by Kyle Pratt
Ten minutes later Caden and Maria found an uninhabited storeroom and borrowed an old wooden table and two mismatched chairs from the barracks for their dinner.
The last rays of the sun cast long shadows across the brown crates and green ammo boxes that took up much of the room. Caden started to turn on a light, but then noticed a candle left by the door of the room. “We haven’t had much time alone or much time to talk.” He lit the candle and set it in the middle of the table.
She pulled two wine glasses from the basket. “That is why I thought it would be a good idea to come here.”
“I hope you have a cork screw.”
She handed it to him and he opened the bottle while she buttered the bread.
“I didn’t think there was food left in any store in town. Where did you buy all of this?” Caden asked.
“We didn’t buy it. The stores are empty. Your father traded two guns, some ammo and a bottle of scotch for a cow and calf.”
“He’s been busy today, but I asked how you got the wine, cheese, bread—everything.”
“Lisa and I traded a gallon of milk and two dozen eggs for the wine and cheese. We made the bread and your mom still had crackers.”
“Where are you doing all this trading?”
“You know that park in front of the Hansen library?”
“Sure,” he said pouring the wine.
“Well, people gather there to barter things. Everyone went today, except Sue, she’s still pretty tired, and we traded for things we need and,” she lifted the wine, “a few things we just wanted.”
Caden noticed a small handwritten label that read, “Please return the bottle when done.” He pointed it out to Maria.
“Yeah, the family that makes the wine said they aren’t sure they can get more bottles, so they’re asking people to return them. They’re going to work out some sort of a discount if you do.”
He smiled as she took a sip of wine and stared into her eyes, marveling at how well and quickly she fit into the family and community that he was only now rediscovering. Maybe we can hold civilization together until things get better. He reached out and touched her hand. “Maybe you and I….”
A soldier burst into the room. “Sir, Lieutenant Brooks sent me to find you.” The man took a deep breath. He thought…you should know…President Durant…he’s placed the state under martial law…and…activated the Guard units.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Caden had little motivation to get out of bed, other than maybe to shoot the rooster. The first rays of morning sun pushed back against the darkness of his bedroom, but he closed his eyes, rolled onto his side and pulled up the blanket. Why not get a few more hours of sleep? No crisis called for his attention this Saturday morning—then he heard the scream.
In an instant he was at the only window of his room. It looked out over the main field of the farm, but he could see little in pre-dawn twilight. He was certain the cry came from outside. Probably from the barn.
He threw on his clothes, grabbed his SIG pistol and hurried downstairs.
His mother stood in the living room, “Trevor and Maria are outside. I think it was Lisa.”
Sue came down the stairs as he ran out the front door. Immediately he spotted his father at the front of the barn and Maria, with a rifle, off to the side. His dad signaled for him to go to the back.
Once there, Caden threw open the rear door, looked left and right and then hurried in. The interior was so dark, he saw almost nothing. Immediately he took cover behind a stack of hay bales to his right and waited an agonizingly long time for his eyes to adjust. The first thing he saw was Maria silhouetted in the open door of a horse stall. With a wave of the arm he signaled her to move and she ducked into the shadows.
Next he saw Lisa. A young man stood behind her. One hand clutched her jacket, the other arm was wrapped around Lisa’s neck like a sleeper hold and so the knife was to the side of her throat. By the position of the knife Caden could tell the assailant was not a trained killer. Beyond those two, near the front of the barn, his father stood in a shooting stance.
Caden tried to maneuver for a clear shoot, but the guy kept turning, using Lisa as a human shield.
“All I want is food! Get me food and I’ll leave!”
“Put the knife down and we’ll get you food,” Trevor said.
“No! I’m not stupid. Get me food or I cut her throat.”
“You cut her throat and I’ll kill you,” Caden replied.
“I’m hungry. All I want is food. The last meal I had was a lousy MRE two days ago. Believe me I’ll kill her.” The man pointed at Trevor with the knife. “You, old man, get me….”
With no knife against her neck, Lisa kicked back hard against the man’s leg and dropped like dead weight.
Trevor fired a single shot.
The man fell backwards and hit the floor with a thud.
Father and daughter ran to each other and embraced. Lisa, cried, “I just wanted to get the eggs and milk for breakfast.” Leaning into her father, between sobs, she continued. “I didn’t think…didn’t bring my gun…he came out of the dark…grabbed me so quickly…I didn’t see him.”
Caden checked for vital signs and, looking to his father, shook his head.
“It’s all right,” he said to Lisa. “If he had just come to the door and asked…maybe….”
Back in the house Caden called and talked briefly to Hoover.
A couple of hours later a single deputy came to the farm. “Do you know his name?” he asked while writing notes in a pad.
“No,” Caden responded.
The officer asked a few more questions as he continued to write. “There have been attacks on other farms, the food bank…any place where there might be food. People are desperate.” There was no mention of any further investigation. The sun was high in the sky before a van from the sheriff’s department came and took the body to the morgue.
Caden stared as the vehicle rumbled away. Death in America has become common…inconsequential. It was not the fact of death that caused him pause; it was the brutality of casual killing. He had seen that in Iraq and Afghanistan, but not in America. Perhaps it had always been there in the poorer, gang-infested, neighborhoods, but he had not seen it until recently and now it came to the barn beside his home and threatened to take his sister. What next, a gunfight in the house? It was a solemn day at the Westmore farm.
The next morning as everyone sat around the breakfast table Lisa asked, “Can we go to church?”
“That’s a good idea,” their mother said.
“And the swap meet,” Maria suggested, “It looks like a nice day to go out.”
“I’ll pack the extra eggs and milk in a cooler,” Lisa added.
“We can’t all go,” his dad said, shaking his head. “Someone needs to stay here on guard until things return to normal.”
Caden wasn’t interested in church. He wanted to say he would stay and guard the farm, but he had a mouth full of pancake.
“I’ll guard this week and go with you next week,” Trevor said.
Sue put her hands on her belly. “I should stay home too. I’m still tired from all the walking we did to get here.” She turned to Maria. “But I will take care of Adam for you.” Maria started to speak, but Sue insisted it was the least she could do.
Caden saw that Maria, Lisa, and his mother really wanted to go. He swallowed his mouthful of pancake and said, “Okay then, let’s make a day of it.”
After breakfast Caden returned to his room to dress for church. He was glad that he had just dumped clothes into his duffle bag, including several nice shirts and ties had been stuffed inside, even a suit. He wondered if his mother had ironed the clothes because they didn’t have the wrinkles he remembered. Did I hang the clothes in the closet? Did I even unpack when I got here? He couldn’t recall.
He put on a pair of slacks, a pastel blue shirt and royal blue tie. As he reached for the suit jacket he stopped. No place to conceal a pistol. In the
closet he found a heavy jacket, put it on and then slid the SIG into the inside pocket. From now on I go everywhere armed.
The events of yesterday morning again intruded on his thoughts. The guy could have slit Lisa’s throat and stolen whatever he could find. We wouldn’t have known until later. We do need to keep a guard here. Maybe we should stay in pairs. No, that would be difficult. If we could keep in better contact…. Where are those two GMRS transceivers I bought in West Virginia? As he continued to dress, he looked around the room, but didn’t find the radios.
Everyone walked out on the front porch as they got ready to leave. The sky was clear blue and for a February day it was mild. Could the radios be in the car? He walked over and checked under the driver’s seat.
Maria came up beside him. “What are you looking for?”
“Those GMRS radios.” He continued to look while talking. “Remember, we used them in Alabama?”
“I remember. They’re in the back of the car.”
Walking toward the rear of the vehicle he asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He opened the rear and immediately saw the three pistols, including the pink Ruger, taken after the gunfight at the church. He had forgotten about them. They’ll be good for trade or additional security. He paused as the killing in the church lobby flashed through his mind. The woman was killed. Sure it was self-defense, but it should be investigated. Aren’t these guns evidence? Should I turn them over to Hoover? He smiled grimly. Didn’t Hoover shoot some looters? Was there any inquiry of that? No one seems to want any bother about the barn shooting. He was certain there would be none about the church shooting, but still it seemed wrong to keep the weapons. In the end, he decided to hold on to them until he could talk with Hoover. He picked up two pistols, leaving the pink one alone. It was senseless, but that gun gave him a bad feeling, he didn’t want it in the house.
Caden was about to tell Maria she was wrong about the radios when he spotted them in the corner partially under the seat. Clutching them and the pistols he walked over to his father. “These transceivers will be good for keeping in touch around the farm. We can trade the weapons for things we need, but keep them until I clear it with the sheriff.”
Soon he was driving the three ladies to the church just outside of Hansen, where he had been baptized as a teen. As he passed over the creek on the main road he looked for the red-haired kids who often fished there, but was disappointed.
He had good memories of friends, cookouts and ballgames while in the youth group, but it had been ten years since he set foot in the building. He struggled to recall the last time he had been in any church other than for a wedding. It wasn’t that he was an atheist or even an agnostic, but in his hell-bent pursuit of a career he had little time for God. However, if it made the women in his life happy, he was willing to go and even smile.
The church, a large, white, wood-frame building that dominated the top of a hill, was just ahead. They followed a horse-drawn wagon full of people into the parking lot. There were a dozen cars parked in front, but as the church bell tolled most people came by foot. At the edges of the parking lot three horses were tied to trees. The wagon pulled up close to the front door. Kids jumped from the back as a couple of adults disembarked more slowly, then the man led the horse and wagon to a tree in a grassy lot beside the building.
As they entered the sanctuary, Caden’s thoughts were far away, recalling a hayride with the youth group as a teenager. The morning sun, shining through a large stained glass window, warmed his face and brought his attention to the present. The congregation stood and sang a hymn acapella. He looked back at a corner where he once sat with young friends and recalled summer camp and the Boy Scout troop that the church sponsored. He took in a deep breath as if trying to suck in the atmosphere so full of light and life that it washed away the darkness of the previous weeks.
His mother selected a pew near the middle of the sanctuary and the rest of the family followed. Caden stood silently, holding Maria’s hand. He didn’t know the words of the song they were singing, but he liked the sound.
A couple of hymns later, a middle aged man walked to the front as the congregation sat.
“Good morning everyone. For any new people, I’m Jim, an elder here at Hansen Community Church. Before we get started there are just a few announcements.” He paused to look at his notes. “Dave, the owner of the farm supply store, donated a greenhouse to the church. We’re going to use the large area behind the building for growing vegetables this spring. We need help assembling it and to put up a security fence. If you can assist, sign up at the desk just outside the sanctuary. Also, if you know where we can get more greenhouses, let us know.”
Good idea. Caden recalled seeing one along the freeway behind the burned-out home of a friend. There are probably more. We need to find a way to use things that no one claims.
Jim continued his announcements, “…and if the power stays off, like it has this weekend, the Doran’s will need help at their dairy and are willing to pay in milk, butter and cheese. Several farmers have told us that, if gas stays in short supply, they will need help with spring planting and probably harvest. They are willing to pay in food. That sign-up list is also out at the desk.”
Caden continued to think about greenhouses and other equipment the community might be able to find and gather. Suddenly he became aware of a different voice. An older man now stood at the front of the congregation.
“…will never forget those terrible events of less than a month ago. Many of us have lost family. Most of us know someone who died. The nuclear fires have tested the nation and our community. The aftermath of those terrible days continues to test us and they will be with us for years to come, but like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego of old, our nation has been through many fires and we have come out of it with our faith intact.
“God did not bring this wickedness down on us; He is not the author of evil. What we have seen is evil, in all its forms, working against the will and the plan of God.
“Much that was good has been burned away and lost, but like metal forged in flame, what is left behind is stronger than before that dark day. Now, as it says in Revelation, we need to, ‘wake up, and strengthen what remains.’ Our work isn’t done and the path will not be an easy one, but we need to take on this yoke and move forward. We have a community to rebuild and a nation to restore.”
Caden nodded inwardly. He had never put it into words, but strengthening what remained seemed an appropriate description of what he had been trying to do since he returned home. He stood with others as the music played and in that moment it seemed the struggle to save Hansen was a burden they all shared equally, but more than that, it was as if his own personal burdens were shared by everyone in the congregation. His mother would call what he felt the Holy Spirit. Caden wasn’t sure, but it felt good to be there. The next time he had the chance he would come willingly.
The sun was just past its zenith as Caden, Maria, Lisa and his mother, stepped from the car near the barter market. Lisa retrieved the cooler with the milk and eggs the family would use for trading and together they walked toward the bustling swap meet.
The library was surrounded by tables and stalls. The mixture of these with colorful tarps, smoke, music and lots of people gave the park a third-world bazaar look. As they neared, he saw Sheriff Hoover talking with two deputies off to one side of the square. “I’ve got to talk to Hoover. I’ll catch up with you,” Caden said to the ladies. As he approached, the deputies departed into the market.
After exchanging greetings, Caden got right to the point. “I have three pistols my men and I took from a shooting at the church by the freeway. Do you need them for an investigation?”
Hoover sighed and his face seemed instantly older. “Do you know how many murders we averaged in this county before this year?”
Caden shook his head.
“Four. Last year was a bad year, we had five. One was a double killing. Do you know how ma
ny have been killed in the county in the two months of this year?”
Again he shook his head.
“Neither do I. But it’s been hundreds, maybe a thousand, including two of my deputies.” He stopped, breathed deeply and let it out slowly. “The Highway Patrol hasn’t been to Hansen since that first attack on Washington D.C. I haven’t been able to contact the state crime lab since the Seattle blast.
“You’ve been trying to do the right thing since you got here and I appreciate that. I can’t hold the threads of civilization together alone. I trust that you did what you needed to do.” He paused and gave Caden a whimsical grin. “And besides, now that martial law has been declared, you’re in charge. What are your orders?”
It was Caden’s turn to sigh as he recalled the breathless announcement of martial law on Friday. “I haven’t received any orders since the declaration. We’ve been working well together. I don’t want to change that relationship if I don’t have to.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Before anyone could speak Hoover’s radio crackled. “415 in progress, corner of Birch and Main, the Salvation Army church. Request backup.”
“What’s a 415?”
Hoover shook his head and his eyes narrowed. “A disturbance. Probably people think there’s still food at the church.”
Caden asked if he needed help.
“No, you go on to the marketplace.” He looked up at the clear blue sky. “Enjoy the day. I’ve got to go.” The sheriff walked briskly to a patrol car and was off with sirens blaring.
Just inside the bazaar was a large bulletin board where community announcements had once been posted. Now the board was cluttered with “will trade for” signs. One in particular caught his eye. “NEED INSULIN. Tell me what you need.” It was followed by an address and phone number. Caden shook his head. Who would trade away insulin?
Next he came upon a man seated in a lawn chair with a rifle across his lap. On the blanket before him were a 12-gauge shotgun and two small-caliber rifles. Beside him sat a cardboard box with eight Labrador Retriever puppies bouncing around inside or hanging on the edges. On the front of the box, in bold black letters, was written, “Future Guard Dogs.” Caden laughed out loud.