After the Fall (Book 2): Catherine's Tale (Part 1)

by David E. Nees

  Catherine felt honored to be given a role in the negotiating. She held back during the calculation process. Tom and Clayton alternated between speaking to the group and walking back and forth between whiteboards with papers in their hands, making sure the counts had been accurately recorded. Periodically the two would sit down, Tom at Catherine’s left elbow, and Tom Goodman or a city representative would take the floor to make a point or correct a count. Occasionally Tom and Clayton, along with Jason, would join with a couple of city people for a brief huddle at one of the boards. It was a strange process of, not only checking the tallies, but also hashing out a consensus on how much one thing should compare to another in trade value.

  Catherine was nervous but determined to do her part to help the process. She felt pressure but also pride in the confidence the older valley members placed in her. She let the men do most of the talking, only intervening when a sticking point arose, and except for a couple of times she did not speak herself but whispered into Tom’s ear. She had discovered that simply listening and observing body language helped her to gain insight into discussions. Now it helped her see how the impasses could be overcome.

  Perhaps a half hour had passed when Catherine found herself watching a man standing along the side wall of the room just behind the tables. The man was a large, tough-looking guy in a black leather jacket, with deep-set, humorless eyes. He was slouched against the wall with his arms crossed. Catherine could see the bulge of a weapon under his jacket. His disdain for the proceedings was clear to her. “A dangerous man,” she thought.

  She leaned over the table to speak to one of the city officials, a small, baldheaded man. She made a small pointing gesture towards the figure behind them.

  “Excuse me. Can you tell me who that is?” she asked quietly.

  The official blinked at her. He glanced at the man leaning against the wall and then jerked his face back to Catherine. “I don’t know,” he whispered back. “I think his name is…Leo?” He seemed very nervous.

  Catherine glanced back again. The man was looking in her direction. His gaze seemed idle, but Catherine felt as if his eyes could see right into her head. She turned forward again, trying to look casual and unconcerned.

  After a while the negotiations were finished. So many rounds of ammunition for so many bushels of wheat, drums of gas and diesel for so many bushels of flour or corn meal, so many Percocet for so many bushels or baskets of vegetables, so many skins or pelts for ammunition and medicine. The long lists they had worked from had been carefully confirmed over the prior three hours of inventory review along with trade ratios. All diligently recorded by both sides. They were done.

  And then, as the final invoice was being written up, the city representatives brought up the ten percent tax.

  There had been no mention of a tax during the proceedings, though Catherine and the others had been waiting for it. Maybe the city representatives thought they had heard nothing of the tax and wanted to surprise them at the end of the negotiations. Maybe they didn’t care.

  Robert Goodman had a charming smile on his face as he stood to announce the tax. He spoke into complete silence.

  Tom Walsh rose to his feet beside her. “We can’t live with ten percent,” Tom said. His voice was firm and calm, but Catherine could hear the strain not far below.

  “It’s what it is. We can’t negotiate tax rates,” Goodman replied smoothly.

  Catherine could see that Tom’s agitation was about to erupt. She took a deep breath and stepped into the discussion. Without getting out of her chair, she asked, “How did you come up with ten percent?”

  Goodman looked at her with a trace of surprise.

  “How did you arrive at ten percent?” Catherine repeated.

  “I’m talking with Tom here,” Goodman replied.

  “I think you’re talking with all of us. And I would appreciate an answer. I think we all would.” She looked straight at Goodman. He seemed to her to be soft, devious, and not to be trusted. The toughening she had experienced had given her an uncompromising perspective on softness in others.

  She waited him out, fixing him with her sharp stare. Finally he responded. “We determined that this is a fair tax since you get to keep ninety percent of your trade.”

  Catherine kept staring at the man. She could sense Tom about to speak, and she put a hand on his arm. “And before the attack, the city had no local tax rates, right?” she asked, then put up her hand as Goodman started to speak. “Let me finish my point. From what I’ve been told, the state imposed a sales tax rate of five percent. It seems to me that you are, first, taking over the state’s jurisdiction, and second, doubling their rate. That doesn’t seem right to me. Does it seem right to you, Mr. Goodman?”

  Tom smiled. Goodman stammered for a moment. “We have to apply a tax now. There is no state entity and they don’t provide us with any revenue anymore. And the rate may be double but these are hard times and the city needs the additional revenue.”

  “Maybe to line certain pockets, not to improve the lot of the average citizen,” Tom said.

  “I resent that,” Goodman said in a strong voice. Catherine could hear genuine anger in his tone. “Sir, you know that we are in a state of emergency. The town needs—”

  “However you use the extra funds means nothing to us,” Catherine said. “But wouldn’t you rather collect an extra five percent versus nothing?”

  Goodman eyed her warily. She saw that he recognized her point but would try to dismiss it anyway. “I don’t think you’ve come all this way only to go home empty handed,” he said. “And I don’t think you can speak for the rest, young lady.”

  Tom’s voice was filled with disdain. “She may be a young lady, but she’s been through more than you can ever imagine, or could ever survive, so be careful how you address her.” He leaned over to Clayton.

  “You willing to walk away?” she heard him whisper. “Because that is what it will take to get a deal. The one willing to walk away from the table holds the power.”

  Clayton looked at Tom. He turned to look over at Jason and Catherine. Then he stood. “We’uns go back to the woods. Don’t like it here in town anyway. Don’t like unfair treatment. If we don’t trade, we survive…we take what we need if necessary.”

  Tom turned to Goodman. “Looks like that’s your choice. I think we just agreed to five percent…or nothing. It’s your call.”

  He began to gather up his tally sheets. He waited for a full minute of silence. Goodman stared back at them but didn’t reply.

  “Let’s go,” Tom said finally. He rose. Catherine nodded and got up from the table to join Tom, Jason and Clayton, on their way to the door. As Jason put his hand on the door handle, Goodman called out. “Wait. You don’t have to leave. I can reduce the tax to seven and a half percent. We can split the difference.” He gave them his best smile. The other city reps were staring at Goodman with concerned looks on their faces.

  Catherine whispered to Tom and Clayton. They both nodded. A trace of a smile crossed Clayton’s face. Tom turned back to Goodman. “We’ll give you six percent, but that’s all. We’ll do that so you can brag that you got more than half of your goal. You can be a winner on this. But if we walk, you’ll have to explain the shortage of supplies to your bosses…and maybe to everyone in the city.”

  Catherine saw the man along the wall smile thinly at her. She felt a chill run through her body. Goodman paused, then finally said, “Okay, we have a deal. But don’t expect to get off so lightly the next time.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind as we think about the next time,” Tom said evenly. He walked back to his seat at the table. “Now let’s figure out how we apply the six percent. We want to wrap up before dark.”

  Catherine let out a long sigh as they finally stepped out into the late afternoon. She could see that the crowd had thinned in the parking lot across the street, and the long line of grills had been taken away; now it was mostly just their people. “Thank God that’s—” she sai
d, and then stopped suddenly. Frank Mason was standing on the sidewalk smiling affably at them. He held a small black shopping bag.

  “Jason,” he called out, “I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

  They stared at him as the city representatives poured past, looking as tired of talking as they did. When Robert Goodman emerged he saw Frank and walked over to him.

  “Can we sit down?” Frank asked. “I’ve got a bottle of good whiskey to celebrate the trade deal. And I’ve got some questions for you.”

  Jason looked around at the others. “Okay, but we need to get back soon to exchange the goods and get packed. We want to leave early tomorrow.”

  Tom said, “I’ll go get the exchange going. You and Catherine stay and talk if you want.” His face and tone did not disguise his disapproval of the idea. Clayton Jessup was already across the street.

  Catherine and Jason followed Frank back into the storefront. The long room was now empty, but the overhead lights were still on; the generator still running. Frank put the bag down on the near end of the row of tables with a slight clink. He set out three glasses and produced a bottle of Jim Beam. He gestured for everyone to sit down.

  Catherine reached out and pulled a glass out of reach before Frank could pour. “No thank you. Do you have any water?” she asked.

  Frank turned to Goodman, who nodded and headed for a door at the back end of the room.

  “So what do you want to talk about?” Jason asked, taking a glass of whiskey.

  Frank lifted his glass. “First, here’s to a successful day. A good trade made for all.” He and Jason raised their glasses and sipped. Frank politely clinked his glass against Catherine’s empty one. “I understand that the young lady here had it out with Mr. Goodman…and came out on top.”

  “My name is Catherine,” she said. “I don’t think I, we came out so much on top as we helped Mr. Goodman see the wisdom in compromise.”

  “You are quite precocious, if I might say,” Frank replied, smiling at her. “How old are you?”

  “Frank, it’s not polite to ask a lady her age,” Jason said. His smile kept the comment light.

  “I’m nineteen, but that seems to be old enough to fight, and kill to defend myself. And to see how people can be taken advantage of and to not want to let that happen to me or the people I know and love,” Catherine said.

  Frank stared at her. Finally he exclaimed, “Well said!” Turning to Jason, he became serious. “The reason I want to talk with you…somewhat in private, is that we’d like to purchase some seed from you.”

  Catherine was taken aback by that simple-sounding request. Jason’s face was like stone. He sat still in his chair and sipped his whiskey thoughtfully. Finally he responded, “We don’t have any extra seed to do that. Give us a couple of years of harvests and we can think about that. But not now.”

  “That’s unfortunate. We could use the help right now,” Frank said.

  “What do you want the seed for?” Catherine asked.

  Frank turned to her and smiled. His smile did not quite hide his disdain at being questioned by a teenager. “It’s to allow us to begin farming. We have open plots of land that we can use to raise crops. And we need to replenish the whiskey supply. This,” he pointed to the Jim Beam bottle, “won’t last forever.”

  Jason’s voice was sharp. “We definitely don’t have enough seed to use for whiskey-making. In any case, I thought you had some seed stock.”

  “We do, but it’s hybrid seed. You know we won’t get a second generation out of it.”

  “But it will allow you to do some of what you want to do for one season,” Catherine said. “And further, if we gave you some non-hybrid seed, wouldn’t we just be putting ourselves out of business?”

  There was a silence in the room. Goodman had just returned from the back, carrying a plastic jug; he looked carefully at her as he filled her glass. Jason turned to look at her as well.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Frank replied.

  “So, what would you say?” Catherine asked. She wanted to press the point, get it out on the table. “We make our livelihood farming, bringing you food. You’ll be developing goods and services we’ll need. That seems like a good relationship. Now if you farm, you can just cut us out of the loop. What do we get out of that?”

  “Well, I would say that we all have to help one another. These are difficult times. We’re not in conflict. We have to work together to secure our future. You don’t want gangs taking over and neither do we.”

  “Our reception here in town didn’t seem like we were working together. It seemed more like potential conflict,” Jason said.

  Frank waved his hand in dismissal. “That was just a misunderstanding. Now that we know each other better, we won’t have issues.”

  “Does that mean we will be able to bring our weapons into town the next time we come?” Jason asked.

  “No. That’s an important rule we have to maintain in order to keep the peace. But we can see about lifting the other restrictions.”

  “Like moving around in town? Coming and going as we please?” Catherine asked.

  “Maybe…we’ll see. But let’s get back to what I asked. We need to work together.”

  Jason’s voice was calm, reassuring “I think we need to learn more about one another, get to trust one another better, get comfortable with each other. Then we can talk about sharing seed stock. In the meantime you won’t starve.”

  Catherine nodded. “You have some food reserves of your own, and you can trust that we have a strong self-interest in doing business with the town, so there will be shipments coming from the countryside. We’ll have time to see if your request will work for us.”

  Jason finished the last of his whiskey and stood. “Thanks for the drink. It’s been a long time since I tasted something like that.”

  Frank nodded and got up. He held out his hand, and Jason took it. Turning to Catherine, he offered his hand to her. “It has been a surprise and a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. Catherine smiled and shook his hand without comment.

  The work went on until well into full dark. First the visitors unloaded the giant wagons entirely, stacking the sacks of grain by type and arranging the other goods in separate heaps by category. All these goods were then checked once again according to the lists. The lot became a scene of ordered chaos with people running around with papers or carrying sacks or boxes. One after another, city vehicles began pulling in through the entrance where the sawhorses had been removed. The city workers unloaded their contents and the confirmation began again. A separate truck brought a load of fifty-five gallon drums of gas and diesel fuel. Some were used to fill the valley’s barrels and the rest were added to what the convoy would take back with them. As the swaps were confirmed the city would load up their vehicles and drive away. When the entire exchange was finished and there were no more city trucks or cars in the lot, torches were brought out and lit to illuminate the loading.

  Finally it was all done, and the farmers and clansmen circled their pickups and set up camp for the evening. Most of the clansmen spread bedrolls on the asphalt, while many of the farmers slept in the troop truck or in the cabs of the pickups. Anne had brought an old canvas tent, large enough for the whole family, which Jason erected on the pavement using bags to anchor the corners The four soldiers who had stayed with the convoy were staying the night; they claimed places in the Humvee and in the cab of the troop truck, but they seemed to Catherine in no hurry to go to sleep.

  Anne retired early with Adam. Sarah was sulking over not getting to spend any time with her boyfriend Tommy. He and Rodney Gibbs were busy watching over the visitor’s weapons and would not rejoin them until the convoy left town. Catherine had told Sarah that she would give up her seat in the Humvee so that Sarah and Tommy could ride back to the valley together, but she was still upset.

  ”I can’t say I blame her,” Catherine said to Kevin. They were standing together at the side of the troop truck, lo
oking out at the strangely dark town. She put her arms around him. “If I hadn’t gotten to spend time alone with you, I wouldn’t be happy either.”

  “I can’t go and pull Wilkes off the guns,” her beau said quietly. “Well, I could. I’m not going to.”

  Catherine nodded. She hadn’t been going to ask. “Do you really think there’s that much of a risk? At your compound?”

  “No,” Kevin said. “But I haven’t felt completely sure of anything in Hillsboro since we got here.” He nodded toward the Humvee. “I don’t think my people need to stand watches here tonight, either. But I’m going to have them do it. And I’ll join them. If people here think we’re doing it to keep an eye on you, that’s just fine with me.”

  They heard someone approaching and turned. Jason emerged out of the dark. “I need to talk to you about something,” he said.

  “Is Mom all right?” Catherine peered past him towards the tent.

  “She’s fine. She’s already asleep. Kevin, I had a disconcerting conversation with the doctor at the hospital. She didn’t want me to say anything, but I know I can trust you.”

  “What did she say?” Kevin asked.

  “We’ve all sensed some fear in town since we’ve arrived…didn’t need to have anyone tell us about that. But what I heard may be the cause, and it sounds worse than I thought.”

  Catherine listened in astonishment as Jason related his conversation. When he was done, she turned to Kevin. “Did you know about this?”

  Kevin’s eyes were dark and thoughtful. “I know about the school but not the rest. I’ve seen some evidence of intimidation, the lack of freedom, you’d get that with martial law in place. But I haven’t heard of people disappearing. As far as I know, that hasn’t been brought to the army’s attention. It seems what you have are rumors.”

  “There’s enough smoke from what I’ve heard to assume a fire somewhere underneath,” Jason replied.

  “Can you do anything?” Catherine asked Kevin. “You can’t let things like that go on. Can you investigate?”