by Clary, LeRoy
Oddly, no dog came to greet us or warn the farmers of strangers. Tess knocked on the door and a man opened it; a piece of firewood clutched in his hand as a weapon. His other hand extended from a sling that supported his injured arm. He had a black eye and his other cheek was raw and weeping.
Tess pushed the door with her shoulder and forced her way inside where a slight woman cowed in a corner. Tess said, “We’re here to help. Danner, what do you have in that med kit?”
I looked around the one room and spotted a small eating table. I moved everything to the far edge and rooted in my sleeping bag until I found the kit.
Meanwhile, nobody spoke.
Bream said, “I go watch for danger.”
He left the door open. We needed the light. Tess opened my kit and used butterfly bandages to bring split skin together, a larger bandage to cover the raw cheek of the man, and there was a small bottle of liquid antiseptic that squirted a clear spray. She went to the woman and helped her sit up while tending to more injuries.
Then Tess said, “We can stay and help you for a day or two.”
“With what?” the man spat. “We got nothing left. They took it all.”
“Because you hid some from the soldiers?” I asked.
“They were taking it all, a little at a time.”
Tess said, “Listen, we may still be able to help. We also need something.”
“What?” he asked angrily.
“Do you have a handcart or wagon?”
He nodded. “A broken one, since the soldiers were here.”
“No matter,” she said. “I saw they turned over your garden, but there are still carrots and things.”
“We got to eat. You can’t take it all.”
She reached into my bedroll and pulled out a fistful of bright new bullets and placed them in front of him.
His eyes flicked from them to her and back as if the bullets were made of gold. Indeed, they may as well have been. He said, “That’s enough to buy this farm.”
I was learning. A single bullet, if fired by a good hunter, provided enough venison or elk to last a family for a winter, and still have meat to trade. Tess was doing the negotiating, so I kept quiet.
She said, “Listen to me. We can help you do some repairs, let you heal for a few days, and then we need a cart and things to take into the city, so we look like we’re there to barter. If possible, we’re going to do some damage to Sir Wilson and his men. We just need a little help.”
“You got it,” the woman said at the mention of Sir Wilson.
Tess turned to me. “Go outside and begin an inspection of the farm with Bream. Gather up the vegetables uprooted and put them in the broken cart. See what can be repaired. Try to get things in order.”
I walked outside. Tess wanted me out of there for some reason and it was not because I knew how to repair farm implements or restore crops.
Bream was standing beside the fruit tree that had been cut down. I walked to his side and together we stood looking at it. The trunk had been chopped until it fell over.
“Firewood,” he said.
His meaning didn’t reach me until we’d moved to a toolshed and he located an ax and saw. He gathered tools scattered on the ground and hung them on the walls inside the shed. We moved on to another shed. He pointed to the open gate and inside where a small ramp went into a hole cut in the side.
“Chickens. All gone.”
We went to the barn, but before reaching it, he pointed to animal droppings in the corral. “Cows, sheep, and dog.”
There was no sign of the animals.
We went inside where again everything had ruthlessly been wrecked, destroyed, or thrown to the ground. After cleaning up part of it, we returned to the tree equipped with a large saw and ax. Bream cut the trunk into sections and after a fashion, I learned to split the rounds into firewood and carry them to the house.
Tess emerged; her expression angry. “Find the cart?”
“That thing?” I asked with a wave of my hand to the boxlike creation with three wheels instead of four.
Hands on hips, she walked around until she found a similar wheel and said, “You should be spending your time on this.”
Both Bream and I exchanged a look, but both of us were too intelligent to speak. Instead, I leaped to her side and held the fourth wheel beside one of the others. There was a rod that the wheel went on, or there should have been one. We searched the ground nearby and located it.
Small strips of metal with screws held the rod in place, which in turn held the wheel. In fifteen minutes, we had all four wheels spinning on an upside-down cart. We turned it over and I took the rope in front and pulled. It followed.
The wheels in front had no steering ability, so the person pushing had to adjust where it rolled by lifting the rear of the cart and moving it left or right. Not a great wagon.
Tess said, “Put light things in the back so it is easier to lift.”
It was only three feet wide and three long. I didn’t see how we loaded it would make much difference.
Tess placed her hands on her hips and said, “Each of the bullets we gave them is worth this cart if it was full. We drove a bad bargain.”
As I recalled, we didn’t drive any bargain. We made an offer to the farmer and his wife accepted. Again, I was not going to contradict Tess. Her tone and stance told us to shut up and do as she said.
“Fill it with the best vegetables you can find.”
I turned and examined the ground. Finally, I found a small carrot with the tip broken off and tossed it inside the wagon. It looked lonely and forlorn. Nobody was going to buy it.
She said, “You’re right. Stay right here.”
Bream looked ready to bolt and go on another of his excursions. I thought about joining him as she stormed to the road in front of the house. I got tired of waiting and split more wood. Bream sat in the shade and scowled at me as if my working discredited him, yet he didn’t offer to help.
It didn’t seem fair. Tess was angry at the world, so he made angry faces at me. They should have been directed at Tess.
She returned with a young man at her heels and behind him a wagon that steered. His wagon was piled to overflowing with the ears of yellow corn.
Wordlessly, Tess pointed to our wagon.
While shaking his head, he got to one knee and examined the bottom, the wheels, and finally stood and shook her hand as a deal was struck. Tess handed him something and he walked away pulling our wagon.
Bream called to him as he pointed to the small out-building to one side, “Bring chickens. Tomorrow.”
The young man held up his thumb and Bream was satisfied. Holding a thumb pointed into the air meant silent agreement.
She said, “I overpaid, but now we have a full wagon to get us into Everett.”
Bream and I stood as if rooted to the ground.
She placed her hands on her hips and asked, “What’s wrong now?”
Bream looked up. “You decided.”
“I decide what?”
“Everything,” he mumbled, looking ready to leap like a rabbit if she moved in his direction.
I said, “He’s right. Not that your decisions are wrong, but we have no idea of what you’ve decided or what our role is.”
Her face reddened and I got ready to run with Bream until she cooled down. Instead, she said, “You’re both right. Pull that wagon along and we’ll talk while we walk. The boy said, farmers get their food to town early in the morning, to get the best price when they trade. Getting there later will look suspicious, so I wanted to go right away.”
Bream came closer, took hold of the lever that steered the wagon without ever getting within reach of Tess. He pulled. I pushed. Once we got out to the dirt road, Tess told us the plan again, with her modifications.
We were two brothers and a sister from further up the valley. It was our first trip to Everett alone, only because our father hurt himself while chopping wood. The ax had cut his foot.
Since I’d been splitting wood a few minutes earlier, I didn’t like that part of the story.
She said, “We need to move around in town, find where farmers take their goods, and then make up an excuse to move on to our real objective. Then we will play it by ear.”
It was a strange expression I’d never heard but assumed it meant we’d make it up as we went along.
There seemed to be a lot left unsaid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Once on the road, we fell into a regular rhythm. Bream pulled and steered, I pushed, and Tess walked alongside and offered advice as Bream steered. We did a lot of pushing and pulling while she did a lot of talking.
We were not the only ones pushing or pulling carts full of farm goods to barter, sell, or trade. Tess managed to allow some to pass us by and continue on their way faster, while we passed a couple of others and after a few friendly words, we hurried on. We were watching and learning their ways.
The road descended a long hill and turned into a sort of long, low bridge that crossed above the flat of the valley, which must have been well over two miles long. The river ran under it at the far end, but Tess pointed out debris stranded in trees that were tangled and trapped in the lower branches growing fifty feet below the bridge. She said it had been swept there during floods.
I assumed that was why the long, low bridge was originally built. It was more of an elevated concrete highway than a bridge. Traffic on it was not bothered with floods. It had survived far better than many of the buildings and other roads, probably because it was raised so high.
From the east end, I looked toward the city over two miles away and wished I could use my binoculars. Walking those two miles, much of it uphill as we climbed to meet the city, was going to tire us all. Maybe when returning we could ride the wagon and let gravity do the work.
There were a few farmers already returning with empty carts. Tess said, “Don’t worry. They had regular buyers.”
At the far end, everyone stopped and talked to a few soldiers who had a blockade funneling all traffic through one narrow slot. Our bedrolls with our guns were hidden under the ears of corn, so if there was trouble, it would be resolved without shooting. At least, without shooting from us, which was an uncomfortable thought.
Each cart or wagon only made a short pause as the soldiers inspected and quickly passed them through. Just having them there was enough to discourage those who didn’t belong. I was feeling reasonably relaxed as we got closer.
A soldier in the blue uniform with three gold stripes on his arm eyed me suspiciously. I have no idea why. He came closer and said, “What about you?”
I shrugged. I had no idea what his problem with me was. Tess and Bream kept pushing the wagon and I moved with them.
“Your hair? Cut it all off when you got sick, did you?”
Tess gave an exaggerated nod and said as if she’d explained my short hair dozens of times in a land where most men had hair that reached their collars, “Most of it was falling out anyway. Shaving it seemed the best solution. It’s growing back like it used to.”
The soldier seemed to understand. He backed a few cautious steps as I advanced. He was scared of me or scared of catching something from me better explained his reaction. Mayfield had mentioned one time that in the middle ages more died of illness before battles than in the actual fighting. It was probably the same now.
Another guard said in a weary voice, “Why haven’t I see you three before?”
Tess gave him the short story about helping out our father who had cut his foot with an ax.
The soldier snickered and said, “Stupid damn farmers. The second one to try chopping his foot off this week. For their protection, we should confiscate their axes.”
We just kept the wagon rolling up the incline. They didn’t order us to stop after the rude comments, so we continued following the others with goods to sell.
The edge of the city, beyond where the river flowed, had been an industrial area where several roads intersected, including an Interstate highway that still appeared in decent condition if you ignored the rusting hulks of abandoned vehicles.
To our right, on the Interstate road itself, poles, and beams had been laid from a concrete ledge to the ground and covered with strips of metal for a roof. It appeared a few dozen people lived there. Others occupied a large building that may have been a warehouse. More had set up tents in open areas of grass, usually several huddled together in a small area.
“For mutual protection.” She didn’t have to explain that to me.
The road had emerged in what had been old residential houses mixed with industrial. Ahead, up another hill, were the tall buildings I was looking for, which was the old center of the city. It was at least another mile. Maybe less, but I was getting tired and it looked a long way off.
I asked a man pushing a cart full of potatoes where he was heading.
“To the main market, up ahead. Not far,” he huffed as he trudged along.
We fell in behind him. In a half-mile, we passed several buildings that had burned, one that was riddled with bullet holes, and dozens of tents, most of which were crudely made of whatever material was handy.
I said, “People don’t want to live in the buildings that are still standing.”
The man pushing the cart ahead said over his shoulder, “Firetraps, get you killed. And rats, roaches, and fleas. Most are used as toilets. Tents, you can always move when the smells get to be too much.”
Tess said, “Thank you. We’re new here.”
“No shit?” He laughed and huffed as he pushed.
I considered throwing an ear of corn in his direction.
Two men in long flannel sleeves and short beards walked out from between a pair of buildings and stood squarely in the middle of the street in front of us. Their insolence was obvious, and they intended to intimidate either the potato-man or us.
The man pushing the cart ahead veered off to his left. They moved to block him.
One of them said, “I could use a few potatoes for dinner.”
“What do you have to trade?” he asked, slowing because he could go no farther.
“How about keeping you from getting a whipping today,” the other said, and both laughed. “Does that sound like a good trade?”
One moved closer and reached for a potato as we arrived. Their eyes were now on us.
I stopped pushing and gripped to the rear of the cart so Bream couldn’t pull it ahead. I said to them quietly, “You don’t want to do this.”
Tess moved off to one side and came to a stop.
They had ignored Bream from the beginning, realizing he was different. That was a mistake.
While they concentrated on the potato-man and us, Bream turned to face the cart and dug his hand down to where our things were hidden. He came up with a revolver taken from one of the soldiers.
While aiming it at the closest, a man no more than ten feet away, Bream spun the cylinder with a metallic clatter and said in his clipped way of speaking, “You run away fast. I do not shoot you.”
They exchanged looks.
Tess said, “Come on, Bream, don’t shoot them too. They’ll be the third and fourth men you’ve shot today. We have to discuss this idea again that you can shoot anyone who offends you.”
Bream didn’t waver. He said in a calm voice, “You wrong. Numbers four and five. You missed counting that farmer who was mean to us.”
“And the three yesterday,” I added in a disgusted tone for good measure.
“They were trying to rob us, so they don’t count.” Bream moved the gun from one to the other as if he couldn’t make up his mind which to shoot first. “Are these men trying to rob us?”
The taller of the two sprinted away, leaving his partner facing Bream. His face turned pale as Bream raised the barrel slightly to point between the man’s eyes. Bream said, “You. Run. Fast.”
He did.
The potato-man was smiling and asked if we wanted a few for ourselves
. Suddenly he wanted to talk, to be escorted by us, his new best friends. Bream placed his pistol back under a few ears of corn.
Tess asked, “How’s the trading up by those buildings at the top of the hill?”
“Not worth the effort to get there. Besides, up there you’re liable to run into Sir Wilson’s men.”
“Why there?” I asked.
“His headquarters is right down at the bottom of that hill. Don’t you know anything?” It was not a harsh question, but one of puzzlement.
“Never been here,” I said.
“Obvious. Listen to me. You stay away from soldiers in blue. They’re paid thieves and killers. If you got it and they want it, give it up without a fight. They’ll kill for almost nothing and then laugh their asses off afterward. Seen it happen too many times.”
“How long has Sir Wilson been running things around here?” I heard my voice ask.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Before him was a guy called Godfrey, and before him, the Council of Three until they killed each other. Some council, huh? When Sir Wilson is killed, another will take his place, maybe better, maybe not.”
That was quite a speech from a man who had refused to talk to us a short while ago. It also sounded completely true.
Tess caught my eye. A slight nod indicated a man and a woman, each wearing a rolled set of blankets with belongings inside. The wooden handle of a tool poked out of the man’s bedroll. They appeared only a little different than the three of us. We were fitting right in.
Pushing the cart uphill was getting old and tiring.
Tess motioned for us to take a break. The other cart moved on as Tess called softly to the couple. They approached tentatively and the woman said politely, “Help you?”
That was a better way to act.
Tess asked a few questions and rewarded the couple with six ears of corn. With that, she became their best friend and the cart became a little easier to push.
We moved on, the cart a little lighter. Tess spoke to others, each time handing out more ears and receiving more thanks and smiles. The people were not all bad in the city, but they were hard and wary, or dead.