“We want to buy some food from you guys. You obviously are a pretty good farmer, you don’t look malnourished to me,” he said.
“I might be willing to barter for some food.”
“Barter? You have an entire field of corn!” somebody in the group shouted.
I tried to do a quick count, but people were moving and shuffling around. The smell of unwashed bodies was overpowering, and I could definitely tell from the scent that they’d run out of toilet paper a long time ago and hadn’t found an alternative.
“The corn won’t be ready for another month. I inherited the equipment to harvest it, but no. I’m not going to just give you guys’ food. You can either barter for it, or work for it.” I told them on the fly, hoping I wasn’t pissing off everyone from our group.
“Barter? What are you looking for?” a raggedy woman asked.
“I don’t know, what have you got? I don’t mean to be coy, but I don’t know what you have that would be useful to me. I like guns, bullets, gold… or I could use some extra help come harvest season or putting in a new garden area,” I told them.
“Do I look like I’m in any condition to shovel a ditch or swing an axe?” an angry man shouted.
“Hey, I’m ok with helping you guys out, but somebody went through my fences and killed one of my pigs and shot at one of us. I’m not really in a charitable mood right now!” I shouted back.
“Yeah, and one of yours killed Cindy’s husband. What’s she going to do now?” the raggedy lady in the back yelled.
“I don’t know, is she here?” I asked.
People looked around themselves and murmured back and forth before the guy who’d been screaming at me started back up.
“It isn’t right, he was just trying to get food for a few of us. You guys murdered him!”
“No, no we didn’t!” Randy shouted.
The change in direction made a few of them snap their attention to him.
“He raised his rifle and took a shot. He died because he was trespassing, stealing and tried to MURDER ME!” the last two words were shouted.
“Oh, so it was you who shot him?” a voice jeered.
Randy hesitated, then nodded. I knew it was a lie, it had been his wife, but in his shoes, I probably would have taken the heat as well.
“I didn’t want to do it. But what would you do if somebody was pointing a gun at your face!” Randy said in a softer voice.
“You guys are running around like soldiers anyways! Those guns and pistols. I’d put in a complaint to the HOA if it would do shit, but nothing has so far,” A voice I recognized as the lawyer said and I saw George Landry turn a dark red.
“It would have if you idiots had helped me like I asked!” George snarled.
“Wow,” Brandon laughed, “No wonder you guys have such a bad rap with Brian here. When you guys aren’t back stabbing each other, you’re trying to get the farm shut down. Now that you need the food, you want the farm to run the way you want, huh? How many of you have gardens? How many of you are hunting the state woods to the north of your subdivision?”
Another murmur, but the voices were not as angry. I caught snatches of conversation. Someone was saying they just should regroup and take what they wanted, others were discussing the idea of hunting. Two women walked up to the gate and held up their hands as if they were in school.
“Yes,” I pointed to one of them.
“What kind of work are you talking about, when harvest comes?”
“Preserving the food. Obviously some is going to be canned, some dried out and some… Well I can’t say frozen… sorry. A lot of it is going to be eaten right away though and, I’ll be honest, corn and wild game isn’t a great meal when it’s all you’ve had for months on end, but it’ll keep you alive for a while. You,” I pointed to the second lady.
“Two questions about hunting and bartering. If I were to trade you a gun, what would I do about hunting? I don’t really know about hunting at all and the only way I know is to shoot them. I just… my kids are hungry. They’ve started crying everyday about the bellyaches. I just want to help feed my babies—“ her words broke off into sobs.
“We could just cut the fence and take what we needed!” George yelled and about half the group cheered.
I raised my rifle and he went very still. I walked to the gate and stuck my flash suppressor through it an inch until it was less than a foot away from Landry’s schnoz. Oh I so wanted to pull the trigger, I so wanted the man to pay for everything he and his son had done to me. The repeated harassment, the way he illegally forged documents to screw me over. How he got his son off - even though his son didn’t seem to be a snake the way his father was as far as I could tell from our short conversation. His broken ankle was literally the only contact I’d had with George Jr., and I still felt bewildered at the prospect of forgiving him. Could I forgive his father as well?
“George, you really don’t want to give me any more excuses to shoot you. You have tried to systematically ruin my life since the car accident. I don’t know if you were trying to save your son, or you were overcompensating for his misdeeds, but trust me George, you don’t want me as your enemy anymore,” I told him, flicking off the safety.
George gulped and took a step back. Everyone had gone silent.
“Oh, you didn’t hear about that?” I spoke to the group at large. “The year before the subdivision was built, George’s son T-Boned my car. I was in the hospital for weeks. My wife died of a broken neck, or a crushed skull. The police told me the kid admitted he was texting and blew through the red light. George had the charges against his son quashed with his money and influence. Then he had my insurance canceled by backdating and forgeries. He’s pretty good with forgeries. Do you guys realize the last few complaints to the police had almost everyone in the HOA as a signatory?” I asked them.
There was a pregnant silence and some were looking back and forth at each other with stunned expressions. George fumed.
“Then to top things off, after my wife died? I got fired when I tried to sue his insurance company. Yeah, I used to work for him; I’ve known the guy almost two decades. What’s he do? He builds a subdivision right next to my farm and then tries to get it shut down. Those of you who signed those complaints, you’ll get nothing from me, ever. Those whose signatures were forged, well, take it up with George because I doubt I’ll do shit for you unless you can convince me it happened.” I was letting all the anger and hate boil out, and I didn’t miss the concerned looks from Randy and Brandon.
I realized I’d leaned forward, so my gun was almost touching George’s forehead and I put the safety back on and backed away. I knew that in theory that what I’d done was stupid; somebody could have grabbed the barrel and pulled the gun to take it off target and then I’d have been forced to fire on them to get it back. I didn’t want a massacre, but part of me wanted a little bit of vengeance. Just a little.
“If we were to turn our backyards into gardens, or even the community park, would that be enough for us to plant and feed us?” a quiet man who hadn’t shouted at me yet asked.
“That I don’t know, but I would have done it as soon as you heard that we’d been attacked and the power was going to stay off for a long time,” I said.
“You can grow some things that’ll help out a lot, actually,” Brandon offered, and everybody turned to look at him, including me. “Potatoes. People have lived on those in Ireland when no other food was around. Sure it isn’t healthy, but it fills the belly. If we continue to have another hot summer through fall, I bet you most of you can get a quick crop in.”
I made a note to ask Brandon about it later. I didn’t know a thing about growing potatoes!
The people started talking amongst themselves and I saw two people break ranks and start walking away. It was the men who’d tried climbing the fence. I wished I had a handheld radio to warn the girls, but I didn’t. They’d have to keep an eye on the fence and I’d tell them about those two.
“Wh
at would it take to turn all the land we have in the sub into something we could grow food on?”
“Well…”
“Brian, come here a second,” Randy said, starting to walk backwards.
I followed and after about thirty feet he looked at me, “You know, I don’t know how comfortable I am with having some of them work for us. You’ve seen what half of them are like. What about the rest in the subdivision? What about the other sub where Frank is?” Randy said, and his eyes took on a hurt look when he mentioned Frank.
“What should we do?” I asked him.
“It’s your place, but you’ve always kind of let this go like it’s a democracy. That mindset might lead to a lot of problems, but I have to respect the fact that you don’t have all the answers. I don’t either. Would it hurt if we took the tractor and tiller over there for a day or two? If we had a couple armed guards? It would save a ton of these guys from shoveling by hand and most of them don’t look like they are any kind of shape to do something that strenuous.” Randy suggested.
I’d been thinking along those same lines and told him so.
“So you don’t think that’s a sucky plan? Because I’d rather have them looking at us like we’re helping them, but not like a food bank or place to raid,” he finished.
“I was wondering how to turn it into that, but I got carried away with George,” I admitted.
“Who wouldn’t? For all his money and influence, he’s now a refugee, the same as them, and it’s driving him crazy. I’d be tempted to put a tumbler through his skull myself.”
“Thanks, man,” I whispered as we walked back to the gate.
“So, are you folks serious about improving your situation and not stealing or poaching from us?” I asked.
For once, most of them nodded.
“Listen, I have an idea but first… I have a lot of poor feelings for George, still. I’m not going to paint you all with that brush. It’s not how I was raised and I now kind of feel guilty for doing that… But… I’m willing to bring the tractor out there for a day, maybe two, and till up everything I can. It’s an old, big tractor, so any front fences or gates would have to be removed for me to do anything in the backyards. If you can take care of that, I’m willing to come out and do what I can to help. It will give us all some sort of peace of mind, won’t it?”
I saw two different figures in the distance, behind the mob, and my heart soared. I recognized the camo the one was wearing, and the woman walking beside him. Both had packs and ARs held at the ready. Kristen and Ken! I smiled widely as they took up positions to the back and right of the group, so if they had to fire on them, their misses would go into the woods and not through us.
“Then why won’t you take your fences down and do it?” George asked, his voice timid.
“Because I have livestock. Soon, I won’t have feed for them and I’ll have to let them into a bigger area. That’s why this whole farm is fenced now,” I answered.
“Why do you need the gate all barbed then?” he replied.
“To keep assholes like you out. Listen, you want my help, pull those gates and fences down in your front yards. I’ll be out in three days to help you guys.”
“What if we don’t want to leave?” an angry man shouted from the back.
Ken shot about five feet behind the man, skipping the round off the pavement. I smiled as half of them hit the ground and the other half froze.
“What is this?” the raggedy woman demanded, turning to notice the two figures holding guns behind them.
“Flanking move,” Ken answered, “Thanks for waiting for us to get into position. If you don’t want to be put down right here, listen to the man and don’t piss in his face about help or food. He doesn’t owe you fucktards anything.”
I almost laughed. Fucktards. Ha ha! Move they did; one by one they turned, whispering to each other, and started walking. It wasn’t until they were moving as a group that I noticed that they all had the listless shuffle I’d come to associate with zombies after watching too many episodes of The Walking Dead.
I waited until they were out of eyesight before unlocking the gate and letting Ken and Kristen inside. We all hugged and I introduced Brandon Sanderson.
“See babe,” Ken told Kristen, “All the fun shit happens around this guy.”
* * *
Ken and Brenda ended up being my security, and over half of the neighborhood had dismantled or were dismantling their fences. I started with the community park, which was a couple of acres of green grass and park benches. I knew there must have been a ton of weed killer sprayed on it in years past, but it was starting to almost get too tall to till without mowing first. I ended up spending four days there and, in a fit of taking the high road, I even tilled George Landry’s backyard for him. Every front yard was turned into tilled land, but many houses were unoccupied as the residents had died from lack of medication, care or suicide. I was finishing up when I saw a limping figure walking towards the tractor. I couldn’t quite make out his face, but I stopped and waited when it became apparent they meant to talk to me.
I idled it down and killed it when I saw it was George Jr. I felt conflicted, and I could see Brenda and Ken working their way closer, to make sure they both had good fields of fire.
“Mr. Cartwright, I’ve been talking with my Dad,” he said softly.
“Yeah?” I asked, not knowing what to expect.
“He told me about what you said, when you pulled the gun on him and almost shot him at your gate.”
Oh, that, not my finest moment of self-control. I tried not to feel horribly guilty about it, but I did feel some all the same. “Yeah?”
“Listen, he said when I broke my ankle that it was the first time you’d talked to me after the accident. I remember as a kid, you would always come out for the family picnics and bar-b-q. I always looked up to you. What I did, I feel horrible. Nothing can take that back, and if I could go back in time, I would. The truth is, I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. I know how much Cathy meant to you and I was texting my girlfriend, wishing I had the same thing you did and—“The kid’s chest hitched and he started crying. “I’m sorry, I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, I’m really, really sorry. I never meant to hurt you and kill her and I can’t take it back…”
Dust got into my eye again, and I wiped the moisture away. No, I’m not blaming it on dust this time, I cried. I started crying so hard Brenda left her position so she could get closer to see what was wrong. Call it the mothering instinct, or the fact that she was pretty badass anyways.
“George…” Shit, how could I say it? I forgive you? I’m not mad? None of those really felt like the truth and I struggled to speak through my own sobs. It felt like a boil had been lanced and most of my anger and hatred were working themselves out in one big shot. It was overwhelming; how do you forgive somebody who fucked up and killed your wife? I remembered the conversation with Pastor White and decided to just do it. No matter how much it hurt, I’d do it.
“Georgie,” I said and he looked up, “I believe you. I know you didn’t mean to.”
That wasn’t the same as forgiveness, but that might come with time.
“Truth is, I’m more mad at your father about his behavior afterwards. Every time your name would come up, I’d picture what he did to me and fly off the handle.” I admitted.
“Do you think someday you could forgive me?” he asked, his voice wavering.
“I think so,” For now, let’s just—“
“Don’t you bother my son!” his enraged father screamed from the Landry’s house.
“See you next time,” I told him, my tears starting to slow.
“Yeah, next time,” George Jr. gave me a half a smile and left.
18
Kristen had been staying back with Lucy and the kids quite a bit since she arrived, teaching her to shoot and playing with the little ones. Spencer had started calling her Aunt Kris, which was cute. But the little man still hung at my side whenever I
was around. In the past weeks we’d started hearing transmissions out of Kentucky, but we didn’t have enough juice to respond or be heard.
A few of the neighbors tried ducking the fence at night but, with increased people, we now had more than somebody watching the monitor; we all took turns patrolling the farm. We had more than a few gawkers who might have been neighbors or strangers walk up to the gate, and a couple even tried to climb it before we came out of hiding and scared them off.
This had me concerned, but what I was really worried about was the prison gangs and refugees. I knew I had to check on Mr. Matthews’ place, but I feared it’d been taken. Ken, Randy and I decided to go check it out one night, using the NVGs that Ken and Randy had. I would go in the dark, but I’d done that most of my life and what I missed, I was sure my buddies would catch.
The fated night came around and half the crew stayed up so we could continue patrols and have enough coherent people away to propel raiders while three of us snuck over to Mr. Matthews’s house. Ken had a ton of experience, and we’d made some modifications to some of the fencing entry points and cleared lanes for fire.
“How can you see the path?” Randy whispered.
“I used to run this two track as a kid. Only place I could duck out on chores when my dad was in a mood or I screwed up.” I said with a smile.
“It’s kind of creepy, but quiet,” Ken admitted.
It was very quiet. Too quiet. I smelled wood smoke and heard voices long before we left the meadow at the edge of the woods.
“Four men, one of them in a white tank top, two who look like they came from a Nirvana concert and one who’s got a makeshift brace on his leg,” Ken said after sneaking forward to check things out.
“Fucking tweakers,” I spit, “It’s Scott and Toby I bet.”
“Front door to the house is smashed open, looks like they have some sort of bonfire dug into the dirt on the far side of the driveway,” Randy said.
I held back from cursing.
Good Fences Page 19