by Carl Trotz
“I try not to.”
“So - and maybe this is none of my business - was this Rosie... was she someone who was important to you? You looked a little regretful when she was mentioned.”
“You're right, it's none of your business.”
“Okay,” she said, her face falling as she settled back into her seat and returned to staring out the window.
They continued in silence. Ahead of them she could faintly see Billy on his motorcycle, his long dark hair cascading from under his helmet; he periodically glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still behind him. Suddenly Harm spoke.
“We had no - we just didn’t fit,” he said, his hands wrenching the steering wheel. “Different ways of seeing life, you know? We had no business being together. But I was wild, I sort of lost my mind after Frieda died, and Rosie was there, trying to make me happy. When she got pregnant, I married her.”
“Wow.” Erin perked up. “You have a child?”
“No, she miscarried. And -” His hands gripped the wheel harder. “After that, all she could talk about was, how we had to try again. I couldn't see why. All we did was argue by then. We’d had talks about the future, how she wanted me to stop running contraband. But I’d found my place. I wasn't going to stop. The only other thing I might've tried was farming, but she didn't want that.
“She wanted me to take a job with her uncle, selling insurance. I couldn't do that. She gave me an ultimatum, I had to take the job, or get out. So I left.”
“She probably didn't mean it, not literally. She was trying to make you show her that you loved her, with the kind of commitment she needed.”
“It wasn't love, it was control.”
“Well, now you're opening up a can of worms. You can't define what love is for other people. It was love to her.”
“I would've lost my mind.”
“But you regret it a little bit.”
He frowned. “Not my leaving. Maybe, though, getting close in the first place. I should've just stayed away from her, so as not to do any damage.”
“You shouldn't blame yourself. You can't know the future. She might have ended up pretty much the same, even if she had never met you.”
“Maybe.”
“Like that girl Maddie. I can't imagine she'll have a very happy life, once her looks fade.”
“No. None of them. John himself. Broken cultures make for broken people. That's why I left them. It was easy for me to do well in that world, but it was too ugly. Everywhere. And all they create is more of it. Neglected kids, broken families. It was sickening to be around it, to be a part of it.”
“I can see where it would get a little depressing.”
He nodded. “It made me appreciate my own people, even though I'd walked away from them, too. There's something to having those ties... the traditions, they’re like a well-worn trail, so you know where you’re going.”
Billy pulled over and stopped; Harm rolled down the window as he pulled alongside. The youth was in his late teens, tall and lean, with dark eyes and an innocent face.
“Another half mile,” he said, pointing down the path, “just over that ridge, you'll come to the road. It's easy to find from here.”
“Thanks,” Harm said. “Hey, do you remember where we used to go fishing?”
“Wolf’s Lake?” he said with a smile. “Of course I do. How could I forget fishing and foraging with Uncle Wolf and Aunt Rosie? I loved those trips, even with all of her complaining. I learned a lot from you.”
“Do you think you could find it again?”
“I'm sure I could. I remember your fortified cabin. Built into a hillside north of the lake, south-facing windows, pretty well hidden. Topinamburs planted all over in front, an elderberry bush by the door.”
“Good. You can stay there, if you ever need to get away from here.”
“Thanks, Wolf. I even remember where you hid the key, like you told me to. Under a big rock near the only linden tree around, about a quarter of a mile northwest of the cabin, right?”
“That’s right. You don't owe these guys anything.”
“I know. I’m just waitin’ for the right time. I’m gonna do somethin’ different. I’m gonna, I’m still just figurin’ out what.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Harm admonished as they pulled away. “Circumstance can ambush you.”
Chapter 18
“We’re there already?” Erin asked as they turned off the road onto an overgrown trail.
“No, we’re just switching vehicles.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“To be safe. I almost trust John, more or less, but not his men.”
A heavy cable that could block entry was on the ground; they rolled only a short distance past it before coming to a steep, rocky path into a ravine. Tree branches knocked at the windows and scraped along the sides of the vehicle as they descended, till finally they came to a small clearing, near a stream, at the bottom. An old shack that looked ready to collapse was there, with broken windows and leaning walls; in front of it was an old black Jeep Cherokee, and a man with a short, graying beard who got out as they approached. He was of average height, dressed in woodland hunting camouflage from head to toe, and had a tired but friendly face.
“Who’s that?” Erin asked quietly as they came to a stop close by him.
“An associate.”
“Harm!” the man called in a sprightly voice as Harm opened the door.
“Etwas Neues?” Harm asked.
“Too much,” he said. “Justice Brigades, Asesinos, dodging government checkpoints -” he stopped and looked at Erin. “And her picture is everywhere. That’ll present some challenges.”
“Yeah.”
“Of course,” the man addressed Erin, “I already know who you are, Mrs. Gordon. You can call me Zigg.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Bern got through all right,” Zigg said to Harm, wearily placing his hands on his hips. “But they searched his car at the state line. They even fingerprinted him. Rupe has Mangler.”
“It's getting tough to go anywhere,” Harm said.
”Zwar. No mention of you, though. Only that Mrs. Gordon is thought to be traveling with an accomplice.”
“Good.”
“Your luck is our luck. So, are you moving everything over?” he asked, pointing to the crates in the rear of Harm’s Jeep.
“Yeah,” Harm said, then turned and spoke to Erin.
“You can get the baby out. I’ll move the carrier.”
“I could have used your help yesterday,” Zigg continued as he retrieved a crate, “if you weren’t having an adventure of your own. An English neighbor of my brother’s was raided by a Justice Brigade, they ran to my brother’s house for safety. In the end we faced them down at the gate, and they backed off.”
“Justice Brigades?” Erin asked as she stood by the Jeep, unfastening Hughie from the seat. “They always make them sound so good on the news, so righteous, the way they find food for the poor that rich farmers have hoarded away. I suppose that’s all been a lie, too?”
“You got that right,” Zigg said. “The brigades are thugs who raid family farms, in the name of that ‘fair share’ nonsense. It's terrible. At my brother’s neighbor’s, they slaughtered most of the livestock, and left them all to rot. Some animals were left barely alive, with bashed heads. Just terrible. Besides that, they stole everything from jewelry to the TV set. They smashed family photos, broke windows just for fun. The only food they took, besides a few chickens, was what they found in the refrigerator.”
“But you stopped them from attacking your brother’s farm?” Erin asked.
“We did. But we have to be careful. Whenever farmers band together to protect themselves, beyond just a few families, they call it a violation of the anti-militia laws, and send federal troops in. Always on the side of the brigades.”
“We need to have a better alert system,” Harm said, “and blitz teams, so we can stop them on the road, elimi
nate them there. Then the Feds won't know who to blame.”
“Or where to search,” Zigg added. “Dieter did great running off the Asesinos, but the next day the National Guard ripped his neighbor’s farm apart, smashed the walls looking for weapons. So for now,” he said, placing a crate in the black Jeep, “for any unlucky families that get attacked, should they fight, or flee?”
Harm shook his head as he lifted several boxes out of the vehicle. “It depends on the area, I'd say. We can't let ourselves be the only ones fighting back. We'd draw too much attention. In areas where the English farmers resist, it's different. The Feds and state governments can't send troops everywhere. They're stretched thin already. And even though you never hear about it, they're dealing with mutiny and desertion from boys who don't want to shoot other Americans.”
“So you think there's hope?” Erin asked.
“There's a good chance,” Zigg said, “they'll bankrupt themselves before they do irreparable damage. They're desperate because their empire is crumbling. We need to be talking to our English neighbors, helping them when they fight back. Like old Wilhelm used to say, it’s our Last.”
“Care to expand on that?” Erin ventured with a raised eyebrow.
“Last means our load, our burden. Wilhelm Freisasser was kind of a philosopher among us, he always said, freedom needs to be tended like crops or family. And he had all kinds of ideas for encouraging it, by seeding defiance and self-reliance in our neighbors. He’d seen his father thrown in jail for not marching off, smiling, into the Great War, like the rest of you Americans, a thoughtless army of bootlickers for bankers and politicians, as he put it. He was concerned about the modern age, and put a lot of thought into fighting it. And he changed a few minds, but you know, we’ve always kept to ourselves. I think Harm here follows his ideas better than anyone. That might be the only reason you’re here, Mrs. Gordon, still holding your child.”
“I was lucky,” Harm said nostalgically, “I got to meet him before he died. I was in my teens, living with Bern’s family at the time. He was old, but he still spoke with fire.” His eyes flitted around as his mind jumped to other things.
“Your brother’s farm will be a target now,” he said in a more serious tone. “He and his family should clear out for a time.”
“They're packing as we speak,” Zigg said, “and trying to plant some fields before they go. And in case you didn’t hear, Oscar is hosting a meeting of all the Häupter from the Gau at his place tomorrow. Since you’ll be there, it seemed like the best place. They value your opinion, you know, even the Häupter who don't talk to you.”
Erin heaved Hughie up into her arms and stood watching. Harm stowed the boxes in the other Jeep and stared at the ground.
“Look,” he said, leaning over to pull from the ground a nondescript little plant with deeply divided, toothed leaves that was growing in a dense patch at their feet. “Waterleaf. We used to call it Indian Salad when I was a kid, since we learned about it from them.”
He plucked a leaf from the stem and ate it, then handed one to Erin.
“Sometimes I think the Indians had it right,” he continued, “living wild off the land and never settling in one place for too long. Once you've settled, it's too easy for them to find you, to come along and milk you like cows.”
“Thieves, kings, and governments,” Zigg added. “But don't forget, whoever doesn't profit them, they wipe out, like they did the Indians. That’s why we have to walk that line in between.”
“Maybe so,” Harm shrugged.
“Not bad,” Erin said as she chewed. “But I don't know if I could live on these things.”
“You won't have to,” Zigg said with a smile. “If I know Hilda, there’ll be plenty of food for you, even in these times.”
“Hilda?”
“My sister,” Harm said. “Our next stop.”
Chapter 19
“Zigg,” Erin said as they drove along a country road past mostly abandoned farms. “You people have some unusual names. Is that short for Siegfried?”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you impressed? I guess I didn't take that class on Wagner’s operas for nothing.”
“He surprised me,” Harm said. “He told you his real name, maybe because he knows Bern told you about the Kreis. We don't normally do that.”
“No?”
“You only know my real name because Bern let it slip.”
“And Bern? Is that his real name?”
“It is, but that's different. He’s not one of us who deal with problems, problems that our people have with the English. Zigg and I, and others, we break your laws as a matter of course, so we keep our names from you English. It doesn't apply for our everyday people.”
“You and Zigg are part of some sort of protective force?”
“Don’t make it sound too glamorous. The word we use is more like an orderly. We talk with the heads of the families, the Häupter, to decide our activities.”
“Like the meeting tomorrow that he was talking about?”
“Yeah.”
“So what should I expect? I mean, is there anything I need to know? Any certain way I should act?”
“No. Nothing I can think of.”
“Do I need to cover my head? You know, like some sort of bonnet?”
He smiled faintly. “No. Remember, we try to blend in.”
“And for how long will we be there?”
“I don't know. One thing though - you should try to keep a low profile, since your face is all over the news. They have a little farm stand out by the road, and the English come by. Stay away from the road, even the driveway. We don't want anyone to spot you.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “It feels pretty bleak, to think I’ll have to worry about being identified for the rest of my life.”
“You’ll get used to it. I've been a fugitive since I was twelve.”
“I hope you're right. By the way, can we stop soon? I have to feed Hughie.”
“We’re almost there.”
“That's good. You must be tired, too.”
“Yeah.”
“It's very pretty around here. I do like the country. I wasn't totally opposed to moving out of the city, when my husband wanted to. It seemed like a good idea for raising a family. We just bit off a bit more than we could chew. It's a lot of work.”
“It is, especially when you have no one around, no family. That makes everything harder.”
“My husband had friends who were doing similar things, they would share ideas and help each other out. But they were all on that learning curve together.”
“So what happened to these friends after your husband was gone? They never offered to help?”
“Not after the Loyalty Counselors called on them. Everybody's terrified of that. The government doesn't have to prove you're guilty. You have to prove you're innocent. And you could lose everything while you're fighting.”
“That's how they like it.”
“One of his friends dropped off a care package, a box of canned food, at the door a few days after he was killed. He didn't even knock. I saw him drive away and never saw him again.”
“You'd better get down,” Harm said, “so you won't be seen up here.”
Erin looked ahead and saw three cars parked at the side of the road, in front of a canopy with a long folding table set under it. Four people were out of the cars and in front of the table to see the various items for sale. She quickly bent over to the side.
“I'm surprised that this is legal,” she remarked as they turned down the driveway. “I thought all food had to go through the government depositories.”
“It varies by state. Here, for now, there’s a loophole, because the system isn't set up to deal with many perishable vegetables. So those who can afford it - and they probably all work for government - they drive out here to get what they can.”
They went down a long driveway lined with walnut trees, past a white, two-story colonial farmhouse, then down a slope and
around to the other side of an old bank barn, where he stopped.
“We made it. You can get up now. We’ll walk to the house from here. But you'd better stay in the car for a minute. I'm about to be attacked.”
He got out and went around to the back as if to retrieve the bags, when two strapping teenage boys in tee shirts, blue jeans, and dirty mucking boots rushed at him from the barn, their faces wild with fury beneath flaxen locks; Harm stepped aside the first, placed a hand behind his head, and shoved him forcefully to the ground, then moved back as the second youth leapt awkwardly to avoid tripping over the first; the youth quickly turned to renew his charge, but Harm had already set upon him, gripping him by the face and throwing him over backwards.
Harm went to the side door and opened it for Erin as the youths climbed to their feet. Seeing her alarmed expression, he reassured her.
“My nephews,” he said, then directed his attention to the boys.
“Strength with poor timing is weakness. How many times do I have to throw you?”
As the older of the two dusted himself off, the younger crouched and moved towards Harm.
“Genug!” Harm said firmly. “You have guests.”
The boy relented and watched with curiosity as Erin climbed out of the car. Meanwhile a man in his late forties, wearing olive-green work clothes, came from around the corner of the barn pushing a flatbed wheelbarrow; it was loaded heavily with bushel baskets of bundled kale, chicory, lettuce and chard. He was smaller in stature than the youths, had a weathered face, and his shaggy hair and beard were gray; he approached quietly, greeted Harm with only a nod, then set the barrow down.
“Saved from the clutches of the empire,” he said, watching as Erin lifted Hughie from the car. “So now what?”
“I'm working on it,” Harm answered. “Thanks for letting us come here.”
“You can have whatever you need from us, you know that.” He caught Erin's eye as she studied him. “My name is Oscar, I’m Harm’s brother-in-law. These feral young men are my sons, Herman and Rudy.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Thank you all for having us.”
“We should get them out of view,” he said calmly to Harm. “We’re due for one of those unannounced government inspections. They like to make sure all the baby animals are documented, taxed, and microchipped.”
