Surviving Home

by A. American

  He stood there for another moment, allowing it to sink in, and then he slowly knelt down beside the bed. He wrapped his hands around hers and rested his forehead on them. She was gone. He didn’t cry, but there was a hole in him now that he thought would never be filled. Slowly he laid her hand back on her Bible and stood up, and as he did he saw the dress on the foot of the bed. It hadn’t been there last night. It was one of her church dresses, a simple black dress with a sewn-in white belt at the waist. A wide white collar was the only other adornment. Lying on top of it was a white hat with an upturned brim and a white net veil over it.

  Thad slowly walked out to the kitchen. “Where’s Tony?” he asked his wife.

  “He still in bed.” Then she looked up. “What’s wrong, baby?” she asked as she came to him.

  “Momma’s gone,” was all he said. Anita looked up at him and tears started to fill her eyes.

  “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. She waited for you. She knew it was coming, but she waited for you.” She laid her head on his chest and sobbed quietly. Thad’s mother had been as much of a mother to her as to Thad. She and Thad had met when they were in their late teens and she had practically grown up with his mother, calling her Momma all the while.

  Thad quietly moved away from his wife toward the door. Anita looked up at him and asked, “Where you going?”

  “Momma needs a coffin. I can’t throw dirt in her face,” he said, pulling the coat on for a second time.

  “But where you going to get one?” she asked.

  “Gotta build one, I guess.” Thad stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I hate to ask, but can you dress her?”

  Anita paused a moment and then gave him a sad smile. “Sure,” she said.

  Thad walked out to the old barn made from rough-cut cypress log planks. He took a pry bar and hammer and began to pull the boards off the side of the barn.

  Once he had what he thought was enough and had carried them to the workbench, he began to saw them into lengths, trimming the sides so they were straight. The work was slow with only hand tools, and around ten in the morning Anita came out with a cup of coffee for him. She looked at the box taking shape on the two sawhorses. She put an arm around her husband and stood there with him for a moment. Neither of them said a word. Thad looked at Anita and gave her a sad little smile, more of a crack in his face than a grin. She smiled back and nodded her head.

  “It’s a nice dress you laid out,” she said to him.

  “It is a nice dress, but I didn’t lay it out. It was there when I went in this morning.”

  Anita thought about that for a moment. “She picked it out.”

  Thad didn’t want to believe his mother knew she would pass, but then he thought of the things she had said to him the night before. He had thought they were weird then, even more so now.

  Around one in the afternoon when old Mr. Jackson stopped by the house. He found Thad at work on the box.

  “Sorry to hear about your mother, son,” he said as he stood looking at the rough coffin taking shape.

  “Thank you. I appreciate you looking out for mine while I was gone,” Thad said, his hammer poised over a nail.

  “That’s what neighbors are fer. I’ll go by an’ get the Brother. I’m sure you would like to have a little service for her,” the old man said, running his hand over the rough boards.

  “That would be nice. Momma would like it.”

  “Wood’s a little rough, huh?”

  “Well, it’s all I got. I ain’t throwing dirt in my Momma’s face, so this’ll have ta do,” Thad said, then hammered another nail in.

  “Dug her grave yet?”

  “Not yet. Soon as this is done I’ll get to it.”

  “You need some help? When I get back with the Brother, I’ll give you a hand.”

  “Thanks, but I planned on doing it alone. Little Tony wants to help, but I don’t want him digging his grandma’s grave.”

  “No different than a son diggin’ his momma’s grave. But I see what you mean. He is still a boy, but it’s a different world now, Thad,” Mr. Jackson said.

  “I know. Some things I just want to keep from him a little longer. There’ll be plenty of time for death yet,” Thad said, picking up another nail.

  “I’ll be back. Y’all need anything?”

  “No, sir, thanks for asking.”

  Mr. Jackson went back through the house to see Anita and make sure she was okay. He asked if Tony could go for a ride in the truck with him to get him out of the house for a while. Anita thought it was a good idea and allowed him to go. For Tony, a ride in anything was a rarity anymore, so he jumped at the chance.

  When Thad finished the box, he took up a shovel and went to the rear of the backyard. His mother had a rosebush planted there. It had been there as long as Thad could remember, and he would bury her in front of it. Taking off his coat and hanging it on a fence post, Thad set the blade into the ground and placed his foot on it. He paused for a moment with his foot poised, saying a prayer for his mother, thanking God for her long life and for welcoming her into heaven. With that done, he thrust the blade into the ground. The dark loam gave way easily to the spade. The ground was not as hard as Thad had thought it would be, or maybe he was getting some help.

  When Mr. Jackson returned with the Brother from the little Baptist church his mother attended without fail, Thad was waist-deep in a hole. The Brother and Mr. Jackson walked out to the grave and looked down at Thad.

  “Sorry for your loss, Thad, but you know she is already with God,” said the Brother.

  “Thank you, Pastor Fish, and I know. Makes it easier.”

  The Brother was a black man in his fifties. He was wearing a black suit for the occasion. Taking off his coat, he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled the cuffs up. “Step out of there, son.”

  Thad knew he wouldn’t be able to argue with the man and did as he was told. “You go get yourself a drink. Have you had lunch today?” Pastor Fish asked.

  “No, sir, but we’re planning on having dinner after the service. You’ll stay, won’t you, and you, Mr. Jackson?”

  “Thad, I am a Baptist preacher. I will not pass up a meal from one of the congregation. It’s the eleventh commandment,” the preacher said as he took up the spade and stepped into the hole.

  Thad grinned and went to the house. Anita met him at the door with a glass of water. They talked for a moment about the dinner and that he had invited the Brother and Mr. Jackson. She told him she’d figured they would stay and had already planned on it. The dinner would be simple: pork chops, collard greens, pinto beans and corn bread. Thad said that sounded fine to him, drained his glass, gave his wife a kiss and went back out to the gravesite.

  The Brother was still there in the hole and told Thad that he and Mr. Jackson would finish the work; he needed to get cleaned up for the service. Thad turned back to the house. Anita led him to the bathroom, where he found an old washtub sitting on the toilet, steam rising from it. He looked over his shoulder at Anita, and she said, “I figured you’d need to clean up, and I didn’t think them two would let you do any more work today.”

  When Thad finished washing, the house was empty. Looking out the kitchen window, he saw everyone outside by the grave. He had kept himself busy all day, not thinking about the fact that she was gone. Now with the coffin sitting beside the grave, the pile of fresh earth next to it, it was undeniable. As he came up to the group, Anita reached out and took one hand, little Tony the other.

  Mr. Jackson took off his straw hat and the Brother opened his Bible.

  “We are not here to mourn a death; we are here to celebrate a life. Beatrice was the kindest soul I ever knew, and I mean that. She never had a cross word for anyone.”

  Thad snickered, causing the Brother to pause and Anita to look up at him. Everyone looked at him expectantly. “’Cept my daddy when he was still
with us,” he said.

  The Brother closed his Bible over a finger, holding it in one hand. “Well, you got me there, Thad. Let me rephrase that: she never had a cross word for anyone, ’cept Amos, when he was still with us, rest his soul. He was all the more the reason the woman was a saint, to put up with him.” The last part was said with the Brother’s face raised toward the sky, his arms held slightly out and apart. Thad and Anita both gave a soft laugh, which changed the mood of the service—now it felt more like a celebration.

  After a short sermon, it was time to lower the coffin into the grave. Thad hadn’t thought of how to go about it, but was pleased to see that Mr. Jackson had. When it was time, he motioned Thad to the other side of the hole and told him to take up the ropes lying there. They each grabbed a rope in either hand and lowered the coffin.

  When it was finally resting in the bottom of the grave, Pastor Fish took up the spade and a scoop of earth. He held it over the grave and said, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, from the Earth we come, to the Earth we shall return.” With that he slowly shook the dirt out into the hole onto the box. When he was done he handed the shovel to Thad, and he too took up a scoop of earth. He held the shovel over the hole for a moment saying nothing. He just stood there looking down, and after a moment he slowly dumped the dark soil into the hole.

  Anita took up the spade next and did as the others had, followed by Mr. Jackson. Little Tony reached down and took up and handful of dirt and dropped it into the grave. The little boy stood there for a moment looking down into the hole, then looked up at his dad and said, “Mema’s in heaven now.”

  Thad looked down at the little boy and said, “She sure is, son. She sure is.”

  Anita and Tony went into the house to prepare dinner while the men saw to the task of filling the grave. When the grave was covered, Mr. Jackson looked over at Thad. “Do you have a marker for her?”

  Thad looked at the rosebush at the head of the grave. “That’ll do. She tended that rosebush for years. It will live longer than any of us. I think it will make a fine marker for her.”

  Pastor Fish put an arm around Thad’s shoulder. “I think it’s a fine marker, son; no stone or piece of wood would be nearly as lovely.” Thad looked at him and nodded his head with a little smile.

  The men picked up their coats and headed for the house. On the back porch, they found a washtub full of water waiting on them, along with a bar of soap and hand towel. All the men washed their hands then went inside. Anita and Tony had set the table: a plate of thick chops in the center, a bowl of pinto beans and a large bowl of collard greens. Everyone took a seat and Pastor Fish said grace, thanking the Lord for a life well lived, for the continuing lives of those present and for keeping them all safe.

  When the grace was said the plates were passed around the table where a chop, beans and greens were spooned onto each. Anita got up from the table and went to the stove; opening the oven, she took a cake of corn bread out and carried it over to the table. Seeing the corn bread, Mr. Jackson rose from the table, saying, “That reminds me.” He went outside, returning with a paper bag under his arm. Sitting back down at the table, he pulled a quart jar of honey out of the bag. This brought a smile to everyone’s face.

  Talk around the dinner table was friendly, and nothing was said of death. The talk centered around fond memories and of things to come. A little fear was mixed with this. As everyone was finishing up, Pastor Fish said, “Miss Anita, thank you for a wonderful meal. I haven’t had anything this good in a long time.”

  “It wasn’t much, but thank you.”

  “It was lovely, Miss Anita, don’t doubt it,” Mr. Jackson added.

  “That’s why I married her; she a fine cook,” Thad said as he put an arm around his wife. She shot him a look and pushed his arm off.

  “Oh, really?” she said.

  Thad faltered, and everyone let out a laugh. Anita smiled and Thad started to laugh too.

  Chapter 3

  Sarge was sitting on the deck in front of the shack. For a change he was relaxed and not cussing anyone, but that may have been because no one was around. He was leaned back in the chair with his feet up on an old cypress stump he had cut and used as a footstool or table, depending on the moment. His M4 was lying in his lap, and he was drinking coffee from one of the ridiculously stained 101st mugs.

  He was sitting patiently and quietly waiting. He didn’t have to wait long. From over his left shoulder came a stern command: “Do not move. Raise your hands where I can see them.”

  Sarge smiled and raised his cup to his lips, taking a sip of the black coffee. The voice came over his shoulder again. “I said raise your hands where I can see them or you’re a dead man.”

  “You boys may as well come on out where I can see you before I kill all four of you,” Sarge said as he lowered his cup.

  A long pause followed, and Sarge just sat there with a grin. He had heard them long before they ever saw his place and had arranged a little welcoming party for them. Finally a voice he knew yelled out, “Linus, they made me bring ’em, don’t kill me!” It was Don. Sarge hadn’t seen him since the day he went to his store in Suwannee. Since what went down there—the gunfight with the Department of Homeland Security assholes—he hadn’t even thought of him.

  “All right, come on out before I kill the three of you, then,” Sarge said, taking another sip of coffee.

  After another short pause, the voice called out again. “Is Mike, Ted and Doc here?”

  Sarge set his cup down on the deck. “Lay down your weapons and come on up here so we can talk like men. I’m gonna stand up now, and your hands better be empty when I do.”

  He stood up, flipping the safety off on his M4, and started toward the corner of the shack. Rounding the corner, he saw Don standing in front of three camoed men. They were wearing the same outfits that Mike and his crew wore, and all of them were soaking wet. “Where’s all their guns, Don?” Sarge asked.

  “They laid ’em all down back there,” Don replied, jutting a thumb over his shoulder.

  Sarge looked over Don’s shoulder. “You three come on up here where I can see ya.” The three men cautiously stepped forward with their hands half-raised. “You boys ain’t real stealthy, are ya?” Sarge asked.

  The three men looked at one another, then at Don. Don just shrugged his shoulders.

  Sarge asked, “What are you guys doing here?” and lowered the M4 to waist level.

  “We’re looking for Mike and Ted,” the one in the front of the trio answered.

  “For what?” Sarge asked.

  “We’re friends of theirs. We need their help.”

  “We’ll see about that. Mike, come out here and see if you know these dipshits!” Sarge called out.

  Mike came out from under the deck. He had been standing in the water under the cabin, looking up through the cracks at the men as they stood there. Ted was out in the swamp, crouched behind an old cypress stump. He had zip-tied ferns to his boonie hat. That along with the camo paint on his face made him practically invisible. Roy was inside the cabin, lying under one of the cots.

  As Mike came out from under the deck, he said, “Hey, Andy.”

  The one that had answered Sarge’s questions looked down into the dark water at the camoed face looking up at him. “Mike?”

  “Yep. Travis, Chris, what’s up?” Mike said, wiping muddy water out of his eyes.

  • • •

  An hour later, Sarge stood up from the table, took off his hat and ran his hand through the gray stubble on his head. He let out a long breath and stood there with his hands on his hips. “You guys actually think this can be done?” he asked

  Don piped up. “I tole ’em they was fuckin’ nuts,” he said, then opened up another of Sarge’s Sam Adams. Sarge glared at him, then looked back to Andy.

  “It’s still in the planning; we’re waiting for confirma
tion from other unit commanders that they’re on board. We can’t use the usual comms, so it’s going a little slow,” Andy said.

  “How far up does this little goat rope go?” Sarge asked.

  “As far as we know, all the way to the commander in chief,” Andy said.

  “You realize what you’re talking about is mutiny, pure and simple. Under the current circumstances, I don’t think there will be any quarter for anyone involved; there’s only success or death.”

  “Everyone involved is well aware of the circumstances,” Andy said.

  They discussed the details, Sarge asking questions the whole way. The plan was still in its infancy and was being developed on the fly. The gist of it was that the DHS was being used as a praetorian guard of sorts to carry out a “transformation of the country.” With more than two hundred thousand people working for DHS directly and another sixty thousand working for the TSA, it was a substantial force. Granted, only a fraction were under arms, but that number was growing by the day.

  Inside the Department of Defense, there were also rumors that foreign military contractors as well as domestic corporations were to be mobilized in the effort. The plan by the administration was bold, to say the least. It had a slim chance of success if everything went right, let alone amidst the eddies of chaos currently beginning to swirl across the nation. Dedicated patriots in the armed forces of the US had come to a decision early on to resist. That didn’t mean that everyone in uniform was ready to defend the nation from threats within, but enough were.

  “What do you need from us? You came out here, so what do you want?” Sarge asked.

  Andy looked over at Mike and Ted; Doc was out on watch along with Chris. He said, “These guys are already on a termination list. DHS knows what they look like and is actively looking for them.” He looked back at Sarge. “They know you’re with them, but they don’t really know who you are or what you look like. We need to use that to our advantage.”

  “Well, in the big scheme of things, we’re pretty small fish, really,” Sarge said.