Odd Billy Todd

by N. C. Reed

  “Anyway, like I said, I appreciate it and everything,” Carroll continued, “but. . .I’m not a fighter. I don’t know how. And. . .well, I don’t want to, either.”

  “You ain’t gonna last long, like that,” Billy told him flatly.

  “What?”

  “Things ain’t like they used ta be,” Billy reminded him. “Ain’t nobody gonna fight your battles for ya. You better learn to take care o’ yaself, cause ain’t nobody else gonna do it for ya.”

  “I don’t need anybody to take care of me, if people will just leave me alone!” Carroll almost cried.

  “Yeah, about that,” Pete smirked. “Case you haven’t noticed, that really isn’t how things are going these days.” Carroll’s face flushed at that, and he stood.

  “Well, all I need to do is get home, and I’ll be fine. No more being careless, that’s all. I’ll make sure they can’t take me again. Can you at least give me a ride home?”

  “With what?” Billy asked. He was starting to wish Carroll had run off with the others.

  “How did you get here?” Carroll demanded. “If you were planning a rescue, surely you made provisions for taking everyone away from here!”

  “We weren’t planning a rescue,” Pete rolled his eyes. “Which we told you earlier, had you been listening. We walked here. When we’re done, we’ll walk back.”

  “Walk?” Carroll looked aghast. “It’s. . .it’s fifty miles or better back to Nashville!”

  “‘Bout that,” Billy nodded in agreement. “Better get someway to carry ya some water. Maybe some food, too. Doubt there’s much ‘long the way.”

  “You. . .you could give me. . . .”

  “I ain’t a charity, fella,” Billy shook his head. “Like I said, ain’t nobody gonna do it for ya. You head on out, and good luck to ya.”

  “I. . .you can’t just leave me! It’s not right!”

  “Whole lotta things ain’t right these days,” Billy shrugged. “I don’t recall takin’ ya ta raise. Ain’t my ‘sponsibility. An’ I ain’t aimin’ ta leave off what I’m doin’ ta take ya home, neither.”

  Pete listened as Billy told Carroll what time it was, a slight worry beginning to creep up on him. He’d learned a good deal about Billy over the time they’d worked together. One of the things he’d noticed was that when Billy’s drawl and pronunciation began to go downhill, he was getting irritated.

  Like right now.

  “I demand that. . . .” Before Pete could stop him, Billy was at Carroll’s throat. Or rather his knife was at Carroll’s throat.

  “I done heard ‘bout all yer whinin’ I kin stand fer one night,” Billy all but growled. “You need ta stop. Case you ain’t noticed, I ain’t above killin’ somebody.”

  Carroll’s face had gone completely white, and his eyes were wide enough to see the edge of his eyeballs. His lips trembled, but he didn’t speak.

  “I ain’t carin’ if you ever get to Nashville, hear?” Billy said more calmly. “I got fam’ly I’m worryin’ over, and next ta them, you don’t even exist. Now you got that?” Carroll nodded jerkily.

  “Mister Carroll, I think you ought to consider sitting down, and maybe being quiet for a while,” Pete interjected slowly. “My friend here’s kinda on edge, and you’re making him worse. Trust me, you don’t want to see worse.” He looked at Billy.

  “Billy, why don’t you let Mister Carroll here sit down, and we’ll see if he can be quiet, huh?” The fire went out of Billy’s eyes, and he removed the knife.

  “Just ‘member, you ain’t the only one got pro’lems,” he snarled, and went to sit by the window in the other room.

  “That. . . .” Carroll began.

  “I wouldn’t, was I you,” Branch shook his head. “That man ain’t playin’. He’ll like as not kill you next time. Hell, I can’t say I blame’im. You really are a whiny little shit, ain’t ya?”

  *****

  Everyone had taken a day off at the Farms, seeing to their work around their own places. Jerry and Jon had made the rounds in the fields, checking the crops, and working out between them how they would run the harvest. Both agreed that there was not enough grain storage available, and headed over to talk with Ben, who was working with Ralph and George to set posts for the first hay barn. He listened to them describe what was needed, and then went to Jerry’s to see the older man’s corn crib. After looking that over, he confirmed that he could build more storage, but that lumber would be an issue.

  “We can use logs, I think,” he told them. “But we’ll need a safe way to seal around them, or critters will eat us out of house and home. What can we use for that, that won’t hurt the grain?”

  “Old timer’s used mud,” Jerry shrugged. “I guess we could too.”

  “You know, that makes me think of something else,” Ben mused. “We could use adobe bricks to build some buildings. I mean, it won’t be like the one’s they build out west, since we don’t get that kind of dry heat here. But we could kiln’em. Dry’em out like with a big oven.”

  “We need to score some lumber somewhere,” Jon sighed. “I know we’ve got some, but it’s pretty good stuff, and we need to hold on to it for building projects down the road. We could use rough lumber for grain storage.”

  “We need to build us a saw mill,” Jerry nodded. “We can cut logs and saw our own boards.”

  “That’d be good,” Ben agreed. “For now, though, I need to get back. I want to have that hay barn ready to roof as soon as possible.”

  *****

  The first group of ‘trainees’ was gathered together in the shade of Billy and Rhonda’s yard. By separating into two groups, one would keep working, and keep an eye out, while the other learned to handle the military rifles taken from the National Guard armory in Columbia. Terry and George would be teaching them how to disassemble the rifles, clean and reassemble them, and then how to operate them. Lastly, they would learn to fire them.

  George looked at the group in front of him, and sighed ever so slightly. This would be a long day.

  *****

  “That’s good work, Toby,” Terry patted the boy on the back as he finished putting his rifle back together. “Good job. But then, I expected that from you.” Toby flushed with pleasure at that.

  Everyone else managed to put their rifles back together as well, though none so quickly or cleanly as Toby. George looked at them.

  “Do it again,” he ordered, to a symphony of groans.

  “Listen, people,” he cut their complaints off. “When you get this down, you’re going to shoot these rifles. And they had better be put together correctly, since if they aren’t, they might just blow up in your face.” That sobered everyone, and they went through the process again.

  *****

  George and Terry were fairly pleased with the progress. Everyone had done pretty well. Even the women at the Clifton House had learned to handle the rifles, and operate them satisfactorily. In the event they were forced to defend themselves, or the house, they would be able to do so effectively.

  The same could be said for the handguns. Everyone who didn’t have a handgun had been issued a Beretta, also taken from the armory. The two had discussed, briefly, having everyone use them, so that mags and ammo could be exchanged, but decided against it. Too many people already had their own, and were not inclined to trade. In the end, all of the women at Clifton House wound up with one, every one doing better than expected at the range.

  Neither man allowed himself to think this made the community safe. Safer, yes. But against forty, fifty, or more determined attackers, people who had already crossed a line in the sand, they weren’t safe.

  “We need to have a fall back position,” Terry told George that night, as the two of them mulled over their progress so far.

  “Got anywhere in mind?” George asked.

  “Well, there’s really only two places that will work,” Terry sighed. “It’s either Billy’s place, or the Clifton House. I favor the Clifton Place, because we wouldn’t have to
move all those kids, and there’s a basement to hide them in.”

  “Wouldn’t want to get pinned in there,” George observed.

  “We’d have to make sure we had a way out,” Terry nodded. “And somewhere to go to, if we had to abandon.”

  “If we have to abandon, I don’t think we’d get far, trying to carry everyone,” George shook his head. “I think we just have to bite the bullet here, Terry, and make a stand somewhere. Clifton House is as good as any, and better than most. I say we start fortifying the place, and stocking it for a siege if it comes to that.”

  “Think on it,” Terry finally agreed. “I hate the thought of using that place. But. . .we’ve got to think about so many things. That place meets all of our needs, like it or not.”

  *****

  Toby awoke from a dead sleep, sitting straight up in bed. He was wringing wet with sweat, despite the fan running in his room. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to force his heart to slow down.

  He had been in Franklin again, only this time things hadn’t gone so well. This was the third time he had been awakened by that dream, and it was starting to scare him. Toby didn’t like being scared.

  He looked at his watch, noting that it was three in the morning. He sighed, and rolled out of bed. No sense in waiting. He wouldn’t be going back to sleep any time soon.

  He showered and dressed as quietly as possible, then took his rifle and walked out onto the porch. On an impulse, he decided he’d walk down to the road, and back. There was no real reason why, it just came to him.

  As he walked, his mind ran over so many things. A year ago he’d been just another lazy teenager from his lackluster generation. He didn’t like farm life, he didn’t like school, he didn’t want to do anything much. Never thought about making something of himself.

  He realized that the notion of making something of himself had pretty much been taken out of his hands. So had his dislike of farming. If he wanted to eat, he had to farm. He had to grow crops, raise meat, and keep on doing it. He was learning everything he could from his father. It pained him to think that he might not have many more years with his parents. They had been up in years when he and Shelly had come along.

  We must have seemed like a blessing to them, he reflected. We sure didn’t act like it though. Not until the whole world just up and went to hell.

  And that bothered him too. He wanted to go back and fix all that, but he couldn’t. He knew that, of course, but it didn’t stop his regrets. How often had he left his aging father to take care of things on the farm while he watched television, played video games, and other useless stuff?

  What kind of son does that? he wondered. Billy hadn’t done that, he’d bet money. And since when had Billy become so important to him? He thought back on that, and realized it was the day Billy had brought that trailer load of stuff over to them. He’d done that even after he and Shelly had been so mean to him. Never said a word about it.

  Toby realized that this had been the turning point. Seeing Billy doing that, even when it might not be appreciated, had made Toby stop and think. Not just about Billy, either. It made Toby examine himself. And the teenager hadn’t liked what he’d seen.

  True, Shelly was just as bad, but he couldn’t change that. And she’d done the same thing, anyway. But Toby had decided, about that time, that he could change himself. He could be a good son, a good neighbor, and learn to farm, raise stock, take care of himself, his family, and his home.

  From that time forward, he’d set about proving it, too. Not to everyone else, but to himself. If others saw, that was fine. But the only person who’s opinion mattered to him was his own. He vowed he would never again look at himself in the mirror, and not like what he saw. Not like the man looking back at him.

  He snorted at the thought of a ‘man’ looking back. He had only just turned eighteen as little while ago. In the society that was, he’d still be considered a kid. Unsuitable for any responsibility. He looked down at the rifle in his hands, and snorted again.

  In this new society, so much like that of long ago, he was a man all right. Whether he wanted to be or not. The days of partying, playing, and acting a fool were long gone. In fact, most of the people he’d shared those activities with were gone. No, all of them were gone. As far as he knew, there wasn’t a single person left from his old circle of friends.

  Sometimes he felt alone, despite being surrounded by others. There were no other boys near his age, anymore. Not around here. Danny was the closest, but even then there was four years difference. And anyway, there wasn’t much to do, anymore, except work, and watch.

  He reached the road, and stopped a moment, listening to the early morning air. It would be hot again today. He could feel it already. Air was a little humid, too. Might rain. He sniffed the air, but couldn’t smell any moisture. Maybe not.

  Abruptly he turned, and started back to the house. It would soon be sunup, and he’d have work to do. There was never shortage of work around here. On the return trip, he finally turned to the problem that had led him outside so early in the morning.

  He had to find a way to stop those dreams. Sooner or later he was going to wake up screaming, and that would scare his mother, and maybe his sister. It would concern his father, who would give him the same look he used to give Toby when he was a boy, and Jerry thought he was into something he couldn’t handle.

  Toby couldn’t stand that. He was a man grown, now, and he had to act like it. And that meant no silly ass nightmares about anything he’d seen, heard, or been a part of. He had to get rid of them, and that was that.

  So intent on his thinking was Toby, he didn’t notice his father sitting on the porch until he was already up the steps.

  “Mornin’, son,” Jerry said softly. To his credit Toby didn’t jump, merely looked over to where Jerry was sitting.

  “Dad,” he nodded, sitting down next to him.

  “Up early, ain’t ya son?” Jerry asked.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Toby shrugged. “Was gonna just sit here, and then decided I’d walk down to the road. Quiet.” Jerry nodded.

  “Best time o’ the mornin’,” Jerry breathed deep. “Always did think so. Not hot yet, quiet, good time for a man to sit and think on what worries him. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir,” Toby nodded. “Reckon it is.”

  “Y’know, when I was younger, I’d come out here, and sit, whenever I had nightmares about Vietnam.” He pronounced it vee-et-nahm. “Didn’t want to wake your mother. She didn’t know I’d been to war. I didn’t want her to know. She still don’t know, by the way.”

  Toby nodded, but his mind was racing. His father had nightmares? Had been in combat? He realized that his father had just shared something very personal with him. He felt as if a circle had closed, somewhere. He didn’t know what to say, so he stayed silent. In years to come, however, Toby would look back on this moment with pride that his father had entrusted something like this to him.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love the attention she gives me,” Jerry chuckled. “But some things. . .some things a man just don’t want his women folk to know about. Ain’t proper, that’s all. Ain’t. . .right.” The word was short, and ended the sentence with a power that Toby recognized. Jerry Had Made A Point, he called it.

  “Reckon that’s true,” he mused. Jerry looked at him.

  “How long they been botherin’ you,” he asked calmly. Toby looked at him, then, surprising himself, answered.

  “Week, I guess. Three times, so far. Tonight. . .tonight was pretty bad,” he admitted, almost ashamed.

  “No shame in having bad dreams, son,” Jerry told him firmly, but gently. “Ain’t somethin’ you can have no control over. It’s a manifestation of what you’ve seen.”

  “What did I see, pa?” Toby shrugged.

  “You saw the underbelly o’ the beast, boy,” Jerry’s voice came back firm. “I’d hoped you’d never have to. Made this place, kept it like I did, thinkin’ it would protect you. You and yo
ur sister.” The older man shook his head.

  “Ain’t no way to protect you from what’s happened, Toby. It saddens me you had to grow up like this. If I had my way, you’d still be innocent. Tryin’ to get outta work, playin’ them games o’ yer’s, and workin’ to get around me and yer ma.”

  “I don’t want that,” Toby shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m happy with the way I am now. I’m not lazy no more, and I don’t hate what I see when I look in the mirror. I growed up some. And I needed it.”

  “Maybe so, but not like this,” Jerry said sadly. “I been where you are, right now, Toby. It scares you. Don’t seem manly enough. Makes you feel weak.” He leaned forward.

  “But you ain’t, boy. Hear me? You ain’t weak, and you ain’t soft. You’re a man, but just a man. No more, no less.” He leaned back then.

  “And you ain’t no less a man for bein’ afraid. I wager was you to talk to Pete, Terry, or George they’d tell you the same thing. And, if they was willin’ to admit it, they have nightmares too.”

  The two of them sat together like that, quiet and thoughtful, for a good long time after they fell silent. Dawn was beginning to top the trees to the east, when Toby spoke again.

  “Thanks, Pa.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Billy woke with a start. Something was wrong. He lay very still, working to keep his breathing steady, as he tried to gather his wits. He could hear Pete breathing softly not too far away. He also recognized Branch’s light snoring. What he didn’t hear was. . . .

  Billy shot up, looking around him. Carroll was gone.

  “Pete, wake up!” Billy called urgently. Instantly both Pete and Branch were awake.

  “Carroll’s gone,” Billy informed them both. “Check your gear. Then we need to be movin’.”

  “Little piss ant,” Branch swore softly. “Cowardly little. . . .”

  “We can worry over that later,” Pete chided softly. “Right now, we got to move. Shoulda never trusted him.” The three of them checked things over quickly. It was soon apparent what Carroll had done.