Storm Front by Robert Conroy Read Free Book Online Page B

diminished a bit. Ted Baranski stood and stretched. The church pews were tough on his skinny butt. He didn’t want his hemorrhoids acting up, either.
    “This is ridiculous. I gotta get home.”
    “You don’t like me anymore?” sniffed Foley.
    Baranski looked outside. The snow was blowing and falling heavily. “I just want to get home,” he said softly. All of a sudden, getting home was really important.
    “I think you should wait a while longer,” said Foley.
    “Christ, I just live across the parking lot. I won’t get lost.”
    It was a slight untruth. He lived across both the gravel parking lot and the adjacent large field that the parish was holding for future expansion. St. Stephen’s was a young, new parish and the current building was only temporarily used as a church. Someday there’d be a real church and what was now the church would become a parish rec center.
    Ted said goodbye to everyone and stepped outside. He oriented himself on the light pole dimly visible in the lot, and headed out towards his home. After a short while he realized that he couldn’t see much of anything and decided he’d made a dumb decision. He turned around to go back to church. As he did that, his foot caught in the uneven ground. He twisted his ankle and fell to the parking lot, knocking the wind out of himself.
    “Damn it to hell,” he said to no one when he could breathe again. He tried to get up, but the ankle protested. He finally made it to his feet, but walking was difficult. His ankle hurt really bad. After a few tentative steps he realized that he’d been turned around by the fall and had no idea where the church was. With a feeling of dread he remembered that it was a white brick building. It blended perfectly into the driving snow.
    He lurched and took some more steps. He had to go someplace. He couldn’t stay out in the parking lot. To his surprise, the snow was already over his ankles and his feet were wet and freezing.
    Walk, he told himself. It wasn’t like he was out in the middle of a desert. This wasn’t like he was back in Korea, although it brought back some very unpleasant memories. This was a city, damn it. Sooner or later he’d either be back at the church, his own house, or at a neighbor’s, feeling like a fool. Better a fool than dead, he thought.
    Just a few more steps, he ordered himself. The ankle hurt and it was becoming difficult to breathe. His chest was tightening. Had he taken his heart medicine? He felt a twinge of panic as he realized he wasn’t sure.
    His chest constricted more and breathing became painful. He dropped to his knees. He felt like he’d been shot in the chest, just like back in Korea. I’ll rest for a moment, he decided, then start over again. He thought he saw a shape moving towards him. Was it his wife? No, it was a man with a beard. Jesus? Or maybe that young priest. His chest seemed to explode and a wave of red before his eyes, followed by black, were the last things his eyes saw.
    * * *
    The twelve classrooms at Patton Elementary were arranged in a long row with a common area every four classrooms. Maddy, her friend Donna Harris, Frieda Houle, and Maggie Tomasi were the four teachers in the group. Because of the design, they were able to step outside their classrooms and talk while still in sight of their students, many of whom were pretending to be working while watching the blinding snow.
    Sheridan North High School and Bradley Middle School were similarly constructed and the three schools occupied a large compound in the middle of playgrounds and parking lots. All three were connected and shared a main entrance and admin center as an attempt to cut costs. The compound had been constructed in the eighties and there had been many complaints about the quality of the construction.
    The much older Sheridan South High School was located four miles to the south.
    “We are in deep poop, ladies,” said Donna Harris. A couple of minutes earlier, Superintendent Mary