Fight for Power (34 page)

“I'm sitting in a plane that my son is flying. I didn't think I'd ever be in a plane again. I'm with my family. I never thought I'd see any of you again.” He gestured out the window. “Look what's been done down here. You have to think that anything is possible. Anything.”

I took one hand off the wheel and placed it on his hand.

He looked over at me and brushed away his tears. “I have to keep convincing myself this is all real.”

“Sometimes I think the same thing. I wake up and can't believe any of this is real, and then it all comes rushing back.”

“I know it's real. I know it happened. I just can't believe that through it all—all that I've seen, all that I've had happen—I'm back here with my family. That we're together.”

He was right. That was even more amazing.

 

35

My father, Rachel, and Danny were laughing and arguing over a game of Balderdash. It had become an evening ritual for us to play a board game, all of us together, starting before the sun set and then using candles to continue playing. We now had teams making homemade candles out of beeswax and there was no longer a danger of running out of them. Tonight my mom had some business to attend to, and I had been out spending some time with Lori. I almost felt guilty. Here my father was, back with us, the thing I'd dreamed and prayed for, and it seemed like I was already taking him for granted. It was nice for Danny and Rachel to have that special time just with Dad, though.

I heard the front door open and instinctively kept my eyes focused on the hall until my mother appeared. She came over and gave the kids and my father a hug.

“How's it going out there?” I asked.

“Didn't we used to have a rule that work stayed at work?” my father asked.

“We did until work surrounded the house,” I said sharply, and then felt bad for saying it. “Sorry.”

“No need,” my father said. “You're right. How
is
it out there?”

“Very quiet. The walls are secure and all the guards are in place.”

This now included the people guarding our prisoners. It was a drain on resources to have three shifts of six men, around the clock, seven days a week guarding them. The jury had finally been chosen and the trial was coming up in less than a week, but that probably wouldn't be the end of the problem or the need for guards—well, unless Brett and his squad were found innocent, or asked to leave the neighborhood.

Judge Roberts not only was the head of the committee but was going to be the presiding judge in the trial. Brett and his squad had been given one lawyer to represent them all, and another lawyer was going to be the prosecutor. They had wanted to be tried by their peers, with a jury reaching a verdict. There were still some people who felt they'd only done what they needed to do for the rest of us. That sort of sympathy was scary. If even one member of the jury voted for innocence, then the jury would be hung and the whole thing would have to begin again.

“I think we should all get a good night's sleep,” my mother said. “Tomorrow is going to be a big harvest day.”

“Anything is better than going to school,” Danny said.

“It'll be nice for me to make a contribution to the neighborhood,” my father added. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“Will you be working in the fields, too?” Danny asked me.

“I'll be working
above
the fields,” I said. “They want me to fly perimeter patrol for a good chunk of the day.”

“So while we're working you're going to be playing.”

“If you think flying a tight circle for four or five hours while I keep my eyes glued to the ground is play, then I'm just going to have a riot up there.”

“Maybe I could be your copilot,” Danny said.

“I'm afraid that seat is taken, kiddo. Herb is going to go up with me.”

“How is he feeling?” my mother asked.

“He's fine, just a little tired, I think,” I replied.

“I'm worried about him,” my mother said.

My mother and I had both mentioned he'd lost the spring in his step and his hand had developed a slight tremor. He even looked older than he had a few months ago. But then, so did a lot of us.

“I can understand being worried,” my father added. “He really has aged since the last time I saw him … not that I'm anybody to talk about that.”

Our father was recovering, but he was still gaunt, and there were lines etched deeply on his face that had never been there before—or at least I'd never noticed them. Now I found myself staring at him a lot, maybe just to confirm that he was really, really there.

“Herb is important to all of us. I just think he needs to take things easier at his age,” my mother said.

“He went to sleep early tonight,” I said. “He's going to get a good night's sleep and then tomorrow he only has to sit beside me in the ultralight.”

I was happy to have that chance to be with him. Now that my father was back, I felt like I hadn't seen Herb much. It would also give us a chance to talk. It seemed like when he was free of the neighborhood he was freer to tell me what he was thinking.

“And we have a winner!” Danny yelled out.

“That just means you're better at lying,” Rachel said.

“Or telling when somebody is lying. That is what Balderdash is all about, you know!”

“Enough!” my mother said. “It's time for bed. Both of you go up and get ready for bed.”

The twins got up, continuing to argue with each other as they left the room.

“I'll go and help settle them in,” my father said.

“I haven't been home all week to do that, so let me. You just sit,” my mother said.

She went upstairs and I could hear her shushing the bickering.

“Why don't we do the dishes?” my father suggested to me.

“You wash and I'll dry.”

I started to gather up the dishes, and my father went to run water in the sink before he caught himself. He chuckled. “I spent so much time out there, knowing that there was no water or electricity, but then I come back here and expect everything to be the same.”

“I understand. Do you know how many times I've reached for my cell phone or grabbed the remote and tried to watch TV? Pretty stupid.”

“Not stupid, it's habit. Reassuring, comforting habit.”

“We do have water; it's just not in the pipes.” I lifted up the big container and poured a few inches into the bottom of the sink. He added a tiny bit of soap and swirled it around to get it sort of sudsy. We were down to our last bottle.

“I guess we should be grateful for what we have,” he said. “Nobody here is going without water for drinking or washing or irrigation.”

“A lot of thought and planning and work went into that. I just hope there will be enough food for everybody.”

“It certainly looks like a lot of food, but there are a lot of mouths to feed.”

As my father talked I studied him without trying to look too obvious about it. He had managed to put on a few pounds, but he was still not much more than skin and bones. There was a noticeable shaking in his hands, and he didn't seem to be able to stand for long. How had he been able to walk halfway across the country when sometimes it looked like he could hardly walk halfway across the house?

The glass I was drying slipped from my hands and, before I could recover it, crashed to the ceramic tiles, shattering into a million pieces. My father jumped and spun around, a look of terror on his face.

“It was just a glass … I'm sorry.”

He took a deep breath and seemed to relax. “It's okay … I guess I'm still a little jittery.”

I swept up the mess and then we finished washing and drying in silence. Now and then came laughter from upstairs—the twins having fun with Mom.

“I used to hate doing dishes,” he said. “But now I have to say it's kind of wonderful.”

“I still hate it,” I said, and he laughed.

“Listen, about tomorrow I just wish there was more that I could do to contribute to the family and to the neighborhood.”

“You still need your rest, Dad. As I said, I'm going up on patrol in the ultralight tomorrow. But we'd be a lot safer if you'd take the Cessna up as well at some point.”

A slight grin came to his face and grew into a smile. “I'd like that, but how about the first couple of times I go up, you be the copilot?”

“You don't need me to do that.”

“Just the first couple of times. I've been up in the air a lot less than you in the last few months.”

“It's like riding a bike,” I said.

“No it isn't. Fall off a bike and you skin your knee. Fall out of the sky and you lose your life. You've had a lot more training than me on the Cessna. I'd just like you to walk me through it, that's all.”

“I can do that. How about the day after tomorrow?”

“You have yourself a deal. Now let's just finish up the dishes and get to bed.”

 

36

Late that night, I felt my bedroom door open and squinted one eye to see a slightly lighter dark rectangle against the background of the hallway before the door swung closed again.

I heard someone come over to the bed. In my still-asleep state I didn't even start to reach for the pistol on my night table—I'd been trying to train myself to stop doing that. The last thing I wanted to do was shoot somebody in my family.

“Mom, is that—”

A hand suddenly pressed down on my throat and a piece of cold, sharp metal touched the side of my face.

“It isn't your mommy,” a voice whispered hoarsely. It was Brett.

My whole body froze.

“If you make a sound, if you struggle, I'll gut you,” he whispered.

This was not a nightmare, not the sleeping kind.

Brett pressed the metal—a knife—harder, and I could feel the blade prick the skin of my cheek.

“Where is your gun?” he whispered.

“It's…” I tried to talk, but his hand against my windpipe wouldn't let any air escape. He slightly released the pressure. “The night table … it's on the night table … beside the bed.”

He kept the one hand against my throat and removed the knife ever so slightly. He reached out and grabbed my pistol.

“Get up,” he said. He now removed his grip and stood up beside the bed. My eyes had had enough time to come awake and adjust to the light. He loomed right over top of me and in the faint light from the window I could see the gun—my gun—aimed right at me.

“Now!” he breathed.

He backed away and I slowly got up. I was wearing pants and socks, my spare pistol still in the holster on my ankle, pressed against my leg.

“We're going to leave, and you better move quietly. If anybody hears, if anybody comes out to try to stop us, I will kill them. Believe me.”

“I believe you,” I said quietly. “Why are you taking me?”

I could only think of one reason—that he wanted to kill me and didn't want anybody to hear—so his answer came as a shock.

“I need you to fly the plane.”

“The Cessna?”

“It's too valuable to leave behind. Move. The longer we talk, the more likely somebody will hear and come to investigate.”

There was no choice. “Let's go,” I said.

He grabbed me by the arm and swung me in front of him. I almost fell over, but his iron grip on my arm kept me up. I opened the door and hesitated. It was dark, the doors to all the other bedrooms closed. I stepped out into the hall, Brett right behind me. I was aware of the gun in my sock but more aware of the gun aimed at my back. As quietly as possible, I went down the stairs. I knew by heart which of them was going to creak under my weight, and I avoided them. Brett followed suit. We reached the main floor and the house remained silent. Thank goodness nobody had heard us.

Then I had a terrible thought. What if he'd already killed my family? What if they were upstairs in their beds, dead?

I stopped and turned around as we reached the front door. “How do I know my family is all right, that you haven't hurt them?”

“You don't.” Even in the dim light I could see a sick smile come to his face.

“Adam?” It was a small, high sound—Rachel.

I froze in my tracks and Brett pressed against the wall, trying to disappear into the gloom.

She was at the top of the stairs. Just a shadow in the darkness. “Is that you?” Her voice was quiet, like she was trying not to wake anybody.

“Of course it's me,” I said, working hard to control my own voice. “I'm just going out to my plane for a bit. Go back to sleep. Okay?”

“Sure … okay.”

“Rachel, I love you.”

“I love you, too. Goodnight.”

I heard the door to her room softly close.

“How touching,” Brett mocked. “You saved her life. Not that she'll ever see you again to say thank you. You should have said goodbye instead of goodnight.”

I bent down and grabbed my shoes. I'd need them, but they would also give me an excuse to bend down later on—to pull out my pistol.

We went outside. There was slightly more light but not a lot more. Clouds were blocking the stars and the moon. It wasn't raining but it was supposed to start sometime tonight. What time was it?

A dark figure came out of the shadows from Herb's front lawn. But it wasn't Herb.

“Well?” Brett asked.

“Nobody has come out yet,” the man said. I recognized him. He was one of Brett's squad—another one of the prisoners. He was carrying a rifle.

“He's got one more minute to get Herb, and then we leave,” Brett said.

“You're taking Herb, too?” I gasped.

“We're killing Herb,” Brett said.

“Why would you kill him?”

“He's the only one here who's a danger to us when we leave. Besides, after all he taught me, he'd be disappointed in me if I didn't try to take him out.”