by N. C. Reed
“I know you don't like it. That's tough. I don't like it either. I never have. But I know there's no way around it, either. We're under constant threat here thanks to all the bullshit that everyone just had to do when the time came even with me telling them not to. That it was bad for us. Dangerous. So now we have to have people like Gordy, ready to defend this place.”
“He could have been killed!” Patricia yelled.
“He could have been killed hunting or working the cattle alone, which he is prone to do and loves,” Clay pointed out. “This is the new normal, Patricia. You have to learn to deal with it because we're not going to get anything else.”
He didn't wait for a reply, turning and walking out of the clinic before she could muster another argument.
Once outside, Clay took a deep cleansing breath and shook his head. Almost every problem he'd experienced since the lights went out had come from his family. Family always complicated things and his seemed determined to be the record setter.
“Always family,” he muttered as he started home. “Always.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
-
The day after Gordy's run in with the dog pack it rained again, and this time it wasn't just rain. It started slowly around daybreak but by mid-morning had turned into a full-on day of thunderstorms, complete with high winds, cloud to ground lightning strikes and even one small instance of hail.
Work parties were canceled save for the most important details like security. The tower was abandoned, but a second cupola in Number Three building was manned to help replace it. The small tower at the cabin area was better protected and the watch was stood there. There was no roving patrol, but one was on standby at all times, just in case.
Clay indulged himself with a rare day off, hoping against hope that since it was coming a storm he wouldn't be needed. He normally pulled a security shift once a day, even if it was just a four-hour watch on the tower or in the radio room, and this was atop all his other duties. Usually if there was a laborious activity somewhere like cutting trees or moving the wood then Clay joined in.
“But not today,” he told himself as he took a bowl of popcorn and a tall glass of water and sat down in front of his television. He was splurging on power today, too. With little sun thanks to the cloudy, rainy day his batteries wouldn't get much of a recharge but he was going to watch a movie, maybe two movies, and relax for just one day withou-
The field telephone that had been installed at his cabin buzzed. Clay looked at it like the demon it was, having intruded on his rare private time.
It buzzed again, insisting upon itself with the demand to be answered, but still Clay resisted.
“You going to answer that?” Lainie asked from where she was busy at her sewing machine.
“No,” he replied, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the television and DVD player.
“Clay, it might be important,” Lainie persisted, lending her help to the phone's incessant attempts to get his attention.
“Someone else can deal with it,” Clay shook his head. “I haven't had a day off since. . .I don't know when I last had a day off,” he admitted after thinking about if for a moment. “I'm not going to have today ruined when- what are you doing?” he broke off his mini-tirade as Lainie made her way to the phone.
“I'm being the adult here,” she told him.
“Don't answer that!” he demanded in what might have been a slightly threatening tone. She just looked at him with a raised eyebrow, as if daring him to stop her. She reached the phone and pulled the headset from the bag before Clay could get to her.
“Lainie,” she said simply, twisting so Clay couldn't grab the headset away. “That's all right, I understand,” she said, twisting back the other way to avoid another attempt by Clay to grab the phone.
“No, he's right here. Wanted to answer it himself actually, but I beat him to it. Bored to tears and nothing but in the way up here. Just looking for something to do. Hold on.” She offered the handset to Clay, a smirk blossoming on her face.
“It's Jose,” she informed him. “Says there is a problem you need to be aware of.”
“I’ll get you for this,” he warned her. “Somewhere, somehow, when you least expect it, I will get you back.”
“Promises, promises,” she laughed over her shoulder, already moving back to her own work.
“What?” he demanded into the headset.
“Sorry to bother you, but we have a bit of a situation,” Jose's voice sounded strained.
“What kind of situation?” Clay asked. “What could be happening on a day like today that needs my attention?”
“We're kind of being invaded,” Jose replied.
“Huh?”
–
The rain had slacked up considerably but was still falling as Clay made his way down to the Troy farm. Jose was waiting for him with the roll up door on Building Two already raised and Clay drove inside, stopping just inside to avoid tracking mud any further into the building.
“What does 'kind of being invaded' mean, exactly?” he demanded.
“There are about fifty people roughly one-and-a-half miles down that road,” Jose pointed toward Jordan. “Moving this way. Some look pretty rough while others are obviously not suffering nearly as much.” He gave his boss a pointed look.
“Plants,” Clay said, and Jose nodded.
“No doubt. Problem is there are children in the group too, and all of them look like they are in pretty rough shape.”
“What the hell are they doing out here in this weather?” Clay wondered aloud.
“Short version says they weren't asked if they wanted to come or not,” Jose predicted. “I doubt they had any choice or say in the matter.”
“So, this is probably Holman's play,” Clay nodded. “Sound the alarm. Whatever the situation is we can't let fifty people have access to this farm. We don't have the resources to care for them.”
“Technically,” Jose began but Clay cut him off.
“And the next fifty?” he asked. “And the fifty after that? Where do we stop, Pancho? Do we stop before we all go hungry? Do we stop after a few of us go hungry? Do we have a lottery? And how do we explain to our own kids that they can't have all they want because we gave it away?”
“I'm not suggesting we keep them,” Jose shook his head. “Just help them.”
“And what will you do when they return wanting that help again?” Clay asked him. “And again, and again, and again after that? At what point do you say no? Do you wait until they show up demanding their fair share?”
“I get it,” Jose sighed, nodding. “It's just hard to see kids doing without.”
“We've seen it around the world,” Clay nodded. “Never thought to see it here, but we should have known it was coming. And damn Holman for putting us in this place anyway,” he added. “Now sound the alarm. We need to be watchful of all the other approaches since this could just be a trick. Have Greg take Abby and the best of the others and occupy the barn, just in case. Put Heath back on the tower at the house, and make sure everyone is on alert. Go!”
Clay looked back out the door, down the road in the direction of the refugees. What would they find there? What would he do? How would he handle hungry women and children trying to survive?
The whole idea had been to avoid this very kind of thing from the start. Just another problem brought to his door by his family, though he acknowledged in fairness that Gordon couldn't really be blamed for Holman bearing his ridiculous grudge for so long.
He waited for his men to assemble so he could go and find the answers to his questions.
It had seemed like such a perfect day to relax, too.
–
“That's far enough!” a loud voice stopped the procession heading down the road. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Everyone in the group looked up from the road to see one man in a poncho blocking their path, bullhorn hanging from one hand while the other gripped a military
style rifle. The women tried to close in around their children in a group, but the men prevented them from doing so.
“We're here to get our share of that food!” one of the men shouted, keeping one of the women and her small daughter in front of him.
“What food would that be?” the mechanical sounding voice asked.
“There's food up there at that ranch and we aim to get it!” another man called out.
“There are crops planted,” the voice informed them. “It will be a long time before they can be harvested though. In the meantime, the families there are doing good just to feed themselves. They aren't in any position to feed others.”
“That's a lie and we know it!” another man shouted, also from behind a woman. “That's a farm and they got cattle and hogs both! And they're gonna give 'em to us or we're gonna take 'em!”
“And just how are you planning on doing that?” the voice wanted to know. “The cows still there have to be maintained to produce new calves to feed people with. Same with the few pigs that are around. If we kill everything today, then there's nothing for tomorrow. How did you folks get way out here?”
“That don't concern you!” the man who had spoken first declared. “And we don't care about tomorrow, we're hungry now!”
“I'm assuming that your boss Mister Holman bused you our here, along with the women you're hiding behind?” Even through the metallic sound of the horn, the voice was mocking.
“I said that don't concern you! Now we're coming through and getting that food!”
Clay sighed as he lowered the bullhorn. He had known this probably wouldn't work, but he had tried it anyway. And his distraction had given everyone time to move into position. He had harbored a silent hope that he'd be able to turn these people around and send them away without violence. That had apparently been a false hope from the start.
“Do it,” he spoke into his microphone. Rifle fire, subdued by suppressors but still loud in the wet brush, rattled from behind the group. The men who had thought themselves safe behind women and children fell dead, caught in the back by men who thought very lowly of those who would hide behind a child.
Shrieking, the eighteen women and equal number of children now did fall into a huddle with each other, clearly expecting to be next.
“Easy now,” Clay raised an open hand. “We assumed you weren't here willingly once we saw that bunch hiding behind you. Are any of you hurt?”
No one spoke. All of them huddled together and looked at the ground, avoiding looking at Clay or any of the other spectral figures that emerged from the woods around them. It was as if they thought avoiding that contact would prevent them from being seen.
“Are any of you injured?” Clay repeated, raising his voice only slightly to make sure he was heard. He had decided no one was going to answer when a timid voice in the back of the group raised a trembling hand.
“My. . .my little boy's arm. . .” she stammered. Before she was finished speaking Tandi Maseo had crossed the road and was examining the child. The boy was about four it looked like and dangerously thin for a child his age. The child's right arm was red and swollen, and it obviously hurt the boy as he tried to cradle it to him and prevent Tandi from seeing it.
“When did this happen?” Tandi asked, looking at the woman he presumed was the mother.
“Two d-d-days ago,” the woman was shaking in the chill of the rain. “He did it,” she pointed to the man nearest her, now dead in the roadway. “When they rounded us up for this.”
“Wait here,” Tandi smiled at her, forgetting that all she could see was the skeletal face mask he was wearing. He made his way forward to where Clay was waiting.
“That child has a broken arm,” Tandi told him. “We need to take him to the clinic and let Patricia set it. I doubt I could do it properly out here, and if it isn't fixed, soon, then the boy will grow up a cripple.”
Clay wanted to scream. The entire reason for coming down here was to keep this very thing from happening. To keep all these people away from the farm. While they might be here unwillingly, that didn't mean they wouldn't take advantage of it. And it took just one woman who wasn't unwilling, that had come here with the intention of working to get inside, to hurt them,
“Doc,” he began, but was cut off by the sound of a vehicle approaching from behind him.
“Now what?” he moaned, shaking his head as his plan came further apart. “Find out how they got here while I see who else is coming to take apart this operation.” Tandi nodded and returned to the group while Clay moved out of the center of the road, waiting. In a few seconds he was rewarded with what else but his parents making their way to where he was in their truck. Gordon stopped a few car lengths from where Clay stood, waiting for his son to approach.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked as calmly as he could.
“Clayton, are you going to send those people away?” Angela demanded.
“Just as soon as I can,” he nodded. “We are going to try and-”
“You can't send women and little children away like that, son,” Gordon objected mildly. “We have to help them!”
“And how do you expect to do that?” Clay asked. “Are they going to sleep in your house?”
“There's room in-”
“Who's going to feed them?” Clay fired another demand at his parents. “We are on fairly strict rations between now and the harvest, remember? How do we add,” he stopped and did a quick headcount, “seventeen, maybe eighteen women and an equal number of children to our food budget and everyone still eat until then?”
“We've got enough meat to stretch things out until then,” his mother insisted, looking at the bedraggled group. “And we can't keep those children out here in this rain, either.”
“I didn't put them out here in this rain, your old boyfriend did that,” Clay snapped back, regretting his choice of words as soon as they came out. “Sorry,” he added lamely. “But my point is valid. I didn't put them here. Had nothing to do with it. And I have no idea how we could possibly feed, house and clothe so many people.”
“Son, you have got to open your heart a little,” Gordon chided gently. “God expects us to be kind to all people, regardless of who they are.”
“God also says charity begins in the home,” Clay seethed at the low blow. “I've opened my heart plenty of times since this started, and it's a shitty thing for you to say to me after all I've done. Now once you explain to me how to get this done, and I mean specifics not platitudes, then we’ll start following your orders. But don't just tell me to do something and then dump it in my lap to do because I'm damn tired of that. I'm tired period, comes to that. Was looking forward to a nice day before all this started.”
“Take them to Building One and we’ll handle it from there,” his mother promised.
“And what will you do when one of them turns out to be working for Holman all along and sabotages our operation so that we're open to an attack?” Clay asked, still resisting.
“We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” his mother replied primly, settled in her mind that she was doing the right thing.
“When crossing that bridge gets someone you love killed or seriously injured, don't bother shedding any tears for them,” Clay told her, his anger burning hot. “It will be your fault.” With that he turned and walked away, leaving his parents in a mild state of shock.
“Rally!” he called out, and his men instantly fell in on his position.
“My parents have decided they want to take all of these people in,” he told them, his voice betraying his anger. “We’ll take them toward Building One, and at that point the Good Samaritan club will take over and likely allow us to be. . .” he stopped, shaking his head to try and clear away his anger.
“Look, it's possible that one or more of these women are working for Holman and will use this as a way to get inside our operation. Expect us to have more trouble, including acts of sabotage. When we get back, we add an additional security pos
ition on Building Two. No one who isn't working there or living there gets inside, and that includes invited guests from our new bunch. In the meantime, we need to get them out of the rain.” He looked at Tandi.
“School bus dropped them off, but the driver didn't stay around,” he reported.
“All right,” he sighed. “Zach, fall into their truck,” he pointed to his parents, “and let them take you to get two pickups to come and carry them to the farm. Tandi, you go as well and carry that kid and his mother on ahead. Warn Patricia and Kaitlin that we have a large group incoming that will likely need examining. Send Someone down with the backhoe,” he added at the last second. “We've got more fertilizer.”
–
It took nearly half-an-hour to get everyone down to Building One, where the women and children from the group were placed inside.
“We’ll have to take them in groups to Building Two for a hot shower,” Angela informed Clay.
“Not happening,” he told her firmly. “There's a shower here,” he pointed to the back of the building. “Use it.”
“We can do it faster over-”
“But you're not,” Clay's voice was firm. “There are entirely too many soft points inside that building, including living quarters for our own people. They aren't getting inside and that is final.”
“Fine,” his mother snapped back. “What if they're injured then?”
“If, and only if Patricia can't treat them here will we escort them to the clinic,” Clay told her.
“You mean under armed guard?” Angela asked. “They aren't criminals!”
“How do you know?” Clay demanded. “Do you know any of them? Even one? Ever seen them before? Know their family? You're big on knowing everyone's family, aren't you? Can you honestly tell me you've ever seen a one of them anywhere around here? That you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that none of them are criminals?”
Angela was about to retort to that when she realized that she didn't know any of them. Not a single one.