done started though, don’t it?”
Gus stepped out of the shadows. He looked shaken. His complexion was pale and his eyes were wide and frightened. His hair stuck up askew, and his pajamas were soaked with sweat and stuck to his body, including his prodigious beer gut. Paul’s gaze settled on Gus’s feet. The man wore a pair of fuzzy Spider-Man slippers. The costumed character’s big red head adorned the toe of each and seemed to stare up at Paul.
“Gus, what in the world are you wearing?”
The mechanic glanced down at his feet and then shrugged, clearly embarrassed.
“Oh, shoot. Forgot I had those on. I rushed out of the house so quick . . .”
“What are they?”
“Bedroom slippers.”
“I can see that. But they seem a little—”
“I didn’t buy them,” Gus interrupted. “Lacey Rogers bought them for me.”
“Lacey Rogers is eight years old, Gus.”
“I know that. Do you really think these are the type of slippers an adult would buy for me?”
“Well, what’s Lacey Rogers doing buying you a present, anyway? That don’t seem right.”
“Remember last year when they did the Secret Santa thing at church?”
Paul nodded. Each member of the congregation had pulled a slip of paper out of the offering plate. Written on the slip was the name of a fellow parishioner. They then purchased a gift—under twenty dollars—for that person. Paul’s Secret Santa had been Jean Sullivan, who’d bought him two pairs of wool socks for hunting.
“Lacey pulled my name,” Gus explained. “Her parents said she picked these out herself down at the Wal-Mart. I couldn’t very well return them, now could I?”
“No, I don’t guess so. That would have broke her little heart.”
“Exactly. And I have to say, they do keep my feet warm at night.”
“Well, you look like a damned fool.” Paul’s voice was gruff, but his grin nearly split his face in half.
“Your phone working?” Gus asked, clearly anxious to change the subject.
Paul shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t nothing working. My cell phone and emergency radio are dead, too. The cell I can understand. Service ain’t never been that reliable around here. But the radio should still be working. It’s got a battery back-up. I don’t understand why it would quit like that.”
“Same here,” Gus confirmed. “It ain’t just your radio. Everything in my place is dead. It’s like something fried all of the electronics. Hell, I couldn’t even get my damned flashlight to work. How’s that for weird?”
“It’s something, alright.”
“What do you suppose it means?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Paul said, “but whatever it is, it ain’t good.”
Another gunshot echoed across town, followed by an explosion.
“Holy mother of God,” Paul said, jumping. “What was that?”
“I don’t know. All I know is it’s been a weird day and it just keeps getting stranger.”
“How do you mean?”
Gus paused. “Well, first there was this Amish fella come riding into town on a horse and buggy. Real pretty horse. Very gentle, but very big. She’d be a prize mare. He’s got her tied up down by the river tonight. He asked me and Greg if there was a hotel in town and we sent him over to Esther’s place.”
“Amish?” Paul grunted. He’d known a few Brethren in his life—Amish, Mennonites and Moldavians. All of them had been good people. Hard workers. Very handy with a hammer and a saw. “I don’t see how that would be connected to what’s happing now, though.”
“I don’t reckon it is, but you never know. Maybe it’s—”
Paul paused as a man ran by them, weaving around parked cars on the street and tottering back and forth. Paul recognized him as one of the cashiers at the local convenience store, but he didn’t know the man’s name. At first, Paul assumed the guy must be drunk, but then he noticed the man’s torn trouser leg and the blood on his calf, and realized he was injured.
“Hey,” Gus called, apparently not
Gus stepped out of the shadows. He looked shaken. His complexion was pale and his eyes were wide and frightened. His hair stuck up askew, and his pajamas were soaked with sweat and stuck to his body, including his prodigious beer gut. Paul’s gaze settled on Gus’s feet. The man wore a pair of fuzzy Spider-Man slippers. The costumed character’s big red head adorned the toe of each and seemed to stare up at Paul.
“Gus, what in the world are you wearing?”
The mechanic glanced down at his feet and then shrugged, clearly embarrassed.
“Oh, shoot. Forgot I had those on. I rushed out of the house so quick . . .”
“What are they?”
“Bedroom slippers.”
“I can see that. But they seem a little—”
“I didn’t buy them,” Gus interrupted. “Lacey Rogers bought them for me.”
“Lacey Rogers is eight years old, Gus.”
“I know that. Do you really think these are the type of slippers an adult would buy for me?”
“Well, what’s Lacey Rogers doing buying you a present, anyway? That don’t seem right.”
“Remember last year when they did the Secret Santa thing at church?”
Paul nodded. Each member of the congregation had pulled a slip of paper out of the offering plate. Written on the slip was the name of a fellow parishioner. They then purchased a gift—under twenty dollars—for that person. Paul’s Secret Santa had been Jean Sullivan, who’d bought him two pairs of wool socks for hunting.
“Lacey pulled my name,” Gus explained. “Her parents said she picked these out herself down at the Wal-Mart. I couldn’t very well return them, now could I?”
“No, I don’t guess so. That would have broke her little heart.”
“Exactly. And I have to say, they do keep my feet warm at night.”
“Well, you look like a damned fool.” Paul’s voice was gruff, but his grin nearly split his face in half.
“Your phone working?” Gus asked, clearly anxious to change the subject.
Paul shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t nothing working. My cell phone and emergency radio are dead, too. The cell I can understand. Service ain’t never been that reliable around here. But the radio should still be working. It’s got a battery back-up. I don’t understand why it would quit like that.”
“Same here,” Gus confirmed. “It ain’t just your radio. Everything in my place is dead. It’s like something fried all of the electronics. Hell, I couldn’t even get my damned flashlight to work. How’s that for weird?”
“It’s something, alright.”
“What do you suppose it means?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Paul said, “but whatever it is, it ain’t good.”
Another gunshot echoed across town, followed by an explosion.
“Holy mother of God,” Paul said, jumping. “What was that?”
“I don’t know. All I know is it’s been a weird day and it just keeps getting stranger.”
“How do you mean?”
Gus paused. “Well, first there was this Amish fella come riding into town on a horse and buggy. Real pretty horse. Very gentle, but very big. She’d be a prize mare. He’s got her tied up down by the river tonight. He asked me and Greg if there was a hotel in town and we sent him over to Esther’s place.”
“Amish?” Paul grunted. He’d known a few Brethren in his life—Amish, Mennonites and Moldavians. All of them had been good people. Hard workers. Very handy with a hammer and a saw. “I don’t see how that would be connected to what’s happing now, though.”
“I don’t reckon it is, but you never know. Maybe it’s—”
Paul paused as a man ran by them, weaving around parked cars on the street and tottering back and forth. Paul recognized him as one of the cashiers at the local convenience store, but he didn’t know the man’s name. At first, Paul assumed the guy must be drunk, but then he noticed the man’s torn trouser leg and the blood on his calf, and realized he was injured.
“Hey,” Gus called, apparently not
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