just because someone SAYS they are from the govt - don't mean they are!
Here's more - please keep the suggestions coming!
Mike
Chapter 3: The Offer:
Zack went on to explain that a group had come out to Stagford from Sawyertown and begun to establish relief efforts including food distribution. The visit was in part to inform the residents of Haven and the surrounding areas that order was being re-established on a county level and that relief supplies were available.
The real reason that the men had come all the way up the mountain was because the authorities had heard of Bob’s run in with the looters. Zack assured him that there was no danger of prosecution - just the formality of filing a report with the County Representative. Bob could see the badges on all three men. With that sort of summons he had little choice but to accept Zack’s invitation to ride back to Stagford. He called his family inside and after a quick conference took his daypack and rifle and joined Zack on the sled.
In a little more than a chilly hour later they crossed the bridge and were pulling up in front of Dick Hinkley’s house on the north edge of Stagford. The house might be called a mansion in other times. At the moment a sign at the end of the driveway declared it “Administration – Stagford.” The yard was filled with vehicles, but dominated by a huge gasoline tanker truck.
No one questioned them as they parked their snowmobiles next to the tanker. Mike began refilling the sleds’ tanks directly from the truck. Nate trotted ahead of them up the steps and inside. Zack motioned for Bob to follow him. There were a half dozen armed men in the yard and on the porch. Some wore state police overcoats. Others were in civilian clothes. Bob felt a little out of place in his flectar BDUs and parka. A few of the men nodded to Zack, and Bob couldn’t believe no one questioned his carrying his rifle inside.
Nate met them in the entry way and let them know that it would be just a few minutes. Before Mr. Hinkley would be ready for them. They waited in what had been called a parlor, or sitting room off the main dining room. It served well as a reception area.
Bob paced nervously wondering if he was enjoying his last moments of freedom. Incarceration in the best of times would not have been pleasant. The thought of jail in a world without electricity was down right scary.
“Relax Bob, it’s just a formality” Zack sounded confident. But why did he have to come all the way to Stagford? Why couldn’t Zack have taken his statement at home? It didn’t make sense.
Nate stuck his head through the door and motioned them into the dining room. Dick Hinkley hadn’t changed a bit. Except he was even more full of himself than he ever had been. He sat behind the big oak dining room table with piles of papers in front of him. As Bob walked in, he saw several other men exit through a door on the far side of the room.
“Mr. Adams, come in. So good of you to come.” The slender silver haired millionare waved Bob forward without getting up.
“Ah yes, well I was told that I need to file a report - about defending myself.”
“So it was a case of self defense?”
“Yes. Yes it was.”
Good then.” Mr. Hinkley smiled. “That settles that.”
“Bob, I’ve asked you to come for another reason. Related to the first, it’s true, but another reason all the same. As you know the situation in Stagford is not ideal. The utilities are still not functioning and more importantly, people are short of food.”
Bob nodded.
“Things are even worse in Sawyertown. After the Governor appointed me Regional Coordinator I set up a community resource pool to feed the hungry and restore order. Everyone contributed what they had, and combined with what remained in the grocery stores, restaurants, and farms - everyone had plenty to eat. Everything was split evenly based on the number of people in the household. But now food is getting short again so we initiated countywide plan to expand the cooperative initiative. We’re offering vouchers for the full pre-crisis value of the donated assets so that everyone will be fairly compensated by the county government. The vouchers can even count toward 50% of your county tax bill.”
Bob nodded again, unsure of what any of this had to do with him.
“Some people are less than cooperative. Some greedy unlawful men are hoarding their resources. Hoarding food while people starve is evil Mr. Adams. And evil must be confronted. Besides being wrong, it’s against the law.”
Clearly warming to the use of a comfortable and often used speech – the wealthy man stood and gestured to Bob with outstretched palm as if begging his aid.
“The pastor suggested I come to you . Amanda Fleisher has been visiting him regularly to work through the difficult transition that we all face. And she told him that you have some experience dealing with the kind of dangerous men like the renegade deputies that Durkee has doing his dirty work on the south end of town. Mr. Frye here tells me that you possess skills that are valuable in this situation. Skills that would allow you to help those in desperate need.”
Bob was uneasy with the idea that Amanda and Zack had been telling anyone that he was some sort of trigger happy gunman. But it was true that he was one of the few people in town who had actually been under fire. Most of the others were either the deputies working for Durkee, or elderly vets in the shadow of their lives. Anyone from more recent military service was probably either still overseas, or had been called up to active duty before the crunch.
“Good. Good. We need someone like you Bob. The town needs you. Your Governor needs you. And we need to know that we can count on you. Durkee can be violent. He assaulted me when I made him a generous business offer right after the lights went out. He’s had tax disputes with the village and resents anyone who is an authority figure. But I have a feeling that he will respect a group of his fellow citizens who to talk to him about the needs of the greater good.”
He paused and offered Bob a drink as he poured a pair of crystal tumblers full of bottled orange juice. Bob accepted the sweet luxury. It tasted like liquid sunshine.
“I’ve asked what’s left of the town board to put together a delegation to go and try to reason with Durkee. They’ve nominated you and Deputy Terry. Everyone else is either afraid to go up there, or already on Durkee’s payroll.”
Looking sage and fatherly with his white hair and game show smile, the County Administrator smiled. “Will you go Bob? Will you try one last time for a peaceful resolution?”
Zack was nodding his head in agreement behind Mr. Hinkley. Bob found himself nodding too. How could he refuse?
Chapter 4: Negotiations
Almost before he knew it, Bob and Bill Terry were being ferried outside village limits by Nate and Mike on the snow machines. A third sled carrying Zack and a man named Ed that Bob hadn’t met before lead the way. The sleds climbed the slope from the village to the farm gate effortlessly. The track was already worn by countless steps where people from the village had hiked through the snow to the farm gate to barter for the meat and milk that kept them alive.
The tracks made Bob wonder about Mr. Hinkley’s comment that the village supervisors were afraid to approach the farm. It sure didn’t look like anybody was afraid to approach the farm.
As the sleds approached the gate, two deputies in their county uniform including hats, overcoats and riot guns stood inside the closed gate between the road and the farm’s long driveway. A three strand barbed wire fence stretched away in both directions to the left and right of the gate. The plan was for Bill to talk to his former co-workers and try to get them to see reason and stop defending the herd before lawmen started shooting fellow officers. Bob, Zack, and Ed would plead the case for the hungry people of Stagford, Haven, and Sawyertown (where Ed was from). They were also to assess the defensive capabilities of the farm, observe where sentries were posted, and what defenses had been arranged inside the house, and barn if possible with a special eye toward looking out for booby-traps. Mike and Nate were to stay with the sleds and come in for back up if needed.
The deputies waited for the sleds to shut down their engines. The riot guns were ready in their hands, but not pointed at the visitors. “Well Billy, what do you want? Come to your senses and looking for a job?”
Bill Terry explained what they were there for. The deputies made no comment but to radio to the house with walky-talkies they carried and received permission for two men to come to the house without weapons.
Ed volunteered to stay behind and chat with Bill and the others while Bob and Zack went to the house to meet with the infamous Mr. Durkee.
The deputies had patted them down and done a good job, taking even Bob’s pocketknife. He felt absolutely naked walking the 200 yards of snow swept roadway. There wasn’t a bit of cover until they reached the yard itself. Here immense maple trees bordered the lane. A tire swing hung from a low limb, lazily spinning in the wind.
Suddenly the front door opened and a grizzled man with unkept hair thrust a M1 carbine at them muzzle first. He pointed it with one gnarled hand like an extension of his index finger. Only his finger was on the trigger.
“Get in here. It’s cold outside!”
The head and the muzzle, disappeared and the door banged shut.
“Good old charming Carl?” Zack grinned at Bob.
Bob shook his head indicating that he didn’t think he wanted to answer right then and walked up to heavily painted door. He hesitantly knocked and it swung open. It had been closed but unlatched.
Carl Durkee stood just inside with his carbine still in his right hand. It now pointed at the floor. “Well?”
“Mr. Durkee – “ Zack began “The town asked us to come talk to you.”
Bob nodded. But the old farmer just stood impassively waiting for more.
“Mr. Durkee – there’s a lot of people going hungry – in the whole county. The County has sent us to ask you if you would consider selling your herd. And they are willing to compensate you fairly by….”
The farmer raised his carbine slightly and pointed at Zack’s middle with the muzzle – using it like an accusing finger.
“Baloney. I already told Hinkley, and Smith, and Barnes that my herd aint for sale. Two cows a week is all I’m selling.”
Bob began to speak but the carbine shifted to point to him and the farmer continued.
“I know you think you got a right to what’s mine, but this aint gonna last forever. Sooner or later somebody’ll flip a switch and the lights will come back on. Then where will I be if I give my whole herd away? I’ll have no business to go back to.”
The old man’s face was getting red and his voice was raising.
“Now you two listen to me and listen good. I’m only gonna say this once, then I’m going to ask you to leave.
I haven’t let a single person in that village starve even though they looked down on me my whole life. Snotty little kids making faces when I walk in the corner store to pay for a sandwich because I smell like ****. Well you know what? They’re there buying the milk that comes from the same place. Hinckley come into my home and tried to tell me what I could and couldn’t do. Said I HAD to sell my herd to him. He’s pushed me and this whole town around my whole life from the time we were little and I wasn’t gonna take no more of it. So I sent him packing and told him I’d damn well do what I wanted and wasn’t nobody gonna make me.
But as much as I hate to admit it, he did me a favor. He made me start thinking about what was going to happen when people got hungry. I mean REALLY hungry.
So I started looking out for me and mine in advance. I started charging what my milk and beef was worth. When all this goes away, I might not have a cow left, but I’ll have some cash tucked away to buy another herd with.
I had a herd of 212 when the lights went out. I put the heifers in the freezer right then soon as the weather was cold enough. No need to feed them a day longer than I had to. Then I started selling the least productive milkers. I’ve fed near three dozen of my cows to those ungrateful sumbiches in the village during the last four months. Now I don’t even get a “thank you” when I slaughter. They come to me with threats instead. I haven’t let a single ungrateful bastard starve. But they started getting ugly at me.
I could see the handwriting on the wall. So I did what I could to keep law and order. I put the sheriff on the payroll out of my own pocket. There wouldn’t be no law in Stagford if it weren’t for me. I put those four men on my payroll and kept them at their work. People in town had no work either. So I went in and offered jobs to them. Now I’ve heard it said that I’m a dirty old man for hiring those girls. Maybe I am, but the way I figured it, I need strong workers to milk those cows, move feed, and clean gutters. A boy that age might take it in his head to kill an old man. Especially an old man with a lot of money laid aside. So I hired girls old enough to work, but young enough not to have kids of their own. When they are working here, the law is here to protect them so the punks hanging out on the corners don’t start raping them just for fun. Me hiring them put milk and beef in a dozen houses. I’m the biggest employer in town. But do I get thanked? No I don’t. I get called a dirty old man!
When people ran out of money, I didn’t turn nobody away. I took gas in trade. When they ran out of gas I told them I’d take guns and ammo. I figured every bullet I get hold of is one less that could come at me. Every gun I trade is one less to shoot down those deputies keeping that mob outside my fence.
Now you come here like Dickies’ lap dogs and demand that I give away what is rightfully mine for nothing but a promise to pay later. Well you can go to hell! You tell that gang at the gate that if they want beef, it will cost them cash on the barrel head, not an IOU that will never be paid.
When the lights come back on, Carl Durkee isn’t going to be a beggar. If they want my herd they can pay double what I’ve been asking. The price of beef is $100 a pound or the lawful transfer of the deed to a home inside village limits to me for each cow.”
The old man was livid. His face was red, spittle had accumulated at the corners of his mouth and his veins stood out pulsing on his forehead.
Before Zack or Bob could say a word he spun on his heel and left the room.
Outside the door they heard him shout “Richard, show these men to the gate. They’re now trespassing!”
Sheriff Richard Jones stepped from where he had been just out of sight in the next room, with a short barreled shotgun held horizontal to the floor at waist height.
“Gentlemen, please go.”
Back outside the gate Bob and Bill retrieved their weapons from the deputies in the long shadows of the early winter sunset. Mike, Nate, and Ed looked expectantly at the returning delegation. Billy shook his head grimly and said “It aint right.”
He thought of his wife scrubbing her hands raw on other people’s washing. He thought of his kids not knowing whether they’d eat next week. “It aint right.”
A chill wind blew over them as Bob thought of his family. Nancy was probably cooking a meal right now with the supplies they had carefully stored up against time of need. He thought about the possibility of doing without those reserves. He remembered burying the men he had shot in Fleishers’ yard who had murdered that family for their meager food supply. He remembered Dick Hinkley saying that food in Sawyertown had been gathered up from farms and stores and distributed on an equal per person basis no matter how much or how little each had saved themselves.
“No, it aint right Bill. It aint right at all.”
Chapter 5: A rose by any other name
The group of men rode the short miles from the farm to the village, and added their snowmobiles to the growing number of them parked in Dick Hinkley’s wide circular driveway. There were a dozen sleds plus a tanker truck with gasoline for them and an olive drab generator roaring near the porch. Thick cables ran toward the back of the house and lights shone inside. The electric light seemed very bright after months without it, even in the half light of sunset. There were a half dozen men in state police parkas carrying rifles on the mansion like home’s wrap-around deck.
Dick Hinkley was holding court at his dining room table. There were arial photographs of the village and the surrounding area spread over the table with a multitude of other papers. A dozen men and several women milled around inside the home. Some were from Stagford, others were strangers to Bob. Trays of food flowed from the kitchen to the “war room.” A bottle of wine had been opened. Several men smoked fragrant cigars as the negotiating party reported the results of their encounter with the farmer.
“Good, it’s decided then.” Dick Hinkley positively beamed. He literally rubbed his hands together in satisfaction as heads nodded around the room. “Tompkins, tell the troopers to assemble the volunteers here at dawn for final briefing and weapons distribution. We’ll take the farm at noon. Have the butchers’ trucks come about 2 PM.”
Bob couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Mr. Hinkley, we’ve got no right to take that herd! If he doesn’t want to sell, that’s his privilege. Nobody is starving. In fact, it seems to me that this town owes Carl Durkee a debt.”
Dick Hinkley’s face drained and his knuckles turned white gripping the arms of his chair. But he smiled a politician’s smile and replied with a steady voice as if explaining to a child “I offered to buy that herd months ago. You offered again today on behalf of the County. Carl had his chance. Now he is losing his herd and he’ll be lucky if he lives.”
The light was fading fast outside and Bob could see that hope for logic was fading just as swiftly, but he had to try.
“Mr. Hinkley, if we take the, how would that be different than taking food out of this kitchen’s pantry?”
Dick banged the table with satisfaction and smiled a genuine smile. The idiot was finally catching on. “Now you understand my boy! This food is from the county reserve. It is no difference at all. Share and share alike. Nobody has a right to hide resources for their own selfish reasons. That’s called ‘hoarding’ and it’s prohibited by county ordinance. You all need to contribute to the common good, for the good of all. Everyone who helps me will be rewarded with a share of the resources and what remains will be distributed to those who recognize our authority.”
Bob saw heads nodding around the room. Billy Terry was nodding too.
Bob felt his own face reddening “That’s called stealing. If you kill a man to steal his food, its murder and I won’t be a part of it.”
There was shouting behind him as Bob walked out of the Hinkleys’ house. He thought it was entirely possible that he might catch a bullet in the back, so he took the steps three at a time and immediately took to the shadows between the houses. Without any premeditation he found himself circling the house and was just outside the light from the windows of the room he had left as he made his way toward the rear of the church. Bob caught movement above him and realized that he was under the watchful eye of a machine gunner in the bell tower. It was a good thing that the man behind the M60 was not as close to the window as Bob was, because as he slipped along the side of the house Bob heard Dick Hinkley’s voice clearly through the glass.
“Kill that son of a b-tch the first time he gets in the way.”
Dick Hinkley’s house was now an armed camp practically overrun with former state troopers, and various other recruits from Sawyerville and beyond. Now Bob understood why he had been brought to town. Hinkley had tried to recruit him into his private army. Chances were good that everyone else on Hinkley’s payroll had been recruited in similar fashion and for similar reasons. Bob wondered if Hinkley actually had clearance from the Governor or had simply declared himself County Administrator. With communications down, who could tell?
Bob found himself approaching Fish Creek. Looking upstream he could see that the bridge was blocked by a 4x4 occupied by two men. He turned downstream and worked his way through the dark outskirts of the village. He thought about warning Tom and Joanne Carter of what was happening but he wasn’t sure what their reaction would be. Zack Frye and Bill Terry were already allied with Dick Hinkley and his private army. His only other friend in the village was George Rogers, but the pharmacist had probably already left town. Bob decided that he was once again on his own.
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