by Greg Dragon
“Don’t how-you-doin’ me, Jimmy. This here ain’t a social call.”
“I kin see that, Mister Whitcomb,” called Big Jim from the porch step. “What cause you got bringin’ all these armed fellers onto my land? Might wonder whether you’d done forgotten ’bout the arrangement me an’ yer pa have.”
“Now settle down, Big Jim. This here’s just precautionary, you might say.”
“P’cautionary about what?” Big Jim reached over a casual left hand to pick up a quart jar. Popping the top, he took a sip and smiled. “Drink?”
Harry licked his lips and shook his head. “We got orders to search the place.”
Big Jim shrugged and put the jar back down on the table. “Yer loss.”
“Whose orders?” Jimmy demanded, his temperature rising at the highhanded treatment of his father. Pa had called Harry “Mister” and the man had come back with “Big Jim,” as if Pa warn’t twelve years older and a respected man in these parts.
“Unionist party orders. We gotta check every place for Sickos and traitors hidin’ out.”
“Well, son,” Big Jim said with a frown – no more “Mister” – “your men kin check the farm all they want, long as they don’t mess with nothin’. Then you kin come inside and check the house. Then, since there ain’t nobody here that don’t belong, once you do that you can all have a nice drink and some cookies and be on your way.”
“I’ll check in my own way and in my own time, thank you,” Harry blustered.
A moment later he found himself frozen, staring at the wrong end of Big Jim’s 12-gauge from a range of about six inches. Jimmy had never seen his pa move that fast. He raised his own rifle, jacking a round into the chamber with an audible clack, and aimed at the nearest of the bully-boys. Beside him, he sensed Jane and Sarah doing the same.
“You best tell your friends to keep them hands away from them firearms if’n you don’t want your brains spattered all over that truck o’ yours, Captain Whitcomb.” The way Pa said it made the word a sneer. “And ever’ one’ a us kin pick the eye out of a fly at fifty yards. I’ll bet you dollars to damnation ever’ one’ a y’all is down with a bullet in him before any o’ my family is even winged.” Stone-cold menace dripped from Pa’s every word, and a shiver ran down Jimmy’s spine.
“Stand down, boys, stand down,” Harry said, his voice squeaking. Those who held long guns made sure to point them at the ground; those with handguns holstered them, some with dropped jaws and nervous hands. Whitcomb himself showed a stain on his crotch that spread slowly down his trouser leg.
Big Jim continued, “Now each one’ a you boys is gonna walk over and put them weapons down in the truck bed, then go over there by the pear tree where I kin see y’all. And you,” he called loudly, “with the three men in the barn. The first shot and your boss is dead, y’hear? Come on outta there and nobody’s gonna get hurt.”
“Do it!” screamed Harry over his shoulder. His face ran with sweat.
Reluctantly the sergeant and the three men walked from the barn toward the house, to drop off their guns at the truck and stand over with the disarmed mob. Klutz, apparently sensing the tension, ran over to stand at Big Jim’s side.
“Jimmy, get Harry’s pistols,” Big Jim ordered, so the younger man plucked them from the holsters, carefully staying out of his father’s line of fire or background. “Toss ’em in the truck bed there.”
Once Jimmy had done that, Big Jim tucked the shotgun back under his arm, barrel pointed half-down. Then he put his left arm around the shaking Harry Whitcomb and walked him gently over to sit down at the porch table. He then slid the jar of hundred-proof over to the man and ordered, “Drink. You look like you could use a jolt.”
Harry reached for the jar with both hands and took a gulp, then another, his eyes never leaving Big Jim’s. “Thanks,” he rasped, moving as little as possible, like a mouse under the gaze of a snake.
“Now you see? No need for trouble here. We’re all friends, all local folks. We know how to work things out without comin’ onto one another’s land and scarin’ each other’s family. Why, I reckon your ma’d be plumb frightened out of her wits if a dozen boys come up on her little place with guns, don’t you think?” Big Jim’s eyes bored into Harry’s until shame joined fear on his face. “I don’t care what kinda p’litical party y’all are with now, that don’t do away with common courtesy, now does it?”
Harry shook his head miserably, looking more like a bashful little boy all the time.
“Take another drink there, Harry. Now, I ain’t gonna hold this against ya. I ain’t even gonna tell your pa or, heaven forefend, your ma, ‘zackly how you jes’ acted. We’re jes’ gonna all have a nice drink and some cookies and forget this ever happened, ain’t we?” Big Jim patted Harry’s shoulder like he was his own son. Jimmy kept his eyes and rifle on the mob, but he couldn’t help a grin stealing onto his face.
“All right, Mister McConley. I ’pologize for comin’ up here like I did.” He took a deep breath and seemed to regain some composure. “But I still would like to take a quick look inside – just so’s I can rightly say I did it, you understand.”
“O’ course, Harry, o’ course you can. Tell your boys to come on over and have a swig and a cookie while you and I take a look inside.” Big Jim guided Harry up out of his chair, his large calloused hand never leaving the man’s shoulder, and on into the little farmhouse. “Look here; there’s Owen. You seen Owen before, ain’t ya? See, if’n them Sickos was around, if’n we’d got that disease, Owen’d be all different now, don’t ya think?”
“Sure, Mister McConley, you got the right of it.” Harry stared at Owen, who grunted and waved a twisted hand.
“Go ahead, Harry. Take a look in all the rooms, even the closets. You want a gander in the root cellar?”
“No sir, no, won’t be no need for that, Mister McConley,” Harry hastened to assure Big Jim. “Just had to truthfully say we checked, you understand.”
“O’ course, Harry. Oh, look at that.” Big Jim prodded a wooden box packed with straw. “There’s a case full’ a corn squeezins. I bet if you spread that around a bit, your boys’d forget all about this little…” Big Jim seemed to search for a word, “this little misstep on your part, as your mama’s cousin the sheriff might say.”
“Oh, yes sir,” Harry said eagerly, picking up the heavy box. It clinked as he hefted it, and the man unconsciously licked his lips.
“Jes’ don’t forget to bring one jar home for your folks,” Big Jim added as he followed Harry back out onto the front porch again.
By now the first two jars had almost been emptied, and every man had a couple of cookies or an apple, or both, in his hands, bashfully munching away under the stern gaze of the McConley matriarch. One of the men was actually trying to start a conversation with Jane, who seemed to be struggling not to smile. When Harry showed them the box full of moonshine, they gave a cheer, and the mood changed in a moment from uncertain to festive.
“All right you boys, git on up in that flatbed there and head back on down the mountain,” Big Jim said with an expansive smile, but never letting go of his shotgun. “Our poor ol’ hearts had jes’ about enough excitement for one day.”
The group turned as one for their vehicle, some mumbling thanks and goodbyes. Jane winked at the one she’d talked to, and he blushed. Everyone else waved as they drove out of sight, forcing good cheer onto their faces all the way.
Then they all collapsed into chairs. Sarah laid her pistol down on the table and clutched her knees. Jimmy whooped, and then put the rifle safety on, leaning the weapon against the rail. Big Jim set his shotgun back in the corner where it usually stood. Jane unloaded her .22 with practiced fingers, hardly bothering to look at the mechanism, a cold expression on her face that belied her flirting a moment before.
Owen gave an inarticulate cry from inside, and Klutz wuffed. Jane hastened to roll the boy out onto the porch, which seemed to content him.
“Sarah darlin’, I believe
I’d like a drink. We got another jar somewheres?”
“Yes, James, we do.” Not even a hint of her usual disapproval colored her voice this time, and when she brought back the jar, she poured a healthy slug into a water glass and drank it down herself. “For medicinal purposes,” she explained, deadpan.
Big Jim wisely said nothing as he took a gulp, then passed the container to Jimmy.
“Oh, Lord. Jill!” Jimmy cried suddenly, jumping to his feet.
“Settle down now, son. Another few minutes in the hide won’t matter. Let’s make sure they don’t talk themselves into tearin’ back up here to have another go at us. I don’t think they will, but shame kin do funny things to a man, once he’s not under the gun anymore.”
Jimmy sat back down, but fidgeted ceaselessly for long minutes. Finally Big Jim said, “Son, you go take the old pickup down to the end of the drive,” – that was more than three miles, ten minutes at normal speed – “and take a look, make sure they really left. If’n ya see hide nor hair of ’em, you hightail it back. Bail out if’n ya have to, leave the truck. Ain’t nobody gonna catch you on our own land. I’ll see to Jill.”
“Yes, Pa,” he responded eagerly. Probably just giving me something to do, he thought, but he didn’t care, and he grabbed his rifle and the ignition key off the hook inside the door and ran for the pickup truck.
By the time he got back, Jill and Big Jim and Jane and Owen were sitting on the porch. “No sign of ’em,” Jimmy called as he hopped out.
“Let’s hope they learnt their lesson,” Big Jim rumbled.
“For now,” Sarah said, bringing out another pitcher of lemonade. “Evil’s got them boys, and no amount of shamin’s gonna make it stick.”
“Aw, Ma, they ain’t so bad,” Jimmy protested.
“Not by theirselfs they ain’t, but they’s like a pack of big stupid dogs. They will tear apart whatever their master Satan tells them to, and don’t you forget it, James Aaron McConley Junior.” Sarah shook a wooden spoon at her son for emphasis. “It don’t take much for the Devil to lead the weak-minded and unbelieving into the ways of Hades, and I ain’t talkin’ about a bit o’ fornicatin’. I’m talkin’ about beatin’ and rapin’ and killin’ and burnin’ folks out, you mark my words.”
“Ma!” Jimmy was appalled at his mother’s diatribe, which made it all the more powerful in his mind.
Big Jim spoke. “All right now, Sarah dear. That scare they had oughta hold ’em for a while, and I’ll go over tomorrow and talk to Tom Whitcomb. Give him a kindlier version o’ what happened, make sure it don’t happen again. Remind him if’n he wants his corn juice, me and mine got to be left alone.” He nodded to himself as he took out his pipe and pouch.
“I’m so sorry this happened, Mister McConley,” Jill said.
“Don’t you ‘Mister McConley’ me, girl. You’re family, just like my own.” He smiled at her and tears came into her eyes. “Wouldn’t anythin’ been different had you been here or not.”
“But I do have to go as soon as my feet are healed up. Being here puts you all in danger.”
Sarah put a hand on Jill’s arm. “You stay as long as you need to, and go when you must, Miss Jill.” Klutz’s tail agreed with her.
Chapter Five
Late summer turned to peaceful autumn on the McConley farm. The air breezed crisp as leaves reddened and yellowed, and the family lit a fire in the hearth for the first time that year. The ever-present knot inside Jill’s stomach finally loosened itself as she began to feel whole again.
Literally.
She stared at her feet every morning, watching them turn from buds to baby appendages to strange gnarled troll limbs, eventually to something that really belonged to her. Every day she gingerly tested them out, putting a bit of weight on them until the pain told her to stop.
One day she let go of all support and stood.
Victory! she crowed inside, but remained stoic on the surface. Standing wasn’t running, and no matter how many pull-up and sit-ups and careful push-ups with her shins braced on a padded railroad tie she did, she wouldn’t be whole until she could run.
Once her routine had consisted of thirty to fifty kilometers, three days a week, and ten just to keep limber on the off days, interspersed with lots of swimming and bicycling. She’d swum in the creek’s deep pool in the back, and it felt good to eel under the water with all four limbs moving freely, but it was still nothing like training, nothing like being really fit and at the top of her ability.
The first time she’d walked from the barn to the house the family had stared, then burst into raucous cheers. They’d hugged her and congratulated her, though Jane had started to cry, and Jimmy had looked a bit distressed.
They know this means I’ll leave soon.
Jill had gently kept the young man at arm’s length, for reasons both practical and intangible. She had no birth control pills anymore, and even if she had, who knew whether they would be effective with the Eden Plague dominating her body’s metabolism? Other methods might have worked, but it was just safer to simply put the whole thing on hold. She liked Jimmy and before the world went mad she probably would have been happy for a roll in the hay, but now, things had changed.
Before, she probably wouldn’t have thought much about the emotional consequences to such a short-term fling. Now, she thought of the heartache getting in deep and then running off would cause them all, and she just couldn’t do it. If everything worked out, and she came back, perhaps…
It wasn’t long before Jill could take short hikes, with boots laced tight to give the new feet support. Her muscles strengthened rapidly, far more quickly than she expected. It has to be the Eden Plague, she thought. Building muscle was a process of tearing and healing, and no matter how hard she trained, she healed overnight…as long as she got food.
One morning Jimmy invited himself along. He carried his rifle and a wanderer’s bag slung over his shoulder. “Got some things ta show you,” he said with a secretive grin. Jill found herself returning the expression, filled with the sheer joy of healthy physical movement. “Klutz, stay!” Jimmy ordered as they set out, leaving the dog standing forlornly on the porch.
Up the hill behind the house they went, then wended their way into what the locals called mountains. Having grown up near the southern tip of the Sierras and having seen the Afghan heights, Jill thought this branch of the Appalachians barely qualified, but they were rugged, thickly forested, and confusing to anyone who didn’t know them well.
After four or five miles he led her up a steep hillside to a forested ledge that concealed a deep dell with a stream and a pond. Pulling aside brambles, he showed her an opening in the hillside, then entered it. He pulled out a flashlight and handed her another, both modern long-lasting LED models.
Switching them on, they proceeded into the side of the mountain, up a twisting cave that after a hundred yards debouched into a cavern with a still, shallow pool. Inside, Jill saw a dozen large waterproof plastic bins and twice as many small closed barrels. “Supplies,” Jimmy said. “Enough to keep us goin’ for a while.”
‘How long have you had this here?” Jill asked curiously, lifting the lid on one of the bins. It was packed tight with cans of lantern fuel.
“Oh, the cave is an old McConley secret. Pa and I brung this stuff up here after the first nukes went off. Took us a couple a’ dozen trips, too. Only time I’d a wished we kept horses, or maybe mules. But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Jill almost asked him why they’d never said anything about this place before, but stopped herself, because the answer was obvious to the practical-minded: there was nothing to be gained by her knowing, and what she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell if she was questioned.
“Come on.” Jimmy led her into one of several tunnels, all of which showed signs of having been worked – the floors smoothed, corners rounded, protrusions broken off to make for easier transit. The one into which they walked led upward, twisting and turning. At one place they had to
wiggle through on their bellies.
“There’s more tunnels than I ever explored, and five or six exits that I know about,” he explained. “D’pendin’ on how hard we was pressed, we could live here for a while an’ come out later, or keep on goin’ up into the higher country. But you’ll like this.” After fifty yards of relatively flat easy tunnel, they emerged into another cavern, larger than the one below.
A stream ran through this one, into and out of a pool, exiting in a rush down a dark hole at the lower edge, but that wasn’t the most interesting aspect of the cave. Along one side sat what was obviously a moonshine still, though Jill had never actually seen one. Big kettles and copper tubing, propane tanks, tubs and buckets and jars. Boxes rested on shelves, along with all sorts of other implements and items whose function she could only vaguely guess at. A metal pipe ran up into the ceiling, for a chimney, she thought.
“I don’t imagine you carried all this up from below,” Jill remarked.
“Nope.” Jimmy walked across the floor, crunching gravel beneath his boots, and pulled back a heavy canvas curtain that covered an opening. On the other side she could see a short tunnel and sunlight through a screen of bushes. “There’s an old mining road that runs nearby, that we can get up with a truck if’n you know the way. If’n we just need to come up to work it, we walk. Don’t make but thirty or forty gallons a month. We’s careful, and we ain’t greedy, but it brings in some extra cash, and lubricates some dealins.”
“I reckon so,” Jill replied, looking around at the arrangement. “I never knew people could…” she ran out of words. “This seems like we just traveled back a century – bootleggers and revenuers, Prohibition. Now it’s just…quaint.”
“Guess so. On the other hand…” Jimmy pulled back another curtain along the rock wall, revealing another room. He waved Jill forward to look.
Inside she saw a small office, with bookshelves – and a computer. It was outdated, certainly, perhaps fifteen years old, but a cable and its power cord ran around the base of the wall and out the door, from there hidden by duct tape and dirt. Jill turned to Jimmy and punched him in the arm. “You’ve been holding out on me! You aren’t such a simple hick after all!”
