by Reed, N. C.
“Congratulations,” Greg’s enthusiasm was underwhelming. “You’re all deputies now. If you’re as pleased about this as I know I was, feel free to go punch Clay right in the face, since every bit of this is his fault.” He paused as he looked at the friends and sons of friends standing before him.
All of the boys had volunteered except Kurtis, who offered to help if needed, but reminded everyone that the only people in the county he knew were the people on the farm, and that he knew the land even less. After the boys, it was Amanda Lowery, Petra Shannon, Devon Knowles, and Janessa Haynes. Greg managed to talk Sienna Newell into taking the Chief Deputy’s position, which would primarily see her teaching the others about the law and the enforcement of said law. Greg mentioned the job to Talia Gray, thinking her volunteering for field duty meant she was ready to get back into the field, but she had deferred. She would consider it, she promised, and get back to him.
The group was firmed up by the additions of Kevin Bodee, Stacey Pryor and Shane Golden. While they didn’t know the people or the land either, all had years of experience dealing with other cultures, other legal systems and situations that would certainly qualify as an emergency anywhere in the old United States. Pairing them with any of the others would make a formidable pair to patrol the area with.
It was the best Greg could do for now, and far better than anyone could expect.
“This won’t be easy,” he told them quietly. “There’s nothing left to work with. There’s no court system, there’s no jail or prison system, there’s nothing. We’ll have to rebuild it all from scratch. Of course, that means we’re essentially getting a do-over, so maybe we can do it right, this time.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll be working out a schedule today to include what we’ll be trying to accomplish. Let’s all meet on the pad around five this evening and I should have something worked out by then. Dismissed.”
-
“Wonder how long it will take that crowd in Jordan to decide we need an election for Sheriff?” Clay mused as he sat with Greg, Jake and Jose in front of Building Two.
“Hopefully, a week or so,” Greg muttered. “But I have a feeling that somewhere, someone declared martial law or the good Major wouldn’t be referred to as the area or regional commander the way he is. If that has happened, then there won’t be any elections for a while. I mean, places like Jordan can ad hoc elect a mayor and what not, but county and above? No, those offices will be filled by administrative means until the emergency has passed.”
“Who’s going to decide when the emergency has passed?” Jake asked. He of the four knew the least about such things.
“That’s a little tricky in our situation,” Greg admitted. “We’ve lost our central government, at least for the most part, as well as our provincial or state governments. Our local governments are all that are holding us together, and you can bet that Peabody wasn’t the only small town where that failed. All of you remember what Whitten and Adcock have said about the major cities. Not to mention what Shane and the others saw on the way here.”
“We’ve lost organized communications for the time being since we no longer have a postal service. In the old days, the postal service was the official means of notification for almost everyone and everything. The telegram slowly replaced it but if you think about it, the mail service was still considered our official means of notification up until the Storm hit. Jury Summons, bills, judgments, what have you, all came through the mail. Sometimes requiring signatures to prove you received it. All that’s gone.”
“Ain’t it possible that somewhere up in Washington they’re still doing some of this stuff?” Jake asked. “I mean, like, the people who were running things?”
“Could be,” Greg agreed. “I doubt Washington escaped the destruction that other large cities got, though, so if those people running things didn’t get out before the Storm hit, then they may be gone as well. Even if they’re not, they’re commanding paper armies.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that the people who might claim to still be in charge have no way to enforce that, or even let others know about it,” Clay pitched in on that one. “You can be the highest ranking general in the world, but without an army, you’re just a snappy dresser. An organized Table of Organization and Equipment, but without soldiers to fill it, is a paper army. Looks good on paper but doesn’t exist in the real world. Government does it all the time to give people jobs to make them feel important.”
“Like Pepper giving his nephew a job as a deputy,” Greg reminded Jake. “Basically, just made him a job. The dispatchers tried to keep him off calls at all, let alone where there was the potential for violence. Didn’t always work, but they tried. Everyone knew that he had no idea what he was doing and that he was an idiot. Pepper needed to appease someone in his family, so he made the idiot a job.”
“We used to call them pencil sharpener jobs,” Abby’s voice caught them by surprise as she walked up. “The state would invent jobs with good paychecks for someone’s nephew or daughter or whatever. I met someone once who literally had no idea what her job was. She had an office and a secretary and made a hell of lot more money than any of us but had no job description. I think she was listed as the Deputy Assistant to the Assistant Deputy, or some other made up crap. She was a nice woman, too. Hard to be mad at her,” she shrugged. “Sorry, just overheard that and thought I’d throw that out there,” she said, moving on past them, heading to Building Two.
“Where are you going, Abby?” Clay asked.
“I want to try and see Jody,” Abby said with a sigh. “If he’ll see me.”
“Try not to distract him too much,” Jose told her. “If he needs to come down, tell him to just call and we’ll relieve him. You should just wait for him to get off watch, really. I think it’s less than an hour. Wouldn’t have to climb the stairs,” he smiled.
“If I wait, he’ll disappear on me,” Abby shook her head. “This is the only time when I know where he is. If Jody doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”
“That is true,” Clay nodded.
“Abby,” Greg spoke up before she could open the door. “I expected to see you volunteering for deputy duty-,”
“Please tell me that’s not what you’re really calling it,” Abby groaned, hand to her face.
“Ha, ha,” Greg made a face at her. “Anyway, I was. Why didn’t you?”
“Didn’t want to,” Abby just shrugged. “No one would want me doing it, anyway,” she added. “I don’t know when to keep my trap shut.” She opened the door and stepped inside before anyone else could speak.
“Well,” Greg looked surprised. “Anyway, that’s what we were talking about, Jake. The people who are still around that were in charge won’t really have anyone answering to them other than a handful of people in their immediate area. You know,” he suddenly looked off in the distance, a calculating look on his face, “I bet there’s a hell of a fight right now between all of them trying to decide who the President is now,” he chuckled.
“Who would want to be President now?” Jake sounded mournful. “Who wants to lead a damned nation? Split apart, fractured if you will, at war with itself, starving, burning. Who would want to preside over that?”
“Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven,” Clay murmured.
“What?” three voices asked at once.
“Sorry,” Clay shook his head. “When Jake said ‘Damned Nation’ it made me think of Milton and Paradise Lost. That’s a line from Book One of his epic. A lot of people think it’s from the bible, but it’s not. It’s from Satan’s monologue in Book One. ‘Better to rule in hell that to serve in heaven’. You’d be surprised how many would line up to preside, or worse, to rule, over a Damned Nation like ours is starting to appear.”
“I feel faint,” Greg fanned himself dramatically. “Hearing you quote a classic is hard on my heart,” he made a show of checking his pulse.
“You read a lot when you’re stuck in the m
iddle of nowhere with nothing else to do,” Jose told him. “I know Marines can’t read, but you guys probably played Spin the Bottle or something. Right?”
-
Abby was surprised when the trap door into the cupola was open. She suspected it was for the breeze that was blowing through the building. It was autumn after all, and it smelled nice. She stopped as her head went through the opening.
“Permission to come aboard?” she tried to joke. Jody removed the binoculars from his eyes to look down at her.
“What can I do for you, Miss Sanders?” he asked formally.
“You can stop calling me ‘Miss Sanders’, for a start,” she replied. “Can I come up or not?” She was riding herd on her temper, and her mouth, pretty hard.
“If you wish,” Jody sounded exasperated and put upon, but not hostile. She walked the rest of the way into the cupola and sat down when she normally did. Had in the past, anyway.
“What can I do for you?” Jody repeated, looking over at her before returning to his watch.
“Jody, please don’t treat me like this,” Abby hated how it sounded as if she was pleading, but she was, sort of, so decided it was accurate.
“I am not treating you in any way, Miss Sanders,” Jody replied. “I’ve asked how I can help you. Nothing more.”
“Jody, I came to try and fix things between us,” Abby told him. “To try and get us back on track. Okay?”
“No,” his answer fell like an executioner’s ax. “No, it is not okay. I regret the time I have spent in your company, and the private matters I have shared with you. I have no desire to return to any such track, thank you.”
“That’s not fair,” Abby almost whined, and hated herself for sounding that way. “At least give me a chance!”
“I gave you many chances,” Jody assured her. “I spoke to you directly and with respect. I showed respect for your family, and for your culture. You are apparently incapable of returning that respect. I shared with you-,” He stopped abruptly, and she watched him struggle with something.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “None of it matters anymore. We will not be back on track, as you call it. Things between us will not be fixed. I believe it best if we both move on from this and look at it as a learning experience. I know it has taught me a great deal, and that I will apply what I have learned to my life going forward. Perhaps that will prevent something like this from happening again.”
“So that’s it?” Abby was caught between anger and anguish and did not know which was stronger. She didn’t like being denied, and never had. But she also didn’t like the idea that she had lost whatever it was she had with Jody Thompson, either.
“That is it,” Jody nodded.
“Jody, please,” Abby’s voice was quieter now.
“No,” his was firm and unyielding. “It is better for me this way. I must think of what is best for me, now. I had thought, mistakenly, that you had reached a level of maturity where I could share things with you, and I did. Or at least I tried. You responded with anger, with resentment, and by telling me you were offended by the traditions of my own culture. By the practices of my people. I am a product of those traditions, so if you are offended by them, you are offended by me. I will not inflict myself on anyone who is offended by my presence.” He paused as he made another sweep with his binoculars. When he lowered them, he looked back to her again.
“I can see no reason to take this conversation further. There is no profit of any kind to be had from it.” His voice was flat and sounded very final.
“So that really is it, then,” she got to her feet, brushing herself off as she always did, even though there was no dirt to be found here. “We’re done.”
“Indeed,” Jody’s voice had lost the edge it had held for most of the conversation. “I regret that it has come to this,” his voice was earnest. “I had hoped very much for a different outcome. We do not always get what we want,” he shrugged, a rare movement for him to make.
“Good-bye, Miss Sanders,” he said formally, his voice returning to the neutral tone he had used for most of the conversation. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”
“Yeah, sure,” Abby tossed over her shoulder. “Real pleasant.”
Jody didn’t watch her leave, already back to scanning the area around the farm.
-
“Didn’t go so well?” Clay asked when Abby stormed out of Building Two. He was alone for the moment.
“No, it didn’t go so well,” Abby resisted the urge to snarl. “He won’t even talk to me.”
“You pissed all over his way of life, Abby,” Clay shrugged, keeping his voice gentle. “That’s hard on someone to take. Some people don’t respond well to it at all.”
“I didn’t…it wasn’t like that,” she muttered, standing in front of the table but not looking at him. “It wasn’t.”
“Abby, you took everything he said or did and twisted it to make an argument out of it so you could throw it back in his face,” Clay pointed out, his voice still soft. “It seems like it’s your default setting, sometimes. Like you go around looking for an argument or a fight. I’ve never understood it, so I try to avoid anything that would make you argue with me. But not everyone is going to do that, and not everyone is going to overlook it. You’ve learned that with Jody, if nothing else.”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Abby snorted. “Great lesson.”
“You can’t see, even now, that this is your own doing, Abby,” Clay sounded sad. “You’re looking for a fight right now, but I’m not going to give it to you. This isn’t my business other than how it affects the farm. I am sorry for how this turned out, I really am. For both of you. I had thought that the two of you would be good for one another.”
“Well, like you said, it’s not your business,” Abby’s voice was brittle. Without another word she stalked away, headed for home. Clay watched her go, shaking his head.
“I guess if drama like this is all we get, we can make it,” he said to himself.
-
“Say hello to Ronald Clayton Tillman,” Ronny and Alicia introduced their new son to the family. Alicia was still in the clinic with the baby, but both were doing well. Ronny was beaming, and Alicia looked happy, if tired. Leanne had immediately fell in love with her new little brother, cooing and ahhing over him, while Leon tried to remain more aloof, though he clearly loved the sight of the new Tillman.
“Clayton?” Clay was stunned.
“Yes, Clayton,” Alicia smiled at her little brother. “We wouldn’t be here if not for you, Clay,” she said simply. “Neither would he. So, when we were looking for a name, we settled on yours.”
“What will you call him?” Lainie asked, smiling down at the tiny creature in his mother’s arms.
“Still working on that,” Ronny admitted. “We’re going with ‘fussy’ right now, though,” he laughed as the newly named Tillman began to cry.
“Okay, folks, that’s enough for now,” Patricia ordered. “Fussy Tillman is hungry, so let’s give him and his mother some privacy. We’ll have another visit later today and they should be going home in a day or so.”
“I need to go to work, too, I guess,” Ronny sighed, kissing Alicia’s forehead. “I’ll see you later, though. I promise.”
“I’m sure we’ll still be here,” Alicia smiled at her husband. “Love you,” she added softly.
“Love you too, Mrs. Tillman,” Ronny kissed her again before ruffling his son’s mop of dark hair.
“Love you too, kiddo.”
-
“I didn’t think I’d like it, but he’s cute,” Leanne admitted as she sat outside with her brother. Clay and Lainie sat with them, having nothing else to do for the time being.
“He is adorable,” Lainie agreed. Clay raised an eyebrow at her, as if to ask had she changed her mind about having children.
“No,” Lainie shook her head. “No, I have not changed my mind. Doesn’t matter how cute he is.”
“What do you mean?” L
eon asked, frowning.
“We sat in my office while your mother was screeching her way through Tiny Tillman’s arrival,” Clay chuckled. “At some point, your Aunt Lainie decided that she did not, in fact, want any children of her own.”
“Oh, God, me neither,” Leanne shuddered. “I already said it. Never, ever.”
“A lot of women say that but then have children anyway,” Clay shrugged. “I told Lainie it was her choice. Your mom helped her make it,” he laughed lightly.
“Did me too,” Leanne said firmly. “Never, ever.”
-
“One of the biggest problems we’ll have is the lack of any way for people to call in and report a problem,” Greg told Sienna as the two sat planning how they would manage a new Sheriff’s Department. “We’ll have to depend on patrolling, and that’s going to take gas we just don’t have.”
“Well, we do have some gas,” Sienna said. “And we are making shine from the corn and sugar beets. We’ll add that to the gas we have, which will make it go further. So, there is that.”
“True,” Greg nodded slowly, considering. “What we need to do is check some of the gas stations around the county. Some of them may well still have gas, even though they don’t have a way to pump it. If we could get that gas out, there’s no reason we can’t use it.”
“Be old by now,” Sienna noted. “Pri-G can only do so much, and we only have so much of it.”
“Forget that,” Greg shook his head. “That shine will make anything burn. Probably including water,” he laughed. “Three of the Hummers are diesel,” he added. “If the bio-diesel thing works, then we can use them, instead.”
“That would probably be better,” Sienna agreed. “We need to put some identification on the vehicles, though,” she added. “They need a star and the word ‘Sheriff’ on them. And some blue lights if we’ve got them. They need to look official to help us restore trust. There hasn’t been any ‘sheriffing’ going on around here for a while now.”