Chapter 3
Wyatt fiddled with the radio as soon as they jumped into the car. “I tried both AM and FM, nothing. You should have made the town invest in satellite radio.”
Carter smiled. “In a police car? How much did you tell your mom?” he asked as they pulled out of the driveway.
“Not much. Just the basics.” Wyatt wasn’t satisfied with the conversation, yet he didn’t feel like blabbing all this to Carter. Monsterland changed everything.
There was so much between them at this point.
Carter was observing him, his gray eyes heavy-lidded. He was leaning back, his bad arm cradled against his chest.
Wyatt sighed and said, “I don’t know where to start.” His voice cracked, making him sound twelve years old again.
“Want to talk about it?” Carter asked.
Wyatt shook his head. He didn’t trust his voice.
Carter raised an eyebrow, adding, “You need to talk about it.”
Wyatt struggled; his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He concentrated his burning eyes on the passing scenery, as if he could will his thoughts away.
“Vincent was insane, Wyatt,” Carter began softly.
“I can’t believe it.”
“I’m sorry to tell you; he had a plan to take over the world. Monsterland was going to be his prison to keep the population in line. He was going to use the zombies, like your dad, as a deterrent to make people obey his laws. Make no mistake; he wasn’t the altruistic philanthropist you thought he was.”
Wyatt nodded. “I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around this.” He swallowed convulsively, then added, “Carter, I did see him try to kill us. I’m not stupid. But it’s like my whole world has been turned upside down.”
The air between them stilled, and they were both quiet, allowing some time to pass. Wyatt was wrestling with much more than Vincent Konrad’s warped morality; he wanted to know about his father.
There was a strained silence, then Wyatt heard Carter’s calm voice say, “We didn’t know.”
Wyatt’s face reddened. “You don’t even know what I am going to say! I wasn’t even thinking that!” he lied. He felt manipulated; fury roiled through him. “I have to leave here. I can’t stay in Copper Valley anymore. I’m …”
“You’re what? School starts in the fall. You’ve been accepted to Copper U.”
“I can’t go. How can you even talk about school after what happened? You don’t even know what’s going on, you’ve been in the hospital, out of touch. It changed … I changed! I’m not the same person I was three weeks ago. That life is over.”
“I realize you’ve had a shock.”
Wyatt steamed, his eyes turning bright with unshed tears.
“Look, we’re not even sure where the cards are going to fall with this whole Monsterland thing. Vincent told me that Nate Owens is on his payroll.”
Wyatt slammed on the brakes, coming to an immediate halt. Carter groaned and said, “C’mon Wyatt, watch the brakes.”
“I can’t believe that, not for one second.”
Carter nodded once. “I don’t even know who to contact, or how far Vincent’s tentacles reach into our own government. Who would even believe me at this point? President Owens bombed Monsterland. I can’t tell which side everyone is on.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Right now, my concern is Copper Valley.” Carter paused for a minute and looked at Wyatt. “And my family.”
“This is bigger than Copper Valley,” Wyatt said to himself.
“I know, Wy,” Carter said.
Wyatt bristled; he hated when Carter used that nickname. Wyatt pressed the gas, easily rounding a corner onto the main thoroughfare of the town.
Wyatt was silent for a minute, then said, “I feel like I have no control over any part of my life.”
“Join the club, kid. We’re all struggling with what happened. You’re not unique here.”
Wyatt shook his head and said, “Oh, I think I am unique. You know there is more to this story than you’re willing to talk about.”
“Running away from your problems isn’t an answer.”
“I’m not running away,” Wyatt yelled.
“What do you want to do, join the army?” Carter asked.
Wyatt squirmed. How the hell did Carter know what was going on in his head? The car was thick with silence, then Wyatt said defensively, “You did.”
“Yeah, it was different for me.”
“How was it different? You told us you felt that you didn’t belong, so you left.”
“I didn’t have a family—you do!” Carter’s face was flushed.
“The point is, Carter, you did leave, and there was nothing your parents could do about it.”
“That may be true, but I’m not like my parents.”
Wyatt forced a laugh that came out filled with bitterness. “You’re, like, not my parent either.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Wyatt.”
“Just because I called you Dad at Monsterland, doesn’t make you one.” Wyatt watched Carter, knowing he’d struck a nerve. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He set his face mulishly, his lips sealed shut.
“We’ll address it later with your mother,” Carter said, his face grim. He stared at the empty streets. “What did I miss?” He changed the subject, despite Wyatt’s simmering anger.
Wyatt tempered his resentment, knowing the fight was not done. Wyatt’s jumbled mind sifted the events. He was as unbalanced as if he were wobbling on a tightrope. He needed to find his feet. Carter repeated the question, asking what had transpired while he was sick. Wyatt answered reluctantly.
“Just what Sean said. The army came through and stayed for a couple of weeks. We were told to stay off the streets. Monsterland’s a ghost town.” His voice was sullen. The words were pulled from him. After a long silence, he heard Carter’s voice.
“How are your friends?”
For the first time, Wyatt felt a smile tug his lips. “They all made it out okay. Well, except for Nolan.”
“I never thought of Nolan as your friend.”
Wyatt shrugged. “And Melvin. He’s still missing.”
“He’ll turn up.”
Wyatt opened his mouth, then decided not to share that he doubted he’d see Melvin ever again. One werewolf made it out of the theme park after it ripped off Vincent Konrad’s head. A lone wolf with a dangling golden pendant attached to a thick chain around its neck. Melvin’s golden pendant.
Carter grunted, clearly uncomfortable as Wyatt took a turn a little too fast. Wyatt mumbled an apology, slowing the car. They crossed over the interstate, the absence of vehicles making it look surreal. Copper Valley’s main drag was one of the busiest roads in the country. It cut across the town and traveled through the entire state.
“Pull over,” Carter said.
Wyatt watched Carter leave the car and observe the freeway. Wyatt followed him. “What are you looking for?”
Carter didn’t answer for a minute and then said, “How long has it been like this?”
“Like what?” Wyatt asked.
“Deserted. How are they keeping the stores filled with food?”
“They’re not. No trucks or trains. The stores ran out of food and stuff. It looked like it was going to get dicey, then a little more than a week ago the army airdropped food, so we had supplies,” Wyatt responded.
“But trucking didn’t resume?” Carter looked at Wyatt.
“Trucking will resume … or the army will airlift it in again.”
Carter walked back to the car, shaking his head. Wyatt heard him say, “I don’t like it.”
Wyatt caught up with him and asked, “What don’t you like?”
“The president. Now that Vincent’s dead, who is he working with?”
“Well, we’re never gonna find out staying in Copper Valley. Someone has to go to a bigger town and find out what’s going on.”
Carter didn’t respond.
Wyatt considered his stepfather as he got into the car. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Carter. It felt hard having someone, almost a stranger, insist that they were a family. It was artificial.
His birth father had been indifferent to him—at times downright nasty—and missed important events, yet there was an invisible connection tethering them. A smile, a shared moment watching the Dodgers hit it out of the park, lit up their shared DNA as if it were electrified, and somehow Wyatt always forgave him. He could go months without speaking to him, but a single phone call healed the breach. Carter was all right, Wyatt thought, but he wasn’t … he just wasn’t Frank.
“How is Jade of the Dairy Queen?” Carter asked after a few moments, interrupting Wyatt’s thoughts. The tension seemed to ease. Wyatt looked at Carter, seeing the grim lines around his mouth. His stepfather was in pain. He saw that Carter appeared to be struggling too, his jaw working with unsaid emotion. Wyatt softened his tone; Carter wasn’t the enemy, he just wasn’t his father.
“She’s shaken up,” Wyatt said. “She’ll be okay.”
“Have you seen her since Monsterland?”
Wyatt shook his head and said, “There’s been a curfew, but we’ve spoken on the phone when you could get a signal.”
Carter digested the information and said, “I wonder who is making these mandatory sanctions?”
Wyatt shrugged. “Look, we’re never going to know if we’re isolated here.”
Carter changed the subject. “That Keisha was something else.”
“Taekwondo,” Wyatt replied with a smile. He thought for a minute, then said, “Carter, it’s nothing against you. What you want, it doesn’t feel right.”
Carter glanced out the window, watching the passing scenery for a bit. Wyatt thought the subject was finished until Carter replied. “I never had a family. My father, he was, you know, I told you. He was a drunk. He and my mom, they had their problems. I hated foster care, but she had her addictions as well. I missed … I wanted a family, kids.”
“Why didn’t you get married and have children?”
“When I came back from Afghanistan, my mom was sick.”
“But she abandoned you.” Wyatt shook his head.
“You above anyone else should understand how I felt. I couldn’t leave her; she needed help.”
“You sacrificed your life for her.”
“Not really, I met your mom and you guys. It was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”
“But you still gave up the best years of your life.”
“Sometimes we have to sacrifice for the greater good of others.”
Wyatt made a face. “You make me want to throw up!”
“Now that’s the Wyatt I know.” Carter grinned. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
Wyatt felt lightheaded with doubt. Maybe he was all wrong about his relationship with Carter. Right now, he felt closer to him than that fateful night at Monsterland when Carter shielded him from Vincent’s guns. Guilt crushed his chest. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, his feelings warring inside him.
“How will I know what to do when the time comes?” Wyatt asked, more to himself than Carter.
He felt Carter’s warm hand on his shoulder. “You’ll just know.”
They passed the next few blocks, watching the quiet streets.
Carter adjusted his arm, nodding toward the road with his chin. “Nothing’s moving from any other towns. It’s not just here.” He paused. Wyatt felt the air thicken between them again, but he refused to look at his stepfather. “Listen, Wyatt; I didn’t say this before, there was no time. I’m sorry about your dad.”
Wyatt shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat. “Carter, I’d like to know … will you be honest with me?”
“I always am. What?”
Wyatt stared at the ridge of the mountains, wrestling with the subject. He wasn’t sure which made him feel more dread, the question or the answer.
“My dad. Did you know he had the plague?” Wyatt heard Carter sigh, and it filled him with dread.
“You mean infected by the virus?” Carter shook his head. “We knew he worked for Vincent Konrad. He was head of his legal department.”
“Is that why you hated Vincent?”
“I thought the doctor was a bombastic megalomaniac. No, I never saw your father until that night. He was traveling all the time.”
“I didn’t know my dad worked for him. I mean, I knew he used to work for a big corporation and moved around a lot,” Wyatt stated.
“He was never home. That’s what ended your parents’ marriage.”
“I know what ended the marriage,” Wyatt said. “He was cheating on mom.” Wyatt shrugged as if he were indifferent, but his face tightened with anger. “I knew about that. All he cared about was his job. He left us for months at a time, and when they divorced, he cut us off without a penny. Okay, he was a bastard about the whole thing, but did you know …did you know he was a zombie?” Wyatt’s voice broke on the last word.
“He may have been a bastard, but in the end, Frank proved what it means to be a father. He tried to protect you.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
Carter began his response, but was interrupted by Wyatt.
“Fire.” Wyatt noticed a trail of gray smoke winding its way toward the horizon. He pointed to the dark smudge against the bright sky.
“Something is burning,” Carter agreed. “It’s miles from here. It looks like it’s happening in Henderson Springs.”
Wyatt looked at Carter. “Should I head out there?”
Carter shook his head. “Someone else’s jurisdiction. We have to find out who is in charge here and see what the hell is going on.”
Wyatt swallowed, his throat thick. “Carter, I hate to keep bringing this up, but I have to know about my dad.”
Carter looked at Wyatt, his jawline rigid.
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Wyatt pressed his eyes, glassy with fatigue and hurt.
“We heard he got sick and died. Period. We never knew it was the plague.” Carter paused, his face weary. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should have asked. Are we guilty of ignoring the signs? Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.” He sounded regretful.
“This is my father we are talking about.”
“Yeah, Wyatt. I know. The same guy who repeatedly betrayed and hurt your mother.” Carter looked out the window, his eyes bleak. “He abandoned his sons.” He seemed almost to be talking to himself, then he turned and looked at Wyatt fiercely. “We never knew he was in a containment camp. Despite everything your father did to you, your mother would have never let him rot away in there. She … we would have arranged to get him into one of the colonies offshore until the disease consumed him.”
A minute passed where their gazes never wavered. Wyatt searched Carter’s face, wanting to believe him. What is he not saying? Was Wyatt’s need for this to be the truth going to make him blind to what happened? Twenty-twenty hindsight? Or do we all see what we want to see?
Slowly, in small degrees, Wyatt felt the tightness ease in his chest. He knew there were secret colonies of plague victims on islands where they were hidden away from the government and the containment camps. Places where they were allowed to die with dignity, not like the circus of the internment sites or the horror of Vincent Konrad’s Monsterland.
Carter’s voice cut through the silence. “I swear, we would have made him more comfortable, even if he didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserves what Monsterland did to them. Vincent Konrad took away that choice.”
“Vincent Konrad lost his battle,” Wyatt said.
“Don’t let him win, Wyatt.”
Wyatt knew his stepfather was referring to the moment they had shared before he found out his father was alive.
Wyatt shrugged, then added, “Vincent Konrad is dead.”
“Good, let his legacy of hatred and mistrust stay six feet under with the rest of him,” Carter said, closing the subject. Wyatt nodded, agreeing to let the matter go, but deep in his soul, a part of him still wondered if the truth was more acceptable when it aligned with what was convenient in life.
They pulled down Red Diamond Road, making the right onto Western Boulevard, heading to the center of town. Loose paper blew down the deserted streets. All the stores were closed, no lights blinked. Even the traffic lights had stopped working.
“Power’s gone out,” Carter observed.
“It was on when we left the house.”
“Well, it’s not on now.”
“If the power’s out, we may as well go home. You won’t be able to do anything at the station.”
“I gotta see who’s in charge.”
Wyatt watched Carter assessing the streets as they cruised down the boulevard. “There’s a backup generator. Strange about the power though. It’s not sporadic—looks like it’s out everywhere. That means it’s out in Stocktonville. That’s where the power plant is located.”
They pulled into the police office parking lot. The door was open, the shades up. Two other cars were parked outside, a patrol car and the Cadillac Escalade belonging to the town’s mayor.
Carter cursed under his breath; he disliked the mayor. Usually, Chief Jessup handled all the locals, but Jessup was dead now, killed in a battle with a pack of werewolves.
Wyatt followed Carter into the two-room police station. It was an old building, one of the originals from when the town was created in 1854 by prospectors searching for gold but found copper instead. They heard movement in the back office. Carter called out, “Wattles, is that you?”
They heard a woman’s voice blurt out a response. “No!”
“Mrs. Wattles?” Carter walked toward the chief’s old office.
“Carter White!” Renee Wattles exclaimed with relief. “I thought you were dead too.” The mayor’s wife stood in a rumpled white tracksuit. Her usually neat blonde hair was stuffed under a baseball cap.
“Where’s Roger?”
She held her fisted hands to her red cheeks. “He’s gone, Carter. He was up there with the President … and Jessup. They’re all gone,” she wailed. “Bernie’s also dead.” She pointed to an empty desk next to Carter’s. “Marcus Holloway, Fred Tannen from the fire department, Melody from the bank … they’re all dead.” She named several of the leading citizens of the town. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so glad you’re here.” She ran into his arms, sobbing. “It was horrible. I don’t even have a body to bury. They wouldn’t let me go up there and get Roger.” She sat down, slowly looking out the window. “Not that I could have done anything with his body, Stan Pearce from the funeral home is still on the missing list.”
“There are no missing, Mrs. Wattles,” Wyatt said. “Everybody is dead.”
She burst into noisy tears.
Carter patted her back. He gestured for Wyatt to hand her a tissue from the box on the desk.
“What were you doing here?” he asked.
Mrs. Wattles sniffed. “There was no one in charge. Somebody has to do something. The army pulled out. Nothing is working. Nobody knows what’s going on.”
“Wyatt, get the generator out of the storeroom. There’s a hookup by the back door. Let’s get some light in here.”
“You want me to turn on the generator?”
“You can figure it out,” Carter said.
A fleeting memory of backwashing the swimming pool with his father in L.A. years ago filled Wyatt’s tired brain. His fingers shook, remembering his father’s shouts. “Turn the dial, you imbecile! Can’t you do anything right? I raised an idiot who can’t even clean a pool.” His father had a way of stripping Wyatt’s confidence.
Wyatt looked at Carter, bubbles of panic filling his chest. “I don’t know how to do those kinds of things.”
“Wyatt,” Carter said calmly. “You killed a werewolf; you battled zombies. You can do anything.”
Wyatt exhaled and ran back to a storeroom to get the generator on.
“Just plug it in,” he heard Carter call. “There should be a full gas can next to it.”
Wyatt rolled the generator over to the back door, feeling along the wall for an outlet. He filled the tank, plugged it into the wall and pulled the cord, feeling very independent. He didn’t need to ask Carter once how to do it. It was like it all came naturally.
The generator sprang to life; all the lights flickered in the building. He could hear the television in the front room give a blast of static. Wyatt walked in to stare at the snowy screen. Carter looked at him, nodding his thanks.
“Anything on the news?” Carter asked. He took a remote from his drawer, pressing the button to see if he could find a station. When nothing worked, he tossed the remote to Wyatt. “Keep looking until you find something.” Carter disappeared into Chief Jessup’s office. “Try some of the local channels,” he called from the back office.
Renee’s shrill voice filled the room as she followed Carter, dogging his heels. It had a timbre that could drive nails into a skull better than an electric nail gun.
“I was looking for numbers, anything. I don’t know … I have children, Carter. We have to get organized. If Roger is gone, who is the new mayor?”
Wyatt heard Carter’s calm voice inquiring about townspeople, then Mrs. Wattles’ tearful responses. It appeared that the bulk of the town had perished.
Wyatt clicked each station, watching for anything to materialize other than the static screen. He heard the voice before the grainy picture emerged. “Carter, I got something.” He moved closer to the set as if he could hear it better. He turned to see Carter standing in the doorway, watching the television intently.
It was a street; Wyatt could tell it was in somewhere foreign. The gates to the Monsterland in that city were blown apart. There was nothing left but rubble. Army tanks lined the pavement; there were wavering images of people dashing through the streets, throwing rocks at the military vehicles.
“Widespread panic, but it appears to be under control in France. The new president of France, Gaston Fournier, has declared martial law. The acting prime minister in the UK has mobilized the army. Germany still has no radio contact with anyone. The European Union has fragmented into multiple pieces. There has been a military coup in Italy, as well as Spain and Portugal.”
The fuzzy screen now showed an exhausted newscaster, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his face haggard. “Relations with the Russians have been cut off since the start of the Monsterland meltdown. There has been a report of a nuclear explosion in central Russia, but the authorities can neither confirm nor deny. Central and South America are in the throes of several revolutions sparked by the extermination of the leadership in the countries there.”
The newscaster held his finger to his ear as if listening to better hear his newsfeed. The screen changed to the White House, now a burned out shell. “This just in. President Owens was supposed to address the country from his protective bunker sometime around eight tonight. At this moment, we are having trouble locating him. It has been confirmed that he was not, I repeat, was not among the dead at the battle for the White House.”
Wyatt turned to Carter, and blurted, “Who attacked the White House?”
“Ssshh,” Carter said, his face intent on the screen. He then murmured, “Right now, we don’t know who is attacking whom.”
The newscaster continued, “Secretary Bertrand and Speaker Farrell are counted among the casualties.” Faces of the politicians flashed on the screen.
The ruins of the White House were surrounded by the flashing lights of military police vehicles. Wyatt heard sporadic gunfire on the television. The screen went back to the newscaster.
“Again, we urge people to stay indoors and wait until we know the dangers are past. As you saw in France, the remaining zombie population has escaped the confines of the theme park and are on the loose in the city of Paris. The same has happened at Ground Zero, or what used to be known as Copper Valley.”
Renee screamed. Wyatt turned to stare at his stepfather. “Why is he saying that, Carter? It’s not true. All the zombies are dead.”
Carter shut off the set, his face pale. He reentered the chief’s office.
Wyatt followed him in there. Papers were strewn all over the desk.
Renee’s loud cries filled the room.
“Zombies?” she shrieked. “We don’t have a police force; it’s a disaster. Everybody is … who will protect us?” Her voice escalated with each sentence.
“That’s enough,” Carter ordered as he sat down slowly. Wyatt and Mrs. Wattles surrounded him. Carter opened a bottom drawer. “Wyatt. Pick this up for me.”
Wyatt moved over to find an old two-way radio in the drawer. He pulled it out, turned it on. The radio didn’t work.
“Two-way radio?” Wyatt asked.
Carter shook his head. “Citizen’s band radio. Private radio. You can usually pick up chatter on these things. All the truckers have them.”
“But the zombies!” the mayor’s wife wailed.
“They’re all dead!” Carter snapped. “I saw it with my own eyes, Renee. Did you see any zombies running around the town?”
Her jaw worked and then she pointed to the television. “But he said they were on the loose!”
“The newscaster was apparently misinformed. Trust me; they are all dead, Renee,” he spoke with deliberate calmness. “The zombies … I don’t know why they’re saying that.”
The mayor’s wife’s cries subsided to hiccupping sniffs.
“Look in the front office for batteries. There should be some in my desk,” Carter ordered.
Wyatt sprinted into the outer office, returning with a handful of batteries. All his resentment was gone. He felt useful. They worked well together. Carter rapped out commands, and Wyatt knew what he needed before he finished what he was saying. It felt kind of good.
He opened the bottom of the radio, loaded it up and turned it over. The radio squawked loudly in the silence. Wyatt moved the knob, trying to catch one of the bands. The radio whined like an old science fiction movie.
“Move it slower,” Carter told him. “Gently.” The voices were faint, and no matter how delicately Wyatt tried to rotate the knob and lock on some of the garbled sounds, it wouldn’t stay put. The voices were indistinct, fading as he turned the dial.
“Let me show you.” Carter held out his good hand. He turned the knob slightly, and Wyatt swore they were collectively holding their breaths. When the voice broke through, they all jerked back with surprise.
“This is Stocktonville. My name is Espinoza. Sebastian Espinoza. Is anyone out there? I need to know your status.” This was followed by a high-pitched whine and a stretch of static.
“Captain Sebastian Espinoza from the Third Battalion, Fourteen Marines?” Carter asked.
There was a long pause, and Wyatt thought they lost the connection. When the voice came back on, it was wary.
“Who wants to know?”
“Carter White.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Sergeant Carter White.”
“Not anymore.” Carter paused for a second, then added, “Provisional Chief of Police for Copper Valley. Can you tell us how are things in your neck of the woods, Sabby?”
The radio was quiet for a good long minute; then the gravelly voice came through. “Copper Valley … you mean Ground Zero …” There was a blast of interference. Wyatt winced at the noise. Espinoza continued, “… thought you were all dead.”
Carter demanded, “Who said that? Repeat … can you repeat?”
“All over the news. Zombies are on the loose and headed this way.”
“All the zombies are dead. Repeat, all zombies are dead. Who is in charge of the government?”
Static filled the room again. They could hear Espinoza speaking but couldn’t make out the grainy voice.
Carter sighed heavily and said, “We saw some smoke coming from Henderson Springs. Can you report their status? Repeat, can you report their status.”
The radio hummed a bit before Espinoza answered. “Yeah, there’s been … fires. Roving looters, it’s out of control. Everything’s … down, phones, radio. Social media, banking, trucking, gas … name it … all collapsed. President … battle … White House. News … television’s been on and off. It comes on for a bit, but it’s like they don’t got juice or … went to hell after the massacre … governments are scrambling …”
Carter cursed. He depressed the button. “What exactly is the government doing?” He waited then repeated the question, his voice frustrated.
“Who knows?” Sebastian said with disgust. “… world financial markets crashed, money’s worthless … left their jobs, police … the army … the government officials. There are massive shutdowns …”
“How can that be happening? It’s only been three weeks.”
“How should I know?” came the exasperated reply. “It’s chaos … no utilities, airports, the trains … food deliveries … weird stuff going on in lots of towns … Bakerton.”
“What’s going on in Bakerton?” Carter demanded.
“Said the town is leveled. Husks of …” A long burst of static interrupted the comment.
“What are they saying?” Renee whispered. “How can a town be leveled?”
“They said the same thing about us,” Wyatt told her. “Who knows what the truth is?”
“What’s your condition in Stocktonville?” Carter asked.
“I’m holed up … a warehouse near the tracks. Things are bad.”
“What have you heard?” Carter asked, then repeated the question.
“Something’s happening out there … purple … I repeat … it’s purple … they said … roving gangs … people are not … everyone’s dead in Bakerton.”
“They said we were all dead and I’m telling you we’re not,” Carter responded. “What’s purple? What are you talking about?”
There was a loud whine followed by a long bout of silence.
“Something happened over … sheriff sent someone to … only … left.”
“What? Where? Repeat, repeat what you just said.”
“Look, I don’t have time … got some supplies … to trade.”
“Trade?” Carter asked.
“Yeah … new currency.”
Wyatt moved closer to the radio. “What does that mean?”
“Sounds like the world’s been sent back a thousand years and things are going to get really bad,” Carter said grimly. He tapped his fingers on the desk.
“How could this be happening to us?” the mayor’s wife wailed in horror. Her mascara made two trails down her chubby cheeks.
Carter opened his mouth to ask about the purple reference again when the unmistakable sound of gunfire came through the speaker of the radio.
“Gotta go … got visitors. Espinoza out.” The line went dead.