by Lou Cadle
“My fault,” Arch had said after the explosion, in a rare public apology. “I should have dug deeper.”
“Can I explain this to everyone here at once?” this lieutenant guy said. “It’s easier for me if I can, and the sooner I’m done explaining, the faster I’ll be out of your hair.”
That part sounded good to Dev. If the man did indeed have live ammo in that gun, and if it were loaded into the other five rifles, he couldn’t stop them from doing whatever they wanted. Two bows, a crossbow, and some slings and blow guns meant for game under ten pounds wasn’t going to defend them. And he didn’t have his bow in his hand. He’d gone for the rifles for how intimidating they looked. Maybe that had been a mistake.
Chapter 5
His father looked back at him, and Dev shrugged, in case that had been intended as a question.
Arch said, “Fine. We’ll hear you out.” He led the men up the driveway. Dev and Zoe took the rear, still doing a pretty good job, he thought, of acting as if their guns were loaded.
But if they had been, wouldn’t they have simply shot at the intruders from the beginning? Maybe not. Maybe enough years had passed since the first violent year that people might give visitors a chance, asking what news they had, checking first to see if they had any useful items of trade. Only then would they send them on their way, unhurt.
Though these weren’t merely visitors, were they? The uniforms, the guns, the horses. Imagine having horses and not needing to eat them. It was the new world’s equivalent of being unthinkably wealthy.
Everyone who had been eating dessert was on their feet now. And looking tense. Nina was gone, hauled off by Emily, he supposed, who wanted to protect her. She wasn’t a coward, though. She’d die fighting to protect her daughter.
As Dev would.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” the man said. “I’m Freddie, and this fellow here is Otis. I hope you’re all having a productive day.”
Freddie was looking at the group, but Otis was glancing around, his eyes taking in everything—the barn, the garden, the porch, the hens pecking around in the yard. Dev felt a sudden, irrational wave of shame over the sun-bleached wood with no paint, the bit of rot on the boards of the shed, the listing fence around the garden, and their own motley clothing, worn scraps and new clothes made of animal hides cured in ash and urine, a dozen different-colored skins and hides making up a pair of pants for some of the men. It was ridiculous to feel any shame—they’d done damned well, all things considered—but his mother’s training ran deep in him. You didn’t greet company looking like a bunch of hobos. And that’s exactly what they did look like.
Freddie was explaining that there were other men out on the road, but that no one was going to hurt anyone here. They were simply coming with news, and a proposition.
“I’m from the Desert Alliance.”
Arch said, “Sounds like one of those hippie conservation groups.”
“No,” Freddie said, not even glancing at Arch. “We’re the new government. As close to a government as you’ve had in twenty-five years.”
Joan took a step forward and said, “Where are you centered?”
Freddie shook his head a little. “We’ll talk about that once we get to know each other better—develop trust, trade, all of that.”
“Is that what you want from us? Trust and trade?”
“We have plans,” he said. “Big plans, but it’s best to plan big. You aim for the stars, and if you only make it to the moon, that’s still a hell of a long way.”
Joan didn’t appear impressed—or intimidated. “What have you accomplished so far?”
“We have a standing army. You’re looking at part of it. In fact, it was out of the military that the government movement began. The military was better prepared than a lot of regular households or businesses, back when this all went down. There were even running gasoline vehicles for five or six years after the Saudi war.”
Joan said, “You look too young to have been alive for it.”
“I was a little kid. Barely remember it. I joined up when I was fifteen. But it’s not just soldiers in the government. There are engineers too, and other experts. There aren’t really any lawmakers or judges or anything like that. We’re re-inventing government—trying to build whatever we can save from the old world, the best parts, and leave all the clutter out of it.”
Pilar said, “And you’re expanding your sphere of influence, is that right?”
“You could put it that way,” Freddie said. “We’re trying to involve more people. This is about the lowest elevation we think is worth bothering with. Anyone below you—below Payson, for sure—is going to have to be on their own. Though they say probably no one is left alive down there in the low valleys.”
There probably wasn’t. Dev couldn’t see how they’d grow food or keep cool enough. Even here, the heat had killed the last of the rabbits they’d once used for meat, right around the time the orphans arrived.
“So we’re expanding out this way and up toward Show Low. We want to repair the highways so that wagons can be pulled down them, and trade can happen. We have agricultural experts. We can facilitate trade. You have hens and some kind of grain field, by the look of it, on the other side of your road. There are people elsewhere with goats. We can take your goods and bring back other goods.”
“What’s in it for you?” Arch said.
“We take a percentage, an agent’s percentage, and that feeds our traders and horses.”
“And feeds you?” Arch said.
“We grow some of our own food, but sure, the more food we can gather, the more we can work on repairing highways and expanding civilization. Then we have to spend less time farming and can spend more time governing. Think of it as a tax. In addition to offering you defense from anyone who might hurt you, we also provide some of the labor and expertise. We might be able to help you with other things. We built windmills one place, and an irrigation system. We have engineers working on setting up a power grid again. They just got it to work in a limited test.”
“And what was the tax on that?” Arch said. “The windmill repair, and the irrigation.”
Freddie frowned. “I don’t recall every case.”
“Just give us one example.”
“In a simple trade, like we bring you a goat and the breeder of goats gets forty hens, we take ten hens.”
“A twenty-five percent tax.”
“Or think of it as, to you, a goat costs forty hens. What happens to the forty hens you hand over, that’s not really your concern, is it?”
“We don’t need a goat,” Arch said.
“You’d be a fool not to take one. Milk and cheese taste mighty good.”
“I’ve lived without,” Arch said. “We all have. For a good long time.”
“And we repair the highway,” Freddie said.
“We’re not interested,” Arch said. “We don’t want people on our highway. There’s nowhere I want to go.”
“It’s not your highway though, is it? It’s the government’s.”
Pilar said, “Technically, it’s the old government’s, not yours.”
“There is no old government. It’s dead and gone. There’s us now.” Freddie seemed frustrated. Did it usually go better than this when they approached people? Dev couldn’t imagine that it did.
He said, “Have you found any other people on this highway, any other small roads like ours? What did they say?”
“We’re only concerned right now about you and us. Once the highway is repaired and traveling is easier, you can find out about your neighbors on your own.”
Unless things had changed since Rudy had brought the orphans up, Dev knew who his neighbors were—Wes’s group down the hill, two thirds of the way to Payson—and Payson itself. “What did Payson say?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not talking to Payson. I’m talking to you.”
“We’re allies with Payson. If you want to put it in governmental terms, or military terms, or whi
chever way, we’re aligned with Payson, not with you.”
“They don’t have a government,” Freddie said. “A village thing, maybe, but not a government that expands, that faci—facilitates trade.” He stumbled over the word.
Dev said, “You’d be mistaken if you think that. We’ve done quite a bit with Payson.” Not for six or seven years, and precious little for the five or six before that, though that was none of this man’s business.
Arch said, “You’ve said your bit. We’re not buying what you’re selling. Now you can move on.”
“If we build the highway up, you will be taxed for it.”
“We don’t want the highway,” Arch said. “We won’t pay taxes, and anything you build, we’ll do our best to destroy.”
“With what?”
“We have explosives,” Arch said. And it was true, they had a handful of grenades that hadn’t been in the cache of bullets and gunpowder that had blown up, but they had no idea if they would still work or not. They were buried separately from the ammunition that had exploded, and it seemed too dangerous to dig them up to check them.
“If you do—and I doubt it—you had better not use them.”
“Or what?”
“We have thousands of rounds of ammunition. Or what about fire? We would set a fire here, and your houses would be gone in a matter of hours.”
Arch’s arms were visibly shaking—whether from the tremor he suffered or from anger, it was hard to say. He thrust his chin out and said, “Your threats don’t impress me.”
They’d impressed Dev. Fire—the very idea made his throat dry. If they were burned out, they had nothing. Then they really would be hoboes, wandering up the hill, hoping to find some wet spot they could set up a farm. Every once in a while, someone had brought up doing that on purpose, seeking a cooler and wetter place, but the discussion had never lasted long. They had too much here to easily let it go.
Freddie and Arch were locked in a stare-down. Dev cleared his throat. “Look, we need time to think about this. We can’t stop you from repairing the highway, but we’d rather you didn’t. And surely this isn’t that important a road for you anyway.”
Freddie finally wrenched his eyes from Arch’s. “It opens up a whole section of land to trade.”
“How do you know there’s not another government up there? You’re talking about Show Low, Pine Top, up that way?”
“We’ve scouted it from the north, a couple years back,” Freddie said. “Best they have is like Payson, a village leader.”
“Then why not get there from the north?” Arch said.
Freddie raised his rifle.
Dev heard a number of gasps. He raised his rifle too, despite that it was only a useless hunk of metal and wood. He didn’t know what he was doing with the stupid useless thing. If he aimed it at Freddie, he was going to be shot dead.
But instead of shooting Arch, which is what Dev had expected him to do, Freddie pointed the gun at the chickens. He fired, and a hen fell, despite that he was easily two hundred yards away. Freddie had proven his power, and he had proven his skill, in one short second. He said, “Otis,” and the second man hurried over and opened the gate, then grabbed the dead bird.
Freddie said, “Your first tax payment.” And then he and Otis left. Everyone stood frozen, shocked, not having any idea of what to do.
Zoe said, “There are more of us—”
“Six guns,” he said to his daughter. “We’d die.”
His father collapsed, his rifle falling with a thump. He began to shake violently.
“Grandpa!” Zoe said, dropping her own rifle and running to him.
Misha was on the move too. “Mom, run back and get my medical bag.”
Joan took off running.
“It’s a seizure, I think,” Misha said. “Has he had one before?”
“Not that I know of,” Zoe said. “Dad?”
Dev shook his head. “It’s not a stroke or anything like that?”
“No,” Misha said. “I don’t think so.”
The sound of the horses came to him again, the men riding off—with one of their best layers too, dead, gone. Dev’s worry about his father battled with his worry about their new situation.
Nothing to be done about the latter right this instant. He walked over and put his hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “Is he going to be okay?” he said to Misha.
She glanced up, gave him a little shrug, and returned her attention to his father.
Zoe reached up and covered his hand with hers. “It’ll be all right, Dad.”
“I know.” He knew no such thing, and neither did she. Funny, how they gave each other the empty words of comfort. But they weren’t wholly empty if it drew the two of them together. Didn’t help his father’s condition though.
“It’s easing,” Misha said.
Dev watched his father’s body. The fit was passing, whatever it had been. His father was pale looking and sweaty, though sweat usually evaporated almost instantly in the dry air.
“Grandpa?” Zoe said. “Can you hear me?”
His eyes were open but weren’t focused on anything, it seemed to Dev.
Behind him, people were murmuring together. He caught a few words. They had begun to talk about the strangers, Freddie and Otis, and what it all meant.
Dev squeezed Zoe’s hand one last time and turned to face everyone else. “Let’s all talk about this together,” he said. “Maybe we can clean up from our meal, and once Arch is resting comfortably, we’ll figure out what to do.”
Pilar said, “What can we do?”
Dev said, “We’ll figure it out. We will. We’re smart people, and we’ll figure out something.”
Pilar met his gaze and frowned, but he also gave him a small nod of acknowledgement. He took charge of the cleanup. “Okay, people. Everybody under twenty years old, carry the dishes to the pump. Everybody between twenty and fifty, start washing dishes or wrap up any food left over. Everybody over fifty brings out the rags and—” He stopped. “I guess that’s just me right now.”
“I need Zoe to help me move Dad,” Dev said.
Pilar nodded. “Ask if you need anyone else to help. He’s our number one priority.” Then to everyone, “C’mon, people, the sooner we clean up, the sooner we can sit down and figure out our way out of this mess.”
If there was a way, Dev was going to be happy to hear it. He couldn’t think of a thing they could do against armed men. He cursed the heat, cursed this new threat, cursed the ammunition that had blown itself to smithereens. He cursed time itself for leading them to this moment.
Chapter 6
C.J. came running up a minute later. “Dad is coming,” he said. “We heard something—he said a gunshot?”
Dev let someone else explain to C.J. His own dad was moaning, blinking his eyes, and trying to sit up.
“Just a second, Arch,” Misha said. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Was I shot?” Arch said.
“No, Gramps,” Zoe said. “You just fainted or something.”
“I don’t faint.”
Misha said, “Maybe it was just the heat.” She didn’t sound convinced—or convincing.
“Are they gone?” Arch was getting his mental bearings. “Dev?”
“They’re gone. We heard them ride off.”
“Make sure. Make sure they didn’t leave someone here to spy on them.”
“Okay,” he said. He called over, “Troy, take my place over here. Might need some help getting Arch inside.”
His father started to protest, but Dev didn’t pay attention. He took his empty rifle, though he knew it was useless, and started down the driveway. Then he heard C.J. say, “Dad!” and he turned his head and saw Curt coming, holding his crossbow.
“I could use you, Curt,” he said, and Curt hurried over to join him with a weapon that actually worked. As they walked down the driveway and road, he explained what had happened.
“Do you think all six rifles are loaded and work?�
�
“We have to assume that. One certainly does, and the guy was damned good with it, so they practice. The other rifles looked well maintained.”
“If it was two guys, I could take them.” Curt lifted the crossbow.
“Maybe they’ve discovered six is the right number for this work. You think?”
“I don’t know. It wouldn’t be for Payson.”
Dev said, “We don’t know any more what kind of arms Payson has. Or how many are left there.”
“True.” They had reached the end of the dirt road. At least no one was there. C.J. had trailed them. “Go back to the Quinn house,” Curt told his son. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
C.J. looked mutinous, but he turned around and shuffled back up the road.
Curt said, “Split up? I’ll go uphill and you go down?”
“Okay. Whistle if you see them.”
“If I still can. Out of practice.”
Dev himself didn’t remember many of their old signals. Danger—that one he knew. There were others, specific sounds they had made that said “all clear” or “friend approaching,” “going left” and “going right.” He had forgotten them, but no matter. If no one remembered them, they’d invent new signals.
His stomach twisted. He had hoped it was all over. More than a decade since any sort of trouble at all had come their way. It had been before Zoe was born that they’d had an all-out battle and needed signals at all.
He’d hoped to never see another battle. Though this one would be short, if one side had guns and the other didn’t. They’d have to outnumber the enemy ten to one to have an outside chance with a couple bows and a crossbow.
He had walked fast down the slope and now the highway began to rise again for a short while before dropping off again toward Payson. At the next peak, he should be able to see them, if they were ahead—unless they’d gone faster than a walk. But before he was halfway up the hill, he heard a whistle. Curt had spotted them. He turned around and jogged that way. He saw Curt standing there, silhouetted against the blue sky, his crossbow held loosely in his right hand.
