Trent Reedy - Divided We Fall

“Danny, wait!” Becca called from behind me. She caught hold of my arm right as I reached the driver’s side door. “Danny.”

“What?” I was shaking mad all over, and half of me wanted to storm back into that trailer and knock TJ on his ass.

“Hey.” She gripped me by both shoulders. “Hey, look at me. Come on.” She looked up at me with those deep green eyes. “She’s been crying, Danny.” I gave her a look like, Yeah, right . Becca nodded. “She’s been crying a lot. She’s worried about you. She misses you. Told me so.” She cocked her head back toward Cal’s trailer. “Why don’t you come back inside?”

I thought about it. I kind of wanted to, but decided against it. “Naw. I don’t think I could deal with TJ right now, and it would make more drama if I went back in. I need to get some cold-weather gear and get back to the Guard.” Becca seemed so sad right then, looking down and shivering in the cold in her little Hank McGrew T-shirt. “You’re freezing,” I said. I rubbed my hands up and down her arms.

When she met my eyes again, a tear trailed down her cheek. “I miss you too.”

I gently wiped the tear away. “You’re so cool,” I said. “Always so, you know, understanding or whatever.”

She put her arms out for a hug, and as we came together, she leaned her face forward so that for a moment I thought she would kiss me. I stopped, then moved forward again, but this time she stopped. We laughed and finally simply hugged. She squeezed me tightly. “Goodbye, Danny,” she whispered in my ear. “Be careful.”

I pulled away from her and opened the door to the Beast, then took one last look at the trailer, wondering if I should go in and try to work things out. I decided I better not. I gave Becca a little fake punch to the shoulder, climbed in behind the steering wheel, and drove away from a disastrous night.

With my one and only chance to be with my friends totally jacked up, I figured the least I could do was get something good to eat, and the Bucking Bronc bar on Main Street had the best tenderloin sandwiches in the world. When I stepped inside, though, I was surprised to see the place so empty on a Friday night.

“There he is,” said a man with a beer at the bar. “The kid who started all this.”

Great. Why couldn’t I go anywhere without people giving me shit?

“Leave him alone, Gary,” the woman behind the bar said.

A woman sitting at the end of the bar played video poker on an old bar-top game console. “Oh, he’s just messing around.” She spun on her stool to face me. “You Idaho Guard boys keep up the fight, hear?”

“Well, there’s really no fight, ma’am,” I said. “We’re making sure they leave us alone.”

“Yeah, well, can you make sure they allow some beer through?” the guy said. “I’m a Budweiser man, and I can’t find one single can or bottle anywhere.”

The bartender tossed back her bleached-blond hair. “I ordered as much as my cooler would hold as soon as the blockade started, but they only brought half my order. Anyway,” she said to me. “What would you like? We’re out of most everything, and I’m thinking you might not be twenty-one.”

“Can I get a tenderloin?” I said.

“Sorry. Ran out last week.”

“Hamburger?”

She shook her head. “I can get you a fish sandwich. I might have some chicken nuggets left. Maybe one of those frozen pizzas. That’s about it.”

I had the fish, but once again ordered it to go so I wouldn’t have to listen to people talk about me or the standoff with the Fed.

As I neared my house, the street was mostly empty. The last few reporters must have finally given up after I went to the Guard full-time. But one strange pickup was parked on the street in front, its back bumper covered in stickers. DON’T TREAD ON ME, PROTECT THE SECOND AMENDMENT, and one that was a simple drawing of a white eagle. Someone was in the cab.

Right away I reached under my seat for the nine mil. I had been asking my chain of command for a holster since I came on duty, but they hadn’t found me one yet. I checked to make sure the safety was on, then slipped the gun into my cargo pocket.

Parking a few car lengths behind the pickup, I climbed down out of the Beast and closed the door quietly. If this was someone who wanted to mess me up, I didn’t want him to know I was here. Should I come up to him with my gun drawn? Ignore him, go inside, and wait to see what he would do? In the end, I knocked on his window. The guy inside jerked awake, and the next second I had a.38 revolver pointed at me.

I jumped back and started to reach for my nine mil, but the guy was out of his truck and waving his gun like I should get my hands up. “Who the hell are you?” the man asked.

Damn it, how could I have been stupid enough to get stuck like this? There was no hiding my identity. I was in uniform with my name tape on my chest, after all. “Private First Class Dan Wright.”

“Oh!” The man put his gun back in his truck. “Sorry, man. It was dark, and I couldn’t see you, and you kind of snuck up on me there.” He held out his hand, and after a moment I shook it. “Jake Rickingson. Wow, it’s an honor to meet you. I was wondering if I’d ever get the chance.”

Why was this guy honored to meet me? I was just a kid with a cold fish sandwich who really wanted to go inside and take a long, hot shower.

“I’ve been pulling the first night shift for a couple weeks now, keeping watch over the house. I’m really sorry, but one night I was coming off a long shift at the mill, and I kind of dozed off in the truck for a minute. Next thing I know, these punk kids were up on your porch about to spray-paint something on your house. I fired a warning shot in the air right away, and they ran off, but they left that one little dot. Dab of white paint will cover that right up.”

“Thanks,” I said. What else could I say? “You’re one of Sheriff Crow’s friends?”

“Yep. We’re real close. Nathan and me go way back. Anyway, he says you’re one of his friends, so that makes you one of mine. I sure appreciate what you’ve done and what you and the Idaho Guard keep doing every day.”

“I have to get some things from the house, clean up a little, and then I have to go back to the line,” I said.

“Oh, sure, I don’t mean to keep you.”

I thanked him and went inside. The house felt cramped and stuffy. I wished I had time to air the place out. I left a trail in the dust on a shelf in the living room, running my finger past a bunch of photographs. There was Mom and Dad’s wedding picture, a family photo of me and her taken shortly after Dad died, a picture of us at a rodeo last year, one of me in my dress blues Army Service Uniform at basic training graduation, and a photo of me in that uniform standing with Mom. She was looking at me instead of at the camera in that last picture, and she looked so proud.

I video called her, hoping she was okay.

“Danny!” she said when she popped up on-screen. “It’s so good to see you!” She tilted her head like she was trying to look past me. “Are you at home?”

“It’s good to see you too, Mom. I have a pass until midnight. I came home to get a few things.”

“Is everything all right? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“Oh yeah, Mom, I’m great!” If I didn’t fake a lot of happiness, she’d worry more. “Everything’s fine. The Army is taking good care of me. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Delores has me using my sick days now. They’re doing all they can for me, but if I can’t get back soon… Well, they say I’ll have a job with them as long as I want one, but I’m worried they’re going to let me go. I’ve looked for jobs around Spokane, but there’s nothing going. Everybody I talk to says so many people were out of work even before the blockade, there were people lined up just to apply for an opening at McDonald’s.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I really think I ought to come home.”