36: A Novel by Dirk Patton Page B

zero.  Yet.
    Gunning the powerful engine, the cop navigated the empty streets of Casa Grande with ease.  All the locals had already found a place to button themselves up and ride out the storm.  Wind driven debris tumbled down the roads, actually passing us at one point.  The older traffic lights that were only suspended from cables swung wildly, one of them twisting all the way around before snapping free and crashing to the pavement.
    “Going to be a bad one,” the cop said. 
    “Looks like,” I answered, just to be saying something.
    “You ever miss it?”
    “Miss what?”  I asked, even though I knew what he meant.
    “The war.”
    “No,” I lied.
    “Me either,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not.
    We were silent for the rest of the drive.  It didn’t take long, despite the steadily diminishing visibility.  He had the radio turned up and I could already hear calls going out to units being sent to accidents on one of the two freeways in the area.  Then we pulled into a massive truck stop.
    “See your wife’s car?”  He asked, slowing to a crawl.
    “No,” I said, pretending to look around what I could see of the lot.  “She might have heard about the storm and be waiting for it to pass before she drives down.  Thanks for the ride.  I’ll hang out inside while I wait.”
    He nodded and steered for the large store-restaurant combination on the far side of the gas pumps.  Pulling in to a handicapped spot, the only one not occupied, he jumped out and ran around the back of the car to open the door for me.
    “Thanks for the ride,” I said, reflexively sticking my hand out when I was standing.
    “No worries,” he said, shaking mine briefly.  “Take care.”
    With that, he dashed around the back of the car and jumped behind the wheel.  Ducking my head and squinting my eyes, I ran for the entrance.  An employee was manning the doors, trying to keep the wind from ripping them off their hinges.  When I appeared out of the storm, she pushed one open and moved aside.
    I stepped into clean, air conditioned comfort.  Turning, I could just make out the shape of the cruiser as it backed out of the spot.  A moment later it disappeared into the storm.  Wanting to give the cop plenty of time to clear the area before I went to find Monica, I bought two bottles of water and drained both of them in less than thirty seconds.  Buying two more, I shoved them into a plastic bag and moved back to the doors.
    The storm was in full swing.  The wind howled and the girl that was watching the doors was struggling to keep them from being torn out of her hands.  The first row of pumps, no more than twenty yards from where I stood, were invisible.  All I could see was brown dust.
    An idea struck me and I turned and went back into the store.  I asked at the counter, the old man working the register pointing out the aisle I was looking for.  A couple of minutes later I was back at the doors, brand new goggles firmly seated on my face.  I helped the girl control the door as I stepped outside, then pushed as she pulled to get it closed again.
    It was an adventure crossing first one, then another large parking lot in the storm.  The wind was a physical force, a fierce creature trying to knock me over and carry me away.  I had the collar of my shirt pulled over my mouth and nose, but was still pretty sure I was inhaling a good quantity of dirt.
    Ten minutes later I reached Monica’s aging Honda.  It was still parked in the same spot where I’d met her earlier in the day.  Stumbling up, I banged on the window and a moment later slipped inside when she reached across and unlocked the door.  As soon as I was seated, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed as tightly as she could.
    “What happened,” she asked after several minutes of holding each other.  “A few hours ago there were sirens going off everywhere.  I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”
    I sat