One of the women said, “You can’t be saying they should just go ahead and kill those three.”
Cecil took a deep breath and scanned the room in the face that had never been more serious. “Look, everybody, I understand what’s happening here. We are letting our emotions get the best of us. Now I don’t want anybody to be killed—least of all innocent individuals. But if we’re really being honest here, those three are not fully innocent. They violated the rules we have here at the compound, and they chose the fate they later got trapped into. None of this would have happened if they’d only stayed put and followed the rules.”
“That poor woman!” one the female homesteaders said.
The captain stared at her long and hard. “It does me no pleasure to see a woman harmed like this, but Grace chose her fate just like the two fellas. Now like it or not, this is the way we are going to handle the situation.”
Hatfield stepped forward. “With respect, sir, I don’t agree.”
Without words, Cecil aimed his eyes at him like a pair of ice picks.
But he went on anyway. “Right now, we are in no position to fight them. We’ve suffered some awful casualties, and just now, we’ve had two more wounded that won’t be ready for battle for at least another couple of days.”
Heads nodded in agreement, which only pushed the captain into a darker mood.
Now addressing the room like a candidate in the middle of a stump speech, Hatfield went on. “Now, if we do what these people say, that will buy us some time, and we’ll be able to fight them at full strength.”
Cecil shot back, “But how can we fight them at full strength if they’ve got those three turncoats right there informing them of our every step! They know our playbook, Trevor!”
“No, they don’t. They know our old playbook. They know the moves we used to make, our old formations, the times we’d change the guards, the ways we’d train. But we can change, Cecil! We don’t have to walk right into the traps. We don’t have to make mistakes like the one we just made when you told us to—” He had gone too far with that one.
The flare of the captain’s nostrils could be seen from several feet away.
After a brief standoff, a homesteader said, “I’m sorry, Captain, but I’m with Trevor on this one.”
More nodded heads and affirmative grunts.
Another homesteader added, “Agreed, we need time to lick those wounds and figure out the next step. Taking these guys head-on right now would be a bad move.”
“Nobody said anything about taking them on head-on!” Cecil spat. “The offer is that if we meet their demands, they won’t harm the three VVs. That’s it. Nothing is saying they won’t attack us immediately afterward!”
“Okay,” Hatfield said, “So we stipulate that if we meet their food demands, they leave us alone. We dole the food out daily—but only if they come to us one at a time, hands high, no weaponry.”
By now, the room was rumbling with agreement.
Cecil surrendered, taking a seat on the couch with a sigh. Rolling his eyes, he said, “Okay. We’ll try it Mr. Hatfield’s way.”
More upbeat rumbling as handshakes were excitedly exchanged. Something in the room’s temperature had changed. The younger man had emerged, and the older man wasn’t happy about it.
23
The whimper of Nathan’s stomach was hard to hide. As the gang lay in the tall grass, watching and waiting, there was no question which way the leader was hoping the compound’s decision would go.
Gary crept up behind him, saying, “So… if they should reject this offer, I would say the best way to attack would be—”
“Shut up!” Nathan shot. “When I want your opinion, I’ll torture it out of you. And for now, the three of you should be busy anyway, getting on your knees and praying they accept this offer. Because if they don’t, we have every intention of carrying out our threat.”
He didn’t look back to see how his words were received, but the silence spoke volumes. He wasn’t messing around. Those three refugees from the homestead had to know that.
Zan approached from his other side, pointing down the horizon. “See that, boss?”
Nathan squinted and spotted a hand in the distance waving him forward. “Okay, guys! That’s our cue. It’s time to take care of business. Remember, guns out and ready to blast away until I tell you otherwise. We won’t know if we can trust them until the deal is complete. Let’s go!”
The gang charged forward, their famished bodies less energetic than usual but loping along just the same. Their guns were out as they reached the fence.
The homesteaders stood there in a formation Nathan didn’t recognize. He sent a scowl to the refuge homesteaders who hadn’t told them about this new look. Then he brought his scowl to the guys behind the fence. “Okay, what’s it gonna be? Do we kill your friends, and eventually you, or do we kill nobody because we’re too busy savoring the delightful food you’ve prepared for us?”
The fat guy with the gray beard stepped front and center. He looked exhausted and annoyed, and when he spoke, it sounded like a beleaguered dad surrendering to his pain-in-the-ass kid’s demand. “We got your food, fellas. But we’ve got some stipulations along with it.”
“Nobody said anything about stipulations.”
“Well, I just did. No agreement, no food.”
Nathan turned to the captured homesteads, grabbed the woman by the hair as she unloaded a shrill scream, and placed a gun to her head. He gestured for the others to do the same. “I’m not sure if your friends would agree with your insistence.”
But the fat guy’s face remained unmoved. A standoff took place.
Scanning the others' faces, he found a little more panic in their eyes, but not enough. Maybe they were bluffing, maybe not. But either way, calling their bluff would mean no food until they could somehow find a way into the compound. And if they did, good luck running it without the homesteader hostages.
Faces hardened. Eyes grew sharper, angrier.
But in the end, Nathan waved the white flag first. “Okay, what’s the stipulation?”
The fat guy shook his head. “No, no. Not stipulation. Stipulations—plural. We’ve got a few.”
“What are they?”
There was a pause as the fat guy waved a younger man toward him, who whispered into his ear. “Number one—”
“No, we’re not doing that. I talk to one guy at a time. If he’s the brain of the operation, he’s the one I deal with.”
“As you wish,” the fat guy said, stepping back. He kept his poker face on as he said, “Mr. Hatfield, you’re up.”
The other guy said, “Number one, you come and pick up your meals one at a time, one day at a time.”
A grumble from his stomach floated over the silence that followed. Everyone pretended not to hear it, but there was no way it could have slipped under their radar. It signaled their desperation. Nathan figured they needed to wrap things up before their desperation would become all the more apparent. “We can do that.”
“Two, when you come, you put your weapons down.”
“Sure.”
“And three, you agree to no more attacks. More attacks—of any kind—mean no more food.”
“Fine. Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“Okay, what’s on the menu today?”
From behind, a voice called, “Chili and cornbread.”
Another rumble shot from Nathan’s belly, this one almost violently loud. “Let’s eat up, guys. Me first.”
Zan elbowed through the crowd and found his boss’s ear. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said.
“Why the hell not?”
“Well, they may choose to poison the food. It might be better to let our captives eat first. If they survive, we all eat.”
Hoping to keep his tough negotiator’s face intact, he swallowed a grin. So he nodded and turned back to the guys behind the fence. Grabbing the woman by the hair once again, he yanked her forward. �
�Here’s the first dinner guest. If you’ve decided to get cute and she winds up not surviving the meal, that means the deal’s off. And that means we come after you all guns blazing.”
Nathan backed away slowly, scanning the faces of the homesteaders. Nothing in their blank stares gave anything away.
Someone from the middle of the crowd stepped forward with a steaming hot plate, the chili and cornbread looking tasty. “Like we said, guys,” he called. “You come one at a time, no guns.”
“Okay, guys,” Nathan called. “Let’s back away and wait our turn, guns down.”
It took over an hour to make sure all of them got fed. Hatfield stood there at the fence next to the guard on duty, watching as they backed away, heading for the barn.
“How long you think the peace will last?” the guard asked.
“Probably until they find another food source,” he answered. “And as they don’t seem like the most resourceful guys in the world, that may take a while.”
“That’d be my guess, too. What happens after that?”
Hatfield paused. “I don’t know, but we’d better have a plan B in place for when they do.”
“The way I figure it,” the guard went on, “if they simply get impatient with the whole thing, they could just—”
But Hatfield spotted something in the distant weeds. He dropped to the ground and yanked the guard with him, pulling his pistol from the holster.
“What do you see?”
He pointed at three moving figures, their bodies unsteady, maybe elderly. They moved closer to the compound. Within seconds they were well within view. A woman and two teenage kids. “What the hell?”
“Looks like a mother and her kids. Not sure what that’s all about.”
Hatfield gestured to the bullhorn near the compound wall. He said, “Why don’t you get on the horn? Let them know this isn’t the place for them to be.”
The homesteader crawled over, scooped the makeshift bullhorn out of the grass, and announced. “Please stop at once. This is private property.
The three figures—now fifteen, maybe twenty feet away—stopped and raised their hands in surrender. “Please!” the woman in the center shouted. “We need your help!”
“I’m sorry!” the guard went on. “I’m afraid this is private property, and you will be—”
Hatfield stopped him with a lifted hand. “Let’s just hear what’s going on. They’re not going to hurt us.”
The homesteading guard nodded, dropped the bullhorn to the grass, then waved them forward.
The two of them rose to the feet, guns still in their hands but aimed at the ground. The closer the trio got, the sadder their story seemed to be. All three of them seemed frail and weak, bones nearly poking through their skin. The woman in the middle held the frightened hands of the kids that flanked her. Both seemed somewhere between twelve and fifteen—just like Hatfield’s kids. Also, one was a boy, the other a girl. In this case, the ages were reversed, with the boy seeming to be older. The woman spoke, her voice fragile. “We’re so sorry. It’s just we’d been watching you for a while, seeing you handing out food. I suppose we just assumed you’d be able to help.”
“No, ma’am,” the guard said. “That food was in service of a special purpose. Our policy is that we cannot—”
Hatfield pulled him aside, keeping his voice low. “Do we have any food leftover from the exchange?”
“Probably a little, but Cecil told us—”
“Do we have enough for three more plates?”
An uneasy pause. “Probably.” But he gave Hatfield a glare.
“Come on. What could it harm?
“All due respect, sir, it could harm plenty. The way the captain explains it, with every meal we give away, we get another hand out coming to the compound expecting theirs. We can’t afford that.”
Hatfield turned, saw the three faces, slack, hoping for the best. “Go and get three more plates of food.”
“But Cecil—”
“If Cecil has any questions, he knows where he can find me.”
The homesteader huffed away as Hatfield moved back to the fence. “Where are you staying?”
“Well, sir, we’ve got a bunker. Well protected and everything. My husband was very meticulous about putting everything together. He was military, in charge of weaponry and whatnot, so we’ve got plenty of everything we might need—although I sure hope we never need those missiles because I sure couldn’t imagine ever firing them at anybody. But yes, the place is well-stocked.”
“Then why no food?”
“Things in the bunker have been in disrepair.
“And your husband isn’t able to…” As soon as the words came from his mouth, the woman’s face went ashen, eyes red.
“I’m afraid he didn’t make it,” she said. “He went out for one final trip on the night of the storm and…”
“I’m sorry.”
Footsteps from behind told him the guard had returned with the plates. He turned to see Cecil, a bag of food in his hands. The captain’s face remained casual as he hefted the bag over the fence and let it drop to the family.
“Thank you so much!” The woman gushed. “If you don’t mind, we’ll just eat it here.”
“Go right ahead, ma’am,” Cecil replied.
As the family squatted in the grass, the captain pulled Hatfield away for a quiet word. “You do know that was a break in policy, don’t you?” he said.
“I do, and I’m prepared to accept whatever you feel I must accept.”
Cecil’s icy face melted into a smile. “Mr. Hatfield, you have some integrity. It takes intestinal fortitude to challenge a man in authority when he disagrees with him, and it does indeed seem you have your share of that.”
“Thank you.”
“But,” he went on, “intestinal fortitude is not enough. I’m prepared to make you my first lieutenant. Now I know you’re not a military man, so that means—”
“It means I’m next in charge after the captain. I may not have served, but believe me, all those years under my dad taught me enough.”
“Good. From now on, I’ll respect what you have to say and I’ll listen. There will even be times when I sense we’re involved in an area that is more up your alley than mine, so I’ll step back and let you take the reins. But none of this will happen if you don’t understand the protocol around here. If you wish to question me or challenge my word, you pull me aside privately and discuss it. You undermine me once, and… well, you may well end up where your friends the VVs wound up.”
Hatfield laughed a little but then looked over to see the Captain wasn’t. “Yes, sir.”
“Very good. And one more thing. With respect comes responsibility. That means we know where to look when your call sends things astray. You have a good night.”
“‘Night, Captain,” he said. The phrase echoed in his head for a while. “With respect comes responsibility.” It sounded like something his father would have said, making it a little scary.
The family sat and ate in silence, faces glowing and eyes at peace for the first time Hatfield had taken a look at them. He stepped to the fence, asked them, “Everything okay?”
“It’s just wonderful!” the woman called. “Thank you so much.”
Within a few minutes, they were finished, handing over the bag and their plates with face-splitting grins. “What do you kids say to the generous gentleman?”
“Thank you,” they chimed in unison.
“Children have to be reminded to show gratitude,” she said. “I’m Jade. These are Kenneth and Dawn.”
“Hello, Mr….”
“Call me Trevor.” He looked back at the woman. “So, what exactly was the problem you were having with the food storage?”
“Well, it’s mainly that we got confused about where certain things go. I don’t recall all the details, but we just made some bad choices, put some food in the wrong containers, and didn’t remember to keep stuff covered. By the time we remembered, it was too
late. And all the food went bad. Do you know where things go if they’re intended for long-term storage?”
Hatfield searched the darkest cavity of memory to retrieve the answer. He recalled hearing his father say something about which kinds of items can be placed in storage and which others don’t need to be.
From behind, the guard said, “A lot depends on how much storage space you have. How much do you have?”
Jade shrugged. “I haven’t measured it. I can’t say for sure.”
A pained looked spread across his face. “I can’t really answer your question if I don’t know exactly what the problem is. You have any pictures of it so I can take a look?”
“I don’t have any pictures. But our bunker’s just a few blocks down the street, by the Takahoma. Next to the red house that had its roof blown off in the riots.
He turned to Hatfield. “Can you take over for me while I go take a look at it?”
“Go right ahead. Just make sure you’re safe out there. It’s getting close to nightfall.”
“No worries,” he said, jumping the fence, rifle strapped to his back.
Hatfield watched the four of them trail off into the distance. It was a sweet image, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if there was a danger to it that none of them could see. The four of them alone, only one of them armed, drifting into a world that had fallen in chaos.
He scanned the landscape, seeing no red flags. But the danger was out there, just waiting. Moments like this made him think of his father and made him wish he were more grateful for his upbringing. His father understood how dangerous and unstable a place the world really was, and he understood exactly how to prepare for it. He’d prepared his son—his only child—to be armed against it. But his son had let him down.
As he watched the setting sun fade behind the wreckage and debris of the city, he hoped for a chance to redeem himself. But for the time being, he was still groping for answers.
24
The gangbanger stayed crouched in the weeds, waiting. Niko was there to take a shot at the guard if one was available, but he didn’t have one. He was close enough to hear the conversation between this guard and the one who took off for the woman’s compound, but taking a shot would be risky. Too many people would come after him before he could have made it back to the barn.
How We Survive: EMP Survival in a Powerless World Page 14