by N. C. Reed
“Seventy-two so far,” Carter answered her. “Most are hungry, but then we are too,” he shrugged. “A few have burns or other injuries and one little girl has what's probably a broken arm. Otherwise it's just scrapes and bruises so far as I know.”
“Seventy-two,” Angela sighed. “I don't have anything like enough canned food for so many,” she admitted. “I'll bring what I can though, and you should encourage others that can to do so as well. And I shall speak to Gordon about bringing a cow or two also. That should help. Red meat helps sick people after all,” she dispensed her wisdom. “Finish up here, boys,” she ordered the group. “We have more to do today.”
“Mom,” Clay tried again only to be cut off by Carter.
“How is it you've still got a truck that works anyhow?” he demanded.
“It was parked in the barn when whatever happened, happened,” Clay replied to that. “Near as I can tell, the barn roof being tin, that protected my truck.” It was more or less the truth, anyway.
“Lucky to have it,” Carter told him. “You should think about donating it to help out,” he added.
“Nothing doing,” Clay shook his head. “We need it just to take care of ourselves. I'm sure there's a few cars and other rigs around that still work. Especially older cars and trucks that didn't have a computer to fry.”
“You Sanders' seem to have an awful lot of luck,” 'Louise' baited Angela again.
“I prefer to think of it as blessings, myself,” Angela gave back sweetly. “The Lord takes care of those who try to do right by others. That's what I always say,” she smiled. “Now boys,” she again addressed her own group. “Let’s finish up. We need to get home.”
“Yes ma'am,” came the collective reply.
-
“I wish you hadn't offered to help out,” Clay said as they made their way out of Jordan. “Helping is fine, but you can't be telling people that stuff. It sets us up for them.”
“Sets us up for what?”
“Notice how that old man wanted the truck for instance?” Clay pointed out. “And when you bring them food and it ain't enough for them all? Good old Louise already pointed out how lucky we Sanders are, remember? How much you want to bet she's telling someone right now that we have a working truck? For starters, anyway.”
“I'm sure she still intends on either burning down Gregory's house or at least thinking it over,” Angela told him flatly.
“Wait, what? You were serious about that?” Clay demanded, slowing down.
“I assure you she is just the sort to do it,” Angela nodded. “And there's no reason to go back, either,” she added. “Keep going. We got everything that Gregory owns from that house and he doesn't own it. He rents it. From now on he lives with us,” she decreed. “Just like Jacob and that lovely little girl of his,” she added almost wistfully.
“Anyway, let her talk,” Angela continued as if she hadn't just told her son that someone was probably burning down his best friend's home. “All it will do is backfire on her when we come to help. And we're helping now because we won't be able to later. People will remember that we've already done our share and more when it comes time that they decide to hold someone responsible or accountable for their misfortune. It might save some lives,” she shrugged.
“None of them can even-” Clay started to object but his mother cut him off.
“Clayton, please give me some credit,” Angela said sadly. “I may not like it, but I'm well aware that you and the others are more than capable of stopping anyone from taking what's ours. I simply would prefer it if you didn't have to. Especially with people that I happen to know. I even like a few of them,” she added.
“Ah. . .” Clay started and stopped with the same partial word. He didn't know what to say exactly and had learned that in such situations it was best to remain silent.
“Anyway,” Angela returned to her first point. “As I was saying, we shall help now when the need is immediate. In doing so we will make sure people know that we are digging deep into the food we had stored for winter to do so, hinting that we will face a starving time before spring.”
“Now, the especially greedy will remember the herd and come after it, but giving away one cow or so now, and a few more through the winter, should keep all but the worst away from us even as it assures us a good reputation among the majority of people.”
“And that minority that make up the worst?” Clay asked hesitantly. His mother looked out the window at the world passing by and sighed.
“I suppose you will be forced to kill them,” she said softly. “I expect you to not be unnecessarily cruel. Do what's needed and no more.” She finally turned to him then. “Please?”
There was only reply to that.
“Yes ma'am.”
CHAPTER FOUR
-
“So, we 'll head into Jordan this afternoon with whatever we think we can spare from what Angela canned this fall and two beef cattle. Someone there should be able to handle slaughtering and cooking surely. If nothing else they can cook a half beef over a fire.” Gordon looked around the table where the family was assembled, expecting at least one objection. He allowed his gaze to settle on Leon.
“Are you expecting me to object?” The Old Man demanded crossly. “I don't see anything wrong with it so long as you take some safety precautions. We can lose cows a lot easier than we can lose one another,” he looked at the assembled family members as he spoke. “All we got is what's right here on this farm and that includes people.”
“That is true,” Clay sighed. “We 'll run the same way we did earlier then,” he told them, taking over for his father. “Dad, Mom, Gordy, Me and Brick can ride in my truck while Mitch and the rest trail us in the Hummer. They can stay out of sight like today, but be nearby if we need 'em. Gordy and I can wrestle the steers out of the trailer and to wherever they want 'em and we 'll ask Brick to unload the canned goods. Mom and Dad can explain what they're doing while we get it done. I want us back on the road soon as we can. We don't need to be out after dark if we can help it.”
“If no one has objections or other comments then let’s start gathering,” Gordon ordered. “Clay, hitch up the small horse trailer while Gordy and I go and round up a couple beefs. Rest of you help Angela gather what she's of a mind to give. Like Clay said we want to step right along. Time's at a premium right now.”
-
“Peeling,” one word came over the small radio as the Hummer left the road to seek concealment once more.
“Roger that,” Clay responded as he saw the big vehicle pull off. It was comforting to know they were close by.
“You still talk like a soldier,” Gordon noted.
“Mostly habit,” Clay shrugged. “We all know what we mean, so we keep using it. After a few years you don't even think about it anymore.”
“Next right, Clayton,” Angela brought the conversation back on track. Clay dutifully made that turn and instantly slowed at the sight that greeted them.
The small road turned almost directly into the large Baptist church parking lot, running less than a block before ending. Normally on a Tuesday the place would have a handful of cars but otherwise be empty. Today was different.
A few people milled around outside, most of them merely walking with hands thrust into pockets and heads bowed against the chill of a slight wind. Clothes hung from several places, probably drying Clay decided. There were a handful of children in sight and two teenage girls instantly starting trying to round them up as they saw the truck and trailer coming.
A running vehicle attracted a good bit of attention, sending some running inside, likely to inform the rest since by the time Clay pulled into the parking lot people were streaming outside. Clay had no more than opened his door when someone grabbed it and yanked.
“I need this truck,” a voice growled. “Move aside-”
The demand was cut short as Clay's elbow shot back and up, catching the offender under the chin. Gordy noted a tooth went flying even as the w
ould-be truck thief straightened abruptly before falling to the pavement, out like a light.
“This is why I wanted to stay at the farm and keep a low profile,” Clay told his father, rubbing his elbow as he spoke. “Not even here a full minute.”
“You expected that,” Gordon reminded him. “We all did.”
“And that makes it all better, don't it,” Clay sighed.
“Gordon?” a new voice called and Clay looked up to see a man with graying hair and wearing a suit coming down the steps of the church building. He guessed the man to be somewhere around fifty and further surmised that this would be the-
“Preacher Williams,” Gordon nodded in reply, taking the offered hand in his for a brief clasp. “Heard you had a bunch of folks in need so we brought what we could to help out. Got some canned food and a couple cows you can slaughter and broil over a fire,” he pointed back to the trailer. “Where's a good place to put 'em?”
“This is a great blessing indeed!” the preacher smiled broadly. “Thank you so much, both of you,” he looked over at Angela who was just now exiting the truck. “Thank you all!” he raised his voice as he looked to Clay, then Gordy and Brick.
“Wait here and I 'll get someone help unload the canned goods. We can place the cattle inside the fence around the basketball court for now.” He hastily gathered help from among the able-bodied men hanging around the building and soon a steady stream of canned food was being carted into the building.
“This ain't much for so many,” one woman noted with a frown. “Why didn't you bring more?” she demanded of Gordon.
“I wasn't required to bring anything,” he reminded her. “As it is we 'll face some hungry nights before spring gets here. Has anyone else brought you anything?” The woman turned up her nose at that and made her way inside.
“Who was that?” Clay asked, carefully watching the people who were still eyeing his truck. Two men had gathered the unfortunate individual who had tried to grab his vehicle. It was only a matter of time before someone else tried.
“How come your truck runs?”
Clay turned at the voice to see a red-haired man that was probably a little older than Gordy standing about ten feet away. Clay could tell the way the man set his feet that he was nursing an attitude and looking for someone to take it out on.
“It was inside our barn when whatever happened went on,” he said vaguely. “Near as I can tell, the tin roof protected it. Otherwise I don't know.”
“We need that truck here,” the man informed him. “You need to leave it for us to use.”
“If I did that, we'd have to walk back home,” Clay decided to try reason first.
“So?” the man demanded, just short of surly. “We walked here from Peabody.”
“Look, I need my truck to get work done,” Clay's tone was one of exasperation. “I can't just leave it here. For one thing I'm not making my mom walk all the way home, and I don't care that you walked here from Peabody, okay? You aren't my responsibility and my mom is.”
“We need that truck,” the man persisted. He was gathering a crowd, some of whom were nodding in agreement while the rest were just watching. Waiting to see how the wind blew, probably.
“There have to be other vehicles around here that run beside mine,” Clay tried one more time. “And how do I bring anything else up here to help out without my truck to haul it?”
“We can always use it to come and pick up your contribution,” an older man who was dressed a bit better said. “Once a week, perhaps.”
“Uh, you do know that growing season is over, right?” Clay asked him. “My mom just brought everything she could spare from her pantry as it is. More than she could spare to be honest but she said we'd just have to tighten our belts a bit and help out. Dad brought two cows for y'all to broil, too. So that 'once a week' won't really work out. And we don't owe you a contribution, while I'm thinking on it. This here is benevolence pure and simple. Not a regular delivery you paid for.”
“What if we just take it?” the redhead asked, almost growling. “There's plenty of us here to just take it. I'd say that makes it ours. What about it?” he looked at those assembled around him. Clay noted more nods of assent than not this time. Well he had tried. He started walking back to his truck, making a hand signal to Gordy as he did so.
“Hey, we ain't done here!” the redhead called after him but Clay just kept going. Reaching his truck, he turned, in no way surprised to see the man and perhaps half-a-dozen more following him. He reached inside the truck and hauled his M-4 out, making sure everyone could see and hear him working the bolt to load a round. Gordy's rifle echoed the sound from the other side of the truck as he guarded Clay's flank.
“Now what was that about taking my truck?” Clay asked calmly. “More of you than there were of us I think you said? That all of you made it yours or some such?” he kept goading.
Three of the others had fallen back at the sight of the two 'black rifles', held in hands that obviously knew how to use them. The others faltered a bit but didn't retreat.
“You ain't gonna shoot nobody at a church,” the redhead sneered.
“You mean like you ain't gonna steal at a church?” Clay replied at once. “Bible says a sin is a sin. I won't be in any more trouble for shooting you than you will be for stealing my truck, so why not?” he shrugged carelessly.
“That's different!” one of the followers shouted. “It ain't the same at all! We need that truck!”
“So do I,” Clay's voice lost all pretense of mock friendliness suddenly. “And I'm tired of this discussion, too. Now you bunch need to clear out before something bad happens to you. Why aren't you helping around here anyway? People providing for you and all you got time to do is try and take what don't belong to you. Tells me all I need to know about you right there, now don't it.”
Face flushing in anger the redhead took two steps toward Clay, but stopped abruptly as he was suddenly looking down the barrel of the rifle in Clay's hands. A bore that looked much larger than it had just an instant before.
“You can't be that stupid,” Clay said flatly. “You really think I won't shoot you? I promise you I got no problem killing you right here.”
“Yeah?” one of the followers on almost sneered. “Ever killed anybody? I bet you ain't.”
“On four different continents,” was Clay's simple response. “Including this one. Had just got home from killing terrorists when this started. Killing you ain't no real leap. So, if you feel froggy, Red, go ahead and jump. Otherwise, get stuffed and then get lost. I'm tired of looking at you.” As if to accentuate that statement Clay made sure they could hear and see when he flicked the safety off.
“What is this?” the preacher's voice cut across the group before anyone could speak again or make a hostile move. “Why do you have those guns out?”
“Man and his friends demanded my truck and said they'd take it if we didn't donate it,” Clay said calmly. “Said they'd need it to come get our weekly contribution, as if they can expect to just come and take from us every week, despite we already brought all we could spare and a bit more. That's why.”
“Is this true?” the preacher demanded of the group accosting Clay. “These people bring the first help we've had since your arrival and this is how you think to repay them? When none of you has contributed a thing so far?”
“We need that truck, preacher,” the redhead just wouldn't let go. “Tell 'em to leave it and go.”
“I don't take orders from the preacher, boy,” Clay growled. “Nor you either. And you can explain to all these good folks how you ran off the only people that had been willing and able to help them so far, cause we're about to leave and we ain't coming back. Gordy!”
“Sir?” his nephew replied.
“Get your grandparents. We're going. No arguments from them either. This place isn't safe. You and your Pa can off load the cows here. They can manage or not, but we're out of here. Brick,” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes?
” the former bouncer replied from where he was watching behind them.
“Make sure my mom gets in the truck safely, you don't mind?” Clay asked. “I need Gordy to help me, and Dad will have to drive looks like.”
“No problem,” Brick assured him, moving toward the front door of the church building.
“Now let’s don't allow one misunderstanding to dimin-” the preacher tried to soothe things only to be cut off by Clay.
“Misunderstanding?” Clay glanced at him before turning back to watch his aggressors. “How is threatening me and mine a misunderstanding exactly? There wasn't a misunderstanding, preacher. There was a strong arm attempt, pure and simple. We won't be back, either. No doubt this bunch 'll be waiting for us next time. When folks wonder why we ain't tried to help out more, just point to these fine gentlemen and explain all about that misunderstanding.” Clay's voice was bitter. He had known this would be the way of it but there was no reasoning with his parents. None.
“What's going on out here?” Angela demanded as she was hustled out of the church by Gordy and then practically dragged to the truck by Brick.
“Clay, what is all this?” his father demanded.
“Get in the truck, Mom,” Clay told her without looking. “Dad, you and Gordy let the cows out and then I need you to drive us out of here. This fine bunch of fellas just tried to steal the truck by force. Mister Reverend here thinks it's a misunderstanding that this outfit informed us since there was more of them than us that made the truck theirs. We're leaving and we ain't coming back.”
“Now just wait a min-” Angela started.
“GET IN THE TRUCK!” Clay yelled suddenly and his mother flinched. “The time for moderation passed the minute this bunch threatened to leave us stranded and then warned us they'd be by weekly for our contribution. Now load up. No more talking.”
“Our what?” Gordon asked, his attitude changing abruptly.
“I told you this would happen,” Clay's bitterness reached a new level. “Now get those cattle off the trailer. Some of these hungry folks can take care of them from there. We are leaving. Now. You're driving.”