by John Grit
He moved closer to the clearing’s edge and waited to see what happened when they drove into the open and up to the house. If anyone waited in ambush, they would reveal themselves soon.
The trucks came to a rattling halt in front of the house. The drivers got out and stretched. Both men left their rifles in the truck cabs, where they would be useless if trouble was waiting. One man walked over to the pump, which looked to Nate to be as he left it, and pumped water onto the concrete slab. The other man walked over and bent down to have a drink while the first man pumped. Then they changed positions so the other could have a drink also.
Nate watched. Looks like Mrs. MacKay sent us a couple idiots. He waited, watching to see what they did and giving anyone who might be hiding in the woods a chance to make their move. He wanted any trouble to happen before the children were out in the open.
The men walked back to one of the pickups and one opened the tailgate. They had a wooden box in the back and one pulled items out, handing them to the other who waited beside the pickup. They sat on the tailgate and prepared a cold meal.
While they ate, Nate decided to continue to scout the area.
The men finished eating, had another drink at the pump, and started wandering around the farm, going into the house, coming out empty-handed, and then entering the barn. When they came out, Nate was waiting for them.
Nate stood there stone-faced, his rifle in his hands. “What are you doing here?”
Both men turned white.
The one on the left spoke first. “Uh, MacKay sent use to pick up some kids.”
“Yeah,” the other one said, “I saw you before. You’re Nate Williams.”
Nate relaxed. “You two all there is?”
“Naw. There’s another truck waiting at the road with four men in it.” The shorter man on the left stepped closer. “They’re riding shotgun for us.”
Nate waved Brian over and then turned his full attention back to the men. “The kids will be here in a minute. You two might as well get back in and be ready to drive. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. We’ll be driving in the dark before we get to Mrs. MacKay’s farm as it is.”
The tall, thin man with rotten teeth gave Nate a cold stare. “You’re not too friendly. Are you pissed about us looking around? We didn’t take anything.”
“Well, it is my home, and you were not invited in, but that’s not it.”
“What is it then?”
Nate stared back at them in silence for a few seconds and decided not to deride them for their lack of security measures. “I guess all those whining kids have me on edge.”
Both men laughed. “Yeah, little brats can run you crazy,” the tall one said.
Brian walked up, toting the folded stretcher over his left shoulder, his carbine in his right hand.
Kendell carried the little girl with a cut foot, doing his best to keep the others moving toward the pickups. The smaller children were walking so slow, it took Kendell fifteen minutes to get them across the field.
After all the children had a drink at the pump and Brian had filled all their canteens, they loaded all the children into the vehicles.
The pickup in front would not start. The man impatiently pumped the gas pedal and kept trying until the battery ran down and the starter would just make a clicking sound, not turning the engine over at all. It was the tall, thin man. He got out and slammed the door. His cussing made some of the children laugh. That made him mad and he started cussing at the children.
Kendell jumped down, ready to fight. “Keep your mouth off the kids.”
The man bared his rotten teeth with a sneer. “Get back in the truck, you little punk nigger, or I’ll leave you here.”
Before anyone knew what happened, Nate had the man out cold on the ground.
Several children began to cry.
The shorter man sat behind the wheel of the pickup behind them, its engine sputtering, his hands locked on the steering wheel.
Nate looked up from the prone man with a look that seemed to be asking, “Now what are you going to do about it?”
The man waved out the window. “I didn’t see nothing. Somebody steer that thing and I’ll push-start it.”
Kendell looked up at Nate. “I can drive.” He got in and waited.
Brian stood behind the cab of the second pickup, his carbine shouldered, his right thumb on the safety. He watched the man on the ground.
Nate disarmed the unconscious man, finding a knife and a revolver. He noticed the man’s jaw was hanging off to the side and knew it was broken. After throwing the weapons onto the truck floor next to Kendell, he dragged the unconscious man to the second pickup. Brian helped him load the man onto the truck and tie him up.
Brian looked closer at the man’s face. “Dad. I don’t think he’s breathing.”
Nate put his hand on the man’s chest. Looking surprised, he quickly put his hand close to the man’s mouth. “Damn.” He pushed on his chest, trying to get him to breathe.
The short man got out and walked up.
Brian backed off, his carbine ready.
The man glanced at Brian and then looked down at the dead man. “Don’t worry about him. The sonbitch was more trouble than he was worth.”
Nate kept trying to revive him.
“I know you didn’t mean to kill him,” the man said, “but I wouldn’t let it bother you. You just hit him. If he dies he dies.”
Nate kept pushing on the man’s chest.
Blood spit up from the man’s mouth and he coughed.
Nate turned him on his side, and more blood poured out. He coughed again, opened his blurry eyes and looked up at Nate. “Waa—what happened?” He blinked and closed his eyes. Soon, his breathing became even and shallow.
“Well, he’s went back to sleep,” the short man said. “Let’s get this show on the road. Time’s a wasting.” He got back into the pickup.
Nate and Brian turned the man on his stomach so any blood would run out and he could breathe.
With everyone onboard the two vehicles, they drove down the driveway, heading for the dirt road. Kendell had trouble keeping the engine running, but managed.
Chet was waiting with three men. He saw the man Nate hit lying on the tailgate, tied up. “What the hell is going on?”
The short man got out of the pickup. “He had an accident. His jaw conflicted with the farmer’s fist. The fist won.”
Chet looked at Nate. “Why did you hit him?”
“He deserved it,” the short man said.
“I didn’t ask you, Eugene.” Chet never took his eyes off Nate.
“He was cussing the kids and got racial.” Nate sighed. “We don’t have much daylight left and these kids are tired and hungry. They haven’t eaten since sunrise.”
Chet half-smiled at Nate, and then he looked at the unconscious man. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”
The trip was uneventful but uncomfortable for the children, who felt every pothole and rut in the road through their bottoms, as they sat on the hard floor of the pickup beds. The unconscious man woke after a few miles and moaned most of the way.
Chapter 7
Two armed Hispanic men guarded the gate in front of Mrs. MacKay’s farm. They saw headlights coming, bouncing on the pothole-filled road at twenty miles per hour. They hid in the dark behind massive oaks on each side of the gate, not knowing if it was the party they expected or trouble coming.
Chet stopped at the gate and yelled out the door window. “Hey, amigos! It’s Chet and friends. Open up. We’re hungry.” He killed the headlights so the men would not be lit up as a target for anyone hiding down the road and to preserve their night vision.
Kendell followed his example and so did Eugene, who was in the rear. The two guards opened the gate and the trucks moved down the drive with just their parking lights on, at fifteen miles per hour.
A teenage boy saw them coming and ran into the big house. Mrs. MacKay came out to greet them.
Nate ju
mped down from the left side of the pickup and started to speak, but Mrs. MacKay spoke first.
“We’ve got supper waiting for all of you. Come on in.” She smiled at the children as they walked by.
Nate scratched at his neck. “We had a little problem at my farm. He’s tied up in the back of the truck.”
“Oh, Slim again. Did you shoot him?”
“No, just broke his jaw.”
Eugene had a rifle slung over his shoulder as he stood by. “What are we going to do with him, Mrs. MacKay? He’s hurt pretty bad, almost died. The big guy there brought him back to life.”
She tilted her head. “Well, if he was a horse with a broken leg, we would shoot him in the head and haul him to the back pasture. But I guess we can’t do that with him.”
“Take him to his bunk?” Eugene started for the tailgate and Slim before she answered.
“Yes, take him to his bunk. I’ll ask Olga to see what she can do for him.”
Eugene spoke loud enough she could hear him from the back of the pickup. “He won’t like that.”
She sighed. “I expect he will be too weak to protest about being touched with brown hands. Bring a two-by-four with you, just in case. Don’t break it, though. No need to waste a perfectly good two-by-four over the bonehead of a mule.”
Eugene laughed under his breath. He spoke to the teenage boy who had alerted Mrs. MacKay to the trucks arriving. “Pedro, will you give me a hand with Slim?”
He nodded and grabbed the man’s ankles.
“Come in and eat, Nate.” Mrs. MacKay smiled at Brian. “Did you see your father hit Slim?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“How many times?”
“Just once.”
She chuckled. “That figures. Come on now, let’s eat.”
Nate and Brian grabbed their packs out of the pickups and followed her inside.
Brian had never been in Mrs. MacKay’s home before. He gawked at the signs of wealth that still were evident, despite the great fall she and the entire human race had suffered. Several horses from their farm had produced millions in winnings, and many others were nearly as successful. Their stallions demanded high fees for breeding.
Brian’s eyes lingered on a display of trophies, symbolizing hard-won victories at the Kentucky Derby and many other major horse races.
Mrs. MacKay’s eyes sparkled. “Days gone by, and never to return in my lifetime, I fear.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Tis a small thing compared to all we have lost.”
“I would think horse racing will return someday,” Nate said.
They followed her into the dining room. “Yes,” she sat at the head of the table, “but long after I am gone.” She waved it off. “I still have my horses, more importantly, a few of my dear old friends, and no small number of new friends. Let us eat and enjoy this night.”
The dining room was large enough to dwarf Nate’s living room. Expensive wood paneling covered the walls four feet up from the floor; above the banister, the walls were intricate white plaster designs. Many paintings of horses in pastures or drinking from a glassy pond in early misty morning were displayed.
Men and women of several different races sat at a thirty-foot-long table, five feet wide and blanketed by a white tablecloth. Brian followed his father’s example and put his pack and carbine in a corner. He sat at the big table beside his father and immediately appeared to be uncomfortable, wondering what to do next. He hid his surprise when several women came in from the kitchen and began to put beans, rice, and pork on everyone’s plate, starting with Mrs. MacKay’s. He had never seen people waited on before, except at restaurants. Not even his late mother waited on him like this, at least not since he was small.
“Uh, where are the kids,” Brian asked, “and Kendell?”
Nate gave him a stern look.
“My dear, the children are eating at another table,” Mrs. MacKay said. “There simply is not room for them here. Kendell was invited to join us, but insisted on eating with the children.”
“Oh.” Brian noticed no one had picked up a fork or spoon, or even a glass of water. He took that as a cue and waited. Mrs. MacKay waited until many at the table spoke prayers under their breath and crossed their chests, then said, “Let’s eat.”
Everyone started in. Brian looked around before starting and watched how they put small amounts of food on a spoon or fork and slowly brought it to their mouths, looking like they were trying to savor the taste. He ate some rice. It tasted Mexican, spicy. He saw no bread on the table. The Mexican-style mixture of rice and pork and two kinds of beans seemed to be the complete meal.
As they ate, Mrs. MacKay asked Nate, “Have you managed to get a winter crop in the ground?”
“No.” Nate drank some water to clear his throat. “With one thing after another, we haven’t had time. When Brian and I get back, we will finish clearing an area for planting.”
“Yes,” she smiled, “you’ve had your hands full with the children. Did you have much trouble with that freakish storm?”
Most everyone at the table seemed to be interested in the storm. They stopped eating and listened.
“We had a tornado pass over. Our shelter withstood it, but there’s still a mess to clean up. We have to clear downed trees before we can plow.”
A woman in her thirties mumbled something in Spanish and crossed her chest.
Mrs. MacKay glanced at her, a worried look in her eyes. “We were fortunate enough not to have tornados to deal with, but one man was killed when struck by lightning while repairing wind damage to one of our barns.” She looked down, not saying more.
“I’m sorry,” Brian said.
Nate glanced at him. “Yes, we both offer our condolences.”
“He was a good worker, and honest,” Mrs. MacKay said. “In a way, it’s fortunate that he was not married and had no family. He left behind enough of a vacuum as it is. Like I said, he was a good man. We all miss him.”
One of the Hispanic men spoke up. “Have there been any recent signs of the sickness?” He spoke with little accent and in prefect English.
Before Nate could answer, Mrs. MacKay spoke. “This is Ramiro, my foreman and best friend.”
Nate nodded. “No. We have not seen any sign of the plague lately.”
“Have hungry people been coming?”
“No one but Kendell and the children,” Nate said. “We haven’t had any beggars, just takers.”
“Ah.” Ramiro smiled under his thick mustache. “But you fought them off. I am told you are hard to kill.”
“I’m sure you’ve had your troubles too.” Nate took a drink of water.
“Yes, but we have many guns, you have few.”
“I have Brian. That makes a lot of difference.”
Brian turned red.
“Ah. Another Nate Williams.”
Brian looked at his plate.
“He has carried his own weight many times over.” Nate finished his meal. He was still hungry, and he knew Brian was too. He also knew there would be no second serving.
“Well, we’re getting by,” Mrs. MacKay said. “I expect you and yours are too.”
Nate drank more water to clear his throat and to fill his stomach. “Yes, for now. The future is questionable, though. We must get at least two good crops in and harvested and stored.”
Everyone at the table nodded.
Ramiro sat back in his chair. “The bandits make things worse. Too much time is wasted fighting and fearing attack. All of these wasteful security measures are draining our resources, keeping people busy and away from producing food.”
Nate looked down the table at Ramiro. “We just have to deal with it all. Doing one thing perfect while neglecting to do another that is just as important, is not going to keep us alive. We must do all things well to survive. It does no good to avoid starvation if we are killed while working our fields.”
Ramiro shrugged. “Yes, complaining changes nothing. I do wish God would deal with the bandits, so we can w
ork more productively.”
Brian’s voice raced down the table. “God didn’t help my mother and little sister. I don’t expect he will help us with the bandits…or anything else.”
A woman in her forties scolded him. “You must not lose faith. God is always listening.”
“He wasn’t listening when millions of people were dying.” Brian got out of his chair.
Nate stood. “Calm down.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.” Brian picked up his pack and carbine. “Thank you for the dinner.”
Mrs. MacKay got out of her chair. “Pain is a dirge that hangs over all of us, Brian. I will have someone show you where to sleep tonight.”
Nate grabbed his rifle and pack. “Good night to you all.”
“He is angry with God,” Ramiro said. “That is not good.”
Brian looked as if he wanted to say something, but he just looked away. Then he walked out the door. Nate led him outside.
Brian set his pack down on the red brick walkway that crossed the front of the house. “I wonder where Kendell and the kids are.”
Nate stepped closer. “Brian—” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “If you want to talk, we have plenty of time. There is nothing else to do tonight.”
Brian looked away into the dark. “Nothing to talk about. You can’t change anything. It’s just the way it is.”
“I’m not so sure there is a God, put hating is not healthy.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything, but it’s too late now.”
“Religion means a lot to some people, and it’s best not to get between them and their beliefs. They have a right to believe what they want, as do you.”
“I guess they’re Catholic.”
“Probably. They’re good people, or Mrs. MacKay would not have them around.”
Brian’s face changed, and he looked up at his father. “What about the guy you hit?”
“Sometimes groups like this get stuck with undesirables and can’t get rid of them. Every time you take someone into your group, you’re taking a chance. We have certainly taken chances.”
“Maybe we should have let him die. It would have been doing Mrs. MacKay and her people a favor. I doubt that he’s anything but trouble for them.”
