by N. C. Reed
“So they did,” Greg nodded.
“You're more than smart enough to work in the field,” Sienna pressed a little. “And your background may not seem relevant to you, but how many detailed reports did you have to present at work?”
“I generated reports every day,” Gray shrugged. “On everything from what was accomplished to what remained, to what was broken and needed repair. It was an ongoing issue all around.”
“So you can observe and report accurately on what you're seeing,” Sienna stated rather than asked.
“Well, yeah,” Gray drew the answer out. “I still don't see what-,”
“About half of police work is writing reports,” Greg chuckled and Sienna nodded vigorously. “I remember one guy from way back. Great fella, no kidding, but he lacked a little in writing skills. Guys used to get hold of his reports and laugh their ass off behind his back. He lost more than one court case from ill written reports.”
“Okay,” Gray seemed to be thinking that over. “Well, I can do that,” she told Sienna finally.
“The rest we can and will teach you,” Sienna promised. “That's our job. You have to be willing and have to be able, not just physically but also have the intelligence to know what to do and when to do it. You have to be able to make good decisions under pressure, too. Having a job where you are responsible for so much is actually good training for something like this. It gets you accustomed to making decisions in cases where stress is a factor, and in evaluating situations quickly and efficiently.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Gray snorted and Greg laughed at that.
“I hope most of what you do here in your community is just walk around, making sure things are well,” he told her. “But there may well be a time where you will have to stop a crime from occurring. Part of that is knowing there's a crime happening to start with. That takes smarts, and observation skills. And unfortunately, it may require either physical altercation or even gunfire. We always hope not, but the risk is always there.”
“Ever happen to you?” Gray asked suddenly. “Either of you?” she looked next to Newell.
“Afraid so,” Greg nodded. “Not long after all this started, I was in a gun battle in Peabody. Shot four times. My vest caught two of them, the other two were in my leg and arm.”
“Mine was in Afghanistan,” Sienna said quietly. “Our patrol was ambushed with an IED, a roadside bomb,” she clarified when Gray frowned. “One of our vehicles was destroyed and the rest came under fire from two sides. We were trying to see if anyone in the lead vehicle had survived the explosion. Armor don't always work,” she shrugged.
“No, it don't,” Greg agreed.
“Neither of you are really convincing me I should do this,” Gray admitted, looking from one to the other.
“It ain't always like that,” Greg promised. “If not for what was happening in Peabody, I'd never have been shot. For that matter, if I hadn't been alone I probably wouldn't have been shot either. But I was,” he shrugged. “It was my job,” he added, as if that explained it.
“Don't confuse what happened to me with what you're being asked to do,” Sienna spoke next. “I was in a war zone. Surrounded by insurgents whose only mission was to kill Americans, regardless of who they were or what they were doing. It's unlikely you’ll face trained terrorists armed with AK-47s and RPGs. If you should find yourself in that position, then run away.”
“Amen,” Greg muttered. “All right, Miss Gray,” he straightened up, eager to get back on track. “After hearing our tales of daring do, are you interested or no?”
“I really wanna say 'no',” Gray sighed. “But old man Pickett can really lay the guilt trip on, ya know? And most everyone, me included, wanted him to be in charge. Seems like I'd be a hypocrite if I turned him down now, don't it?”
“I can't answer that,” Greg admitted, “but I know what you mean. We’ll train you to do the job if you're interested. I don't think there's any doubt that you're physically able, so I don't expect that to be a problem. What’ll it be?”
“I don't have a gun or anything,” Gray replied, clearly thinking. “I have shot a gun before, but that's not the same as saying I know how to shoot.”
“We’ll provide you with a firearm if you don't have one,” Sienna promised. “And make sure you know how to use it.”
“Well,” Gray sighed deeply. “Seems you've got an answer for everything,” she grinned slightly. “Yeah. I’ll do it, then.”
“Outstanding,” Greg smiled. “Fill this out for us while we keep talking to people.”
***
They had their eight, finally, and three more who would be able to provide support such as writing reports or taking statements once things reached that point. There was one candidate left. A woman who was probably in her forties stepped inside, looking around her hesitantly. She had long brown hair pulled into a single tail behind her, and looked as if she had seen a hard time of late.
“Can we help you?” Sienna asked, smiling tiredly.
“I don't know,” the woman admitted. “I know you were looking for people to become a police force, but I was wondering if you would need someone with secretarial and organizational skills to help?”
Greg was looking at the woman closely as Sienna spoke to her. There was something oddly familiar about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Almost like an itch he couldn't quite reach.
“At some point they are likely to need that kind of help,” Sienna nodded. “At the moment, though, it's just training for the prospective officers.”
“I see,” the woman nodded. “Well, thank you for your-,”
“What's your name, ma'am?” Greg interrupted. “I apologize if that sounded rude,” he added when the woman jerked a bit. “You just seem familiar.”
“My name is Betty Simmons,” she replied carefully, studying Greg now instead of Sienna.
“What?” Sienna almost choked out.
“Do I know you?” Betty Simmons asked Sienna.
“No ma'am, but I think I know someone you do know.”
***
“What do we do?” Sienna asked Greg, once they had calmed Betty Simmons down. She had finally managed to walk, leaving to go and find her husband.
“I honestly have no idea,” Greg admitted. “I don't have the authority to take them to the farms.”
“Well, we don't need a secretary, that's for sure,” Sienna frowned. “Do you know what the father does?”
“If I recall rightly, he was, or is a stone mason,” Greg frowned. “He built chimneys, walls, hearths, that kind of thing. And houses, of course. Not . . . I mean, he put stone around houses built of wood,” he corrected himself.
“I got it,” she nodded. “Is that something Clay would want, assuming they want to go?”
“I . . . he might, especially after Franklin left.”
“That's another thing,” Sienna frowned. “I've not heard a peep from anyone about how they came to be here or what they may have said since they arrived. What's up with that, you think?”
“Son, I need to talk to you for a minute,” Clem Pickett's voice broke into the conversation. Neither had seen him arrive.
“Sure thing, Mister Mayor,” Greg smiled. “What can we do for you, sir?”
“Well, there may be a problem,” Pickett sighed.
***
“He's only got a small crowd listening to him, but . . . that kind of thing grows in a hurry I'm afraid,” Pickett finished explaining. In the time the Georges and their entourage had been in Jordan, they had indeed been busy telling anyone who would listen all about everything they could think of. John Webb was one of their biggest supporters, chiming in about how it was because of the Sanders that so many of his family were dead.
“Well so far, everything you've told us he has said is a flat out lie,” Greg replied, his voice laced with anger. “Not that we didn't expect this, especially from them and the Webb boy. I'm shocked that Marla Jones isn't harping alongside them.”
“That's more or less what they were doing at the farm,” Sienna nodded.
“Well, it don't surprise me that it's all bullshit,” Pickett sighed. “Known Leon Sanders and his son, Gordon, for many a year. While they might not care about the woman being gay, they'd never ignore a child molester in their midst.”
“My best friend walked in on the incident,” Sienna told him. “Mrs. George was trying to get a child from Trudy's arms, shouting at her the whole time. She had seen Trudy changing a diaper and decided it was an easy jump to claim she was abusing the baby. The doctor examined her, though, and said that while she did show signs of abuse, physical abuse and not sexual, it was from months ago. Before she came to be on the farm.”
“And Leon opened a shelter for them?” Pickett asked.
“Had a building purpose built for it,” Greg nodded.
“Well, that's good to know,” Pickett stood, stretching his back. “I don't know how far this will spread, but knowing the truth should help slow it down. Still, you folks better be careful for a bit. There are a few that are riled over that, or over the fact that the Sanders are still eatin' good.”
“I'm not sure 'good' is the right term,” Greg shook his head. “And you can remind those that are angry that the food that was delivered a few days back came from the Sanders family, too. So will the next delivery. They've been feeding other people all winter long. To the point that they're eating shallow themselves at this point.”
“That sounds more like the folks I know,” Pickett nodded slowly. “And that's information I can use, too,” he smirked. “Good thing I came to talk to you, ain't it?”
“Since you're here, what can you tell us about Dan and Betty Simmons?” Greg asked.
“Dan?” Pickett looked surprised.
“His wife was here a bit ago, asking about serving as a secretary for the new police force, once it gets to that point.”
“Betty has been here since the fire,” Pickett nodded slowly. “Working here and there when she was able. But . . . who mentioned Dan?”
“She did,” Greg frowned. “We're pretty sure we know where her daughter is and told her so. She said she was going to find her husband and tell him the good news.”
Pickett didn't react to that immediately, but when he did, there was concern etched on his face.
“Son, Dan Simmons ain't here. Betty walks the town looking for him every now and then, but . . . apparently he was out of town when the lights came and . . . he ain't never turned up.”
“Well . . . shit.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“We can take Mattie to her mother, or she can stay here without her,” Clay was shaking his head. “We are not taking on someone else that can't care for themselves.”
“I think she can care for herself just fine,” Greg replied. “She's just . . . she lost everything, or thought she had, and it affected her. Just like it would any of us.”
“If she's looking around town for a husband that ain't there, then she's got at least some kind of problem,” Clay countered.
“Or she's just keeping up hope that he will show up,” Sienna argued. “There's no cell phones, no pagers, no nothing anymore. He could be in town for days before the two knew each other was nearby. I admit it's not likely since most everyone there knows everyone else, but it's still possible.”
“Possible, but not likely,” Clay repeated. “I'm not . . . it's not that I'm not sympathetic, because I am. It's just that we can't keep taking in people who are a net loss in manpower. We just can't. Everyone here has to be able to contribute in a meaningful way. And like you said, Sienna; we don't need a secretary.”
“Well, what if she could do something else?” Sienna asked.
“Such as?” Clay wanted to know.
“I don't know,” she shrugged. “Maybe she's a good gardener. Or knows a lot about wild plants and what have you. Maybe she's good at preserving food. We don't know what she can do until we ask her. She might have a hobby that can contribute to our upkeep. Sewing maybe?”
“Already got plenty of people sewing,” Clay shook his head. “Gardening . . . I suppose she could help with the greenhouses and seed garden if she's good enough. The wild plant thing would be awesome, assuming she knows any of it, which I doubt. Preserving food . . . there again, is something that might be useful. Not everyone here knows that. My mom, Alicia and Patricia know how, and I think Abby does, a little. I don't know about anyone else,” he admitted.
“So maybe we can talk to her tomorrow and see what she knows,” Greg nodded.
“Or you could take Mattie Simmons to her and leave them there,” Clay said stubbornly. “Mattie is a time bomb, herself. Remember?”
“I think she's past that,” Sienna remarked. “She's been pretty steady since she recovered.”
“Why did you have to tell her that Mattie was here?” Clay almost groaned. “Forget it,” he waved away their arguments. “Yeah, go ahead and see what skills she has. Better yet, Greg, ask my mother if she knows her. She may know something Mrs. Simmons can do.”
“Why me?”
“She's still talking to you.”
***
“I can't win for losing,” Clay groaned once Greg and Sienna were gone.
He did not want Betty Simmons on the farm. For that matter he'd be glad to see Mattie go to live with her mom rather than bringing Betty here. Mattie was probably going to be trouble sooner or later. Better to get her off the farm than let it happen. But . . . he couldn't kick her to the curb unless she actually did something. And he had no doubt that if she found out her mother was in town, wandering the streets looking for her mother, she'd be demanding that her mother be brought here to live.
On the other hand, if they did bring Betty here, that might placate Mattie enough to make her behave. The threat of having to take her mother and go if she screwed up might just keep her in line. And her mouth shut, too.
Hm.
***
“Your mom says that Betty does have a big garden every year, and that she used to help out with the county cannery at the fairgrounds every year when they still did that,” Greg reported later that night. “I guess ‘cause she worked for the county schools?” he shrugged.
“So she can do canning at least, assuming she's not off her nut,” Clay said aloud. “Of course, that might mean that Jordan would need her services, too,” he added. He tapped at his chin with an index finger as he ran the ideas through his head.
“Your mom also said that if you wanted to let her work in the seed gardens, it would free Mattie up for something else. Mattie is a big, strong girl so there's a lot more she could be doing, I guess,” Greg added.
“That is true, but what can she do?” Clay asked absently. “She's a ball player, not a farmer. Doesn't know dick about horses or cattle I'm sure. She can help tend the gardens of course,” he kept running through scenarios in his head. “Help with the . . . ” he trailed off as a thought hit him.
“What?” Greg asked, seeing the change.
“Well, she could help with the school, and teach them some kind of P.E. Maybe get them playing games or something? I know we've got some sports equipment somewhere. And we could probably find some more if we look. It wouldn't have to be full time or anything. Just a couple days a week. Spend the rest of the time working the gardens or helping out somewhere else. I think we might have a winner here,” he smiled at Greg. “What do you think?”
“You're in charge, Oh Great One,” Greg made the forehead to chin swirl that Clay had come to hate.
“You're all in it, aren't you?”
***
“My mom?” Mattie looked stunned. “When did you see her?”
“This evening, earlier,” Greg replied. “She left b
efore we could ask her anything else,” he fudged a little.
“So, what I need to know is this,” Clay looked at her. “Do you want to try and bring your mom here? Or do you want to go to Jordan with her? Either way is fine and we can take you in when Greg and Sienna go in the morning. The choice is entirely up to you. I would only caution you that once you go, it may not be possible for you to come back. We have only a limited number of slots here, and if we were to fill yours with someone at least as useful as you have been, then that would be that.”
“So I have to make the choice right now?” Mattie asked.
“No, not right this minute,” Clay shook his head. “And your mother may not want to come out here, either,” he reminded her. “We can't make her. That will have to be a decision the two of you make. You want to ride in with them in the morning and see if you can talk to her?”
“What do you mean 'see'?” she asked.
“You’ll have to find her,” Greg reminded her. “But Mayor Pickett will probably know where to at least start looking.”
“What will she do if she comes here?” Mattie asked Clay.
“Probably what you're doing now in the seed garden, which would leave you free to help in the bigger gardens, and maybe teach a little sports and activity with the school kids. Maybe organize a ball game or something now and then.”
“With little kids?” Mattie almost wrinkled her nose.
“Well, with school kids,” Clay nodded. “None of them are in diapers.”
“I guess I could handle that,” Mattie nodded. “But I'd like to see my mom first, if I can. Before I decide.”
“Be on the pad by seven tomorrow morning,” Clay told her. “They leave then headed to Jordan. Be prepared to spend the day. They’ll be finishing up their review of the people they've chosen to do the police training while Tandi interviews people for training as medics.”
***
Mattie was on the pad ready to go thirty minutes early. She had spent a near sleepless night, tossing and turning as she thought about her mother, and how no one had mentioned her father. That hadn't occurred to her at the time and when she did think of it, it was too late to ask.