by Mic Roland
Martin checked the flower pot under the two beeches. The flatbread was gone. In its place sat a half-dozen cracked acorns and a root of some kind. It tasted slightly sweet. Andy was at least trying to barter.
Martin took the long way home, along the fire trail. There were no other animal sounds. Even the wind was absent from the branches. The peace of the woods whispered escape from the heavy weight he felt.
Coming in through the downstairs door, he heard Margaret laugh in the kitchen above. He had not heard her laugh in quite awhile. He wondered what she found amusing. He walked quietly up the stairs so he could hear whatever the funny story was.
“That sounds interesting, but also like a whole lot of work,” Margaret said with a little chuckle.
Margaret was at the far counter, kneading dough. Standing beside her — too close beside her for Martin’s temperament — was Adam. Their backs were toward him, so they did not see him arrive.
“Oh, I can tell you don’t mind a little…workout…now and then.” Adam’s eyes darted from her chest to her face and back.
Martin could feel his jaw muscles tightening. He silently moved closer. He had no moral authority to object to Eric oogling Susan, but he had every right to object to someone oogling his wife that way. He was not sure how he would object, but he planned to do something once he was in range. He took his hand off the grip of the Hi-Point in his pocket. Society might have deteriorated, but things were not full-on lawless. ‘Thou shalt not murder’ was still one of the Ten Commandments.
“You really don’t get the recognition you deserve around here,” Adam said. “I mean you put all this time into the meals…”
“It’s not just me,” Margaret said. “Judy helps a lot, so do others.”
“Oh I know,” purred Adam. “But it’s really you that keeps things running around here. I just wanted you to know that I recognize all you do. I mean, Martin is always out in the woods, or messing around with that crazy smoker thing.”
Martin stepped behind them. Leering was not grounds for killing a man, but it was sufficient for a beating just shy of death. Ever since the trip to Canterbury, Martin had become a spring wound tight: pent up with rage over events he had no say in. Here was something he did have a say in.
“He has a lot to do.” Margaret brushed the hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist.
“Yeah, but he talks to that Susan person way more than he talks to you.” Adam moved a little closer so Margaret’s elbow brushed his as she kneaded the dough. “I don’t think that’s right. You deserve attention too.” He stroked the back of her arm.
The spring snapped.
“Gaaagh!” Martin shouted as he grabbed Adam by the collar and hair. He pulled him backwards and threw him onto the kitchen floor.
“Martin!” Margaret screamed. “What are you doing?”
“What I should have done earlier,” Martin said with a tight jaw. Adam recovered from the shock of being thrown down and was scrambling backwards: eyes wide. Martin grabbed Adam by his belt buckle and neck of his sweatshirt. He pulled Adam off the floor, his face close to Adam’s. “Get out of here.”
“What are you doing, man?” Adam whined. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You did.” Martin threw him onto the floor again. “Now, get your stuff. You’re getting out of here before I do something permanent…”
“What do you mean?”
Martin pointed down the hallway. “Get your stuff. All your stuff. You are out of this house.”
“But where would we…”
“Get your stuff!” Martin shouted. “Or I might change my mind, and you’ll never leave this property. Understand me?”
“Martin!” Margaret rushed up beside him. “What are you doing? What’s the matter with you?”
“I might have to put up with a lot of things,” Martin told her, “but I don’t have to put up with that! They are out of here. Both of them. Right now.” Martin kicked Adam in the leg. “Get up and get your stuff packed.”
Trish came up the stairs. “What’s all this shouting? Adam? Why are you on the floor?”
“You too,” said Martin. “Get your stuff packed. I’m getting the truck. You are both going to be in it in five minutes if I have to throw you in. Whatever you don’t have with you in five minutes, stays here, but you are both out of here. Now get going!”
“But Martinnnn,” Trish tried to sound alluring, and pulled her collar open a bit. She was too upset to play the temptress well.
“No ‘but Martin.’ Get your stuff and be down there in five minutes or I’m throwing you out the window. Either way, you are gone.”
Martin stomped down the stairs to the garage. Margaret followed him.
“What’s gotten into you? He was just talking…”
“I heard what he said. I saw how he looked at you. I don’t have to stand for it…not in my own house.”
“I knew his game,” Margaret said. “He was just buttering me up to get some extra food. That’s all he was doing. You don’t think I took his silly flattery seriously, do you?”
“Then why are you trying to keep him here?”
“What? What you saying?”
Martin had to stop and take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He held her face so he could look her in the eye. He was talking to his wife, not the frustrating world. “Kitkat, I’m sorry.” He had not used her pet name in years. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean how that sounded. I really didn’t. In all our years, you’ve never once made me wonder…”
“Of course not! And you’ve been my totally safe guy all these years, but now you’re acting crazy.”
“I know. I know. And I’m sorry if I’ve freaked you out. It’s just that…things are going to get tougher around here with no prospect of outside aid. We’re going to be under even more pressure. The last thing this house needs is a couple of trouble makers.”
“He just said one stupid…”
“Oh no. It’s more than that. I caught Adam sleeping on watch. If it happens this early, I can’t trust him. Dustin and Judy both said the Dunans were acting suspiciously while we were gone. Trish has tried buttering me up like Adam was trying on you.”
“What? You never said anything about that.”
“I had hoped it was just a young-and-foolish moment, like you said: that wouldn’t happen again. But trouble keeps happening. They’re just out of here.”
“But you can’t just kick them out, Martin. Where will they go? It’s almost winter.”
“Right now, I wouldn’t mind throwing them in a pit…”
“Martin!” she scolded in horror.
“I’m not going to. I’m taking them to the Town Farm. They can take care of them. I’m through with them.”
Martin pulled his truck into the middle of the driveway. Driving the Dunans to the Town Farm would use up a gallon of what gasoline he had left in the tank — gasoline that was not replaceable. It seemed worth every drop to be rid of the two of them.
“Time’s up,” Martin growled. He grabbed the two suitcases off the bed, even though they were not fully zipped shut.
“Hey,” complained Adam. “We weren’t done.”
“Yes you are. Get going.”
Adam and Trish hurried down the hallway ahead of Martin: a minimalist version of Pamplona. In the driveway, Martin threw the two suitcases into the pickup bed. “Now get in.” He pointed to the bed.
“Hey.” Adam tried to muster some indignation. “We came with two boxes of food.”
“And you’ve eaten that much since you got here. Now get in that truck before I break you in half.” Martin could feel his fists trembling. He wanted very badly to pummel Adam until his own fists bled. So much was going wrong in Martin’s life, and someone needed to pay. He did not mind if Adam turned out to be that someone.
Judy and Susan looked on, from a safe distance. Margaret implored — with dough-caked hands — for Martin to calm down and not do anything rash.
Martin drove faster
than was prudent on a rough dirt road. He did not particularly care if the two of them bounced out.
Martin’s truck slid to a stop in the gravel driveway of the Webster farm. He hurried around, flung open the tailgate and jumped up. Adam and Trish slowly stood up. Martin picked up one suitcase and flung it to the grass near the back door. The second one followed.
“Get out,” Martin growled at Trish. “This is where you’re staying now.” As much as his anger wanted to throw her out, she was still a woman and he refused to lay a hand on her. She quickly scrambled down the tailgate.
“Hey, man,” Adam stood as imposingly as he could. “I don’t have to stand for this treatment.”
“No, you don’t,” Martin said. He grabbed Adam’s shoulder and a hip and tossed him over the pickup bed wall.
“What’s going on out here?” demanded Candice. “Oh my. What IS going on out here?”
“You have two new residents for the Town Farm,” Martin said.
“What?” Candice turned to the Dunans. “What went wrong?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Martin. “They are now homeless, so take them in, or let them sleep in the woods. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m done with them.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Candice turned on her condescending smile. “The Webster farm is quite full. There’s no room. You’ll have to take them back.”
“They are not coming back to my house,” Martin seethed. Just then, he saw Lucas peeking cautiously around the open door. “Lucas. Is your papa upstairs?” Lucas nodded. “Tell him to come down here for a minute, would you?” Lucas disappeared.
“Your attitude, Mr. Simmons, is quite barbaric. In these troubled times, we all have to work together. We can let petty feelings…”
“Carlos,” Martin ignored Candice. “Would you rather stay here, or come live at my house? You need to decide right now.”
Carlos needed no time. “We will come with you, Mr. Martin. I will go tell Anna.”
“There you go,” Martin addressed Candice. “Now the farm has an opening.”
Candice tried to loom over Martin so she could look down at him. “Who stays here and who doesn’t is not your decision, Mr. Simmons. I insist that you stop this Neanderthal behavior right now.”
“Candice. I have never once laid a hand on a woman in anger. I do not want you to be the first. Now stand aside.”
Carlos, Anna and Lucas hurried out the door, but stopped, realizing they did not know where they were hurrying to.
“Put your bags in the back of my truck,” Martin said. “I have room for one inside with me. Who will it be?”
Lucas lobbied to ride in the bed. Carlos agreed, so long as he could supervise. Anna was the reluctant winner of the upholstered seat. Martin drove carefully back to his house. Anna did not say anything, she only smiled somewhat nervously.
Chapter 16: Recalculating
“There should be plenty of room for the three of you in here.” Martin swung the bedroom door wide. “We can rig up something better than a sleeping bag on the floor for Lucas.”
“This is very nice, already,” said Carlos. “Do not go to extra troubles. Thank you very much, Mr. Martin. We will work hard. You will see.”
“I’m not worried,” Martin said with a chuckle. “Margaret, do we still have that inflatable camp pad?”
“Yes, on the metal shelves in the garage,” she said. “Why don’t you come help me find it.”
“You just said you knew…” he began, but stopped. He knew that look. “Oh, um…yeah. I’ll give you a hand. The top three drawers of the dresser are empty, Carlos. Feel free to put your things in there. We’ll be back in a bit.”
Martin was both dreading and looking forward to some talk-time with Margaret.
Once the door to the garage clicked shut behind them, she turned. “Okay, Martin. What’s going on?”
“Nothing? We told Landers we’d take someone in,” he said. “We did. I just changed who.”
“Yes, and I would have appreciated you consulting me on something like that, but I mean, what’s going on with you? Ever since that trip up to Canterbury, you’ve been acting…well…not like yourself. This isn’t about that silly gun trade, either.”
“Well, you know these are stressful times,” Martin said, looking at the floor. “The outage, the shortages…”
“That’s not it,” she interrupted. “I mean the way you blew up at the Dunans and threw them out. I’ve never seen you like that.”
“I’ve never caught some guy trying to schmooze you before either. I didn’t have to stand quietly by while some guy…”
“Okay, okay.” Margaret held up her palms to quell the flood. “I can appreciate that, and part of me is kinda flattered at you turning into the jealous-Neanderthal, but still, part of me was kinda frightened. You’ve always been my stable, reliable, solid…”
“You’re describing a rock. Rocks are boring.”
“Not boring,” she countered. “Stable. That means a lot to me. Remember that time we got stuck in that elevator? Total darkness. And that one guy was starting to panic, so you gave him a glow stick.”
“It was supposed to go in my truck, but I forgot to take it out of my bag.”
“Whatever. You kept talking softly about nothing in particular and he calmed down. He even did pretty good at twenty questions.”
“All that proves is that boring can be calming,” Martin said.
“Pftt.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Then, what about when we were staying at that bed and breakfast in Vermont for our anniversary? Huh? In the middle of the night we woke up to smoke in our room. Everyone else was bumbling around in the dark wondering who to call, or where the fire exits were, but you went calmly from room to room, looking for the source.”
Martin shrugged. “It wasn’t the smoke of a structure fire: no stink of burning paint or rubber, just wood smoke. And that’s all it was, too. A log rolled out of someone’s fireplace in the night. The smoke wasn’t going up the chimney. It wasn’t a crisis.”
“That’s my point, Martin. Everyone else thought it was a crisis. When other people are freaking out and panicking, you don’t. That’s my Martin. But, ever since Canterbury, you haven’t been yourself.”
Martin let out a long sigh. “I know, but I don’t really understand it myself.” Was he really angry at Eric, or angry at himself for being angry? It made no sense. “Maybe it was that whole ambush thing,” he offered. “All that shooting.”
“That’s not it either,” she said flatly. “You were acting strange before that happened.”
“None of this is like I figured,” he said. “I used to imagine that if the power went out for a long time, it would be just you and me. We’d get by. We’d melt snow if we had to. We’d get by on jerky, wheat mush and fires only once a day, if we had to, but we’d beat it.”
Margaret smiled sympathetically.
“But it isn’t just you and me,” he continued. “The house is full of people. We don’t have enough supplies for everyone to last all winter. That’s got me all tied up. People like the Dunans were just too much trouble. She was bad enough, but I didn’t have to put up with his…”
She squeezed his arm to interrupt. “I know, Martin. I know. But that was nothing serious. You don’t think I was seriously charmed by him, do you?”
Martin hung his head. A part of him worried that she did enjoy being fawned over. The past many years of marriage could be described as well-managed or organized, but not particularly full of fawning.
“You were laughing,” he said. “You don’t laugh much these days.”
Margaret chuckled. “Yes, but more at him than he imagined. Young men do incredibly stupid things, sometimes. His skiing adventures sounded more like a narrow escape from Darwinism to me, and a whole lot of pointless work. It’s hard not to laugh at stupid.”
“I wasn’t charmed by him,” she continued. “Being lied to is not charming. I knew he was just buttering me up as a ploy to wheedle some extra food.�
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“Still, I think he was right that you and I don’t talk enough.”
“We’re busy, especially now,” she said. “Things need to get done. There isn’t a lot of time for talking.”
“Should we be that busy?”
“Maybe not, but in our current situation, we are. Here’s the inflatable pad. You take it up to Carlos and Anna. With Lucas, we have one more to feed. I’ve got to go do some recalculating at the pantry.”