by LeMay, Jim
“Maybe Doc’s right for a change,” said Stony. “We’re dealin’ with a mighty heavy hitter here.”
It had become apparent what Chadwick’s Thanksgiving meeting with Hauptmann entailed during the spring that followed it. Chadwick’s gang, reinforced by Hauptmann’s men and other assorted toughs, had taken control of the settlement in Columbia’s ruins, suspended the elected town council and increased taxes on both the citizens and merchants doing business in the marketplace. Chadwick had continued to recruit men until his force was estimated at over a hundred. Last spring before the gang left Nellie’s Fair, they’d heard rumors that Chadwick’s dominion extended west to the Missouri River, where he had set up stations to exact tolls from the river traffic. A mighty heavy hitter, indeed!
“At least maybe we oughta get our stash,” said Lou. “And try to get our savings out of the bank. Then we’ll be ready to haul ass or lay low or whatever else we need t’ do.”
“Wait a goddamn minute,” said Leighton. “You old guys are just talkin’ ’bout yersel’s. None a this has anything t’ do with the rest a us, with me an’ Rossi an’ Miller an’ Kincaid. We didn’ steal no shit from Chadwick. He don’t know us. We don’t need to run from him. We got somethin’ t’ say ’bout this.”
“You don’t have nothin’ t’ say,” said Doc. He had been against recruiting the kids and didn’t even try to hide his dislike for them, especially Leighton. “If it wasn’t for Boss Johnson, you rat turds ‘d still be starvin’ in the mud in Nellie’s Fair where y’ belong.”
“Hold on!” said Mitch in a louder than usual tone. “We’re okay as long as we stick together an’ don’t go fightin’ ’mongst ourselves. I suggest we all just git through this next couple a days. First thing we got t’ do is git Chadwick off our tail, git some breathin’ room. Then we can figger out our next step.”
“How do we git ’m off a our tail?” demanded Leighton.
“That needs t’ be talked about all right,” agreed Mitch. “I suggest we wait a couple more days t’ see if his boys find the town. If they don’t, then we need to send Matt out t’ look for signs of ’m. Sorry, Matt, but y’r the only one they don’t know. ’Ceptin’ the kids, a course, but they lack ’nough experience for stuff like that.”
Matt shrugged, nodded his agreement. The other older guys also agreed. Nobody wanted to think beyond the next few days just now.
“And what about the fossils?” insisted Leighton, nodding toward the townspeople’s apartment. “We can’t forgit them.”
“I’m thinking of checking in on them pretty soon,” said Matt.
Leighton glared intently at Matt. “You do that, Perfessor. You check on ’m. But if Chadwick’s assholes catch us like varmints in this hole, I...”
“Y’ll do or think nothin’,” said Mitch. “Matt only found the place. We decided t’ stay here as a majority so that’s the end of it. Go ahead an’ check on the folks, Matt. Stony, you and Doc might spell Rossi and Miller at the guard posts.”
Chapter Seven
Matt’s intent in visiting the townspeople was to gain their confidence sufficiently for them to allow the boy to visit the gang, a first step in his vague plan to use the boy as a hostage if that became necessary. He approached their store/apartment building by way of the alley, feeling a little less exposed there than on the main street. He found the woman Maude and the argumentative man who had sat across the table from her (was it Clarence or Claude?) in the alley hanging up clothing they had just washed. There was a woodpile beside the back door and a garden across the alley, large but rather weedy. Beside the garden was a sagging shed serving as a chicken coop with a pen to one side.
They both nodded at him, the man clearly hostile, the woman without expression. He nodded back and without a word picked a shapeless garment out of the basket and began pinning it to a line. The homemade clothing was typical of the time, stitched together from fabrics never meant for that use: bedding, towels, draperies, even carpeting.
The man was wearing a pair of ancient slacks, faded almost colorless, and a shirt that looked like it had been adapted from a pillowcase. The woman wore ragged jeans with its many rips sewn and patched. Her blouse had been put together from several sources – he thought he recognized a kitchen curtain among them – but it was well crafted and fit perfectly. She must have been a good seamstress, a rare talent in the twenty-first century.
The two had worked out a system of taking garments, bedding, towels, and other items from the basket and hanging them on the line in a rhythm that kept them from getting in each other’s way. Matt joined them, soon picked the rhythm up, and the three worked without speaking. Both of them ignored him except for an occasional surreptitious glare from the man. Matt realized that the man was younger than he had thought, perhaps around sixty, but Maude was definitely on the far side of sixty, probably close to seventy. They finally finished. Maude winced as she straightened her back. The man picked up the basket and turned toward the back door of the store without a word.
Maude turned to Matt with a softer look on her face, almost a smile. “Much obliged, uh, Matt, was it?” He realized she’d once been pretty, was still a handsome woman.
“You’re welcome, Maude, and yes, it’s Matt.”
“I supposed the rest of your – companions – have arrived.”
He detected the note of distaste in the way she said, “companions.”
“Yes, we’re all settled in.”
“You sound like an educated man,” she said with a slight tone of surprise.
“So what am I doing with guys like this, huh?”
“Something like that.” The near-smile took on a quality of irony.
“Well, yes, I had degrees in English, cybercommunication, and cultural history and taught all three at various on-line schools, the last one in Kansas City. Till there was no one left to teach, of course. Then I got into this business.” He shrugged. “I had to do something for a living.”
“We all have to get by as best we can. I used to be a teacher, too. Taught at the local school.”
“My education is a liability sometimes now,” he said. “One of the guys calls me ‘Professor’ because of the way I talk.”
“Every profession has its liabilities. I’m luckier than you. I still have someone to teach – John.” She turned toward the doorway.
“One more thing, Maude.”
She turned back to face him.
“I promised to chop some wood for you, but I don’t have an axe. Do you have one I can borrow?”
“That’s quite unnecessary. We’ve chopped our own wood for a long time.”
“I’m sure it is and that you have. But I’d like to do it.”
She regarded him for a moment, then turned without speaking and went into the building. He wasn’t sure of her intent; had she gone to get the axe or had she dismissed him? Then she reappeared with an old axe that she presented to him. “Thanks, Matt.”
He smiled, nodded, and turned back toward the bank.
When he reached the basement, Matt found everybody quietly cleaning their weapons or organizing their scratch. It was rather disquieting, though, to see Leighton and his cronies, Miller, Rossi, and Kincaid, sitting on one side of the table with Mitch and Lou on the other side, the table dividing the two factions that had formed when the kids first joined the gang two seasons before.
Two years ago this coming winter the gang had lost two members, Kirby and Andrews, to a flu epidemic that swept Nellie’s Fair. That put their number at eight, two men below what Boss Johnson had set as the gang’s minimum practical number. To make up this loss, he had decided to recruit some of the older boys from one of the gangs of orphans that roamed the town. They’d be tough young kids, he had argued, as they had to be to endure gang life. Johnson had chosen the leader of one of the gangs, Red Leighton, and three of his followers. Leighton looked to be in his late teens and two of the others seemed only a year or two younger. The youngest, Jack Kincaid, who appeared to be only
thirteen or fourteen and small for his age, Johnson almost rejected and allowed to join only at the last minute. Some of the other men, especially Doc, didn’t like the idea of recruiting kids so young, but Johnson argued that the younger they were the easier it would be to “bring ’m up right” in the gang’s mores. The survival rate among the orphan kids, Johnson pointed out, wasn’t very good. The fact that these four had made it into their teens and some even into their late teens showed they had the balls for scrounger life.
Matt agreed with Doc. He didn’t like kids much, never having spent much time around them. Furthermore, he was skeptical of taking so many of these feral brats, as he thought of them, into the gang at once. They would be easier to control if they recruited only one at a time. Unexpectedly though, at least to Matt, Leighton was becoming an asset to the gang. Learning to keep his mouth shut and moving quietly when in the wild had been difficult lessons for him to learn. Johnson, though, had effective teaching methods for the most recalcitrant recruits, and Leighton soon adapted. He became a great point man. He never complained at hard work, long treks, scarce food supply, or inclement weather. (Though he sure found plenty of other things to bitch about.)
Of course Leighton’s life in Nellie’s Fair had undoubtedly been much harsher. There he had lived with hunger, disease, exposure to the elements, and the constant threat of physical danger from the merchants and other inhabitants, either overt or covert; there were occasional secret pogroms against the orphan community. The relative security and affluence of the gang must have seemed wonderful for Leighton and his boys. Leighton became so utterly devoted to Johnson that Johnson seemed both flattered and embarrassed.
Mitch looked up as Matt came down the stairs. “How’re the old folks? Happy? Pissed off? Plottin’ t’ kill us?”
Matt shrugged. “I’m going to chop some wood for them.”
“In the meantime,” said Mitch, “why don’t you an’ Lou spell Stony an’ Doc so Stony can fix us something resemblin’ a meal.”
Lou and he went to their guard posts.
As Matt lay on his stomach in the barn’s haymow watching the southern approach to town, he thought about the seating arrangements in the basement. He was sure the men were unconscious of it, but it demonstrated the dichotomy within the gang. The ambush had widened the differences between the two factions. Leighton was right. The threat from Chadwick’s gang should be directed only toward the older guys, not to the kids. Why should the younger ones share the danger when they had no share in the gold? What if this schism worsened irrevocably toward the gang’s disintegration? To his surprise a little thrill of dread ran through him. What would he do if the gang ceased to exist? It had been the only livelihood and, yes, home, he’d known for twelve years. On the other hand, why should he fear losing a life like this? He had done terrible things to stay alive while a member of the gang, unthinkable in his former life.
This thought nudged at something he hadn’t wanted to invade his consciousness just yet, at least until the strain of outsmarting their pursuers was behind him. It was too much to face right now. But invade it did. It was the man, or perhaps the several men, he had killed the night of the ambush. Not that he felt guilt for the homicides. These weren’t his first, and he understood that he had the right to kill them. In fact he had the obligation, for his and his men’s survival. The man Lou killed to save Matt was the only man Lou had ever killed, though that too was justified and necessary. How must the gentle bumbling Lou Travis be taking this?
The point was not whether the killings were right or wrong. Rather, in their former careers of teacher and civil engineer, there had been no need for Matt and Lou to perpetrate such violence. Matt realized that he was sick of living in a world where he must slaughter other people just to stay alive. Maybe the dissolution of the gang would be the best thing that could happen for Matt and Lou.
After each guard was relieved by his replacement, he toured the perimeter of the town to look for intruders and then returned to the basement. After he completed his round and finished a late supper, Matt waited a long time for sleep.
* * * *
The next morning dragged. The men had no idea when or even if their enemies might appear. They discussed the various possibilities of evading capture or being discovered in a desultory manner and with subdued voices all morning, which only added to the palpable tension in the basement. When Mitch sensed that the stress level had risen too high, he told everybody to shut up, inventory their scratch, and figure out what they’d need to replace once they were free to search the town. The basement, already smelling of dust and mildew, had begun to take on the gamy scent of unwashed bodies. Proper baths weren’t an option; Mitch wouldn’t allow anyone outside the basement in daylight except to relieve themselves and to stand guard duty. Stony cooked in the draw only after dark.
Matt and Mitch discussed strategies for taking the kid hostage when or if Chadwick’s men found and entered the town. It didn’t seem as simple as when Matt had first proposed the idea. It was better to do it under friendly circumstances rather than forcibly to keep the citizens on their side. They decided Matt should increase steps to befriend the adults to make them comfortable with the boy visiting the basement.
Neither Matt nor Mitch thought it probable that Chadwick’s men would find the town for awhile. They reasoned that the only way they could have found it immediately would have been to follow them there directly after the ambush. Now it seemed more likely that they’d discover the town with more difficulty, maybe as part of a random search in a sweeping, ever-widening circle centered on the scene of the ambush.
The lack of conversation in the basement seemed to increase the stress rather than relieve it, so Matt welcomed midday and his turn to spell Kincaid with profound relief. He felt a bit of pressure lift with each step of his ascent of the basement stairs. He went to Kincaid’s post in the sagging barn that guarded the south approach and climbed quietly up the ladder to the loft until his eyes cleared the floor. He saw Kincaid lying on his back at the opening, hands folded under his head, head craned far back so that he could peer serenely into the sky. A jolt of anger made Matt hurry on up the ladder. One of the rungs creaked under his boot. The kid’s body cleared the floor by several inches.
Matt stepped from the ladder onto the haymow floor. “I don’t think they’ll descend on us from the sky, Jack.”
“Jesus, Matt! Y’ scairt the shit outta me.”
“I should knock the shit out of you. Chadwick’s men would have done worse.” He looked around. “And look at this place. One glance would tell a child someone had been here.”
Kincaid stood, brushed off ancient straws, his composure regained. He grinned at Matt with the impudent deference he’d seen Leighton give the older men, a lot different from the shy scared kid that had joined the gang a couple of years ago.
“C’mon, Matt. We all know they ain’t comin’ near here. You said so y’rself. The Fever sign ’ll scare ’m off.”
But Matt wasn’t looking at Kincaid. He was looking a half mile to the south where a group of men moved from east to west along the highway.
“Who’s that then?”
Kincaid turned. It took him a moment to see them. Then, “My God! Are they comin’ here?”
“What do you say we wait and see. Get down.”
Matt counted over thirty men, all of whom appeared to be armed. He had no doubt they were Chadwick’s men. The lead man rode a mule, undoubtedly one of theirs. The other mules, along with their truck, would be on the way to Columbia now. The leader was probably Chadwick’s lieutenant Matheson if Mitch’s shot hadn’t hit him during the ambush. Matt had never seen the man and couldn’t have recognized him that far away in any case.
When they reached the intersection with the road from town, they paused to look toward it. Matt’s heart almost stopped. He felt Kincaid shudder beside him. A few of them, undoubtedly the leaders, gathered in a group for a discussion that seemed to last an eternity. Then about half of
them turned north toward the town, and the other half, led by the mounted man, proceeded to the west.
Wild-eyed, the youth started crawling frantically backward toward the ladder.
“Let’s git outta here!”
Matt grabbed his arm and said with a forced calmness he didn’t feel, “No, you get outta here. But get Lou before you go to the basement – he’s at the north guard post – and get your asses to the basement as fast as you can. Tell the others what’s going on.”
“Aw – awright, but – but, what about you?”
“I’m going to stay here and clean up your fucking mess. Then hide the trap door over the basement like we discussed. And become one of the citizens of this ghost town. Now get!”
Kincaid needed no further encouragement.
As soon as the kid had gone, Matt concealed signs of his and Kincaid’s presence as well as he could and watched the men’s approach. Now that the dreaded moment of confrontation had arrived, the calm he often felt under stress engulfed him. He didn’t feel the irrepressible drive to flee that he had expected.
Taking the boy hostage was no longer feasible of course. Chadwick’s men had arrived too soon. So much for his and Mitch’s belief that they would be a while in coming. He finished with the haymow while the men were still a long way from town, edged back to the ladder, and dropped to the floor. He brushed the dry hay from his clothes and ran back to the bank basement. Everyone, including Lou and Kincaid were accounted for.
“Where’s the kid?” hissed Leighton up at Matt.
“It’s too late for that,” said Mitch. “Git outta here, Matt. You got stuff t’ do.”
Indeed he did. He closed the trap door, concealed it with the rug and the chair, and went out of the bank and down the street to the townspeople’s apartment. He knocked on their door and opened it when invited to. The four adults were seated around the table as they had the morning he had first discovered them, this time playing cards.
“The people we’ve been expecting are coming into town,” he said. He looked around the room. “Where’s the boy?”
