by Bible, Jake
Big Daddy looks out at the row upon row of fencing and the Zs beyond that. He sighs and leads us around the house.
Our group is seated and smiling –well, mostly smiling- as Gunga passes out glasses and pitchers of sweet tea.
“Sorry there ain’t no lemons,” Gunga says. “We just can’t get them to grow right. Turn all nasty and shriveled.”
“This will be fine, Gunga,” Stella says, “thank you.”
As I take a seat and plant a kiss on Stella’s forehead, a group of men come around the other side of the house. They are dust covered and sweaty, with shotguns and rifles resting on their shoulders.
“There they are,” Melissa says, getting up and going to them. She is swallowed in a group hug of muscles and perspiration. Finally, she gets free and looks at us. “These are the rest of my brothers.” She points and they all line up. Tall, broad, built out of bricks, they look alike except for the first one that’s bald as a cue ball. “This is Buzz, you know Gunga over there, and met Pup, this is Toad, Porky, and Scoot.”
They all nod and say their hellos and howdys.
Buzz, the bald one, puts his fingers to his mouth and lets loose with an eardrum shattering whistle. We all look around, waiting for the other boot to drop, but instead, it’s a stampede of boots and shoes that comes around behind the men. Children of all ages and sizes sprint to their fathers. Then come the adults. Men and women as diverse as I’ve ever seen a group. I always forget how homogenous suburban life can be.
A black couple and their three kids come over and introduce themselves as the Furtigs. Then several Hispanic couples come over with their kids- the Hernandezes, the Santiagos, the Rioses, and the Ortegas. They are followed by an Indian man named Patel that is surrounded by six daughters ranging in age from maybe six to sixteen. Behind him are three women of obvious Cherokee descent with their children.
Behind that are about ten single men of all races and colors. In front is a short Hispanic man, his torso bare, but covered in dark black and blue tattoos. They run all the way up his arms and up his neck. His head is shaved except for a thin, short Mohawk. On his belt, strapped to his right leg, is a nasty looking short sword. The sheath is only a few straps of leather, so I can see the various etchings on the blade. I can also see the deadly sharp looking edge it has.
“Smarty Pants, this is Julio,” Big Daddy says. “Melissa says you’re Columbian, but I say Mexican. Which is it now?”
I’m expecting a frown from the man over the ignorance of his home country, but instead he grins and gives a laugh almost as big as Big Daddy. “El Salvador,” he says. “The Santiagos are Columbian.” He looks me up and down and holds out his hand. “What’s up, Smarty Pants?”
“It’s Jace,” I say, taking the strong grip. “Please don’t call me Smarty Pants.”
“You got it, Jace,” Julio says. “And actually, I’m from Hendersonville, not El Salvador. That’s where my parents came from. I was born in Park Ridge hospital.”
“Then you have me beat,” I say. “I was born in Oregon. Only been here in Asheville for about ten years before it all went to hell.”
“This isn’t Hell, Hoss,” Big Daddy says. “This is where we are tested before the Lord decides where we go. Hell won’t be so easy.”
“Easy?” I laugh. “That’s one way to say it.”
A scream gets my attention and I reach for my belt, but stop my hand when I see that it’s just all the kids, mine included, running around playing tag off away from the pavilion. Elsbeth is on the sidelines sitting cross-legged, watching them intently, her eyes darting from runner to runner.
“BD, we have a problem,” Julio says, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I know that girl.”
“Elsbeth,” I say. “She saved my life. Well, after having kidnapped me to cook for dinner. But I’m going with the saving of the life part as the character judgment.”
“She’s a cannibal,” Julio says to Big Daddy. “I’ve had run-ins with her padre.”
“She going to be a problem?” Big Daddy asks me.
“No, sir,” I say. “I’ll vouch for her.”
“She looks at me like I’m a chicken leg and I slit her throat,” Julio says. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with there.”
I think back to the sight of dozens of undead lying still around the dump truck and smile.
“I have a pretty good idea,” I say, “but you have my word she’ll be cool.”
Of course, no sooner have I said that than here she comes, The Bitch in hand, her eyes locked on Julio.
“You ain’t a nice man,” Elsbeth says. “You broke Pa’s hand one time. I remember. Oh, I remember that.”
Everyone goes quiet, even the children, as Elsbeth closes on Julio. She eyes his sword and frowns.
“You should have pulled that already,” she says. “You don’t have time no more.”
“Chill, Elsbeth,” I say, stepping in front of her. “These are friends now. Just like us. Whatever happened before is done. You have to let it go.”
“I should break his hand,” Elsbeth says. “Only fair.”
“If you want to talk fair, then I should toss you outside the fences,” I say. “You know, for kidnapping me and prepping me for dinner.”
“Your friends killed Pa,” she says to me. “Maybe we should remember that.”
“This is what you call cool?” Julio laughs and looks at Big Daddy. “This is the smart guy you’ve been talking about?” He pulls his sword and Elsbeth lunges.
I’m able to shove Elsbeth back, but she doesn’t care, all her focus is on Julio. Then she stops, her face tense with violence, and looks down at her arm. And the hand that has grabbed it.
“Please don’t,” Greta says. “Don’t kill him.”
“Ha! You think this chica can take me?” Julio laughs. “You aint’ right in the head, little girl.”
Before I can get on Julio for that comment, Greta pushes past Elsbeth and gets right in front of him. Her face is stone cold blank except for her eyes. I know that look. Julio doesn’t stand a chance.
“Not only will she kill you,” Greta says. “She’ll make you beg for it. You want to be the little girl that begs for his life? You want all these big, tough men to see you crying and wishing it could all be over? That what you want, doodles? You want me to stand over your steaming corpse and say I told you so?”
Julio is dumbfounded. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he licks his lips and says, “Doodles?”
She waves at his tats. “Doodles.”
He looks past Greta at Elsbeth who is watching Greta with awe and great affection.
“She gets out of line and I come for you, little girl,” Julio says. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Greta says as she holds out her hand. Julio takes it and shakes. He tries to pull back, but Greta hangs on. “And it’s Greta, not little girl. Call me that again and deal is off. You’ll wake up with your cojones stuffed in your mouth.”
“Greta!” Stella calls out. “Watch your mouth!”
“He better watch his,” Greta says as she turns from Julio and walks back over to the other kids. They all stare at her, slack jawed, except for Charlie who is shaking his head, a hand covering his face, not surprised at all.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick,” Stella says, “I apologize for her behavior.”
He waves Stella off. “While I don’t approve of anyone stuffing cojones in mouths, I do believe her point has been made.” He looks at Julio and then at Elsbeth. “We going to be alright here?”
“Better be!” Greta shouts from the crowd of kids.
“Greta Stanford!” Stella says and marches over to her.
“I’m good,” Julio says. “I like my cojones right where they are.”
“I don’t know what co-hoe-nees are,” Elsbeth says, looking at me.
“Balls,” I say. “Nuts.”
Elsbeth smiles and looks over her shoulder at Greta. My daughter beams at her despite the hushed chewing out she’s getting from h
er mother. Elsbeth looks at me, and then at Big Daddy and finally at Julio. She holds out her hand.
“I’m good too,” she says.
Julio takes her hand and they shake quickly. Elsbeth hands me The Bitch, turns, and runs at the kids.
“I’m it!” she yells.
The tension is gone and the kids get back to playing. I can feel the collective sigh from the adults.
“How about we take a load off and get to know each other before we dive into the details of your visit?” Big Daddy suggests. “We’ll eat some supper and then it’ll be time for business.”
“Works for me,” I say as my stomach starts to growl.
The smell of wood smoke and cooking meat drifts across the backyard, which is pretty much the size of a football field, and I look over to see some of the brothers with Mr. Patel lifting a massive grill lid up by poles and setting it aside. Inside is two halves of a whole pig. A whole pig. At one point in our lives, we were vegetarians. That concept doesn’t apply during the apocalypse, especially when barbecued pork is cooking right in front of you.
The Cherokee women, which I still haven’t caught names for, get up and go into the house followed by Melissa and half her scavengers. They soon come outside with bowl after bowl of salads and side dishes: fried okra, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, potato salad, devilled eggs (with paprika? Holy shit!), pickled beets, green beans, Brussels sprouts, berries and cream, and so, so much more.
For a brief second, the sight of so much food overwhelms me. We never had this kind of variety in Whispering Pines. It was all about what Stubben could get to grow and Tran could preserve and prepare. And then the wonder leaves me. Tran…
“I know,” Stella says, her hand in mine, “I’m thinking about them too.”
Big Daddy motions for everyone to take a seat and after a long, but uplifting, grace, we all dig in. Despite Big Daddy’s earlier words, I’m pretty sure I just found Heaven on Earth.
Everybody eats until stuffed to bursting. The sun is about set when Big Daddy gets up. Without it having to be said, the tables go quiet.
“As much as I’d like to keep this joviality going, I think there is business,” Big Daddy says. “I believe the front porch will be fine for our chat.” He looks at Melissa and then me. “Bring your people you want present. We’ll get a few things settled before calling it a night.”
“Help clear the dishes,” Stella says to Charlie and Greta, “and keep an eye on Elsbeth. I’m going with your father.”
Soon we are seated in rocking chairs on the long, wide porch in front of the farmhouse. Big Daddy and Buzz, Melissa and Andy Crespo, Stella and me, and Julio. Everyone else is inside laughing and chatting as they clean the dishes by candle and lamp light. I notice then that there’s no power in the house, but I could have sworn I saw wind turbines up on the hills.
“Where does the electricity go to?” I ask.
“Good catch,” Julio says as he pulls a pouch from his pocket and opens it. He pulls a small piece of paper out and begins crumpling something in it. “We direct all power to the fences. Plus a few other things. Don’t need electricity to farm, right BD?”
“Been farming for centuries without it,” Big Daddy says as he pulls a corncob pipe from his pocket and loads it. “Why waste power on something that doesn’t need it?”
Julio rolls a tight cigarette and lights it, drawing deep. I have always hated tobacco smoke, and get ready to tolerate it when the smell hits me.
“You have got to be kidding,” I laugh. “Seriously?”
Julio smiles and hands me the joint. “Take it. I’ll roll another.”
He does and lights that as Stella takes the joint from my hand.
“What?” she smiles. “When’s the next time I’ll have a chance?”
Julio laughs hard and rolls a third.
“You folks all set with your wacky weed?” Big Daddy says, puffing on his pipe. “Ain’t judging, just asking so we can get down to business.”
“Actually, let’s talk about this,” I say, holding the joint out. “You grow this here? Hemp could be pretty useful.”
“Nah,” Big Daddy says. “I don’t know nothing about growing hemp or marijuana. I leave that to the hippies.”
“There’s a commune two hollers over,” Julio says. “Completely self-sufficient. Z-Day was long gone before they even knew something had gone wrong. They grow the killer bud and have acres and acres of hemp. We trade for cloth and biodiesel.”
“Biodiesel?” Stella asks. “Can’t you make that here?”
“We could,” Buzz says, “but they have it down. Hemp oil into fuel. They even distill ethanol for us if we need something a little more high octane.”
“Their corn hooch will knock you on your butt,” Julio says. “Trust me. Some of the best around, and that’s saying a lot since half the hollers have stills.”
“So, twenty-four hours left?” Big Daddy asks, getting to the point.
“Less,” Melissa says.
“Then it’ll already happen before we get there,” Big Daddy says. “What do you expect to find?”
“We get there?” I ask. “So you’ll help?”
“Oh, I think that can be arranged,” Big Daddy says. “But no more of your elitist nonsense. We are all in this world together now. Those that are right with the Lord need to stay together. We are here for a reason, Hoss. The Lord didn’t put this nightmare before us to bicker and kill each other, now did He?”
“I don’t know about the Lord,” I say, “but I have two kids in there that I want to live to a ripe old age. That’s enough for me.”
“To get back to what you were asking,” Melissa says. “I expect to find new neighbors.”
“I don’t,” I say. “Brenda won’t let that happen.”
“Wall Street said that everyone had to leave,” Stella says. “If Brenda takes a stand, then everyone will die.”
“No, they won’t,” I say. “Brenda will cut a deal. I’ve been thinking it over and something has been bothering me. Why didn’t she kill me?”
“What?” Melissa asks. “What do you mean?”
“I was alone in the jail all night,” I say. “An accident could have happened, so why didn’t it?”
“You mean besides the moral implications?” Big Daddy asks.
“That isn’t an issue,” I tell him. “Brenda’s morals involve one person: herself. Everyone else can be damned.”
“Good to know,” Big Daddy says. “Mel has told me as much, but it’s good to hear from others.”
“Because she knew we’d come,” Stella says, answering my first question. “She’d have a war on her hands.”
“True,” I say. “Or she knew we’d leave and where we’d go.”
“You think Brenda is smart enough to have planned this?” Melissa laughs. “You have more faith in her than I do.”
“I think Brenda knows when to cover her bases,” I say. “Once she knew we were all leaving, I am sure she saw some benefit in it. There’s no way she’s giving up Whispering Pines without a fight.”
“But that’s what she’s doing,” Andrew says.
“No, she’s not,” I say. “But, like always, she isn’t doing the fighting. She’s leaving that to us. She has something up her sleeve, believe me.”
Everyone is silent as they let that sink in.
“Damn,” Julio laughs, breaking the silence. “You are smart.”
“So you think she wanted us to come get help?” Melissa asks. “That this was her idea from the start?”
“No, no, not her idea,” I say. “When it comes down to it, Brenda isn’t that bright. But she saw an opportunity when it was presented. Any resistance she gave was all show. She plans on surrendering Whispering Pines and wanted to make sure that anyone that talked to Bullhorn told him that she got rid of the agitators.”
“Bullhorn?” Big daddy asks.
“That’s what he calls Wall Street,” Stella says. “It’s the wrong name.”
“He shout
s through a bullhorn,” I say. “You agreed with me at one point.”
“Whatever his name may be,” Big Daddy says. “He’ll be there with his people. That’s who we have to worry about. All this talk about Brenda is just your theory, Hoss. We can cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“Or she’s collaborating with the guy,” Melissa offers. “It could be that simple.”
“Yeah,” I admit, “it could be. Which means we have a serious problem on our hands.”
“Not to be rude,” Andrew says, looking at Big Daddy. “But the serious problem is there are only a few of you here. We don’t have the numbers we need to take on those people.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Buzz says. “We have plenty of people. They’ll be here in the morning. Unless it’s full harvest time, then most folks only come in for half a day to work. We make sure they get back home safe and sound well before dark.”
“In about a month, this place will be nothing but tents as far as you can see,” Julio adds. “We get the harvest in and everyone takes their share.”
“They survive out there?” Stella asks. “Outside the fence?”
“Ma’am, not to be rude, folks have been surviving in conditions like this for centuries in these mountains,” Big Daddy responds. “Now sure, they haven’t had to deal with the Zs, but they have had to deal with hardships just as bad. Folk around here know how to survive.” He spreads his arms wide. “This life is the life my daddy knew and his daddy knew before him. You can go back more than ten generations of Fitzpatrick’s and know what you’d find? Hard workers, big eaters, and folk living with the land.”
“You like this, don’t you?” I say. “Not the killing, but the simplicity.”
“Sure don’t mind not having a government breathing down my neck,” Big Daddy smiles as he tamps his pipe. “Or a bank doing the same. It may be a waking nightmare at times, but it’s true living, that’s for sure.”
“Amen,” Buzz says. Julio nods.
“So why risk it for a bunch of suburban losers like us?” I ask.
Big Daddy takes his pipe from his mouth and sets it aside.
“Where do you think they will come next?” Big Daddy asks. “You think all this Wall Street fella wants is a neighborhood where he can play hopscotch and ride his Big Wheel around? No. He wants to secure the entire area for himself. He doesn’t care who dies. I’ve dealt with his lot before. When the bank tried to take my land; when the government tried to impose Imminent Domain so they could build an interstate throughway, just so tourists could have more road to drive their RVs on; environmentalists coming here to tell me that I’m raping the Earth.” Big Daddy shakes his head sadly. “This fella ain’t new. Just a new cover on an old story.”