Yankee Determinism

by Patrice Stanton

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, head down.

  Though more disheveled and grimy than they’d ever seen her - all the way to her fingernails - clearly she hadn’t rushed. She was neither red faced nor out of breath.

  “Bet the princess won’t get yelled at,” Alta muttered. Gil chuckled but got quiet when his older sister glared at him.

  They watched Eliza shrug off an old waxed canvas rucksack first. It thudded, metallically, on the kitchen’s tile floor. Next, a thriftstore “treasure,” her leather plus moth-eaten shearling aviator’s jacket, monstrously too big and crypt keeper- ancient.

  The eldest Walters gave her the onceover head-to-toe, kicking at the pack with one of his scuffed up steel toed boots; half managed to conceal a grin.

  “As I was saying…because this is my fight not yours, I’ve made arrangements for all of you to be moved to safe houses, up north. Tomorrow…” predictably protesting broke out. He raised his hand and they quieted some, “So I need you to pack…”

  The two oldest were nearly in unison, “What?”

  “I’m old enough to--” Alta began.

  Gil talked over her, “I’m eighteen…I’m legal…I won’t...”

  Tightlipped, Eliza simply worked at loosening some of the gunk from under her nails; periodically flicked it, without regard for its trajectory.

  Poppa brought his two hands down onto the table with a powerful Thwaap! startling all three of them. “Enough! Neither of you – none of you – know much about survival and survival is precisely what we’re up against. I have a few friends who…” Gil and Alta made little skeptical sounds.

  Glaring at them in turn, he continued without another pause. “I’m not talking about Deputy Punk-Dawg or his papa Shmurf, or their mountain boys...I mean men, and their families. Good folks willing to take you under their wings. Who’re a lot younger and stronger than me. I just can’t keep you safe anymore, not from what’s moving through this country destroying it piece by piece.”

  He retrieved a crumb of the oily grime from the table top; noted its smell. Fuel. His tender glance and knowing nod, at Roof, turned wistful. If Gil and Alta had been attentive enough to notice, they didn’t show it. The old man suddenly felt dog tired; relieved at sharing the relocation plans he’d worked on since the delivery of the town’s ultimatum.

  Eliza pushed back her chair and stood up abruptly, “Don’t I get a say in my own future? I want to fight. And what makes you think I don’t have my own plan? You think because I haven’t had certain lessons in a few months that that set me back? It didn’t, or hasn’t.”

  The old man had lost control of the meeting. The two older siblings now argued over who was answerable to whom; the youngest remained seated only because her grandfather had an iron-grip on one of her bare forearms.

  “Shut up!” he shouted, “All of you. Go to your rooms right now and pack like we were going on a camping trip…a weekend trip – just some essentials, and I mean it,” he stared at Alta now, “a warm change of clothes, that’ll cover all of you! Toiletries but no makeup, Alta. I mean none. You got that?” She reluctantly nodded., so he went on. “Essentials’ means survival; means what you could trade…could swap for something else. And it all has to fit in your old rucksack…” He pointed to Eliza’s on the floor. “You remember. Like that clunker. O.K? Questions? Good. Go.”

  Roof tried to leave; he kept ahold of her arm. He’d underestimated her stubbornness.

  “And now, about you, young lady,” he said, eyes overflowing with awareness, hope, and concern.

  5 – Night games

  If asked, Roof wouldn’t have been able to explain just how she’d known Poppa’d had some sort of October-surprise planned. She’d just known, and had been preparing. She’d never been more anxious for the house to ‘go quiet’ than she was the night of the “rucksack meeting.” Of course her siblings wanted to know why she had to stay behind, but she just sloughed it off as one more “skating on thin ice” warning.

  Dressed for the cold October evening, she made it outside without being stopped. There was no moon so she retrieved a small strong-beamed flashlight. Tritium hands on her father’s old Army watch read 1:30 a.m. She and Dudley’d picked their way a safe distance from the house in the dark, behind cover she twisted it on.

  They took the back of the property trail she’d re-blazed over the summer. A dirt road was the shortest route to the mostly abandoned airstrip, but the path gave better opportunities to hide from anyone ahead or to the rear.

  Once across the shoulderless two-lane road the dog let out a friendly woof. “Quiet, boy, do you want to mess up everything?” His answer was to bound ahead towards their destination: a dirty Quonset hut beyond the closed up trailer-turned-airport office.

  As she jogged up and halted he was jumping up at the door, sniffing excitedly at the padlock.

  “Whatcha smell, boy?”

  She reached around inside and found more that the light switch. Ripping off and unfolding the taped-on note, she immediately saw Poppa’s familiar (barely-legible) hand. The lone fluorescent fixture hummed loudly, still warming up, she guessed:

  Just wanted to save you a little trouble, he wrote, and worry. Knew you’d be in a hurry when the time actually comes, so topped off your tanks. Could tell you hadn’t found my ‘secret stash.’ I have mapped some best-routes; there are also places you should not go anymore. P.S. Don’t forget dog food – there’s some in the locker near the door. Poppa

  “He knows, Dudley.” That’s why the racer only needed cleaning. He must really believe I can do it – or things are a lot worse than I thought.

  Two oversize envelopes with wax seals were on the cockpit seat. Again, labeled in Poppa’s hand: Roof, for The Day. She dared not open either, but was intrigued by their only distinctions, “New England,” on one, “West of the Mississippi,” on the other.

  At last Roof finished securing all the food and water. Everything else she checked and rechecked, all the while chastening herself for forgetting Dudley-food.

  “How could I?” she whispered to him.

  It was nearly 2:30 when they locked up and started retracing their steps. Barely across the road she stopped abruptly; slapped her thigh, an unspoken call for the dog to heel. Heading back up the twisting wooded path to the big house would have to wait.

  In the deeply cushioned quiet of a rural New England night, she detected the distinctive sounds of a lone car traveling fast on pavement. It was probably just on the other side of Hilltop Farm. She took hold of the dog’s collar.

  Once they’d made it high enough, to the crest of the property, Roof could see a vehicle at the lower ‘security gate.’ Judging by its running lights, it was bigger-than-civilian-sized, and it turned around – without headlights. It started leaving, or so she thought. Suddenly the headlights flashed in what she also thought was a random pattern.

  But a flashlight on the lawn answered!

  Before Roof and Dudley made it to the house, the kitchen door slammed loudly. So…I’m not the only one out in the middle of the night. Now she had to worry which it was - brother or sister. And whether they knew she was out, too. Roof highly doubted either could be completely trusted to keep the family’s biggest secret ever.

  ***

  The third story of the Walters’ house was better than either a widow’s walk or crow’s nest. It was a human engineered eagle’s eyrie, with an unencumbered 360-degree view of their neck-of-the southern Berkshires’ woods (save for a few tall pines).

  And up in one of its numerous darkened windows old man Walters stood watch. He’d seen, aided by night vision, most of the late-night drama starring his two grandkids: Roof’s trip to the airstrip, and more troubling by far, her sibling’s exchange with the public servant’s vehicle.

  He adjusted his plans accordingly.

  6 – Departure: imminent

  The next night was to be their last full night at the house. But as Roof lay in bed, she was startled by a loud knocking across t
he hall on Alta’s door. The younger checked her watch: not yet 11 p.m. Then she heard the deep tones of her grandfather, but couldn’t make out the words.

  She slid from bed and listened by the door.

  “What do you mean ‘it’s time to go’?” Alta’s hardly-muted shriek clearly discernible through two closed doors. Another knock and now both Alta and Gil protested loudly. A duet.

  Carefully she opened her door a crack. The siblings conferred in the hall. Oddest thing to Roof was the fact that this was not the first time they seemed to have slept in street clothes – just like she’d been doing these last few nights. It didn’t add up; the family’s “secret evacuation” was tomorrow night!

  Alta must have heard the door creak somehow; she turned towards her “baby sister.”

  “You heard him. We’re all ready, so quit butting in and go get your stuff on.”

  Poppa’s heavy footsteps were to the bottom of the stairs. Now a blast of music came back up, rare in their house. It had to be the old multiband radio he usually kept out in his workshop. She’d been warned repeatedly over the last year to never touch it.

  ***

  “Damn hippies,” the old man said as he lunged, with a grunt, for the radio controls to kill the power. “‘New England’s last radio station’ and that’s the crap they play for insomniacs?” None of the other “broadcasters” had sufficient power allotments to push a decent signal beyond a few-miles’ radius.

  “Summer-of-love, my foot,” he talked back to the now-silent DJ, “Some of us weren’t exactly feelin’ the love from your assorted Asian-jungle Commie-buddies back then…”

  He patted down the multitude of now lumpy pockets in his ‘surplus’ pants and shirt. It was at least the third time he’d confirmed the locations of stashed tools and special “supplies” he predicted needing that night. Satisfied, again, he grabbed his old communications kit and stepped to the foot of the main staircase.

  He shouted up to the kids, “Crest of the driveway, packs-on-your-backs…” he paused, precisely presented his wristwatch, checked the time, then continued, “…in 3 minutes. Acknowledge!” Three unenthusiastic, “Yeahs” came back. “Last one out…kills the lights.”

  He walked back to, then through, the kitchen and out the door so swiftly the lights along the way flickered in his wake. He was busy switching the frequency of the radio and extending its tall antenna fully, so let the heavy kitchen door slam shut unimpeded. Didn’t care much about all those panes of glass now.

  Walters was at the rendezvous waiting as the five-minute mark ticked on by. He knew his grandkids; had planned accordingly.

  Of course he’d said to meet him in “3” when in fact he’d really needed them actually assembled in ten. Technically they were still slightly ahead of his true schedule.

  The old man continued to sweep the area down slope of his position with a night vision monocular as the three teens walked up behind him. They mumbled various complaints or whined. He’d tried to ignore all the “it’s not fair” comments over the last year – more so now. Couldn’t afford to give in to that sentiment himself.

  The radio crackled; he picked it up and spoke just a few words into the old od-green handset, then returned to looking through the monocular, and finished the brief exchange by adding, “Yes, I see you now. I’ll send them right down.”

  7 – Opposite of “operational silence”

  “I don’t hear anything,” Alta whispered.

  “Me either,” said Gil.

  “Electric?” Roof asked, then without waiting, “You know, Poppa, I’m not so sure I…”

  “No more complaints,” he said brusquely, “Now listen up. You have no idea, and really, I don’t either, of just how nasty it’s gonna get around here, and pretty damn quick, so I need you…” His voice threatened to break, “You need to be where…you’ll have a chance to…”

  Alta blurted, “Be with people we don’t even know?”

  “Listen young lady…” he’d regained his edge, but now had a tough time keeping his voice low. “We don’t have time--”

  Alta cut him off again, “Maybe there’s someone right here in town I know,” voice growing louder, too, “who, well, who can keep me safe. Actually there is.” With that she dug a cellphone out of her pocket and began to power it up.

  His hand struck the thing from her hand with no warning; heavy work boot crushed it into the asphalt driveway before the miniature screen had the chance to cast what for them was a rarely-seen hypnotic glow.

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Walters’ said, practically spitting the words like any disgusted father would, “where you got that thing, but you can forget about him.”

  The unmistakable sound of tires caroming the lower driveway’s coarse limestone gravel every which way brought them back to the present.

  “Dudley,” gasped Roof, “I’ve got to get Dudley,” and she took off running back towards the house.

  “Eliza!” Poppa shouted, fully breaking his own policy of operational silence. The radio crackled again and he picked up and listened. “I know. I will. Just hang on another couple of minutes.”

  “You two,” he said to the two older ones, “get going. Straight down the drive. Now. I’ll have Eliza there in less than two minutes.” Neither moved. “Don’t make me have to drag you. Go!”

  But before they’d taken more than a couple of reluctant steps a small explosion from back towards the house rattled the ground. Several more followed in quick succession.

  They all turned instinctively and as they watched, the house turned into a fireball quashing the old man’s rescue instinct. He had no need to repeat anything now, even with heavy packs on the once defiant teens had bolted; were already halfway to the dark, silent-running vehicle.

  The radio was crackling again, right where he’d dropped it: at his feet. His mind was processing, comprehending, at an odd slow pace. He had fully intended to go back and save his granddaughter…he knew he shouldn’t be welded in place. Knew he ought to be all the way to the house by now; would be if not for the intense heat of a roaring house fire.

  8 – No hostiles

  Roof put a bear hug on Dudley just before the first explosion lit up the sky. She’d relaxed her grip only a little, fortunately, when shortly thereafter the subsequent ones peeled out unexpectedly.

  Poppa didn’t really get rid of my stuff after all. He replaced it. In the dark it was clear her dog wasn’t going anywhere without her. She’d released her grip, yet his 80lb. body was still pressed against her.

  She patted him reassuringly, then reached into an overstuffed lower-leg pocket and retrieved her own night vision monocle. Her heart raced; it was hard to believe the time had finally arrived for her last, most difficult, trip to the airfield. She breathed slowly, began a visual scan of her location; tried to forget about what her family’d be thinking about her…even Poppa.

  You can do it, you can do it…Even he believes, believed, you can…

  Once she reached the paved road she lingered; scanned it north, towards town, then back the other way. She’d need to cross quickly.

  Whew! No hostiles.

  But then she heard an accelerating engine oh-so-slightly. So grabbed Dudley; whispered, “Quiet!” and hunkered down behind some roadside brush. Hybrid probably, she thought, its headlights are completely off and it’s running full electric…for stealth. Poppa’s friends, she figured.

  It passed, heading north. Would probably not go straight through on Main Street. Before starting across to the airfield she noted voices now coming from the direction of the burning house. They rose in pitch and perhaps in rancor. She silently cursed the fact that she’d left the directional mic back in her grandfather’s shop, but where she’d’ve stowed it was beyond her.

  Has Poppa been found out? Was he stalling the Sheriff or his punk-son? (She thought like that now.) Had Alta and Gil gotten away in that car just now? Oh, she longed to know.

  Impulsively, Roof turned back up-hill; moved as qui
etly as she could towards the voices, until she reached the cut off. The left led to the burning house, the right around towards the front of the property, close to where they had first gathered to await her grandfather’s friends.

  Sirens in the distance meant the town’s one volunteer fire truck was on its way to the blazing house. The Sheriff and probably some of his men were likely there already and having the argument. It was the town’s highest inhabited point after all. There’d be nobody for miles around who’d wonder for long just whose place was on its way to toast given it spit flames like a mad volcano.

  But the night vision told a more complete story: Poppa was shouting alright, but not for Gil or Alta to get in some stranger’s car anymore. They must have been scared enough to give up on possibly gaining ‘status’ locally with fair weather friends and finally listened to Poppa. They must have been in that car.

  Rather Poppa was halfway down the driveway, shouting at Sheriff Badger and Rex. She watched, straining for a word or two. It seemed the two were getting “right belligerent” with the oldest Walters.

  He started backing away from them, uphill towards her, when their attention got diverted to the sirens starting up the long curved driveway.

  Roof had to look away; all the halogen headlights and flashing lights were making it too bright. She hoped against hope Poppa would head her way soon, but how he’d manage that, she couldn’t guess.

  “Let’s go Dudley, before we know it he’ll run into us,” she whispered as optimistically as she could, all the while a sinking feeling expanded in her gut.

  Though the night was pitch black, they had a decent stride going, when a double crack of gunfire reverberated down her side of the hill. Her stomach clenched as she feared the worst. Poppa wasn’t armed – or was he?

  Another shot followed, then again. Two plus one. She recognized the shot pattern. She’d learned from him. It was Poppa, he’s O.K. He’s O.K.

  The airfield road was still dark when they reached the edge of the pavement for the second time that night. Restraining Dudley, she glanced one way then the other with the monocle, just to be certain.