Mercury stared out the window. The shimmer of lights through the rain should’ve been comforting, but instead she shivered—chilled by more than the cold.
“The lights on your left are coming from our city library. It, the Fellowship Church, and our elementary school are the shelters Mayor Cruz has designated for newly arrived survivors.”
“It doesn’t look like this part of town was damaged very badly,” said Ford.
“Oh, here in the heart of downtown we did pretty well, but what you can’t see at night is that many of the building are cracked and unstable. That’s another reason we’ve isolated this section of the town. We’re housing survivors here, but we can’t allow people to just go into any building they choose. It’s not safe.”
“Did you lose many of your citizens?” Stella asked.
Amber’s perkiness dimmed. “Yes. It has been tragic. Before the disaster our population was at about seven thousand souls. Right now we have a little under four hundred healthy citizens, with several dozen wounded. And we’re learning that sometimes those who don’t seem badly hurt suddenly die for no discernable reason.”
“Do you have a working hospital?” Mercury asked.
“Our hospital was severely damaged in the quake, but we managed to save quite a lot of medical supplies, and we have two doctors who survived. Mayor Cruz has set up a temporary hospital in the courthouse.”
“Your mayor has been a busy woman,” Stella said.
Amber’s smile returned. “She’s a dynamo! And here we are—the elementary school. It was already a designated disaster shelter for the community and had several working generators, so it was easy to turn classrooms into temporary housing. The water lines are intact to the school, which really helps as there are plenty of bathrooms and two locker rooms with working showers—and hot water.”
“A hot shower sounds heavenly,” said Karen.
“As I said, Madras is truly blessed.” Amber parked in front of a large brick building with a row of blue doors and lights glowing from within. “Okay, let’s get you settled.”
They filed out of the Suburban, paused to reclaim their backpacks, and then followed Amber through the blue doors into the foyer of the school. Mercury couldn’t help it—the instant they were inside the school, she felt the tension in her shoulders start to relax. All schools had things in common: the shiny linoleum floors, the trophy cases, the walls of lockers, the florescent ceiling lights. And to Mercury, that meant home and safety and familiarity.
“Down this hallway are the classrooms we’ve turned into shelters.” Amber guided them past the administrative offices situated inside the front doors of the school, and turned left. The hall was wide, with classrooms on one side and lockers topped by narrow rectangular windows high above them on the other. Only a very few of the overhead lights were on, but every classroom they passed had the glow of lights that were softer than florescent seeping under the doors. From some of the classrooms, muffled sobs spilled into the hallway with the light.
“It’s so very sad.” Amber shook her head and hurried them along. “So many losses. Mayor Cruz has vowed to put together a team of therapists to counsel people. Are any of you therapists or have mental health training?”
“No,” Stella said. “We’re just teachers.”
“I’m definitely not a therapist,” said Ford.
Mercury noticed he did not offer up the valuable information that he was an electrician.
“Oh, there’s nothing just about teachers!” Amber gushed. “The surviving children will certainly need you.”
“We’re always happy to help children,” said Karen.
Mercury and Stella said nothing.
As they continued down the hall, Mercury studied the doors to the classrooms. The glass pane in each door had been painted black. They passed two sets of double doors on their right that also had the glass blacked out and were chained and padlocked closed.
Mercury paused. “Amber, why are all the windows painted black?”
Amber halted and looked around as if she was confused. Then she smiled. “Oh, I see what you mean. Not all of our windows are painted—just the doors to the classrooms. It was a school ordinance passed by the Board of Education some time ago because of the tragedy of school shootings. Not that we’ve ever had anything like that happen here. We’re a godly town, but it’s best to be safe.”
“Amen!” Karen said.
Mercury pointed at the padlocked double doors to her right. “Are there classrooms on the other side of those doors? And why are they chained and locked?”
“No, those lead to the courtyard, which is where we have extensive gardens the children tend, though it’s early in the year and they’re a mess. Someone must have accidentally painted over the glass, and I hadn’t even noticed they were chained. But you ladies are teachers. You know the importance of controlling the entrances and exits to our schools.”
“I smell fresh paint,” said Stella.
“Yes, well, it was just spring break. No doubt many little touch-ups happened during that week. Now, shall we continue to your—”
The door to the classroom they were standing near opened, and a middle-aged woman stepped into the hall. She had long, thick dark hair that was streaked with silver. Her eyes were ebony and glinted with anger. The tawny brown skin that stretched smoothly over her high cheekbones was flushed with two dots of angry mauve.