by Casey Lane
“Yeah, T, it seems like the right move for now.”
I said loudly to Barbara, “You’d have to know what was here before to notice what is gone now.”
I indicated where the street signs and poles had already been removed from the roadside and also on the highway. “The guys are finishing up covering the northbound turn off lane now, but Rod and a few of the others already did the southbound lane on the highway while we were sleeping.”
“Really?” Barbara murmured. She dug her toe in the gravel and twirled a little side to side with her arms behind her back, the embodiment of female helplessness. She called out in her sweet, soft voice, “Oh Rod, thanks so much for working all night. You are so amazing!”
Rod looked up and grinned. “I like to think so, Bambi, but alas, it wasn’t just me.”
Barbara giggled. Ray Dean demanded to know why nobody had woken up him and T-bone, since they were the strongest men on the farm. Soon Kevin and Hugh joined in giving Rod hell for being a glory hog.
I managed to keep a straight face, but redirected Barbara’s straying attention. I described how once the cement barriers were lined up to block across the entrance to 180th and continued down the shoulders of the highway, this stretch of the Hwy 52 would look the same as any other.
I gestured towards the six-foot chain link fence that currently ended on either side of 180th. “A retractable gate will be installed up there across the road, and another gate on our eastern border above the bridge that crosses the river.” The fence was about thirty feet up from the shoulder of the highway where we stood. “From this distance, it will look like a continuous fence, especially once we throw a load of dirt and pine needles over the road itself beyond the cement barriers.”
Nodding, Barbara shaded her eyes from the rising sun. “But I can see the road up further before it curves over that small rise and disappears. Won’t people be able to see the road past the gate because of the break in the trees?”
I smiled and patted her shoulder. “Babs, you’re a keeper.” She grinned back while I outlined more of our strategy. “That would be true, but see those huge mounds of dirt up there by the road? Tonight, some of that dirt excavated from digging the trenches in the fields will be piled to make two tall berms on the road. Each berm will be built to cross the road halfway and at an interval of around fifty feet apart.” I put my hands up, as if framing a picture. “We’ll stick some small trees, logs, and boulders on top of them and they’ll look like small hills that have been around forever. The cool thing is we’ll still be able to maneuver big trucks around the berms to come and go as we need onto the highway after a few days.” I lifted a shoulder. “Our trucks won’t be able to go fast, and we’ll have to manually move the cement barriers aside, but any bad guys attempting to crash our party will be easier to stop.”
Barbara clapped her hands. “They’d crash into the berms. Awesome! We can have lookout posts on them, too, can’t we?”
“Yep, we sure can. There are several other good places for lookout posts, too. Here, turn this way for a second.” I smiled at her excitement.
We turned to face the highway, the morning sun pleasantly warm on our bare heads. Hwy 52 was a rural four-lane highway in this area. The median strip was comprised of grass and cable or Jersey barriers.
“We’ll leave the meridian crossing that leads to 180th open for now, since a lot of traffic will be coming and going today on the farm. Tonight when it’s dark, we’ll put up the cement barriers and permanently close everything off.”
“What if we want to drive somewhere tomorrow? How will the cars get back across the highway?”
“Leaving the farm tomorrow would be suicide and definitely not in my plans, but if we had to,” I answered wryly, “I doubt we’ll get a ticket for driving on the wrong side of the road.”
Barbara was surprised. I watched several emotions flash across her face while she thought over what I said. When she lifted her eyes, they were wide in sudden comprehension and genuine fright. “My God, Acadia, this virus sickness isn’t going to just blow over, is it? Everything is going to change.” Her voice rose to incredulous. “Are we…doomed?”
Could Bab’s defining moment be from seeing the reality of the defenses being constructed and the realization that in ten short hours we would seal ourselves off from the outside world?
I didn’t know what had clicked in her head, but I gave her my honest opinion. “Barring a miracle, I’d say the human race is pretty screwed.”
We were both silent after that--Barbara wiped her eyes while I watched a cavalcade of trucks approach from the north.
Barbara sniffed and motioned over to the men. “Did you think of all the defense plans on those lists?”
“I had lots of help over the years. We have Ian to thank for the trenches in the fields. In the grand scheme, we want to get at least one deep trench dug around the whole perimeter of the property in the next day or two. It was his idea to trap anybody that makes it past the fence in the trenches.” I added absently, “We can burn them.”
“What!” Barbara blurted on a horrified laugh.
“The zombies, I mean.” I clenched a fist and said, “Yes!” as several trucks turned across the meridian to drive up 180th Street and park on the side of the road.
A critical piece of the road defense plan for immediate safety was the two, retractable gates--one for each end of 180th.
My first wheelin’ dealin’ phone call last night had been to the daughter of the owners of Midwest Fence, Jeanne Ballard. We’ve known each other since Kindergarten, and she ran Midwest Fence commercial sales.
At double their going price on materials and labor, Jeanne had been thrilled to agree to install sliding road gates, add two feet of razor wire to the top of the existing chain link fence along Hwy 52, and supply pallets of concertina wire.
Jeanne didn’t question my request to beef up security, since she had advised me to do this after we had a bout with some vandalism last August during Pioneer Days. She assumed my urgent request was in last minute preparation for the Fall Festival crowds. I didn’t disabuse of her that notion, although I later suggested she watch the news about the virus in The Cities.
Until people actually arrived today and delivered their goods or did the work we agreed upon during my many calls last night, I wasn’t allowing myself to count on anything. Seeing Jeanne hop out of the lead truck, I said a quick prayer of thanks.
Barbara went to help the guys while I walked up the road to meet Jeanne. Another truck turned in and slowed down beside me.
The window rolled down. “Hi, Acadia! My dad said I was to tell you thanks for the order. He was able to find those fifty pound bags of corn kernels, too.”
Jimmy was seventeen and his dad, Jim Sr., owned the Peterson Feed store in Hastings. I probably cleared him out of inventory with my supplementary feed and vitamin order for the animals. Hay wouldn’t be an issue for a while, since Salty had just finished a fourth cutting a couple of weeks ago.
“Hi, Jimmy. Go ahead and unload in the shed like always.” I reached up and handed him a couple of folded bills. “This is for you, but be sure to tell your dad that I appreciate the short notice delivery and the corn.”
“Will do, and thanks!” Jimmy pocketed the money with a grin. “He thinks you spoil those goats, but I love those little dudes!”
Stepping back, I smiled. “And they love their popcorn!”
I tried to call Sean, but got a message to try again. After a couple of more attempts, my call went through. I let him know Jimmy was on his way, but also asked that the girls be told to get a few hand held radios ready for our use. Who knew how long our cell phones would operate reliably.
I met Jeanne and her crew chief. Jeanne verified what I wanted done and her chief went to direct the work crews. Four of the trucks quickly dispersed, as the fifth crew got busy installing the fence gate. One of the truck crews went to offload the pallets of concertina wire in Coop’s shed, another headed to the other end
of my property to install the second gate, and the last two crews took off down the grass strip to begin attaching the razor wire to the fence.
The minute we were alone, Jeanne confided, “When this job is finished, we are closing up shop until this virus thing is under control. Most of my family is on their way up north and I’m leaving soon.” Her gaze roamed over the land for a minute, then came back to my face. “Because I’ve known you all my life, I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing putting up gates on a county road.”
“Good, then I won’t have to lie.” We laughed and I thanked her profusely for sending such a large crew. Jeanne said it was the least she could do for giving her family a heads up last night, wished me good luck, and left.
I had only walked a few steps when a tanker drove in. It was followed by another truck with a residential propane tank strapped to its flatbed. I waved at both the drivers as they passed; feeling like it was Christmas for me today. That was our propane refill and an extra tank. Sean had a copy of the list of who was expected today, so I didn’t bother with another call knowing he’d be around the yard with Jimmy unloading feed there.
Reaching the side of the road, I asked Barbara to come with me to check out the trench when I heard the approaching thunder of motorcycles.
Seeing the man on the lead chopper, my astonishment quickly turned into irritation. My next thought was relief that at least I was out here by the highway, instead of Tryg Johnson and his band of buttholes bikers driving merrily across my land to the house.
Without looking, I handed Barbara the SUV keys and murmured out the side of my mouth, “Go to the truck right now.”
After our ordeal last night, she didn’t dither, but immediately left to walk back up the road at a fast pace. Off behind the approaching bikers, I saw Rod and the other men pause in their shoveling.
The fifteen or so bikers turned in, and after their leader coasted to a stop near me, the rest rumbled into a semi-circle around us. This was my property and I wasn’t about to be intimidated, so I walked the last few steps toward Tryg while his gang all watched.
If I remembered correctly, Tryg was pushing forty-five. Objectively, he looked good for a man his age--for a psychopathic outlaw biker.
Like most of the bikers, Tryg Johnson was wearing a version of an open leather jacket with the Iron Fists patch and a few others I didn’t recognize. His tank top was adorned with several chains around his neck, tight jeans, and boots--all in black, of course.
I hadn’t really noticed the last time I saw him, but Tryg was still lean and mean. Unlike most of the other bikers surrounding him today, I though snidely, as they sat back and gave me a bold once over when I walked closer. As my cool stare traveled over Tryg’s motley crew, one older, big man with a black beard streaked with silver stuck out. He was slowly licking his red lips.
Out of nowhere, a long-forgotten memory of my dead father came to the surface. My dad had taken Sean and me out for a burger at a dive bar. As we were leaving, around twenty bikers had roared up.
Seven-year-old Sean had looked around in wonder and asked, “Why are so many nice grandpas riding big motorcycles?”
The bikers had laughed, but my dad hustled us to his truck. I could hear his harsh answer from back then as if he was standing behind me right now. “Those aren’t nice grandpas, but very bad men grown old. Don’t you two ever talk to men like that or forget it!”
I had forgotten my father’s advice for two months when I was a teen, but never again.
Tryg didn’t wear a helmet and under the bandana tied around his head, his curling dark blonde hair was long and tangled. He had a goatee, but up close, his skin was weathered from years of riding, drinking, and hard living. He took off his dark sunglasses and smiled. That was when any illusion of good looks ended for me.
There was something bent very wrong in Tryg. If you watched him long enough, it showed itself in a frenzied light that flared behind his intense eyes. Tryg was a man always looking for a fight, and if there wasn’t a fight, he’d cause one. With my new passion for teeth, I noticed his hadn’t fared his lifestyle too well, either.
“Hello, Acadia. Are you surprised to see me?” Tryg’s voice wasn’t low or menacing, but friendly and upbeat. It made his unexpected lashes of viciousness so much more frightening to the unwary.
“Not so much as I would have been if you hadn’t drunk dialed me last night, Tryg.” I had gotten close enough that my words could only be overheard by one of the closest bikers and I kept my expression light.
I nodded to the man that had really changed. Rail thin as a skeleton and twitchy, Tryg’s best friend from boyhood must sample the product. I’d heard that gangs kicked out any members using the needle, but Tryg’s chapter apparently skipped that rule. “Joey.”
Joey glanced furtively towards Tryg while he scratched his skinny arm and then his bearded cheek. He nodded back with a nervous, close-mouthed smile. “Hi, Acadia.”
Tryg laughed a little, but even though he sounded jovial the flat expression in his eyes never changed. “Yeah, me and the boys got lit last night. I must have pressed the wrong number or something.” He sat back, cocked his head, and eyed me up and down with a low whistle. “Hot damn, Acadia! I swear you get better lookin’ every time I see you. Doesn’t she, Joey?”
Joey’s head bobbed up and down quickly, but his jumpy gaze didn’t meet mine.
Tryg’s boot shot out and kicked Joey’s leg. “Hey, Joey, be polite and tell the lady how fine she looks! Damn, do I have to tell you how to behave every minute?”
He turned to me with an apologetic shrug, as Joey winced, smiled, and mumbled how hot I looked. The forced compliments would have been funny, if Joey wasn’t more pathetic than a whipped dog and his few teeth weren’t blackened nubs.
The way we were positioned on the road, the motorcycles all faced me and the guys were behind the bikers on the grassy shoulder near the turnoff lane. They were too far to hear me speaking to Tryg over the auger noisily digging post holes for the new gate, but I saw Ray Dean make a move to come my way. I relaxed when Rod reached out and stopped him. All the guys started shoveling again at Rod’s lead, if a little slower than before.
A few of the gang had turned and were looking curiously at the football players. In their hats, sunglasses, and Walmart clothes, they still looked larger than life. They would always get second glances for their size alone, but nobody expected to see three pro football players spreading rock on the side of road. I didn’t think anybody would be begging for an autograph.
Tryg motioned his chin towards the work crew from Midwest Fence up on the road behind me.
He spoke casually, but his electric blue eyes were intent on my face. “I guess you’re getting ready for the Fall Festival?”
I shrugged dismissively and answered just as casually, “We’re always busy getting ready for something around the farm. Why are you here, Tryg?”
He looked at me a beat longer with no expression and then slowly smiled, putting his sunglasses back on. “No reason. Just being neighborly, Acadia.”
I did not like the looks of his smile, as if Tryg knew a secret I didn’t. It made my hackles rise, but I kept my tone even. “Neighborly? I thought you were in St Paul?”
“Kept tabs on me now, huh?” After he spoke, Tryg’s glance around at his men was that of a strutting cock on the walk. As much as I longed to laugh in his face, I wanted him gone more, so I didn’t respond. His smile dropped. “Used to be, but I moved the club down here around Coates awhile back.”
Jesus, my depressed state of mind alarmed me in a way it never had before. I had a sudden flash of objectivity at how deeply isolated I’d been in the fog of my own miserable world to have not paid any attention to the gossip that must have caused. Coates was a teeny town a few miles north that straddled Highway 52. If you thought of blinking, you missed Coates. Nobody could do anything in a burg that size without the world knowing.
It was a curious move for an outlaw biker club. I
had the safety of every person on King Farm to consider now. I no longer had the luxury of dwelling in isolation over Law’s death and ignoring the outside world. Anything curious or out of place needed an explanation.
“Well, my gosh, there goes the neighborhood!” I laughed lightly, as if I was teasing. “Isn’t Coates pretty far out from all the action for a man of your,” I paused to find the right word, “business inclinations?”
Tryg revved his engine, which was a signal for the other bikers to do the same. Over the noise, he tipped his sunglasses down and said, “Maybe I’ve changed my ways, Acadia.”
He reached out a hand wearing a large silver ring in the shape of a fist and stroked my hair. My first instinct was to pull my gun, but my second was to not react. I kept my cool and merely raised an eyebrow.
“I always loved your hair. It reminds me of Cher.” Tryg released my braid and took off without another word.
Tryg was a lucky man that I couldn’t turn back time, either, or else I’d go with my first instinct and shoot him. The other bikers yelled and spun gravel to follow their psychopathic leader down the highway. As I watched them roar off, I thought that if Tryg Johnson had changed his ways, I’d be a monkey’s frickin’ uncle. Maybe Tryg wasn’t dealing drugs like Lars but he was an evil dude, and now the head case was practically on my doorstep.
A bank of clouds passed overhead and I rubbed my arms at the sudden chill. Recalling the chance meeting I had with Tryg at the Farmer’s Market last month, his impromptu visit today was even more disquieting.
Tryg had approached me and told me of Lars death. He appeared so sincerely sad that when he asked me a few questions about how I’d dealt with Law’s death, I swallowed my dislike and attempted to answer him with honesty. Then Tryg’s questions had veered abruptly towards the personal, all while those cold blue eyes of his stayed glued to my face. Did I think a man could change? Did I believe in second chances? Did I believe in destiny? I got weirded out, came up with an excuse, and left.
