Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

I walked along the farm lane, passing the assorted vehicles that formed our little convoy, our little parade. Leading the way was Judge Roberts’s bright red ’57 Chevy, driven by the judge himself. It had been in a lot of parades—local Santa Claus parades and events in little towns all around. It was loaded down with home-canned food, root vegetables, and kitchen equipment. Herb would be in the passenger seat, and it was going to be flanked by two motorbikes driven by armed officers.

Next came the tractor, driven by Mrs. Peterson, pulling three farm wagons in a little train. Each wagon brimmed with seeds, tools, fencing, and livestock—chickens in cages and eight cows taking up one entire wagon by themselves. Getting them there was no small feat—a couple of them had balked at being driven up the ramp and into the confines of the rolling pen. Sergeant Evans and Officer O’Malley, with shotguns, had already taken up their positions in the front two wagons.

Behind that was a carriage, powered by the three horses, to be driven by Mr. Peterson, and loaded down with farm equipment, including the generator, and other electrical and technical things.

I was next in line in my car. My trunk and backseat were filled with stuff from the Petersons’ house—clothes, pictures, a few keepsake items that meant a lot. My passengers were Todd and Lori.

Behind me was one more car—Mr. Langston’s Camaro, with him at the wheel—and then at the end the abandoned flatbed truck, packed with the remaining farm equipment and more armed men, more than any other place in the convoy. Herb insisted that was the most likely spot to be attacked and so had to be the best defended. He said we had to be like a scorpion with lots of sting in our tail. Both Howie and Brett were in that last truck.

Herb barked out last-minute instructions, directions, and orders. Nobody argued with anything he had to say. I think people were starting to get used to him not only being in charge but being right. As things got more dangerous and risky it felt good to have somebody take the lead.

I knew Herb wanted to get going but was being patient as the Petersons took care of last-minute things before leaving their home. How would I feel if I was going to say goodbye to my place?

They stood, the three of them, alone by the door of their house. They’d left behind most of what they owned. A lot of other things had been hidden in the barn. The root cellar had been stuffed with things, and then the trap door and the area around it had been covered with six inches of soil, in the hopes that no invaders would discover it.

I could see that Herb was itching to leave but was trying to give the Petersons as much time as he could.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I asked him.

“Done what?”

“Arranged a convoy.”

He held up two fingers. “Twice I’ve had to transport embassy and support staff and their families out of a country.”

“Why did you have to do that?”

“War, civil unrest. It wasn’t that much different from what’s happening here. There was a breakdown of government, security, and the provision of basic human needs.”

I looked up and the Petersons were walking toward us. Both Mrs. Peterson and Lori were crying. Mr. Peterson appeared to be fighting back the tears.

“Can I have everybody’s attention, please!” Herb cried out.

The men in the hay wagons moved to the sides to be close to us, and everybody else came over until we were surrounded.

“I want you to know how good I feel about the people I have with us,” Herb began. “I have no doubts about our success .” He paused as people smiled and nodded in agreement. “But I know that we’re going to attract a lot of attention and that might also attract trouble. We have a great deal of what people want and need, and they might decide that they wish to take it. We will not let that happen. We will not initiate force, but we will meet force with greater force. We will overcome any hostile action with a greater hostile response. And, most important, you have to know that we are in this together. We start, we move, we stop as one unit. Together.”

Again there was a nodding of heads and a mumbling of agreement. This reminded me of a pregame pep talk from a coach to his players. How many times had I been on teams when we got those talks before a big game? All those metaphors that coaches used—like “do or die,” “life and death,” “going to war,” “take no prisoners”—now really meant something. At least potentially. Maybe this would be nothing more than a slow drive from the country and into our neighborhood. I could hope.

“People in the back, make sure you don’t fall behind. We have to stay tight. Remember the signals.” Herb pointed at me.

I remembered. One beep on the horn meant slow down. Two beeps meant potential danger. A long blast would bring the whole convoy to a halt, and we’d take cover and wait for orders.

“Now let’s get going and let’s be careful,” Herb said.

People sprang into action. I held my door open for Lori. Todd climbed in after her. He gave me a forced smile. He was smart enough to be scared and brave enough to try not to show it.

All around me engines started as I settled myself behind the wheel. I turned the key, and my engine sputtered and choked. I pumped the pedal, tried to give it some gas, but was afraid if I gave it too much it would flood. I tried again. It didn’t want to catch. What would happen if my worry finally came true and it didn’t start? Would they have to leave my car behind or—

Just then it started with a roar. I let out a sigh of relief. In front of me the carriage started forward and I inched along behind it, slowly bumping along the lane.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Lori.

“Me too.” She was working hard to fight back the tears.

I didn’t know what to say. It was probably best that I didn’t say anything. We turned onto the road.

“I wish we had an elephant,” Todd said.

“An elephant?” I asked.

“Or two. Every parade needs an elephant. Or maybe a little car filled with clowns.”

“I already have a car with a clown in it,” I said.

“Adam… she’s right here… That’s such a terrible thing to say about Lori!”

Despite everything all three of us burst into laughter. Todd, the best kind of clown, had brought some comic relief. We needed that.

“I guess I should thank you,” Lori said to me.

“For what?”

“For my father being here with us. He wasn’t going to come, but you convinced him.”

“That was mostly Herb’s doing.”

“No, my father said to us that it was you.”

“I’m sure he would have come anyway.”

“Why don’t you just shut up and say you’re welcome?” Todd said.

“I’m pretty sure if I shut up I couldn’t say anything.”

Lori laughed. “Thanks for that, too. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I could get out and walk if you want to be alone,” Todd offered.

If nothing else he’d given me a chance to regain my thoughts.

“Nobody wants you to get out and walk… although you could ride in one of the wagons with the other livestock,” I suggested.

“Next time I’ll make a point of that. I don’t want anybody to say that I stood in the way of love.”

Now everybody got silent. It was hard to believe that anything could have made this drive more uncomfortable, but we had managed.

“This is all pretty hard to believe,” Lori said, finally breaking the silence.

“More like impossible,” Todd added.

“Last night was the worst,” Lori said.

“It must have been awful. I wish I’d been there to help.”

“I’m so glad Brett was there,” she said. “It was like a movie the way he came running in, firing his gun with one hand and sweeping me up with the other and carrying me to safety.”