by lake, e a
“Yeah,” he replied. “We had to scour all over out here to find that much chicken wire.” They paused and faced one another. “That old farmer north of here, you remember him?”
Cara nodded. “Mr. Haskills. Yes, I remember him well. He had the final pieces we needed. The only way to keep all the raccoons out. He drove a hard bargain.” She peered back at the enclosure, now behind her. “But it was worth it.”
“Yeah, it was.”
Cara’s eyes became dark. “But we all agreed that come harvest time, we needed people watching these seven gardens, day and night.” Dave gave a quick nod. “Kirby’s our only single man here. I was against him from the beginning.” Another quick nod from her companion. “And after only nine months with us, this is his third strike.”
Dave toed the ground between the pair. “I know,” he answered softly.
Cara folded her hands in front of her waist. Noticing the dirt on the top of each hand from the day before, she wondered if they would ever be clean while in the middle of harvest.
“I’ll meet with the rest of the assembly,” she said without emotion. “He’s going to have to go, one way or another. We’re only as strong as our weakest member. And right now, that’s Kirby.”
The five faces of the assembly gave no smiles. Most shook their heads in disgust, disgust with the young man’s negligence, disgust with what the group had to do next. Each pondered an alternative to what would be a death sentence for the young man. Jointly, they hoped for a solution from someone else, anyone but themselves.
“Chet,” Cara began. “What are your thoughts? You are the oldest member, so you should go first.”
Wiping the table clean of any debris, Chet Carlson pondered his options silently. Finally, after a noticeable pause, his gray eyes focused on the others.
“I was against taking in a single man if you’ll all recall,” he spoke quietly to begin. “I knew – no, we knew – this would be a problem. And what? Less than a full growing season later, here we are again, discussing Kirby Atkins.”
“Now Chet,” Carol Johnson interjected. “There’s no sense in discussing the past. What’s done is done.” She searched the others for support while pulling her long blonde hair behind her ears. “Isn’t that right, Cara?”
She nodded after a pause. Cara knew Chet would begin this exact way. “Yes,” she answered. “Let’s just keep at the task at hand.”
“It’s easy then.” Another male voice jumped into the discussion: Charlie Watson. “He’s gotta go. We have to kick him out. Third offense.” Scanning the crowd for dissenters, he found none. He shrugged again, “Banishment.”
Three of the five flinched hearing the word “banishment”. “I don’t know, Charlie,” Cara added. Turning to her left, she asked for help. “Emily? Any thoughts?” And please, something decent this time, she thought to herself.
Gazing from one face to the next, Emily Bradley finally let her tired, small eyes focus back on Cara. “Everyone always bitches that banishment is like a death sentence.” Most nodded their agreement. “So let’s give him a choice. Banishment or hanging.”
Cara and Carol blanched noticeably at Emily’s suggestion. Cara was quick to shake it off. “We’ve never hung anyone, ever.” Her eyes bore into Emily’s soul, hoping she might take back her idea.
When Emily gave her a small nod, Cara sighed. Looking back to the group, she found them pondering the thought.
“We cannot serve up justice like that, people,” Cara cried. “We aren’t like the others. We don’t harm anyone.”
Emily rose from the table. Carefully inspecting the gathering, she nodded again. “And banishment is far more civilized.” Looking away quickly, she crossed her arms over her chest. “The last two men we sent on their way were both dead in two days. I think we all agree that last poor soul was dead within 24 hours.” Grim expressions claimed everyone now. Heads lowered, eyes narrowed and no one dared utter another word. Emily strode away, but turned with one last thought. “Do what we have to. Just know that either has the same result. Kirby Atkins is a dead man in the next 48 hours and we all know it.”
Watching Emily disappear back into her small dwelling, Cara refocused on the remaining bunch.
“We know how she feels. Anyone else?” Her question met the remaining stone faces of her group. One by one, they rose and left to tend to their chores. The last person to wander off, Chet, patted her shoulder softly.
“Why don’t we give him a choice, Cara? Let the boy decide.”
Cara’s mouth tightened. Her hands shook slightly.
Chet squeezed her thin shoulder one last time. “Why don’t you run it by Steven? Maybe he’ll have a better alternative.” Chet slipped away quietly into the morning camp commotion.
Cara’s body quivered. My husband won’t want anything to do with this justice,” she thought. That’s what Steven will say.
CHAPTER SIX
“Jeremy!” Betsi shouted from the living room of their small rambler. “Go out back in the shed and find those two aluminum canteens.” She stood momentarily without moving, listening for his response. “Jeremy!” she shouted, this time louder.
Jeremy came running from the bedroom, hoping to avoid his wife’s wrath. “Heard you, babe. I can only do one thing at a time though.” Noticing the large backpacks on the old oak floor, he nodded. “All the clothes packed?”
She ignored him. She had to. He was packing and acting like they were going on vacation. But she knew the urgency of the situation.
Scanning the dining room table, she noticed another pile of socks – his socks. “Damn it,” she squeezed out between gritted teeth. They were losing time by the minute. Staring down, she saw her fists clenched in tight balls, like she was trying to squeeze the life out of something tiny in each palm. She flexed her fingers several times, hoping to relax. Keep it together, Bets, she thought. Hang in there.
Flopping in an old brown easy chair, she rubbed her temples. She needed a break; she needed to think. She and Jeremy had spent the last two hours running throughout the house, working in two different directions. Betsi logically listed items they’d need for their trip – their change in life. Jeremy went from room to room wishfully thinking about all that he would miss.
Maybe she should just leave him behind. Not that she didn’t love her husband, but this was a perfect example of what an anchor he could and would become in tough times. He thought and felt with his heart. She, of course, let her brain do the work. Still, she knew deep in her heart she could never leave him behind, no matter how dense he could be at times.
“Hey babe,” Jeremy was back. Maybe he’d accomplished this one simple task. “Do you think we’ll need this camp stove?” Holding up his prize, he awaited his wife’s response. An honest smile covered his face. Betsi’s head dropped, fists again clenched.
“Please,” she drew a deep breath, “for the love of God, pull your head out of your ass!” she screamed, her voice shattering the otherwise silent house. “We have got to get out of here, today!” Her voice shot up another octave. Noticing his hurt expression, she reached out for his hands. “Please sweetheart, we have to keep moving. Please?”
Letting out a shallow breath, Jeremy nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I just don’t get all of this yet.” He stepped closer, embracing her. “I don’t even know where we’re going. And why really.”
She led him to the couch and sat next to him, still clasping his hands in hers. “Okay,” she began, “here’s the plan.”
Two hours later, husband and wife emerged from their house. Both wore blue jeans and colored T-shirts – his dark blue and hers a lighter shade of the same color. Wrapped around their waists were flannel shirts for the cooler mountain air. Each wore a sturdy pair of hiking boots, the kind the woodsmen wore. Soft padded leather with thick yellow checkered laces covered their ankles.
On their backs rode large packs – expedition packs, as they were sometimes called. They weren’t going on a nature hike, so the
packs lived up to their name. A bedroll was neatly rolled and stored at the base of each pack, riding just on top of each of their rears. Betsi had on her white framed sunglasses; Jeremy’s were dark green. To anyone else, they looked like a happy couple going on a long hike in the hills.
Jeremy turned back to their home as they stepped off the curb in front of their long time residence. Sadly, he took in the last sight of home. Betsi knew how he felt; even in the worst of times, like the last 12 years, it had served them well. A place of comfort, a palace of solace. His right hand covered his mouth as he held back a muffled cry. Tears filled the corners of his blue eyes as he peeked at his wife, her face stoic.
“We don’t have a choice, babe.” She squeezed his hand one last time before turning to begin her journey, their journey. “We need to warn my Dad. And I’m sure Tarlisch will be looking for me once he knows my Dad isn’t with the militia.” Somberly, he followed her north on their deserted neighborhood street.
For the first half of a block, they walked in silence. Betsi hoped he’d keep quiet until they were out of town at least.
“Hey babe?” he called out from 10 paces behind. “How far is this unnamed place we’re walking to?” Betsi stopped immediately. Finally, a pertinent question from her spouse.
“With the route we need to take, about 60 miles.” She fell in step as he reached her side. Giving a quick sideways glance at him, she noticed no change in his expression.
His expression became reflective. “We can average about three miles an hour,” he began. “Except for our initial climb.” He shot Betsi a quick grin. “So that’s about 20 hours then.” He gave a quick glance at his old wristwatch. “It’s almost two now. If we hike ’til nine tonight, we can get there in about 12 hours tomorrow.”
Adjusting her pack, she reached for his hand. This was an attitude she had not expected. She thought he would whine and pout at the distance. Instead, he was being a team player, understanding their trek instead of doubting it. Feeling a quick squeeze from his hand, they picked up the pace together.
Tarlisch searched through the pile of files on his new desk. The entry door to the office that had once read “Mayor Erickson” now stated his name instead. One of his goons used a jar of black paint and covered Erickson’s name. Now the opaque glass displayed a black box with Willem’s last name in messy white letters.
“How many soldiers on the roads, Howard?” Willem shouted.
“Come again?” Howard replied.
Shaking his head, Willem tried again, more deliberately. “How many roadblock checkpoints do we have set up leading into the mountains? And how many men and women do we have waiting for any fleers?”
Howard scratched his long dark beard and looked at the table behind him. Sorting through several various reports and other maps, he held up his prize.
“Okay, here’s the situation.” He spread the map wide in front of Willem for reference. “We’ve set up six choke points that will force any travelers to the four main roads heading into the mountains.” Pointing his dirty finger at the map, he called out the routes. ”The two main roads are 80 and Big Cottonwood Canyon. After that, there’s Millcreek Canyon Road and Emigration Canyon Road as alternate possibilities.”
Tarlisch leaned forward on his elbows, examining other escape routes. “What about 15 north?” he asked. “Or even 15 south? Neither leads into the hills directly, but they’d slip through our net if they get out of town.”
Howard’s head shook twice as he leaned forward again. “Forty to 50 soldiers covering the north and south routes, boss. Those are the choke points. They either have to head east into the Rockies, or…” He paused moving the same filthy finger to the west side of town. “…west into the salt flats.” Finishing, he tapped the map several times.
Tarlisch grinned. “And if they head to the salt flats…” He leaned back in his chair, his grin broadening. “…they’re choosing death over life with us.” Now he and Howard shared a broad smile. “And you have the four family names we’re looking for?”
Howard nodded, pulling a small stack of paper from his back pocket. “Kane, Cormat, Williamson, Bond.” He ticked them off even though the names were emblazoned in his mind. “First three are all tucked tight in their family homes as we speak. Got some troops watching each of them.” His expression changed from satisfied to pensive quickly. “The Bond girl though, she ain’t home. Looks like her and the husband packed up for a trip and headed out.”
Spinning in his chair, Willem stared out the large window behind the enormous oak desk. Rocking forward, he rose. “She won’t get far. Just stop every woman with long dark hair and ask for ID. She’ll turn up.”
Howard grinned from behind. “Already done boss, already done.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cara and her four assembly mates waited outside of Kirby’s cabin for him to answer their call. Three sets of knocks and still no answer. Cara impatiently stared at Dave for help.
“Go inside and see what he’s doing,” she demanded, her tone anything but pleasant. This wasn’t an enviable task for any of them. Cara especially found no joy in removing someone from the camp, regardless of how unreliable he might be.
Dave pounded one last time and opened the crude wood door. “Kirby,” he shouted. A faint, muffled reply came from the rear room. Dave shot Cara a final reluctant look before disappearing into the dark two-room home. Cara covered her nose and turned away from the entrance, the awful smell of sweat and mold invading her nose. Trying to shoot a quick smile to the others, she watched as the smell reached each one in turn.
Within a minute, Dave reappeared from the darkness, pinching his nose. The group stepped back as he came closer to them, trying to stay away from the odor that stuck to his denim jacket. He shot the group a look of hurt.
“Funny, real funny.” Dave pointed a thumb back to the small enclosure. “He’ll be out in a minute. Says he’s been sick, but his place mostly smells of body odor and mold. Maybe a little rotting wood.” Looking back at the group, he focused on its leader. “Cara, we should send in one of the gang to see if this place needs fixing, after…” he paused, searching for a word and grinned shyly. “After Kirby moves.”
A small young man appeared in the doorway wearing only a dirty sweat-stained t-shirt and a pair of BYU sweatpants. His greasy hair and unshaven face, with its sparse grow, gave the appearance of a hermit. At least a hermit that stayed inside at all times. Coughing, phlegm collected in his throat and he searched for a place to spit away from the others. Finding none, Kirby turned and spit inside his own home.
Wiping the spittle away with his bare arm, his eyes came back to the group. “Morning,” he muttered, almost inaudible. “What can I do for you all?”
A long silence followed. Cara stared at the unkempt man with disdain. A scowl helped furrow her brow. “Kirby, you were to be on duty at garden one after Agnes last night. You never showed. Why?” Cara’s tone could not be mistaken as anything but hostile, as she intended.
Kirby shook his head at her. “Not my turn. Brower’s turn. He was supposed to be on last night.” Kirby stared at Emily. George Brower was her son-in-law.
Emily’s face tensed. “No, that’s not true and you know it, Kirby.” Quickly, she turned to the others. “George had duty on garden six last night. Terri came over after he left for duty.”
Kirby scoffed at her words. “Well, either Terri’s a liar or you are.” Emily charged the young man, ready for a fight.
Cara intercepted Emily as Charlie pushed Kirby back toward his door frame. “That is all easily checked. We will not argue over something as simple as where the others were.” She spun to the single man again. “The fact is you were to be on duty somewhere last night, and you weren’t.”
Waving her away with a quick toss of his hands, Kirby laughed at the others. “Whatever. You’ll all just make it all up to save face anyway. Who cares? I’m sick of babysitting crops that aren’t going anywhere. Find someone else. I’ll cut wood.”
Kirby again dismissively waved a dirty hand.
Cara took a deep breath and exhaled it through her pursed lips. “This is your third offense, Kirby. That means you can’t stay here anymore.”
Kirby stepped forward, his face contorted in disbelief. “No. No it’s not. This is only my second.” Hastily, he turned to the others hoping to find a sympathetic face. “Just that one time last spring. I was supposed to help clean that late snow off those roofs, and I overslept. Otherwise, I been clean.”
Sighing, Cara’s eyes closed as her head fell forward. “Kirby,” she said lifting her gaze, “you forgot about last month.” His mouth opened but no words came out. His head shook wildly. “The day all able bodies went to Deer Creek Reservoir for water. You were a no-show that day, too. That’s three strikes. You know the rules.”
His head tipped back as he let out a scream that could be heard for miles around. Kirby had forgotten his second sin. “Please,” he begged reaching for Cara’s arm. “You can’t banish me. This is like my fourth place in two years. Word will get out I ain’t no good, and then no one will take me in. Please.”
Cara stared into a set of brown eyes filled with fear. They all knew this man could not be trusted, and he had proven it beyond any doubt. Slowly, her eyes moved to the dirty shaking hand grasping her coat sleeve. Stepping back, she broke the grip. “Kirby Atkins,” she began softly. “You are hereby banished from Camp Nine for the period of three years. If you can clean up your act somewhere else, you are welcomed to come back after that time.” She turned and stepped carefully through the group of her friends. Stopping suddenly, she called back one last time. “Have your possessions gathered and be ready to leave after the noon meal.” She let her eyes fall on the offender one last time. “If you do not leave willingly, I’ll have my husband and his group remove you forcibly. Do you understand?”
