Renewal 8 - War Council

by Jf Perkins

  Wyatt turned to Gary Tucker, Jr. and said, “I told you not to torture Dusty Baer. Told you it would just piss ‘em off. Told you not kick the beehive, but you did it anyway, and now you owe me. You owe me until I say you don’t owe me anymore.”

  Gary laughed like he didn’t notice the deadly threat in Wyatt’s tone. “Don’t you worry, Brother Wy. I’ll get you your men. I’ll fix your house. I’ll rebuild whatever we need to build to get those goat-fuckers, because the only thing worse than pissing them off is pissing ME OFF!” Gary alternated between wordless yelling at the sky and stomping around in circles, until Wyatt was forced to turn his head away from the insanity of the ritual.

  Wyatt preferred to watch the remains of his family rise in infinite flame. He said it quietly to himself, “If there’s a time for sadistic sons of bitches, that time is now.”

  Chapter 8 – 8

  Bill Carter had moved himself from his bed on the second floor to his corner study on the ground floor. The tall window was closed against the coolness of midnight air. Bill leaned way back in an old wooden teacher’s chair and kept his gunshot leg propped up on the oak desk, probably salvaged from the same classroom. Terry tried to decide whether Bill was actually feeling better, or if he simply needed to respond to the dense set of decisions coming his way.

  “Hey, Terry. I hear it went smoothly tonight,” Bill said, offering Terry a pinch of tobacco from a waxed paper pouch. Terry waved it away.

  “Smooth as can be, I guess,” Terry replied.

  “John said he bit off more than he could chew with that Jenkins girl. Said you took care of it.” Bill stuffed a sizable wad of the molasses-cured leaf into his jaw, and started working it, like a cow with a cud. He noticed Terry’s surprise at the habit and said, “Keeps me calm sometimes. Now seems like a good time to stay calm.”

  “I reckon it is.” Terry replied with hooded eyes.

  “Ok, Mr. Shelton. I’m taking a wild guess here, but I’d say you’re not feeling too proud of what we did tonight.”

  “That’s true, sir. I mean, I know it’s necessary, but it’s not like they were trying to kill us right that moment. They were just laughing and playing cards one second, and the next second they were just pieces flying through the air. And even Rebecca Jenkins. She was surely trying to kill John, but I didn’t kill her. I thought she would be a prisoner. Now I just wonder if she ever woke up before she burned to death.” Terry looked guilty even as he said it.

  “Listen, Terry. I’m going to let you in on a secret. You sat there this morning thinking the whole thing was revenge for Dusty, right?”

  “It sounded that way, Bill.”

  “It was meant to sound that way. I’m not saying I didn’t want payback for Dusty. I did. I am saying that what we did tonight was necessary for a whole lot of practical reasons, and when they tortured Dusty to death, all they did was give me an advantage. The last thing I want to do is to get our community fired up to fight, but it’s damn well necessary now.” Bill paused to spit brown juice into a brass spittoon on the floor by the corner of his desk. “You grew up hungry. You grew up understanding how close to the edge we live in this world. Yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you found us with our healthy fields, our electric lights and our heavy tables full of food, and you forgot. You forgot how close we all are to the edge of starvation. The truth is that we are one tiny little place in world full of starving people. Now granted, there aren’t that many left compared to the old days, but there are more than enough to show up any day and take what we’ve got.”

  “I understand, Bill.”

  “Well, while you’re at it, understand this. The only real security, the only endgame that pulls all of us and everyone else back from the ragged edge of survival is if we can spread our way of life to everyone who still lives. If everybody has it pretty good, then we can call ourselves safe.”

  Terry lifted his head just a bit. “I think I see where you’re going,” he replied.

  “I’m going there anyway. This isn’t perfect. Nothing with people involved is ever perfect. Sometimes we have to do some really ugly things to get there, and I’ll be honest with you. If I could find somebody who does it better than we do, I’d be happy to turn over the reins to those people and let them make all the hard decisions. Until that happens, we are stuck here fighting for our little slice of ‘good enough’ until this whole state and this whole country starts moving upwards again. So, we try to keep it honest because honesty is part of my idea of the future, but if we have to murder, lie, cheat, and steal to deal with an enemy who will do all of those things to kill us, then that’s what we’ll do. And when it’s over, God willing, we’ll try to hold onto whatever made it worth fighting in the first place.” Bill panted slightly, eyes bulging with intensity.

  “I do understand, Bill, and you’re right. I’ve been here a short time, and everything seems so good that I forgot it’s not automatic.”

  “It’s not. It’s just the difference between planning a day ahead of death - or a year. Any season, we can lose every advantage we have worked years to gain. Right now, after tonight, we may have won the latest battle, or we may have just stirred up a pit full of snakes. We’ll know soon enough, I guess. Kirk’s out right now, following Wyatt and Dragon Junior around. They just found out.”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “My best guess is that we bought some time, but that we’ll end up fighting all the families. They’ll see what we did to the Jenkins and they will feel cornered, ready to fight. I’m sure Wyatt will tell them a version that leaves out what they did to Dusty. As for the Junior Dragon, I can only guess, but my guess is that he has plenty more firepower down in Columbia, and he will bring it all.”

  “Shit...” Terry said.

  “Yeah. If our system works, we’ll survive. If not, then maybe I’m just full of myself, and I’ll condemn us all.”

  “I can’t believe that,” Terry said.

  “Me neither. Deep down, I think we’re right, and I think we’ll win. I’m cocky like that,”

  Bill said with his first grin since Terry walked in.

  “So, what happened with Eugene’s prisoners?” Terry asked, playing his role in the story.

  “Glad you asked. Grab us a couple of beers and I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter 8 – 9

  Luck brought us home to Sally Bean’s farm, no worse for wear unless we counted the shredded tires on our new truck. We limped along behind Mom’s station wagon full of rescued women at our best speed. The tractor could have easily outrun us. When we arrived, we saw the car parked right in front of Sally’s house. Big Bear was flopped on the front porch, seemingly annoyed with being put out during the best couch time of the evening. Thinking ahead, Dad directed Arturo to drive us straight to the hay barn. He pulled the truck inside, up against the loaded hay wagon and George’s old tractor. The headlights threw bulky shadows against the back wall of the barn, making it seem somehow bigger and more sinister than it was in reality. The evening was cool, like all evenings in those days, but in the forties, it was as comfortable as the sixties had felt in years past.

  We left the spoils of our day in the truck and went straight to a supply room along the far side of the barn to load up on dusty horse blankets. We carried them up to the loft and threw open the doors to let some fresh air flow into the empty space. We had a nice overview of the backyard and the house, lit up with candle and lantern light. The glow of the right end of the house shone through the plastic greenhouse layers, throwing a milky light across the ground.

  Dad was unwinding from the high tension of the past hours and started acting a little silly as a result. “Ok, boys. As you may have guessed, we have penises. Thanks to our dead friend Eugene being a bad man, penises are a very bad thing right now, so we - and our penises - will stay out here tonight.”

  We looked at each other in confusion, and Dad walked back down the stairs. We saw him cross the backyard and wait patientl
y on a raised herb bed near the back porch. Kirk sat for a few minutes before he followed Dad out of the barn. He stopped by Dad for a minute and then faded into the shadows. Arturo and I sat, feeling the soft cool air brush across our sweat-encrusted faces.

  “Those women must have gone through a lot,” I said when the silence became too heavy.

  “Yeah, more than I want to think about,” Arturo replied. “You know what your dad was saying?”

  “Yeah. I know that men did bad things to them just because they’re women. I know that Dad’s almost stupid happy to be alive after that.”

  “You’re a smart kid, Bill. How about you? Are you ok?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I was scared when he grabbed me, but I never thought I would die. I knew somebody would save me,” I said, just then realizing it was true.

  “I wish I had your faith,” Arturo said sadly.

  “You do. We’re all family now. The same people who would save me would save you too. I know that if my mom hadn’t shot him, you would have.”

  “Well, I was trying to get there, but you know, there are no guarantees.”

  “That’s why we have faith.” I said, as if it made perfect sense.

  Arturo sat in silence for a long time.

  Eventually, Mom was curious enough to see what we were doing. She looked out the back window of the kitchen and saw Dad sitting on the garden bed. She stepped down from the back porch and talked to Dad for a few minutes. The conversation ended with a long hug and a quick kiss. She went back inside and brought out the two boys. Jimmy and Tommy were bundled up and carrying two sleeping bags. Apparently the penis curse extended to them as well. They followed Dad back to the barn with long serious steps. They knew they were on a mission.

  Once they were up in the loft, they felt the freedom from harsh feminine despair, and began to talk and play. Jimmy ran to his father and gave Arturo a big hug. Then he stood up tall and gave his dad a congratulatory noogie with his tiny fist on Arturo’s dark hair. Arturo laughed loudly, breaking his melancholy spell for the moment, and Jimmy took that as a sign it was time to sing and dance. It was the theme song from a cartoon show that I was surprised to remember at all, it felt like so long ago.

  Sally showed up fifteen minutes later with a pot of chili and enough bowls and spoons for all of us. She left her lantern glowing in the hayloft while she went back for powdered lemonade for us, and a glass bottle full of brown liquid, which she handed to Arturo.

  “That looks like the bottle George gave us,” Arturo said, holding the bottle up against the lantern.

  “It’s the same stuff,” Sally replied. “This is some of his oldest work. He said it was in the barrel for twelve years when he gave it to me, and that was quite a while back. I’m not much for drinking, so stuff like this tends to sit. Tonight seems like a good night.”

  “How’s it going in the house?” Dad asked.

  “Depends... We got one hysterical lady, one who thinks she’s still in the shed, one who wants to kill all ya’ll for getting her in trouble, and the girl. I think she’ll be all right. Kids are more resilient than us old coots.” Sally threw her head back and laughed.

  “I know what you mean,” Dad said.

  “That reminds me... Arturo, been meaning to have a word with you,” Sally said.

  “Ok. What can I do for you, Sally?”

  “Would you mind if I take a look at your leg? I noticed you been limping around pretty hard, and it’s been about a year since you got shot,” Sally said.

  “About a year...” Arturo replied, thinking out loud. A quick review of the year triggered a stormy expression on his face. “Ok, sure. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  “Well, do me a favor and take off those britches. Unless you’re going commando under there. That’s probably more than this old lady needs to see.” Sally smiled as if she wouldn’t mind too much.

  Arturo laughed and said, “My mama always said never get caught without clean underwear.” He slid his canvas pants down his legs and sat on the blankets in a loud pair of plaid boxers.

  Sally pulled the lantern over to his leg and took a look. We could all see the scars, puckered around the bullet’s entry and exit points. Little Jimmy traced some patterns in the air. It looked like he was trying to measure what he saw. Sally put both hands on Arturo’s leg, one to each side of the bullet path. She closed her eyes and moved her lips like she was talking silently to herself. After fifteen seconds, she opened her eyes and removed her hands from his thigh. “Pretty much what I thought,” Sally said.

  “What?” Arturo asked.

  “Now this ain’t no doctor’s office, and I expect it’ll take a lot to convince you, but there ain’t nothing wrong with your leg. It’s completely healed except for those scars to remind you.”

  “It hurts all the time,” Arturo said.

  Sally grabbed a handful of his thigh and squeezed hard. “This hurt?”

  “Not especially,” Arturo said, surprised by her gesture. “Just like always.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m talking about.” She gave his leg another squeeze. “That’s because it doesn’t hurt here.” She poked him right in the forehead. “It hurts here.”

  “What? That’s cra...”

  “Crazy?” Sally asked. “That’s why they call me Crazy Sally around these parts. But it’s not crazy. It’s just how we work. You take a man that hurts when there’s no reason to keep hurting, and I’ll say he’s just feeling bad about something.” Sally looked up and made sure she looked us all in the eye for a moment. “I want you all to hear this. We’re in hard times, and bad things are going to happen. We do the best we can and we move on. We don’t have the luxury of carrying stuff around with us like we used to. Nothing we can do but move on. So when I say to you, Arturo, that it ain’t your leg hurting you, I mean look around in your head until you find what is, and let that thing go. As soon as you do, you’ll be running like a deer again.”

  Sally walked to the loft doors and whistled into the darkness. The soft thuds of Bear’s paws sounded on the bare dirt, and seconds later he was in the loft, panting softly. Little Jimmy ran right up to the dog and wrapped his thin arms around Bear’s massive head. “I’m glad to see you, big buddy!” Jimmy said with delight. Bear pulled his jowly lips back into a grin, making us all forget the serious speech for a moment.

  “Bear, you being afflicted with the same male equipment as these gentlemen, I want you to keep ‘em company tonight. Seems one of our guests don’t think much of dogs.”

  Bear woofed once.

  “All righty then. Goodnight ya’ll.” Sally turned towards the steep stairs and walked to the opening in the floor, and said one final thing. “Forgiveness is the only real magic.” And she was gone.

  We watched her cross the yard and enter her house. The homemade screen door slapped hard as she let it go. We were left with a great deal to consider. We ate chili instead.

  Chapter 8 – 10

  Kirk was angry. It was so simple. He was riding under a canvas tarp in the back of the Junior Dragon’s truck, wedged among the random gear and junk at four in the morning. All he had to do was kill this asshole and bury him in the woods. No one would ever find him, and no army of white-robers would feel the need to come to Kirk’s land to fight. Bill had made it clear, though. “Find out where he’s going and what he has when he gets there. We’ll have to clean up that mess sooner or later, so we need to know what we’re up against.”

  Knowing Kirk’s penchant for easy and deadly solutions, Bill had made the point repeatedly, just to keep Kirk from doing exactly what Kirk so desperately wanted to do. Knock on the window, wait for the truck to stop, and put a bullet in this idiot’s head. Instead, he lay low, waiting to see where he would end up. Kirk fumed. Bill didn’t trust him to let the man live, but he somehow trusted Kirk to escape with his hide intact from Dragon HQ. Here’s hoping... Kirk thought.

  Any minute, something could happen that even Bill would not be able to deny. Someone
could look under the tarp. If that happened, Kirk was certain that person would die, and the Junior Dragon would die by sheer misfortune of knowing Kirk was there. That would be too bad.

  As it turned out, the white-robers were just as bad at security at home as they were in Nashville and the Jenkins farm. Gary Tucker, Jr. drove his truck right through his father’s front gate and into the five car garage. Kirk stopped breathing as the truck’s engine died, and the door opened. He sent all his energy into his body and senses, preparing to strike like a cobra if the tarp moved. He heard the wooden door, presumably leading into the house open and close, waited ten seconds and slid out of the truck. The sky through the eastern window was just turning from gray to a peach color as Kirk made his silent steps across the polished concrete floor. The garage held three exotic sports cars, and one empty slot, besides the truck he had just left. A long set of cabinets and workbenches lined the back wall, neatly covered with reloading equipment and small machine tools. Kirk had a decision to make.

  He pressed his ear to the door leading into the house, and hearing nothing, he decided to make his way inside. The other option would be to head out the door to his right and to lose himself in the trees down the hill. He was here for reconnaissance. He would do his best. The door opened smoothly, and he found himself inside a stark white laundry room. It was clean, but had none of the smells of detergent or clean clothes. He surmised that electricity was not easy here, or not available at all. That was good. He would hate to think these jerks were as well prepared as the folks in Teeny Town. He continued into the house, expecting to encounter a bunch of unhappy servants any second. That was the way of these tin pot dictators, of which he had encountered many.

  He caught a glimpse of movement as he entered the kitchen, but it was in the backyard, seen through the window. It was the Junior Dragon. He was heading for a small building out back. Kirk saw him bang on the door, and heard his voice. “Get out here! I’m back!” A minute later, a motley collection of tired-looking people filed out the door, wearing actual white uniforms, and lined up for a military style inspection. That gave Kirk some time. He roamed the ground floor at high speed, trying to memorize the layout of the house. Failing to find a good place to hide, he was heading upstairs just as he heard a sliding glass door open on the back of the house.