by David Nees
Lori Sue put the box back on top of the other one. She watched Donna walk slowly and carefully back to the hotel, growing smaller and smaller. There was a guard standing outside the entrance now. He let Donna in, and then he looked down the street at Lori Sue until she turned and sauntered the other way. There was something more than met the eye here and she needed to puzzle it out.
Chapter 18
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I ’m going to Hillsboro,” Billy said.
He was sitting on Jason’s porch. It was evening.
He looked for a reaction from Jason. Jason just watched him.
“I talked to some of the people at the trade, that guy doing the negotiating, Goodman? I told him I can hunt and make liquor. He said he’d find me work if I came to town…seemed happy to have me.”
“Big move,” Jason said quietly. “You thinking of riding with us when we go back for Adam’s other shot? Could be a couple of months. Don’t know exactly when.”
“Now I’ve made up my mind, don’t think I want to wait that long.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a long way to walk. Take you, what, a week?”
“Less, I think. It looked like pretty easy walking to me.”
“Desperate people out there, Billy.”
“They’ll never see me,” Billy said. “I’ll be all right.”
“So, right away.” Jason looked away toward the tree line for a moment before he spoke. Billy could see he was gathering his thoughts. “Your family came here with the very first settlers, Billy,” he said contemplatively.
Billy looked at him, wondering where he was going.
“Anne’s told me a lot of stories about this valley, and one thing I noticed was that there were Turners in every one.” Jason smiled. Then the smile faded and his expression turned serious. “Your dad kept to himself—sometimes with a vengeance. But he came out to fight for this valley. So did you.” He turned back to Billy. “I know you and I had some problems, but I think we got past them. Figured you’d want to stay where all the Turners have stayed.”
Billy felt the force of Jason’s quiet entreaty. He gritted his teeth. He could hear all the things that Jason wasn’t saying.
After the battle, Jason and Billy had had a run-in over Billy’s spying on Catherine and Sarah. And it hadn’t been just with Jason; Catherine had threatened to shoot him over it. In the subsequent year relations had healed, but Billy knew the incident would always be there between them. Certainly it would be for the girls.
“I had kind of hoped you might join the army,” Jason said after a moment. There was a note of regret in his voice. “I’ll tell you the truth, I’d be happier if you did that.”
Billy said nothing. He was nervous about leaving the valley. He’d never been to Hillsboro before. His decision was going to throw him into the unknown.
“You’ve made up your mind then? No changing it?”
Billy shook his head. “Ain’t nothing for me here. I don’t like farming...and I might meet someone to be with in town. Ain’t no one here in the valley.” Billy couldn’t fully express his loneliness since his father had died. Billy’s relationship with him had been troubled, but the silence of the farm since his death was too deep to bear. With the old man gone, Billy had no one.
“You nervous?”
“Maybe a little. Never been there before.”
“You know there’s some bad characters in town. You don’t want to get mixed up with them.”
“Says you. I ain’t seen ‘em.”
“Maybe you haven’t looked close enough.”
“I can take care of myself.” Billy scowled at Jason. He was starting to get defensive.
When Jason spoke again, his tone was gentle. “Just be careful who you take up with. Remember, you want to be on the side of the good guys. You remember the story I told you about the sniper, the young kid that got caught up with Big Jacks?”
Billy nodded.
“Things didn’t end well for him. I expect, given the chance, he wasn’t such a bad kid, but we’ll never know. I don’t want things to go bad for you, that’s all.” Jason sighed. His eyes were sad as they met Billy’s. Then the older man nodded to him and slowly got up from the porch chair. Billy stood up with him.
“When are you going?” Jason asked.
“I’ll set out tomorrow. Got everything packed. You can work my fields. Ain’t givin’ ‘em to you, but you work ‘em, you keep what you grow.”
“If things don’t work out, you know you’re always welcome back. This is your home.”
“I know…and…thanks. For all you did…for Pa and me.”
“You’re welcome. You want to say goodbye to Anne?”
Billy shook his head. “You tell her I said goodbye. I ain’t good at such things.”
With that he turned to go.
Billy arrived at the entrance checkpoint six days later, just after noon. His backpack, stuffed full when he left, was now considerably lighter. He had gone through most of his food except for his last two pieces of jerky. The pack now held only camp gear, ammunition, his 9mm semi-auto pistol, a rain slicker, and a few clothes. The weather had been good, and he hadn’t needed the slicker. At night he had found shelter in abandoned houses or buildings along the roads he walked.
He wore a flannel shirt, partly unbuttoned as the day was heating up, and denim jeans with patches covering his knees. He was glad to have a solid pair of boots and some good socks. He felt good. The days of walking had eased his mind; he was looking forward to a new start in town. He hadn’t seen a living soul, hostile or otherwise, during the trek. He had stayed watchful, in case he needed to hide, but he thought that most strangers would have been just as glad not to see him.
His .30-06 rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he had a hunting knife strapped to his belt. The guards at the barrier, only three men this time, had been closely watching him since he had appeared at the edge of the razed area.
When he got near the barrier, they finally challenged him. Billy guessed they had waited until he was within their shooting range, which meant they weren’t very good shots. He figured his skills would be in demand. Billy called out, “I’m here to see Mr. Goodman. He wants me to do some work for him.”
“What the hell would he want you for? You look like some dumb hillbilly,” came the reply.
“Ain’t none of your business, but he asked me to come see him.”
“Smart ass, ain’t you.”
Billy just stood there. He figured it wasn’t any use to argue with them. “Ask him yourself, if you want.”
“We let you in, how you gonna find him?”
“Figure I’ll just go to wherever the headquarters are. They’ll know.”
“Can’t bring that rifle into town. You’ll have to leave it here.”
Billy thought about that for a moment. “It’s my hunting rifle. Mr. Goodman wants me to do some hunting for the town.”
The men at the barrier appeared taken aback by this information. They spoke inaudibly. Then one turned back to Billy and called out, “Got to leave it with us. If Mr. Goodman wants you to have it, he’ll have to let us know. We’ll keep it until we hear from him.”
Billy shrugged and started to un-shoulder the rifle.
“Hold it!”
He looked at the guards. Their weapons were leveled.
“Keep it over your shoulder till you get here!”
He pushed it back over his shoulder and walked to the gate. He unslung the rifle and handed it to the man, and the other one pulled the barricade slightly aside so that he could walk through.
The man holding the barricade said, “Go down this road until it bends to the right. You go left on Stafford, for three blocks. When you reach Ogden, turn right. Goodman ain’t at City Hall. You want to look for the bank building. That’s where he’ll be.”
“Be sure you keep my rifle safe,” Billy said. He reached over and released the five-round magazine from the weapon and stuffed i
t into his coat pocket, giving the man an impertinent look.
The man holding his rifle scowled back at him.
Billy’s good mood was a little darkened by the encounter. He followed the directions and found his way to the bank building. It was the tallest building he had seen so far, and the block it was on seemed much more active with people scurrying about going in and out of buildings. The parts of the town he had been walking through were mostly quiet, with few people to be seen. The building was a block away diagonally from another one with militia-marked vehicles parked along it and men standing around outside.
Their headquarters, he thought.
Getting in to see Goodman required leaving his knife and his backpack with the guard inside the bank building. He hoped they wouldn’t go through the pack. He figured that they would confiscate the 9mm if they found it. Having it felt reassuring in this new environment.
After a long wait, he met with Goodman who gave him a note assigning him to a room over in the militia block. He also got a note to take back to the barrier guards so he could retrieve his rifle. His main job would be hunting, but Goodman also wanted Billy to help out with a still the town was constructing out near where they were setting up a hydropower project. The work was being done by people who had read about distilling in books from the library, but no one in town had any practical experience. Goodman said he figured Billy might bring some real-world knowledge to improve the process.
“Whiskey bottled before the attack is getting rare,” Goodman said. “And the grain is too precious. If we’re going to divert some to making whiskey, the product better be worth it.”
Billy could understand that.
He spent a few days wandering around Hillsboro, getting shouted at occasionally by the militia. However, his pass indicating he was a hunter, which allowed him to go in and out of the city, kept the harassment to a minimum. Coming from the quiet and isolation of the valley, he found the bustle and activity in town somewhat disorienting. Even without mechanization, the noise level was far above the valley’s stillness.
Some aspects of life in the city Billy didn’t think were very good. There was no well handy for washing or getting a drink of water. Washing meant hauling water in buckets to store in your apartment. Then you went outside and did a sponge bath, without much privacy. Eating was done communally at the food centers set up around town. The food usually consisted of a stew of wild plants, with whatever the hunters had killed cut up and thrown in.
Your ration card got you in, and your work got your ration card renewed. He asked what happened if you were sick or injured, and was told that allowances were grudgingly made but there was always pressure to weed out malingerers. Those who chronically came up short were threatened with expulsion. The prospect of trying to survive out in the wild and dangerous countryside kept people in line.
Billy had eaten worse than what they served in the food centers, though not often. He felt safer inside the wall than he had felt on his overland journey. But the feeling of freedom he had felt, both in the valley and during his hike to town, faded. He began to wonder what he had let himself in for.
“I haven’t found out anything about Donna. Don’t know what’s become of her, but I’ll keep after it.” Charlie knew the discomfort in his voice gave him away even as he busied himself with his bowl of food.
“Nothing?” Mary said. She shook her head. “That’s so odd! There’s not that many people in Hillsboro anymore and no one leaves. Where would they go?”
“I don’t know. People probably still leave, for all I know. We don’t keep tabs on that.” He cleared his throat. “I did find a picture of the family and had an artist make me some drawings. I have some of my men looking out for them. We have to give it more time.”
“What about the boy? Did you check the school? He’d be too young to work.”
Charlie nodded.
“And?”
He was quiet. He stirred his spoon in the soup bowl.
“Charlie? What did you find?” Mary looked sharply at her husband, her voice betraying her stress.
Charlie sighed. “Look, what I’m about to tell you can’t be repeated. I’m investigating this quietly, you understand?”
Mary looked at him. “You’re beginning to frighten me.”
“Just keep this between us…promise?”
Mary nodded.
“I found the boy still in the school. Right where he’s supposed to be.” Mary stared at him. “So the family didn’t leave town. We can be pretty sure of that. They wouldn’t have abandoned him. If they were leaving, they would have just all gone together on a weekend.”
Mary put a hand to her mouth. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I can only guess.” Charlie’s teeth were clenched. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t panic Mary.
“Well, where are Donna and Jim? They wouldn’t go off and leave their son.”
“I just don’t know.”
“My God, Charlie, what’s going on? How could this happen? They’re good people. You know Jim, he did work for you.”
“I know. Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what. That’s why I want to keep this quiet while I try to find out.”
“Does Frank know about this? Can he help you?”
Charlie looked down at his bowl and paused for a moment. “I don’t want to bring anyone else into this until I know what’s happening and who’s behind it. I have to be careful until I know more.”
“Oh Charlie. This scares me. You don’t think Frank is involved, do you?” Charlie shrugged. She went on, sounding confused. “I know we have martial law, no real rights as citizens, but the people in power, you and the others, are honest. You’re doing what’s best for Hillsboro, not harming good people.” She paused. “Is that Joe Stansky behind this?” Her tone grew more critical. “You know I’ve never liked him or how you cater to him. I didn’t like him, even when he was just a sleazy bar owner—”
“Please don’t start on that again. I told you I don’t know. For God’s sake, let me find out more. Then I’ll know what to do…for us and for them.”
Mary got up and came around the table to hug her husband, wrapping her arms around his chest and putting her head next to his. “You’re a good man, Charlie Cook. I’m not angry with you. I know you’ll do the right thing. Just be careful.”
Charlie wondered how good a man he was. He sensed that things were getting bad—and he might be caught on the wrong side. He stood up and turned to hug his wife back. Their kitchen, their house, their comfortable life suddenly seemed very fragile.
Chapter 19
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S uccess on a hunt always meant more work for Billy. The problem was distance—and weight. He would field-dress whatever game he shot and then have to lug it back to town, in his pack or over his shoulder depending on its size. The trip back could be more work than all the rest of a hunt.
Billy liked going hunting more than ever now. It got him out of town and into the quiet of the woods to the south and west of town, Sometimes he was lucky and found game in the overgrown yards of the abandoned neighborhoods beyond the wall which had been re-colonized by wildlife. If he was quiet, he often came across small herds of deer. The other hunters missed this possibility with their noisy trek on the way to the woods.
Even when he did have to go all the way to the forest he wasn’t upset. He enjoyed being outside the town. Those times always drove home the stark difference between the quiet countryside, the uninhabited suburbs along with the forests and fields, and the town with its streets and buildings and noise.
Now he didn’t have to worry so much about ammunition. Goodman had offered to have the militia give him a different rifle, but Billy liked his .30-06. He was happy to accept a scope for it, an adjustable-power one that he could use in the woods. Billy had only shot with iron sights and it had taken him a box of ammunition to set the scope up, even with some instruction.
This eveni
ng he had done very well, and at the moment he was almost regretting it. He had bagged a large deer, and now the heavy carcass was draped over his shoulder as he made his way back into town. He carried more game in his pack. He had not gone far before he had shot the deer. He was thankful for that as it gave him a shorter walk back to drop the carcass off at the main food center. He looked forward to heading back to his room after that to crash for some much-needed rest.
His route took him through a rundown part of town. He was often unsure of exactly where he was, but he knew the general direction to go until he could find some landmarks. He had been trudging along under his load for perhaps fifteen minutes when, turning a corner, he saw the four men halfway down the block. They were crowding around a small girl in the middle of the street. It was early evening; the light was fading, but there was still enough that he could see them clearly. There was talking back and forth, and then suddenly one of the men grabbed the girl’s arms from behind and put his hand over her mouth, cutting short a scream. Another stepped up to the struggling girl, reached out and tore open her pale blouse. She started kicking and he slapped her face. Billy could hear it half a block away. The man then ripped her bra off, exposing her breasts. The girl was older than Billy had thought.
Billy stopped in his tracks. A rush of emotions surged through his body. A protective instinct kicked in. He set the deer carcass on the ground, slipped off his pack, and unslung his rifle.
“Hey!” he yelled, aiming at the man who had torn off the brassiere. “Stop that. Whaddaya think you’re doing?”
The four men turned to look at the lone figure pointing a rifle at them from about sixty yards away.
“Better move on if you know what’s good for you. This ain’t none of your business,” shouted the man in Billy’s sights. The others looked less certain.
