“It looks like your standard thunderstorm,” he replied. “Overcast, wind blowing everything around like crazy, rain so hard you can barely see in front of you. Nothing out of the ordinary if you didn’t know better.”
“Yeah…” Kate said. Pete was astonished she didn’t add, “but you do know better.” That was a bad sign. If Kate held her tongue — especially in a situation where her sentiments were so obvious — it meant she was truly frightened.
He was scared, too, but unwilling to admit it to his wife. Knowing how frightened he was might send her over the edge; he wanted her to believe he still had his wits about him. In truth, he was playing host to a twisting, multilayered terror like none he’d ever known. He’d driven through hundreds of storms, since he hated letting the weather interfere with his plans.
That already set him apart from most of the residents of Silver Lake. When the weather turned bad, they scurried into their homes and stayed there. It wasn’t unusual for Pete to see only a handful of other cars on the road when it was raining or snowing.
Today was very different. There were no other vehicles at all; no one walking in the rain, nothing moving that wasn’t being nudged along by the wind. Trees were waving and bowing to each other, street signs were shimmying back and forth. Just one big dead zone. It looks like the perspective from one of those static cameras that news divisions set up during a hurricane, so viewers can watch the storm from the comfort of their homes.
As the rain hammered down on the little Prius every bit as forcefully as the jets up at Scott’s Auto Spa, Pete considered the harrowing fact that relatively thin sheets of metal and glass were all that separated him from a guaranteed case of radiation sickness. The radioactive concentration is of such a magnitude now, Sarah Redmond had said during a phone-in interview he’d heard on the radio, that “even brief exposure to the storm will result in illness.”
Is this the stupidest thing I’ve ever done?
“… are you now?”
“Huh?”
“I said, where are you now?”
“Almost there.” He turned right on Humboldt Avenue, then made the second left, onto Mission Street.
At the far end stood a narrow, two-story home, tan with black shutters, that looked as idyllic as something out of a Normal Rockwell painting, complete with covered porch, spindled railings, and a lovers’ swing. Even through the rain, Pete could see that there were lights on on the upper floor.
He told that to Kate, then added. “I’m guessing that means he’s there.”
“Let’s hope so,” Kate said. “Please don’t lose your cool when you see him.”
“I won’t,” he said, “I promise.”
If you only knew how much I mean that, Katie, he thought. I’m never going to lose my cool with him again, ever. The stern-parent thing isn’t the way to go anymore. And do I really want to be that kind of a father? He wanted to say to his wife, Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll bring him back safe and sound. And then I’ll sit him down — no, I’ll wait until it happens naturally — and I’ll tell him how sorry I am for all those times I blew up at him, and that it’s not going to happen again…
“Bring Sharon along, too,” Kate said.
“You betcha.”
“Okay, good.”
A little smile grew upon his lips. Since they’d first met in that restaurant along the Jersey Shore more than twenty-five years ago, he’d loved being the hero in her eyes. It was a high like no other.
Pulling into the empty driveway, he considered the distance between the car and the porch. His original plan to jump out and run suddenly seemed foolhardy, so he groped around on the floor in the back, hoping to find one of the compact umbrellas Kate usually left in the car for emergencies.
“Shoot,” he said bitterly as he turned around and gave the back a painstaking visual survey. Empty. There was probably one in the trunk, he thought, but standing out in the rain to retrieve it would take longer than running to the porch in the first place.
“Screw it,” Pete said, and threw the car into reverse. He gave the steering wheel a spin and backed into the first half of a K-turn. Moving forward again, he rolled off the macadam and onto the lawn, stopping when the car was parallel with the front steps.
“Okay, I’m right by the porch. Here goes…”
He put on the paint mask, pulled up the slicker’s hood, and took one last deep breath. When he opened the driver’s side door, the sound of the rain increased violently.
He made it to the porch in one broad stride, his hand already out to grab the doorknob.
Locked.
“Son of a bastard.”
He banged on the door with his fist, then rang the bell about a dozen times at machine-gun speed.
“Mark! Come on! Open up, it’s me!”
He banged again as the wind continued blowing its poisonous payload against him.
“Mark!”
More fist-banging produced no results, so he turned sideways and rammed his body into the door. When that also didn’t work, he took a short step back and, cursing a blue streak, gave a flat-footed kick just above the knob. The scratch plate as well as the molding in which it was embedded tore free and dropped to the foyer floor with a noisy clatter as the door swung open.
“Pete? What was th—”
“I had to break the door down.”
Kate sputtered in his ear as he stepped into the building and shut the door. It blew open again almost instantly. Closing it a second time and bracing it with his back, he searched for a more permanent solution. There was a small area rug on the hardwood flooring, which struck him as being perfect as an impromptu wedge. Sure enough, the door held tight.
After removing the paint mask and rain slicker, Pete started up the stairs.
“Pete?” Kate asked.
“I’m inside, going up to the apartment.”
“What if you contaminate the place?”
“I took off the mask and the raincoat and left them downstairs. It should be all right. But please have the shower ready for us when we get back. Remember what Sarah said about washing off.”
It had been a bulleted item in the email; “If you do become exposed to the storm, you should put all your contaminated clothes into a bag and seal it tight, then take a shower and wash yourself gently but thoroughly with soap.” The “gently” part was so you didn’t risk breaking your skin, which could allow contaminants to enter your bloodstream.
“I’ll put some towels and robes in the garage. You can strip down in there,” Kate said.
“Thanks, Katie,” Pete replied. “I’ll leave the car outside the garage, so we don’t carry in any additional contamination.”
At the top of the stairs, he was relieved to find the apartment door unlocked. The place was dead quiet. There was a light on in the kitchen to the left, and a floor lamp burning in the living room, where Pete stood.
“Mark?” he called out. He noticed a narrow hallway to the right and assumed it led to a bathroom and at least one bedroom.
“Is he there?” Kate asked.
“I’m not sure yet.”
He went down the hallway with all senses on high alert. A small bathroom stood to the right, its door wide-open. At the end of the corridor was another door, this one closed and likely leading to a bedroom.
He knocked.
“Mark? Sharon? Um… are you guys in there?”
Nothing.
“Mark?”
Silence. Pete gently turned the knob and pushed the door aside.
The little room held a neatly made queen bed that was too large for the space, a matching dresser, and a wooden chair badly in need of refinishing. A pair of closed sliding doors signaled the location of a closet.