Sunrise (14 page)

“We could dig more corn,” Darla said.

“It’s not that bad,” Mom said. “All we have to do is move to town, which is what we should have done weeks ago.” “This farm is not defensible,” Ben said. “We must combine forces with the town to survive over the long term.” “I don’t think they want us, Ben,” I said.

“I’m sure if you made a sincere apology, Mayor Petty would come around,” Mom said. “He’s not a bad guy, you know. He’d keep us safe.”

“I did apologize, Mom,” I said. “In front of everyone. And now most of Warren won’t even talk to me.”

Mom started to say something, but Darla spoke over her. “Moving is a good idea. But not to Warren. What about moving east of Warren where the wind turbines are?”

“You still have the defensibility problem,” Ben said. “I’ve been thinking about that,” Darla replied. “We could build a one-room structure—a big timbered hut. Have it back right up to a wind turbine. I could cut sniper ports into the turbine’s support column, build the greenhouses right next door, and we can use the same heating system to keep everything warm.”

“That could work,” Uncle Paul said thoughtfully.

“It would be like a Viking longhouse,” Ben said. “Exactly!” Darla cried. “Make the walls thick enough to withstand most gunfire, build gun ports on each side, and connect the greenhouses with tunnels so we don’t even have to go outside to work.”

“What about water?” I asked.

“If we can find a drilling rig in decent shape,” Uncle Paul replied, “we might be able to drill a well inside the longhouse. The water table is high around here.”

“They used to dig wells by hand.” Darla shrugged. Mom stood up. “There’s plenty of water in Warren! All we have to do is move there! Why isn’t anyone listening to me?” she yelled.

“Mom,” I replied quietly, “I’m not going to Warren.” “This is about her, isn’t it?” Mom shot a hateful glare at Darla.

I rolled to my feet and stepped between them. “It’s not about her, Mom, or at least not in the way you think.” “You . . . you’d move out to some wasteland instead of following your mother?”

I nodded slowly.

“Come with me,” she whispered. “Let’s go to Warren— you, me, and Rebecca. Get a fresh start. Be a family again.” “No,” I replied as gently as I could. I was still angry at her, but I couldn’t see the point of further aggravating things.

My mother choked back a sob, spun, and fled up the stairs. I sat in silence for a few moments. Outside, the barn collapsed with a mighty crash, shaking the foundation of my new home.

Chapter 23

Darla made me strip down beside the fire to check my wounds. I thought she should have to strip down—she’d gone sliding off the roof of the house too—but she refused. “I’m not the one who nearly got run over by a panel van,” she said. I had a mess of nasty bruises all up and down my left side, and my head still hurt terribly, but otherwise I seemed to be okay. Darla helped me back into my clothes, and we trudged upstairs to bed.

The next morning Darla and I set out at first light to try to track our attackers. We took two rifles but planned to keep our distance; all we wanted to learn was where our panel van and, more importantly, our pork had gone.

It took less than half the morning to answer that question. The tracks were clear: four pairs of boots coming in, the four tires of our panel van coming out. We followed the tire tracks until Warren came into view. Darla slammed on Bikezilla’s brakes, bringing us to a sliding halt on the snowy road.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

“You’re just going to charge in there?”

“Yeah, get our truck back.”

“What if the whole town was in on it? We go charging in there, we might never come out.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I started to turn Bikezilla around. “Wait,” Darla said, “let’s go around Warren. Scout sites for the longhouse.”

We found a perfect site later that same afternoon about five miles east of Warren atop a low rise with a stand of large, dead trees lining the creek at the bottom of the hill.

It was almost fully dark by the time we got back to the farm. Rebecca met us in the foyer before I’d even had time to take off my boots. Her eyes were red and puffy. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Mom,” Rebecca replied. “She’s gone.”

Chapter 24

“What happened?” I asked Rebecca.

“After lunch she asked if I wanted to go to Warren with her. I didn’t know what to say. I asked if we could wait until you got home, and then I went to help Uncle Paul. She left sometime this afternoon. Her go-bag and some of her clothes are gone. . . .”

Rebecca’s mouth clamped shut, trying to hold in a tremor that rolled across her lower lip. I took her in my arms, remembering that she’d only turned fifteen a few months ago. In the old world, she’d have been a sophomore at Cedar Falls High, hanging out with her friends, complaining about homework—a normal kid. She buried her face against my chest, muffling sobs. “Shh,” I said, “it’s okay.”

“Why would she leave us?” Rebecca said through her sobs. “Why would she leave me?”

“I don’t know.”

“It has something to do with Dad, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe so. Maybe she blames me or Darla. Tomorrow Uncle Paul, Darla, and I will go to Warren to see if we can talk to her.”

“I want to go with you,” Rebecca said.

“The whole city of Warren might be up in arms. No—” “She’s my mother! I’ll keep quiet, keep my head down. You won’t even know I’m there.”

I thought about it. She was no age to be traveling with us into what might be an ambush. But I was only two years older. And we’d all spent hundreds of hours practicing with the rifles. “You can come—”

“Thank you!”

“Ifyou promise to do whatever Uncle Paul or I tell you to. Instantly. No questions or backtalk.”

“I will,” she promised.

The next morning Darla and I pedaled Bikezilla back down the road to Warren, with Rebecca and Uncle Paul riding in the load bed. We’d gotten the pickup truck unstuck using a makeshift winch and some levers, but we only had one spare tire for it. One of the goals of this trip was to acquire at least two new tires. With new tires, we hoped we would be able to use the truck to pull the big metal tank free of the snowbank.

We stopped about a mile from Warren and hid Bikezilla by dragging it over the embankment of snow that flanked the road. We approached Warren on foot, fighting our way through the deep snow covering the fields outside of town. Even with four of us breaking trail in turns, it took over an hour to reach the town.

The streets of Warren were deserted and silent— normal since no one in their right mind wanted to be outside in the subzero temperatures. The five of us flitted from house to house, keeping abandoned houses between us and the few that were occupied. At least the weeks of campaigning were good for something—both Darla and I knew exactly where everyone lived.

We reached the back door of the clinic and eased it open, slipping inside like invading winter ghosts. Dr. McCarthy and Belinda were reading at the front desk by the light of an oil lamp—he had a paperback novel with a beach scene on the front, and she had a heavy medical textbook.

“Another slow day?” I asked.

“Yes, thank God.” Dr. McCarthy smiled as he stood and shook my hand. “Was meaning to get out and check on you folks soon. Just hadn’t gotten around to it.”

“You hear about last night?” Uncle Paul asked.

“Last night?”

“Someone burned our barn and greenhouses,” I said.

Dr. McCarthy swore. “It’s not the volcano I curse most in this mess—it’s the knives we keep sticking in each other’s backs. The Reds are back?”

“No,” I said flatly. “Whoever attacked us came from here.” “You’re sure?”

I nodded.

Dr. McCarthy swore again. “There’s a lot of bad feeling around. Some folks feel like you led the Reds here. Mayor hasn’t been helping things any. But I didn’t think it had gotten that bad.”

“Is the mayor behind the attack?” Uncle Paul asked. Dr. McCarthy paused, scowling. His nose wrinkled as if he were catching a whiff of well-rotted road kill. “If he is, I haven’t heard anything about it. Doesn’t seem like his style—he’d want to arrest and try you, all official-like.” “Whoever attacked our farm last night has our panel van and pork,” I said. “We need it back.”

“Is it safe to talk to Mayor Petty about it?” Uncle Paul asked. “You think he’ll try to arrest Alex?”

“If you’d asked me an hour ago, I would have said it was perfectly safe. Now . . . I don’t know.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, and the conversation lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

“Why don’t I walk downtown and feel him out?” Dr. McCarthy said at last. “If things seem on the level, then we’ll all go meet with him.”

“Ask him to come back here,” Darla said. “Whether he’s behind it or not, someone in this town means us harm. I’d rather not walk around outside any more than we have to.” “I’d like to talk to my mother too,” I said.

“Me too,” Rebecca said.

“She’s not out at the farm?” Dr. McCarthy asked.

“She left yesterday,” I said. “I’m hoping she’s here.” Dr. McCarthy laid one hand on my shoulder and another on Rebecca’s, squeezing gently. “Things okay?” “Not really,” I said. I bit the inside of my cheek hard, suppressing a sudden urge to cry. Rebecca turned, pulling away from his hand.

“I’ll do what I can.” Dr. McCarthy let his arms drop and reached for his coat.

Dr. McCarthy was gone for more than an hour. I paced nervously, wondering if he would come back with a posse in tow to arrest me. I trusted Dr. McCarthy, but once he told Mayor Petty I was here, anything could happen.

But only three people were with Dr. McCarthy when he returned. First through the clinic’s door was the mayor, his wheelchair pushed by Sam Moyers, his twenty-something nephew. Sam wore a sheriff’s badge on his coveralls and a huge chrome revolver strapped to his hip, which was strange. When Darla and I met with him before the election, he told us he’d worked on a road crew before the volcano. He was no kind of sheriff.

Behind them, Mom walked in. Rebecca called out and ran to her, stopping a few feet away as if she were caught between the opposing forces of two magnets, suspended in the room between me and Mom.

I started to smile involuntarily and then felt my lips freeze on my face. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Why had she left us without so much as a goodbye? What did it mean that she was here?

Uncle Paul spoke up before I could, addressing Mayor Petty. “We’re looking for our pork.”

“Doc told me all about it,” Mayor Petty said. “Terrible, just terrible.”

“You have anything to do with it?” I asked.

“Of course not! In fact, I brought our new sheriff along to take your report. We’ll do everything we can to help you track down your stolen property.”

“New sheriff?” I whispered to Uncle Paul.

“Vaughn Frenchman died before you got here last year,” Uncle Paul replied. “Pneumonia.”

“Was high time to appoint a new sheriff. And Sam will be a fine replacement,” Mayor Petty said.

“Alex,” Mom said, “I talked to the mayor. It’s all worked out. We can all move here. You sign an apology statement, and everything’s forgiven. We’ll get one of the empty houses—more if we want—and a share of the town’s food.”

I was too whipsawed by the multiple conversations to respond at first. Instead, Rebecca said, “C-couldn’t you have told us where you were going? Told me? I thought you’d left us!”

“Oh, honey.” Mom held her arms wide for a hug. “I’m so sorry. I only wanted to take care of things. Take care of you. I should have told you where I was going. Will you forgive me?”

Rebecca sniffled loudly and then ran into Mom’s arms, clinging to her.

“Mom,” I said as calmly as I could, “we can’t move to Warren. It’s not safe here. There’s no wall.”

“We had an election over that issue, son,” Mayor Petty said. “And we settled it.”

“It’s safer here than on our own,” Mom said. “And there’s plenty of food. We can be a family again.”

“I’m sure Mayor Petty will loan us some food, given that our farm is part of Warren,” Uncle Paul said. “Help us get going at our new location.”

“Sorry, Paul. The new food distribution policy allows for sharing only with people inside the town limits for the duration of the emergency. Technically that means Mrs. Halprin’s family doesn’t qualify. But I’m willing to make an exception if he signs that apology.” Mayor Petty waved a piece of paper.

“I’m not moving to Warren,” I said.

“You won’t sign a simple apology just to stay with your mother? You’d rather move to the frozen wasteland around those windmills?”

“I wish you hadn’t told them where we’re going,” Darla said, her disgust plain in her voice.

“You stay out of this!” Mom said.

“Mom! It has nothing to do with the apology! I already apologized. I’ll sign the stupid paper—I don’t care about that.” I snatched the paper out of Mayor Petty’s hands and groped futilely for a pen. “What I want is a future. A safe, stable future. We can’t get that in Warren.”

“There’s food here,” Mom said. “That’s a future.”

“For a while,” I replied. Mayor Petty extracted a pen from the pocket of his jacket and held it out to me. I scribbled my name at the bottom of the page.

“You really should read that,” Darla said.

“What does it matter?” I didn’t care—about Warren, about Mayor Petty, or about what any of them thought of me. I was trying to convince myself I didn’t care about Mom either, but it wasn’t working.

Mayor Petty took the paper and pen from me as a slick smile creased his face. “The family reunion is touching and all, but I believe you wanted to report a theft?”

“That’s right,” Uncle Paul said. “Panel van we got from Stockton. You know the one.”

“Reds took it back?” Sheriff Moyers said.

“Tracks led here,” Uncle Paul replied.

“Maybe they drove it through here to make it look like someone here took it.”

“Could be,” Uncle Paul admitted.

“You know, if you had a wall, people couldn’t drive through town willy-nilly,” I said.

Both Mom and Mayor Petty shot me nasty looks.

“I’ll write up a report when I get back to the office,” Sheriff Moyers said.