EMP

by Wilson Harp

  “Deputy,” Ted said. “Why don’t you go in and see the mayor. He might have something to tell you.”

  “What would he have to tell me?” McDaniels asked.

  “Just tell him Ted said he had a message. It’s the proposal the council had a couple of days ago.”

  “One day, Riggins, me and you are going to have some words. And I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.”

  “One day I’m sure that will happen, Gary. But it won’t be today. I have too much work to do today.”

  Deputy McDaniels spit on the ground and stalked up the steps to the library. Ted didn’t take his eyes off of the law man until the front door of the building slammed shut.

  “You should probably get going, David,” said Ted. “Gary is going to be furious when he comes out in a bit. He will likely be looking for someone to blame it on. I’m going to make myself scarce as well.”

  “What is the message?”

  “Up until now, McDaniels hasn’t found himself on any work schedules because he is our law man. But he hasn’t been living up to that duty, so the council voted to have his exception revoked.”

  “You think he might become violent?” I asked.

  “Maybe, but at least he left his sidearm up at Lester’s. That was probably Lester’s doing. I’ll have to thank him for that the next time I see him.”

  “You see him a lot?”

  “Every couple of days.”

  “Why?”

  “Lester has come around a bit. I think he is realizing that death is not just lurking around the corner. As bad as this all is, I think he believed it would be much worse.”

  “How much worse?”

  “Wilcox. The burning and looting that Farrin saw there. Kenton has held it together and we are starting to really gel as a community. I admit, there were a few days when I thought about heading west with Kenny, Sophia, her kids, and the others up at my place. Maybe we could find an Amish or Mennonite community to settle in with.”

  “I never thought about the Amish. They are probably doing pretty well.”

  Ted shrugged. “I’m sure it’s affected them in some manner, but their day to day living has likely been close to the same as before.”

  “How are the people at your place doing?”

  “Pretty good. Sophia has some strawberries coming in and the kids sure love that. I don’t tell many people all we have up there, because… you know.”

  I knew. Too many people would see that as unfair somehow. They wouldn’t care about the fact Sophia, Ted and the others had been growing their own food up there for years. They wouldn’t care with Ted and Kenny doing so much work in town, those who stayed up there would have extra work to do. Many people would just want some for themselves. And that would be trouble.

  “There are some blackberry bushes and I think some huckleberry bushes toward the creek,” I said. “There should be enough to make a couple of big batches of jam when they get ripe.”

  “And the peaches. Gruenfeld’s orchard is only about ten miles south. As long as the orchard is still intact,” Ted said.

  “Will Max just let people take his fruit?”

  “He and Betty have been living in the west camp since the start. Anne said he is happy to share his peaches. Otherwise, they would just rot. Besides, Kenton took him in. He’s grateful for that.”

  I looked up at the sun and realized it was close to noon. “I better get going, Ted. Missus Marsh will be needing another bucket of beets soon.”

  “You better not disappoint her. I heard the beans should start coming in a few days from now,” Ted said.

  “Another item to add to the menu,” I said. “And three deer being butchered, so meat will be more plentiful soon.”

  “Does Buck think he can keep a steady supply of venison?”

  “I haven’t talked to him,” I said. “I don’t really know him.”

  Ted nodded. “That’s fine, I’ll see if I can talk to Clint.”

  I headed back to the beet field as I considered what had happened. I had always assumed we would need the police and the police would enforce the laws that kept us safe.

  But did we need them? It was clear our only law officer was not going to do what was expected. So did we need him?

  And if we didn’t, what was keeping us from devolving into animals…. burning and looting our town? The answer I came to was Lester. I realized Lester, of all people, would be the head of one of those groups that took what they wanted and didn’t care if others were hurt. But his group wasn’t doing it either. Lester and his group had hope. Hope that they could not only survive, but that they could continue living. And that is what Ted had given Kenton as well.

  He had convinced us, in the first hours of our first day, of our new reality; that we could survive no matter how bad it got. He convinced us he had a plan to get us past the issues with water and food. When people started breaking, instead of going wild and thinking they had nothing to lose, they looked to the leadership Ted had established.

  The council had always confused me to this point. I didn’t understand why Ted needed a formal declaration of who his advisors were. He was our de facto leader, he could take counsel from whomever he chose.

  But a council gave people a sense there was a structure of authority. That there was a system of responsibility. That there was a sense of normality. All of those illusions let people see even though today might be a struggle, there were plans for tomorrow and next week and next month and next year.

  That sense of long term planning gave hope. And hope kept people working.

  I realized work had kept me from doing foolish things myself. I had thought several times about trying to go and find Lexi and Emma on my own, but there was always something immediate to hold me here. If it wasn’t digging onions and beets, it was digging latrines or spreading information to others.

  If I had left in the first few days, I wouldn’t have been in good enough shape to make it. Those first days, it was only the loan of Clyde from Anne that let me travel around town. My legs grew stronger and my pot belly shrunk in the first couple of weeks, but I still wouldn’t have had the strength I did now.

  And now… now I wondered if it was too late. If I left today, would it be a useless endeavor? I had to trust they had found a way to survive, they had found a group who would take them in, and they had found a way for hope to shine on their lives.

  I picked up a bucket at the Marsh’s house and went to the field to start digging more beets. A few girls were out in one row. They talked as they gathered, so I settled myself two rows over. The ground had firmed up a bit since I had left and it was actually easier to dig the roots out. I kept thinking about what had held me in Kenton for so long. It had been two weeks since I was given the radio to fix, but shouldn’t I have left before then? Self-doubt and guilt ate away at my spirit as I went about the task at hand.

  I kept telling myself it would turn out okay. Once I fixed the radio, I would be able to contact someone near Chicago and eventually talk to Lexi and Emma.

  The bucket of beets was full before I was through with my thoughts and I carried it over to the group of women preparing dinner.

  “David,” Millie said. “I think you need to go home and rest.”

  “I’m fine, Missus Marsh.”

  “No, you need to go rest, David. You look like you aren’t feeling well.”

  I was angry. Of course I didn’t feel well. I was hungry, my muscles ached, and my wife and daughter were two-hundred and fifty miles away from me.

  “Thank you, Missus Marsh. I might just do that.”

  “I’ll send someone over with your dinner tonight. Just… just get some rest.”

  I smiled at her and turned to go. I almost ran into Sarah as I turned. Her eyes grew big and her mouth dropped open. She scrambled back. Her expression and movements were frightened, as if I was prepared to pounce on her. I nodded to her and walked away.

  Maybe I felt bad after all. Maybe I looked si
ck. I wasn’t sure. I would check when I got home. I thought I probably needed a bath. That would be a bucket of water to pull across the street. And I would want to put on some fresh clothes afterward. I would feel better after a bath and change of clothes.

  Dad was in the garage when I arrived home.

  “Hi Dad,” I said as I picked up a bucket.

  “Hello, Son,” he said. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah. Missus Marsh told me to come home and rest. I must look sick.”

  “That must be it,” Dad said. “Your Mom is resting in our room. Looks like you’re going to take a bath. Just don’t wake her if possible.”

  I didn’t know what kind of racket he thought I would make, but I held in my terse retort and just smiled and nodded.

  I was relieved I didn’t have to wait at the pump. Most people gathered their water in the morning and a little before the sun went down. The evening pump time was usually the time when people shared news and rumors. It had become a socializing event and often there were those who showed just for the gossip and information. Happily, none of them were there when I gathered the water for my bath.

  Dad wasn’t in the garage when I returned, nor did I see him as I carried the water into the bathroom. I went into my bedroom and gathered some clean clothes. As I turned to go back to my bath, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above my dresser.

  There was a stranger in the glass looking back at me. Gaunt and tired looking, covered in mud, the stranger wore my face. This man looked like me, but he was angry. Not frustrated or in a rage, just angry. Resentful.

  This is why Missus Marsh and Dad asked me if I was alright. This is why Sarah shrank back from me and Dad told me to be careful not to disturb Mom. The man I was staring at was ready to break.

  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and forced my face away from the mirror. I could break later. Right now, I needed a bath and some clean clothes.

  Chapter 13

  “David.”

  I sat up and looked around. I was in the middle of a dream and my dad’s voice cut through. It wasn’t loud, but it had a very insistent tone.

  “David.”

  “I’m up,” I said. Too loud. Not so loud. “What’s wrong?”

  My eyes adjusted to the faint light. It was a good while before dawn, but the sun was already lighting the world.

  “Come on, get dressed. Hurry.”

  I looked at Dad and was surprised. He was fully dressed and he had a rifle in each hand.

  I reached over and grabbed the jeans I had hung over the back of my desk chair.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. A yawn hit me as I continued. “Why do you have guns?”

  “Trouble south,” Dad said. “Three shots and then Farrin came tearing by on his motorcycle. Listen.”

  I stopped pulling up my jeans and listened carefully. I could hear the bell from the town ring over and over.

  “What kind of emergency?” I asked.

  “Don’t know, but we need to go.” Dad turned and walked out the door.

  I grabbed my shoes and put them on. I didn’t take the time to find a clean shirt, I just grabbed the t-shirt I had tossed on my laundry hamper the night before and hurried to catch up with Dad.

  There were small groups of men, and more than a few boys, walking down Granger with rifles and shotguns.

  Buck Fredrickson and his two older boys were a hundred feet ahead when I fell in beside Dad.

  “They must have been sleeping with their guns to get here before us,” Dad said as he handed me a rifle.

  “There must be twenty men on the road. Do we need this many?”

  “Maybe not, but always better to have more than you need than not enough.”

  I squinted in the grey light and tried to look farther down the road. The summer humidity had already taken hold and mists were common in the early hours of the morning. Ahead I thought I saw something darker though, a smudge of gray that hung too heavy.

  “I think that’s smoke,” I said as I pointed down the road.

  “I think you’re right,” Dad replied. “We’re upwind or we could tell for sure.”

  Buck and his boys picked up their pace and soon they trotted ahead of us. Buck was a large guy, though not as much as when I first saw him on Dad’s front lawn that first night. He moved quickly when he wanted to. I had heard from several people he could move swift and silent in the woods.

  He had been in the military for a couple of tours. Part of some special unit from the rumors. Dad didn’t know more than his military service and I had never spoken to Buck for more than a few minutes.

  The sky kept growing brighter as we walked and soon we could see the bridge over Carter’s Creek. The town’s barricade was in the middle of the bridge and there was a gathering of men crouching behind the obstruction. More men were behind the structure of the bridge. They motioned people where to go when they approached.

  A thick pillar of smoke rose from beyond the barricade. It looked like something was burning in the road not far on the other side of the bridge. As we drew near, we could hear an exchange of shouts and calls.

  Buck and his boys had reached the bridge and huddled down behind the thick concrete that made up the culvert. Buck moved in a careful crouch up toward the barricade.

  “Pat, over here.”

  I turned to see Luke motion us over to the side of the road.

  “Come on,” he said as we joined him. “There is a good spot near the river with plenty of cover.”

  “What’s going on?” Dad asked as he followed Luke.

  “A gang or something from the south. They said they had something to show the town. I don’t know what it was, but there was some terrible screams and one of the boys at the barricade fired the alert shots.”

  “I heard the shots,” Dad said. “Woke me up. But then there was another shot and about a minute later Farrin went tearing past the house heading into town. He got the bell ringing.”

  “Don’t know what the other shot was,” Luke said. “I just threw on my boots, grabbed my rifle and headed to the bridge.”

  There was a fallen tree that rested against a larger tree near the river. Luke guided us to the location and pointed at the far side of the bridge.

  “There they are,” he said. “Not even hiding behind cover.”

  A group of men stood on the south side of the bridge. I guessed the closest was just over four hundred feet from me and the furthest maybe another twenty or twenty-five. Several of them looked over to where we positioned ourselves and smiled. All of them had rifles in their hands and at least two handguns hanging on their belt. They looked dirty and smelly, their clothes a mixed collection of whatever would be cool enough in the heat and yet rugged enough for outside living.

  A tall one was yelled something up at the barricade. He pointed back at a wooden structure that smoldered and put up a ton of smoke. It looked like it was a stack of four or five tractor tires with something stuck in the middle.

  “Dear God,” Dad said. “That’s a man they set on fire.”

  “What?” Luke asked. “Is that what is burning?”

  The tall man raised his rifle over his head and yelled something. He pointed back at the burning stack of tires and the other men with him cheered and laughed.

  “I think it’s a threat,” Dad said. “They must want or need something from us.”

  “I wonder—“

  Luke’s question was cut short as the crack of a rifle shot pounded into my ears. I dropped to the ground as a barrage of gunfire thundered through the morning air. I looked up to see that both my Dad and Luke had taken shelter behind trees, their rifles ready to raise. My gun lay in the mud where I dropped it.

  “Hold fire! Hold fire!” someone called from the bridge.

  I looked over the fallen tree and saw the men who had been taunting and laughing at their murderous activities. They all lay unmoving in an area of the road that looked as if it had been painted the brightest red I had ever see
n.

  Dad and Luke were both swore under their breath as they hurried over to the bridge.

  I stood shocked as I watched several men carefully walk down the bridge and examine those who lay still. Buck walked down and stared at the burning tires.

  I picked up the rifle and walked slowly toward the gathered and animated group of men from Kenton. There were about forty at the bridge when I arrived and dozens more were coming down the road from town.

  “Come on, David,” Dad said. “Let’s get home before your mother worries about what happened.”

  Dad was angry about something. Probably the senseless waste of life. I was embarrassed by my reaction along the bank of the creek and wanted to find something I could help with.

  “You go on, Dad. I want to see what I can do to help.”

  He held his hand out and looked at the muddy rifle I held. I handed it to him and he took it without a word and started north along the road.

  I walked through the jumbled crowd of men with guns until I came to the barricade. The men who were killed were being dragged off the road into a small grassy area. Buck seemed to be in charge of the clean up as he pointed at a body and then pointed where he wanted it placed.

  Two men from Kenton were trying to move the burning pillar of tires. The stack of tires was on some sort of wheeled sled, but the heat from the burning rubber kept them from getting close enough to grab the handle.

  “Do we know who that was?” I asked myself.

  “Bill Ellison, from what I was told,” Luke said. He had come up beside me as I watched the horrific scene on the other side of the bridge.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You asked who was burning. Right?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t realize I had asked out loud.”

  “I talked with one of the men who were at the bridge when these fellows showed up. They were pulling something with them, but it was covered with a large piece of canvas, like a drop cloth. When they stopped, they pulled it off and Bill was standing in the tires. He was beat up real bad and they had tied his hands in front of him and to the top tire. They had duct taped his mouth shut, too.”