by N A Broadley
Brian bent and kissed her long and hard. He didn’t know where their road would lead, but he would be more than happy to continue his journey with this woman.
∞
The meeting came to order, and Brian looked around at the faces at the table. The kitchen was empty and quiet although he smelled the aroma of chicken stew simmering on the stove. Spike sat in the chair next to him. His long, slender fingers were playing nervously with the handle of the coffee cup sitting in front of him. Cain sat across the table from him, and his eyes were staring vacantly ahead. His expression bore his grief and sorrow. Rusty sat at the head of the table beside Mary Anne, like he was trying to protect her from her pain. Then there was Danny, Jacob, and Mathew and the new man, Mitch.
A cough from Rusty brought all attention back to the matter at hand. What to do with the prisoners? “You all know how I feel. And we’ve all had a chance to speak our peace. So now we need to vote. All those in favor of execution, raise your hands.”
Brian glanced around. All but Mary Anne raised their hand in favor of executing the prisoners. He looked at her. She stared vacantly at the far wall. He could tell her mind was a million miles away from where she sat.
“Mary Anne? Do you have anything you want to say?” Rusty murmured. She chose not to vote on the issue; explaining that in her grief, in her anger, she didn’t feel she would be able to make a decision that wouldn’t be based on her emotions.
“I do.” She stood and addressed the group. “I know what these men did. I know the horrors they put those women, those children, and others through,” she choked through tears, “but I want you all to remember. We do what we must—to survive. If that means executing those men, then so be it. Their deaths will fall on us all equally, though. We will each carry that stain on our souls for the rest of our lives equally. I do not want one person at this table to say they didn’t have a part of this! This is a tough decision to make, to take another’s life. But for the good of all, I feel we have no choice. We can turn them loose, and I will bet my bottom dollar it will come back to haunt us. But, know this; we are still condoning taking a life. God help us all,” she finished then she looked each person in the eye. Heads nodded in agreement around the table. Yes, if the law were around, they could turn them into the nearest cop and be done with it. But there was no law other than what they decided.
Brian got up from the chair and stretched tiredly. They had decided. Tomorrow morning, he and six others, Spike, Rusty, Cain, Danny, Mitch, and Jacob, would roust the prisoners. They would take them to the far end of the compound and execute them. Tonight, they would dig a mass grave, and tomorrow, they would bury them in it. No headstones, no graveside prayers. Just dirt. Although he didn’t feel an ounce of compassion for these criminals, he did take to heart the seriousness of the situation. More stains on his soul that he would one day have to account for. He prayed God would find it in his grace to forgive him.
∞
Mitch sat on a lawn chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, staring off into the distance. The vote bothered him. To openly execute the prisoners didn’t sit well with him. Although he understood the reasoning and knew it needed doing, he still had misgivings. Since when had they all become judge, jury, and executioners? And Brian? He watched him while the vote went down. He watched the cold fury in his eyes while they talked about the prisoners. That man was a true killer at heart, and he didn’t trust him one bit. His reputation for leaving a bloody trail in his wake made Mitch uneasy and on edge. Leaning back, he let the sun warm his face and listened to the noise of children playing on the playground fade away as his body relaxed.
∞
When the first light of dawn broke over the mountains, Beth heard the gunshots, and she winced. Crawling from the warmth of the blankets, she quickly dressed. The chilly morning air raised goosebumps on her skin. Brian had told her what the committee had decided. She didn’t know how she felt about it. Relief? Sorrow at the loss of even more lives? Anger that they all were forced into this situation by the event? Would these men have led different lives if the event never happened? Or were they just inherently evil and the event unleashed their restraint of hiding it? Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. This was life now. A criminal didn’t go to jail, didn’t have a trial. This community, people everywhere couldn’t afford that luxury anymore.
With exaggerated quietness, she tiptoed past Sarah, who slept in the living room on the trundle bed and made her way out into the morning. The air held a late May chill, and she breathed deeply of the scents of grass, earthy moisture, and fresh, clean air. No fumes from vehicles or factories polluted it. No airplanes overhead buzzed to break the silence. No smog clouded the horizon. It was as though nature was healing itself from the thousands of years humans had assaulted it.
Stepping into the community kitchen, it surprised her to see Mary Anne in her usual place in front of the stove. Tantalizing scents of frying bacon wafted through the common dining area. She walked over and stood beside Mary Anne at the stove and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight.
“Mary Anne, what are you doing here?”
Mary Anne turned and through a watery smile, sighed.
“Where else would I be? I mean, this is it,” she replied. Her voice choked with tears.
“You don’t need to be here. People will understand if you take a day or two, or five, off,” Beth said softly.
“I know. I know everyone will. But Beth, Roger would not have wanted me to curl up and die because of this. He and I built this together. No matter what happens in this world, this matters. I need to keep busy. I mean, these people, they depend on me holding it together. All that Roger and I have done here depends on me keeping it together.”
Beth hugged her and tears filled her own eyes.
“I’m okay, or I think I will be okay, yes, I will be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. For now, though, it’s one breath at a time until I am okay again.” Mary Anne whispered. Turning, she stirred a big pot of bubbling oatmeal. Leslie, setting bowls out on the long table, glanced at Beth and smiled. Her lip quivering, she brushed away a tear.
“Well, I agree. You will be okay. I speak from experience, just please, let others give you love and support. Don’t try to bear this all on your own.” Beth whispered. Mary Anne looked into her eyes and nodded.
“Okay, enough of this dripping and weeping. I’ve got work to do so get the hell out of my kitchen.” Mary Anne quipped through her tears. Beth nodded and made her way to the coffee pot. Pouring herself a cup, she carried it with her while she helped Leslie set out the dishware for breakfast. She knew the men who’d stayed up most of the night digging the long mass grave for the executed prisoners would be ravenous and wanting breakfast.
∞
Brian made his way back to the cottage to wash up before heading to the community kitchen for a cup of coffee. The prisoners had been executed, and the burial detail had placed the last shovel full of dirt over them. Many of the men were deeply affected. Acting the executioner would never be an easy task. He hadn’t any qualms about pulling the trigger. Did that make him cold and unfeeling? No, just practical. Men, especially men such as those they’d shot, needed to be dead. They gave nothing to society other than hardship and sorrow. He thought of them the same way he had thought of those who’d destroyed his sister Talia. They did not deserve his compassion or mercy. He would someday be judged by the Almighty for his actions. It would be only to Him he would answer.
The day unfolded in front of him. The funeral for Roger would be in the early afternoon. After that, he would meet with Rusty to help with defense details. Although Roger was gone, the compound still needed to run. And when Rusty found out that Brian was ex-military, he cornered him for help. There were still plenty of threats out there that they had to deal with. The Alliance was still making its way to the northeast. Still hell-bent on taking it the compound for themselves. Just because Bobby’s gang was no long
er a concern; the Alliance still was. Brian wondered if they’d gotten word yet of the annihilation of Bobby’s group. He was sure they probably did. Sure, that someone in that God-forsaken town had set off to warn them of the resistance they would find at the compound.
He’d promised his help to Rusty for the next three or four weeks. He and Beth hadn’t yet told anyone of their plans to leave and head south. He dreaded having to tell Mary Anne. He knew she had become very fond of Beth and Sarah. Sighing deeply, he kicked a small stone in front of him. These long thoughts did nothing to improve his mood.
∞
Mary Anne made her way back to the house. They’d finished breakfast, and lunch was in the works with the many hands, pitching in to help. The morning sped by fast, and she thanked God it did. Staying busy kept her mind from wandering too far into the sadness that hung heavy on her heart. Doubt rode her like a bucking pony, and she wondered if she could keep up with all that Roger used to do at the compound. Tears slid slowly down her face, unchecked. She opened the door to her home. A home now without her husband of forty-some odd years. It felt lonely and very empty, like it missed Roger too. With a huff, she swiped at her face and made her way to the basement where Roger kept his HAM radio equipment. She sat tiredly in his leather chair, a chair that smelled like him, and it brought on a fresh onslaught of tears which angered her.
Picking up the mike, she dialed into Joe’s handle. She would inform him of Roger’s death and ask him to send it out over the radio to all their other friends. It was the hardest conversation she thought she’d ever had. Once done, she made her way back upstairs and to her bedroom. She rifled through the closet for the prettiest dress she owned, and after a quick sponge bath, she put it on. Numbness lessened the grief that had been cloaking her like a shadow throughout the day.
Rusty walked beside her, up the long hill, toward the old oak tree at the top, holding her hand tightly in his own. The hole gaped darkly, and Roger’s casket sat beside it. Her eyes glazed over with pain. She gently placed a sprig of lavender on the top of it. Roger always loved the smell of lavender. It was only fitting she bury him with some.
Charlie Sims gave the eulogy with the entire community gathered round. Tears flowed freely when Roger’s casket was lowered into the ground, and the first shovel of dirt tossed on top of it. Beth held Brian’s hand and she bowed her head in prayer. Spike stood behind Sarah and placed his hands gently on her shoulders while she wept softly. Cain stood beside Rusty, Mitch, and Mary Anne, an expression of deep sorrow in his eyes. Mary Anne stood stoically, her face stricken with grief as members of the community filed by with words of condolence and warm hugs. Her mind screamed in agony and she silently pleaded for solitude. But she stayed, stayed until the very end. She let Rusty help her back to her house, where she closed herself in. Once alone, she felt something inside of her tear loose and break. Sobs tore her heart apart. Images of Roger’s face danced before her eyes, his goofy smile, and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. These were the memories that hurt and crippled her. Sinking to the floor, she cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next week flew by with a flurry of activity at the compound. Beth worried about Mary Anne, and how hard she pushed herself. This morning, they planned to slaughter pigs, twenty-five of them. The community raised a herd of about one hundred and fifty, with several new litters being born over the past week. A group would begin the slaughtering process, another group would be butchering the meat, and another group would be preparing it for winter storage. In the center of the compound, several men had constructed another temporary outdoor kitchen where large pots hung over fires to boil water. On a long plank wood table, jars were set up for canning. Two temporary smokehouses sat waiting while two men tended the wood chips to begin smoking sides of hams and pork butt roasts.
Beth sliced bacon from a large side of meat and watched the chaos of women and men. They each stood at their stations chatting and laughing while their hands stayed busy. Hundreds of pounds of pork would be processed.
Mary Anne sat beside her and with a sharp knife, expertly and quickly sliced large swathes of meat, then cut it into thinner strips. She then laid these strips carefully in layers in a wooden crate of salt so they would cure. Beth followed her instruction carefully. Sarah across the yard, helping Leslie and Barbs with a canning project.
“So, once this is done, and the crate is full, then what?”
Mary Anne wiped her greasy hands on her apron and smiled.
“We then move these crates into the cold cellar where the bacon will cure for weeks,” she replied. She grabbed another slab of meat that Enis set in front of her on the table.
“And the canning? What portions of meat do you use for that?”
“Well, you can use any cut or portion, but this time we’re using ribs with bone on, we’re using loin portions, jowls, cheek, hocks and then we’ll pickle the feet. We will smoke the hams and pork butt,” she answered. Beth nodded and then grimaced. Pickled pigs feet? She hadn’t ever tried them and probably wouldn’t in this lifetime.
“We’ll help with the canning later. After we’re through with the bacon,” Mary Anne said.
“So, canning, do we put them in the boiling water? For how long?”
Mary Anne shook her head.
“No. Remember, all meat has to be pressure canned. We have another area set up for that. Here, at our elevation, it’s fifteen pounds of pressure for one hour and fifteen minutes. We don’t want anyone getting sick on improperly canned foods. One of the kettles over there is to sterilize our jars and lids.” She pointed to Leslie and Barbs who were busily dipping jars into the boiling water and pulling them out with tongs then setting them on towels.
Beth shook her head and sighed; so much to remember. So much, she still needed to learn. Mary Anne, seeing the frustration on her face, smiled and nudged her shoulder with her own.
“Don’t worry. In time you will get it. You can’t learn this all overnight. Besides, I’ve been writing everything down for you.”
Beth smiled into her face. Of course, she did. Mary Anne was the queen of notes. Never had Beth seen her without a notebook attached to her hand. She would miss all of this. This feeling of community and the purposeful activity that came with. She would miss Mary Anne and Barbs, Jill and Leslie, Doc and Karen, all of them. She’d grown close to these people, they felt like family to her.
Seeing the shadow of sadness on Beth’s face, Mary Anne raised an eyebrow in question. “Why so, glum?”
“Just thinking,” Beth murmured then turned her face to Mary Anne’s, “you know I love it here, right?”
Mary Anne nodded.
“And if I could stay, I would, right?”
Mary Anne nodded. Heaviness pressed on her heart. She knew that Beth and Brian, Sarah and Jessie, would be leaving soon. She had pleaded with them to stay but understood that Brian needed to find out if his parents were still alive.
“I know. And maybe one day you and Brian will come back here to stay for good. I will miss you, girl. I hate the idea of you leaving, of Sarah and Brian and Jessie leaving…you don’t know how much I wish I could make you stay, but I understand why you have to go.” Mary Anne sighed, choking back a tear. Her throat tightened. The sun had grown hot overhead, and she wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. The summer heat had moved in early this year, and she made a mental note to ask those who helped with the garden to give it some extra water today. They couldn’t afford to have the young spring plants burn in this heat.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you or don’t appreciate all that you’ve done for me,” Beth whispered. Tears filled her eyes.
“I don’t think that. I wouldn’t think that. You gotta follow your man, honey, that I do understand, believe me,” Mary Anne said, then smiled. And she meant every word. Memories of this same conversation flooded her mind. Memories of when she and Roger first decided they would move from her hometown in Kansas, leaving her paren
ts and family, to start their life here in the North East. The heartbreaking decision of leaving one life behind while she began another life with her husband.
∞
Brian wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. Rusty looked at him and laughed, “Getting old there, boyo?”
Brian grinned in response and lifted the bulky, iron contraption with the help of Spike and Cain, across the ditch on the edge of the boundary fence. This heavy behemoth was the brainchild of Stinky, an old war vet that although well past his fighting days still came up with some great ideas. He took old iron beams that Roger had picked up from God knows where, way back when, and used a torch to cut them into four-foot lengths. Then, he welded legs to them, creating a sawhorse type contraption. On the flat surface of this iron sawhorse he then took iron railroad spikes, again gathered from somewhere in one of Roger’s junk piles, and welded them, point up, to create dangerous and lethal barriers. The only problem he could see was the weight of these contraptions. Each one that Stinky made had to be moved to the ditches that ran the entire perimeter of the compound. And each one felt like it broke Brian’s back. They had been at it since dawn, and he needed a break. His arms twitched with fatigue and muscle stress, and his neck screamed with the sting of sunburn.
“Okay, that’s enough. I need water; lots of it.” Brian muttered. He set the last iron contraption into place. He dusted his dirty hands off on his jeans and peeled out of his sweat-soaked shirt, using it for a towel to wipe his neck and face.
“Yeah, I bet lunch is about ready,” Rusty replied tiredly. Little Stephen jumped down from his perch on the hay wagon, and Peckerhead, beside him, let out an indignant squawk. He rushed a jug of water to Brian. Smiling down at the boy, he took it and tipped it up to his mouth. What was up with that freakin’ rooster? The damn thing had followed Mitch back to the compound where it had promptly befriended Stephen. And Stephen had befriended it too, treating it as a puppy that tagged along everywhere the boy went.
