Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

“I’m going to ask a construction team to take down the walls on this side of the highway,” Herb said. “We can use the material to extend our wall along Erin Mills Parkway and clear our field of vision across the highway and into the fields on the other side.”

“Would you think of taking over those fields and planting crops over there?” I asked.

“I’m not sure we can extend our security across the highway to ensure that we wouldn’t simply be planting to allow somebody else to harvest. There’s no point in sowing without reaping, but we’ll— Hold on.”

Herb took the walkie-talkie that was strapped to his waist and raised it to his face. “I see a group of people, four or five, coming out of the woods to the north. Dispatch a team. Do you read me?”

“Roger, acknowledged,” came the reply, full of static.

Almost instantly five men at the far edge of the funeral service broke off and headed north. Even from this distance I could tell by his size that one of them was Howie. He, along with one of the other men, was carrying a rifle. I didn’t know why that should surprise me at all. In fact, I knew that they all would be armed, as would another two or three dozen people standing there.

I watched, fascinated, as they fanned out, two crossing back over the creek so that they were coming up on both sides.

“What are they going to do?” I asked.

“Just go and talk to those people, shoo them away. It’s probably nothing.”

“And if it is something?”

“Then they’ll do whatever is necessary,” he said. “That’s what we all need to be prepared to do—whatever is necessary.”

This time, it turned out to be nothing. Some hunters wandering close to our perimeter in their search for food. But I knew it wouldn’t be long before that “something” happened. I just didn’t know what or when—today, tomorrow, or a week from now—but it was coming.

Five days later, it came.

I woke from a dead sleep in the early morning to the horn going off and the faint recoils of gunfire. I jumped to my feet and headed for the door. Brett was already there, his rifle in hand. He was still sleeping in our guest room and had been off duty tonight.

“Two long blasts means that it’s…” My head was still fuzzy with sleep. I couldn’t remember what that meant. Was it the south wall or—?

“South wall bordering Burnham,” Brett said.

The air horn kept going off, and I was sure that even in the limited light Brett could see that I was afraid.

“Where’s my mom?” I asked.

“She’s already out there on patrol, remember? Look, it’s probably nothing, just a false alarm or something simple. The gunfire has already stopped.”

I hadn’t even noticed, but he was right. I was feeling panicky and Brett was thinking clearly. He seemed completely calm.

Rachel and Danny came down the stairs. They looked scared, which meant I had to try to look as calm as Brett actually seemed.

“Go back to bed,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

“But we’ll go out and check anyway,” Brett added.

“We’ll lock the door on the way out,” I said. “You two need to go to sleep; you have school tomorrow.”

“Well, now you’re just being mean,” Danny said.

“Go to bed.”

They didn’t move. Brett reached out his hand and pointed back the way they’d come, and they both turned around and headed upstairs. Why didn’t they ever listen to me like that?

“Let’s go.” I reached for the doorknob, but Brett stopped me.

“Body armor,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

He handed me a suit and slipped on a second himself. Somehow between the body armor and weapons this didn’t really seem to shout out “Nothing to worry about.”

The horn was still pulsing its warning as we climbed into the car. I was fighting to control the adrenaline flowing through my body when the horn stopped.

“Should we still go?” I asked.

“Aren’t you curious about what happened?” Brett asked.

“I guess.”

“Then let’s go.”

It quickly became apparent that we weren’t the only ones who had responded to the alarm. Lights flashed around us, some steady, on vehicles, and others bobbing, obviously flashlights held by people heading for the wall. It was good to know that the neighborhood was reacting the way it was supposed to, even if it was for no reason now.

Maybe the people on the wall had overreacted to a suspicious noise or something, and that was what the gunfire was about. It wouldn’t be the first time guards had panicked and fired at ghosts.

I pulled into the parking lot of the school. That was as close as I was going to drive. Brett jumped out before the car had stopped moving completely and ran toward the wall. I slammed the car into park, turned off the engine, and jumped out as well. I started to run as best I could in my clunky outfit, but even though I was thinking it was a false alarm my legs were shaking so badly I had to slow down.

There was a lot of movement and a lot of noise. Voices were raised, lots of yelling and confusion. The wall was lined with people, and I could see Howie, standing head and shoulders above the rest in the middle of the group.

“Could I have your attention, please!” It was my mom on a bullhorn. She was standing beside Howie. I was happy to hear her, to know that she was safe. Now I just had to spot Herb to know he was okay. He had to be here, and there had been lots of bullets and— No, there he was; he was fine.

“I’d like to thank you all for responding so quickly,” my mother said. “We had a disturbance outside the wall, but it’s resolved.”

A cheer went up from the assembled crowd.

“Nobody in our neighborhood has been hurt… It’s all under control and there is no more threat, so let’s all head home and get back to bed. And, again, thank you for your response.”

There were lots of smiles, and I could almost feel the relief as the crowd started to disperse.

My whole body just melted in response. I could go home but, still, I wasn’t going anywhere until I’d spoken to my mother. Brett was right. I did want to know what had happened. I walked toward the wall as others started filing away, back to their homes and beds. My mother was standing with Howie, Herb, and Brett off to the side by the gate. They were so preoccupied that they didn’t seem to notice me there. I would just wait for them to stop talking.

Looking past them, through the gate, I could see there was a truck out there, its shape outlined against the darkness. It looked like it had crashed into the wall on the far side of the road. That whole section of roadway had been cleared of cars, so nothing should have been there unless it drove up as part of what triggered the gunfire.

I listened closely—I thought I could hear an engine… Was it coming from that truck? Was its engine still running? I was too curious to wait any longer. I edged over and silently joined the conversation.

“So you’re saying that the gunfire originally came from that truck,” Herb said.

“That’s what the men on the wall reported. They heard the engine and saw the truck, and then somebody inside opened fire on them,” Howie explained. “Of course they returned fire.”

“Was most of the gunfire incoming or outgoing?” Herb asked.

“I wasn’t on this wall at the time, so I don’t really know. I’m sure we gave at least as good as we got. It worked.”

“Were there any other vehicles or men?” Herb asked.

“If there were, they fled,” Howie said. “That one crashed or I’m sure it would have gone, too.”

“Can you tell us anything more?” my mother asked.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t here when it began,” he said. “I was patrolling up in the north section and—”