Last Light by Terri Blackstock Page B

yelled. “We don’t have enough food to last indefinitely. Nothing’s open, even the banks. What are we going to do?”
    “We’ll have to share with each other,” Doug said. “Help those who need help.”
    “With what?” someone shouted out.
    “With whatever we might have extra.”
    Ralph Whitson, who’d run for county supervisor last year, stood up. “Why should we provide for families who weren’t prepared? I knew something like this might happen one day. I’ve been stockpiling stuff since Y2K, and I have no intention of sharing it. Not my fault if others were stupid.”
    Brad fixed the man with a hard look. “No one knew this could happen. And it’s certainly up to you. You don’t have to share. We would just like it if each of you would consider it. We’re gonna need to pitch in as a neighborhood to help everyone through this. This outage is going to bring a lot of challenges.”
    “Yeah, like murder.” A retired man from the back of the group came forward to be heard. “Doug, what can you tell us about the killings? Was it a robbery, or does it look like some other motive?”
    “Definitely a robbery,” Doug said. “They took their television and jewelry and silver and just about everything they could carry out of that house without backing a truck up to it. Looks like the outage was just an opportunity. The sheriff thinks it might be the same thieves responsible for the other two break-ins this month. A lot of people weren’t home last night. Maybe the crooks thought the Abernathys weren’t home, then killed them when they surprised them.”
    “What are the cops doing to find the killer?” an old man asked.
    “They’ve been talking to neighbors. Some of you probably got interviewed today. A lot was going on last night, with people trying to get home and all, but if any of you happened to see someone carrying a television or something, you might get in touch with the sheriff’s department. We all have to defend ourselves. Maybe it would benefit us to create some kind of neighborhood watch program.”
    Stella Huckabee got up. “So you think we need to set up guards in the neighborhood?”
    Brad nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt. We don’t know for sure whether we’re at war or not. But we do know there’s an enemy among us.”
    “Whoever the enemy is,” Doug said, “we could have some kind of neighborhood watch of men willing to patrol our streets during the night, to make sure people aren’t roaming around creating mischief. After the meeting, Brad would like to meet with all the men who could help with this. And I urge you to not let your guard down. It’s hot in our houses, and we want to sleep with windows and doors open to get the air circulating. But that might not be the best move.”
    Deni’s eyes strayed back to Amber Rowe. She’d never seen a more helpless look on anyone’s face. This wasn’t going to help her rattled neighbor sleep tonight.
    “If the sheriff catches the killer, can he even lock him up?” someone asked.
    “Yes. The locks on the jail still work.”
    Deni’s mind reeled as she listened to the rumblings around her about who the killers were. Some suggested it was the reclusive Mr. Miller, who lived in the run-down house that had brought down the value of the neighboring property. Others suggested it was a family rumored to be drug dealers, since a steady stream of seedy characters always came and went from that house. Others named a family of men. The mother had died a few years earlier of cancer, and the boys had run wild ever since, following in their father’s immoral footsteps.
    Everyone had a theory.
    Deni figured she’d just steer clear of all of the suspects.
    As her eyes swept over the crowd, she shivered despite the heat. Any one of them could be the killer.
    Just as any of them could be the next victim.

 
     
    seventeen
     
    Doug was in over his head. The crowd was growing hostile, as if he alone were responsible for the outage and the