Carla nodded somberly, her own eyes tearing up now.

  "Is there anything your grandma can do to keep herself busy?" Betty asked.

  "She used to cook, but no longer, of course. She still has her gardening." Maria was a dedicated gardener who liked to do everything by hand. She had declined to get one of the little residential GardenBots. She insisted on doing it herself.

  "If you want, I can always drop by and check on her," Betty offered graciously.

  "I’d hate to ask, Betty. You do so much as it is, but yes, if you could find a moment, that would be great."

  "With the way things are going, we need to stick together," Betty answered, "And then there are all these rumors about what's to come."

  "Oh?" Carla was unsure what the woman was getting at.

  "I've heard about the witch. You know, the prophecy woman," Betty said. "A few patients have come in here discussing the end times and what supposedly is coming next. It sounds horrible. If it's true, I don't want to live long enough to find out."

  Carla considered telling Betty that this was coming from her sister but decided to save it for later. She didn't want the woman to back out of her offer to check on Maria.

  They found three patients within the first hour. All lying in the streets, each had been brutally beaten. There were no bullet wounds on any of them, which calmed Carla briefly until Betty coldly observed, "They probably didn't want to waste the bullets." One was too far gone to help, but the others responded and promised to come down to the clinic later.

  It was nearly dark when Carla turned back toward home. She would likely lose the day's rations for helping at the clinic, not that it seemed to matter, but she felt better about herself at least. Killing the girl and realizing how far her moral compass had slipped was taking a toll. Days like today helped restore at least a piece of that.

  Turning into her own neighborhood, Carla heard a sound up ahead. She bent low and moved from car to car toward the sound, expecting to encounter looters, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

  Carson's wife, Chelsea, was searching through garbage cans, grabbing objects out of them. They appeared to be half-rotten bits of food at first glance. She smelled each, then took a tentative bite before placing some of them into a bag. Others she threw on the ground behind her.

  It was a pitiful sight. Carla knew Chelsea was a proud woman. Someone who would rather suffer in silence than acknowledge having a problem. She had assumed that Carson's food would balance things out. However, given that they had two children to feed, they most likely burned through whatever he dropped off rather quickly. Since he'd been robbed the other day, he may not have had anything for them this week.

  Carla felt bad for the stockpile of food she was sitting on while this mother rummaged through the trash. A part of her wanted to offer Chelsea help, even though she felt sure the woman would refuse it. Her legs seemed to make up her mind; she shifted weight to a more comfortable position, but she stumbled and fell. Chelsea must have heard enough to realize she was no longer alone.

  Instead of coming over to investigate, Chelsea grabbed the bag and ran off into the darkness.

  Carla was relieved by her exit but was now even more concerned for the kids. Chelsea was getting desperate, and Carla suspected the woman probably blamed her for everything. Chelsea wouldn't accept any help from her at all, no matter how bad things were. Deep down, Carla felt a real showdown between them was coming.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When she got home, Carla checked on Maria. Joshua assured her that everything was okay and that there had been no other episodes. Meredith hadn't left her room for most of the day but was out back now with Maria. Carla should have felt relieved, but the cumulative effect of everything was really getting to her. Her sister's insane messages were getting out, apparently now all around San Antonio, and Carla knew the rumors of an even more terrifying future would spread like wildfire.

  She also worried about the kids next door and Chelsea's scavenging. It wouldn’t be long before the woman realized Carla's family was doing better than they were. "You think she's hell to have as a wife?" Carson once told her. "Just imagine how she would be as an adversary."

  “Josh, we have to get some food for those kids.”

  He knew who she was talking about. “That’s your call, Carla. Yours and Meredith’s, I guess. Tell me what to do and I will, but you know Chelsea will ask questions.

  She nodded; it was true. She’d probably toss it out before letting her kids eat any ‘Garcia’ food. “It will have to be anonymous; she might think its Carson dropping it off. I’ll ask Meredith, but plan on taking a box over later tonight. Just knock on the door and run or something.”

  “Oh, like I am nine. Nice. No problem though. Honestly, Meredith and I had already put a box together a day ago…She seemed to know someone was going to need it.”

  “That figures.”

  A knock at the front door set Carla’s heart racing. Then she considered that looters and murderers rarely knock. She eased the door open a crack, then wider as she saw who it was. "Hey, Betty, you found the place."

  The older woman nodded, but her expression let Carla know something wasn't right.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I'm going to close the clinic," she said with a firm resolve. Betty's eyes were red. She’d obviously been crying.

  "Come in," Carla said, and Betty went in and sat down heavily. The weariness from this brave woman broke Carla's heart. She had given so much, and now it seemed her whole purpose may be disappearing.

  "Why?” Carla asked. “Why do you feel the need to close the clinic? Just the lack of supplies?" Carla knew everything had been dwindling.

  "It's not just that," Betty stated emphatically. "I've known for a long time that we were fighting an uphill battle. It was under-equipped and under-staffed. But it appears that no one higher up is interested in helping us any longer. Everyone is out for himself.

  “But what really hit home was losing the two patients from this morning," she said. "You know, the two we brought back in. They should have been fine with normal care and some nanobiotics, but I was out. Not even any regular antibiotics.”

  Carla remembered them. They had struggled even getting them to come in for treatment. Both had severe lacerations and looked bad, but Betty thought the odds of recovery were good.

  “Perhaps I could have helped them if they had been in a proper hospital. They would have had autodocs to give them the required treatments." Betty buried her face in her hands, thousands of miles away from the tough woman Carla had gotten to know. "Everyone has a different limit for how much stress they can handle. I guess I've finally found mine. Maybe I felt I could keep the clinic running on just prayers and bandages. Believe me, I would. But it won't be so."

  "What will happen to all the patients who are still there?" Carla asked, recalling the rows of sick and injured in most of the rooms.

  "I'll have to send them all home. It's all I can do," Betty shrugged in defeat. "They came to us praying for help, I went out asking many of them to come get treatment. Now I'll be sending many of them back out there to fend for themselves. This is the most difficult thing I've ever had to do." She sat back and looked up at the ceiling. The pain etched on her face. "I believe we're all approaching the point where we must make the hard choices."

  Carla was well aware of ‘hard choices.’

  "As long as I can still do some good, I intend to try," Betty remarked bitterly. "I'm sorry. I didn't come here to whine about my problems. I promised you I would check on your grandmother. I may not be able to help everyone today, but maybe I can help one."

  "Thank you," Carla said almost reverently.

  "It's a nasty thing to have to go through," Betty said. "Watching people waste away when you can't help them. Then you find yourself just wanting it to be over and done with so you can be free of your pain. But having somebody there to lift you up makes the pain a lot more bearable."

  "She should be right through here," Carla replied gratefully as she led Betty out to the garden.

  "From what you've told me, she seems like a formidable woman, your grandma," Betty said. "Seeing someone who was once so strong become so diminished can make it seem even worse."

  "She is...was a strong woman," Carla said. "She was a fighter; She took care of my sister and me since we were teenagers. Both of our parents were killed in a boating accident."

  "Shit," Betty grumbled. "How old were you?"

  "I was seventeen, and my sister, Meredith, was fifteen."

  "That's a tough age to lose your parents," Betty said. "Where is your sister now?"

  "She's probably in the garden with my grandma," Carla explained, adding quickly, "I should warn you, she's also not quite right. In the head, I mean."

  Betty gave a pleasant smile. "I trained as a mental health first responder, honey. Everyone is a little disturbed these days. Trust me, nothing bothers me any longer."

  They entered the garden, where Maria and Meredith were both puttering around with the plants, recently dug holes lining one section of the garden. Carla's gaze was drawn to the shed at the far side of the garden, where Meredith's cache was stored, and she was happy to see the door was closed and locked. She didn't want that secret to get out.

  "Hello," Betty replied nicely, drawing Maria and Meredith's attention. "My name is Betty. I work at the hospital."

  Meredith automatically eyed the woman, skeptically. "Are you a psychiatrist?"

  Carla remembered a fiasco when she literally tried to haul Meredith in to see a psychiatrist to discuss some of her issues. Carla grimaced as she recalled Meredith's repeated efforts to bite her. Carla eventually gave up and let Meredith stay in her room.

  "Not really," Betty said. "I work mainly as a triage nurse. I'm here to help, maybe give your grandmother a once over. I'm friends with your sister."

  "My sister?" Meredith repeated. "You can't believe anything she says. She's a liar."

  Betty looked over at Carla, who shrugged as if to say, 'I told you so.'

  "Your sister is simply watching out for you, Meredith. You're fortunate to have people who genuinely care about you. I was raised as an only child and would have appreciated having an older sibling to look out for me. Sure would have kept me out of some of the trouble I got into."

  "If she truly cared about me, she wouldn't dismiss my visions," Meredith said. Her tone was matter of fact, no doubt that her premonitions were true.

  "Visions?"

  Carla felt as if someone had lit a fuse when Betty asked. She noticed Betty putting two and two together. "You were the one speaking at the church the other night?"

  "That's right," Meredith said triumphantly, relishing the attention that came with her newfound celebrity.

  Betty, to her credit, did not back down. Instead, she moved forward, stooping down to Meredith's eye level. "Do you think you could tell me when they started? These premonitions?"

  Carla saw how she used her words firmly and with no hint of sarcasm, as if she truly believed in them. Maybe that was Carla's mistake, always dismissing the visions as fantasy, letting Meredith know she didn't believe in any of the nonsense. Perhaps Betty's approach was exactly what Meredith needed. It was good to know that someone was taking her illness seriously.

  "They first started before I lost my mom and dad," Meredith explained. "I knew they were going to die on that boat. Even so, I didn't do enough to keep them safe. I've been carrying that guilt with me every day since it happened.” She turned to Carla, as if she wanted her to know what she was going through. Carla had often complained to Meredith that she never accepted responsibility, and the words had pained Meredith, making her feel like she had failed at a crucial time. She was curious as to what it meant for Meredith to carry that guilt with her.

  "How about your most recent visions?" Betty asked; her words seemed carefully chosen so as to not put the woman on the defensive. Carla was again impressed with her friend’s professionalism and tact with an unusual situation.

  "I've seen the sky falling," Meredith added. "I've seen all kinds of horrors shower down, people scurrying for cover. But there is no place to go. Nothing will keep us safe."

  Carla listened intently to Betty, wondering if she would believe any of this. "I see," she said. "That must be terrifying for you. To have thoughts bother you all the time. I'm sure you'd prefer it if they all went away."

  "You know, I have felt like that before," Meredith replied. "Sometimes I try to tell myself that it's a gift, and that I owe it to other people to share it, to help them prepare. But, to be honest, I miss the silence."

  "What about the silence?" Betty asked.

  "In my head," Meredith explained, almost sobbing. "Every one of those visions, you know. It can get quite noisy up here." She tapped her brow. "I can't even remember what it was like to have total peace and quiet."

  "I'm so sorry," Betty said, expressing genuine sympathy. "I promise I'll do anything I can to help you."

  She rose up and turned to face Carla. Meredith couldn't hear them as they walked back into the house. "She requires antipsychotics and sleep aids, neither of which I have," she told Carla.

  “Where could we get any?”

  “A pharmacy I suppose, or a hospital if any of them are still stocked. I can’t get even the basic meds, so I doubt you could find anything that specific. Try looking through the houses you visit, I can get a list of names to look for.”

  "So, what should we do in the meantime?" Carla asked.

  "Set clear boundaries for her. Normally, I would dismiss any discussion of her theories. But if you don't talk to her about them, she can shut down and you'll never hear from her again. She's already demonstrated a modest proclivity for manipulation, withholding information in order to get knowledge. And it appears to run in the family." Her expression stiffened slightly. "You didn't tell me that the preacher in town was your younger sister."

  "I-I…" Carla stammered, surprised. "I was concerned that if you knew who she was, you would…"

  "Might not want to help?" Betty completed the thought when Carla seemed too embarrassed to. "My name is Betty, and I work as a nurse. My role is to heal, not to pass judgment. I won't lie, it's difficult not to be bothered by what she's saying to me. But your sister is ill. She needs our help, not our judgment. It's really a shame that this new world seems to have no actual therapists."

  "What about my grandma?" Carla asked, desperately wanting to move the conversation away from her sister.

  "Sorry, yes, let me go back and talk to her," Betty remarked before vanishing back into the garden. Carla wanted to follow her, but she didn't have the strength to face Meredith right now. She watched them from a kitchen window. Betty squatting next to her grandmother asking questions. Pointing at different plants at times. Maria appeared to be responding to the woman’s interaction.

  Betty returned to the house a short time later, "Today is clearly one of her good days. She sounds forthright about her limitations. That is a difficult thing for most to admit."

  Carla was a little surprised, given Maria's normal denial that anything was wrong with her.

  "You're doing an excellent job on your own. But she is clearly deteriorating rapidly. I imagine the newness of the way the world is now is probably accelerating the progression. You've been doing everything right with the resources you've had. But I am sorry, it won't be enough for much longer. She'll need round-the-clock care before..."

  The nurse couldn't quite bring herself to finish the statement. Carla, on the other hand, was hyper-aware of what was coming. She had imagined the scene a thousand times in her thoughts, as if to prepare herself for its eventual reality. She couldn’t count on Meredith and knew she couldn’t stay here herself all the time. What was she going to do?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The following night, Carla awoke to the sound of breaking glass.

  “God, not again." She desperately needed sleep, but if Maria was at it again—then she considered the even darker possibilities and grabbed the baseball bat. Intruders or an attack on the house. Things like this were becoming more the norm with each passing day.

  Creeping silently downstairs, she calmed slightly after hearing more breaking glass and shouting. It was coming from the house next door. The sense of dread came rushing back as she made out the two voices. Carson and Chelsea were going at it. She feared that she was the cause, but just didn’t have the energy for this useless drama.

  "You've got a lot of fucking nerve showing your face here!" screamed Chelsea.

  "It's still my house, and they are still my kids!" Carson's voice was loud and desperate. Carla didn't recall ever hearing that tone from him. She'd seen him upset many times but nothing approaching this.

  "You lost your right to see those kids the second you started screwing that whore next door!" Carla visibly winced at the words. Hiding there in the darkness, listening to the two of them, she was overcome with guilt over everything that was happening out there. It was because of her.

  "You know what, I could have done a whole lot worse than Carla!" Carson gave a false laugh. "At least she was there for me, there when I needed someone. All you ever did was bitch and complain, always moping about the shitty life you had!"

  "I had dreams of my own," Chelsea screamed back. "I sacrificed them all for you! For the sake of you and the kids! I chose to live in this shithole city with all these inbred fucks!"

  "Oh, it's always somebody else's fault, Chelsea," Carson shot back. "You look down on people with your high and mighty nonsense, but there are good people here. And I tried to get you help. I begged you to see a therapist, anything to help you out of this funk! I could see how your attitude was affecting the children! Telling Rachel she needs to watch her snacking. Damn, Chelsea, she's just a fucking child!"

  Chelsea remained mute, unable to respond. Carson's verbal attack continued. "To be honest, Carla is the only reason our kids aren't more messed up than they already are. She loves them more than their own mother does.”