The Last of the Freemen (7 page)

They sat at the table, each with a stainless steel soup bowl in front of them.  Hughie lay in the portable crib, gazing contentedly at a swaying, leafy linden twig that Bern had hung from a rafter with a length of nylon cord.  A crank-powered radio next to Bern was turned on at low volume; a thuggish male voice came from it.

“We will search every house until we find these Cull Warriors,”
said the voice,
“and we will bring them to justice. We will go tirelessly from door to door-”

Bern switched off the radio. “I can't listen to that man, your governor.  The sound of his voice makes me sick.”

“My husband couldn’t stand him, either,” Erin said, and tentatively sampling the fare. “Not bad. Not what I would expect from a bunch of weeds.  It tastes like food.”

“It is food. Green soup, we call it, but there are endless variations on it. Basically, it's what spring greens you have available, wild and otherwise.”

She held her hands up uncertainly in the absence of a napkin, then carefully wiped her mouth with the side of her hand. “And it’s thick,” she said.

“Linden leaves, and violet leaves, too, are thickeners.  Makes it seem more like a meal.”

“I wouldn't have known there was anything to eat growing around here.”

“Well, Harm has a lot of canned food over there, and some of the dehydrated stuff that campers eat. I can't stand it, though, not if there's real food to be had.”

She nodded and looked at her watch. “I think,” she said hesitantly, “that radio show is on now, on one of those channels, the one critical of the government.”

“Ach,” he said with a dismissive gesture of his hand.  “Don't waste your time.  It's controlled opposition.”

“How can you say that?  They keep trying to take it off the air.”

“For show,” he said before taking another spoonful.

“But my husband used to listen to it, even though it drove me crazy, actually, because we didn't agree on politics. But now I listen to it once in a while, just to remember him, to feel like he's with me in some way - he used to say it gave him hope.”

Bern wiped his mouth and stroked his beard with a single downward swipe of his hand.

“False hope, to be dashed against a wall, to divert and discourage the target.  Listen, this is nothing against your husband.  He was a good man. Maybe he didn't have enough time to piece things together, to see the pattern. I've heard all these frauds talk about freedom, but all they really do, is convince people like your husband to sit on their hands and wait for the next election.  Or go to a rally.  As if... As if the only power they have is to vote!  To stand around at protests!  That's no real power at all!  You've been de-horned, or worse, if you believe that.  Vote for the next thief who'll end up doing the same as the last one, then wait for another election!  But keep working hard for them, keep paying them, just the same!  What a perfect system, at least for the ones on top.”

“I never thought about it that way.  But then, what would you do?”

“Now you’ll get me going!”

He sat up straight, placed his elbows on the table, and folded his hands in front of his chin.

“Not that it can happen,” he said, “you know, they’ve grubbed out all the old cultures, mashed everyone together in the propaganda schools, because they know folks without roots can’t stand their ground.  But imagine if enough people stopped paying their taxes, they could jail a few thousand, but not a few million!  Short of that, to not risk getting dragged away, people could shrink their financial footprints, to shrink their taxes.  Stop using that shyster money they require, because that only empowers them.  They've never once stepped back because of an election.”

“But not everyone is comfortable breaking the law.”

“True.  But following their corrupt laws amounts to being ruled, and being ruled is the opposite of following the law we have in each of us. You see what they did? They replaced old traditions and natural law with their made-up law, with a farcical, incontestable social contract that conveniently places them at the top of everything!”

“Wow.  I did get you going.”

“Sorry if I got worked up.  Maybe I've spent too much time around Harm. Once upon a time I was a farmer who minded my own business.”

“Do you think he'll be here soon?”

“I don't know, exactly. He intended to erase any trace of us, anything that could lead authorities to our families, that much I know.  But what he meant by ‘other business’, he didn’t say. Likely he wants to pass off the merchandise - some of it’s quite valuable - to someone who can use it, rather than just destroy it. And he had gathered a heap of medicinal herbs this morning, before you came over, he was planning to deliver them today to some renegade healer woman I think he's a little sweet on. Wouldn't surprise me if he tried to get those to her.”

“Sounds risky. They’ve been throwing those people in jail, haven't they?”

“The ones who don't get shot during the initial raids.”

“But there is some danger in using herbal medicine, wouldn't you say?  Some are poison, if you take too much, and some probably don't do any good at all.”

“Even so, how is it a government’s job to tell free people what they can do to themselves?”

“Good point. But I still don't see the point of risking everything for a pile of herbs.”

“He’s weighed his risks out pretty well over the years. And he has friends, you know... I wouldn't trust anyone outside of our own people, but there’s a strange kind of loyalty sometimes, in the underworld.  Or so he tells me. I know he has people, in unlikely places, who would risk a great deal for him, and he’s done the same for them.  I've seen it.”

“One of the police officers knew him, and called him Wolf.”

“Ha!  That old alias. Probably the less we know, the better.”

“And he seemed to sense there would be trouble downtown this morning.”

“He does have a sense for these things. Maybe because he's seen so much trouble in his life.” He frowned and went to the door with his gun to listen. “Someone's coming, let's hope it's him.”

Erin could hear an engine in the distance as Bern went outside and closed the door behind him; she listened tensely as it came closer and shut off. Several long minutes passed before she heard someone approach; Bern opened the door, holding a case of baby formula under his arm.

“All’s well,” he said. “Harm is here.”

Harm – now wearing a long sleeved, charcoal work shirt – held Mangler on a short leash as he approached; when Bern came inside, Harm tethered Mangler to a tree, took a deep breath, and scratched his head as he looked around.

“Harm,” Bern said over his shoulder,  “we have soup.  Come and eat.”

“Ich hab’ keine Hunger,”
Harm answered.

Once inside Bern placed the box of powdered baby formula on the table.

“Wow!” Erin happily exclaimed.  “Thank you so much!”

“Hughie should be set for a while now,” Bern said, and returned to eating.

“How did you manage it?” she called out the door to Harm.

He reluctantly came to the door.

“I traded for it.”  He squinted as he peered in at her.  “How’s your lip?”

“Oh, it’s fine, thank you.  Just a little swollen.”

“What did you trade?” Bern asked.

“Most of the selective-fire conversion kits.”

“Those were worth thousands!”

“Yeah, but I had to dump them. And Hector was taking a big chance, coming to meet me.  He earned the difference.”

Bern shook his head. “That militia group was ready to pay for those in gold.”

“I know,” Harm answered tiredly. “But it didn't feel right.  I think they've been infiltrated, like so many of those groups.”

“But couldn't we have-”

“Es macht nichts.  Es ist schon getan,”
Harm said sharply. “Besides,” he continued in a milder tone, “Hector has a family to feed. He’s been one of the only English I’ve been able to trust for the last few years.”

“What are these things?  If I might ask,” Erin interjected.

“Conversion kits,” Bern said. “To change the commonest sort of tactical rifle from semi- to fully automatic.  Don't misunderstand, I'm glad you can feed Hughie. But part of my being here, and helping Harm, was to earn money for a down payment on some land for my grandson. Harm had me bring those things up here from Kentucky for this deal, and I was to get a percentage.”

“You know I can cover the costs,” Harm said, stopping short as he glanced at Erin.  ”But I’ll be quiet.”

“My sons,” Bern explained to Erin, “don't want Harm as their benefactor.”

“Why not?”

“They both married into families that have shunned him.  Things get complicated.”

“Es ist mir egal,”
Harm said dismissively as he stepped outside and emptied a metal crate full of kindling onto the porch. He placed it, upended, in the doorway and sat crouched on it, with his elbows on his knees.  “It’s like a game sometimes” he said.  “They have no plan for laundering any gold.  You can't just bring it to the bank.  People shun me, but then take my advice, or my help, once or twice removed.”

“Fair enough,” said Bern.  “But there have to be more of those kits left.”

“There are.  Twenty.  They'll be gifts for John Bear.”

“Him? I thought he owed you,” Bern protested, clearly perturbed, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“No point taking chances.  He can get us across the state line.  They have checkpoints on every road across the border, from what I hear.  And Mrs. Gordon’s picture is everywhere.”  He glanced her way and wrung his hands.  “There's a reward out for you.  And a lot of news coverage.”

She stared blankly into her soup.  “I can't believe this is happening.”

“So what’s the plan?” Bern asked.  “We’ll head there after dark?”

“Us, but not you, you’ve risked enough.  You need to get back to your sons.  I'm untraceable, to my family or the
Kreis
.  You're not.  If you get caught, well, you know what that would mean.”

Bern stroked his beard.  “True,” he conceded.

“So tonight, you’ll head west with Mangler, off to Ruprecht’s.  He's following the situation, listening to the police scanners, he’ll advise you from there, have a switch of cars, and get you across the state line.”

“I’m taking Mangler?”

“Yeah.  I don't trust him around the baby.  Ruprecht will keep him for now.”

”So sei es denn,”
Bern said with some resignation.

Erin cleared her throat and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“So where are we going?”

“To see an old associate of mine.”

“Someone we can trust, I hope?”

“I think so.”

“He’s a cold-hearted killer,” Bern said.

“So am I,” Harm returned.

Bern groaned and leaned back in his chair. Erin watched their exchange with some confusion.

“And after we see him?” she asked.  “What then?”

“Then we can put some distance between ourselves and - this area,” Harm said quietly.

“And then, after that?”

Harm’s roving gaze focused on her momentarily, but soon returned to wandering.

“It’ll take some time to sort that out.  Our first stop will be my sister’s family. They don't live too far across the state line. We can't stay there for long, putting them in danger, but it'll get us away from here.”

“That’s quite a risk,” Bern said. “You have so many hideouts.”

“I have drop-points.  None of them close by has running water.  And I have business to do, I can't stick around.  Can you imagine her and the baby left alone in the woods?  And - if I happen to not make it back?”

“True,” Bern said.

“Well,” Erin protested, “thanks for not leaving us alone in the woods, but I'm not totally helpless, you know.”

They both looked at her, unbelieving and amused.

“And I thought -” she continued, “hasn't that gang taken over a lot of small towns in Pennsylvania?”

“Not in that immediate area,” Harm assured her.  “The
Asesinos
are farther east.  And they only attack towns where the National Guard has already disarmed everyone.  You know, for their own safety.”

“I'm guessing, from what I've seen, that's not just a coincidence?”

“You're figuring it out!” Bern chuckled.

“Beyond our immediate escape” Harm began haltingly, “I don't want to get your hopes up, I'm still looking into it, but I think your brother-in-law might still be alive.”

“What?  How do you know?”

He stared at the floor and squeezed his hands together.  “He contacted me before the Cull riot where your husband was killed, anonymously, trying to buy a pistol.  Nearly got himself one, but I was surveilling before I made the drop and recognized your husband, he’d went along with him, so I had to bail out.”

“Recognized him?” she asked.   “So you knew my husband?”

“We met briefly, after Mangler ate your Guinea fowls, I went over to apologize and offer reimbursement.  He wouldn't have it.”

“He did tell me he met a giant out there. He was a little frightened of you. But why couldn't you sell them the gun?”

“It wouldn't do, to have him know what we were doing, and know where we live  Even good people talk when they get scared, or have their families threatened.”

“How do you know he's alive?”

“I don't, for certain.  But there have been phone calls, from the same phone number, starting a few weeks ago.  I never answered. I figured it’s the authorities calling with his phone, tracking down all of his contacts. So I never called back, until an hour ago.  He was thrown off that I knew who he was, or says he is.  That’s a good sign. He says he survived the Cull riot by playing dead, and went into hiding. He figured out for himself that survivors are killed. Supposedly he's holed up with a group of government resistors who aren't as well armed as they'd like to be.  He wouldn't say where.  But we’ll talk again.”

Bern grinned. “It seems you’ll have a place to go, after all.”

“My brother-in-law?” she said with her eyes wide.  “I'm happy if he's alive, but it's not as though we were ever very close.”

“You belong with family,” Harm said.

“I belong in some bunker with a bunch of anti-government nuts? And a brother-in-law who gets on my nerves?”

“Mrs. Gordon,” Harm said, “what else can we do?”