The Last of the Freemen

by Carl Trotz

  “I hear you saved the day with Hartmut’s relatives.”

  “We got them out, at least.”

  “You don't seem happy about it.”

  “No. I blew a man’s brains out in front of those kids. What will that do to them? I don't know.”

  “Still, it’s pretty heroic.”

  “They were all drunk and high, all the gangbangers. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Nothing heroic. What I offered to pay, they accepted at first, then demanded more. So we killed them all.”

  Dieter turned the car onto a wide, pothole-filled driveway. In the distance, on a separate access road, Erin could see an old white farmhouse with broken windows and vines overtaking the porch, while in front of them loomed a large steel dairy shed with a high roof and open sides. They drove straight inside the weed-filled structure and stopped near a refrigerated straight truck.

  “Here's our ride,” Harm said as he opened his door. Dieter grimaced, looked over his shoulder at Hughie as if he were going to speak, then got out of the car without saying anything.

  While Erin unbuckled Hughie, Harm carried her bags to the back of the truck; he set them down to unlatch the doors, then climbed inside while leaving them on the ground.

  “This was made for smuggling things,” Dieter called after him in a strained, throaty voice, “not for people.”

  “I know,” Harm answered. “We’ll make it work. Can you get me that car seat?”

  Erin moved out of the way as he went to car, and she walked over to look into the back of the truck. It was empty of cargo and appeared clean, with narrow grooves in the metal floor; there were small lights on the ceiling. At the far end of the cargo area Harm was unfastening a wall panel with a battery-powered wrench; he then pulled it aside to reveal the small, dark space for concealment behind it.

  He took the car seat from Dieter, placed the wrench in a metal bin bolted high on the side wall, and grabbed a rolled-up ratchet strap from inside the same bin; he then returned to the hiding place, where he dropped down to his knees and partly disappeared behind the remaining portion of the false wall.

  Dieter watched also, though his eyes were repeatedly drawn to Hughie, who was trying to reach the truck with his outstretched hand.

  “I have a boy about his age,” he said shyly.

  “Oh.”

  “I would've done the same thing, if they tried to take him, or any of my kids. Sometimes I worry it's only a matter of time, unless their whole system crashes soon.”

  “I wouldn't know about any of that. I'm just going day-by-day right now.”

  “Yeah.” He looked down and kicked at the ground as he mulled something over.

  “So is your brother-in-law... Is he... Do you know if he's all right in the head?”

  “As far as I know. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.”

  “There must be a reason.”

  “It's nothin’.”

  “Let's go,” Harm interrupted. “Pass me the bags.”

  Dieter handed him the bags and portable crib - which Harm stowed behind the wall - then reached into a spot between the taillights and pulled out a long aluminum ramp so that Erin could get inside more easily.

  “After you,” he said.

  She walked carefully up the ramp and traversed the length of the cargo hold, then peered behind the false wall.

  “It's kind of dark.”

  “I got it,” Dieter said, and ran to the car. He soon returned with a flashlight and ran back into the truck with it.

  “Here,” he said, shining the light into the crawl space for her.

  To the left she could see the safety chair on the floor, strapped securely in place. Her bags were to the right, packed against the wall on the other side.

  “So we’ll just sit on the floor, I guess?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Harm said as he took the flashlight from Dieter. “Just get him in his seat, if you could.”

  “Here's Bern and Herman,” Dieter said; as Erin knelt to secure Hughie she heard the car coming in behind them.

  “What are they doing here?”

  “Bringing Dieter’s car back.”

  “Oh.”

  She turned as she sat down, and fit herself cross-legged in the tight space between the walls. Harm squeezed into the other side, sat with his back against the luggage, and pocketed the flashlight.

  “Go ahead and shut us in,” he said.

  Dieter lifted the section of wall back into place, and blackness enveloped them; as he screwed it into place, the buzz of the wrench gave Erin a sinking feeling.

  “Did you know I'm claustrophobic?”

  “Me, too,” Harm answered. “Let's not talk about it.”

  “I can't see Hughie.”

  “Here,” he said; he turned the flashlight on, then handed it to her.

  “Thanks. Can I just leave it on?”

  “Sure.”

  “So, we're pretty much stuck in here until he gets us out?”

  “Yeah. But I’m sure I could bust us out if needed, if we crash or something.”

  “That's reassuring.”

  They heard the ramp being pushed back into place, and a brief, unintelligible conversation between Dieter and Bern, then the diesel engine rumbled to life, and surrounded them with noise; soon the floor vibrated with the truck’s movement. Erin considered her future as they drove for a few minutes without talking.

  “I know I'm high risk,” she began, “and I'm a danger to Hilda and Oscar’s family. But if you have a hideout somewhere, you know, you could always hire me. I could cook and clean, I could keep the books, or even just pull weeds. If you teach me, I'm sure I could clean guns for you, too.”

  There was no response.

  “Harm?”

  She shined the light in his direction; his head was slumped, and he was fast asleep.

  Chapter 33

  The truck rolled slowly to a stop; Harm stirred as the engine shut off.

  “I must've fallen asleep,” he said, and looked at his watch.

  “You sure did! I’ve been almost two hours in here with no one to talk to.”

  They heard the cab door slam, then the squeak of the cargo doors in the back.

  “You all right in there?” Dieter called.

  “I am,” Erin answered.

  “No problems?” Harm asked, and stretched his legs as Dieter started to unfasten the wall panel.

  “None. We passed a cop, but he didn't give us a second look.”

  “Good.”

  “And no Asesinos. They’re probably spooked after what you did to those guys, and what the Shrikes have been doing to them for the last week.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was some final touch, stickin’ that guy on a branch like that.”

  “What’s that?” Erin asked. “You stuck someone on a branch?”

  “I did,” Harm said indifferently. “That’s the Shrikes’ calling card, they always impale a dead Asesino on a branch, like real shrikes do their prey. I figured we could let them take credit. The Asesinos will get a lot of desertion as they start dying off.”

  Harm stood as Dieter pulled the panel away, and climbed out into the cargo area, then pulled the bags out while Erin unfastened Hughie; Dieter jumped down to the ground and pulled the ramp into place, then hurried away with her bags. Once Erin came from behind the false wall with Hughie, Harm went back in to retrieve the car seat.

  “We're in a barn?” she asked in befuddlement as she looked out the back of the truck; a single yellow bulb dangled from an old beam above them, casting shadowy light on a dirt floor that was littered with straw; the strong smell of manure hit her nose.

  “Where are we? Is this it?”

  “No, but we’re close,” Harm said, and hopped to the ground, car seat in hand. Erin hesitated at the top of the ramp, and he reached out to offer support; she girded her arms around Hughie and walked down without his help.

  “We don't want to drive a dairy truck into a residential
neighborhood,” he explained, “so we're switching to a car for the last leg. It's dark now, so it should be all right. But to make sure, we’ll have my uncle drive there a minute ahead of us. This is his place we’re at. He’ll call if anything looks strange.”

  A minivan pulled up in front of the open barn door; Dieter, now wearing jeans and black tee shirt, got out and opened the back, then began loading the bags he left there on the ground.

  “We're all ready,” he called.

  As they started for the vehicle a thin, elderly man came through the open door into the barn, walking slowly and with a slight limp; he had bushy eyebrows, short white hair, and alert gray eyes; he smiled warmly upon seeing Harm.

  “Harm,” he said with outstretched arms.

  “Oheim,” Harm answered, and the two embraced. The old man’s eyes quickly focused on Erin, and he moved towards her.

  “So here you are,” he said, his voice energetic despite his feeble appearance. “The whole world is after you. But don't worry. They've been after us for a thousand years. And here’s the baby. The two of you have made quite a mess for those botflies in charge.”

  “What do you mean?” Erin asked.

  “They put your story out all over, every channel, every hour, but I think that now they wish they hadn't. You have a sweet, honest face, you know. And a lot of the English still care more for their children than they fear the government. So it hasn't worked, turning you into a public enemy. Not that they'll ever admit it.

  “But you got away with your son, they have no idea where to find you. That makes them look very weak, very incompetent. It warms my heart. The Müntzerites, when some of them fought back, they rounded others up, even though they weren’t the right ones, just to make it look good. But you’ve beaten them. There's no one they can round up and blame. So now they're not reporting it on the national news, I think it's become something they didn't want.” He smiled wide. “Just imagine how much money they’re wasting, trying to find you. They have hundreds of men searching the woods near your house, thousands more at checkpoints across the state. The sooner we bankrupt them, the better!”

  “Come on!” Dieter called.

  “Ach,” the old man said, “it would be nice to talk, but we have to go.”

  Harm had already advanced to the vehicle and installed Hughie’s chair; after having a few hushed words with his uncle, the old man climbed into a white pickup truck and drove away. Erin stepped out into the cool, overcast night and watched his taillights grow smaller in the dark.

  “Let's go,” Harm reminded her.

  Once she had situated Hughie and herself, Harm climbed into the other side and closed the door; as they started off he flashed a quick, sympathetic glance in her direction, but remained silent. She thought about the look as they drove, trying to guess what it meant, and trying to summon the courage to speak.

  “Harm?” she finally asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “I know this will sound a little ridiculous, but have you ever thought of hiring someone, to, you know, help keep track of all your operations?”

  “I don't have employees.”

  Dieter turned and spoke over his shoulder.

  “No, but you do lose track of things from time to time, cousin. Like those orchard bees.”

  Harm rolled his eyes. Erin perked up.

  “Orchard bees?” she asked.

  “It's a little side business I run. They're little dark bees, mason bees technically, they pollinate early in the spring, before honeybees are active, if it's cool weather. They're good for pollinatin’ apples and plums and the like. You get them to nest in wood blocks where you’ve drilled holes, I mean, in paper tubes you put in the holes. That way, after they're done for the season you can pull the tubes, they have the next year’s cocoons inside, and you store them away till spring. I sell them for a little extra cash. So Harm pulled a few hundred of them for me, out of blocks I'd put out on his land, he was supposed to bring them right to me. Or at least store them in a safe spot.”

  “What happened?”

  “He got sidetracked, went off to do something else on the way, and all those tubes got left in the car on a hot, sunny day. They cooked off. All of them died. And I had orders to fill.”

  “That’s too bad,” Erin agreed. “But it definitely sounds like something I could help with. I’d be happy to, if I had the right equipment, you know, so I wouldn't get stung.”

  “These bees don't sting, not really. Hardly ever. Doesn’t hurt like honeybees either.”

  “That's even better.”

  Harm clenched his teeth in frustration.

  “And how much do you make from all that?” he asked, clearly irritated. “A few hundred a year?”

  “It's a couple thousand, all told,” Dieter answered, raising his voice. “Maybe the ones you killed were only worth a few hundred. But every little bit helps. I have a family. I can't run guns and ammunition all the time like you.”

  Harm shook his head and looked out the window.

  “There’ve been other things, too, cousin,” Dieter went on. “I won't name them all right now, I can see you're upset. I just thought the lady had a good idea. Sometimes you could use a little help. But as you can see, we’re here, so I guess we're done talkin’.”

  He swung into a driveway and stopped in front of a single-bay garage at the left of a darkened, split-level house; the vinyl siding was white, a tall batten fence surrounded the back yard, and the front was shielded along the property line by a dense arborvitae hedge. Erin looked out the window at what appeared to be a modest suburban neighborhood. Suddenly the overhead door opened in front of them.

  “Well, Mrs. Gordon,” Dieter said as he lurched the car forward, “welcome to your new home.”

  Chapter 34

  Dieter shut off the engine, and the overhead door closed behind them. Harm wrung his hands and looked anxiously around the bare, brightly lit garage.

  “I don't like this.”

  “Easy there,” Dieter said. “This is how they like to do it. It went fine when I was here last night with Torsten.”

  “You were here last night?” Erin asked.

  “Yeah. We talked, brought them some things.”

  The door in front of them - which led to the back yard - opened and a man clad all in black, including a ski mask, stood briefly at the threshold brandishing a pistol; he motioned for them to follow, then disappeared outside.

  “Well that's a nice welcome,” Erin said. “Are you guys sure about this?”

  “It all right,” Dieter said, getting out of the car. “They're a little paranoid, that's all.”

  “And what did you bring them?”

  Dieter said nothing and got out of the car; Harm climbed out and went with him to the trunk, where they grabbed the bags. Erin trembled as she unfastened Hughie; Harm waited for her while Dieter proceeded through the door.

  “Why didn't he answer me?” she asked, her voice shaking, as she climbed out of the car with Hughie. “What did he bring? Are you paying them to take me?”

  “We're helping them some.”

  “At their request? Some kind of a trade?”

  He frowned and raised his eyes to meet hers.

  “What do you want us to do?” he asked.

  She shrugged and shook her head, trying to think of an answer; he turned and leaned inside the car to get the safety chair.

  “You’ll be with your own.”

  She looked at him pleadingly as he stepped back and closed the car door; he glanced back at her but quickly looked away.

  “You haven't even met them yet. You might like it, and everything will be fine. It's the unknown that you’re afraid of.”

  He led her to the open door and gestured for her to go first; as she approached she saw Dieter in the yard on the other side, waiting and watching. She went out into the chilly air, held Hughie tighter, and strained her eyes till they adjusted to the dark, soon focusing on the black-clad figure who stood near the house, holdi
ng open a bulkhead door; Dieter saw her hesitation and went first, going down the stairs and out of view.

  “See?” Harm whispered from close behind her. “It's all right.” He gently put his arm around her and walked with her to the top of the stairs. “He's right down there.”

  “Quiet!” hissed the man in black.

  She felt Harm’s body tense as he turned to face the man, and it suddenly felt safer to move down the stairs; once at Dieter’s side she looked back, half expecting to see a confrontation, but was happy that Harm - though scowling - was slowly descending the steps.

  They stood crowded in a dimly lit hallway with a heavy steel door at the end. The masked man started down the stairs - pausing to close and latch the hatch door - then knocked four times on the wall, all the while keeping the pistol in view; they heard the bolt slide back, and slowly the door opened.

  A thin, pallid woman in her thirties, with matted brown hair of shoulder length, stood in front of them holding a twelve gauge, pump-action shotgun, the muzzle pointed at the floor.

  “Ain't that nice,” Dieter said, “you greetin’ us with a Mossberg I brought you yesterday!”

  The woman scoffed and took a few steps back as they entered the murky, stale-smelling cellar.

  “Procedure is procedure!” the masked man behind them barked in an angry whisper. “We don't know who you are. Now set all that baggage down right there, and step away.”

  They placed the bags on the floor and moved towards the center of the cramped basement; the windows were boarded up, with blankets hanging from the ceiling along the wall to their right to serve as partitions, creating small rooms. A stationary bicycle was in the far left corner, while near to where they stood sat a gaunt, balding, middle-aged man with glassy eyes and a forlorn expression, resting his arm next to a scoped rifle that lay across a folding card table.

  “Where is Keith?” Erin asked.

  “Oh - I'm over here.” A hanging blanket was pushed aside in the gloom as he came out from a compartment near the far right corner; he was thin, with red hair and a freckled face, his jeans and tee shirt looked unwashed for some time.

  “I was resting up for watch duty tonight,” he said absently.