoil soon.” A hand rises to her mouth, and she chews on a nail.

  “That’s a good idea.” Daddy leans into his chair. “We can use the grill out back to cook it up. There’s a new bag of charcoal out in the shed. If we run out, that leftover firewood from last winter will do just fine.” He always has an answer for everything, and his take charge attitude is a soothing balm to the inner wariness rising inside me like a high tide.

  “Yeah.” Mamma nods, the tight lines next to her mouth smoothing. “I’ll leave the frozen stuff in the freezer because it should still be good until tomorrow. I can cook up everything in the fridge that can’t be saved.” She stands. “We’ll make the best of this and have a feast.”

  Relief flows through me, and when I look at Daddy, he gives a conspiratorial wink.

  “I’ll help, Mamma.” Standing, I move toward the kitchen.

  She holds out an arm to stop me. “Uh, thanks, Tilly, but maybe Daddy needs you?” Her green gaze locks with Daddy’s hazels, and they seem to speak volumes in those few seconds.

  “Yeahhhh.” Daddy grabs his water and his half-empty pack of smokes, then loops an arm around my neck. “I want to check some stuff out back.”

  I give him a glare. “I can cook, you know.”

  “Oh, we know.” He bends toward my ear. “But your mother needs busy work. Besides,” he straightens and grins, “I don’t have to worry about the house catching on fire when she cooks.”

  Huffing, I throw off his arm and stomp through the back door, ignoring them both. It’s not my fault they own crappy, thin pans that don’t distribute heat very well. It’s definitely not me.

  The clatter of the screen door tells me Daddy’s not far behind.

  Still ignoring him, I stride across the thick, green grass and take a seat at an old wooden picnic table, which has hosted many family gatherings throughout the years.

  The sun’s rays filter through the skinny persimmon trees and the sprawling pecan branches. From the position of the sun, it’s probably somewhere between nine and ten o’clock. Right now, the temperature is perfect, but come this afternoon, it’ll probably reach the high eighties or low nineties. A slight breeze stirs the air. Really hope Daddy’s wrong and everything starts working before the end of the day.

  When he strides through the yard toward the water well, several yellow and green grasshoppers jump into the air, their angry chirps loud in the stillness of the morning.

  I scratch my head in thought. There’s no sound other than the wind through the leaves and birdsong. Normally, on a Saturday morning, the ruckus of kids playing in the streets and distant vehicle traffic downtown would be a steady thrum of activity and technology in the background.

  Yet, this morning, there’s nothing. It’s unnaturally still and hushed.

  Tiny wings of panic flutter in my stomach. A sudden urge to do something, anything, washes over me, and I understand why Mamma needs to keep busy. I jerk myself up and trot to where Daddy’s bent over the small pump house protecting the machinery inside. He unlatches the casing, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips and a thin tendril of smoke spiraling toward the sky.

  “Need some help?” My voice sounds bright—too bright.

  “Maybe in a second.” He flips a switch on the pump. Nothing happens, of course. “Hmm.” His gaze moves toward the shed. “Go get the generator inside and bring it out, would you?” Standing, he digs around in a pocket, then tosses his keys at me.

  They sail through the air. I try to catch them but miss. Grateful for the task, I scoop them from the grass and head over to his shed—which is really a man cave—and open it up.

  When I find the bright red machine, I lug it out and half-drag, half-carry the thing to him. “How come we didn’t use this last night?”

  “Because…” He checks the gas tank, then gives the cord a hard yank. It remains silent. “…it’s not big enough to power much, and I didn’t think the neighbors would appreciate it if they were trying to sleep.”

  Covering my ears, I nod and back away a few steps, ready for the cacophony of sound to assault my ears.

  Another quick yank, but the machine sits there in the dappled sunlight—quiet and serene.

  I hold my breath, though I’m not sure why.

  “Goddamn it.” Daddy’s curse is loud, and my eyes shift automatically to look for Mamma.

  I release a pent-up breath. “Not gonna work?”

  “No. It’s fried, like every other fuckin’ thing.” A long drag on his cigarette, then he throws it to the ground and stomps it out. “Do me a favor. See if the water inside’s working.”

  “Okay.” I walk a couple of steps toward the house.

  “But do it in the bathroom. I don’t want your Mamma to worry in case I’m wrong.” His eyes meet mine, serious and troubled.

  “Worry about what?” A light sheen of sweat breaks across my body. Why would the water not work? It always works when the power goes
out. As a matter of fact, this morning, my toilet flushed just fine.

  But didn’t the tank sound funny afterward, like there was air or the water was moving slowly? I shut my inner voice away.

  “Go check it and let me know.” He fiddles with the pump again, bending his head to inspect the pipes and connections. “Discretely, though.”

  “Okay, I will.” I head up the steps of the wooden deck leading to the back door. The thought of being without fresh, clean water is sobering. Knowing we have a well is small comfort when there’s no way to bring it up from the ground.

  Walking through the back door and into the kitchen, the scent of onion fills the air.

  Mamma chops tomatoes and scrapes them into a pile next to cut bell peppers and mushrooms. A bowl of beaten eggs sits on the counter.

  “Oh, will you tell your Daddy to fire up the grill? I’m going to fry us up some omelets. It’ll be like camping out at the lake.” Gone is the panicked fear in her eyes. In its place is excitement and hope.

  “Yeah.” Daddy was right—she just needed something to focus on. “Minus all the cactus and rattlesnakes.”

  Chuckling, she grabs the cutting board and knife, then twists to the kitchen sink.

  Oh shit. Well, guess there’s no need for me to go to the bathroom to check the water.

  Her palm presses the handle upward.

  Water rushes out and my shoulders sag. The tiny niggle of dread sitting in the bottom of my belly disappears. Daddy’s wrong. The water’s fine. Everything’s gonna be fine.

  Mamma grabs a sponge and washes the cutting board, humming under her breath.

  As I turn to head back outside, a loud burst shakes the handle of the faucet. The water sputters, then disappears, leaving only air blowing from the faucet head in undulating bursts.

  “This is weird.” She pushes the handle, then lifts it up again. “Hope we don’t have a busted pipe.”

  The dread returns, even worse than before. No electricity or water—this can’t be good.

  “Use a bottle of water to finish. I’m sure it’s not a big deal. Maybe it’s tied to the power or something.”