by Mic Roland
Nick looked somber at the thought. The debris-field of FEMA wrappers indicated that they had already done that.
“I need to go put these flowers on Ruby’s grave,” Martin said. “A little break from going uphill won’t be a bad thing either.” Nick nodded and stayed at the edge of the road. Keeping his shifting load in his arms was a challenge.
Martin was relieved to see that the soil was still where he left it — no animals had been pawing around — and his little wooden marker stood where he placed it. He laid the little bouquet of orange and purple mums in front of the wooden marker. He thought he should say something to the grave, but had no idea what. He noticed that the trench had a few more places filled in, beyond Eugene and Keith.
Thoughts of the trench had Martin in quiet musings. The faint sound of racing engines drifted up through the silence. He stopped to listen closer.
“Do you hear that?” Martin asked.
“Yeah. Sounds like maybe a couple cars. A little one and a bigger one, driving really fast. Wonder where that’s coming from?”
“It’s getting louder,” Martin observed. “Maybe the police or something going down South Road?” The engine whine was loud and getting louder.
“Or right at us!” Nick exclaimed. He rushed to get away from the road, spilling his box of food over the damp grass and leaves.
Up the hill sped a small silver sedan, an older model import. It began to sputter. The engine missed then cut out altogether. Martin and Nick watched as the little Nissan coasted past them, losing speed quickly on the uphill grade. It slowly crunched to a stop on the roadside before the crest of Stockman Hill.
Martin bent over to help Nick pick up his fallen food. A neon blue tuner come roaring up the hill. It screeched to a stop in front of the Nissan. The family in the Nissan had climbed out and stood in a little huddle. Out of the tuner stepped two thin young men in baggy hiphop attire. They approached the frightened family with hostile gestures and angry words.
Martin’s instincts got the better of him again. He stepped over to the confrontation. “Hey, take it easy,” he shouted to the first hiphop. “They’re not bothering anyone.”
“No YOU take it easy, chump!” Hiphop #1 pulled a huge pistol out of his jacket pocket and aimed it at Martin with a swaggering one-hand pose. “This ain’t none o’ your business. These people done stole some of OUR stuff and we’re taking it back.”
Martin was caught flat footed. He had his 9mm in his pocket, but also had a bag of beans in his hand. There was no way he could out-draw a trigger pull.
“Yeah, taking it back. It’s ours,” said Hiphop 2. He pulled a chunky black pistol out of his jacket and aimed at the huddled family. The frightened mother was trying to cover her eight-year-old son with her arms.
“You back off, trash, or I pop you too,” threatened Hiphop 1. He waved his big pistol around before pointing it back at Martin. It was an odd piece. It had a very long barrel, longer than Martin would have thought would fit in a jacket pocket. It had no cylinder, so must have been a semi-auto. Yet, the barrel looked fixed and had a rail atop it like Martin’s slug barrel had — only chunkier.
“Don’ make me shoot you too,” blustered Hiphop 1.
“Don’t make me shoot YOU,” came a booming voice from the house beside them. All eyes snapped around to see. Beside the heavy porch post stood a stocky man, silver hair, his eye behind the scope of a long rifle aimed at Hiphop 1. Both hiphops turned their pistols towards the porch.
“I don’t wanna shoot you either,” came another voice. This one came from the house across the road. The middle-aged man stood behind a hedge with a pistol fully-extended and a bead on Hiphop 2’s head. “But I could change my mind.”
“You boys just put your toys on the ground,” boomed the man on the porch.
“Hey,” protested Hiphop 1. “They stole our stuff. We’s just gettin’ back our stuff.”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” boomed porch man. “Put ‘em down before I decide to help you.”
Both young men slowly lowered their hands and laid their guns on the ground.
“Now get back in your car and get out of here,” said porch man. His eye never left the scope.
The young men stooped to retrieve their guns, but the other homeowner shouted. “Not with those. You just leave those.”
“Hey, those are ours,” protested Hiphop 1.
“Back to not caring,” said porch man. “I don’t think you boys ought to have those. You’re acting kind of irresponsible. Now go on, get back in your car.” He waved the barrel toward their car.
The young men looked at each other, as if expecting the other to have a better idea. They slowly walked backward and got into their tuner without taking their eyes off of either homeowner. After a sloppy three-point turn, the tuner roared down the hill and back into the distance.
“Okay, now what’s going on out here?” demanded the man on the porch. He and the man across the street relaxed their stances. Both held their guns at high-ready.
Martin explained about him and Nick living on Old Stockman Road, coming back from Town Hall, the engine roars, the little Nissan stalling and the arrival of the tuner boys. The man on the porch introduced himself as Gene Merdot. The man across the street said he was Lyle Talbot.
“Don’t remember seeing you before,” said Gene. “No wait. You were at that meeting on Monday.” Martin nodded eagerly. “You had a sausage or something.”
“Yeah, that was me.” What a thing to be remembered for, Martin thought.
“You ought not be going around unarmed,” said Gene. “These are kinda dangerous times.” Martin explained about having his 9mm, but a bag of beans too.
“I’m sure glad you guys stepped in,” said Martin. “Not sure what they would have done to these people.” Attention returned to the three newcomers, still in a tight huddle beside their Nissan.
The father introduced himself, as Carlos Perez. He said they came from Manchester. His English was pretty good, but his accent was pronounced. He introduced his wife, Anna, who did not speak, but had the air of an Ethiopian princess about her — albeit a frightened princess. Young Lucas was more eager to talk. He spoke with almost no accent at all. Carlos told how they ran out of gas going up the hill, trying to escape the men in the blue car.
“What do you plan to do with your new friends, Simmons?” asked Gene.
“My friends? But they ran out of gas coming up the hill. I was just walking here.”
“Don’t look at me,” said Talbot. “Got a full house already.”
“Finders keepers,” said Gene. “Looks like they’re yours. Outta gas or not, I’d appreciate them taking their car away too. Don’t want that left in front of my house. Pick up those punks’ guns too. Looks like you need ‘em. And, don’t go around carrying bags of beans. It’s dangerous out here.”
The Perez family looked at Martin as if he held their lives in his hands. He had no idea what he would do with them. The only agenda item on the table was to get their car off the road. They pushed it over the top of Stockman Hill then everyone had a nice ride down the other side.
Nick helped push the Nissan to Martin’s house, thanking him again for helping at the food pantry. Martin reminded Nick to go easy on the portions. He nodded then hurried back to his house, beaming. He was bringing home some food.
“What have you done NOW?” exclaimed Margaret. The Perez family stood in the same tight clump, near their dead Nissan.
“It’s a long story,” sighed Martin.
Margaret came close enough to speak without being overheard. “Martin, we don’t have enough food for three more.”
“Nor do we have enough house. Our septic system will barely handle the seven of us. Ten is just out of the question. We can’t afford to have the septic conk out on us…in the middle of winter.”
“Then what are you going to do with them?”
“Why are they my problem to have to deal with?” Martin raised his voice but lowered it aga
in. “I don’t know what to do with them. I had no idea I would have to know what to do three more people.”
“Well, you always come up with a plan, Martin. Now’s a good time to do it again.”
“What if we just let them stay the night, in the living room, or something. The next town meeting is tomorrow. I’ll ask if there’s any other donor families that might take them.”
The Perez family sat in a little huddle at the back of the living room. They had a small wall of suitcases and boxes in front of them, like kids making a “fort.”
“Lance and Miri brought their own food for supper. Good manners says I should offer these people a supper,” Margaret said softly, “but that might spark some complaints from you-know-who.”
“Oh, um…excuse me,” began Carlos. He had obviously overheard. “We could not take your food, Mrs. Martin. You have already been too kind to us. We have some food things. We will eat those, and thank you muchly for letting us stay in your warm house tonight. We did not know where we would be tonight.”
“But we got away from them, didn’t we papa?” beamed Lucas. His mother shushed him.
“Yes, we did, Lucas, now don’t bother the nice people.”
“It was Los Azules!” said Lucas as if he had uncovered a Nazi plot. “I thought they were going to catch us a couple of times, but my papa, he drives like a race car driver.”
“Now Lucas…”
“It’s true! Like that first time, you turned like you would go right on the highway, but cut back left! They missed the turn completely! That was sooooo cool. That’s my papa!”
Anna tried to dampen her son’s enthusiasm with motherly pats on his shoulders, but Lucas was too excited to notice.
“I knew it was the Azules. Mama didn’t want me to look, but I did, and I saw our house had the blue mark. That’s their color. The Crowns, they use red and yellow. They were marking houses two streets over, so I knew the Azules would come soon. They could not let the Crowns claim our street too.”
“They came to our door a few days ago,” said Carlos. “They said that since the government was not helping the people, they were helping people in the neighborhood — people who had little food. They asked us to give some food for the poor. We did. The next day, they were marking houses across the street. More blue paint.”
“Los Azules,” whispered Anna with dread.
“I saw them arguing with people across the street,” said Carlos. “They hit one woman. I think she did not want to give them food. Since she would not give them food, they punched a hole in the gas tank of her car and drained it into buckets. I was afraid we would be next. So, after dark, I went out to my car. With the wires, I make the fuel pump to run. I have a short piece of the tubing from another fix-up job I did. I pump gas into a soda bottle. Tube is so short, I have to make the bottle tilt. I can only get half of bottle.”
“My papa, he hid the bottle of gas under the floor in the front closet. It was a good thing, too, cuz when the Azules came again, they said they needed more food for the hungry. They did not stay at the door. They came right in and looked all around the house. Said they had to check how much food we had then took a lot in their arms. Mama said there would not have enough for us if they took so much. The men, they laughed. They said that if we had no more food, they would come back and that mama could do something for them.”
Anna silenced Lucas with a finger across his lips.
Carlos continued. “Before they left, they did punch the hole in my car’s gas tank, as I had feared. They drained it into buckets then into a gas can. I did not wait for them to take the last of our food, or anything else.” Anna looked down to hide her eyes. “The police were…well…our street was not in one of their areas, so I knew they would not come. We had to go, but I did not know where.”
“I had Anna pack up the rest of our food and put it in the car. Lucas packed up his clothes. Anna packed ours too. I switched the hoses on the fuel pump so it would take from my bottle. I took my grandfather’s pistol from the hiding hole. I had only three of grandfather’s bullets.”
“We were getting ready to go,” burst in Lucas. “Papa had me hold the soda bottle in the back, with the tube inside. That was my job. I had to tilt it so it almost sloshed out, but I didn’t spill any, papa, even when you were driving like a race driver.”
“Today, the young men drove up to the house,” Carlos said. “They knocked on the door, but of course, we did not answer.”
“We were hiding in the car!” said Lucas. Anna shushed him.
“When they went around to the back to check the back door, I started the car. The men came running, but I drove as fast as I could.”
“I wanted to watch,” whined Lucas. “But I had to hold the bottle. I couldn’t see.”
“I drove down to the big 293 highway and turned east. The young men had a fast car. They were catching up. Where the highway splits north to south, I veered like to south. They were close behind me. Too close. They could not follow when I turned left at the last minute.”
“I could hear their tires screeching! Oh man, I wanted to see,” Lucas whined some more. “It sounded sooo cool.”
“They had to stop and go back, so I thought I could turn onto another road before they saw, and lose them, but there were no other roads in time. I could see the blue dot in my mirror.”
Lucas nodded. “The other kids say Azules never give up.”
“At last there was another road. I turned east again. I do not know the road. We do not go that way often. They followed and were getting closer. They pulled up beside me. One of them pointed a gun. I stepped hard on the brakes and turned right. I did not know that road either. It did not matter. I had to get my family away…anywhere.”
“The roads were so twisty,” said Lucas. “I had a hard time keeping the bottle steady. It helped that there wasn’t much left in it.”
“I drove as fast as I could,” said Carlos. “But I had no idea where I was going. My only thought was to get away fast and escape from the Azules. I thought maybe I had lost them at the last turn, but I saw them again. They were catching up.”
“I passed through your town. When we came up that big hill, the car began to stall. We could not get to the top of the hill.”
“The bottle was empty,” said Lucas.
“My wife, Anna. She begin to cry.” New tears rolled down Anna’s cheeks as Carlos recalled the event.
“We got out of the car, but I knew we could not outrun the men. They were young and angry. I did not know what to do. That is when you and your friends came and saved us. We are very thankful to God that you were there.”
“Gracias,” whispered Anna as she nodded.
“So, you see, Mrs. Martin, we are simply happy to be alive for another day. We will happily eat our own food and thank God for the chance to sleep in your house for even one night. We do not know where we will be tomorrow, but that is okay. It is only through His grace that we have a tomorrow.”
Chapter 12: Difficult Meeting
“Come on, dad. Wake up.” Dustin patted Martin’s face. “You fell asleep in the chair again. You’ve had, like, four whole hours of sleep. Come on. It’s time to give it the big test.”
Martin yawned hard. He shuffled into the bathroom and splashed a little cold water on his face. It did not help. He was simply sleeping standing up and wet. He poured half a basin full, stuck his face in and blew bubbles. He came up blinking and sputtering. That helped.
Coming out of the bedroom, dressed for the day, he bumped into Trish coming out of their room. “Oh…Martin,” she said. “Soooo…What happened last night? Dustin relieved me on watch instead of you.”
Martin tried to, but could not contain yet another deep yawn. He was also not the brightest bulb in the toolshed when he first woke up. “Dustin wanted to get up early and make wood chips for Tin Man.”
“Oh? Oh I see.” She smiled coyly. “That makes sense, I guess. Well, I have to go fetch some more water.” She rubbed past him, e
ven though there was room enough in the hallway to get by.
Martin guessed that she had not yet looked upon her behavior yesterday with horror as he had imagined. He was going to have to set her straight somehow, and in a way that did not send anyone else in the house into rages. Life’s minefield was getting bigger.
Breakfast was more cheerful than usual. It helped that they had saved up enough eggs that everyone could have one egg to go with their cream of wheat. Adam was less cheerful, despite the egg bonus, but Trish seemed to be trying to cheer him up — that things would get better.