by Reed, N. C.
“It is,” she nodded. “I'm not going to be a victim again. Ever.” Her eyes were suddenly angry, and Clay didn't know why exactly but he did know it wasn't at him, which was good enough.
“How was we to know you'd been a victim?” Pickett exclaimed.
“Did you look for me?” she asked him. “Did you not notice I was missing?”
“Well, we knew you wasn't around,” his face turned red. “But there was a lot going on, and for all we knew, you just was having a bad time with what happened!”
“Did you bother to check?” her voice was cold. “I'm assuming not since my house wasn't disturbed. And yeah, as a matter of fact, I was having a bad time, thanks for the concern! They were going to sell me! Do you get what that means, old man? Selling me?”
Clay was starting to understand her anger.
“I noticed not one person bothered to come and try to get me,” Talia Gray could work herself up to a good little fit when she put effort into it. “Not one. If that outfit hadn't attacked the Sanders, then I'd be in a hellhole in Peabody waiting for my new owner to come take possession of his property!” Her tone was scathing.
“You, and Dawson to a lesser extent, want to sit around here and talk shit about the Sanders not 'doing more', when you aren't doing a damn thing at all to stop this shit! How many in your militia now? Two hundred or so? All armed with good rifles? Four of them, four you old bastard, walked into Peabody and pulled nineteen women and seven kids out of cages! More than that, really, since I imagine the others came here last night or this morning! And you and your fucking militia sit here on your asses and badmouth them for not doing enough!”
All the while she was talking, the three men helping her were walking back and forth with her things. Boxes and tubs crammed into the Hummer, larger things into the Ghost.
“So yes, I'm going. It didn't take any of you long at all to forget where we were just three months ago,” she continued, though calmer now, as if her anger had blown itself out. “I haven't forgotten. I also haven't forgotten the people who made it possible for this place to be a town again. Apparently, most of the rest of you have. Good riddance.” With that she turned and stomped her way back inside, focusing on packing her things. Pickett looked at Clay, who held up a single hand.
“Don't look at me,” he shook his head. “She came to me like this. I even suggested she take some time to think it over, but... apparently, she already had. And I really don't want to argue with her too much. She's got quite a temper. I never realized that before.”
“Where were you yesterday when we were getting attacked?” Pickett demanded.
“Preparing to be attacked ourselves,” Clay didn't hesitate or sugar coat it.
“We needed your help!” Pickett all but yelled.
“Did you?” Clay asked, head cocked to the side. “I see the wreckage of at least two vehicles. I see your towers intact. You have over two hundred armed and trained people in this town. You should have been able to fight them off on your own. Oh, wait. You did. After which they came at us.”
“We lost people yesterday because you weren't here,” Pickett growled.
“Fuck you, old man,” Clay spat venomously, his entire demeanor changing. “I watched five teenagers bury their best friend last night after he was killed fighting off the attack on our farm. Got five more in the infirmary recovering from wounds serious enough to keep them bed ridden. Damage to the farm we'll be weeks repairing. I don't recall seeing your or anyone from Jordan there, helping us. If we had been here instead of there, our families might have been wiped out, or added to those cages in Peabody. I've had your shit up to here,” he drew a finger across his throat.
“We're just here to bring some of your citizens their family members and allow Miss Gray to gather her things, then we're gone. I suggest you stay out of my face until then if you know what's good for you. I've done you no wrong, Pickett, you or this town. Where your attitude comes from, I can't imagine, and I don't give a shit, either. Whatever it is, you can keep it. I don't care anymore.”
Titus and Virgil came out just then with a twin mattress while Kevin followed with what looked like rails.
“I think my bed frame will fit,” Talia Gray said as she emerged with one more tub. “What little furniture I have isn't really worth anything. That, maybe five more tubs and boxes, and that's it. All I got.”
“Then we're done here,” Clay announced. “Get it put away and let’s get loaded,” he ordered. Less than five minutes later everyone other than Clay was back where they belonged, ready to go.
“Goodbye, Mister Mayor,” he made the word sound like a slur. “I still don't know what it was we did to offend you, but now I don't care. Just remember what I said before; if you had just told me, I would have tried to fix it. We wanted to be friends. So much in fact that we did everything we could for you. More than we should, probably. Just trying to be friends.”
“Or wanting to take over?” Pickett said suddenly, his eyes locked on Clay's.
Clay had to blink at that one, caught off guard.
“Say what?” he finally asked.
“You wanted to take over!” Pickett accused.
“Take over what?” Clay asked, astonished.
“Everything around here!” Pickett said bitterly.
“What in the name of God made you think that?” Clay didn't honestly know what to think. “I have more than I say grace over now! Why in the hell would I want to add to that?”
“People who knew what you were planning before they came here,” Pickett growled.
“Oh, good grief,” Clay face palmed. “I thought they were gone. You mean to tell me you've been an asshole to me all this time because of something the crowd that came with the George's said?”
“You saying they didn't know?” Pickett challenged.
“I'm saying they, and by extension you, are full of shit!” Clay shot back. “I have no intentions of any kind to 'take over' anything! I have a farm and community full of problems already, and have no desire for more. Hell, I don't have the time or the ability for more! Jesus Christ, give me strength!” he looked to the sky. “You can't possibly be this stupid,” he told Pickett. “Why the hell would I arm you with the tools to resist me if I wanted to take over?”
Pickett looked as if he had swallowed a fly. His eyes were blinking like an owl and his mouth was wide open.
“All this drama,” Clay was shaking his head even as he climbed aboard the Cougar. “All this posturing and hard feelings over a wheelbarrow full of horse shit!” He stopped and looked back at Pickett.
“I wish you had just asked me instead of all this,” he was genuinely sad. “All we wanted was to have another group of people to trade with or interact with. To be less isolated. We did all that work, gave you all that help, just for that. Thinking it would make us friends. What a fucking waste,” his voice was bitter. “Let’s go Titus,” he called as he shut the door. He could see Pickett's mouth working, but couldn't hear what he was saying. And didn't really care anymore.
“Take us home.”
-
“I'm sorry,” Talia Gray said when the trip to the farm was half over.
“What?” Clay turned to look at her. “I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention.” He had been staring out the window, his mind turning over what he had learned from Pickett.
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you what was being said,” she didn't look at him, keeping her eyes on the floor. “I didn't believe it, so I just ignored it as unimportant.”
“Why didn't you believe it?” Clay asked, curious.
“Because why would you make us stronger if you wanted to take over,” she shrugged. “It's not hard to figure out. Or at least I didn't think it was. I may have been wrong in that,” she added quietly.
“Don't worry about it,” Clay said absently. “About not telling me, I mean,” he clarified a second later. “It's so absurd I might have just laughed at it, anyway. All this time I've been wondering what was in his craw, an
d it was something like that. We thought it was all because we had asked a few people to join us. There was nothing else we could think of, and we knew they didn't like it, so it was a natural assumption. That's why we stopped asking.”
“I think they thought if you had more people you would be more dangerous,” she nodded.
“They obviously don't know shit about us, then,” Clay snorted. “We don't need more people to be more dangerous. We needed more people to be in more places at once. Like, for instance, helping Jordan?”
“They're afraid of you,” she nodded.
“As well they should be,” Clay nodded absently. “But it's not my problem anymore. I've washed my hands of them.”
“There are some good people there, you know,” she told him.
“Should choose their friends better,” the reply was instantaneous, needing no thought. “What a stupid waste,” he said then, more to himself than to her. He'd said it to himself the entire trip home.
-
“You're kidding,” was the first thing Jose said when Clay finished telling him what Pickett had said.
“Love to tell you I am, but that's the straight dope,” Clay snorted. “The gift that just keeps on giving, man.”
“Of all the stupid... .” Jose shook his head slowly, sadly. “All that work.”
“For nothing,” Clay nodded. “What do you think of our Amazon platoon?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Jokes aside, they seem serious enough, and all of them are fit enough, or at least they appear to be. We will need to split them into two classes again, probably, since there's so many of them. We should give them the same class the farm residents got first, and then move them on to the course we put the boys through. Make sure all of them are up on their basics before putting them through the grinder.”
“That makes sense,” Clay nodded. “And it may wash a few out who aren't as serious as they think. I'm not sure that a few of them don't have an idea that this won't be so difficult. Even the class we put the others through was tough. Have you talked to them as a group, yet? Let them know what to expect?”
“Thought we'd wait for you to do that,” Jose smiled.
“Well, I'm here. Lets get it done.”
-
Kim Powers sat with the others on the floor of what she now knew to be Building One. Their resolve had already been tested by hearing what had happened on the farm just a day ago, and by visiting the infirmary and seeing the damage left by the battle. Seeing Sienna Newell's sleeping form with her face still swathed in bandages had been an especially rude awakening. A few of them had felt their determination waver a bit, seeing her lying there.
Then they had spoken to Vicki Tully, who had found herself in a position similar to their own back during the winter. She was a trained and experienced solider, and tough as nails to boot, but had fallen victim to the same type of scheme they had. She was frank in her admission of how fortunate she had been to be added to the farm and how well she had been treated since her arrival. She had explained some of the things they had encountered or seen since the lights went out, and the picture it painted was just as grim as anything the young women had been through themselves, if not worse in some cases. They were not alone in their suffering.
She had concluded their talk with a darkly worded warning about worse things to come. A natural progression of events that followed a worldwide disaster like the one that had turned the lights out, and what those events would bring with them. There were worse times coming and there was no stopping them. Those who had seemed to be wavering had felt their resolve stiffen at that warning. If days worse than what they had already seen where on the way, then they wanted to be prepared and ready to face them.
Another female solider, a perky blonde with a long ponytail, had talked to each of them in turn, learning about them, about where they lived and what condition they thought their homes had been left in. Was there anything there that might be usable? Did they have livestock, or pets? Did they think their clothing and furniture might be okay? Linens, blankets, anything of use. Did the women have any skills that might be helpful? Training that could be put to use? Nothing was worthless, she assured them. The questions seemed inane in some ways, but they had all cooperated with the perpetually happy blonde. If she had seemed distracted beneath her bubbly exterior, no one had mentioned it.
The group had been issued a set of military style clothing and boots, including a helmet of all things. Perhaps more than even the visit to the infirmary, the helmet had driven home the point of exactly what it was they were asking to be a part of. Once again there were a few that appeared to waver as they absorbed the implications of that helmet being handed to them. But as they remembered what they had been through, what they had seen happen to those with 'no real worth', and what Tully had told them, that doubt had disappeared, replaced with their original determination to never be a victim again.
Now, the entire group was gathered to hear from the Bossman himself, the commander of the entire operation here at the Sanders' farm these days, Clayton Sanders. There were a few whispers about him as some recalled the incident at Lorrie's back before the lights had gone out. By all accounts he was a rather scary individual. Powers hadn't gotten that impression when talking to him the day before, but she knew that kind of thing could be deceiving.
Her thoughts fell away and she straightened with the rest as the door opened and said man walked inside, followed by a man they had seen but didn't know, and another that most of them at least recognized; Deputy Greg Holloway.
“Ladies,” Sander said without preamble. “I'm Clayton Sanders. This is my farm, my family home. This is Jose Juarez, the commander of the military aspect of our operation, and Greg Holloway, who among other duties is the Marshal for our small community. Some of you know my family, or may know some of the people who have taken refuge here and now work here and call it home, but I will let you meet them as time allows. For today, we have a lot to cover.”
“You all want to fight,” he said bluntly. “Sounds romantic, doesn't it? Wanting to fight to be free, to not be a victim, to ensure that you never have to blah, blah, blah,” he caught them short with that, looking from face to face, his own visage devoid of emotion.
“There's no romance in it,” he told them flatly. “It's dirty, it's dangerous, and can be deadly. For those of you who know the name Kade Ramsey, he was killed day before yesterday defending this farm. Corey Reynard might be another name you recognize. You saw him in the infirmary, recovering from shrapnel wounds gained in the same fight. The second time he's been wounded in action. My nephew, Gordy Sanders, is nursing a hole in his shoulder. My friend, Shane Golden, nearly bled to death from a bullet graze that got beneath his armor and cut a path across his shoulders. Another friend of mine is flat of his back with a bullet wound in his leg. Still another, Sienna Newell, narrowly avoided losing her sight, and ultimately her life, due to both a bullet fragment and a shower of three inch wood splinters blown from the log she was using for cover during the firefight.” He paused, letting that sink in.
“Remove from your mind right now any idea or thought that you're going on an adventure by stepping up and taking part in this operation,” his voice took on a much sharper edge. “You are going to be fighting for your very survival, and for the survival of the person next to you. The people you see at meal time, or will if you stay here. The people you labor alongside of in the gardens where we grow the food we eat. The people you assist with the livestock we use for food or to ride. The people you help do the mechanical work that keeps us able to move. Or any of the dozens of other tasks that have to be done every, single, day, in order for us to survive.”
“Nothing is easy for us, ladies. Yes, we do still have a few modern conveniences, but they are few and they are limited. Someday they will be gone altogether. We have until then to learn how to live in the old ways and make do with what we will have left when that time comes. Every day is a school day, now. We're very fortunate t
o have a good base of knowledge for how to survive under those conditions. As your time here progresses, you'll find that you will spend as much time learning as you will doing anything else. Labor takes a little while, but learning is the work of a lifetime. Keep one simple fact close to your heart and your mind as you go forward; Without knowledge, there can be no survival.”
He paused to allow that to sink in.
“The times we knew before are not returning. There is too much damage and too much lost. If it were fixable, it would be fixed already, at least in some places. It's not. I doubt any of us will see it that way again, though some of you under twenty may, if you live long enough.”
“The first order of business will be to organize operations to carry you to your homes to retrieve your personal belongings and anything of use to us here. If you had neighbors that have died or been killed, and they had something we can use, take it. Your survival may depend on it and they no longer need it. Hand tools, blankets, weapons and ammunition, tools, shoes, clothing, livestock, saddles, the list is as eclectic as your mind can make it. They aren't making anything, anymore. There's no Wal-Mart to visit in a rush at midnight for something you want or need. What there is out here now is all there will be.”
“When that's finished, we'll work on better quarters for you as we have the opportunity, but that will depend on a great many other things. For now, the old Bunkhouse will have to do. The men have given that up for your use, and Vicki Tully has given up her home to them, so there's been a lot of shifting around and doubling up to accommodate you. Don't complain if we can't make you more comfortable right away. We're doing the best we can with so many recuperating.”
“The next order of business will be getting you squared away. Physical fitness tests and training, firearms familiarization, familiarization of the farm, our operations and defensive posts, and any of dozens of other things you will have to know in order to be part of our efforts here. Every able-bodied person on this farm is trained that way in order to be able to defend this place from attack. This farm is not only our home, but our livelihood. It feeds us, shelters us, and will one day clothe us.”
