The Rule of Three (16 page)

“There’s nothing for
you
to be sorry about. I meant what I said to Sergeant Evans about doing what had to be done. I think that; I
believe
that. I
need
to believe that. So did you have a good look at the survey?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what are your thoughts?”

He looked like he was studying me, trying to figure out what I knew. I wasn’t going to leave any doubt.

“I want to know about the farm,” I said.

“I didn’t know the farm was on there,” my mother said.

“That isn’t what Adam means, is it?” Herb asked.

I shook my head. “When were you going to tell us?” I asked.

“I started to talk to you about some parts last night before we were interrupted. I would have thought it was better to leave it for now, but maybe last night helped make the case for what I’m seeing.”

“Are you two going to let me in on what you’re talking about?” my mother asked.

“Certainly. Adam, would you like to tell your mother?”

“It’s your plan, so you should tell her. Besides, maybe I don’t even understand it.”

“Adam, my guess is you understand it completely, but, as you wish, I’ll outline it. Would it be all right if I topped up my coffee first?”

I quickly got to my feet and replenished both his cup and Mom’s.

“Thank you. Let me preface what I’m going to say. Last night was unfortunate but completely and utterly inevitable,” Herb said. “It was the fault not of the checkpoints or the security details but of the nature of the job they’ve been given to do. There are simply not enough people or weapons to patrol this area effectively and keep a perimeter defense.”

“We haven’t done badly so far, and each day we’ll get a little better,” my mother said.

“Unfortunately, getting a little better doesn’t work when things are getting exponentially worse. The people who wish to exploit, invade, or violate this little pocket will become more organized, as well as more desperate. Last night was only the tip of the iceberg. We cannot stop a determined attack.”

“We stopped them last night.”

“Last night was nothing compared to what’s to come. We can’t defend this entire precinct or even this neighborhood,” Herb said. He paused a moment. “It might be necessary for us to move outside this neighborhood.”

My mother stared at him. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“At some point we might have to abandon the neighborhood and move to a place with more potential for water, food, livestock, and defense.”

“Like the Peterson farm,” I said. I turned to Herb. “Right?”

“Correct. The farm has sufficient water and land for growing food, but also could be secured more readily and completely than the neighborhood because of its relative isolation. We could defend that position and the people living there.”

“There can’t possibly be housing for everybody in the neighborhood.”

“He’s not talking about everybody,” I said. “He just wants
some
people.”

My mother turned to Herb. She looked shocked. “Is Adam right?”

“I went through the census of the neighborhood and found people who have the skills, abilities, or aptitudes that will be needed if we are to survive.”

“How many people are you talking about?” my mother questioned.

“About a hundred and fifty,” Herb said.

“But there are over sixteen hundred people living here right now,” she said.

“That’s part of the problem. It’s not just that the area is too big to defend but that there are too many mouths with not enough food, and too many people who don’t have the skills or health to make a contribution to the collective good.”

“You don’t really think that we should or could simply pull up stakes and leave, do you?” my mother demanded.

“Certainly not at this stage. I’m just trying to be a good chess player and figure out the potential future moves.”

“This isn’t a chess game. You can’t just sacrifice lives like they’re pawns. What would happen to the people who don’t go to the farm?” I asked.

“They will, of course, be free to continue to live either here or elsewhere if they choose,” Herb said.

“It’s not
where
they’ll live, but
if
they’ll live,” I said. “If it gets bad enough to force us to leave, then without support a lot of them would die.”

“If things go bad, then even with support a lot of them are going to die. I’m not acting to kill people but acting to have some people live.”

“You said ‘if’ things go bad,” I said. “You’re not certain?”

He shook his head. “I’m not certain of anything. There are so many directions this could go that I need to try to think through all the options.”

“Maybe we have to take it step by step,” my mother said.

“You try to plan in advance, but you have to act step by step. Right now, today, it would be impossible to put in place a plan to relocate.”

“I’m glad you understand that. I have a duty to protect these people.”

“But, Herb, you think it might come to a point where defending them isn’t possible,” I said.

Herb nodded. “We can’t change what’s going to happen in the outside world. Decisions may have to be pursued that will make it harder for some people.”

“People like the Stevensons from down the road, and Sally Briggs and her little daughter … And what about Todd and his family?” I asked.

“I know it’s hard for you to even think about leaving people behind,” Herb said.

“It’s just not fair,” I said.

“I gave up believing in that word a long time ago. This has nothing to do with fairness,” Herb said. “It has everything to do with survival.”

“What if we put up better walls and got more people to man the checkpoints?” I asked.

“The walls would help keep people out, but how would that supply food for the people inside? How long before the food up at the market will be gone? Do you know how much food it takes to keep sixteen hundred people alive?”

“I have no idea, but a lot.”

“I know
exactly
how much,” Herb said. “I did the calculations. And when it’s gone, the people inside will no longer work together but will start preying on one another. If it comes to that, nobody survives. We might have to leave for some of us to survive. It’s a necessary evil.”

“But it’s still evil,” I said.

“A
necessary
evil. Desperate and ruthless times call for desperate and ruthless actions. The secret is to leave while there still is a choice. Right now we can feed and defend the neighborhood. If this continues much longer, we won’t be able to do it.”

“And you really think it will come to that,” my mother said.

“Think, but don’t know. If it gets to the point at which we’re unable to either defend ourselves or provide food, it might be too late to leave. The farm could be overrun, destroyed, the Petersons gone or even killed.”

That sent a chill up my spine.

“I’m not saying we should be leaving right now. The time is not yet here.”

“And maybe will never get here,” I said.

“I’d like that,” Herb said.

“But you don’t believe it. You think more people are going to die.”

“I
know
more people are going to die. We have no control over that. All we can do is keep some of the people alive and work so that we’re members of the surviving group.”

“And you could walk away and let all those other people die?” I asked.

“I’ve done it before,” Herb said, his voice not much more than a whisper. “I just hoped that I never would have to do it again.” He got slowly to his feet. He suddenly seemed old. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he gave it a little squeeze. “I wish we hadn’t had this discussion. It’s just one of many directions that could evolve, options I can plot but not predict. I think we all hope it never will come to that.”

His voice was quiet, and quivering. “I’m sorry to have troubled you both with the ranting thoughts of an old man.”

“It’s okay,” my mother said. “We’ve all been under a lot of pressure.”

“I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention any of this plan to anybody else. It will only upset people … the way it upset you two.”

“It will stay right here,” my mother said.

“Thank you. I think I need to get some sleep.”

Slowly he limped away, and out the door, leaving us alone.

“I know he’s just trying to do the best for all of us,” my mother said. “It has been a tremendous strain.”

It had. That didn’t mean he was wrong. He just didn’t want us to think about it anymore or, worse still, tell anybody.

I had to clear my head. “I think I need to go for a walk.”

“That would be nice. I wish I could go with you, but I need to get some sleep, too.”

She stood and rested her hand on my head for a moment before leaving the kitchen. I stayed in my chair.

Maybe we’d never need to do what Herb was suggesting. Maybe we would. He was old, but nobody’s fool. I couldn’t help feeling he’d just put another chess move together with us watching, not even knowing there was a game being played.

20

It was early but not completely quiet in the neighborhood. I stepped out the front door, locking it behind me. People were already up and out, a lot of them carrying water containers, heading down to the creek. I remembered how low the water was when I went with Rachel and Danny before. What would happen if it didn’t rain for a while or when winter came and the water was trapped as snow? Would there be water for us then? It was scary that I was even thinking that far in advance—winter was seven months away.

Of course, the Petersons didn’t have to worry about water. Their well had enough water to provide for the whole farm and, if Herb had his way, for the people who would live there. One hundred and fifty people needed a lot less water than sixteen hundred. Hopefully, the well would be enough. Herb probably had the whole thing figured out when he was there, looking, talking to Mr. Peterson, and planning and plotting.

Plotting—that’s what it felt like. I felt a surge of anger. Herb was plotting all of this behind the scenes. He was willing to sacrifice all of those people to make this work for us—for him. Would he be willing to sacrifice my family if he had to? Really, there was no doubt that he would. But then again, I’d sacrifice him if I had to for my mother or sister or brother, or my father. What about my father? If we were gone from here and he came back, how would he find us? He wouldn’t know to go to the Petersons’ farm.

I kept walking, nodding and waving to people but trying my best to keep to myself. Despite everything there was a certain civility in the way we were all treating one another. I’d actually gotten to know some of my neighbors better in the last six days than I had in the twelve years that went before. That only made it worse because now I was starting to know more and more of them as people, not just a face driving by. If Herb was right, if we did have to leave them behind, they’d be left without a leader, or a plan, or anybody to defend and protect them. It wasn’t a question of how many were going to die, but how many would actually be able to survive.

This all reminded me of Todd talking about our situation being like a zombie movie. All around me, I was strolling through the walking dead. If it got worse, if we had to abandon the neighborhood, then most of these people were going to die and they didn’t know it. I strained my mind trying to connect the real people to the names on the list.

I got to the end of my street and continued up Folkway, past houses, past streets, past abandoned cars that had been pushed from the middle of the road and parked off to the side. The lawns were still green and were still being tended. Gas lawn mowers still worked, and despite everything people were still cutting their grass. It was a strange little ritual, an attempt to stay normal in a world that was no longer normal. Flowers were starting to bloom after the warm April weather. Many gardens had been planted prior to all this happening, and the flowers didn’t know there was anything wrong. They had soil and sun and enough rainfall to keep growing. Strange how the people who had planted them were in jeopardy, but the plants would continue to thrive. If only people had known what was coming they could have put in vegetables instead of flowers.

I came to the mini-mall. The stores were all closed. If it hadn’t been for the boarded-up windows on the grocery store everything else would have seemed completely normal. I walked along, passing the stores, looking in the windows, thinking.

First was Baskin-Robbins, where I used to meet my friends for an ice cream or, when we were little, go with our parents after a soccer game. There would be a line right out the door, parents and kids in their uniforms and cleats, waiting and talking. For most of us it didn’t matter how the game ended as long as it ended with ice cream.

Then there was my dentist’s office, followed by the walk-in medical clinic and the pharmacy, and the veterinarian’s office that had just opened. There in four spaces were all the medical needs of man and beast.

Next were the variety store, the bakery, the pizza place, the dry cleaners, and finally the grocery store. I pressed my face against a remaining window. It was hard to see far into the store in the gloom, but the shelves still looked pretty full. There was a lot of food in there, but how much? It looked like it could keep all of us supplied for a few months, but what about six months or a year? I was sure Herb had done all the calculations correctly.

I wondered if part of his plan for leaving the neighborhood was that he was going to take the remaining food off the shelves when we left. Would it be done in the dead of night? Would the remaining people figure out what was happening and try to stop it? Would our guns be turned on our neighbors? Even then, would it be better to die quickly with a bullet or slowly from starvation or disease or attacks by outside gangs? I turned away. I didn’t want to think about what could be. Herb wasn’t the only one who wished I hadn’t figured it out.