EMP Catastrophe , Hamilton, Grace [crime books to read txt] 📗

Bill put his hands on his knees and peered at the engine block. “You’re out of washer fluid,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” Matthew said. “Someone told me that very same thing earlier.”

“Someone smart,” David said, nudging Matthew and grinning at him. “Someone with a clear head on their shoulders.”

“Can you try and start the car for me?” Bill asked. Matthew obliged, hopping back into the car and going through the same motions from earlier when he’d discovered the car dead. Bill motioned him to come back outside, and Matthew complied. Then Bill held the wires of the voltmeter to the battery, hooking the colored wires to their associated nodes. The needle on the readout oscillated up and down. Bill made a soft sound of disapproval and then unhooked the voltmeter.

“I can’t hear your alternator,” Bill said, closing the hood with a loud thump. “I don’t think the problem is with your battery. It looks like you have some kind of charge, so theoretically you should be able to start the truck up. Usually, if the battery was out, you’d be able to hear a kind of humming.” Bill stepped back from the silver truck and crossed his arms as he continued his explanation. “This truck has got to be, what a 2017? 2018?”

Matthew nodded, feeling a ball of dread form in his stomach.

Bill nodded to himself. “Yeah. Usually, these newer cars run completely on computer software. Since you can see a battery charge, most likely the problem is with the computer system. A mechanic can simply hook up the engine to let another computer run diagnostics to pinpoint any problems. What’s going on here is something that I can’t fix. I’m sorry to have to tell you that.”

“It’s all right, I appreciate your honesty.” Matthew put his hand up to his forehead. The day had suddenly spiraled into the unknown. He needed a moment to process everything that was happening. He’d started the morning with a strong pot of coffee and a smile, excited to spend the day one-on-one with his father. Now, his truck might be busted, they hadn’t gotten the furniture for the hotel, and he couldn’t call anyone for help.

He wished he could talk with Kathleen. Hearing her sternly walk him through the facts and figures of the day would be like hearing longed-for music. She was the realist to his dreamer, and even if she didn’t know what to do in this situation, she’d be able to give him advice or help him feel better.

He had to remember he wasn’t alone. Everything that had happened was happening to everyone else—the power outage, the cars not starting—was all a collective experience. As long as he could find the good underneath the bad, the helpful within the unhelpful, he could do anything.

He took a deep breath and met eyes with his father. Bill wished him luck and headed back inside the shop. As it stood, there weren’t many options left to them. Getting home to Galena was over eighty miles—there was no way they could walk that far. They could try to call a cab, or find a bus stop, but Matthew knew little to nothing about the city’s public transportation options. They couldn’t call Ruth, who was working to make the hotel ready for opening day. They couldn't do anything.

They were, at the moment, stuck.

3

“How are you holding up in here?” Kathleen asked and reminded herself for the fourth time that she would not cry.

Max shrugged, hunched over the round table in the visitation room. His dark brown hair, usually styled and long, had a clipped, uneven look to it. “It’s not a family vacation, that’s for sure. All I do is pace and sleep and try not to get into fights. I read a lot.” He shot her a brave, if wobbly smile, his eyes darting down to Allison as if to say, Not in front of the kid, Kathy.

Kathleen followed his line of sight, glancing at her daughter. Allison kept her eyes on her painted fingernails, which picked at the edge of the concrete table. Her phone had been confiscated along with Kathleen’s keys and jewelry when they'd entered Chicago's Metropolitan Correctional Center, all to be given back when their visitation ended. That, more than anything, had made Allison's attitude plummet from compassionate and excited to sullen teenager. She’d begged to come and see her recently incarcerated uncle—but now Kathleen knew Allison’s real motivation was the chance to hang out in Chicago and see her friends before they headed back to Galena. Allison and Max had been close, once upon a time, with Allison always saying how cool Max was, how his easy smile charmed anyone. How little did they know that Kathleen’s baby brother was moving up the ranks from small-time dealer to drug mule, carrying who knows what over borders. First offense, easily caught, confession acquired, and now his easy smile looked hunted after being locked up as he awaited sentencing.

Kathleen took in a deep breath and knew she had to be strong. For however long they could stay with Max, she would be the pillar he could lean on. She could break down later, in the safety of her car.

“Do you have any idea where they might send you?” she asked, leaning close. They weren’t supposed to touch, but she let her hand fall open-palmed next to his so at least he knew she was close to him.

That shrug again. “I have no idea. It’s always last minute. One guy in the same block as me suddenly got transferred to Indiana with only a day’s warning. I’ll make sure I send a letter, though, if anything happens.”

“I’ve put money on your phone account,” Kathleen said, a balloon of worry expanding inside of her stomach. She could tell him she loved him in a million ways, but this felt like one that counted. A link to the outside. To family. “Just let me know when you need something. I know Galena is far