“Oh no, I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“No, we would love to help if we could,” I insisted, also trying to think of a way to repay Jack for his kindness.
“It’s a lot of manual labor,” Jack insisted.
“I can do it,” Mark wrote. “It will be good to get my shoulder moving again so I can get my strength back.”
“Well…if you’re feeling up for it, perhaps tomorrow morning I can show you a few of the things that I do around here,” he said slowly, hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think that it’s something you have to do. You don’t need to repay me for anything.”
“You’ve been so good to us,” I insisted. “I would like to find some way to show your appreciation.”
“There really is no trouble,” he assured. “As long as the Commission doesn’t come knocking on my door, since they already have suspicions about me. Other than that, it’s been nice to have someone to talk to.”
The next morning, Jack instructed both Mark and I on how to feed the horses, and allowed us to look out the cracked barn door to the cows that he kept in the far field. He said it was still too dangerous for us to leave the confines of the barn, but if we wanted to we could do some cleaning and organization inside the structure.
As he was showing both Mark and I how to muck the stalls, he laughed and shook his head, reaching his hand out to take the tools back.
“No, I can’t ask you to do this,” he chuckled.
“No,” I insisted, holding my rake closer. “We would love to do this.”
That first day, Mark and I cleaned the stalls, both of us struggling after the first stall with the hard labor. Of course, Mark was struggling because of his shoulder. I was struggling because I was already relatively out of shape.
I sighed heavily on our fourth stall and leaned on my rage, shaking my head.
“I would’ve thought that hiking across the country would have strengthened me a little.”
Mark smiled at me, carefully stretching his wounded shoulder. He, too, took a break, leaning against the wall and reaching a hand out for the horse within to sniff. He then turned his eyes to me and motioned over me, I assumed to ask about the state of my own wounds.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Nothing too serious.”
Mark noted, satisfied with the answer.
“How much longer do you think we can stay here?” I asked.
Mark sighed, absentmindedly patting the horse on the shoulder as he thought. He held up two fingers.
“Two days?” I repeated. “Are you going to be alright to travel into days?”
Mark nodded, but did not try to explain how he felt with his wounds.
“We don’t have most of the supplies we brought with us,” I’m murmured, my eyes going to the rubber mat on the floor of the stall. Having been so worried about Mark, I had been able to push away the thoughts of those we have lost in the graveyard. But as Mark was healing, it was becoming harder and harder to ignored that both Jessica and Jeff were dead and it was unknown what would happen to Clark as a prisoner in the Commission of the People.
Thinking about Clark that night, talking back to Dana and allowing for Mark and me to find an opening to evade capture, the tears returned.
“Mark?” I muttered. “What do you think is going to happen to Clark?” Mark was very still, looking me over silently, not bothering to find a way to communicate. I tried to blink my tears away, but they stubbornly clung to my eyelashes. “We should’ve done something to save him.”
Mark walked quickly across the stall and wrapped one arm around me, pulling me into a hug and rubbing my shoulder trying to comfort me. “We shouldn’t have left in there…”
I knew, logically, that there had been no way to get to Clark that night without all of us getting captured. If Mark had not seen an opportunity, then there had not been one. There was also a part of me that was kicking myself, realizing that I should not be upset with Mark saving my life. He lived with Clark, protected him before I even got to Central, and probably felt even guiltier about being on able to keep him out of Dana’s hands.
“We’ve lost a lot of people Mark,” I choked.
I felt him nod against my head.
“…is everything okay?” I jumped, startled by Jack’s sudden appearance. Mark did not seem startled, which told me that he had been paying attention and had heard the cowboy approach.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, pushing the tears away as Mark stepped out of the hug. “Just…now that there’s no danger of immediate death, some things are catching up to me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude…” Jack said. “I just…I just felt guilty leaving you here to muck out stalls all day. Thought I’d come in and see how you were doing. See if you’re ready for lunch.”
“Thank you.”
“Here,” Jack said, opening the stall door for us. “Why don’t you take a break in the feed room and I’ll go scare us up something to eat.”
Mark kept his arm around my shoulder as he let me out of the stall. I wondered if there would ever be a time where I no longer felt guilty about everything that it happened with our failed revolution. I knew it was something I would live with for the rest my life.
While Jack was walking with us to the feed room, we heard the roar of the truck fast approaching. Jack stopped immediately, concerned. “Not expecting anybody today…”
He walked to the barn door and began to open it, looking out at the approaching vehicle.
“Fucking hell…”
“Is everything all right?” I asked quickly, terrified that it was a Commission van approaching the barn.
Jack turned and motioned us into the feed room.
“Just stay in there and try to stay out of sight. I doubt they’ll actually come in here, but you can watch through that little window over there and make sure that, if they are coming, you can find a place to hide.”
“Is it the Commission?” I asked quickly. Mark was already dragging me into the feed room, not bothering to ask who was approached.
“No, no, it’s not the Commission,” Jack said quickly.
Mark hauled me into the feed room, sliding the door mostly shut before pulling me to the window. I crouched with Mark near the window as I heard the barn door slide open, Jack walking into view. Near the fence that surrounded the barn was a big, black pickup truck. The vehicle was turned off and three men got out.
“Well, well,” the man who had gotten out of the driver seat started. He was heavy-set, his brown hair shaggy and unkempt underneath a dirty trucker hat. He wore jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, both of which were stained with mud and grime. He kicked some rocks with his cowboy boots as he walked closer to Jack. “Look who’s trying to get some work in…”
Jack stopped walking and watched the three men approach, the other two having a similar appearance to the driver, though one was very skinny and tall and the other was of average build. However, all three men were taller and broader than Jack. My heart began to race, worried for his safety.
“What do you want, Doug?” Jack asked. “I keep tellin’ you, you’re not welcome here.”
“We were coming to see if you’ve had anything strange goin’ on on your property lately,” the driver named Doug said, digging his hands deep into his pockets.
“Strange how?” Jack asked, appearing to be disinterested.
“Oh, I dunno,” he said. “Ya know, just, somethin’ you might want to let someone know about.”
“Was that supposed to make sense to me?”
“Come on, Doug,” one of the other men said. “Jack’s real good about keeping his mouth shut. At least in public.”
Jack turned to the other man, but decided not to respond.
“I wonder if we could find anyone who knows just how much he opens his mouth in private…” the other man added.
The three men began jeering, talking loudly among themselves about what they were sure Jack did in his private life.
“So, did y�
��all have a reason for comin’ here? Or was it just a slow Tuesday? You know if you actually worked your properties, you wouldn’t have time to drop money into the local bar and you might be able to get the government off your asses about avoided taxes.”
“I’m sure you heard that there are some fugitives in the area,” Doug said, taking a few steps forward. I could see Jack’s body flinch, fighting the urge to retreat. However, he stayed strong, staring at Doug defiantly. “You wouldn’t have happened to see any fugitives ‘round here, have you?”
“No,” Jack said simply.
“Guess they don’t have any mirrors in the house,” one of the other men leered.
“If you’ve said your piece,” Jack started, “get off my land.”
“This ain’t your land,” Doug snarled. “It’s your daddy‘s land, and I’m surprised he let you stay on it considering what happened last time.”
“I’m warning you, Doug,” Jack said darkly. “Walk away now.”
“What are you going to do?” the bigger man challenged. “You really must be delusional if you think a little faggot like you can stand up to me. I’ll make you wish that it was the Commission that picked you up. I’ll fuck you up so bad, you’ll wish you had your daddy’s wounds.”
Jack threw a punch at Doug’s face and the bigger man stumbled backwards, surprised by the speed of the attack. In an instant, the other two were running at Jack, who darted back into the barn just long enough to grab a shotgun, which I assumed he had registered since he was a rural landowner and had livestock to protect. He pointed it at them, anger in his eyes.
“Get the hell off my property!”
The three men hesitated, staying put though they were clearly hesitant to try and attack Jack while he had a gun in his hands.
“So,” Doug started, “I guess you had to grow a spine since your daddy’s back got broken for you. Too bad you didn’t have one to begin with, or he might still be able to walk.”
Jack cocked the gun and my heart was beating so fast that I could feel it crawling into my throat, choking me.
“What are you going to do?” Doug asked, spreading his arms wide. “You actually gonna shoot me?”
He took one step forward and Jack flinched, but managed to keep his stance. He aimed the gun, but I could see from the look in his eyes and the shaking in his hands that he did not have it in him to shoot the other man.
“That’ll make you a murderer,” one of the other men added, also taking a step forward, all of them beginning to close around Jack as his eyes darted to each of them.
“That’ll bring the Commission right down to your house,” Doug continued. “Why would you be so desperate to shoot someone who just came around asking if you’d seen any of the fugitives?”
They all took another step forward and I was reminded of nature documentaries when a pride of lions was closing in around a struggling prey. My entire body was tensed, ready to dart out and help if I could. Mark was clearly getting nervous as well, his hand gripping the windowsill tight as his other hand stayed on my shoulder, trying on not to tighten, knowing that it would hurt me.
“C’mon, Jack,” Doug sneered.
“Yeah, c’mon, Jacking-Him-Off,” the skinny man cackled, causing Jack to flinch at the derogatory nick name. “Why don’t you do everyone a favor and put that shotgun in your mouth? It won’t be any different than the other stuff you put in there.”
Jack retreated a step, moving the barrel of the gun to the three of them as they closed in.
The confrontation was becoming more difficult to watch by the second.
“Perhaps I should just call the Commission anyway,” the third man said with a sick smile on his face. “After all, we all know exactly what you are.”
“You’re right,” Doug said with a sick grin. “We may not have found the fugitives that the Commission wants, but we can finally get this filth out of our town.”
Doug grabbed the end of the shotgun and pushed upward, but even with the sudden movement, Jack did not pull the trigger. Doug’s other hand grab the butt of the gun and yanked it free of Jack’s hands before violently striking him across the face with the wooden end of the gun.
I quickly covered my mouth to stifle my horrified scream. Mark reached for the gun he normally kept at his side but was back in the office. We both fought the urge to barge out and help him, but we also knew that we were the fugitives that the three men were searching for and we could not risk being seen.
Jack had fallen heavily to the ground and, at that point, the three men began raining blows all over his body. They kicked him, and kneed him, and even went closer to the ground to punch him in any section of his body that they could reach. Jack curled up, clenching his teeth and remaining as quiet as possible, waiting for the beating to be over.
Without Jack fighting back, or even crying out in pain to feed their sick need to be more powerful than him, the men lost interest in beating Jack relatively quickly. Doug stood straight and motioned the other two away before dropping the gun heavily on Jack’s body, the barrel hitting him in the face.
“Just consider that some training,” Doug sneered. “That’s what it’s going to feel like when they finally take your sorry ass into the Commission.”
The men returned to the truck, laughing loudly as of celebrating a victory. I turned away from the window, ready to run outside and help Jack, but Mark held my arm tightly, reminding me that I had to be absolutely sure we were not going to be seen. After all, Jack had received the beating because the men had come looking for fugitives. If we were seeing with him, it would give them a reason to come back.
I felt helpless watching Jack groan on the ground, pushing the gun off of his body and holding his stomach and face.
Once the dust from the truck leaving had settled, both Mark and I immediately went to Jack, Mark dragging Jack into the barn while I closed the door.
It was the opposite situation to the one we had been in only a few days ago. Now, Jack was the one reclined on the small bed while Mark tended to his wounds.
“Do you have anything stronger to take for the pain?” I asked, looking among the various bottles on the shelf, though I did not know the use of any of the bottles.
“It’s fine,” Jack hissed, his voice was tight. “Not the first beating I’ve received.”
I looked him over, wishing I could at least find him an ice pack for the swelling that had already closed his left eye.
“Perhaps you should go to a doctor…”
“No,” he assured. “Really, I’m fine.”
Jack seemed hesitant at first when Mark began cleaning the cuts on his face from the gun, as well as a split lip. However, once he realized that Mark clearly knew what he was doing, the cowboy relaxed and watched the experiment curiously. He was still staring at Mark in fascination, much in the same way I had when I first met the experiment.
“Thank you for not giving us up,” I murmured, my eyes low.
“…I just thought, what if it were me?” he said, his voice quiet. “I mean, it very easily could be,” he continued. “And if I had put my trust in someone to keep me safe, I would want them to keep their promise. So, there was no way I would’ve given you up.”
I pursed my lips, not sure if I should ask the question burning in my mind. However, after a few silent moments, I took a deep breath.
“What…what exactly happened to your dad?”
Jack’s eyes turn to me, guarded and cold, clearly not wanting to talk about whatever had happened. Mark continued his work diligently, though I knew from experience that he was actually listening very intently to whatever Jack was going to say.
“When the Commission last investigated us,” he started slowly, “it was pretty clear to the man that came to talk to my family that I should be taken into the Commission. However, they had no proof, as I had never actually committed the crime. I got a little cocky once they said that there was no charge to bring me in on and I started mouthing off to one of the men, blam
ing them for wasting my family’s time and putting us through so much stress. So, the man explained that it wouldn’t take much for them to find something to pin on me so that they could bring charges if they wanted. They made it very clear that they were the ultimate power…and to prove it…”
He hesitated, his expression becoming conflicted and pained as he continued telling the story. The guilt etched into his features was heartbreaking and, unfortunately, very familiar.
“…they ended up running him down with their van the following day.”
“They ran him over?” I gasped, mortified.
“They had called him, asking him to come out so that they could talk to him one final time. As he was walking away from the house, they just…” Jack’s voice had become tight with tears as he shook his head. “I just…stood there. I watched in the window. I watched that van get closer…I remember screaming at my dad, but I couldn’t move. And then it was like the whole thing happened in slow motion. I still remember the sound…It was crunching noise…before I knew it, my dad was on the ground, unconscious.”
Mark had stopped treating the wounds, looking at Jack with his usual, unreadable expression, though it was clear that he felt sympathy for what the rancher had endured.
“I am so sorry…” I whispered.
“It was all because of me,” Jack hissed. “It was just to send a message to me. Just to tell me that I should be thankful that they had done only that, and that my father was paying for my attitude and my ego. They were showing me that they had the power over my entire life, even if they didn’t imprison me.”
“So…is your father…”
“Paralyzed,” Jack answered. “Then he became an alcoholic. Lord knows a paralyzed rancher…” He shook his head again, trailing off.
“What about your mother?” I pressed.
“…unfortunately she was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer five months ago. Her treatment has made her too sick to really care for my father, or this place. My older siblings couldn’t handle it either, which is why they both left. So, for now, it’s just me around here.”
Both Mark and I were stunned into silence. It was no wonder Jack wanted to be sure that we would not bring the Commission to his door—he was the only one caring for his parents.
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