Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

The farmhouse was well set back from the road and hidden from view by stands of trees on both sides of the lane. The lane itself was rutted gravel and dirt, so narrow that at places the trees leaned over and met in the middle so that it seemed more a tunnel than a driveway. While most of the farmland was cleared fields, there were still some parts that had been left wild and rough—and could easily hide somebody coming toward the farmhouse.

Lori and her parents were inside sleeping. At least I hoped they were sleeping. If I were them, I didn’t know how well I’d sleep knowing that Todd and I were the ones offering the protection. We both were carrying baseball bats, and of course I had the pistol Herb had given me, but nobody except Mr. Peterson knew that. Todd had tried to convince them to let us have guns, but Mr. Peterson hadn’t given in to the idea. Maybe it would have made Todd more confident, but it would have made me less. A gun in his hands would have been a danger to everybody, including me and him. At least I’d fired a gun before. My mother had insisted that, since there were firearms in our house, I had to have some training as well as some time on the firing range.

If there was any sign of trouble, we were supposed to either run to get Mr. Peterson or make enough noise to wake him up and he would come out with his shotgun to help us confront the problem.

I was doing my best to keep my footfalls silent. That way nobody could hear me coming and I could hear somebody else’s steps coming toward me. So far, all I’d heard were Todd’s. He sounded like a moose breaking through the trees, but it was reassuring to know he was there. I stepped over some roots and came out from under the trees. It was surprisingly bright. I caught sight of Todd as he rounded the corner of the barn.

“So can you remind me again why I’m doing this?” he asked as we got closer.

“To help Lori’s family.”

“No, no, that’s why you’re doing it. Why am I here?”

“Because you’re my friend.”

“I must be a damn amazingly great friend to spend the entire night walking around in the dark carrying a baseball bat because you want to impress some girl.”

“You are a damn amazingly great friend.”

“I’m glad we have this figured out. She better be worth all of this.”

“She is, I think.”

“You better be more certain than just think . I’m out here helping you make brownie points and—”

We both turned our heads at the same sound. Somebody was walking down the lane. Actually, it looked like it was more than one somebody.

“Go and get Mr. Peterson,” I said.

“Nope. There’s more than one of them, so there should be more than one of us out here right now.”

“Two of us isn’t going to help much if there’s ten of them. We need backup with a shotgun.”

“I can’t just leave you here by yourself.”

I pulled the pistol out of its holster. Todd’s eyes widened in surprise.

“But I thought it was agreed we wouldn’t have guns,” he sputtered.

“Herb made me take this. Mr. Peterson knows about it. Now go—they’re getting closer.”

Todd ran off, the sound of gravel crunching under his feet. I could hear them coming—not just their footsteps but their voices as well. There were definitely a lot of them. I had to get to the right position, and that meant going directly toward them, alone, in the dark, not knowing how many of them there were, how they were going to react, and whether they were carrying any weapons.

I took a step forward and had to use every ounce of determination to move the next step and then the next. They were getting louder as I got closer.

We had moved the hay wagon back to the barn, as Herb advised. But we’d replaced it with the tractor, which we could use for cover and move quickly if necessary. I came up behind it and I could see the intruders bathed in moonlight coming up the driveway. I tried to do a quick count, but their shapes and shadows blurred together—were there six or seven or five? It didn’t matter, because I was outnumbered.

I hit the switch Mr. Peterson had shown me, and the tractor’s headlights came on, freezing the uninvited visitors in place, hands shielding their eyes. There were seven of them, and they were carrying bats, clubs, and a hockey stick. They also each had a large plastic container. They crowded together under the glare of the lights like they were huddling for safety. I was hoping the lights alone would chase them away, but while they looked confused, even scared, they weren’t retreating.

“Who’s there?” one of them yelled out.

They didn’t wait for an answer. They started walking forward again.

“Stay where you are!” I yelled out. My voice sounded shrill and unsure, but it stopped them again.

“Step out where we can see you,” one of them demanded.

There was no way I was going to do that. They started inching forward again.

“You were told to stop moving!” Mr. Peterson stepped out of the trees, no more than two dozen feet in front of them, leading with his shotgun. He took a few steps forward, and they backed up the same distance.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Todd came up behind me at the tractor. Off to the side I caught sight of Mrs. Peterson in the shadows, holding her rifle.

“This is private property,” Mr. Peterson said.

“We just need water,” one of the men said, holding up a container.

“You just need to leave,” Mr. Peterson said.

“Come on, mister, we need some water for our families.”

“If you only need water, why are you carrying weapons?” he demanded.

“To protect ourselves,” another man said. “It’s getting dangerous out there.”

“It’s going to be more dangerous for you here if you don’t move, right now! Get off my land!”

All except one of the men started to back off. “Look, I understand we shouldn’t have startled you in the middle of the night like this,” the man said. “But if you have any, I can’t leave without water. My kids need it. Are you really going to shoot me for that?”

Nobody moved. Nobody talked. Somebody had to do something. I slipped my pistol into my pocket, where it was still handy, and stepped forward.

“Could you just put down the weapons?” I asked, remembering how Herb had defused the situations at the pool store and the grocery store. “Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, could you lower your guns a little as well?”

Nobody did what I asked, but I kept walking toward them. I put out my hand and did my best to smile. The man who was doing the talking handed the club he was carrying to another man and came forward.

“I’m Adam,” I said as we shook.

“I’m Jim.”

“How many kids do you have?” I asked. Herb always tried to bring a personal note into these conversations.

“Three. A girl and two boys. The boys are twins.”

“My family has twins, too,” I said. “Could you have your friends put down their weapons, please?”

They all did as I asked before he could say anything. I turned to Mr. Peterson. “Look, I know this isn’t my farm, but what do you think about us filling up their containers with water for them?”

“That would be just fine,” Mrs. Peterson answered before her husband could. “Nobody should be going without when we have enough to help them.”

“Jim, how about if you put down the containers? My friend and I, we’ll fill them up and bring them to you at the top of the lane.”

“I can help as well,” Lori said, her voice coming from somewhere behind me.

“But you all have to do us a favor: you can’t be telling people where you got this from,” I said. “If there’s a stampede of people, this is the only water you’ll get.”