by N. C. Reed
“Only way to find out is to go to Peabody, probably, and we're not doing that,” Clay was shaking his head. “We'd have to use a vehicle which would make us an instant target. We'd almost certainly be attacked, which might lead to casualties. It's not worth it.” Clay studied Leon closely as he spoke. His grandfather was cagey, what older folks called 'sly as a fox', but his need to know all the players was troublesome in their new environment. Clay had to guard against the Old Man's inclination to be a blunt instrument. Leon's power would be greatly diminished in this new reality. While Leon was a staunch realist and knew that things couldn't work the way they had in the past, being accustomed to getting your way was a hard habit to let go of.
“Yeah, most likely,” Leon surprised him by nodding his agreement. “Just. . .might make it easier to plan for, that's all. You 'bout got all your whatnots put together and in place?” he asked.
“Yes,” Clay assured him. “We're as ready as we can be, considering. Big John brought a load, and I mean a load of hardware with him, and I had a lot already that I sto-…, er, picked up here and there after I got back to the States.” Leon chuckled at his grandson's near slip and that chuckle devolved into a coughing fit that saw Marla Jones looking across the room in concern.
“I'm alright,” Leon waved her off before she could get to her feet. “Always cough this time o' year woman. Enough pollen in the air to walk on, ya know.”
“I'm gonna go and let you get some rest,” Clay got to his feet. “You're caught up anyway, and it's time for me to go and get some supper. If I can figure a way to find out what's going on in Peabody without having to go there, or send anyone else, then I’ll let you know. Maybe someone in Jordan knows what's going on,” he mused as the idea came to him. “That might bear looking into. Anyway, take it easy, Old Man. Don't go checking out on me, hear?”
“I hear ya,” Leon nodded, still recovering. “Don't worry about me, boy. I’ll still be here when half o' you bunch is sucking dirt and feeding flowers.”
“I don't doubt that a bit.”
–
“Now, connect that line here,” Tandi said, “and ring the line.”
Leanne dutifully did as requested and heard the phone clicking as someone picked up.
“This is Sentry One,” Corey Raynard's voice came through. He was currently in the small observation post on the east side of the farm, along the road to Jordan, placing the farthest of any position on that side of the entire ranch.
“Sentry One this is Sentry Five,” Zach said from the far side of the cabin areas. The exact opposite of Corey's position, Zach was in the observation point on the west side of the ranch, down the road and past the cabins.
“How copy, Sentry Five?” Corey asked, doing the communications check.
“Loud and Clear, Sentry One,” Zach replied. “I just wanted to call and tell you how ugly you are,” he couldn't help but add.
“Well something had to handicap me, since my john-”
“Hey!” Tandi's voice cracked across the line. “There's a teenage girl up here listening to that crap!”
“I am sixteen!” Leanne all but screeched.
“Do you really want to listen to these two idiots comparing sizes?” Tandi asked. Face suddenly flooding red, Leanne returned her attention to the switchboard without an actual reply.
“Thought so,” Tandi nodded. “Now, either of you two idiots having trouble receiving?” he asked over the switchboard's microphone.
“No sir,” Zach replied crisply. It didn't sound like his mischievous spirit was dimmed much by Tandi's outburst.
“Good here,” Corey said a few seconds later.
“Alright, move to your next spot and we’ll do this again,” Tandi ordered. He replaced the receiver in the bag and looked at a still blushing Leanne.
“I know you're sixteen,” he said quietly. “But I was raised that there were certain things a man doesn't do in front of a woman and running his mouth with juvenile crap like that was near the top of the list. So, don't think I'm somehow making light of you, or see you as less than you are. It's just ingrained habits that I'm too old to get rid of.”
“I understand,” Leanne nodded. “And Leon, Deuce,” she amended, “and I are both too sensitive to it, anyway. We grew up, we're growing up,” she amended once more, “behind Abby and Gordy, and…well, it just seems like everyone treated them more grown up than they did us. That's frustrating in the extreme. It's not like we don't know anything.”
“No, it's more like you know everything,” Tandi nodded. “Ever think the grownups might be intimidated by how smart you are?” he asked. She looked at him quizzically.
“They aren't dumb,” she said, though not in a defensive manner. “Leon and I just. . .we're just. . .” she struggled to explain, but Tandi knew where it was going.
“You're just smarter, Leanne,” Tandi nodded. “Can't be easy for a parent to have a child that can talk above them. Keep that in mind, okay?”
“Yeah,” Leanne nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll try.” Just then the switchboard lit up.
“Okay, let’s see you operate this on your own,” Tandi told her.
“Right.”
–
“You know this thing is just a great big old target, right?” Titus Terry said as he helped Heath finish improving the tower sitting behind the Sanders' home.
“Yeah,” the quiet teen nodded. “That's why I wanted another level of dirt under the floor and in the walls. Good for stopping bullets,” he patted the now thicker walls almost affectionately.
“Still a target,” Titus shook his head.
“Look around,” Heath told him. “I can see for over a mile from up here. And with this,” he slapped the Barrett rifle firmly, “I can target anything out to one thousand yards and destroy it. This is where I need to be when the shit hits the fan.”
“You really are eating this up, ain't you?” Titus shook his head again. “Didn't see that coming,” he admitted.
“Me either,” Heath shrugged. “I still don't understand, to be honest. But yeah, I like it. I don't think I would have if things had stayed the same, you know? But. . .with the way things have changed. . .I don't know. Maybe because of how bad things are it's easier to get into it. That make sense?”
“Sort of,” Titus nodded. “And that's also the most I heard you say at one time since we got here,” he added. “Maybe all this has been good for you after all,” he grinned.
“Maybe,” Heath didn't return the grin, but didn't object to it, either. “Anyway, thanks for the help. With this and the netting across the roof, this thing actually looks like a cluster of trees again, I hope. Closer anyway.”
“And harder to shoot through,” Titus chuckled as he opened the trap door to head down. “Don't forget that. Very important.”
–
“So, we're going to have to fight anyway.”
Joshua Webb's words rang through Leon's living room as the family heads gathered to discuss the most recent events.
“We always knew we'd have to fight eventually if we wanted to hang on to what we needed to care for our families,” Franklin George pointed out. “That's just the way of the world, and more so now. We can't get away from that, at least for the time being.”
“I don't see the problem with defending ourselves and our families,” Darrel Goodrum entered the fray. “Do you, Joshua? Do you think we're doing something wrong?”
“People are hungry, that's all,” Webb replied. “It feels wrong to be fighting people who are just looking for food.”
“Okay,” Leon decided to dip his oar in the water. “Let’s get some perspective on this before it gets out of hand. None of that bunch that came up here trying to take from us was starving. Probably wasn't even hungry if we're being honest. They were looking for food, but only to steal it from us and use it for power over others. So, let’s not allow ourselves to start looking at that trash as victims, alright?” He looked from man to man and saw heads nodding in agreemen
t, including Webb.
“Now we have helped the hungry as well as the down trodden more than once since all this began,” Leon continued. “We carried food to the church, even took 'em a couple cows, and before we got it unloaded some were complaining it wasn't enough and asking why we hadn't brought more. We sent men to town to free those women folk, and lost a good man doing it, too. And we've taken in a fair number of people that had nowhere else to go and probably wouldn't have made it through the winter had we not. Just a week or so ago we took in Ben and Janet Haley's girls, who had somehow made it through the winter, though just barely.” He leaned back again, looking at the men he had decided had the gumption and the skills to help him rebuild.
“It's not like we aren't helping, because we are,” he went on after a few seconds. “But we can't help everyone. We flat don't have the resources to do it, and that is just a cold, hard truth, fellas. And fighting off a bunch of thugs and miscreants like that is in no way wrong. We aren't the ones preying on others here. We're minding our own business and trying to take care of our own families and those we've taken in from around the community. So, let’s not be shedding any tears for a load of thieves coming to strong arm law abiding folks out of their goods. Agreed?” Again, heads nodded all around the room, and even Joshua Webb seemed to firmly agree.
“So, what happens now, then?” Josh Webb asked for everyone.
“Well, we got a crop to put in soon, so there's maintenance to see to,” Leon pointed out. “Be time soon to start culling the herd, and that needs to happen before it gets any warmer so the meat will hold ‘til we can get done with it. Horses will need shoeing, hides tanning, gardens have to be put in. We may can scrounge around and find some unused stuff that will help us, though we have to be careful about that. There's always plenty to be done.”
“I meant about all this. . .looting and shooting and what have you,” Webb raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing to do about it unless and until it comes to our door,” Leon told him flatly. “We are not going looking for trouble. Period. We won't shirk from it if it comes to our door, but we won't be searching for it. There's plenty enough work got to be done that we ain't got time to be out running around getting into trouble.”
“That grand boy of yours is running around digging holes and running wires and what not, making this whole place into what looks like a battleground,” Harley Jessup spoke for the first time. “Seems to me there's a might more going on than just putting in crops and gardens and what not.”
“Can't wait to be attacked to be prepared,” Leon nodded firmly. “Truth is they should probably already done it, but for a while it looked like we wouldn't need it. That appears to have changed.”
“What changed it?” Webb wanted to know.
“That's the sixty-two-dollar question,” Leon snorted. “Not that the sixty-two dollars would be any good anymore.”
–
“We've got a lot done in a short time,” Jose Juarez noted as he, Clay and many of the others sat around a table in Building Two. With the clinic, the communications hut and the apartments, it had become the defacto meeting place.
“We have,” Clay agreed. “I wish it was more, but if we're being realistic, how much more can we do? There's a limit to what we're capable of and I'm afraid we're getting close to it.”
“We are spread thin, that's for sure,” Mitchell Nolan agreed. “Thin enough that I don't think we can add anything else and still cover it all. Not well enough to matter, anyway.”
“The others are showing improvement, but they can't fight outside fixed fortifications,” Nate Caudell told them. “They're taking things seriously finally, after the beating that Gordy and the others laid on them, but. . .it takes time to get up to speed, and I just don't think we have it.”
“Not for this, but keep on it,” Clay ordered. “The fact is, as bad as I want to think otherwise, this is probably only the beginning. Things are going to get worse before they get better. And that's assuming they get better at all.”
“I think eventually it will get better, but it's going to be a while,” Tandi Maseo said. “History shows that mankind will advance, regardless of his circumstances. Right now, the people that remain are still waiting and wanting for the modern world to come back. As new generations come of age, they won't be content to wait. They will forge ahead and try to make a better world on their own. It happened before and there's no reason to think it won't happen again. Maybe faster this time, since there is probably at least some limited tech lying around to help them on their way, and books everywhere describing what has to be done.”
“None of which helps us,” Clay pointed out.
“None of which helps us now,” Tandi agreed. “I was just making the argument that history supports the theory that things will get better. We may not live to see it, but it will get better.”
“Well that's just depressing as shit,” Mitchell Nolan sighed. “Not that I expected any different, mind you, but. . .well, it's one thing not to expect it and another to hear it put into words.”
“All this just makes protecting this place that much more important,” Clay got the discussion back on track. “With that in mind, we need to finalize fighting positions and teams. This is what I've got in mind,” he leaned over the map on the table.
The discussion would last deep into the night.
CHAPTER FOUR
-
Five days after the attempted shakedown, the 'Committee' made their second appearance at the Sanders' ranch.
“We got incoming,” Heath's voice came quietly across the radio. “Two old trucks and a car. The trucks. . .trucks are stopping, hanging back at the very edge of the ranch. Where the fire burned over and across. Car is still coming. The trucks are carrying people, but it's impossible to make out exactly how many, at least from this angle. Maybe a dozen total, give or take. They are not dismounting.”
“Okay, people, we expected this,” Clay replied as he grabbed his rifle and started for his father's house. “Everyone get where they're supposed to be. Be sure and warn the cabins as well,” he reminded whoever was on communication duty.
“Roger that, we're on it,” Jonathon's voice was the one that answered.
“And here we go again,” Clay muttered as he stood waiting for the slowly approaching car. A genuine Caddy this time, Clay noted, a Deville Sedan. Probably a sixty-nine or seventy model he decided idly. Nice cars when they were new and this one had been lovingly cared for by whoever owned it. He wondered if the car had been taken from someone of if the owner was in there right now.
“That's Leonard Howard's old car,” Gordon's voice right beside him almost made Clay jump out of his skin. He managed to suppress the urge to start and simply turned to look at his father.
“You shouldn't be out here, dad,” he said quietly.
“If they're leaving their men behind, they just want to talk,” Gordon mused. “I don't know who's in that car, but I can all but guarantee it's not Leonard,” he continued.
“How?” Clay asked, curious.
“Leonard is older than I am and stove up with rheumatoid,” Gordon informed him. “By now he's out of pain meds and probably all but bed ridden, assuming he's still alive. Doubt he could even be out and about, let alone make a trip way out here.”
There was nothing for Clay to add to that so he elected to stay quiet. The Cadillac rolled to a quiet stop at the end of the driveway, then turned in to clear the road, where it stopped completely. The driver killed the engine but remained behind the wheel as the driver side rear door opened. A man about Gordon's age, wearing an old planter's hat and a powder blue suit emerged from the car, standing up straight and stretching his frame before looking at them.
“That's Hyatt Holman,” Gordon all but whispered. “He owned the plastics plant the other side of Peabody, along with some other places in town, including the Tie Yard Sawmill.”
“I remember his name, but don't think I ever met him,” Clay nodded more to himself tha
n his father. “You guys know each other?”
“We do,” Gordon replied flatly. “We are not what you would call friends, however.”
“Perfect,” Clay sighed. “Well, here he comes.”
–
“Gordon, are you greeting everyone this way nowadays, or do I rate special treatment?” Holman asked as he approached the two Sanders men. He used a cane and had the slightest limp because of it but moved steadily despite that. As he came closer Clay could see gray hair showing from beneath that hat. Holman had red skin blemishes showing on his face, neck and hands that Clay had always heard older people refer to as 'liver spots'. He didn't know what the actual name, or the cause, was.
Holman was tall and only slightly heavy, his frame showing age but not neglect. Clay imaged the man had once cut a figure, as his mother would have said, and still had an imposing air about him. The attitude of a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
“Well, Hyatt, it pays for a body to be cautious these days,” Gordon replied, not moving from Clay's side. “What brings you out here today in Leonard Howard's car? I didn't imagine he'd ever part with it.”
“He was kind enough to contribute it to the cause,” Holman said as he stopped, still ten feet or so from where Clay and Gordon stood. “Being an older car, it still runs. I see you Sanders are doing all right for yourselves despite the end of the world as we know it,” he added, looking around with an appraising eye. “I trust Angela is well?” he turned back to Gordon as he said that, and Clay could see the slightest hint of malicious intent in the older man's eyes.
“She is,” Clay didn't miss the frost in his father's tone when he replied.
Ah, he thought to himself. I think I see why they don't get along now.
“I would love to hear what 'cause' it is that Leonard gave up his most prized possession for,” Gordon said, his arms folding across his chest in a way Clay hadn't seen in a long time.
His father was pissed.
“Why, our rebuilding of course,” Holman smiled. If Clay had entertained any doubt that he might not like Holman, that greasy smile would have wiped it away.