Chaco

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

Chaco dragged himself home from the Walkers’ and dropped into bed exhausted, but no matter how many times he changed positions or flipped his pillow, he couldn’t get comfortable. He recited Pablo Neruda’s El Amor by memory, counted backward from 500, and mentally replayed the hits and runs of his softball games as a boy in the streets of Soyapango.

He tried to remember Mirabella’s face, her even white teeth, her delicate ears, her inquisitive black eyes. Chaco could not remember her smile, not exactly. His memories of her seeped into his thoughts like a vapor, then, poof, they disappeared. He recalled the dress, though. The last time he’d seen her, she’d worn a bright yellow sundress printed with ridiculous huge red poppies. When she walked, the dress rustled as though made of crepe paper. Yes, he liked that dress with the silly flowers very much.

Mostly, though, he thought of the woman he now loved, different from his Mirabella as any woman could be. How is it he had fallen so hard for this tall, leggy, robust American girl with light sea colored eyes that squinted shut when she laughed? What might she be doing right now in this dark world? Sleeping and dreaming of angels? Maybe she’d been awake turning in her bed thinking of him, too.

Chaco rose, ventured outside and considered the night sky. Great swaths of blue and green swirls lit the darkness, mesmerizing him. “The Aurora Borealis in southern California? Jesus.” He watched for a long while, took dozens of photos with his cell, then out of habit, shut it off to conserve the battery. Exhausted, Chaco returned to bed. On his back, with his comforter pulled to his chin, he absorbed the absolute blackness of his cabin. He thought about what it would be like to be blind. “How could I live if I could never see the stars again?”

A few minutes before dawn, he gave up on sleep, climbed out of bed, poured water from plastic bottles into a basin, and washed his face. Chaco lit an oil lamp, retrieved the camp stove from its place under the sink, and made a pot of strong coffee. After pouring a cup, he stirred in one level teaspoon of raw sugar.

With full mug in hand, he stepped outside, removed the dust cap from his Coronado SolarMax, adjusted the aperture, and scanned the Sun’s surface. He took a sip of coffee, cranked up the magnification to get a better view, and that’s when he choked. Electro-magnetic pipes the size of Earth appeared as giant sunspots, releasing millions of tons of plasma. “s**t no. These are even larger than those I viewed a few days ago. I’ve got to talk to Javier again. Man, if these others hit, too, we are triple-screwed.”

The solar disruptions Chaco observed were monsters, but without more sophisticated equipment, he couldn’t be sure how large they really were. With the power out, he couldn’t get on the helioscience sites. He reached for his copy of “The Sun, The Earth, and Near Earth Space Guide,” but changed his mind. He needed to talk to Javier. He picked up his cell and had begun to key in the digits when he remembered no service.

***

The Pennymons, Walkers and Chaco gathered on the Walkers’ patio, the atmosphere heavy and muggy. Although nearing 4 p.m., the outside temperature gauge registered 101 degrees. Without air conditioning, the covered patio by the pool seemed the only place to escape the punishing heat. Incredulous that Margo and Rocky were intent on finding a way to still host their annual “Cowboy Jamboree Brew and Bones Barbecue,” Chaco’s neck muscles constricted.

In their early forties, neither served any apparent purpose. The couple spent much of their time in five-star resorts on Galveston Island. They dined in chain steak restaurants at places called The Texas Meat Cleaver and Big Hunter Steakhouse, which to them, represented the epitome of haute cuisine. In the summer, they threw catered barbeques for which they ordered cases of Lone Star beer, brought in hay bales for seating, and hired Country Western bands dressed in corny outfits complete with felt cowboy hats and red bandanas.

Margo, wearing a peacock blue spandex dress so short that with each step she nearly flashed her privates, clip-clopped across the Walkers’ patio in her snakeskin Prada heels. She plopped on one of the patio chairs, took a swig out of her longneck Bud, her hand wrapped around the amber bottle. As she crossed her legs, Chaco caught a glimpse of what might have been black lace panties. Probably moscas, flies.

“Fer the party this weekend, if the lights are still out, we kin start an old-fashioned bonfire, and we’ll use lotsa oil lamps and Tiki lights. Would you mind if we borrowed yers, Abby?” She uncrossed her legs and moved forward. “Gawd knows how we’ll keep the Lone Star cold, and a ‘course, even though I got invites out nearly a month ago, with what’s goin’ on, I have no idea who might even show up. But, I’m thinkin’ with all this darkness, a party is jist what folks need right now.”

She took another long pull off her Bud. “We’re gonna give everyone a hell of a fun time even if we have to drink our beer warm and have a sing-along for music. ‘Sides, those ribs ain’t gonna last long in the freezer with no electricity. Not much gas for the generator, either.”

Rocky threw up his hands and looked to the sky as though pleading to an invisible superpower. “What about that freezer full of other meat we just spent a thousand dollars on? You’re really planning a party while all that prime meat rots? Why don’t you think about that?”

Margo gave a reassuring nod. “Don’t you worry. If it looks like this thang is gonna last for a while, or we run outta fuel fer the generator, I’ll put some of the other meat in salt and hang it in the wine cellar, and I kin fix jerky with the tri-tip, but the ribs…salted pork ribs ain’t so good. We’re havin’ a barbeque, dammit.” For emphasis, she slapped her bare knee. “It would be good fer everyone. Right, Abby?”

“I can’t really think about a party now. I have no idea what’s going on down the hill since we can’t call. I don’t know if Jude, Bethany and my granddaughters are all right. And, what if this is big and lasts a long while? There’s no way we can check on Fiona and the boys up north. Aren’t you concerned about your family, Margo?”

“Hell, no. Texas folks kin deal with anythin’. Yer son ‘n daughter ‘n their families are jist fine. They’re probably makin’ a camp-out of it. Any time now the lights will be on, and once everything is back to normal, they’ll be talkin’ ‘bout what a fun few days they had. Honey, don’t you worry.”

Abigail paced, chewing her nails.

Chaco moved close to Abigail and whispered. “I’ll go down and check on Jude, Mrs. Walker, and Fiona will be fine. Her community is off-grid and self-sustaining.” Nonetheless, his shoulder muscles contracted with worry. I must find a way to get to Fiona. Wish I could tell Abigail. She would be all right about us, might even bless us.

Fiona’s husband went crazy after she filed divorce papers. He looked for any reason to take their two boys. An affair with his mother-in-law’s undocumented hired help would have—that is until the world’s power shut down—not only guaranteed Chaco’s deportation and certain execution, it would give the husband the necessary ammo to take Fiona’s children from her. Even if the catastrophe might be less widespread than Chaco suspected, to protect Fiona, he thought it prudent to keep their relationship secret.

Chaco observed the activity down the hill through a pair of Zeiss binoculars. Things appeared quiet in the small town. The only incorporated “city,” if you could call it a city, for the larger suburban area, Green Lake, was the County Seat. The courthouse and DMV were located there, as well as a decent medical center. Although because of the surrounding communities, Costco put in a smaller warehouse, besides a few grocery stores, churches, bars and chain restaurants, there wasn’t much else around. The residential areas sat close together. Green Lake had one k-through eighth-grade school, and the district bussed the high school kids out of the area. Just outside of town, a small industrial area grew where apricot orchards had once been. The lake, a small reservoir in the only park, served as a rainwater catchment. The National Guard would deploy to the large population centers first. No help would arrive, not for a long time.

Other than a few pedestrians, and an occasional older car or motorcycle, little moved in the streets. Chaco knew what to expect. In a day or two, pandemonium. Soon, people will realize what’s going on, and mass hysteria will take hold. No one can call 911. The power company can do nothing. It could be weeks or even months…no one is coming to the rescue. Chaco wiped his forehead with the bandana he kept in his back pocket.

Russell and Rocky huddled together in one corner of the patio sipping room temperature gin and tonics. The more they drank, the louder and more bellicose Rocky grew. “You can’t trust him! You’re a goddamn fool if you do. I’m telling you, that wetback is up to something.”

“You’re overreacting. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation. Let’s talk to Chaco and get this thing sorted out.”

The two men approached the Salvadoran with their half-empty glasses in hand.

“We need to talk,” Russell said. “Rocky says he saw you stockpiling food in the shed. What’s up?” He took a drink of his cocktail.

Rocky sneered and his eyes morphed into malicious dark holes. “What were you doing at Russ’s shed, boy?”

Chaco didn’t know what galled him more, being addressed as ‘boy’ by a man only five years his senior, or the fact that an ignorant hijo de puta, not fit to lick dog crap off his feet, could be so impertinent.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Pennymon.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Rocky thrust his jaw.

Chaco set the binoculars on the fence railing, and stretched as tall as his five-foot nine-inch frame could extend.

Rocky stepped closer and glowered at the smaller man. “I’ll tell you what’s up.” Addressing Russell, his glare fixed on Chaco, “This Mexican of yours has been stealing food and supplies to send down to his family in Tee-Ah-Wana or Haw-Lee-Scoh, or he might be planning to sell it. You all do that to make a little extra cash, isn’t that right?”

The tendons in Chaco’s neck throbbed. He clenched his jaw until he thought he might crack his molars. “How would you know what I’m doing at the shed?”

“I’ve been keeping a close eye on you, believe me. And as soon as the phones are working again, the first thing I’m going to do is make a call to our local immigration authorities.” Rocky jabbed his finger toward the smaller man’s chest, and grinned, displaying a row of browned teeth. An imprint of a round can was visible in his shirt pocket. Snuff. No wonder that miscreant’s breath stinks. Before yesterday, Rocky’s threats to call inmigración mortified him. But today he felt only anxiety over Fiona and her two sons. If the CMEs and solar flares bombarding Earth were as powerful as he believed them to be, deportation would no longer remain a threat…the only upside to the world ending.

“Chaco, is it true you removed all the contents of the work shed to make room for storing food and other goods?” Russell asked.

“Yes, Mr. Walker, but it’s not because I’ve stolen anything.”

Rocky spoke through gritted teeth. “You lying little…” From down the hill, a distant explosion caught his next words in his throat. He snapped his head toward town, and his jaws moved up and down like a big-mouthed bass hooked by an angler.

Chaco brought the binoculars to his eyes and adjusted them. “No, no, no.” Smoke billowed from what appeared to be a bank or office building. From the entry way of the Costco where he’d gone after observing the first solar storm to purchase supplies as a precaution, a series of flashes appeared accompanied by the popping of gunfire.

“Gunshots!” Rocky said. “What the Hell is going on? Russ, you got any idea?”

“Not a clue.” Russell extended his hand to Chaco. “Give me those binoculars. I want to take a look.”

“Mr. Walker, we need to gather everyone together.” Chaco handed the field glasses to the older man. “I’ve something important to discuss with all of you.”