Revelations

by Mark Kelly

  He listened while Simmons recounted Samantha’s story and then said, “Do you trust her?”

  “I asked Mei the same thing,” Simmons answered. “She’s a pretty good judge of character. She believes her. Besides, why would she lie?”

  McNee nodded and spoke. “Go to the house. The boys are probably in the barn or the machine shed. Tell them what you told me. They’ll know what to do.” Then McNee surprised Simmons by turning and heading back to the tractor.

  “Where are you going?”

  McNee motioned at the green John Deere. “Got a full tank of fuel. roamers or not, I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave her in the field. The thieves around here will drain her dry. It won’t take me but a few minutes to get back home through the back fields. I’ll see you there.”

  “Where’s he going?” Mei asked Simmons when he returned to the truck. She leaned forward and watched McNee drive the tractor across the field.

  “He’s worried someone will steal his fuel if he leaves the tractor here.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “I would if I had the chance,” Simmons said, glancing at the nearly empty fuel gauge as he put the truck into drive.

  6

  Surprise

  “Quite a step up from our little cottage, isn’t it?” Simmons said as they pulled in and parked in front of the McNee farmhouse.

  The ornate red-brick house wouldn’t have looked out of place in an architectural magazine. Home to five successive generations of McNees, it was built in the 1800s at a time when multiple generations of the same family lived together. L-shaped, in the Victorian-style, the house was two stories high with intricate white gingerbread gables running along the edge of the roof. A wrap-around porch provided relief from the heat of the summer.

  Simmons honked the horn. Seconds later all three of McNee’s sons appeared from inside the barn. They pulled their face masks up when they saw the visitors. Brandon ran to the truck while his brothers remained where they stood. When he saw Emma, Brandon smiled, but the smile disappeared when he realized the visit wasn’t a social call.

  “What’s wrong, Professor Simmons?”

  “There’s a Roamer gang headed this way,” Simmons said. “Your dad told me to tell you and your brothers. He said you’d know what to do.”

  Brandon turned and yelled, “Roamers!”

  Both of his brothers hurried over.

  “How close?” Bryan asked. A tall slender man in his mid-twenties, Bryan was the middle of McNee’s three sons.

  “I’m not sure—no more than a couple of days,” Simmons said, “but they might be here as early as tonight.”

  The three brothers shared a look and then kicked into action. Bryan was the first to react. “I’m going into town.” He patted Brandon on the back and said, “Be careful.”

  They watched Bryan disappear into the barn, returning a moment later with a rifle strapped to his back. He jogged to an old beat-up Honda ATV parked by a pair of white fuel tanks and started it. A belch of blue smoke puffed out of the machine’s exhaust. With a rev of the engine and a quick wave, he took off down the long laneway.

  “I’ll get Autumn for you.” McNee’s eldest son, Bruce said and limped away. A sullen man of few words and one leg, Bruce had never married and was quite a few years older than his brothers. He rarely left the farm and Simmons had only met him once before.

  A few minutes later, Bruce was back with Brandon’s horse. “I put the canisters in your saddlebag. The controllers and batteries are in your backpack. You know what to do, but be careful.”

  Brandon nodded. He took the reins from his brother, put a foot in the stirrup, and threw his leg over the horse's back. “Once I get there, I’ll radio in an update.” With a yank on the reins, he spun the horse around and galloped away.

  “Where’s he going?” Simmons asked.

  “To the crossroads.”

  Before Simmons could ask where that was or what the items in Brandon’s saddle bag were for, Bruce turned and headed back into the barn.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Simmons asked.

  “No.”

  “Tony, what’s going on?” Mei shouted.

  He turned and shrugged helplessly.

  Twenty minutes later, McNee’s big John Deere tractor lumbered up the long laneway, its giant tires kicking up a plume of dust. Simmons and the others drew their masks up over their mouths as much to stop the dust from filling their lungs as to follow proper pandemic etiquette.

  McNee jumped down from the tractor. He nodded a quick hello to everyone and raised an eyebrow when he saw Samantha and Callie.

  “Have the boys left?” he asked Simmons.

  “Yes, where did they go?”

  “Brandon’s gone to the crossroads, and Bryan went into town to get men.”

  “Where are the crossroads?”

  “At the intersection of Highway 41 and 22,” McNee answered. “We blocked the roads a few months ago to stop the refugees from coming into town. There’s a spot for a look-out up in the hills. Brandon will radio in an update when he gets there.”

  McNee started to walk towards the barn. When Simmons made a move to follow him, McNee stopped and said, “Would you mind waiting here?”

  It wasn’t a request. It was a command. The barn was where McNee stored his collection of weapons. Simmons knew because Brandon had told Emma.

  A moment later, McNee was back with a rifle strapped over his shoulder and one in each hand. He offered them to Simmons and Lucia with a reluctant grunt. “I’m guessing you could use these.”

  “I’ve got this,” Simmons said, showing McNee the Smith & Wesson pistol.

  “Take the rifle, Professor,” McNee replied, thrusting the gun forward. “I don’t mean any offense, but I’m guessing you haven’t had much call to use that peashooter. With the long gun, you’ll have a scope to aim through.”

  Then McNee chuckled when he saw the holster on Mei’s hip. “I see someone convinced you to wear your gun today.”

  Mei scowled and said nothing, but Lucia proudly tapped herself on the chest and said, “I did.”

  McNee nodded approvingly and then glanced at the truck where Samantha and Callie stood by themselves. “I’d like to talk to them.”

  Mei walked over to the truck and returned with Samantha. McNee offered his hand and introduced himself. “I’m told you know something about a Roamer gang headed our way. Any idea where they are now?”

  “No, but I know they were planning to spend one more day stocking up on supplies before heading out, but if they left right after us, they could be here in a half a day.”

  “Who is us?” McNee asked her.

  “My daughter and I,” Samantha said, glancing over her shoulder at Callie. “There’s just the two of us.”

  McNee relaxed slightly. “How many roamers are there?”

  “About thirty or forty. Most of them travel in a greyhound bus with John and Lilanne, but there’s always a handful of men out front scouting.”

  “Who are John and Lilanne?”

  Samantha’s voice wavered as she spoke. “The leaders. They’re gutless but they’re evil. I saw them do things.”

  “What things?”

  “Things to people…mostly women, or sometimes girls. They didn’t touch me or Callie. I was too useful and Callie’s too young, but she wouldn’t always be. That’s why we had to leave.”

  “How were you useful?” McNee asked.

  “I’m a nurse,” Samantha answered. “When Lilanne found out, she kept me around to look after her and John. She liked to brag they had their very own nurse to keep them safe, but most of what I did was help them figure out if the drugs they stole would get them high or kill them.”

  McNee frowned. “I don’t understand why they’re coming our way. If they’re druggies, they won’t find much of that out here.”

  “They had no choice,” Samantha said. “The Cyclones are taking over and consolidating their position. John and Lilanne would
have been killed.”

  “Who are the Cyclones?”

  “The main biker gang in Toronto.”

  McNee frowned again. “But why come north? It still doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “There wasn’t anywhere else they could go,” Samantha replied. “South isn’t an option because there are still thousands of refugees streaming across the border at Detroit, and the highways going east and west are impassable in both directions for anything larger than a motorcycle.”

  The small radio clipped to McNee’s belt crackled and a voice came out of the speaker.

  “Dad, it’s Brandon. I’m at the crossroads. Do you read me, over?”

  McNee unclipped the radio and spoke into it. “I hear you. Any sign of the roamers?”

  “No, and the cars we used to block the road are still in place, but I saw tracks in the dirt that might be from a motorbike.”

  McNee tensed and looked at Samantha. “Are the scouts on motorcycles?”

  She shook her head.

  “Brandon, that isn’t them, but the tracks are probably from whoever left that motorcycle in the trees. Be careful.”

  Simmons caught Mei staring at the motorcycle in the back of the truck. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll tell you about it later,” he mouthed.

  “Brandon, will you and Autumn be okay for awhile longer?” McNee asked his son

  “Yeah, we’re fine. I’ve got jerky, and there’s still plenty of water in the cow pond for Autumn.”

  “Good…stay back from the road and keep out of sight. If you see anything at all, radio it in. Keep trying if you don’t get me right away. I’ll be off this channel for a few minutes while I check in and see how Bryan is doing.”

  “Okay, Dad. Talk to you soon, over and out.”

  McNee pressed a button on the side of his radio to change frequencies.

  “Bryan, do you read me, over?”

  The voice of his middle son came through the speaker. “I’m here, Dad. I’m at the store.”

  “How many men do you have?”

  There was a moment’s pause before he answered. “I might be able to get a few more, but right now, it’s eleven.”

  Simmons’s heart skipped a beat as he did the math in his head. If there were forty roamers, they were outnumbered almost three to one. He glanced at the others and watched the color drain from their faces.

  “Sorry, dad. I did my best,” Bryan continued, “but a few of them told me they had to stay home to protect their farms and their families.”

  McNee’s jaw tightened. “I understand they’re worried, but that’s foolish. There’s strength in numbers.” He shook his head and muttered under his breath. “We’ll just have to make do with what we have. Bring the men you have to the farm and we’ll get organized here before we head out to the crossroads.”

  “Will do. See you in a half-hour or so, over and out.”

  “What the hell are we going to do?” Simmons asked McNee. “We’re out-numbered.”

  McNee gave him a grim look. “We’re going to need everyone who can hold a gun at the crossroads.”

  “I want to go,” Emma said. “I can help. I’m a better shot than Professor Simmons.”

  Mei shook her head. “No, Emma. I want you and Saanvi to stay here, but I’ll come with you, Tom. You might need a doctor out there.”

  McNee, Simmons, and Lucia all shook their heads at the same time. McNee was the first to speak. “Sorry Mei, but I can’t allow you to put yourself in a position of danger. You’re too important to the community. You’re our only doctor.”

  “I’ll go.”

  They all turned in surprise and Samantha shrunk back from the attention. “I’m the one who brought the trouble to you,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right to run from it. I can’t shoot, but I’m a nurse and I spent a lot of time in the operating room.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mei said. “You didn’t bring this trouble to us. We just happened to be in their path.”

  “That’s only partially true,” Samantha said. “I wasn’t lying when I told you they were coming north because of the Cyclones, but they’re also coming after this.”

  A guilty expression came over her face as she removed the small knapsack from her back and placed it on the ground near Mei. “I took their gold and most of their drugs—not just the ones that get you high but the antibiotics, steroids—everything they had. Go ahead, you can open it.”

  Simmons and the others stared at the knapsack. Mei dropped to her knees and unfastened the strap. She plunged her hands into the bag and began to pull things from it. She tossed the three plastic tubes filled with gold coins aside as if they were worthless, but what came next made her eyes light up with wonder. As she removed the containers of drugs, she rhymed off their pharmaceutical names and held them up for everyone to see.

  “Moxifloxacin.”

  “Meropenem.”

  “Prednisolone.”

  “Valium.”

  “Oxycodone.”

  “Epinephrine.”

  “Dextroamphetamine.”

  She picked up a large bottle of Tetracycline and laughed. “My God, this is incredible. I would have killed for this a month ago.”

  The radio on McNee’s belt crackled and Brandon’s whispered voice came through the speaker. “Dad, it’s me, over.”

  McNee snatched the radio from his belt and turned the volume up. “I’m here, what’s going on?”

  “A car just pulled up. There are a bunch of men poking around the barricade.”

  “Are you well hidden?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay out of sight, but let me know if anything changes. Your brother and the men should be here shortly. As soon as they arrive, we’ll head your way—no more than forty-five minutes from now, do you copy?”

  “I copy, Dad, over and out.”

  McNee looked at Samantha. “How far ahead of the bus are the scouts?”

  “About an hour usually.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I guess this is it, folks. It’s going to be close.”

  7

  Crossroads

  The crowd that had gathered in the grass next to McNee’s barn separated into two groups. On one side, were the men McNee’s son Bryan had brought from town—plus Simmons, Lucia, and Samantha. On the other side, Mei and the girls stood together with Callie and Saanvi in the middle. One group would go to the crossroads. The other would stay behind at the farm.

  McNee’s eldest son, Bruce, stood by himself in the middle, part of neither. He held the reins of a pair of horses harnessed to a hay wagon. His father stood on the back of the wagon looking down at the people in his yard.

  Simmons couldn’t help but think the scene wouldn’t have been much different two hundred years earlier during the civil war. Just a group of scared and reluctant make-shift soldiers prepared to fight for their land and families. He shifted the rifle strapped over his shoulder as McNee spoke.

  “Listen up, everyone. There are three vehicles with six men sniffing around the barricade. Brandon says they haven’t tried to break through yet, but even if they do, I doubt they’ll be successful until they have something bigger than a car to pull it apart.”

  “This is bullshit,” a voice shouted. “If they can’t get through, what the hell are you worried about?”

  The speaker, Ronnie Gourley, a small wiry man with an attitude and a face full of two-day-old stubble, looked hung over. Ronnie’s brother, Paul, stood beside him, frowning as he nodded his head. From Simmons’s limited experience with the two brothers, neither of the Gourleys was capable of having a conversation without turning it into a confrontation.

  McNee pointed to Samantha and said, “She says the main group is traveling in a greyhound bus. We don’t know if they have chains with them, but if they do, that bus will have more than enough torque to yank the barricade apart.”

  “Why should we trust her? She ain’t from around here,” Ronnie Gourley shouted.
>
  “She was with the roamers and escaped,” McNee answered.

  The murmurs grew louder, and McNee held his hands up in the air to quieten them. “Look, they might not come this way. The barricade might be enough to dissuade them, but if they come down Highway 22, we have to be ready.”

  Simmons noticed McNee didn’t say anything about the items Samantha had stolen. If the locals even so much as suspected she and her daughter had brought trouble their way, things would get nasty.

  “Time’s running out,” McNee said to the group. “Hop up on the wagon and let’s go.”

  Both Gourley brothers laughed out loud. “Don’t be stupid, McNee. We ain’t going out there to bale hay. We’ll take the truck.”

  McNee crossed his arms and shot a nasty look their way. “Taking the truck won’t be any faster. Besides, we need to get to the crossroads without them seeing us and the only way to do that is across the fields.”

  “Who gives a shit if they see us? There’s eleven of us, plus you and your sons—and them three if they’re worth counting,” Ronnie said, looking Simmons’s way. “That makes eighteen. Should be plenty.”

  Simmons glanced at McNee. The farmer still hadn’t told the men how many roamers there were. He braced for the backlash he was certain would come when they learned they were outnumbered almost three to one.

  “You must not have heard me, Ronnie,” McNee said in a surprisingly patient voice. “There’s a bus coming as well. For all we know there could be five, ten…maybe fifty people on that bus. Until we know what we’re up against, it’s best if we play it safe.”

  Simmons couldn’t help but be impressed. McNee liked to present himself as a good-old-boy, but when push came to shove, he was a master at the art of politicking. Tell them just enough to not allow yourself to be accused of lying when the truth finally comes out.

  A sense of unease started to form amongst the men from town as the uncertainty of their odds dawned on them. They muttered amongst themselves, and Simmons heard more than one say he was considering going back to his farm. McNee was absolutely right: there was strength in numbers and they couldn’t afford to lose a single man. Simmons climbed up on the wagon with Lucia one step behind him. She glared down at the group of men.