Shatto's Way

by Roy F. Chandler

  Her parents had died almost together when she was a college student. She had sold the farm to complete her degree.

  Was the carefully saved remainder worth anything now? She feared not.

  She had friends and a few distant kin, but of them all, only Toby Shatto and Chop Clouser had been close. Was it just them she was returning to? She looked often into her heart before she knew clearly and then she hardly dared dwell on it.

  Despite the love for the valley where she was born, it was Toby she was returning to. If he had not been there she might not have attempted the ocean crossing, and if he was not even now living there in Pfoutz Valley, she might give up and remain on the island. Jeff Towling was right. Living close to the warm sea, simply and quietly as the native islanders did, was by far the safest course.

  It was possible Toby had left the valley, although his letters had indicated his intent to stay.

  Could he have died in the terrible winter of war and collapse that her radio spoke of? Not Toby! Others perhaps, but Toby Shatto was well prepared, and he thought too far ahead. He was there, she could feel it.

  There were times when she remembered that Toby must believe her dead. Could he have married? Both thoughts disturbed her and she felt frustrated by her inability to call, cable, or at least mail a letter. Well, once ashore in the United States they would have only two hundred or so miles to travel. Something would be operating. Unlike the somnolence of the island, Americans would be picking up the pieces and making things work.

  Perhaps she could sell the boat or trade it for something valuable. If she couldn't, she and Carter would walk it, that's all. When they were little, she had been a real woods rat, and if it became necessary, she could be one again. At least they wouldn't have to worry about gales and hurricanes.

  How would Carter Ehmad Roth do in the wilds of Pennsylvania? She expected he would do at least as well as he had scrounging a living in Alexandria or sailing a sloop-rigged catamaran. Carter was a winner and he bore a proud name well.

  They outfitted as best they could. Fresh produce would not keep well, but she aimed for a swift passage. North into the Gulf Stream and then, aided by that mighty ocean river, on north until they could enter the more protected waters of Chesapeake Bay. North again until the navigable water ended a few miles up the Susquehanna River.

  En route she could dream of the county where everyone knew each other. She longed for the pleasures of shopping in the familiar stores where the clerks paused to discuss their interests or yours. She could again drive the old roads and visit the farms. Oh, it would be changed some by the troubles she supposed, but the land would be the same; Toby would be there, and he would be just as steady as he always had been.

  They reached across the trades, driving harder than before, but favoring the irreplaceable sails and rigging that had begun to show their wear. If the weather held fair, a month should put them ashore. Meanwhile, they kept sharp lookout and turned away from other sails. The lack of a single powerboat was both comforting and worrying. Their absence precluded any worry of a faster, unfriendly craft, but no engine driven boats spoke plainly of more than a simple fuel shortage, for if it was only scarce, the wealthy would have it and their yachts would be out. Or were the fuel guzzlers legally beached as a fuel conservation measure? Weak local radio stations beaming from Miami vicinity told little but their lonely calls across almost empty airways made far more real the catastrophic extent of the collapse.

  Just as significantly, no aircraft appeared even as they approached the Bahamas, and despite the three knot advantage the Gulf Stream's northern flow would have given them, she chose to avoid the passage between Florida and the islands and sail wide to the east where no one fished or lay in wait.

  +++

  Every day Toby swore over the lack of electricity. Tasks that could be simple with power equipment were long and occasionally impractical. In retrospect, he would have granted Thomas Edison all of the Nobel prizes for his great discovery. Somehow they would have to find time to raise the windmill generators. Even their limited capacity would prove a godsend.

  He wondered sometimes how the rest of the world was doing in regard to restoring electrical power. No sky glow showed on any night horizon, but perhaps in the big hydro electrical areas engineers were re-establishing grids and were again pumping electric current to hungry industries. Until that happened, the world would know dark nights and primitive living.

  He rehashed the same thoughts endlessly and questioned transients about what they had seen or heard. Once, he encountered rumors of Detroit being again lighted, but if it were so, why didn't the rumor bearer return there? Regretfully, he discounted the tale.

  If they gained on one front it often seemed that they lost on another. But some days did remain especially memorable.

  Dallas Kretzing arrived at the village on such a day. A tiny man, Kretzing rolled as much as he walked. How in hungry times he retained his bulk would remain a mystery, but Kretzing waxed fat on almost no input and he appeared always fresh from royal feasting.

  Kretzing was welcome because he drove ahead of him five handsome brown Swiss cows and one young bull. A man burdened with gold could not have been more sincerely received.

  He spoke with relief in his voice, as if he hadn't really expected to reach the village, but he looked Toby in the eye when he said his piece.

  "Mr. Shatto, some of your people know me. A year ago my dairy farm in Juniata County was among the best."

  He almost sobbed as he continued, "These few animals are all that are left."

  To the villagers, the cows were true princesses and to have their own bull meant fulfillment of the dream of increasing their herds. People petted the leaned-down animals and brought them handfuls of grass and hay. Toby saw a valuable carrot chomped away in three grinding crunches. He hadn't the heart to complain for he felt much as did the others.

  Kretzing again almost wept as he and his animals were made much of. "Strangers came and killed the cows and ate them. Some they drove away. Many we hid in the woods but the winter froze and starved them.

  "Finally, when I could continue no longer, I heard there was safety at Shatto's Way if a man could pay his way. We, my good wife, Jennie, and I, decided to come here. We drove through the woods to Tuscarora Mountain, but there we took sick. I recovered but my wife did not." He stopped to mop at his eyes with a ragged sleeve before regaining composure and continuing.

  "Each day I milked and each day we came closer. I grazed the animals in fields at night so people would not find them. If they manured near a road I gathered it so our passing would go unnoticed.

  "Finally, I came to this place. Even then I was not sure, and I left the animals hidden until your men told me that this village really was a place of safety.

  "The cows and the bull are all that I have, unless you value my knowledge of fine bovines, but these six are the best. I hope that they are enough for I can go no further."

  Toby sat him down and explained how welcome the animals would be and his certainty that his knowledge was important now and would be more important when their herds grew large. He re-emphasized that in joining the community he became one of them, and if he ever chose to leave he was owed only that which came with him.

  Dallas Kretzing virtually groaned in gratitude and added his signature to the agreement. He disappeared almost immediately within a group of interested farmers who volunteered to help place his animals and show their barns.

  For Toby the experience was particularly satisfying. He was right, they were out there. People with abilities and possessions would turn up.

  He wished they'd call the place, Hope, though. Shatto's Way sounded dumb to him.

  Another day started well with the sound of Jesse Holman's alcohol-powered chain saw biting through a log. Holman was not completely satisfied with either his saw or his still. Cold starting was proving difficult, and his mash did not ferment the way he wished it to. Jesse longed for the place to acquire a good old
time bootlegger who would know the tricks of making alcohol.

  Jesse waved to Toby as he returned the saw to his shop for further adjustment. A few minutes later there was the sound of a fall. Glenna got there before Toby, but neither could help. Jesse sprawled lifeless on the stone floor beside his bench.

  Jesse Holman lay beneath the first marker in their burying place. Saying words over his open grave choked Toby Shatto pretty badly. He could marvel that a death still touched him deeply and he was pleased that it could.

  How he came to lead so many he could not really understand. That he out of all the men available ended up in front was not logical to him. He had not led armies or held high executive position. He had not issued directives or even served in the military.

  Yet, here he was leading prayers for a departed friend, and with dictatorial powers ordering the lives of a growing community. He had killed men and granted others their lives. He had ordered desperately needy families away into the night and given sanctuary to a few he believed desirable.

  He could have swelled with the power of it or assumed the false humility of a small man in charge. That he did not was itself a reason for his success. Toby Shatto was proud enough and he could be cold hearted as an iceberg, but he stayed fair and he didn't lord it over people.

  Toby didn't claim to be always right but he usually was, and that was important because you couldn't believe in a man who was often wrong.

  Toby believed there was another aspect just about as important as any he could imagine. That was simply that Shatto's Way was the best game around. As far as they knew, none of the other groups beginning to band into communities had other than lean choices. He guessed he still owned the ball and if you played with his ball, you played his way.

  It was a lonesome life, however. He slept securely in the belly of the cave, but he slept alone. When frequent nightmares poured ghastly memories and scenes through his mind, he woke to suffer alone. Usually he ate alone, and often his position as leader kept him aloof from the good time gatherings.

  He believed it important that he not be constantly peering over shoulders. His people needed opportunities to grumble and complain or plan and consider without his presence haunting them. Men needed to be family heads, to lay down their law or agree with a wife without seeing Toby Shatto sitting across the room.

  So, hours were lonely. He examined the few eligible females and considered their prospects. Unfortunately he still measured them by an old standard just as he had through all the years. He could curse himself for doing it, but invariably the blond, solidly shaped memory of Hanna Roth rose before him.

  Dear Hanna, gone in a flash, not even knowing it had happened. Poor Toby Shatto, a prisoner of what had never been. Those were the times he hated himself and most of what was happening around him.

  +++

  Chapter 22

  Chop Clouser had the hard job. When Toby Shatto decided somebody should move, Chop usually gave the word and worked out the 'how to.' Inevitable disagreements fell on Chop, and he did his best to keep them from Toby's attention.

  One of Chop's cousins didn't like his place in things and refused to listen to Chop's calming advice. He went storming up to Toby where he and Glenna Holman labored over an inventory of the overstuffed barn.

  Toby sat on a stack of folding chairs and listened carefully to the man's pugnacious ranting. When he had finished, Toby looked once at Chop who added nothing, slapped his thighs in finality, and stood up eye to eye with the angry man.

  "Fred, I remember you sitting up real close the night you signed up for this village. You sure as hell heard what was said, so you've no complaints coming.

  "Frankly, I don't give one damn in hell what you think about how things are going, but I listened just in case. All you've got to complain about is that no one thinks you are as important as you think you are. That, my friend, isn't worth anyone's time.

  "Now you were warned to do what you were told with your mouth shut except for smiling or out you'd go." Toby's voice turned low and menacing, "So, you're leaving, Fred. Pack what you came with and get gone before dark. Don't take anything extra or I'll come after it."

  He turned away from the still-fuming man. "See that he gets going, Chop. If he causes any trouble, let me know immediately and I'll settle it quickest."

  Fred had walked well away before his anger cooled enough to realize what he'd done. Then he turned sullen and threatening as he gathered his brood and their few things. Others came over to check the excitement and the word spread quickly.

  "Toby throwed Fred out!"

  "What the hell for?"

  "Well, you know Fred's big mouth. He popped off at Chop and finally at Toby. So, he got the word."

  "Don't seem enough to chase a man away, him with a family and all."

  "Huh, maybe you weren't listening that night. You think Toby was joking or something?"

  "No, but . . . "

  "But, hell, look at it the other way. Who needs a complainer like Fred around anyway? All he adds to a job is big talk and mouths to feed. Hell, that's all he ever was good for."

  "Well, what's he goin' to do?"

  "Same thing he did before here, I guess. Go hungry and blame everybody else. I'll tell you one thing, there will be others; Toby just set an example with this one. Them that don't like it here ought to move on right now 'cause given a few months, we're going to have something to lose and just walkin' away with only what you carried in'll be damned painful."

  +++

  Young John Freet from outside Newport had some military experience, and Toby liked the way he handled himself. He and Chop talked it out with Freet and put him in charge of the guards. He would be allowed three other men he could pick himself. If they weren't otherwise needed, those men would be his team.

  Freet's job was to see that no one ever came walking in unseen. For now, the village would claim ownership from the ridge line to the high valley road. Anyone approaching was to be met and handled one of three ways.

  People without business in the community were to be turned away. That did not include friendly visitors of course.

  Strangers with business were to be escorted in and taken directly to Chop or Toby.

  If the approachers appeared dangerous and too many, the guards were to secure assistance. Toby included himself among the fighters to be summoned.

  The duties appeared simple, but there was danger and the hours were long. Only occasionally was there violence, and with one exception the villagers emerged unscathed,

  The single exception was a guard shot dead from ambush. And that day, John Freet learned important things about Toby Shatto and about himself.

  The guard had been standing in the open looking across the valley and soaking up the good sun warmth. He was little more than a boy, but John Freet had chosen him because he was quick thinking and willing.

  Freet was just coming through the trees when the bullet hit the boy. The sound arrived an instant later and the youth slumped into a sitting position his hands pawing weakly at his chest. Freet saw the boy jerk a little and slump sideways, no longer alive, his eyes still open and staring. Only a few seconds had passed and Freet was frozen in place.

  The body jumped as a second shot struck it, and with the sound of it a third bullet buried itself in a near miss.

  Instinctively Freet ducked deeper into the woods. A moment later and he would have been standing with his friend. He had no doubt that he would now be lying in the road beside him. He tried to judge where the shots had come from but he could only guess. On strangely clumsy feet he turned and ran back to the village. Fear lay like a rock in his guts and his back crawled as though a bullet was already tracking him through the tree cover.

  He found Toby first but Chop lumbered up as he began talking. As soon as his story began Toby stopped him and told Chop to get everyone under cover in case this was only a beginning. Then Freet got to tell the rest of it.

  When he was done Toby nodded understanding and aske
d a few questions.

  "You sure he's dead, John?"

  "No doubt, Toby." Freet gagged a little, "The first shot killed him. The second just made sure."

  Toby grimaced and signaled Glenna Holman saying softly, "Go down to his folks and do what you can, but don't let anyone go near there." She left, hastily summoning another older woman to go with her.

  Toby seemed to be thinking. "Maybe two shooters, John? It sounds as if the second shot came awfully close after the first."

  Surprised by the idea, Freet hesitated a moment. "I think you're right, Toby, although a good man with a semi-auto might have been that quick. I was too shook to judge, I'm afraid." He wasn't ashamed to admit it and Toby went right on.

  "If the sound got there after the bullet they were a good way out. How far would you guess, John?" Freet shook his head in doubt, and Toby said, "Probably in that woods sticks up almost to the highway." Freet expected that he might be right.

  Chop came by directing people where to go, and with all the guns bristling they looked as though they could hold off an army. Toby called him over.

  "Freet and I'll go get 'em, Chop. You're the man here. Give us an hour before anyone goes down for the boy though."

  Chop nodded and hurried on. John Freet felt the lump re-forming in his belly, and his breath grew a little short.

  Turning to him, Toby said as calm as if they were going for a walk, "Get yourself something to take along.

  "We might be out awhile and get hungry. You'll need your rifle and bring binoculars. Make sure your boots are good and that you've nothing on that's bright or that rattles." Toby headed for the cave, and Freet hurried toward his family's place with nerves jumping like fleas. He prayed it was excitement and not just because he was scared half to death.

  Toby came back in dark clothes carrying the silenced rifle that they all saw often but few had seen shoot. His binoculars were hung around his neck and tucked into his shirt front, so Freet got rid of his binocular case and did the same with his borrowed pair.