With a light touch, James took Harper to the side and spoke into her ear. “Babe, this guy is insane. Let’s double back. We’ll find another farmhouse, jimmy the lock, and make ourselves at home. All three of us.”
“Listen to me,” Harper said quietly, watching the sharpshooter. “We don’t have a choice.”
“You’re wrong,” James said firmly. “We can deal with it. We always do.”
Harper pursed her lips. They didn’t always deal with it. Before a few days ago, they hadn’t seen each for six months and were fighting over custody for Eli. Her headache hadn’t let up. She felt the world tilt for a moment and wondered if the others saw her on the verge of passing out. “I need rest, James. They’re offering us rest. Let’s not look the gift horse in the mouth.”
James sighed and rubbed his forehead. “All right.”
They pulled away from one another. The sharpshooter waited patiently. “Come to a verdict?”
Harper nodded. “I want the Humvee in my sight at all times. No one touches it. Sound good?”
The sharpshooter grinned slightly as he repeated a seemingly recited catch phrase. “Welcome to Brighton. I’m Jonathan Church. The folks around here call me Mayor.”
***
A freezing tide of water splashed against her body, covering Harper’s bare and bruised flesh with goose bumps and shivers. Taking a knee, Trudy worked the ancient pump well and slid another full plastic bucket underneath the lower portion of the outdoor shower.
“Well has been here since my mother was born,” the gray-haired woman said, fetching another bucket. “Been serving Brighton many years. Much like a lot of the residents.”
Harper scrubbed herself down with the lavender-scented bar of soap, realizing just how little the rain had cleansed her. She flinched as the bar slid over a large purple bruise over her bottom rib. “The town's quite the jewel. Are all villages like this in the Piedmont?”
Trudy cranked the pump. Icy water splashed into the bucket. “You could say that. Most of the places around here reached their peak population in the 1800s. Brighton’s no different. It’s like we're one big family. We don’t get many visitors. Probably because they can’t stand the smell of cow dung.”
“I didn’t notice.” Harper wrung out her hair. Dirt and grime dribbled onto the coarse cement base. Images of summer camp came to mind. “Shampoo?”
Trudy fumbled through the milk crate and tossed over a bottle of shampoo. Harper caught it and squeezed some on her palm. “Probably because you smell worse,” Trudy said. After a moment, a smile broke across her stern face. “I’m joking. Kinda.”
Harper grinned back. “Sorry. My sense of humor has been lacking lately.” She began scrubbing her scalp until it was all bubbles and soapy slop.
“Speak straight,” Trudy said seriously. “Is the army coming?”
Harper shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. All we can do is wait and see.”
Trudy thought on it while Harper doused her head with another icy burst of water.
After being handed a towel, Harper dried off and slipped into a warm T-shirt and some khaki shorts one size too big. Her hair wasn’t long, but she still kept the towel wrapped around it to dry it off. Harper scratched a mosquito bite. “Thank you, Trudy.”
“Uh-huh.” The older woman gathered up the soap, shampoo, and water buckets and stuffed them into the milk crate. “Best get used to the bugs and outdoor shower. Until this mess clears up, it’s what we got.”
“I wanted to go to Afghanistan one day. Compared to what that would’ve been like, this is paradise. Imagine not showering for thirty days.”
They shared smiles before parting ways.
Harper met James and Eli in one of the old diner’s back booths. The rectangular room with shiny chrome trim and checkered floor tiles was dark and hot. A few windows were cracked open, sending a gentle breeze across their recently showered bodies. Her husband was stripped down to his boxers. A man with professionally styled hair and frameless rectangular bifocals examined the knife wound on James’s inner thigh. “Gonna have a nasty scar,” Dr. Hanson said, studying the stitches.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” James replied.
The doctor rose to his feet, using the booth’s frame for support. “Keep it clean. Change your dressings regularly, and be praying you don’t get an infection.”
“Don’t you have antibiotics at the hospital?”
Hanson chuckled softly. “This is Brighton. There is no hospital. If it wasn’t for some ill-timed vacation planning, I’d be in Fairfax feeding my cat. So, Mr. Murphy, when I say pray you don’t get an infection, I mean it.”
Harper joined them and introduced herself.
“Ah, the last one,” Dr. Hanson said with a tired grin. “I’ve looked after your husband and son. Both took quite the beating in DC. Nonetheless, time should heal ’em right up.”
The doctor led her to the back and began his examination. Harper covered her breasts as he objectively looked over her wounds. “You are lucky you only have a bruised rib. Most people are killed when they are trampled.”
“Anything else you can tell me?” Harper straightened her posture on the padded diner stool.
“Cuts, bruises, minor hemorrhaging. You need sleep and some stronger pain medication.”
“How much?”
Dr. Hanson stroked his chin. “Depends on the medication and what we have to offer.”
“How much sleep?” Harper clarified.
“Oh, yes. Days. At least a week. You need to stay hydrated, as well. Drink lots of fluids. Talk to Mayor Church about what he can offer.”
“Tell me about him,” Harper requested, putting her shirt back on.
“Good man. Excellent marksman. He’s been mayor for many years, and his father was mayor before that, and his father before that. You get the picture. Brighton can’t exist without Church, and Church can’t exist without Brighton.”
Harper let it sink in. The way he’d gunned down the highwaymen without hesitation made her rightfully uneasy. It was plainly obvious that he was unlike any city mayor she’d encountered.
After reminding Harper of her need for rest, Dr. Hanson waved good-bye. He opened the diner door and exited into the lone street. James’s eyes followed him through the window. “He’s meeting with that Church guy. I know it.”
“So,” Eli said groggily. “What are we going to do about it?”
James didn’t say anything. He turned to Harper. “How’d it go?”
“He said I should stop pushing myself.”
“Of course.” James returned his eyes to the window. “They want us to stay. They want our stuff.”
“It’s not our stuff,” Harper reminded him. “It’s property of the United States Army.”
“No. It’s a gold mine, and the Humvee, that’s worth killing for. Clearly.”
Through the diner’s long window, they looked out at the military vehicle and imposing town hall building behind it.
A nineteen-year-old female diner worker, still dressed in her outfit, provided them each with a meal of hamburgers and salad. She had blond hair in a pixie cut, a cute smile, and big brown eyes. Her name tag read Kimmy. “Enjoy it. Freezer’s out, so we won’t have more than a few days before it all goes bad.”
“Wow. Thanks,” Eli said with a wide grin. The girl smiled back before vanishing into the kitchen.
“She’s a cutie,” James said with a full mouth.
“James.” Harper squinted her eyes. “He’s sixteen.”
“What?” James forked a piece of lettuce and pointed at her. “That’s how old we were when, you know.”
Eli pushed his clean plate away. “Gross.”
“Gross?” James exclaimed. “Your mother’s a firecracker.”
Harper just shook her head and kept eating.
It was nearly sunset when they left the diner. The meal gave them time to vent about the blackout and theorize about the insurgents. With all the craziness, it was easy to find
stuff to say. Unlike the time during their unofficial divorce. Over the course of twenty-four hours, the world had fundamentally changed. Everyone had something to say about that.
They strolled out into the street, and for the first time in three days, Harper felt full. The birds had returned to the telephone poles, and the hammering at the town’s entrance had started to fade into quiet thumps. Harper stumbled going down the curb. Before she hit the ground, James caught her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She caught a whiff of his burger breath and felt the warmth of his toned body. “You know, I think… I think you’re right. Maybe a few days’ rest won’t be that bad.”
“One hamburger, and you change your mind. I should remember that.”
As they rounded the Humvee, they spotted Mayor Church, Trudy, and Dustin standing nearby. At their feet were the three supply duffels, unzipped and spilling out guns and medical supplies. The mayor had switched to a button-down shirt and had combed his thin graying hair to the side. Trudy and Dustin hadn’t changed.
“What the hell are you doing?” James pulled away from Harper. His stubbled face went red. “Back away from our stuff.”
The mayor crossed his arms. “Tell your man to calm himself.”
Harper stepped up and gave James an assuring look. She directed her attention to the large man in front of her. “Jonathan. Trudy. We appreciate all you’ve done, but this is unacceptable. That’s our privacy you’re invading.”
“We’re just being safe, hun,” Trudy said bluntly. “Learned you got yourself some nasty firepower.”
“Yeah. But no bullets,” replied Harper. “I’ve taken inventory of every gun, pill bottle, and bandage in each one of those bags. I’ll know if any are missing.” She hoped they’d buy her bluff.
The large man looked down at her. His brow crinkled. “We aren’t thieves. That scum isn’t welcome here. Count it right now if you want. You’ll find it's all there.”
Harper bounced her eyes between them. “What do you want?”
“I want to help you,” Church said flatly. “I want you to join my community.”
“Hell of a welcoming committee,” James mumbled loud enough for them to hear.
“Let me guess,” Harper stated. “You want something in return?”
The mayor nodded. “Brighton is a community built on trust and responsibility. Everyone plays a part. Everyone contributes, in turn, for food, water, shelter, and freedom. Your family is going to die, Harper. Your husband’s going to pick to the wrong fight, your son’s naivety will be his downfall, and you can barely stand straight.”
Harper locked her jaw. Her lack of sleep made it challenging to mask her discomfort.
“You know I’m right. So this is what I’m offering: you, your husband, and your son become part of the Brighton family. We’ll feed you, clothe you, and protect you from any threat that may come.”
“In exchange for what?” Harper asked, still insulted.
“The Hummer, everything in these duffels, and your family’s service.”
“I knew it,” James said from behind her. “He’s robbing us, and we’re letting him.”
“I’m offering you a home.” Anger burned in Church’s voice.
“Mom, where else are we going to go?” asked Eli rhetorically, making it clear which side he was on.
Harper’s mind raced.
Church turned his tired eyes to her. “What’s it going to be, Sergeant?”
Chapter Four
New Order
The room consisted of twin beds, three nightstands, a tall dresser, a small table with four chairs, and a box television set they would never use. Harper sat on the corner of her hard mattress and yanked off her black army boot. The scented candles on the nightstand and window frame lessened the room’s stench of damp sweat and feet.
In a T-shirt and boxers, James slouched on the corner next to her. A heavy frown sat upon his face as he adjusted the bandage hugging his hairy thigh. Outside the open second-story window, murmurs from the night guardsmen filled the starry sky. Harper removed her other boot and scrunched her face at the smell. “It’s not forever.”
Her husband didn’t speak.
After aligning her boots together at the foot of the bed, Harper looked at her husband. “Eli needs the rest.”
James straightened up for a moment and, pressing his hands into the mattress, turned to his wife. His sleepless brown eyes met hers. “Is that what you want? Truly?”
Harper looked at her toes. “I don’t completely trust Church either. But what other option do we have?” She chewed on her lip. “DC screwed me up, James. I can’t go an hour without thinking about the bridge, my unit, or those families… I… I know I should just let it go. Just move on, but every time I try to ignore the thoughts, they get worse. And with all the driving and shooting… I feel that if I could just have some stability in one part of my life, then--”
James’s warm touch met her hand. When she turned, his lips met hers. It felt like they kissed forever. Harper pulled a breath length away. James caressed her cheek, tucking a few auburn locks behind her ear. “I want us to be a family again.”
He kissed her again, more passionately. When he was finished, he brought his mouth up to her ear. “I want to be your husband again.”
He put his calloused hand on her shoulder and started lowering her to the bed. Flashes of the other women filled Harper’s mind. She took him by the palm and moved his hand away, giving her room to gently sit up. James looked at her with confusion and hurt. Pursing her lips, Harper shook her head.
James returned his hands to himself and looked at the floor. “I know saying sorry doesn’t mean much. But I’m trying, Harper. You got to give me that.”
“I know,” Harper replied quietly.
The buzz of the hand-cranked lantern filled the silence.
James extended his hand. “A fresh start? For Eli.”
Harper studied his outstretched hand for a moment then took it in her own. She smiled softly. “A fresh start.”
They shook.
Eli returned from the outhouse a few moments later. He switched off the lantern, blew out the candles, and huddled under his covers. “Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad.”
“Good night.”
That evening, the night terrors felt far less strong.
The sound of knocking awoke them. It must’ve been before six a.m. because the sun was still hiding in darkness. “The mayor and my mother would like to see you,” Dustin said in the doorway. He wore a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves, dark blue jeans, and a cobalt-and-white trucker hat with an intensely curved and faded bill.
After thanking him, Harper shut the door. She dressed herself in borrowed cargo pants, an Old Navy t-shirt, and clean socks but kept the army boots. She quickly brushed her short auburn locks while Eli and James put on shirts and jeans with small scuffs and loose stringy threads.
Dustin yawned as he welcomed them to the roofed balcony. Their steps clacked across the coarse concrete as they made their way past the other residents’ rooms. Many were uninhabited, but the ones with guests living inside were already empty.
“Earlier risers,” Harper pointed out.
“Yep,” said Dustin as he led them down the stairs. The morning air nipped at them.
“Church has everyone getting up bright and early now. Got to keep the place functional, you know.”
“I see,” Harper said, unsure of how much freedom she’d given up for a twin-bed hotel room and a hot meal.
As the sun peeked into the sky with vibrant color, they crossed the two-lane street equipped with parallel parking, leaving behind the motel, chrome diner, Laundromat, and pub. The old white chapel and colonial-inspired brick town hall greeted them with shade. Down the road, residents of Brighton hammered away at the beginnings of a wooden wall. The man with the large straw hat jockeyed the telephone pole and tinkered with the power box. His wife, a countrywoman, shook her head and continued down the sidewalk. Harper made note that h
er Humvee was no longer parked out front.
They bounced up the three stairs and between the towering colonial pillars supporting the roof’s lip of the town hall. Harper’s reflection looked back at her in the Bible-sized windowpanes that covered the two double doors. She was never the type to cake on makeup, but her pasty skin and tired green eyes made her wish she had a little eyeliner and light blush. She appeared older and felt like it, too.
“You look fine, Mom,” Eli said as his reflection appeared next to hers.
With chapped lips, Harper smiled back. Eli ran his fingers through his thick hair, fixing the brown mop to one side.
“It’s unlocked.” Dustin yawned. “Go on in.”
“What can we expect?” James asked.
Dustin shrugged. “Ain’t got a clue.”
James shot Harper a perturbed glance. They each took a wooden handle and opened the double doors.
They walked through the greeting hall lit by natural sunlight, passing two adjacent bathrooms and waiting benches. Black-and-white photographs of Brighton hung in matching gold-leaf frames across the white wall. The oldest dated back to 1910, with the lone town hall standing amidst forty hard-faced farmers and their plump wives. Above the town photos hung painted portraits of every Brighton mayor. The artist in question needed a brushup, as most of the paintings featured slightly elongated heads and lifeless eyes. Apart from a few outliers, every mayor boasted a metal plaque with the name Church pressed into it. The most recent portrait was of Jonathan. It dated back seven years. The man had a healthy head of hair and a million-dollar grin atop his round chin.
Solid wooden doors opened into the Great Hall.
The large room had to be the most impressive aspect of Brighton. Lavish crimson curtains tumbled over tall, intricate windows, four on each side. Wide, dusty rays of sunlight rained through the clear glass and across the dense columns of red chairs that ran down the right and left sides of the glossy wood and crimson-carpeted floor. At the head of the one hundred chairs and seated on top of a fenceless platform flanked by two sets of six steps was a curved desk bolted to the floor. It was backed by the American flag, the Virginia state flag, and a third flag featuring a familiar white steeple on a blue background. Above them, a large plaque read In God We Trust.
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