The Ungovernable

by Franklin Horton

  “That all you got to say for yourself?” Jenny pressed.

  "That was a nice speech you just gave. You running for some kind of office?”

  Jenny ignored Jim’s jab. “So you don’t deny it?” She glanced around at the crowd, trying to muster some support. “You folks heard that. He ain’t denying it.”

  “I am denying it, damn it,” Jim growled, losing his cool. “I don't know where the rumor came from but it needs to stop right now.” He scanned the crowd and noticed everyone, vendor and customer alike, had stopped what they were doing and were staring at him intently. He saw anger in some of their eyes, confusion in others.

  "Oh, I'd say it's true all right," Jenny went on. "The people who told me wouldn't lie about it. They said you admitted to it and now we won't have any power, any comfort camps, and no government assistance at all. They said that’s what you wanted all along. People are dying and it's all your fault."

  Jim was pissed but it didn't seem prudent to threaten Jenny in front of all these people like he had the teacher a short while ago. Word would travel. With the way stories inflated as they passed between people, there was no telling what the story would become by the end of the day. People would claim he’d killed her to silence her.

  "Jenny, you’re always accusing someone of something. You’re always saying you’ve been wronged by the world. Everything that happens to you is someone else’s fault. Best I recall, it was somebody else's fault you got knocked up the summer after high school. It was somebody else’s fault you could never stay with a job or keep a husband for very long. Every damn thing in your life is somebody else’s fault. Maybe you're just wanting to blame me for something that isn’t my fault either."

  Jenny's mouth stretched tight at having her dirty laundry flung out in the yard. "You can’t lie your way out of this, Jim. The truth is out there. They ought to string your ass up for murder. You’re killing people. That's what you’re doing."

  "Let's go,” Jim said to his companions. “My ugly is about to come out." Jim nudged his horse forward and rode off, having lost his taste for going into town. He was ready to turn around and go home.

  "You can’t run from the truth!" Jenny called behind him.

  "Sounds like word has traveled," Gary said when they were out of range of the supercenter.

  "I don't get it," Jim grumbled, shaking his head. "You'd think the people that know what really happened would be aware this was sensitive information. They should know not to talk about it.”

  "Would they, though?" Randi asked. "You never told them that specifically. People are used to gossiping. They’re used to talking. They have less to talk about these days. This was big news and I'm sure the first people to share it didn't think they were going to harm you in any way. They were probably just excited because they had something to talk about."

  "Clearly word of this could harm me and my family," Jim said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This type of gossip is exactly what I was afraid of. People who don't understand the big picture, who don’t understand our motivations for doing what we did, are hostile. They resent me personally because they think I've condemned them to the dark ages."

  "For some people, life is that simple," Gary said. "They're not concerned about the other issues. They don’t care about giving up their guns, or even their freedom, for food and power. Not everyone sees this issue the same way we did."

  "The question is what, if anything, can we do about it at this point? Is it too late?" Randi said. "Should we start a rumor of our own?"

  Gary chuckled. "That might be preferable to Jim actually killing everyone who repeats the story. If he has to kill every gossip in this town, even he might eventually run out of ammo."

  Jim shook his head. "I won't run out of ammo. Trust me."

  "Either way, killing an entire town to shut down a rumor is not effective crisis management. It falls in the category of..." Gary struggled to find the correct word.

  “Psychopathic?” Randi suggested.

  Jim let out a deep breath. Some days he longed to ride off into the mountains by himself and never come back. Perhaps one day he would. "So what would be an appropriate counter rumor?"

  "Maybe we go with natural event,” Gary offered. “An act of God. Rockslides are frequent in the winter. We start a rumor that there was a rockslide that dammed the river and flooded the power plant.”

  Jim shrugged. "We could say there was an ice dam at a bridge and it caused the water to back up. It happens.”

  "Eh, people might've heard the explosion," Randi said. "That was a serious blast. People probably felt it for miles. I think we go with something about an explosion. A gas leak at the plant."

  "We could put all those stories into play," Jim said. "The more stories we have floating around, the more confusion it will cause. People won’t know what to believe."

  "That's a solid strategy," Gary agreed. "We need to get more people spreading those stories. If they're coming out of your mouth it just sounds like you're trying to cover your own ass. You have a credibility problem."

  Jim snarled, kicked his horse, and rode off. He was done talking.

  4

  Jim had soured on the bitter taste of town already. He’d never liked it, even before the collapse, but he’d promised his parents he would check on their house. For the rest of the trip he was determined to steer away from groups of people, even those along their route who boldly hailed them and waved them over. Jim had no more interest in fielding the rumors about his role in what had happened at the power plant.

  He experienced a rush of relief at finding his parents’ house in good condition. They would rest easier knowing that their old life, their belongings, were undisturbed and exactly as they’d left them. He rode around the house first, checking for obvious things such as broken windows, signs of forced entry, or footprints on the wet ground. He rode to the outbuildings and found them locked. From the outside everything was exactly as they’d left it last time they were here.

  He dug out his key and entered through the front door. Out of habit, he felt a sense of urgency to turn off the alarm system before it sounded then reminded himself it hadn’t worked since last summer. The house was cold and smelled vacant, a combination of dampness and stale, musty air. Yet beneath it all, it smelled like home.

  Gary and Randi gave him space, watching from the driveway, giving him a moment to emotionally acclimate. He needed that moment. Going from room to room he was bombarded by memories in a way he was wholly unprepared for. His experience in town that morning left him angry and pissed off. It had thrown him off. Perhaps that left him vulnerable, but for whatever reason he couldn't help but surrender to the current of memories tugging at him.

  There were thousands of snapshots flashing through his brain, moments from growing up in this house, memories of the life events he'd experienced there. He was completely overwhelmed. He saw himself sitting in the floor as a child while his family watched The Waltons on television together. He remembered stretching the cord from the wall phone into the next room so he could have a private conversation. He remembered fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. He remembered being lectured about his grades and talking about more serious topics, like college, as he got older. It was dizzying. Disorienting.

  Jim shook his head, as if that simple gesture could dislodge the thoughts and stop the flow. He took off his pack and put a few pictures in there. He searched the house for other mementos his parents might appreciate. He did that every time he visited their home, taking back things that would make them feel more comfortable in their new home and their new life. It occurred to him that this might be the last life they knew. They may never get to move back into their home. The thought saddened him but his was only one small sadness in a world full of them.

  Although he wasn’t certain how long he spent going through the house, when he went downstairs he found Gary and Randi sitting at the kitchen table eating lunches they’d packed that morning.


  "Sit down. Eat,” Randi said. "You look like you need to chill out."

  Jim pulled out a chair. “A beer would be nice. Got any?”

  “Nope,” Randi replied. “If I did, I’d share.”

  She was exactly right; he did need to chill out. Talking about beer made him realize he felt like a can of beer that had been shaken too hard. He felt ready to explode and spew his contents on the world. It would probably suck for both parties. Him and the world.

  Jim glanced around the kitchen at the familiar objects. Many of these things he’d grown up with. When he looked at the people he was seated with, it felt strange. Although they were his friends, they were out of place. This was his parents’ house and just being here without them felt wrong. The entire world was out of context.

  He dug his lunch from his pack, frowned at it, and shoved it back in. He’d lost his appetite. He pushed back from the table and stood. “I’m going to poke around outside. You guys take your time.”

  He went outside and sat on the front steps, taking in the familiar yard with its birdhouses, benches, and decorations. Crocuses and daffodils rose through the damp soil in flowerbeds. Jim was caught in an odd limbo between the new life he shared with people like Randi and Gary and the old life he’d shared in this home with his parents.

  Being in there was overwhelming. He couldn’t take another minute of it. From his seat at the kitchen table he could see family photos along the wall and the sight of those injected memories into his head like a syringe of adrenaline. The last thing he wanted was the surge of emotion created by a forced journey down memory lane. He hadn’t been able to stop staring at those pictures, thinking of how no one could have seen this coming. Not in any of those dozens of pictures was there any hint that the world may one day come to this.

  When those family photos were taken, the entirety of Jim's world had been their family and their house. It was the very definition of a home. It had been a good life to grow up there, where he ventured out into the world each day with the knowledge there was a safe, comfortable place waiting on him at the end. He understood that not everyone in the world had that same experience of home but he could not let that awareness diminish his own experience. He would not choose to feel miserable just because others had been.

  After he was married and had kids he tried to create that same experience for his own family. He, his wife, and his children had left home each morning with the knowledge that they had a safe place waiting on them at the end of the day. They did things as a family and built a life of memories and experiences.

  The lines of what counted as family were blurred now. The group he shared his days with was much larger than his family or even his extended family had been. Beyond his wife and kids, beyond his parents, there was Randi and her family, Gary and his family, Alice's son Charlie, Jim’s friend Hugh, and his friend Lloyd. There were other families in the valley that they dealt with each day but this was the core group. They were his new family, his new tribe.

  The situation he found himself in made him shake his head. He belonged to a tribe and he was the de facto leader. What the hell?

  Leadership sat odd with him, like eating an entire pizza only to have it reassemble into a large circle inside your stomach. By nature Jim was private and antisocial. He didn’t like being around groups of people. He closely guarded his privacy. He didn’t like people dropping in on him. He didn't like talking on the phone.

  Now his family had changed. It had grown to include people he interacted with every day out of necessity. There were so many roles and responsibilities, so much work to do, that his family couldn’t do it alone. There was security, basic things like providing wood for heat and taking care of their growing menagerie of animals, and there was food, always food, and the need for more of it. The world had changed and Jim’s surroundings had changed with it. Like it or not, he was going to have to change too.

  An idea struck him and he went to one of the outbuildings, digging around until he found an old paint can full of leftover seed packets. He returned to the house and was sitting on the sidewalk going through the can when Randi and Gary came out.

  “Whatcha doing?” Randi asked.

  “Thinking about spring planting,” Jim answered, holding up a pack of seeds.

  "I’m excited about that," Randi said. "I've always enjoyed having a garden and I'm good at it. That’s a place I can contribute."

  “You've always contributed," Jim said. "That’s never been an issue. Of course sometimes all you contribute is sarcastic, smartass comments."

  Randi shrugged. “Sometimes that’s exactly what the situation calls for. Besides gardening, that’s probably my other superpower. Being a smartass.”

  "Being able to shoot well is my only superpower," Gary offered.

  "Not true," Randi stated. "You’re the voice of reason sometimes. Don't underestimate the value of that. There's probably hundreds of people that are only alive now because of you talking Jim off the trigger."

  Jim snorted. "You make me sound like a psycho."

  "If the shoe fits."

  Jim shot Randi a dirty look. "I'm not a psycho. I’m a… problem solver.”

  "Oh, I don't mean it in a bad way," Randi said.

  "How can you call somebody a psycho in a good way?”

  Randi sighed dramatically. "Okay, you're not a psycho, you big baby. But you are quick to want a permanent resolution to conflict."

  “As I said, I’m a problem solver.”

  “He’s a troubleshooter,” Gary suggested.

  Jim smiled. “Yeah, Randi, I’m a troubleshooter. When I see trouble, I shoot it.”

  “You have clearly demonstrated that,” Randi replied.

  “It’s a philosophy instilled in me by my late grandfather. You never leave an enemy the opportunity to come back and settle things when he may have the upper hand. You take firm, decisive action when you can."

  Gary appeared concerned. "So you intend to rid the world of all your enemies? Permanently?"

  “Yeah. That a problem?”

  Randi and Gary exchanged a worried look.

  Jim sensed a conspiracy brewing. “Well? Is it?”

  "No," Randi assured him. "It's just fine. You keep being you."

  "Now you're just patronizing me,” Jim snarled.

  "Maybe she's scared not to patronize you," Gary said. “Especially since pissing you off appears to shorten a person’s lifespan.”

  At Jim’s insistence, they took a longer route out of town when they headed back to the valley. Knowing Jim was on edge, neither Randi nor Gary complained. They didn't want to have to deal with the collateral damage of him shooting somebody on the way home. There was another valley running behind town that eventually connected with Jim’s valley. While it was a long ride through the country, whatever they ran into had to beat the hell out of dealing with the townspeople.

  They walked their horses slowly, weapons at the ready. Jim's horse was loaded down with his pack and a couple of pillowcases containing things picked up at his parents’ house.

  "You look like something out of the old West," Gary said. “Kind of like a guy who's been stuck in the hills too long. A fur trapper taking hides to town."

  Jim flashed a grin. "Sometimes I wish I was in the hills."

  "I can see that, Josey Wales," Gary replied in the voice of some Western character actor.

  Less than an hour into their ride Jim reigned his horse to a stop in front of the burned out shell of a house. Most of the structure had collapsed inward, leaving the masonry portions behind with a few charred timbers that reached for the sky like pleading, scratching fingers.

  "What's this?" Randi asked. “Some of your handiwork?”

  Jim shook his head. “"You remember Buddy’s story about killing those men who overdosed his daughter?"

  The expressions on both Randi’s and Gary's faces indicated that awareness had slammed home like the bolt of a rifle. They knew exactly what this place was. It was the house where the
man lived. The one who had overdosed Buddy’s daughter and dumped her body. It was the house where Buddy had come in those first days of the collapse to dispense justice.

  Randi let loose with a powerful, snarling scream that sent chills down Jim’s spine.

  "What the fuck, Randi?" he asked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  "I said I wouldn't cry anymore, dammit. If I'm not going to cry, I've got to hate that much harder."

  Jim turned away from her and back to the monument to a father's revenge. A charred memorial to an attempt to right a wrong that could never be corrected. The dead couldn’t be brought back. All that was accomplished was the venting of hate in hopes it would set the world right. It never worked.

  Jim swallowed. "I miss Buddy too.”

  "I think the old guy was ready to go,” Randi said. “Some days he was as much in his wife and daughter’s world as he was in ours. He talked to them and I suspect they talked back. That didn't make it any easier..." She trailed off, clearly reliving the way they’d lost him.

  Jim started riding and the others fell in behind him. A bit further along the road they came to a truck and Jim wondered if it was the old man's. He said he’d abandoned it here, eventually ending up being picked up by Lloyd. Curiosity tugged at Jim and he wanted to get off his horse to look for any clues that this was Buddy’s truck, ultimately deciding he’d rather not know.

  The truck had been vandalized. All of the windows were broken out and the doors hung open. The glove compartment lay open, the contents strewn about the floor. A harsh winter of rain and snow had matted them into a pulpy amalgamation.

  They rode in silence after that, the ghost of Buddy heavy upon them. While the dark turn of their thoughts began with those memories of Buddy, they blossomed into a grim memory of all that had happened to them over the winter. All of them wanted this to be the beginning of better times. For the summer to be a period of growing and recovery, with harvest and happiness at the end. No one could see that happiness in the distance right now, no matter how hard they looked.