Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey by Brian Stewart Page A

off along the edge—not right
next to one another, a few miles apart actually—still strange. If they’re still
parked there when I get back, I’m gonna stop. Max is riding with me again. I
think Uncle Andy was afraid to put Max in the same proximity as a venison roast.
Can’t say as if I blame him. Well, I guess this will be continued when I have
more information.
     
    *click*
    We’re still a couple miles out from the marina. We would have
been there by now but the front left tire on Uncle Andy’s truck went flat. It
wasn’t a catastrophic blowout, just a leak . . . he must have hit a sharp rock
or something. We pulled off to the side of the highway and switched it out with
a spare he had, and in the ten minutes or so it took to do that almost a dozen
cars, trucks, and other vehicles passed us, most of them heading west. That
amount of traffic is rare on this road, especially considering the time of day
and the season. Something’s going on. Anyhow, while Uncle Andy was changing the
tire, (hey—I asked him if he wanted me to do it) I was sitting in my truck
playing tug of war with Max and one of his chew toys. Just when we were getting
into it, I heard a call over the radio Michelle had given me.
    “ State WCO do you copy ?” It was Michelle.
    I was pretty sure that I’m the only North Dakota State Wildlife
Conservation Officer that has a Fish and Wildlife radio.
    “ 10-4. This is state WCO ,” I replied.
    “ Copy, what’s your location? ” she asked.
    “ En-route to meeting location, ETA five minutes .”
    “Copy, 10-84, at least thirty,” she said, indicating she was on her way
there as well, but wouldn’t be there for at least thirty minutes.
    “ 10-4. ”
    Interesting. She didn’t mention the other day that she was
coming back for this impromptu meeting. Either something happened to change her
mind, or maybe it was . . . me. Big smile. Then again, if her assessment of
these radios and their range is accurate, why is it gonna take her at least thirty
minutes to get there?  Part of me wants to radio her back to see if she needs
some kind of assistance; the other part of me says, “leave it alone, she’d only
get pissed thinking that I thought she couldn’t do her job.” She’s got a
temper, but she’s also tough . . . and smart. She would have let me know if she
needed help. I’ll update again after the meeting.
     
    *click*
    Oh man, this update is going to take awhile. Shoot, I hardly
even know where to begin. All right, deep breath . . . Here we go. After
changing the tire, we drove the rest of the way to the marina, passing several
more cars and trucks along the way. As we approached, we could see that the
parking lot was almost completely filled and there were cars in a line for the
gas pump that stretched at least seventy-five yards out the road. People were
standing all around the parking lot and it looked like everybody had some type
of trailer loaded down with boxes, bags and whatnot—it kind of reminded me of move-in
day at the college dorms, except that a lot of people were wearing bandannas or
what looked like dust masks around their mouths. The large gravel parking lot
across the road was about half full as well. We pulled around back near the
propane storage tank, parked, and got out.
    “Max, guard the truck,” I said, letting him out so he could
assume his duty in the bed of my pickup.
    The door to Walter’s office was locked so we walked up to the
main store. It was a madhouse in there. People were lined up at the register on
the grocery side, and that line stretched all the way to the back corner. The
bait store side was just as crowded. Almost everybody had some type of cover
over their mouth and nose—surgical masks, dish towels, or even a wad of paper
towels held in their hands. WTF? I looked around quickly and guessed that over
half of the edible inventory was already gone from the shelves. Walter himself
was standing at the juncture where the bait store transitioned