by Mackey, Jay
“Believe it or not, the bank in Lafayette does have paper copies of home mortgages. Nobody is looking at those these days. But in five years, or ten years, when we get back to some sense of normalcy, someone will have to sort all that out.”
That is about as far into banking and lawyering as I want to get. Who cares who owns something in ten years? What’s important to me is whether I can use it now.
We’d kind of got off track, and Dad senses it too. He says, “So, Wilson and Rob. Are you doing anything about it? Or just waiting to see what happens?”
I have no intention of telling him anything about the RIP plan. “Do you have any suggestions?”
He seems to ponder that for a moment, staring at me but not really looking at me, and then asks, “How bad is Rob’s situation? Does the militia know it was him with Wilson?”
I tell Dad that one of the militia men recognized him and that’s how he got away, but he doesn’t know if the guy will turn him in or if any of the others know him.
“And of course, he doesn’t know if Wilson gave him up.” He says that very matter-of-factly, like it’s obvious, but I don’t think it is. Wilson would never give up Rob. I don’t respond, so Dad says, “I’d think the thing to do is wait. Let Wilson go through this camp. He can pretend to be re-educated to become straight. Maybe we could even get someone, maybe even Chrissie or Rachel, to pretend to have a hot night of passion with him to prove that he now loves women. And Rob can lay low for a while, then maybe secretly touch base with his friend in the militia to find out how tenuous his situation is. Maybe it’ll all blow over before too long. You’d think the militia would have a lot more on their plates than chasing gay guys.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t the other night.”
“True. But like I said, talk to your mother tomorrow. Maybe she’ll have some insight.”
I start to leave, to head downstairs, but I stop and come back. “Is this why you were arguing with Mom?” I ask, sitting down again.
“First of all, your mother and I don’t argue. We discuss, sometimes passionately. Second, what do you mean by ‘this?’” He actually counts off points one and two on his fingers.
“This. Her taking a job. Moving to Lafayette. That ‘this.’”
He nods like maybe I’m on the right track and says, “I think she’s wrong to take this job, working for the Pounds administration. I don’t think he has surrounded himself with good people. A lot of them were Bowers’ people, mostly yes-men and sycophants. I don’t think she’ll enjoy the experience, nor do I think she’ll be able to get anything meaningful done. But she has her own agenda.”
“What about moving? Is she going to stay in Lafayette, or what?”
“I’m not in favor of moving. For one thing, the Mathewses have been incredibly generous in letting us live here, but they’ve also found that it’d be very hard to keep up with the farm work without us, given that there’s no equipment for the most part.”
“But if we didn’t live here, they wouldn’t need to grow as much food.”
“Sure, but the size of the farm doesn’t change. They’d still have as many acres of crops, and just as many animals. Those things provide their income, not just their food. So they need help.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ve considered various options. Your mother needs to be in Lafayette. That would be beneficial for me as well. But maybe you kids can stay here and work the farm, and Jane and I could come out on weekends. We will continue to work on it.”
“So you and Mom aren’t getting divorced?”
“No.”
“You’re not fighting.”
“We don’t fight. We have discuss—”
“I know. Good night, Dad.”
27
56 days until the Pulse Anniversary
I get to the Purdue cafeteria early, too early to find Jake there. I look for him at his office, which he still uses occasionally, but he’s not there either. Then I go over to Flip’s place, but it’s empty. I’m a little pissed; they told me to check in every other day, but left no meeting place or time, so I’m running all over with no way to find them. After going back to the cafeteria and getting something to eat, then hanging out for an hour just in case Jake shows up, which he doesn’t, I say fuck it and head for Rachel’s.
Of course, there’s no one there either. So I hang out and check my Instagram feed to see what’s going on in the world. Oh, wait, we don’t have an Instagram feed any more. The only feed we have is animal feed, as in “feed the chickens, Brady.”
I see that Mom has taken over Rob and Wilson’s room. I guess that’s okay, since they won’t be using it for a while. I decide I’m going to stay over here tonight and look for Jake and Flip tomorrow. I’m pretty sure I won’t be staying in Rachel’s room, but the couch is fine; I’ve slept there many times. There’s a nice ripe tomato out in the garden that I decide to have for my lunch while I wait for someone to show up. I get impatient though, and make a run up to campus to look for Jake again, then go by Flip’s. No luck, so I go back to Rachel’s.
Mrs. DuBonnette is the first to arrive in the late afternoon, followed shortly by Rachel, who tells me that Rob is doing okay. He’s moved hiding places to another house near campus, and hasn’t talked to any of his militia buddies, so he doesn’t know if he’s being actively pursued.
Around the time that we’re getting ready to fix something to eat, Mom comes in with a piece of beef she got from someone she works with. She says it’s probably pretty tough but would work in a stew, so we set to building a fire and prepping some vegetables to go in the stew.
Mom knows all about Wilson and Rob, of course, and says there’s nothing she can do about it. The way she looks at Rachel when she says that gives me a sense that she knows something about the plan to get Wilson freed, but I don’t ask because I doubt Rachel would have told her mother.
Later in the evening I find myself alone with Mom in the kitchen and she asks if I’m planning to join Rob and Rachel in the plot to free Wilson. Rachel hasn’t really filled Mom in on any of the real details. I simply say, “Yes. Whatever the plan, I’m in.” I don’t want to get into it any more than that, so I change the subject by asking, “When are you coming back to the farm?”
She gives me a funny look, and says, “What did your father tell you?”
I tell her what Dad said about her job, and that the two of them might move to Lafayette and come out to the farm on weekends.
She purses her lips and shakes her head and says, “I’m sorry Brady, but that’s not quite how it is.” She tells me that she and Dad aren’t going to be moving into Lafayette, “at least not together,” and that she’s not coming back to the farm any time soon.
I ask her why; what happened?
She says it’s just adult stuff, and I didn’t need to know.
“Mom, I’m adult, dealing with adult problems every day. Don’t treat me like a kid now, just so you don’t have to talk about whatever problems you and Dad have.”
She looks at me like she’s surprised, but keeps looking at me like she’s thinking. Then she says, “Your father doesn’t want me working. Apparently it’s okay for him, but not his wife.”
“He told me he doesn’t like that you’re working for President Pounds.”
“Oh, is that so? Now it’s because he doesn’t like my boss? Let me tell you, he doesn’t get to decide what job I take, or who I’m working for. Those aren’t decisions that are his to make.”
She storms out of the kitchen, throwing the dish towel she’s been using onto the counter on her way out. It’s pretty clear to me that whatever her problems with Dad are, they’re more than just her job. It’s kind of like with Rachel and me—the fact that I said I kind of liked doing my PedEx thing is probably not the reason that I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.
I’m up and out early, going for a short run before anyone else gets up. The stress, part Wilson and Rob, part Mom and Dad, kept me from sleeping f
or half the night. I figure as long as I’m not sleeping, I might as well be running.
I haul some fresh water back, get cleaned up, grab a cup of cold stew and go looking for Jake. It’s nearly noon by the time I find him, walking toward the Purdue cafeteria. He brightens when he sees me and pulls me into a grassy area so we can talk privately.
“News,” he says, clearly excited. He says that Wilson was taken with five other men from the prison yesterday, loaded up into a truck, and hauled off, presumably to the camp.
“So, are we going to do the raid tomorrow? Tomorrow night?”
“No. Flip isn’t back from his scouting trip, so we don’t have a plan yet. And it’ll take us some time to get everything into place. So, what is this, Tuesday? Check with me Friday. And get your stuff together. Be prepared to spend a few nights out, away from home. Maybe more than a few.”
We go in, get sandwiches and come back out to the grass to talk. I ask him how many guys he’s got in the RIP, and how many will join us in the raid. He says he’s been out rounding up some guys, but it will depend on the plan how many actually come. Some good news, he says. “I’ve got a couple guys out in your neck of the woods, one with an old farm truck he says will make the trip. So you can ride with them when the time comes. I’ll know more on Friday.”
I tell him about Rob joining us, and Rachel too. Surprising, he doesn’t nix Rachel. Instead, he says she’s welcome if I’m okay with it.
“I don’t think it’s up to me. She says she’s coming, so that’s it. She’s a good fighter, so she’ll be okay.”
Jake nods, but I think he can tell I’ve got mixed feelings. More than mixed, really. I don’t want her to come because I don’t want her to get hurt.
He says, “I’ve got a couple other women lined up. They’ll be fine. Hell, some of ’em are tougher than most of the men. I’d rather have these women, to tell you the truth.”
“Yeah, that’s Rachel. She can shoot, too. I can let her use my Glock, but she doesn’t have a rifle.”
“Christ. I sure hope we don’t get into a gunfight. If we do, the chances of us getting those kids out aren’t very good. Bring your rifle, but that’s just so we have you if we need you. I don’t think you’ll have to be shooting a bunch of people.”
“It’s okay,” I say, although I’m not sure it is. “I’ll do whatever’s needed.”
He says that if I can get Rachel and Rob out to the farm, they can ride with me to the camp. Sounds good. Now, if I can just get Rachel to listen to me, we can pretend like we still like each other and spend some time together at the farm. Hopefully.
When Rachel gets home, I tell her about what I’ve learned. She’s a little pissed that we have to wait so long; she’s ready to attack the camp tonight. But I tell her that’s stupid, and she knows it, so at dark she takes me to see Rob, who’s hiding in one of the upper floors of a dorm on campus. I fill him in. He’s a little leery about riding a bike on public roads out to the farm, but I suggest we do it at night. When he objects to riding in the dark, I point out that it’s a mostly straight road through farmland, not a curvy mountain road with steep cliffs to fall off, and he reluctantly agrees.
I spend the next couple days at home, and I find time to go out with my rifle, doing a little shooting and a lot of cleaning and oiling. I want to make sure both the rifle and the handgun are ready to go. I know Jake said we aren’t going to get in a shootout, but I figure that when you plan to break a prisoner out of a prison camp—whether they call it a prison or a re-education camp doesn’t really matter, since it’s probably guarded by militia or similar armed troops—you’d better be prepared to do some shooting.
I have a heavy load of deliveries on Friday, mostly because I’ve been neglecting to do my usual pickups. So I’m a little late for my lunch meeting with Jake. Fortunately, he’s sitting at his usual table, waiting for me. He doesn’t smile when he tells me that the raid will happen Monday night, but I can’t help but grin at the news.
“Don’t be getting all giddy on me,” he says. “This is not going to be fun, and it’s not going to be easy. If it was up to me, we wouldn’t do it. But Flip and some of the people who run, or manage, the RIP, they want it done. Think it’s just what we need. Well, you heard what he said the other day. Anyway, get your two buddies out to your place with weapons and whatever you need to camp out for a few days. Someone will come knocking on your door after dark on Monday. They’ll ask for you, and say, ‘May you rest in peace, Brother,’ and you reply, ‘And you.’”
28
49 days until the Pulse Anniversary
When the knock on the door comes, I’m surprised to see someone I recognize standing there. It’s Sam something, one of the volunteer firefighters in Juniper.
“May you rest in peace, Brother,” he says.
“And you.”
He smiles and sticks his big paw out, shaking mine while nearly crushing it. For a guy who’s not that big, he’s got big hands and a fierce grip.
“It’s nice to see you again,” he says.
“You too,” I say, pulling my hand back.
He introduces himself to Rachel and Rob, who are standing right behind me. “Sam Vaughn,” he says, pumping Rob’s hand even faster than he’d done mine. Then he sees Dad, standing just behind Rachel, and shakes his hand too. “You the dad?” he says.
Dad nods. He’s seeing us off, but he doesn’t know what we’re doing. I told him we were all going out on a hunting and camping trip with a couple guys from town. He never questioned me for details.
“Your son here saved my life,” says Sam. “Back a few weeks ago, in Juniper. Don’t know if you remember . . .”
Dad says, “I heard about it.”
“Right. So I was the idiot who almost ran right into the middle of a gunfight. Had one of the gang that was in the middle of holding up our whole town coming at me, pointing his gun, ready to shoot me, when your boy here took him down.” He points to me while he says this without taking his eyes off Dad. “It was some shooting, believe me. Shot him right in the butt.”
He turns and smiles at me. I remember he thanked me a few times back when it happened. I didn’t think it was that big a deal.
“It was a big target,” I say.
Sam cackles. “Maybe so, but it was still some fine shooting. Well, let’s get going, okay.”
He grabs Rachel’s backpack from where it’s sitting on the floor and we all pick up the rest of our stuff and go out to an old gray pickup that’s parked out front. Sam introduces us to a guy who’s in the driver’s seat. “This here’s a farmer from just up the road a ways, moved in not too long ago. Name’s Jerry Pospisil.”
I recognize him from meeting on the road not too long ago and shake his hand. “Good to see you again,” I say. I’m surprised he’s part of RIP because he’s about my dad’s age. I expected younger guys, like Rick and even Sam, who’s maybe early thirties. I guess anybody who cares about the issues can play a role.
We throw our stuff in the back and start climbing into the back. Sam tells Rachel she should ride up front in the cab, but she shakes her head and gets in back with Rob. I can see Jerry giving her a look, like is she coming too? I say, “Watch out guys. Don’t piss her off or she’ll knock you down and tear your head off.”
Sam and Jerry smile at that. I get in back and Jerry heads out.
The ride in the back of the pickup is rough. There’s no padding, the road is bumpy, and we bounce all over. Rob leans over and yells over the noise of the wind, “It wasn’t that long ago that nobody could ride anywhere without seat belts, remember?”
Rachel and I both smile, but I know I’m too nervous to laugh at anything, and I’m guessing she is too. We drive on country roads in the dark for forty-five minutes or an hour, through a little town about the size of Juniper, and then pull into what looks like the parking lot behind a high school. There we meet up with two other vehicles with a gaggle of people standing around.
Flip greets us first and tells u
s he’s not going to introduce us to any of the others. I see Jake and Rick, one guy and a girl, both black, who look about Rick’s age, so maybe students, and two older guys and one older woman who look like they’re in their thirties, or maybe early forties. I have no idea if anyone other than Rob is gay, but I think nobody cares; that’s not what this is about. It’s about somebody being imprisoned even though they did nothing wrong.
Everyone is wearing dark clothes and holding weapons, mostly handguns except for my rifle, a shotgun by one of the older guys, and what looks like an automatic rifle by Jerry Pospisil. I’ve given my Glock handgun to Rachel with a holster and instructions not to use it unless absolutely necessary.
Rob has his militia-issued handgun, but then Jerry waves him over, reaches into the cab of his pickup and comes out with another automatic rifle and a couple extra clips of ammunition. Rob smiles widely when Jerry hands him the weapon. Jerry says it’s basically a newer model AK-47, and Rob says it’s nicer than anything he got to fire in his ROTC training.
Flip gathers us around and hands out red bandanas, which he tells us to wear at all times so the guards and staff won’t be able to identify us when this is all over. He says we’ll wait here a couple hours until it gets really late and most of the guards and staff at the camp will be asleep. He outlines the plan for us. He says it’s basically a summer church camp with a main lodge building and a number of cabins, each holding six to eight prisoners. The guards have a couple cabins and the lodge that they hang out in. They’ve fenced the place with rolls of barbed wire to keep the campers in. There’s one entrance, which is guarded, and there are a couple guards who patrol the grounds. “They’ve only been using it as a prison—er, re-education center, excuse me—for two or three weeks, so the setup is very basic and amateurish. It’s designed to keep people in, not to keep people out. The camp sits in a heavily wooded area so it’s easy to get close to the fence in several places. We’ll separate into three groups. One will get control of the gate, one will cut the fence and come in at the rear of the main lodge, and the third will come in through the fence near the cabins.”