Wilson Harp - EMP

The council had always confused me to this point. I didn’t understand why Ted needed a formal declaration of who his advisors were. He was our de facto leader, he could take counsel from whomever he chose.

But a council gave people a sense there was a structure of authority. That there was a system of responsibility. That there was a sense of normality. All of those illusions let people see even though today might be a struggle, there were plans for tomorrow and next week and next month and next year.

That sense of long term planning gave hope. And hope kept people working.

I realized work had kept me from doing foolish things myself. I had thought several times about trying to go and find Lexi and Emma on my own, but there was always something immediate to hold me here. If it wasn’t digging onions and beets, it was digging latrines or spreading information to others.

If I had left in the first few days, I wouldn’t have been in good enough shape to make it. Those first days, it was only the loan of Clyde from Anne that let me travel around town. My legs grew stronger and my pot belly shrunk in the first couple of weeks, but I still wouldn’t have had the strength I did now.

And now… now I wondered if it was too late. If I left today, would it be a useless endeavor? I had to trust they had found a way to survive, they had found a group who would take them in, and they had found a way for hope to shine on their lives.

I picked up a bucket at the Marsh’s house and went to the field to start digging more beets. A few girls were out in one row. They talked as they gathered, so I settled myself two rows over. The ground had firmed up a bit since I had left and it was actually easier to dig the roots out. I kept thinking about what had held me in Kenton for so long. It had been two weeks since I was given the radio to fix, but shouldn’t I have left before then? Self-doubt and guilt ate away at my spirit as I went about the task at hand.

I kept telling myself it would turn out okay. Once I fixed the radio, I would be able to contact someone near Chicago and eventually talk to Lexi and Emma.

The bucket of beets was full before I was through with my thoughts and I carried it over to the group of women preparing dinner.

“David,” Millie said. “I think you need to go home and rest.”

“I’m fine, Missus Marsh.”

“No, you need to go rest, David. You look like you aren’t feeling well.”

I was angry. Of course I didn’t feel well. I was hungry, my muscles ached, and my wife and daughter were two-hundred and fifty miles away from me.

“Thank you, Missus Marsh. I might just do that.”

“I’ll send someone over with your dinner tonight. Just… just get some rest.”

I smiled at her and turned to go. I almost ran into Sarah as I turned. Her eyes grew big and her mouth dropped open. She scrambled back. Her expression and movements were frightened, as if I was prepared to pounce on her. I nodded to her and walked away.

Maybe I felt bad after all. Maybe I looked sick. I wasn’t sure. I would check when I got home. I thought I probably needed a bath. That would be a bucket of water to pull across the street. And I would want to put on some fresh clothes afterward. I would feel better after a bath and change of clothes.

Dad was in the garage when I arrived home.

“Hi Dad,” I said as I picked up a bucket.

“Hello, Son,” he said. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Missus Marsh told me to come home and rest. I must look sick.”

“That must be it,” Dad said. “Your Mom is resting in our room. Looks like you’re going to take a bath. Just don’t wake her if possible.”

I didn’t know what kind of racket he thought I would make, but I held in my terse retort and just smiled and nodded.

I was relieved I didn’t have to wait at the pump. Most people gathered their water in the morning and a little before the sun went down. The evening pump time was usually the time when people shared news and rumors. It had become a socializing event and often there were those who showed just for the gossip and information. Happily, none of them were there when I gathered the water for my bath.

Dad wasn’t in the garage when I returned, nor did I see him as I carried the water into the bathroom. I went into my bedroom and gathered some clean clothes. As I turned to go back to my bath, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above my dresser.

There was a stranger in the glass looking back at me. Gaunt and tired looking, covered in mud, the stranger wore my face. This man looked like me, but he was angry. Not frustrated or in a rage, just angry. Resentful.

This is why Missus Marsh and Dad asked me if I was alright. This is why Sarah shrank back from me and Dad told me to be careful not to disturb Mom. The man I was staring at was ready to break.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and forced my face away from the mirror. I could break later. Right now, I needed a bath and some clean clothes.

“David.”

I sat up and looked around. I was in the middle of a dream and my dad’s voice cut through. It wasn’t loud, but it had a very insistent tone.

“David.”

“I’m up,” I said. Too loud. Not so loud. “What’s wrong?”

My eyes adjusted to the faint light. It was a good while before dawn, but the sun was already lighting the world.

“Come on, get dressed. Hurry.”

I looked at Dad and was surprised. He was fully dressed and he had a rifle in each hand.

I reached over and grabbed the jeans I had hung over the back of my desk chair.

“What’s going on?” I asked. A yawn hit me as I continued. “Why do you have guns?”

“Trouble south,” Dad said. “Three shots and then Farrin came tearing by on his motorcycle. Listen.”

I stopped pulling up my jeans and listened carefully. I could hear the bell from the town ring over and over.

“What kind of emergency?” I asked.

“Don’t know, but we need to go.” Dad turned and walked out the door.

I grabbed my shoes and put them on. I didn’t take the time to find a clean shirt, I just grabbed the t-shirt I had tossed on my laundry hamper the night before and hurried to catch up with Dad.

There were small groups of men, and more than a few boys, walking down Granger with rifles and shotguns.

Buck Fredrickson and his two older boys were a hundred feet ahead when I fell in beside Dad.

“They must have been sleeping with their guns to get here before us,” Dad said as he handed me a rifle.

“There must be twenty men on the road. Do we need this many?”

“Maybe not, but always better to have more than you need than not enough.”

I squinted in the grey light and tried to look farther down the road. The summer humidity had already taken hold and mists were common in the early hours of the morning. Ahead I thought I saw something darker though, a smudge of gray that hung too heavy.

“I think that’s smoke,” I said as I pointed down the road.

“I think you’re right,” Dad replied. “We’re upwind or we could tell for sure.”

Buck and his boys picked up their pace and soon they trotted ahead of us. Buck was a large guy, though not as much as when I first saw him on Dad’s front lawn that first night. He moved quickly when he wanted to. I had heard from several people he could move swift and silent in the woods.

He had been in the military for a couple of tours. Part of some special unit from the rumors. Dad didn’t know more than his military service and I had never spoken to Buck for more than a few minutes.

The sky kept growing brighter as we walked and soon we could see the bridge over Carter’s Creek. The town’s barricade was in the middle of the bridge and there was a gathering of men crouching behind the obstruction. More men were behind the structure of the bridge. They motioned people where to go when they approached.