Brushfire Plague: Reckoning

by R. P. Ruggiero

  “That’s right. It’s my job. That’s why I’m talking to you and asking for your help.”

  A long pause passed between them as Dranko stared at the ground before looking back up, “Look, I’m gonna do what I’m gonna do. I ain’t gonna sugarcoat things or hide the truth.”

  Cooper’s hand exploded as he poked him in the shoulder and pushed his face to within inches, “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “I’m stretched out and now you’re asking for more.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You wanna know? Do you?”

  “Yes,” Cooper answered with furrowed eyebrows.

  “I’m tired. I’ve shared my stuff. The stuff that I bought over the years by giving up the vacations and meals and clothes that the rest of you were spending your money on. I’ve shared my knowledge. I’ve shared my time. I’ve shared everything. And, I haven’t got a single ‘thank you’! Not once. And, now you want me to start watching every word I say? Screw that!” By the time he’d finished, his head was boiling red, bits of froth peppered his lips, and his eyes glistened.

  Cooper faltered a step back, speechless for several seconds. Dranko stood before him, fuming. He took a step back towards his friend and put his hands onto his shoulders, “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let me be the first. Thank you. We wouldn’t have made it this far without you. My boy,” that word catching in Cooper’s throat, “likely wouldn’t be alive without you. So, words won’t ever express how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”

  The color slowly drained from Dranko’s face and he washed his sleeve across his mouth, wiping spittle away, “It’s…ah…”

  Cooper waved his hand, interrupting him, “Don’t say anything. We should have thanked you more. Without you asking for it. And, I won’t ask anything more of you. Say what you want. Just keep what I said in mind, is all.” Cooper clapped him on the shoulder, turned on his heel, and strode back towards the cabin. I need to do a better job of recognizing people for their work.

  Dranko looked at him walk away, a thin, awkward smile creeping onto his face, before he lowered his eyes and kicked at the duff on the ground.

  Chapter Eight

  Dranko steered them down the long driveway as tires crunched gravel. Lily, wearing a bright yellow housedress, sat next to him in the front seat. She had scolded Dranko up one side and down the other for not having an iron on hand. Dranko had fired right back at her, chastising her for wasting precious cargo space on a ‘frivolous dress’ and not something more practical. The rest of the group had found their respective earnestness a source of great humor.

  She fussed about her dress, trying to stretch out the numerous wrinkles. Cooper had gathered that she was fiercely proud of her son, triggering her need to dress up for the occasion. On Lily’s right was Angela, wearing hiker’s pants and a loose-fitting flannel top. Cooper and Jake occupied the rear seat. Cooper’s rifle was resting on the floor, ready at hand, but not drawing unwanted attention. Likewise, they had two M4s stashed in the cargo area, but covered with a blanket. Based on what they’d seen coming into town, they all wore their side arms holstered on their hips, save Lily.

  The others who remained back at camp were engaged in various work and projects that Dranko had assigned. Meanwhile, Julianne was continuing her urgent search to learn more about the emerging conspiracy behind what had led to Brushfire Plague.

  As Dranko followed the directions Lily was giving her, Cooper’s mind drifted.

  **********

  The acrid smell wafting up from the large Sharpie pens made Cooper’s nose cringe up in a vain attempt to ward it off. His fingers were stained in many hues from his repeated attempts to make the perfect picket sign. He looked up when his father’s footsteps clattered on the wood floor at the bottom of the stairs.

  His father’s eyes were quizzical as he surveyed the half dozen or so unfinished signs strewn about the floor.

  “Whatcha doing’ son?”

  Young Cooper grimaced and shook his tight fists in frustration, “I’m making a protest sign.”

  A thin smile crept onto his father’s face, “What for?”

  “Mrs. Small!”.

  His father struggled to keep a smile from showing, “And, what has Mrs. Small done to deserve your wrath?”

  Cooper leapt to his feet and the Sharpie pens clattered against the floor, “She won’t let me and Brian play basketball at recess!”

  His father looked confused, “Why not?”

  “Because,” his son adopted the tone of someone explaining the obvious, “Samantha got hurt on Monday playing it!”

  His father shook his head in exaggerated sympathy, “Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”

  “I know! And, you taught me to fight against things that are unfair.”

  His father’s smile grew wider, “So, what’s the problem?”

  The young Cooper stomped his feet, “I can’t get good words for my sign!” His voice was plagued by a plaintive whine.

  His father paused for a moment, “Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something good.” He tussled Cooper’s hair and moved to the living room where he sat down to read the morning newspaper.

  Twenty minutes later, he looked up to find Cooper holding a sign proudly displayed for his review. The sign said, “The Ball Must Be Free to Fall!” A shaky picture of a basketball formed the bottom of the exclamation point.

  Cooper’s father looked up at him, a growing smile on his face.

  “It rhymes!” Cooper declared proudly.

  “I see that. Very nice work.” His eyes gleamed with pride. Cooper never forgot the look he’d received that morning from his father. He also never forgot the week of detention he got from Mrs. Small when he brandished the sign when he’d arrived at school that morning. Cooper thought the look his father gave him that night was prouder still.

  As Cooper mused, he was struck by how those brief moments when a son feels his father’s pride could last forever.

  **********

  At Dranko’s request, they took a longer route to Lily’s son’s house so that they could avoid going through the center of town. As they approached, Lily’s excitement grew. After twenty minutes, she exclaimed, “We’re here! Just up there, take a left into that driveway!” Dranko obeyed and they were quickly past the thin screen of pine trees that shielded the house from the road.

  Her son’s house was really a hobby farm, about five acres. The house was a modest one, ranch style, painted nearly as bright yellow as Lily’s dress. A neatly laid out orchard flanked the house on its right. A bright red barn and a variety of coops and fenced areas housed chickens, geese, at least two pigs, and what looked to be a dairy cow. A bevy of goats wandered about the property, grazing. Finally, stretching across the backside was a large area of at least fenced three acres in various stages of plowing and planting. In the midst of the fields, a man clutched his hat off his head and waved it at them in their approach. Cooper noted how the man’s other hand went to his waist, where a pistol likely lay.

  They pulled up in front of the house. The front door flung open and a fierce woman trained a double-barreled shotgun on them, “Move slow!” She shouted at them. Dranko and Cooper exchanged the same thought, Lily can handle this.

  Lily opened the door very slowly, “Dear Beth! It’s me, mama!” She climbed over Angela and stepped out, still moving tentatively until her face and what she’d said registered with Beth. The shotgun’s barrel fell to the ground, as Beth’s other hand clasped to her open mouth. Tears raced into her eyes.

  “Oh my! Mama! You’re alive! We thought…” she paused. “Oh, never mind! Get over here,” she said moving down the steps of the porch. She clutched Lily in a firm embrace. Looking out past Lily, she cried, “Miles! Miles! Get over here! It’s your mama!”

  Miles had been walking steadily in from the fields, hand at his waist. As he saw the scene unfold, his pace had quickened, but Beth’s words were electric. He began sprinting toward them, hat in hand
, bouncing in a wide arc as he ran.

  “I wish my mother-in-law had liked me as much,” Dranko deadpanned as they watched Lily and Beth’s lingering hug.

  “You were married?” Angela asked, surprised.

  “Hard to believe any woman could love him, isn’t it?”

  Angela looked hard at Cooper, “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Don’t worry about him. The man who insults others just doesn’t like himself enough, you know?” Dranko mustered a dignified voice, as if he was psychologist rendering an official diagnosis.

  “Thank you Dr. Know-It-All,” Cooper rebuffed.

  “But, to answer your question. Yes, I was married once. When I was in the military. It burned hotter than Eva Mendes in her prime. We loved each other like in the movies. It was just like that,” Dranko’s voice quivered.

  “And then it burned out?” Angela queried.

  Dranko paused before answering and then he swallowed hard, “I wish. That would have been easier. No, she died.”

  Angela’s eyes flew wide, her mouth fell open, and her hand went to Dranko’s arm, “Oh my God, Paul! I had no idea.” Cooper had heard the story, but he lowered his gaze. Jake also knew, but his eyes were transfixed on Dranko as he talked.

  Dranko’s eyes searched the distance, “It was a freak situation really. I was deployed in Iraq and she was caught at home in a blizzard. This was when I lived in Minnesota, out in the sticks. Some neighbors found her body two weeks later. Heater had quit and she ran out of things to burn in the fireplace. The house was threadbare of things to burn. Her body was found a few hundred yards from the house; an axe frozen to her hand. I think she’d gone out to try and cut something down. I think hypothermia had already messed up her ability to think clearly.”

  Angela gasped, “That’s horrible!”

  Dranko slowly nodded, “If I’d put in the woodstove we’d talked about and laid in the wood before I left home, she woulda made it. A fireplace alone just doesn’t cut it to keep a house warm.” He looked away as his eyes filled with tears.

  “You can’t blame yourself! You said it was a freak thing,” Angela countered.

  He returned his gaze to look her directly in the eyes, “I know what part I played. But, I learned something good from it all. Don’t get caught with your pants down.” He snorted, as the tears welling in his eyes was making his nose run. He jerked the door handle, left the car, and slammed the door shut.

  Angela looked back at Cooper, “Is this why he’s so cynical?”

  Cooper shook his head, “Maybe. I didn’t know him before.” His mind drifted to the time Dranko had first told him the story of how his wife died. He closed his eyes, picturing the summer night sitting in Dranko’s backyard. He could still smell the pungent mix of burned lighter fluid and charcoal from the earlier barbeque. Elena had taken Jake back home as night fell, and the two men had stayed behind drinking. Hours later and slurring his words throughout, Dranko had told Cooper how his wife, Jennifer, had died. By the time he’d finished, he was sobbing uncontrollably. Cooper had embraced his neighbor who, in that moment, became his best friend. After that night, Dranko had never mentioned it again, until today.

  “I guess we know why he’s so into getting prepared for things,” Angela reflected, pulling Cooper back from his musings.

  He let loose a bellowing laugh. Angela looked at him, confused. Her hands splayed out, asking ‘what’?

  He shook his head in deprecation, “I never made that connection!”

  “Really,” she asked, with a cocked eyebrow.

  “No. I never did. But, it’s obvious!”

  Outside the vehicle, the Stotts had finished their reunion greetings and were staring at them, surprised they were still sitting in the car. Galvanized, Cooper and Angela cranked their doors open and stepped out. Jake followed their example.

  Cooper approached Miles Stott and shook his hand. Firm grip. Miles was of average height and weight, but muscled from farm work. His hair was blonde and lay raggedly cut by an unsteady hand. Supercuts or his wife, Cooper thought. Squinty eyes were deep set in a square face that looked friendly and welcoming.

  “I’m Cooper Adams, great to meet you.”

  “Likewise. I’m Miles Stott. My mother just told me who you were, while we were waiting for you to finish talking.”

  Cooper offered a smile, “Yeah. Sorry about that. Your mother is quite the character!”

  Miles flushed red, “That’s not what I call it.”

  Lily poked him in the back with her cane, “Watch your tongue, boy!”

  “You see? Try living with that when you’re thirteen years old.”

  “I feel your pain, brother,” Dranko added, apparently already introduced.

  Cooper allowed the easy smiles to linger for a long pause before continuing, “More importantly than her personality, I trust her judgment and she has spoken highly of you as someone we can trust.”

  Miles cocked his head and he met his eyes firmly, “I like to think that’s true.” He pivoted and indicated his wife, “This is Bethany, my wife.” She smiled at them in turn. She was tall for a woman, just an inch or so shorter than her husband, but heavyset. Stylishly cut, long, highlighted, blonde hair fell to her shoulders. Her clothing was fashionable, yet functional, a mix of catalogue collections.

  She extended her hand, “Nice to meet you.”

  Her skin was softer than Cooper would have expected from a woman on a farm, even a small one, “Pleasure is mine.” Miles and Bethany introduced themselves to the rest of the group. Lily was beaming as she watched the affair. When they were done, Bethany spoke again, “Let me introduce you to our kids.” She called into the house.

  “Come on out, kids!” Her words were met with silence and Bethany looked alarmed. Miles looked at her and started laughing.

  “You got it backwards!”

  She flushed and slapped her knee, “That’s right!” She turned once more to cast her voice into the house, “Come on out, Baxter!” Cooper immediately heard the faint clatter of footsteps coming up from a basement.

  “It’s our simple code when strangers approach. Call for the kids, they don’t come. Call for the dog, they come out,” Miles explained. “Only problem is, our kids remember it better than my wife!” He poked her in the ribs when he finished. Cooper caught a brief glimpse of anger flash across her face before she stifled it with a mock smile and slapped his hand away.

  A young boy and a girl came bounding through the door.

  “This here is Aidan,” he said, patting the boy on his head. The boy was probably seven or eight, blonde hair just like his father. His face was all teeth and sparkling blue eyes, beaming happiness. “And, this is Chloe.” Miles wrapped his other arm around the girl. She was a couple years younger, very thin, and brown curls fell to her shoulders. Green eyes shined up at them from behind shy long eyelashes. She positioned herself to half-hide behind her father.

  The adults exchanged greetings with the children.

  “Where’s Miles Junior?” Lily asked the question before realizing that the answer was evident. Miles eyes fell to the ground.

  She closed with her son and embraced him, “I’m so sorry, son.” Miles’ eyes welled up as he accepted his mother’s hug. Bethany snuggled her children, while Cooper and the others stepped back and averted their eyes, offering space as the only sympathy they could provide.

  After a few minutes passed, Miles broke the awkward silence by clearing his throat and stepping back from his mother, “Where were we?”

  Cooper looked at Miles, eyes full of sympathy, “We were hoping you can help us get the lay of the land around here.”

  “Sure. But, you know it’s bad news?”

  His face tightened, “Really?”

  “Yup. We have our very own tin pot dictator here in Estacada.”

  “The Man?” Dranko asked.

  “You learn quickly. You want to know the joke of it all? Sheriff Hodges was a staunch no-tax Republican before all this started
. Now, he’s demanding a very high ‘levy’—just taxes in disguise—to pay for security and such. Worse part, we can’t pay them in dollar bills, only goods.”

  “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, no matter the party line,” intoned Lily with an even voice. The others nodded.

  “Let me guess, the goods are the hardest things to come by?” Angela asked.

  He put his wide-brimmed hat back on and nodded, “Food, guns. And, of course, gasoline.”

  “What about gold or silver?” All heads turned to Dranko, who had asked.

  Miles looked confused, “Sure. He’ll take that, if you have it.”

  “You have something you want to say?” Cooper asked him.

  Dranko shook his head nonchalantly, “Nope. Just curious.” Sorry, Dranko, I’ve beat you too many times in poker. I know you’ve got a stash of some kind, you sly one!

  “What else is he doing?” Cooper asked.

  “Lots of rules, curfews, restrictions on movement. He’s formed a security force that keeps everyone else in line. You can’t criticize him. Several people have already been hauled in as ‘undesireables’.”

  Cooper’s lips curled up, “How’d this happen in just a few weeks?”

  Miles cocked an eyebrow, “He acted swiftly and just stepped into the vacuum. It’s almost like he had a plan.”

  “You think,” Dranko asked.

  “Either that or he was very, very smart and fast on his feet. For example, he took over the gas stations and the grocery store on the very first day that Brushfire went public.”

  “That is strange,” Angela commented.

  “He’s a bastard for sure, but his son is even worse,” Miles spat. Bethany shuffled her feet and cast her eyes downward. Cooper noticed the faintest flush of red onto her cheeks.

  “Who’s he?”

  “Junior Hodges. He’s in his twenties. Randy as a cooped up rabbit. Rumor has it he’s built himself quite a little harem these past weeks. You don’t want to cross his path. He shot Mr. Waters down in cold blood just last week. Claimed that ole’ Walt was fixing to draw on him. I talked to men who saw it go down, complete hogwash.”