by Dave Conifer
It wasn’t enough. Many of the youngest and oldest family members sickened and died, and were buried in the Barrens where they dropped. Those that were still alive had been weakened by thirst, hunger and debilitating dysentery. Jesse himself was evidence of all of this. Besides being filthy, gaunt and emaciated, he smelled like raw sewage.
For weeks they’d moved through the forest, not sure where they were going or what they were looking for, but knowing that it couldn’t be worse than what they already had. Most had given up hope long ago, and had no idea where they even were. When they heard the gasoline generators and the rap of hammers out there in the middle of nowhere that morning, they’d dropped their meager belongings and made a temporary camp, the conflicting emotions of fear and hope pulsing through their minds. Jesse and Luis went forward to investigate. Now Jesse had been captured. Or rescued. He still wasn’t quite sure which. It didn’t matter. Either was preferable to what they’d been living.
“So why’d you bring this guy here?” Del asked Nick. “We got enough problems on our own without gettin’ invaded by a bunch of Mexicans.”
“You heard the story, didn’t you?” Nick asked. “You think we got problems? We can’t just leave these people out there to die. They’re sitting in the woods a hundred yards from here. What do you suggest we do?”
“Is that a serious question?” Del asked.
"I have an idea," Nick said. “It's a win-win deal for everybody involved.”
“Nick, I’m not going to argue about what you did here,” Mark said. “But we can’t ignore threats right outside our own camp. The—“
“Threats?” Nick asked incredulously. “Look at this man. Multiply him by fifty, or however many there are. Do you seriously see a threat here?”
“Maybe not the kind of threat you’re thinking of,” Linda said. “But you know what Grover’s always preaching. These are more mouths to feed.”
“Not you, too,” Nick said. His face hardened. “I know what Grover would say. We all do. But is that what we’re all about? Really? Just listen to my idea, and think bigger. It's more mouths to feed, but it's also--”
“This is for the Committee to decide,” Mark said, cutting Nick off. “We can’t undo what you’ve done, so we have to turn it over to them. I’m not saying you’re right or wrong, but you’ve got to remember your place.”
“My place,” Nick said with disgust. “Look, how about we let Jesse here go, then, if we’re not going to help them? We’re just talking about him like he’s not here, anyway.” Without waiting for an answer, he waved Jesse back into the forest. Jesse looked from face to face, waiting for somebody to tell him he had to stay, and then got up and disappeared into the woods. Nick could only imagine how disappointed he must have been.
“So the plan is to tell the Committee about this, and see what they decide?” Nick asked.
“Pretty much,” Mark answered.
"I still don’t get it about the Committee," Nick said. "I think there are only two members. Grover and Roethke."
"We already talked about that. I'll be passing this on," Mark said patiently. "You can be sure of that."
“Well, how about we put them up in the cabins while we’re waiting?” Nick proposed. “And feed them, maybe?”
“Relax, Nick,” Mark said. “Slow down here. Now I know why Grover’s so worried about you.”
“Yeah. Because I have my own brain,” Nick countered. “He doesn’t like that.”
By then Gary Stocker had sidled over. He gently grabbed Nick’s arm. “I’m with you on this, Nick, but you need to settle down here.”
Nick shook him off. “Weren’t you just telling us we’re short on manpower?” he asked Mark. “Well, here’s an army of workers we can turn loose on building those fortifications that everybody’s so worried about. And they know how to farm too, by the sound of it. I’d think these are the kinds of people we want to add. Right?”
Gary was already nodding his approval. “You have to admit, there's some sense to this,” he said to Mark.
“Yeah, except if we take on this bunch of illegal aliens, we gotta’ feed ‘em,” Del interjected. “We’re already runnin’ low on tacos as it is.”
“Del, shut up for once, will ya?” Dwayne said. “Nobody asked you.”
“You need to learn a little about the chain of command,” Mark said sternly to Nick, his patience finally wearing thin. “But I agree with Gary. It does make some sense. Enough that I can take it to Grover and the Committee to see how they feel about it.”
~~~
Nick wandered back into the woods, not sure what to think or who to think it about. He had to get away from the rest of them, if only for a few minutes. For God’s sake, nobody had to explain to him that the world was now a cruel place and if they tried to help everybody, all they'd do is pull themselves down. He'd been preaching that for months. Sarah had once gone without speaking to him for days over it.
But this was an opportunity to help themselves by helping others. There didn't seem to be a downside, except for feeding them. All he could do was hope that enough people saw it the same way. For the moment, his aim in going back into the woods was simply to reassure the Hammonton refugees that they hadn't been forgotten.
Even so, as he looked for Jesse he began to question the wisdom of his own idea of inviting them to live in the camp before their fate was determined. It seemed like a bad idea after he thought it through. What would happen if they weren't accepted? There really wasn't any point in going back to see them at all, since he had nothing to tell them and nothing to share. Reluctantly, he took one last look and reversed course.
He wouldn't turn his back on the refugees, but he wasn't exactly sure yet what to do about them. Without a word he rejoined the crews at the workshop and got back to building trusses. When he had the chance, he apologized to Mark for being so angry and uncooperative. Life had become difficult and complicated, but that was no way to act.
~~~
Long after the sun had disappeared behind the tree line and the workshop was bathed in shade, Mark announced that they'd work for another hour and then go back to the school for the night. Since no mention was made of the refugees, Nick decided it was up to him to stick up for them. After passing the last batch of truss pieces to the assemblers, he wandered over to the saw table where Mark was coiling up extension cords. "Are we planning on doing anything for Jesse and his people today?" he asked.
"I don't think it's a good idea to let them move into the cabins," Mark began. "Not until we talk to our bosses about it."
"I agree," Nick said. Mark's eyebrows arched with surprise. "I mean, if Grover rejects them, then we have the problem of kicking them out. I get that."
"Good, Nick," Mark said. "That's a relief."
"Can I bring them some food and water?" Nick asked.
"Awe, Nick, that's gonna' complicate things," Mark said. "Then I have to requisition a new load of jerky for tomorrow. It’ll lead to a lot of questions."
"You're telling them about the people in the woods anyway, aren't you?" Nick asked. “It’s already complicated.”
"Yeah," Mark conceded. "Okay. Take whatever you want for them, I guess."
"Can I get Miguel to help me out?” Nick asked. “He speaks the language and all."
"Sure, whatever," Mark said, waving at the air as he walked away.
Fifteen minutes later, after he'd raided the food stores, Nick and Miguel were laboring through the woods with two heavily loaded carts. When they were halfway there, Linda crashed through the brush to join them. "I'm not missing this," she said. Nick wondered if Mark had sent her to keep an eye on them.
When they found the refugees, Nick was completely unprepared for what he saw. There wasn't one of them who looked any healthier than Jesse. Now Nick was having second thoughts about his boastful plans to put them to work. Building fortress walls suddenly seemed like too much for them.
There were about forty refugees, all told. Remembering Jesse's story, Nick
looked for children and counted only six. Judging by the age of the adults, all in their child-bearing years, he knew they must have had to put a lot of kids into the earth along the way. Among the adults there were about twenty men and fifteen women. Knowing they were too weak to defend themselves, none bothered to move from where they were when Nick, Linda and Miguel arrived.
Jesse was the exception. He appeared out of nowhere and shuffled over. "What did they say about us?" he asked.
"First things first," Nick said. "We're here to feed you."
Nick was embarrassed when he saw the tears squeeze out of the corners of Jesse's eyes. It wasn't only about himself. It was obvious that Jesse felt responsible for the welfare of his people. Well, this would help. "We have crates of deer meat and bottles of water," he told Jesse. "How do you want to do this?"
Jesse barked a few commands, and the group organized itself. It wasn't long before water jugs were distributed and the jerky was handed out. Nick remembered something about starving people needing to take it slow when they finally had food, but he decided not to worry about it. They'd be fine. As he watched Miguel making the rounds, speaking a language Nick couldn't understand, Nick felt an incredible feeling of satisfaction. These people were on the verge of death. If nothing else, he'd bought them another week above ground.
"They won't let you in the camp tonight," he told Jesse. He was lying, just a little. Nick himself didn't want to bring them in, either. Not yet. "It's not so simple. But I'm working on something. If I can arrange it, would you like to join us?"
"Me?" Jesse asked, surprised.
“Nick, you’re talking about things that aren’t your call,” Linda said. “You can’t be making promises here.”
"This is the Construction subcommittee," Nick continued. "We're here building our future home. That's where you all would fit in. We'd put you to work, and feed you, and you'd be part of the group. That's my idea, anyway. I'm pushing it with the management. What do you think?"
Jesse wiped his eyes again. "Of course," he said. "You'd be saving our lives. You know that, I think."
"It's not like that," Nick answered. "We need you. There's a lot of work to be done. I see about twenty men, right?"
"Eighteen," Jesse answered. "And the women can work, too. We're all used to working like dogs. But we need to get our strength back. We haven't eaten in a long time."
"I'll bring more food next time," Nick said. "If they let me. Maybe I'll even have a decision for you about whether you're in or not."
Before Jesse could answer, one of his men approached him, a half-empty water bottle dangling between his fingers. Nick thought it was Luis, who'd been with Jesse in the woods earlier, but he wasn’t sure. The man spoke to Jesse rapidly in Spanish.
"What's he saying?" Linda asked Miguel.
"It's hard for me to get it all," Miguel said. "He's from Guatemala or Nicaragua, I think." He paused to listen to a few more words. "I can't understand it. Something like he wants Jesse to ask you to take care of their equipaje." His face wrinkled in thought. "Suitcases. Luggage."
Nick took another look around. Linda laughed. "Luggage? Now that would be different."
"And they have, uh, visitors, coming aqui, I think he just said. Here, I mean."
Jesse turned to them. "We have a few packs that we've carried along with us. Some of them grabbed as many of their possessions as they could on the way out of their houses. Can you hide them in your camp?"
"What about the part about how they’re expecting company?" Linda asked. "What was that about?"
"Oh, that. Every once in a while, mobs come through these woods," Jesse explained. "Bad, mean people who’d take everything we have and kill every last one of us. So far we've stayed out of their sight, but the packs make it a lot harder to hide. We'd like to get them someplace safe."
That hurts, Nick thought. They know we won't take them, so they ask if we can at least take their ratty bags full of junk. All he could do was hope it didn't rain on their hideout tonight. If he had his way, this would be their last night without shelter. In the meantime, there was only one possible response to the request.
"I don't see any problem with that," Nick answered. He could feel Linda's eyes boring into him. Acting without authority had been trained out of her, it seemed to Nick. "Just bring it over and we'll load it on the carts to take back."
“You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ here, Nick,” Linda said. But she looked like she was about to laugh.
"Well, I hope to God you’ll take us in," Jesse said. "We won't last much longer otherwise. Between going hungry and all the crazies out there, we've lost half our people already. I don't think I can bear digging any more graves. Especially the kid-sized ones."
~~~
A few minutes later the three of them wheeled the carts back through the woods and into the workshop. Each cart held an assortment of backpacks, brown grocery bags, and, yes, even a few suitcases. After the carts were parked by the Warehouse door, Nick waved Miguel and Linda away. "I'll stash them," he said. "You two have done enough."
He rolled the first cart inside, found some empty space in the corner, and piled the baggage as neatly as he could. As he moved the bags, he couldn't help noticing the odd assortment of items. There was a clock in one pack. Another contained cooking utensils, a few books and an electric lamp. His heart sank when he came across two soccer balls and a baseball glove. Based on what he’d seen, the odds were low that the owner of these was still with the group. In general, the odd collection made more sense as he considered it. They grabbed whatever was within their reach as they were being run out of their own homes, probably knowing they'd never return.
He brought the second cart in and took a closer look at its contents. More of the same, he quickly concluded. But then, while transferring a canvas sack to the heap, he heard a distinct, familiar clinking sound and knew immediately what it was.
After a quick glance back at the open doorway he gently set the sack down in the pile and pulled it open. In it he found three corked glass bottles, each filled with a pinkish liquid. A collection of rags and newspaper had been packed into the sack, presumably to keep the bottles from breaking. With no label on the bottles, he could only guess what was inside, but it seemed obvious to him. He was holding three bottles of South Jersey homemade wine. And he wanted them.
His mind raced like a computer as he thought this through. He was saving their lives, right? That's what Jesse himself had said. Why not get something out of it?
There were practical considerations. Could he get away with taking all three bottles? How would he hide them? What would he do with the empty sack? In the back of his mind he thought about the poor soul who'd been lugging them through the woods all this time. How could these be important enough for that? Then he laughed cynically at himself for even asking the question, given what he was about to do.
Simply having the sack with him would arouse suspicion, since nobody saw him arrive with it that morning. His secret would never survive the ride in the van. Instead, he took off his hooded sweatshirt. He could stuff the bottles into that. If he held onto it tightly, like a football, he was sure he could keep the bottles hidden from everybody else. And as a last resort, he would offer to share with anybody who saw what he'd done and called him out.
It seemed like an insult to the owner to leave the empty sack, but he didn't know how to get rid of it. He ended up tucking it between a few barrels of nails. When it was eventually found, nobody would have a clue about what it was or where it had come from. Except possibly one person, he realized with chagrin. But Nick would find a way to live with that. He’d have to.
Thirteen
After the extended and quite unexpected break at the cabin, most of which she’d spent motionless on the mattress, Sarah was ready to get back in action. Her wounds were in much better shape, and Dewey had a lot to do with that. He’d patiently torn and cleaned new bandages from the curtains and washed out the wounds on her side several times a day. Th
ey’d learned how to tie the bandages in a way that made it nearly impossible for her to put any extra stress on the area without realizing it. She was sure she could feel the cut closing up and healing. In fact, it was the throbbing of her battered face that hurt more than anything else that morning. A frozen slab of meat or a bag of ice would have done wonders, but she couldn't even remember the last time she’d seen ice.
Overall, despite the swelling of her cheek and lip which had lingered for longer than expected, she felt more excited than anything else as she roused Dewey from the afternoon nap they’d both learned to enjoy each day there. He, too, had been in need of some downtime. Although it seemed as though there’d been ample time for his leg to heal, his injury was actually only a few days older than hers. Now, it was obvious that he was feeling better after staying off the leg for much of the respite at the cabin. She could sense it.
They were reasonably well-fed, although both were tired of their diet of venison and hardtack, as they’d come to call the flour pancakes. They were so hard that they could only be eaten after being doused with water and allowed to soften. They weren’t pancakes anymore, really, Sarah had declared. They were crackers, and that was being generous.
The tranquil period at the cabin had been a godsend, but it was time to get back to the mission. They were so close to her neighborhood now that she felt like she could taste it. She was shocked at how quickly they’d covered ground whenever they were on the move. They hadn't even taken the most direct route. Instead, they’d gone the long way along Dixontown Road to avoid Stokes Street, which was more densely populated in normal times.
Another hour of walking, she thought, and she’d be back in her own neighborhood. Maybe, just maybe, she'd have her husband back, too. It was a long shot, but she wasn't giving up hope yet. It wouldn’t have been an easy task for him to get back to Medford from Boston under the circumstances, but given all that had happened, what else would he do but try to get home?