by Carl Trotz
“You have to fight them,” Harm said with calm reassurance, “make a scene, a distraction. I’ll take care of the rest.” She looked at him in bewilderment as the police shouted commands to exit the car and place hands on their heads. “Follow your nature,” he said quietly, and got out of the car.
An officer from each side approached; the portly one shouted for them to put their hands on the car.
“Contraband milk!” the portly officer said as he looked in the car. “We’ll find out where you got that!” He clubbed Harm over the head several times with the butt of his pistol; Harm stood impassively, keeping his eye on Erin.
The second, thin officer moved Erin to the back of the car and holstered his gun, then stepped behind and frisked her. His hands moved over her chest and remained there.
“Oh God, please don’t do this,” she said with a quavering voice.
“I love this job,” he said with a grin.
“Jim, for Christ’s sake,” called the third officer, who was still standing behind the squad car with his rifle trained on Harm. “Remember we’re not alone here.”
Two people in civilian clothes got out of the van; a slightly built, balding man in his fifties wearing wire-rimmed glasses, and an obese woman with short dark hair and a black leather jacket. The man held a clipboard and kept close to the vehicle, while the woman walked brusquely towards them.
“You cowboys do what you want,” she said flatly. “I’m just here for the baby.”
She opened the rear door and unbuckled Hughie from the safety chair, tucked him roughly under her arm as he started crying, and walked away.
“Put him down!” Erin screamed, and tried to pursue, but was held back by the officer. She turned in a rage and scratched him across the face; he grabbed her hair and slammed her onto the trunk of the car, then slapped her across the face. As he reached for his baton a shot rang out; he had time only for a shocked glance in Harm’s direction before a second shot passed through his forehead, dropping him dead to the ground.
At the driver’s side stood Harm, throttling the portly officer - now pressed against the car - with one hand, while holding the officer’s Glock in the other. The man flailed helplessly, then fumbled for his Taser; Harm jerked him away from the car and shot him once in the head, then turned to where the short-haired woman had stopped, petrified, with Hughie still screaming under her arm. He aimed the pistol.
“Give the baby back,” he said calmly.
Her jaw dropped but she said nothing. Erin ran to her, pulled Hughie from her grasp, and had barely stepped away when another shot rang out. As she looked to see the woman on the ground, three more rounds were fired, and the man wearing glasses - who was opening the door to escape into the van - also fell.
Harm ejected the magazine to see how many rounds remained, then reinserted it and walked over to check the target of his first shot, the officer sprawled lifeless behind the squad car, an entry wound below his eye, his rifle still in his hands.
“I think that’s all of them,” he said, looking around as he took the rifle. “Are you all right?”
“I am,” she said, trembling and clutching Hughie close while dabbing at her mouth. “I think I have a fat lip, though.”
“You did a good job. This guy almost had me. Lost his bead on me when you fought back. Another second, and I'd be dead.”
Harm quickly checked the van while holding the rifle ready at his chest, then went into the house; Erin was startled to see Harm’s dog bound past, sniffing at each of the bodies. Bern came upon them soon after at a jog, toting a submachine gun and surveying the carnage.
“Donnerwetter!” he exclaimed as Harm came back outside. “This changes everything.”
“So it does.”
“So what now?” Bern asked as he took the thin officer’s pistol from its holster.
“Mrs. Gordon,” Harm said, “we can help you. But we have to go right away. You have just a few minutes to grab what you need, unless you want to find your own way from here. If you want our help, we go now, and you're never coming back.”
Erin nodded quickly. Harm then looked to Bern.
“Take them in the Buick, once she gets packed. Stop by the barn to change the plates. Use the Pennsylvania ones. Then take the south logging trail out to Hinterwald Road, to the old Eckhardt cabin. Wait there till I come. If I don’t make it, do you think you can remember the way to John Bear’s?”
“Oh, that's been a long time, but I believe I could find it. I never liked him, though.”
“We’ll go there tonight to cross the state line. Leave without me if I don't show by midnight. Tell them I sent you. Don’t let him scare you. He owes me, even though he’d never admit it.”
“What are we doing?” Erin asked in dismay. “Where are we going?”
“Away, and fast,” Harm said. “For now, you’ll go with Bern. I have some cleaning up to do.”
“Come, Mrs. Gordon,” Bern called as he went to the front door of her house, seeing that she stood unmoved. “There’s no going back.”
Chapter 8
Erin trembled as she gazed at the wall of photos; pictures of her husband, of the two of them together, and of them both posing with Hughie as a newborn; so many hanging on the wall there in the living room. A few of her mother. And no way to take them all. In the closets, in the attic, there were her diplomas, shoeboxes full of love letters, the violin she played as a youth. Displayed in the dining room hutch, her grandmother’s antique China teapot; and the etched wine glasses celebrating their first wedding anniversary, which they had taken out every Saturday night for a candlelight dinner. There was too much to leave behind.
“Portable crib?” Bern called from down the hall. “You must have one somewhere.”
“In the closet,” she answered, “in Hughie’s room.”
“Grab a bag, Mrs. Gordon, throw in some diapers and clothes, and we have to go. We can’t beat helicopters and armored vehicles. They’ll be on the way.”
She went to a closet near the front door and pulled out a suitcase with one hand; Bern hurried past, the submachine gun slung over his back, while in his hands he carried the folding crib and a box of disposable diapers.
“Any medicines that you or the baby need?” he asked as he went out the door.
“No, we’re both pretty healthy, thankfully.” She dragged the suitcase toward her room but stopped; Bern was quick to return.
“I’ll hold the baby so you can work faster,” he said.
“I need to change him. I think you took all the diapers.”
“Truly, Mrs. Gordon, we have no time. Our lives hang in the balance here.” He gently took Hughie, held him on one arm, and picked up the suitcase. “They’ll take no prisoners,” he said as he headed for her bedroom. “You can change him when we get to the barn, while I'm changing the license plates.” He threw the suitcase onto her bed. “I know it’s hard, but please be quick.”
She threw up her hands. “I don’t even know where to begin. Where are we going? What sort of clothes am I going to need?”
“Well, I don’t think any dinner parties are in your near future. Bring comfortable clothes, and good, sturdy shoes. And, if you have any, gold jewelry and the like.”
“I don't have any left,” she said, tossing a pair of jeans onto the bed. “Except for my wedding and engagement rings.” Shirts, underwear, and socks flew through the air.
She went into Hughie’s room and grabbed an armful of his clothes, then returned and packed it all into the suitcase.
“Ready to go?” Bern asked.
“Can I grab a few pictures?”
“Of course. I’ll carry this out.”
She returned to the wall of photos and considered, then reached for a favorite picture of her husband - a handsome man with dark hair, thick eyebrows, and a toothy grin - smiling in the yard not far behind their house, one warm autumn day half a year before. She took one of her mother, and lastly, a picture of Hughie as a newborn. A panic suddenly struck
her - Bern was alone with Hughie - and she raced outside.
The old man stood at the side of the car, fastening Hughie into the safety chair. The government vehicles had all been moved, parked with their passenger sides mere inches from the house, and no bodies were visible. Harm stood with a section of garden hose siphoning gas from a police car into a five-gallon carboy he had taken from her kitchen water cooler.
“Okay, let’s go,” Bern said.
She stammered with the beginnings of a question, then thought better of it and climbed into the car. The door was scarcely closed when Bern sped them away almost recklessly, down the driveway, onto the road, and up his own circuitous entryway. After driving past his house and around the back, he pulled up to a set of double doors at the broad side of an old red pole barn; he left the car idling as he rolled the doors open, and was quick to close them again after he drove in.
There were no animals or tractors inside; three vehicles were tightly parked on the right - a pickup truck, a jeep, and a van. On the left was a walk-in refrigerator and, next to it, a sectioned-off room with a heavy, insulted door that was hanging ajar. Visible inside the room were multiple video screens showing various locations on the property.
“My God,” she said.
“Just change the baby,” Bern scolded. “This won’t take me long.” He went into the room and switched on a light, then returned with license plates and a wrench, before she had Hughie out of the car.
Slinging the diaper bag over her shoulder, she looked around for a clean, level spot.
“In the office,” he said, “there’s a desk. Just push Harm’s things out of the way.”
She entered the room and saw the small metal desk to her left; it was cluttered with newspapers, maps, and a few empty paper coffee cups. A folded cot leaned against the side. Though she tried to move things aside gently with her forearm, newspapers and a coffee cup fell to the floor.
“Oops!” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Bern barked.
“Where should I put the dirty diaper?”
“Right there on the desk.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. This will all be ashes in a little while.”
Heaviness hit the pit of her stomach, and remained while she dressed Hughie. She picked him up and went back to the car. Bern rummaged through a steel storage cabinet at the far side of the office and removed two duffel bags, which he threw into the trunk of the car, then he opened the barn doors again.
“Are we ready?” he asked as he came back. “Got him buckled in?”
“Almost... There. We’re ready.”
“Good. Then we’re off.”
He backed the car out of the barn and they sped away, without stopping to close the doors behind them.
Chapter 9
“What am I going to do?” Erin asked as they drove along an old logging trail, under the cover of tall spruce trees. “Where can I go?”
“Don’t worry,” Bern said. “You won't be thrown to the wolves. You’re with good people.”
“I'm a fugitive, now, and forever.”
“Ha! You’re in good company. We’re all fugitives, in a way, because when you understand how it all works, you have to hide what you know, and what you do, or they’ll kill you.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“And Harm, he’s been wanted by them for most of his life.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story. But it hasn't stopped him from living. There’s life out there, out of their view, you know. Hidden, underground, whatever you want to call it. But of course it's not under the ground, really. We live out in the open, but we don't draw attention. There's a world of life that doesn't partake in their system, in their enumerations. That’s what you’ll find. That's why they’d like to catalogue everything under the sun, because if they don't know about it, they can't control it or kill it. You were raised, I imagine, trained even, to believe such a thing isn't possible.”
“I suppose, because I still don't believe it.”
“We’ll sort it out. When Harm catches up with us later, he’ll have a plan. He always does. And beyond our escape here, we’ll have many minds we can tap.”
“I’m sorry that you two are losing everything on account of me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Those buildings were once our homes, but we have other places to go. We’ve been ready for this for a long time. It was going to happen sooner or later, for any of a number of reasons. I’m sure you’ve gathered that we engage in certain activities... that might not be to the liking of the hoodlums in power.”
“I did get that impression. I suppose I shouldn’t ask too many questions.”
“Good. Just as well if you don't.”
“Although I might not be able to help myself.” She frowned and pursed her lips. “Do you think it was the right thing to do back there?”
“Killing them, do you mean? What else could be done? How would you feel if they took your baby?”
“I’d want to die. But does that make it right to kill all those people?”
“Ach, the world can be a harsh place. Those people have to bear responsibility for what they were doing, for defiling the natural order. You don't violate the family bond.” He glanced at her as she stared forlornly out the window.
“You know,” he continued, “everyone loves to eat steak, but no one wants to work in a slaughterhouse. And everyone wants to be free, but no one wants to get the blood on their hands to keep it. But that’s what it takes, sooner or later, because someone always wants to shackle you, and won’t be dissuaded by anything except the grave.”
“Harm doesn't seem to mind.”
“Oh, he has a special hatred for them. See, he was taken into state custody as a boy. Taken from his family. They want cookie-cutter citizens, you see, and they’ll break any that don't conform. But not him, they made a lifelong enemy of him.”
“Why did they take him?”
He stroked his beard. “Well, see, we don't like to send our children to the government schools, but we have to be careful -”
“Who’s ‘we’?” she interrupted.
“Oh, never mind that. I mean, people like us, well anyway, they got caught and the thugs in uniforms came and took him away, he was eleven at the time. He escaped and got home after a few days, walked about thirty miles, but they came and got him again. Threw him into some rough places, so he couldn't escape. His father died of a heart attack, a year or so later, fighting in the courts to get him back. It was murder by government harassment, really. They went after him, they threw the book at him, ruined him mentally and financially.
“But Harm finally escaped again, he had to kill somebody to get away. Imagine that. They turned a boy into a killer at the age of twelve. But arrangements were made, let’s just say, since we knew they’d be looking for him with any of his relatives, it was arranged for him to come and stay with me. See, I was a friend of his father’s. So it was worked out, new identity and all, and he lived with my family after that.”
“So he’s like a son to you.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “In a way. It’s been rough, though, more so than with my blood sons. They resented him some. And there’ve been times -” he shook his head but didn't finish the thought. “Not that I regret taking him in. Every quarrel we’ve had, he’s more than made up for it, the help he’s given my family. He’s always worked hard, always wanted to earn his keep. And my daughter loved him.”
“Your daughter? And Harm?”
“They were married.”
“Were?”
“Oh, I’m not going to talk about it, not now.” He slowed and turned the car from the dirt trail onto a narrow gravel road. “I’ll get all emotional, and this isn't the time for it. I need clear eyes.” He wiped a tear from his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket.
“It’ll all be ashes soon,” he continued as he accelerated t
he car, “and it’s just as well, I suppose. Too many memories there, of people dead or moved on, not much life. Might as well burn. The house where the children played, where -” he stopped himself with a gasp and pulled himself upright, then shook his head.
“It was a car accident,” he said. “Took my wife and my daughter. Frieda, my daughter, she was seven months pregnant, so I lost a grandchild as well. They’d left early that day, they were headed to my sister’s place, to help with some canning. A drunken idiot hit them head on. Killed them instantly.”
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded and blinked several times to clear his eyes. “Harm didn't take it well. He started hitting the drink. Imagine that, two hundred and fifty pounds of drunken rage in your house. After a few weeks it was too much. So I had to tell him, shape up or ship out. He was gone the next morning. I didn't see him again for five years.”
“Wow. Where did he go?”
“I don't know. Got in with some rough characters, from what I gather. He doesn't talk about it much. When he came back he had a lot of money, and a lot of smuggling connections.”
She tucked her hair apprehensively behind her ears. “Would you say that he’s a moral person? I mean, he seems to kill people like it’s a day on the job. I don't know what to make of it.”
“He’s a killer, it's true. And that makes him different from you and me. It's a threshold most of us never have to cross, and it’s fine by me if I never do. But he does what’s right, by his own lights. You’ll have to judge for yourself. Even some of our own people don't know what to make of him.”
“Your own people?”
“Oh, I mean, extended family, that’s all.” He watched as she gazed pensively at Hughie. “Another thing you should know,” he said, “before you judge too harshly. I would never have brought you food on my own. I had no idea about your husband, because I never read the newspapers, or watch television. It was Harm who sent me over.”
Chapter 10
They stopped at a gravel driveway where a livestock gate - marked with a ‘no trespassing’ sign and fastened with a chain and padlock - blocked their entry. Bern left the car running while he opened it, and did likewise as he closed and locked it behind them; he drove slowly as the gravel quickly gave way to a sandy dirt road, which led into an old pine plantation.
