The Last of the Freemen (9 page)

“Harm?” Erin called from the rear seat as they drove through dim woods; the sky was growing brighter with the approaching sunrise.

“Yeah?”

She fumbled for words, not sure if she had called to him for any reason other than to break the silence.

“That... That was quite an experience.”

“Hmm.”

“So where are we?”

“Somewhere on John’s land, just past the state line.  I think we’ll be fine.”

“He must have a lot of land.”

“He does.  But mostly it isn’t his, on paper, they’re tax-exempt nature preserves.  He bought thousands of acres, moved a lot of it into land trusts he set up, pretending it was conservation.  He has a lot of it straddling the state line.  Not one big chunk, but kind of a patchwork.  It’s better that way.  Draws less attention.”

“Were you worried about how it was all going to turn out back there?”

“Not really.  But there's always a chance things will go wrong.”

“The men made it sound like there were some bad feelings between the two of you.”

“There were.  John has a cruel streak I never liked.  Maybe from his messed-up childhood.  But he has a code, and he doesn’t break it.  He owes his life to me a few times over.  I didn't think he'd forget.”

“Except you almost killed him.  Did you really leave him on the floor without even checking on him?”

“No.  That’s what we told him, though, when he came to.  Sal actually ran right over to make sure he was still breathing.  It was just funnier to make him think otherwise.”

“Some sense of humor you guys have.”

“Yeah.”

“It was kind of funny, the way John seemed to have misunderstood the situation.  Between us, I mean.”

“He’d have understood it a lot less if he knew you were just my neighbor.”

“I suppose.  You’re doing a lot for us.  And you don't even really know us.”

“You make me sound stupid, putting it that way.”

“I didn’t mean to.  Are you saying you regret helping us?”

“No. There's no point regretting anything.”

“You never regret anything?”

“I try not to.”

“So - and maybe this is none of my business - was this Rosie... was she someone who was important to you? You looked a little regretful when she was mentioned.”

“You're right, it's none of your business.”

“Okay,” she said, her face falling as she settled back into her seat and returned to staring out the window.

They continued in silence.  Ahead of them she could faintly see Billy on his motorcycle, his long dark hair cascading from under his helmet; he periodically glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still behind him.  Suddenly Harm spoke.

“We had no - we just didn’t fit,” he said, his hands wrenching the steering wheel.  “Different ways of seeing life, you know?  We had no business being together.  But I was wild, I sort of lost my mind after Frieda died, and Rosie was there, trying to make me happy.  When she got pregnant, I married her.”

“Wow.”  Erin perked up.  “You have a child?”

“No, she miscarried.  And -” His hands gripped the wheel harder.  “After that, all she could talk about was, how we had to try again.  I couldn't see why.  All we did was argue by then.  We’d had talks about the future, how she wanted me to stop running contraband.  But I’d found my place.  I wasn't going to stop.  The only other thing I might've tried was farming, but she didn't want that.

“She wanted me to take a job with her uncle, selling insurance.  I couldn't do that.  She gave me an ultimatum, I had to take the job, or get out.  So I left.”

“She probably didn't mean it, not literally.  She was trying to make you show her that you loved her, with the kind of commitment she needed.”

“It wasn't love, it was control.”

“Well, now you're opening up a can of worms. You can't define what love is for other people.  It was love to her.”

“I would've lost my mind.”

“But you regret it a little bit.”

He frowned.  “Not my leaving. Maybe, though, getting close in the first place. I should've just stayed away from her, so as not to do any damage.”

“You shouldn't blame yourself. You can't know the future. She might have ended up pretty much the same, even if she had never met you.”

“Maybe.”

“Like that girl Maddie. I can't imagine she'll have a very happy life, once her looks fade.”

“No.  None of them. John himself. Broken cultures make for broken people.  That's why I left them. It was easy for me to do well in that world, but it was too ugly.  Everywhere. And all they create is more of it. Neglected kids, broken families.  It was sickening to be around it, to be a part of it.”

“I can see where it would get a little depressing.”

He nodded.  “It made me appreciate my own people, even though I'd walked away from them, too.  There's something to having those ties... the traditions, they’re like a well-worn trail, so you know where you’re going.”

Billy pulled over and stopped; Harm rolled down the window as he pulled alongside.  The youth was in his late teens, tall and lean, with dark eyes and an innocent face.

“Another half mile,” he said, pointing down the path, “just over that ridge, you'll come to the road. It's easy to find from here.”

“Thanks,” Harm said. “Hey, do you remember where we used to go fishing?”

“Wolf’s Lake?” he said with a smile.  “Of course I do.  How could I forget fishing and foraging with Uncle Wolf and Aunt Rosie? I loved those trips, even with all of her complaining. I learned a lot from you.”

“Do you think you could find it again?”

“I'm sure I could. I remember your fortified cabin. Built into a hillside north of the lake, south-facing windows, pretty well hidden. Topinamburs planted all over in front, an elderberry bush by the door.”

“Good.  You can stay there, if you ever need to get away from here.”

“Thanks, Wolf. I even remember where you hid the key, like you told me to.  Under a big rock near the only linden tree around, about a quarter of a mile northwest of the cabin, right?”

“That’s right.  You don't owe these guys anything.”

“I know. I’m just waitin’ for the right time. I’m gonna do somethin’ different. I’m gonna, I’m still just figurin’ out what.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Harm admonished as they pulled away. “Circumstance can ambush you.”

“We’re there already?”  Erin asked as they turned off the road onto an overgrown trail.

“No, we’re just switching vehicles.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“To be safe. I almost trust John, more or less, but not his men.”

A heavy cable that could block entry was on the ground; they rolled only a short distance past it before coming to a steep, rocky path into a ravine.  Tree branches knocked at the windows and scraped along the sides of the vehicle as they descended, till finally they came to a small clearing, near a stream, at the bottom. An old shack that looked ready to collapse was there, with broken windows and leaning walls; in front of it was an old black Jeep Cherokee, and a man with a short, graying beard who got out as they approached. He was of average height, dressed in woodland hunting camouflage from head to toe, and had a tired but friendly face.

“Who’s that?” Erin asked quietly as they came to a stop close by him.

“An associate.”

“Harm!” the man called in a sprightly voice as Harm opened the door.

“Etwas Neues?”
Harm asked.

“Too much,” he said.  “Justice Brigades,
Asesinos
, dodging government checkpoints -” he stopped and looked at Erin. “And her picture is everywhere. That’ll present some challenges.”

“Yeah.”

“Of course,” the man addressed Erin, “I already know who you are, Mrs. Gordon.  You can call me Zigg.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Bern got through all right,” Zigg said to Harm, wearily placing his hands on his hips.  “But they searched his car at the state line. They even fingerprinted him.  Rupe has Mangler.”

“It's getting tough to go anywhere,” Harm said.

”
Zwar.
No mention of you, though. Only that Mrs. Gordon is thought to be traveling with an accomplice.”

“Good.”

“Your luck is our luck.  So, are you moving everything over?” he asked, pointing to the crates in the rear of Harm’s Jeep.

“Yeah,” Harm said, then turned and spoke to Erin.

“You can get the baby out. I’ll move the carrier.”

“I could have used your help yesterday,” Zigg continued as he retrieved a crate, “if you weren’t having an adventure of your own. An English neighbor of my brother’s was raided by a Justice Brigade, they ran to my brother’s house for safety.  In the end we faced them down at the gate, and they backed off.”

“Justice Brigades?” Erin asked as she stood by the Jeep, unfastening Hughie from the seat. “They always make them sound so good on the news, so righteous, the way they find food for the poor that rich farmers have hoarded away.  I suppose that’s all been a lie, too?”

“You got that right,” Zigg said.  “The brigades are thugs who raid family farms, in the name of that ‘fair share’ nonsense.  It's terrible.  At my brother’s neighbor’s, they slaughtered most of the livestock, and left them all to rot.  Some animals were left barely alive, with bashed heads.  Just terrible.  Besides that, they stole everything from jewelry to the TV set.  They smashed family photos, broke windows just for fun.  The only food they took, besides a few chickens, was what they found in the refrigerator.”

“But you stopped them from attacking your brother’s farm?” Erin asked.

“We did.  But we have to be careful.  Whenever farmers band together to protect themselves, beyond just a few families, they call it a violation of the anti-militia laws, and send federal troops in. Always on the side of the brigades.”

“We need to have a better alert system,” Harm said, “and blitz teams, so we can stop them on the road, eliminate them there. Then the Feds won't know who to blame.”

“Or where to search,” Zigg added. “Dieter did great running off the
Asesinos
, but the next day the National Guard ripped his neighbor’s farm apart, smashed the walls looking for weapons. So for now,” he said, placing a crate in the black Jeep, “for any unlucky families that get attacked, should they fight, or flee?”

Harm shook his head as he lifted several boxes out of the vehicle.  “It depends on the area, I'd say. We can't let ourselves be the only ones fighting back.  We'd draw too much attention. In areas where the English farmers resist, it's different. The Feds and state governments can't send troops everywhere. They're stretched thin already.  And even though you never hear about it, they're dealing with mutiny and desertion from boys who don't want to shoot other Americans.”

“So you think there's hope?” Erin asked.

“There's a good chance,” Zigg said, “they'll bankrupt themselves before they do irreparable damage. They're desperate because their empire is crumbling. We need to be talking to our English neighbors, helping them when they fight back. Like old Wilhelm used to say, it’s our
Last
.”

“Care to expand on that?” Erin ventured with a raised eyebrow.

“
Last
means our load, our burden.  Wilhelm Freisasser was kind of a philosopher among us, he always said, freedom needs to be tended like crops or family.  And he had all kinds of ideas for encouraging it, by seeding defiance and self-reliance in our neighbors.  He’d seen his father thrown in jail for not marching off, smiling, into the Great War, like the rest of you Americans, a thoughtless army of bootlickers for bankers and politicians, as he put it.  He was concerned about the modern age, and put a lot of thought into fighting it.  And he changed a few minds, but you know, we’ve always kept to ourselves.  I think Harm here follows his ideas better than anyone.  That might be the only reason you’re here, Mrs. Gordon, still holding your child.”

“I was lucky,” Harm said nostalgically, “I got to meet him before he died.  I was in my teens, living with Bern’s family at the time.  He was old, but he still spoke with fire.”  His eyes flitted around as his mind jumped to other things.

“Your brother’s farm will be a target now,” he said in a more serious tone.  “He and his family should clear out for a time.”

“They're packing as we speak,” Zigg said, “and trying to plant some fields before they go.  And in case you didn’t hear, Oscar is hosting a meeting of all the
Häupter
from the
Gau
at his place tomorrow.  Since you’ll be there, it seemed like the best place.  They value your opinion, you know, even the
Häupter
who don't talk to you.”

Erin heaved Hughie up into her arms and stood watching. Harm stowed the boxes in the other Jeep and stared at the ground.

“Look,” he said, leaning over to pull from the ground a nondescript little plant with deeply divided, toothed leaves that was growing in a dense patch at their feet.  “Waterleaf. We used to call it Indian Salad when I was a kid, since we learned about it from them.”

He plucked a leaf from the stem and ate it, then handed one to Erin.

“Sometimes I think the Indians had it right,” he continued, “living wild off the land and never settling in one place for too long. Once you've settled, it's too easy for them to find you, to come along and milk you like cows.”

“Thieves, kings, and governments,” Zigg added.  “But don't forget, whoever doesn't profit them, they wipe out, like they did the Indians.  That’s why we have to walk that line in between.”

“Maybe so,” Harm shrugged.

“Not bad,” Erin said as she chewed.  “But I don't know if I could live on these things.”

“You won't have to,” Zigg said with a smile.  “If I know Hilda, there’ll be plenty of food for you, even in these times.”

“Hilda?”

“My sister,” Harm said.  “Our next stop.”