“His sister? No. Just the child. I followed him back to his nest,” Mac chuckled. “He is staying the night in an old pickup truck.” Merry knew immediately where the truck was parked. There were several old Chevy trucks sitting in the backyard of one of the houses in the neighborhood. They were classic trucks and the house owner probably had an eventual plan for them but they would be easy to get into, she thought.
“Oh, I bet he is freezing! Poor little guy and Angel wasn’t around? Humph,” Merry exclaimed angrily.
“No, he said he would come over here in the morning if she didn’t show up. I left him that big coat I was wearing. I don’t think Mrs. Ortiz would mind,” Mac said.
She hadn’t noticed that the jacket was missing when he returned. Mac must be freezing.
“Go get your jacket. I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” she told him.
“No, I wasn’t planning on watching from this car tonight but I knew I needed to speak with you - making clear my intentions. I’ll go in and get another coat from Mr. Ortiz’s wardrobe in the den when I wake those other two,” he said.
Merry was trying hard not to be completely repulsed with Mac’s attitude and careless approach to war, women and to her, in particular. Controlling her voice she said, “I was thinking about your... your intentions and I assume you are speaking about a long-term relationship. It seems from what you said, your wartime laws are in place to protect D’Almata culture and your future.”
“Precisely! I was sure you would understand,” he said agreeably.
She didn’t understand really but she knew enough to buy for time. Merry asked, “Don’t you D’Almatan men endeavor to win the favor... I mean win the affections and heart of a possible future wife?”
He answered, “Certainly...”
She said quickly, “I would think the quality of your marriage and future would be really lacking if the two people were incompatible.”
“Yes, that happens but during wartime...one makes do. There are many women to choose from but I picked you. I sense we will do well together,” he informed her.
“Thank you,” Merry quipped. She continued to be appalled but she knew Mac was only reacting to what he knew from his own upbringing and culture. She put her chin up and said with conviction, “Because I am not from D’Almata, I think I would not continue with you after the war. Why should I if you put aside all attempt to win my affections for a strong and lasting life together?”
His accent seemed heavier, thicker like Count Dracula in the old movies, as he said, “Ah, you are merely a child. You do not know war! When the fighting is over everybody who lives – loves one another. You will love me then even if you do not... now.” He opened the door and got out. He shut it and the interior light went out. She clicked the door lock, determined not to let him back in the car tonight. Reaching under the passenger’s seat she pulled out a used college geometry book. Inside was her loaded handgun. She never dreamed she would really use it but this was war and war changed everything.
Chapter 3 My Friends Call Me, Mac
Merry awoke to a sharp clicking sound coming from the driver’s side window. It was Patsy. Merry unlocked the door and climbed over to the passenger’s seat, letting Patsy have the driver’s side.
“My turn!” Patsy said cheerfully. She climbed in and then after some maneuvering, adjusted the seat all the way back. Once the door closed, Merry pushed the door lock.
She shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Merry told her what they had heard on the radio but concluded, “It’s quiet out here.”
Patsy said, “This is unbelievable. I wonder what my family is doing. What about everyone from church and Pastor?” They processed Patsy’s words in the silence, in the dark.
“Eeeh, I wonder about all the people who have no eternal hope. I suppose they are in shock, even more so than I am. Are they blaming God? Like your friend said, some are going to get rowdy once they realize the situation,” Pasty commented.
“Yes... well, I’m still in shock! And he isn’t my friend. I barely know him. Mom sent him over,” Merry said with vehemence. “My own mother! I don’t know what she was thinking.” Her voice was quivering. Patsy remained quiet for a moment.
“Toni does very little without prayer first. Where would we be without, Mr. D’Almata?” she asked Merry, perplexed by Merry’s outburst. “Your mother heard from God, if you asked me,” added Patsy.
Merry explained Mac’s wartime laws and his plans for her. “He seems to have an answer to any civilized reasoning I offered. Patsy, he told me he thinks this… this situation is just beginning and it may last for a year or more,” she said bitterly.
Patsy muttered incoherently in Spanish. To Merry she added, “I’ll help you.” Patsy sighed and then said, “We need to make the best of it. Surely, God will use these disasters to get people’s attention bringing something good out of something horribly wrong.” She took Merry’s hand and prayed.
“Go on to bed,” Patsy told her. “Don’t worry about him. He’s done in. He went off to bed after he woke me up.”
Merry took her geometry book and went inside. She washed up using a cleansing towelette from her purse. Her mother had advised Merry to buy several packets for her trip to D’Almata and so she had with many other things; some still in the shopping bags in her car trunk.
The fire was burning brightly. Merry assumed Patsy stoked it before going outside. Nikki and Tina were gone, having left to get Lenny. Connie and Sylvia were buried under blankets sleeping off the days worry and fatigue. Merry pulled off her boots and lay down on the mattress closest to the fire to worry but instead she awoke at dawn.
Everyone was up. The fire was ash and maybe coals but Merry couldn’t see embers nor feel warmth. Chilled, Merry hesitated in throwing off the covers. Sylvia came in from the kitchen when she saw Merry sitting up. She handed Merry an apple. Sitting down on the end of her mattress she said to Merry, “Tina’s not back yet. If that little ho’ gets Tina into trouble, I’m going to put her down.”
Merry took a bite from the apple. Chewing but keeping her eyes on the fruit, she said between bites, “Thanks – just what the doc ordered.”
Sylvia went on about Nikki’s faults, attitude and religion. “You know she isn’t a Christian like the rest of us – she’s a poser.”
Merry continued eating. When only the core was left, interrupting Sylvia, she said, “Give me your hand, Sylvia.” Sylvia reached over and Merry took it. She closed her eyes and starting praying. She felt Sylvia’s grip tightened when she ask God to bless Nikki, helping her become a real Christian. Merry finished with a request that they return safely and soon. When the words were barely finished Sylvia looked up, her eyes revealed suspicion. Ignoring the obvious, Merry said, “That should do the trick.” Merry hoped Sylvia would find it difficult to complain about Nikki if she were praying for her wellbeing.
Merry and Sylvia rearranged the room, putting the mattresses against the east wall. This room would serve as the main room during the day, Merry decided. She wanted to sit down with Patsy and with Mac, however reluctantly, to get a strategy if life as they previously knew it was genuinely devolving, spiraling out of control. Patsy was probably right about God using this time to turn people to Him. Malak was not a believer and after his wartime proposal last night Merry was averse to discuss anything with him - not even the safety of the little lambs - the jail sheep God had put under her care.
After checking Connie’s gash, Merry left her with Mrs. Ortiz. She and Sylvia returned to the halfway house to finalize the relocation of their belongings. They went back and forth several times until Merry was satisfied that the jailies’ former home was ready to be abandoned. She noticed that the ladder was no longer lying on the side of the house. Mac took it the day before to be used at the Ortiz’s. Also, the well housing cap had been camouflaged. Merry was sure she would have not recognized it for what it was without already knowing that the well-house lay below the rocks and broken planter. Mac had done a good job in disguisi
ng it for possible future use, she guessed.
Mrs. Ortiz said that the freezer food needed to be eaten. Everything was thawing. She was right but Merry was hoping that perhaps the electricity would come back on soon. Still, she asked Connie to help Mrs. Ortiz begin preparations for a pot of stew. Merry went outside to get firewood from the diminished stack lying in the corner of the yard. Besides electricity there was no gas and so this soup would be made atop the wood stove. The fire would serve two purposes, heat for the house and fuel for today’s meal.
Patsy was up and she volunteered to fix the fire, not trusting Merry and her youthful ignorance.
Mac came in at mid-morning. He had two pillow cases of canned goods and he was eating an apple. Mrs. Ortiz said with her strained voice at a higher pitch than usual, “Oh? So is that why you were asking me those cozy questions about our lovely and picturesque neighborhood?”
“My dear Mrs. Ortiz, you were a fountain of useful information!” said Mac smiling widely. “I think it better we borrow from your neighbors rather than strangers because either way, your neighbors’ empty homes will be looted.” He looked at the new additions from the halfway house lining the wall in the hallway. He nodded approvingly at Merry but she looked away.
Patsy called from in front of the wood stove, “We’re making lunch... lunch and dinner.”
“Good. We’ll be hungry when we’re done with our pilfering today,” he said through the archway. He could not remember Consuela’s name. Instead, he looked directly at her and said, “How is your leg? Let me see it.” Connie shrugged and pulled up her pant leg. The leg was pocked with bruises and scrapes. She began to twist her long hair and nervously pulled it up into a ponytail as Mac squatted before her. Merry went into the hallway while the others gathered about him to watch. He was surprisingly gentle.
Connie had been athletic in her teen years but drugs, sloth and jail time left her out of shape at 32. “It looks good. Stand up,” he told her. He pointed to the wood stove. “Walk over there and back and tell me how it feels.”
“It hurts like hell but not as bad as yesterday,” she said as she walked into the adjoining room.
He watched her and as she came into the kitchen. He said, “Exercise will help it. I want you to go up the street to that house with the old trucks parked in the backyard... If the fellow comes out and questions you, tell him you’re looking for your lost son.” Merry was both irritated and relieved that Mac knew what he was doing. She listened from the hallway as he told Connie to find Junior, “the little brother” and bring him back. Putting on her coat, Connie went out to find Angel’s younger brother.
“Come ladies. You,” Mac said to Sylvia. “And Merry, come with me. Will be back in a small time,” he told Mrs. Ortiz.
Merry and Sylvia followed him out the door.
Sylvia asked, “Where are we going?” They went through the gate. Merry could see Connie going up the street to the left.
“We are going to reconnoiter,” Mac said as he set a brisk pace.
“Oh,” she replied but she looked to Merry for an explanation.
Merry said, “We are going to explore the neighborhood, I suppose.”
Casually glancing to his left, Mac caught her eye and nodded with a smile. In response and intentionally misreading him, Merry was quick to look left too and said, “I hope she finds Junior.” Sylvia looked as well and saw Consuela in the distance.
Mac turned right as they came out onto the street.
“Where is everybody?” Merry wondered out loud. The street was deserted. It was never very busy that she recalled but she hadn’t seen one car drive through the neighborhood since yesterday morning... only Patsy.
Sylvia said, “I suppose they were at work or some place other than home, yesterday and now they’re stuck.”
“Correct!” said Mac. “There are a few people home and some people returned late last night.” They continued up the street. The sky was hazy but not unusually so. The sun was warm and bright. Merry guessed it was about 10am. Under normal circumstances, Merry and most young people checked their cell phones to find the time of day but the phones were not working.
Passing the third house, Mac detoured to the left climbing down into a dry creek bed - an arroyo. Merry dug her cowboy boots into the steep embankment to slow her pace, coming behind Mac. Arroyos were often used by coyotes and crooks unless it was raining and then they flowed with water and debris. Many times if it were raining up in the hills, although sunny down below, water came rushing along the arroyos carrying logs, fence post and unsuspecting humans. It had been dry with very little rain or snowfall since December. Up in the Sangre de Cristos mountain range there had been snow, especially on Baldy but there was a cloudy mist covering the mountains today and the peak was not visible.
They walked the sandy arroyo in silence for a few minutes, unseen by the world above until they came to a path that went up the creek bank to the right. The roots of an old Cottonwood held the clayish dirt and sand in place. They used the tree to pull themselves up. Mac went first. He stood on a thick grey root peering about before vaulting himself up and over the edge. Sylvia went up next while Merry gave her a lift from behind. Mac grabbed Sylvia’s wrist for the ascent saying, “That’s right, come on.”
Merry’s boots weren’t the best for climbing but she was groping about for a final handhold when Mac turned back from Sylvia to give her a hand. He didn’t have any encouraging words for her like he had for Sylvia but she thanked him as she straightened and brushed the grit from her jacket and jeans.
The cottonwood would have totally covered them in the summer months but the tree branches which were now bare, sloped almost to the ground. Even so, they stood behind a tangle of branches. A fence ran from the arroyo up each side of the yard and across the front of the property.The rear of a newer adobe looking two-story home was before them.
Mac said, “I’ve already been in this place. There isn’t anyone home. Are you people on holiday?” Merry and Sylvia looked at each other.
Holiday?
“Oh,” Merry said. “I suppose we are. Starting last Friday and going through the week-end is what we call Spring-break. I had forgotten... many people do take a vacation at this time but it’s mostly geared toward college students.”
Sylvia nodded but Mac said, “Spring break! Yes, I remember. That is correct. These people are gone somewhere. It is good for us... come on.” He started off and Sylvia followed. Merry hesitated.
Slowly she followed but she wondered if there wasn’t a better way. What if everything went back to normal next week? Would she... all of them be in trouble for “pilfering?”
At the back door, the wooden doorjamb was split. The door was closed but Mac pulled it open with ease. Sylvia went in before Merry, going straight for the refrigerator. Mac shot his hand out stopping her from opening it. “Don’t do that. Merry come in and close that door,” he ordered. The women didn’t like Mac’s bossy manner. When Sylvia released the icebox handle he released her wrist.
“I’m hungry,” she complained rubbing her arm.
He chuckled and looked from Sylvia to Merry. “You are not hungry. In two weeks you may be hungry. We will get the cold food but first let’s get the other stuff,” he said. Merry had raised her chin in defiance when Mac ordered her inside but she did come in reluctantly, closing the door behind her.
“Come, let me show you two something,” he said affably. He turned and went through the kitchen doorway into a dining area. Sylvia put her hand back on the refrigerator door while looking to Merry. Merry shook her head with a determined but silent, no. Shrugging, Sylvia went after Malak, followed by Merry. He stood at the picture window. The blinds were closed and the room gloomy without light.
“Look,” he said. The women came over and peeked through the opening in the blinds that Mac held. They didn’t see anything remarkable. There was a flagpole with a limp American flag hanging from it in the front yard.
“What?” asked Merry. Silent, Syl
via stood looking out at the front yard and the street and a one-story ranch house across the way.
“You are at war! What do you see?” Mac asked them.
Sylvia said, “It’s the old folks' home.” Merry hadn’t known that. It must be a small one, she decided. Merry had only come around the back road of the neighborhood rectangle, once. That was six months ago when she and her mother drove over to inspect the possibilities of the halfway house for women just released for the county jail. The building she was looking at resembled an oversized hacienda style house. The roof was flat with a balustrade running around the top; only a narrow section on the front was pitched and covered with red, rounded clay tiles. Now that Sylvia pointed out that it was a retirement home, Merry could see the obvious. All the windows were the ice-cube looking glass blocks and the fencing was high adobe walls with wrought iron gates for coming and going. Along the west side was a ramp for wheelchairs. Yes, she could see that the place was a secure, private institution of some kind. There was a small car and a newer white van parked in the front.
“That crossed my mind but I am not familiar with what you call ‘old folks homes.’ We do not have such places in my country,” he told them letting loose of the blind. He turned away from the window. “It is perfect for what we need. I think we may have to appropriate it as our new lodgings,” he concluded.
Once again with painted eyebrows raised Sylvia exchanged a look with Merry. “Ruthless,” Sylvia whispered. Merry nodded.
After sometime of moving “essentials” as Mac described them, to the front door, the three of them ate crackers with peanut butter in the kitchen.
Sylvia and Mac talked while Merry contemplated. Previously, Merry told Sylvia what she had heard on the radio the night before. The two women planned to climb into the VW bug hoping to hear an update on the radio once they finished at the halfway house earlier but they never did. Sylvia mentioned the radio reports to Mac. Responding, Mac was saying how precarious life becomes when there is a real emergency like the events happening in America at the moment.
Merry's Marauders (Book #2 ~ Scenic Route to Paradise, refreshed 2016 edition) Page 4
