by Javan Bonds
Jackson was finding this so hard to believe, but if his cousin had proof of any of this, then he had to hide him. He was wondering why they would have sent a National Guard squad to take care of Hollis and not some kind of super assassins but stopped to listen more intently as his cousin continued.
“This guy was saying something to the doctor about how he had to persuade me to tell him what I had seen, and then they would ‘clean up.’” Hollis raised his hands and formed quotation marks in the air as he said the last two words, as if Jackson needed that for clarification.
He understood now why his younger cousin had disappeared and headed for home but was still confused as to how, and he asked, “But how did you get all the way here from DC?”
Hollis smiled at his cousin’s perplexed look and said, “I walked and mostly hitchhiked. I knew they knew I knew who killed those senators.”
It had taken Hollis about ten days to complete his trek from the capital, so he had seen most of what had happened to the South on TV. “After everything went down down here, there were a lot of FEMA trucks heading this way, and most of those guys didn’t mind giving me a ride.” Jackson opened his mouth to ask a question, but Hollis answered before he could begin, as if knowing what he would ask. “No, most of those guys had been on the road and didn’t have time to see any of the news reports about how I had ‘gone missing.’”
Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “But I’m sure they were talking about you on the radio. How did the truckers not hear that?”
His cousin smiled and pointed at his hair, which, Jackson had not noticed, was now closer to brown than his natural blond. Hollis chuckled as he spoke. “I thought of that after my first hitchhiking experience. I ducked into a gas station and bought some hair coloring and some reading glasses.”
Jackson shook his head, grunted understanding, and said, “That makes sense, but it still doesn’t tell me how you got in here without Daddy knowing it.” There were motion sensors near the top of every gate entrance to the property, with an alarm that would alert Jeff of any vehicle coming in, and they were also at random locations on the outer fence. Jackson had had his Friday nights of fun in high school ruined by those damn things catching him sneaking out, and he had casually made Hollis aware of at least the ones at the gates.
“When I started this way, I could see that one of the front gates was open, so I just ducked and started up the driveway to your dad’s house. Before I made it in the yard, I could hear an engine getting closer. It sounded like it turned at the gate, and I thought they had followed me here. So I just came here to hide.”
Jeff had told Jackson about what had happened the night before, and he knew that must have been the vehicle his cousin had heard.
Rather than tell Hollis he was just paranoid, Jackson gave a faint smile and asked, “Why didn’t you just go home?”
“That’s where I came from,” the younger man said as if it was obvious, and he continued. “I knew they had been following me since I left DC, so when I got to Dodge, I decided to hang out in the woods across the road from my house for a few hours. And I’m glad I did, because just before I decided to knock on the door, I heard a truck coming and waited for it to go by. It was an army truck! They couldn’t see me, but they drove by the house really slow, and I knew they would keep driving by until they found a reason to stop and search the house. So I decided to come here.” He paused, realizing this was as far as his plan had gotten, and almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. “And I didn’t know what else to do.”
Jackson was proud of his cousin for making this almost-two-week-long trek home and being cautious the entire way. He slapped a hand on Hollis’s shoulder and said, “Well, you made it, man! I’m sure Daddy will think of some way to hide you until these guys leave.” He grinned maniacally as Hollis nodded. “Have you ever been in the Batcave?”
CHAPTER 21
July 17
AN UNEVENTFUL WALK through the woods with neither speaking more than necessary led the two to the back of Jeff’s house from the direction of the ruins of the old bridge in the woods. Jackson, with Hollis standing at his side, knocked on the back door, which Denise quickly answered. She opened the door to look at Jackson, brief confusion crossing her face, and she broke out in astonished joy when her eyes moved to her nephew. She shouted in surprise, “Hollis! How did you get—”
Jackson noticeably raised one finger over his lips, pleading with her to lower her volume, which she did and continued right where she had left off. “Here? You’re supposed to be in Washington, and then you went missing, and your mom has been worried sick. What happened?”
Jackson would rather they be in the house before continuing this discussion, which could take hours at the rate his mother talked. He placed his hands palms out, gesturing for her to wait with the interview as he said, “Whoa there, Mama. Let’s get Hollis in the air conditioning, and then we can talk.”
Denise nodded and stepped back to allow the two to enter. They immediately made their way to the living room with Hollis in tow. Jackson stopped to get some sweet tea in the kitchen. He had barely finished filling each glass with ice when his mother began her rapid-fire questions. Though Hollis’s answers were shorter, he basically explained the same thing he had told his cousin.
Jackson entered the room, carrying the three glasses like a professional server. He set one on each end table by the couch and held his own as he sat down in his father’s recliner. He settled back into the chair and listened to the conversation Hollis and his mother were continuing.
“Well, I’ve been stopping by your mom’s every other day, and she’s been going crazy worried about you. Why haven’t you gone to see her?”
Hollis took a breath, ready to begin his explanation, but Jackson cut him off with a shorter answer. “The Gestapo is after him.” This could have easily been a joke, but there was no amusement in Jackson’s voice, and the look in his eyes let Denise know he was serious. To her son’s surprise, she simply nodded as if she had expected as much and accepted that the government was hunting her nephew.
Of course she didn’t know why yet. “Have you seen them?”
Hollis told her about overhearing the therapist and “some dude in sunglasses” talking about “taking care of the problem,” his near-impossible trip home, and how he had been by his house and seen a military vehicle pass.
With this second mention of it, Jackson realized he had not told Hollis about the National Guardsmen. But before he could speak, he was halted by the motherly questions Denise would undoubtedly ask about the hitchhiking trip, such as, “Did you get enough sleep? Did you get enough to eat?” and “were the truckers nice to you?” topped off with an obvious “didn’t your mother ever tell you not to get in a car with strangers?”
Before anything else could be said, Jackson thought it would be a good idea to get a word in. “They portray themselves as National Guard. I think there are seven of them, and they said they were here to ‘keep the peace’ or ‘uphold the law’ or something.”
Hollis raised one eyebrow in response and opened his mouth to speak as Denise hopefully but doubtfully said, “That means they might not be looking for you. They might not even know!”
The two cousins looked at each other, and Hollis began to shake his head in the negative as Jackson said, “Even if they ain’t here because of Hollis, I’d bet money they would take him if they knew he was here.”
Denise simply nodded in sorrowful acceptance. Jackson opened his mouth to give his cousin more details on the National Guard unit, but before he could begin, his mother interrupted to ask another motherly question. It seemed he was always being interrupted and had decided years ago it was because he was a slow talker. He wasn’t stupid; he just had one of those slow Southern drawls.
“When was the last time you had a shower?” Denise asked her nephew with genuine concern, which made Jackson want to say, “Good God, Mama. We got important shit to talk about. This can wait!”
Hollis du
tifully answered, “Well, nine days, I guess. I washed my face and stuff in some gas station bathrooms, but I could really use a bath.” He looked at Jackson and imperceptibly shrugged as if to say, “Sorry, man. I know we need to talk, but I can’t resist.”
Denise was excited that her nephew really wanted what she was offering and cheerfully said, “You look like you need one! Why don’t you use Jackson’s bathroom, and I’ll see if I can find some clothes to fit you.”
Hollis could barely resist the urge to bolt to the bathroom door but forced himself to slowly stand and speak as he walked. “OK. I really appreciate it. I’ll try not to take too long.” As he said this, he realized the power was out everywhere else, but the air conditioner was running even though the lights were not on because the sun was shining plentifully through the French doors—and they were drinking sweet tea with ice! There was obviously electricity in the house.
It didn’t make sense to him, so he stopped and turned to look at his aunt and asked, “But the power…” He pointed up to the revolving ceiling fan.
Jackson said with a smile, “Solar power!”
Hollis raised his hand and made an “ah” noise to say he understood and then turned to continue on his path to sweet cleanliness.
CHAPTER 22
July 17 & 18
WHEN HOLLIS HAD locked the bathroom door behind him, Jackson looked at his mother with a raised eyebrow, and she answered his expression. “What? It’ll make him comfortable and easier to talk to.”
Jackson knew she was just being a mom and shrugged. “All right, Mama.” And, very out of character for him, he quickly changed subjects. “So when is Daddy getting home?”
She rose from her seat and nodded toward the office that lay behind the wall to her left. “Well, he’s determined to stay at that pawnshop all day, but I can call him. And I’m sure he would want to come home for something like this.”
Jackson hadn’t thought about the ham radio his parents kept in the office, and he nodded his head as he understood how she was going to call him.
As she walked toward the door to the kitchen and turned to her immediate left to enter her office, her son asked, “What did you do with Old Ben?”
She stopped and stared him, seemingly offended, and stressed the name her son should use. “Mr. Kennard told me he was going to ‘sweep the perimeter’ and that he would be back in a few hours.”
The perimeter of the Pikes’ 180-acre square of property would be a decent hike. Jackson thought it might take one hour of walking. He almost laughed as he pictured Old Ben darting from cover to cover and setting traps.
◆◆◆
He sat alone in a nearly empty and deadly quiet pawnshop in his customary spot on his customary stool and had to admit to himself: this was depressing. It had been days since his last customer, and even if the National Guard unit had not “temporarily” taken what few items were worth confiscating that he had not taken home (and were sure to supply him with government vouchers that he guaranteed would never be worth anything more than toilet paper), business would still probably be the same. People had guns for defense and hunting, and it would be a while before they started congregating to barter. Jeff Pike was actually seriously considering closing up shop indefinitely.
He began slowly placing the three unsold boxes of .22 ammunition in a bag to carry home with him and contemplated his secret stash in the store vault that he had occasionally dipped into for trusted customers: grenades, a few landmines, a case of dynamite, and various other explosives that were obviously illegal rested in a locker in the small bunker. These items were known to only a select few and were clearly only for self-defense in a worst-case scenario; their only other use would have been terrorism, and though he knew law enforcement would label him a terrorist if his supply were ever discovered, Jeff could proudly say none of his highly illegal weapons had ever been used to commit any nefarious crimes or terrorist acts. He could load up his truck with volatile weapons, but he did not want to scare unknowing locals or get the attention of the federal troops. He was confident no thieves would be looking for a fully secured metal door hidden behind a pull-away compartment under the floor in a locked room.
As he walked to the front of the store to turn the “open” sign on the front door to “closed,” he pondered the current ghost-town feel of his beloved Dodge. More than a week ago, he had climbed a ladder to paint over “buy” and “sell” on the Pike’s Pistol and Pawn sign so only the word “trade” remained between two black squares, and a couple of customers had visited the business to do just that.
The grocery store had assuredly been the first business to completely dry up; the initial rush had quickly consumed almost all perishables, and the store owners opened for a few more days and had basically given away thousands of dollars in nonperishables for cash that was now worth only kindling. And even after that, the National Guard troops had taken what little else could be salvaged from the grocery store and had only thrown vouchers at the owners. Jeff had wanted to ask if anyone was actually stupid enough to believe they could use these promissory notes to redeem anything more than the notes’ weight in air.
The rush on the bank across from town hall did not nearly compare to the near-disastrous bank runs over the previous year, and those few with the naivety to store any valuables in a federally insured bank had hurriedly retrieved them. While the bank had remained empty, the pharmacy, Texaco, and the other few businesses in town had been the next targets of the federal soldiers, who took everything of value and dumped vouchers onto all business owners. This thought made Jeff shake his head. If any of the business owners had not accepted the worthless pieces of paper, they would have been encouraged to do so by force. In hindsight he understood that his wasted days of sitting in the dark in the former general store were ultimately futile, and he was positive he could have found something more productive to do than foolishly wait on nonexistent patrons.
He lowered the metal security shutters over the picture windows and was making his way to exit out the side door as the walkie-talkie on his belt buzzed to life. “Jefferson?”
Though his wife did not normally just call him up for a chat while he was at work, she did not sound worried, angry, distressed, or anything that would alert him that something was wrong. He replied just as casually and in a singsong tone, “Hello, darlin’. Hope you’re doing fine.” He could hear the smile through the radio and knew she enjoyed his pitiful attempts at being romantic.
“I am, and I would be even better if you came home a little early today.”
“Talk about coincidence. I was actually just about to head that way. Do you need anything from the grocery?”
The question was not serious, and they both knew it. Denise laughed off her husband’s bad joke and said, “I think I’ve got everything I need in the kitchen, but there’s someone here who needs to talk to you.”
Jeff was proud of his wife. They had already discussed that all radio conversations could be intercepted by the military, and no specifics of particularly valuable information should be divulged over the air. By the fact that she had referred to “someone” rather than giving a name, Jeff was sure this had to be something important and would not ask who it was.
“Well, I guess I’ll be over there in a little bit, then. Over and out.” He wondered who the visitor was.
◆◆◆
Hollis opened the door, and a faint puff of steam seeped out above his head. With a towel around his waist, he had planned to go find his aunt and ask her if she had any fresh clothes that would fit him, but he saw a set folded at the foot of the door. These were probably some of Jackson’s old clothes, and, after a quick glance at the tags, he realized the T-shirt was the right size and the jeans were just a bit too long. But he cradled them in his arm and went back into the bathroom to throw them on.
As Jackson finished washing the bowl he had just been eating his late lunch out of, Denise materialized behind him. “Your dad is on his way!”
Jackson jerked forward and bit back a curse. He hadn’t heard his mother approaching because the water was running, and the sound of her voice had startled him. He was just thankful the bowl in his hand was plastic, because otherwise he would have shattered it against the back of the sink when he jumped. He barely saved himself. “Shi-ure does sound good!”
His mother was sitting on a stool at the end of the short bar and opened her mouth to speak but turned her head to see her nephew slide into the room on his socked feet. With his blond hair damp and wearing a white T-shirt with “How YOU doin’” across the chest and a pair of faded Wranglers, he looked as if he felt better.
He wanted to ask Jackson why he had ever worn socks that almost reached his knees, but he realized it probably had something to do with wearing boots.
Jackson turned fully and raised a pointed finger. “Hey! I’ve been looking for that shirt for years!”
He looked glad to have found it and immediately turned an accusatory eye on his mother, who returned an equally admonishing stare. “Well, it was in the top drawer of your old chest.”
Jackson dropped his gaze as his cousin asked, “You got any shoes?”
Denise spoke. “I doubt I have anything that will fit you, but Jackson might have some extras at his house.”
She turned to Jackson, who said, “Yeah, I’ll head over there in a little bit and get a pair. Elevens?”
“Well, usually ten and a half, but that ought to work.”
Jackson nodded his head in understanding and agreement as his mother said to Hollis, “Let’s go back in the living room. I want you to tell me a little bit more about your trip.”
After a few minutes of listening in on the conversation between his mother and his cousin, Jackson excused himself to retrieve some shoes from his own house. He emerged from his garage with an Ariat box in hand and moved slowly up the long driveway to the big house. As he drew closer, he could see Old Ben approaching the house from the direction of the barn at the rear and carrying what appeared to be three or four rabbits across his shoulder. As Jackson rounded the corner of the driveway that led to his garage, he saw his father’s truck coming up from the road on the farthest driveway, and he mumbled to himself, “Well, the gang’s all here.” He found it funny that he already considered Old Ben part of the gang—one of the regulars. Jackson decided that if the Jedi Master brought rabbits every night for supper, the old guy could be his adopted uncle or whatever he wanted to be, even though the wise old sage could probably be his great-grandfather.
