by Brom Kearne
15
Thorn went to the Varick’s farm to see if he could make the end of their meeting. He was pleased to find that the meeting hadn’t broken up yet, although he was less pleased to discover how heated it was. The Varick’s sitting room had been converted into an angry town hall for the evening, with the furniture having been moved into another room so they could fill the area with seats. They needn’t have bothered, from what Thorn saw when he entered, because nobody was using them anyway. Everyone, it seemed, was on their feet and angrily shouting or agreeing with one of the two men at the front of the room. And those two men were Mr. Pith and Josh Varick.
Thorn slinked through the sitting room into the kitchen where he found the leftover food. There was plenty left although it was cold by this point. Most of what everyone brought was casseroles, but Thorn wasn’t about to complain as he piled them onto a plate. It certainly helped to make up for the dried beef and nuts he’d been living off of recently. With his plate and a fork Thorn went back into the sitting room and leaned against the wall so he could eat while watching the commotion. He had been wrong about the farmers’ being behind either Mr. Pith or Josh Varick. They all seemed to be firmly behind Mr. Pith, while Josh Varick stood alone.
Although the room felt crowded because of how packed with tension it was, there weren’t many farmers in attendance. Thorn estimated around fifteen of them, and surmised that this was all that was left. Mr. Pith was bellowing in a deep voice about how they were all going to lose their farms if they didn’t do something. His face was flushed and he was slurring his words as though he had been hitting the bottle hard since he had dismantled his pump that afternoon. Josh Varick was trying to calm him and the other farmers down while making an appeal to diplomacy. He kept saying that he had a lawsuit pending that might solve their problems, but he never made it far with that argument before he was shouted down.
Mrs. Pith stood firm beside her husband, and although she didn’t contribute to the shouting, her resolute presence confirmed that she supported him and would do whatever was necessary to secure the future of their farm. Josh Varick’s wife, Marie, was in attendance, although she looked like she wished to be anywhere but there. Or, more precisely, she looked as though she wished that the rest of the farmers, her husband included, were anywhere but there, so she could have her sitting room restored with more than an ounce of respectability. She was also the only person in the room sitting down, and with her arms folded over her chest, her legs crossed, and her head turned away from the action, she was the very picture of aloof disengagement. Thorn didn’t see their son in attendance at all, and this concerned him. If there was anyone who could provide a solid lead towards the Amber Bones Gang, it was him.
“I’ve spoken with a few of the workers on the docks and they’d be with us,” Mr. Pith bellowed in his deep voice. “How many times has Level Shore been overthrown? They have a revolution and new leadership every ten years, if that. And we’re afraid of causing a little ruckus here?”
“If you would just clam down, we can handle this in a legal manner without resorting to violence,” Josh Varick said.
“How can we handle this in a legal manner when the whole thing’s stacked against us? What we need to do is throw down the whole thing and have a new legal system. One that doesn’t favor the politicians, the rich, and the connected. We need one that gives us a fair shake for once.”
The rest of the farmers applauded and shouted agreement with every sentence that came out of Mr. Pith’s mouth. Josh Varick fell into a frustrated silence as he looked around the room and at everyone against him. His gaze fell on his wife but she turned her head even further to the side to avoid looking at him.
“And I’ve got someone who can help,” Mr. Pith said. He leveled a finger through the crowd, which parted around its intended target. Thorn nearly choked on a bite of corn casserole when he looked up to see the finger was pointing squarely at him.
“He’s a bounty hunter with no love for the policies of Bradenfield, and he’ll help lead our revolution against them.”
“Whoa, hold on a second,” Thorn said. “I never signed on to lead anything. I’m only here for the Amber Bones Gang.”
A ripple of discontent spread through the farmers. “The Amber Bones? What do we care for some gang when it’s the police and the government that are fleecing us? They’ve done some damage, but it’s nothing compared to what we’re suffering from across the river. And if we had a proper police force that protected our interests instead of stifling them, they would deal with this gang like they would any other threat to our safety.”
“But that’s not my problem,” Thorn said. “I was hired to track down the Amber Bones Gang, and that is exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Please calm down,” Josh Varick said. “If you would just listen to me, you wouldn’t need outside help. If you want the laws changed you have to work through the system to do it. Now I have some sympathetic judges that I used to know when I worked in Bradenfield and they will listen to our complaints.”
“To ‘our’ complaints?” Mr. Pith shouted. “You are not one of us and you can stop pretending to be. You’re one of those damned lawyers who keeps making our lives miserable. Why don’t you go on back to Bradenfield?”
Josh’s wife perked up at this. It seemed to be the only thing said all night that got her attention.
“I admit that I haven’t lived on my brother’s farm as long as some of you have been living here,” Josh began, but he was cut off by Mr. Pith once again.
“Five generations my family’s owned this farm and now it’s gone. Now it’s all gone. Everything. Gone.” His voice was shaking and filled with desperation. His words were filled with so much raw emotion that the entire room went silent. It was as though he were standing there naked in front of them all. “I was born in that house. It’s all I’ve ever known. And now it’s being taken from me. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair that some lawyer gets to write a law that changes everything and puts me out of the only home I’ve ever known. And our taxes are used to support this same police force that’s coming over here and shutting us down! We’re paying their damned salary so they can shut our farms down and drive us out. It’s not fair.”
It seemed as though no one wanted to break the uncomfortable silence that followed. Josh Varick cleared his throat to begin talking, but thought better of it and fell silent with the others. He was feeling a mixture of outrage and shame. Outrage because he agreed with everything that Mr. Pith had said, and shame because he used to be a part of the problem.
Rather than continue trying to push his position and further infuriate everyone, when in reality he agreed with them, although perhaps not in the method for expressing their anger, Josh Varick said after a few minutes, rather quietly, “Well, thank you all for coming out tonight and expressing your feelings. We’ll have another meeting next week.”
“Talk, all we do is talk,” said some of the farmers under their breath as they shuffled out.
Thorn caught hold of Mr. Pith’s arm as he was walking past.
“Is that why you wanted me here tonight? So you could use me as a prop for your grievances?”
Mr. Pith shook Thorn’s hand off. “If you’re not with us, you’re against us.” He spat on the ground at Thorn’s feet and continued walking.
Thorn’s hand curled into a fist and he narrowed his eyes at the back of Mr. Pith’s head as he walked by. He wasn’t going to attack him, but he was angry enough to, first for being thrust into the middle of their political struggles, and second for being spat at when he didn’t go along. Almost as though he could read his thoughts Josh Varick put a hand on Thorn’s shoulder.
“Don’t make this night any worse than it has to be,” he said.
“Do you really think you’re going to have a peaceful solution with all this pent-up anger present?” Thorn asked over his shoulder.
Josh Varick held his hands out in a shrug. “You know as well as I do that when people are that angry the
y can cause more harm than good.”
“I also know that sometimes you have to stand up for yourselves.”
Josh fell silent as they watched the farmers stream away into the night, returning to their own homes.
“Do you know where your son is?” Thorn asked after a few moments’ silence.
“My son?” Josh asked, surprised by the unexpected question.
“Do you know that your son’s been in contact with the Amber Bones Gang, and that they’re considering him for recruitment?”
Josh’s stunned silence answered the question for him. “Well, I knew he was having a hard time adjusting to life on the farm, but I had no idea,” he stammered after a few seconds. “How do you know this?”
“He told me. He has one of their bandanas.”
“I see. I guess he’s been having a harder time than I thought. No, I haven’t seen him.”
“This gang is very dangerous. If your son is involved with them, then I don’t think he knows what he’s getting into. And if he’s been meeting with them in private, without your knowledge, that may be even worse.”
Thorn no longer wanted to stay with the Piths, so he was angling for Josh to invite him to stay in his home, in order to help keep an eye on his son. Thorn didn’t have any money, so he couldn’t breach the topic himself, lest he be called upon to pay for the room. And Josh did not disappoint him.
“I know you’re staying with the Piths, but we’ve got room here, if you wouldn’t mind, helping to keep an eye on my son.”
Thorn agreed and went back to the Piths to get his things while Josh Varick went to look for his son. Josh had, for the moment, completely forgotten about the meeting that night, and about the lawsuit he was preparing on behalf of the farmers. For the moment he was somewhere in between a state of panic and disbelief, and thinking back he could not remember the last time he had seen his son. He had been too busy with preparations for this evening.
When Thorn entered the Pith barn he was surprised to find Mr. Pith waiting for him, sitting in a wooden chair with another set beside it. The aroma of burning cannabis flowers was thick in the air, and as Thorn entered Mr. Pith offered him a pipe. Thorn eyed it suspiciously and didn’t set another foot into the barn.
“I don’t blame you after the way I acted tonight,” Mr. Pith said, putting the pipe back to his lips and taking a long, deep breath from it. “I wanted to come out here and tell you that I’m sorry.”
Thorn stepped into the barn and accepted the pipe. He took a few short puffs and choked on the smoke. He was no stranger to cannabis smoke, but this was far more potent than anything he had ever inhaled before.
Mr. Pith laughed as Thorn passed the pipe back to him. “That’s my own blend, from my own crop, carefully selected and bred for potency and smoothness. It’s about the only crop that’s shown a profit these past few years. Thank God Bradenfield hasn’t outlawed it yet. But the Mrs. hates the smell of the stuff so I have to come out here to smoke it.”
Thorn sat down in the empty chair. He was feeling very pleasantly lightheaded. Mr. Pith passed the pipe back to him and this time when he inhaled from it, Thorn was ready for the potency and was able to appreciate the smoothness that Mr. Pith had spoken of.
“You caught me at one of the worst moments of my life. They say that you can tell the measure of a man when he’s at his worst. If that’s true I didn’t measure up today. I’ve been hitting the bottle since before I capped the well, getting angrier and angrier the whole time. And I exploded this evening. My family is buried on this land. Four generations of them. It’s a part of me like my own arm. I can’t bear the thought of being forced out.”
“Quiet,” Thorn said.
“I know. I’m even more ashamed of myself for taking to the drink and wallowing in self-pity. If my father could see me now he’d smack me around but good.”
“No, I mean quiet. Do you hear that?”
Mr. Pith fell silent and listened. They could hear something. It was a high-pitched noise that sounded like the angry buzzing of a wasp or a bee. And it was getting louder.
“That sounds like dune bikes,” Thorn said.
“Dune bikes?”
Mr. Pith was drunk and stoned. He didn’t seem to grasp what was going on as he stared blankly at Thorn.
Despite being a little light-headed himself, Thorn knew exactly what that droning meant. He bounded up the ladder into the loft so he could have a better view of the surrounding fields. Silver light shone from the waxing gibbous, providing enough light to see by, although it was ultimately unnecessary. The dune bikes, Thorn counted three of them, could be clearly seen by their headlamps as they tore through the fallow fields toward the Pith farm.
Thorn grinned. His first thought was that he’d made enough noise that he’d flushed his quarry out and that they were now coming to him.
As they drew closer Thorn could see that the biker in front was wearing a black bandana over his nose and mouth, while the two riding on his flank wore amber ones. Each of them had skeletal hands meeting over the mouth. The one with the black bandana, the one that Thorn took to be the leader of the group, was holding aloft a lit torch that guttered in the headwind.
Thorn slid down the ladder and was through the barn door in a flash.
The bikers had reached the house and were riding hard around it, kicking up dirt and whooping and hollering over the drone of the bikes. The two bikers in amber had cans of alcohol fuel which they were using to drench the house.
“Hey, get away from there!” Mr. Pith called. He had grabbed an axe handle before following Thorn out of the barn.
“Go back inside,” Thorn yelled, but he knew that Mr. Pith wasn’t going to listen.
Mr. Pith was drunk, high, and filled with anger. Thorn didn’t blame him at all for charging at the three bikers. And he couldn’t blame him for defending his property to the best of his ability. But at the same time, Thorn could see exactly what was going to happen well before it did, and it was not going to be pretty.
The leader, the biker with the black bandana, saw Mr. Pith charging for him with the axe handle raised. After tossing his torch onto the fuel-soaked house he turned his bike and popped a small wheelie as he accelerated towards the old man. Thorn ran towards them, trying to draw the biker’s attention, but he was too late. The biker had landed a kick squarely in the middle of Mr. Pith’s sternum, knocking to the ground.
Fire was beginning to take the house and it was spreading quickly. Mrs. Pith was still inside. Thorn had to make a split decision on what to do. The biker had turned and revved his engine in anticipation of running over Mr. Pith. The fire had flared up around the door, preventing Mrs. Pith from being able to escape.
Thorn chose Mrs. Pith.
The other two bikers were in his way. They had taken up a fence post and held it between them as they rode. Thorn only just managed to throw himself flat on the ground as the heavy post flew by overhead. The biker in the black bandana circled around and rode over Mr. Pith. Thorn winced as he heard the old man’s ribs break.
The fire had flared up and taken the house. Smoke was billowing into the night sky. Thorn saw the axe handle that had been knocked from Mr. Pith’s hand lying nearby. He rolled over and grabbed it as the two bikers came back around. One of them had let go of the post so they could turn. The other one had adjusted it under his arm like a jousting lance.
Thorn charged, brandishing the axe handle and bellowing like a madman. The unexpected burst of aggression was enough to intimidate the biker and throw off the aim of the lance. He grazed Thorn’s shoulder with it, but Thorn was able to hit a solid blow to the young man’s midsection as he rode by. He collapsed from the bike, which reared up on its back wheel and flipped on its side in the dirt.
Thorn dropped the axe handle as he sprinted towards the house. If he didn’t get in their soon it wouldn’t matter because it would be too late. He was afraid that he was already too late from how quickly the flames had engulfed the house. He pulled his shirt
up over his nose and burst through the door shoulder first. It was the same shoulder that the biker had grazed, and though he could ignore the pain for the time being, from a combination of the cannabis and his adrenaline, Thorn knew in the back of his mind that he was going to be in great pain tomorrow.
The smoke made his eyes water and his shirt did little to stop it from being inhaled into his lungs. Through the haze he managed to spot a form lying on the floor of the sitting room. Thorn ducked under the worst of the smoke and crawled to her. He poked her and she gave a little moan. She was alive, if only barely.
Thorn hefted her onto his good shoulder, took a few breaths of the relatively clean air near the floor, and lunged towards the front door. He tried to make it in as few steps as possible. His eyes stung and his skin was blistering from the heat. Mrs. Pith didn’t weigh much, but she was dead weight. With his eyes squinted against the smoke Thorn didn’t see the threshold. He tripped over it. The only thing he could do to prevent collapsing on top of Mrs. Pith was drop her as he passed through the door. His momentum carried him onto the dirt path in front of the house, while she fell like a sack of flour by the door. Thorn was choking and coughing, unable to draw breath into his lungs.
As he was fighting for breath something hit him hard in the kidney. He arched his back and gritted his teeth against screaming out from the bursting pain as the biker in the black bandana rode into his field of vision, brandishing the axe handle.
The biker came around. His eyes, reflecting the fire from the house, were locked on Thorn, the axe handle raised over his head. From this distance Thorn could clearly see a tattoo under his right eye: an image of a skull with crossed skeletal hands.
Thorn fell backwards, avoiding the swing as the biker rode by. It was easy falling down. His body wanted to collapse. It was much more difficult, however, to get back up again. But he had to. He had to get up, and he had to find a weapon. Scanning the ground he saw the post that the other biker had pulled up. It was lying near to Mr. Pith. One of the bikers in amber was idling near his body, looking at it. Thorn didn’t want to read too much into the young man’s eyes, especially since he couldn’t see his face, but as Thorn staggered the distance to get to the post what he saw in that young man’s eyes was fear.
He didn’t know where the other biker was. The young man idling over Mr. Pith’s body looked up as Thorn approached.
Yes, it was fear.
The biker in black had turned again and was coming straight for him. Thorn picked up the post by the frightened kid and turned, falling to his knee and holding the post like a pike used against cavalry, with one end wedged against the ground. The biker in black swerved but his momentum was too great and the post struck against the side of his front wheel, causing him to crash.
Ordinarily Thorn would have jumped on him, but the pain in his kidneys prevented him. He was doing good to remain on his feet. So Thorn opted for the closer, safer target: the frightened kid. He lunged at him, taking him and the bike down. The kid offered no resistance.
“Hey, look what I found in the barn!” This was the other biker in amber. He was sitting astride his bike with a couple bundles of Mr. Pith’s cannabis flower.
The biker in the black bandana had righted his bike and kick started it. “That’s great,” he said. “Grab as much as you can carry.” He looked over his shoulder and down the path. “Come on! They’ve seen the fire, we need to get out of here.” When the kid that Thorn had tackled didn’t move or attempt to flee or fight, the rider in black rode over, menacing Thorn with the front wheel of his bike. The rider in black grabbed the kid by the collar and pulled him away. Thorn reached for the kid, attempting to hold onto anything he could grab and in doing so pulled away the amber bandana covering his face.
The frightened face that stared back at Thorn in the glow of the fire was one that he recognized. Thorn had seen those same hazel eyes, sandy hair, and swarm of freckles not too long ago, in a picture produced by the boy’s father.
“Sandy?” Thorn asked.
Scott Tanning’s eyes went even wider.
The other biker in the amber bandana hit Thorn in the back, making him release Scott and eliciting another deep groan from Thorn’s lips. Scott Tanning used the opportunity to right his bike and got back on it. The biker in black told him to move, and he obeyed, although he never took his eyes from Thorn even as he was riding away.
By the time Thorn managed to pull himself to his feet the three bikers were gone. The angry buzz from their engines had receded into the night. He felt an arm around his chest and nearly punched the owner of it before he realized that it was Eric Prasson. He, Josh Varick, and a bunch of other farmers had come to the Pith farm when they saw the orange fire burning against the night sky.
“I’m ok, check on him, and her,” Thorn said. He wasn’t ok, but the Piths were in worse shape than he was.
“He’s barely breathing,” Eric’s wife said. She was kneeling over Mr. Pith with her ear to his nose.
Josh Varick took his pulse and looked grimly up at Thorn.
A couple of farmers had helped Mrs. Pith to her feet and tried to distract her from seeing her husband in the condition he was in.
Everyone else was crowded around Mr. Pith. Josh Varick waved them away. “Give him some air. Go around the house. Go to the well, try to put that fire out.” When they didn’t move he shouted at them. “Go!”
Mr. Pith’s face had turned grey. “I think he’s got a punctured lung,” Josh Varick said under his breath to Thorn. “I don’t know what to do.” He glanced over Thorn’s shoulder at Mrs. Pith, who was having difficulty breathing after inhaling so much smoke.
“I can run for the doctor,” Thorn volunteered.
Josh shook his head. “He won’t make it long enough for you to get back.”
The other farmers were looking to Josh Varick to tell them what to do and he had no idea. The group he had sent around the house to fight the fire came back a few minutes later and reported that the well had been capped. They couldn’t do anything.
A feeling of sickening helplessness descended upon everyone as they were watching Mr. Pith breathe his last breaths by the light of a house fire they were powerless to put out. They kept Mrs. Pith from knowing the condition of her husband for as long as she could, but once she was strong enough to breathe and stand on her own, she soon figured it out. And her wail that went up with the smoldering embers caught in the night wind could be heard all the way on the other side of the river.
