Indivisible (Overlooked by Liberty) (9 page)

      
"Oh, you bet.  Borrowed it from my Uncle."  He opened the knife and slipped the blade in the fire.  "This kills all the germs, ya know."

      
Helen rolled her eyes at the dramatic presentation.  She knew that if she went along with this thing, she'd have to give the cut a heavy dose of antiseptic.  But her attention was drawn back to the gun.  "Is that thing loaded?"

      
"A gun is no good unless it's loaded.  You can't shoot an empty gun."

      
"Let me have it."

      
"I can't do that, it's my Uncle's."

      
Butch pulled the knife out of the flame and waved it through the air to cool it, then wiped the soot from the blade with a filthy hanky he pulled from his back pocket.  Helen shook her head,
So much for cleanliness
, she thought.  "Now Butch, don't you cut me much."

      
"Trust me.  Just enough to bleed."  He held her thumb and sliced her.

      
"You cut me deep!"  She put it in her gown.  "I trusted you!"

      
"It's got to make a scar."

      
"Now give me the gun!"

      
"I can't, it's my Uncle's.

      
"You have to.  I'm your new Akela."  The name Akela, means "a good leader," a word taken from the
Jungle Book
.  The title is introduced in early Cub Scouts and carries through Boy Scouts.  Respecting authority is a main facet of Scouting. 

      
So Butch knew what that meant.  He could officially become a Scout again--eventually an Eagle.  He handed over the weapon.  "There's sixteen of us in all.  Every time I tell about the Dixville Massacre I get a new member to the Ghost Pack."

      
Thad snuggled up on the mattress beside Tater, with an unzipped sleeping bag over both of them.  Butch dropped thicker logs in the fire for the night and went to his mattress to turn in as well.  "That's your place, where you are."  Butch pointed to the remaining cushion where Helen sat.

      
Helen recognized Barry's sleeping bag at the head of the mattress.  She reached for the bundle and unrolled it.

      
"When's our first meeting?" Butch inquired.

      
"Sometime soon.  Someplace secret.  I don't know."  Helen lay on her side and watched the fire.  Butch did the same.  Tater and Thad slumbered; Tater twitched in a dreamscape chase for a rabbit.

      
Helen gazed hypnotically at the fire's dance.  So much so soon: First she had lost her son, now the rest of her life was gone.  How could she survive living out here?  She wondered if any place existed for a single, middle-aged woman wanted by the law; she felt very alone.

      
Tater stirred from her sleep, walked over and lay on top of the sleeping bag next to Helen.  She licked her hand.  She patted the dog on the head.  "What do we do, girl."

      
Butch heard the comment.  "Don't worry Ms. Conrad.  Me and Thad will always be here for ya."

Colebrook Covenant Meeting (Noon, November 11)

      
Mr. and Mrs. Philbin, a sixty-year-old couple, graciously allowed the Colebrook Covenant to use the basement of their one hundred eighty-year-old home for meetings.  There were five members present: Mr. and Mrs. Philbin, Harv Madison, Max Sessal, Vanessa Larson.

      
It was the oldest house in Colebrook; the original stone wall was around much of the basement.  Years ago, the former owner had laid brick across a rear entrance, the remnants of a passageway once part of the underground railroad used to smuggle slaves to safety over a century ago.  Now, a fluorescent light illuminated the drab surroundings.  Organized clutter of stacked canning jars, boxes, and shelving lined two walls.

      
Scattered conversations vied for dominance.       

      
Max yelled out, "Hold it.  One at a time!"

      
Harv Madison, short, plump, with black bushy eyebrows, spoke out from the silence, "I say, go ahead with what we're doing.  We can only supply Helen with an attorney."  The Feds had launched the raid on Helen's house based on her revelations to Bradley; they thought The Wizard was in town, possibly set up in her home.  No one in the Colebrook Covenant knew Helen had gone with the Rousells; they presumed she had been arrested for drugging her ex-husband with prescription medicine.  Under present martial law, suspects could be detained for an undetermined length of time.

      
Max wasn't about to give up that easily.  "Someone with experience might be able to get her back.  I met three guys from the South the other day.  They want to arrange a meeting with us.  I believe this bunch was involved in the Tobacco War rebellion."  Five years ago, the Federal Government had taxed tobacco farmers so heavily they began selling their crops on the black market.  Federal agents began seizing farms.  An organization called the Tobacco Boys formed.  Like their ancestors of the Civil War era, they were superb fighters.  Last year, the White House sent Army Regulars to Georgia and quelled the uprising.  Massive casualties were incurred on both sides.  "They wouldn't say how many there are in their group, but I got the impression the number is sizable.  They might be the ones to get Helen back before she's moved out of the area.  Since the Dixville Massacre, we've received money from all over the country--a little over two million dollars so far.  We could easily back them."  It was ironic: President Winifred's plea for contributions to the American people to help the families affected by the Dixville Massacre would be used to fight his administration.

      
Harv wanted to quell this talk of bloodshed.  "I think you should meet them, but to step into a fight using these Tobacco Boys is crazy.  I've been in the military.  We don't want to get involved with a militia.  We don't know who these guys are or what they believe.  We certainly don't want anymore deaths."

      
"Unless it's a Fed," Mrs. Larson cut in.  "Were any of your kids murdered?"  The huge woman was adamant.  Excluding Harv Madison, everyone in the room had lost a loved one in the Dixville Massacre: Mrs. Larson, a son; the Philbins, a grandson; Max, his nephew Barry.

      
"Well, no."

      
"Then shut up," she snapped.

      
Max intervened, "So what do you suggest, Vanessa?"

      
"I want to be there when you meet them," she responded soundly.

Colebrook, New Hampshire (November 12)

Subject:  Bean Town

Date:   Sunday, 12 Nov. 2023 9:13:054

From:  Hman

To:  Xman

Cc:

Attachments:

      
A most elated howdy to you all.  Got your note, goat.  Communication is critical.  I'm the man with the plan and have control of the bowl.  Was there ever any question?  I don't think so, joe.

      
I heard that the hawk came and kicked the Xman out of the house.  Not to worry, Murry.  Take your time slime.  They took the Xman to the Bean Patch in the Black Hole.  I just know these things.  I'm in the know, you know.

      
It snowed like a banshee in heat last night.  All roads closed.  No problem, I drive the optic highway.  Get out of my face, ace!  Move over, rover!  I'm coming through with all RAMs running.  Beep!  Beep!

      
Using Max's laptop computer, Helen responded to the maniac communication person in the Vermont Covenant, code named Hman.  She was at Max's deer camp with Butch and Thad, Tater curled up by the wood stove.  It was direct E-mail, but they still couldn't be explicit; the System Operator running the Web site could read any letter if she chose.  Helen pushed back from the table, "Butch, you and Thad jump on your skis and get a message to the Philbins.  Tell them I'm safe at Max's camp and that the Vermont link is up and running.  Tell them that according to information across the river, Max is in custody and has been taken to Boston already." 

      
Just after the Colebrook Covenant meeting yesterday, four federal agents picked up Max on Main Street.  The Feds believed Max was The Wizard.  Under the temporary martial law, citizens could be detained without due process.  Max had been one of many the government suspected who had been incarcerated.

      
The boys slipped their gear on and started out.  Butch turned and gave Helen a Scout salute before going--Thad as well.  Helen forced a smile and saluted in response, but she had other things on her mind.

      
As a fugitive, she had come to stay at Max's deer camp.  The Rousell hideout was virtually concealed, plants had covered it even before the big snow, but it was small and dreary inside.  At least the deer camp had windows.  And, before Max had been taken, she relieved her brother at the communication site so he could spend some time at home.  Helen learned that Butch and Thad spent a lot of time at the deer camp.  They were the ones who turned on Max's computer and checked the E-mail when he didn't return.  It had occurred to Helen that the Rousells might be skipping school; now, she was sure of it.

      
During these days in hiding, Helen had plenty of time to ponder her situation.  Turning to the window, she looked across the span toward Sugar Hill.  Puffy snow coated everything, accumulating up to eight inches on narrow tree limbs.  It was a windless storm where large flakes floated down and set quietly in place.  She had watched it through the night; it gave her time to reflect.  Helen had considered turning herself in; so far she had only been responsible for distributing prescription drugs and doping her ex-husband's drink.  Bitterness convinced her not to.  The Feds were responsible for the death of her son, and Bradley was a part of that group.  Up to this point, she had not been involved with the Covenant.

        
Helen pulled the picture of Barry out of her shirt pocket and stared at it.  She spoke aloud to herself, "This is a town where people stop their cars to let you cross the street.  My biggest gripe used to be cleaning up after the dog."  Tater's eyes rolled up and her tail flopped once, knowing Helen spoke of her.  She reached over and patted the animal's head.  "I don't know what to do now.  I guess I don't see much of a future for me, Tater."

      
She thought about Max.  "He was so sure of himself.  'There are still things worth fighting for,' he would say if he were here."  Lifting the picture of Barry again, she gazed at it and smiled.  Tears formed and rolled down her cheeks; she could taste the saltiness as one crossed over her lip.

       
Helen had been an avid reader.  She particularly appreciated poetry.  A single verse from a poem she had read in high school haunted her:
Crush my dreams and I'll awaken
.  Though her life had been ordinary, her son Barry had been exceptional.  A child who had been a total joy to be with was taken from her by a heartless administration concerned only with preserving itself.  At the time, she hadn't known what the verse to the poem meant.  "Max is right," Helen spouted to herself, "there are things worth fighting for."  She
had
awakened.

Chapter 6

Washington, D.C. (December 4)

      
"What do you know about the Dixville incident?" asked Paz.  The Secretary of Defense sat across from Steve Morrison of Spectator News in a restaurant located near the outskirts of Washington D.C.  General Paz positioned himself so he could view the rest of the establishment, particularly the entrance.  Waitresses and busboys rushed from table to table, scurrying to keep up with the noon rush.  A myriad of conversations riddled the room as the two studied each other's faces for clues.

      
Steve chewed his gum anxiously, he wasn't sure how to proceed.  Kyle had phoned him, extending an invitation for drinks.  The Secretary of Defense hadn't clarified his intentions.  Another oddity: from the background noise, Steve could tell the General had made his call from a pay phone.  Steve knew Kyle had a reason for inviting him there.  It wasn't social; such a thing doesn't exist in Washington D.C.

      
The General was probing, "What do you know about the Dixville Massacre?"

      
"I only know what I've heard through the media," replied Steve, smiling at his own joke.  When Kyle failed to react, Steve continued seriously, "I listen in on the CB broadcasts out of the North Country.  Some nights I can pick it up.  They tell a different story than the President."

      
"What's coming out of the North Country is true."

      
The reporter stopped gnawing his gum, "What?"

      
"You heard me."  Kyle confirmed.