Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

“I’m not planning on doing that, but still it’s better to have that knowledge if needed,” Herb said. “Besides, if I do shoot at it, I have to do more than try to knock it out of the air. We can’t afford to get those fellows mad at us. If we start something, we better be able to finish it.”

“A Cessna can fly over at a height where its pilot or passengers could see what’s going on down here, but we wouldn’t have a chance of hitting him,” I said. “In fact, if he was really high, that plane could have passed over without us even noticing.”

“I’ve thought about that. They could be well aware of our existence, but I’m pretty sure we’re safe for now.”

Herb assuming anything seemed out of character.

“Why do you think we’re safe for now?”

“Think about it. If they flew over they’d see fields that are starting to grow food. There’d be no point in coming now. They’d be far better off to let us do all the work, grow the food, and then take it from us.”

“I guess that does make sense. It’s reassuring and upsetting all at once. Do you really think they might come and try to do that?”

“It should be upsetting, because it’s real. We need to continue to be prepared, and that preparation includes asking about things like shooting down a Cessna.”

“But just because they fly overhead doesn’t mean they’re a threat,” I said. There was a code among pilots to look out for each other. That could be me or my father up there.

But then again they had shot at me already! In times of war, the code disappeared. Is that what this was? Were we at war? Would we have to try to shoot it out of the sky?

“They might not be a threat, but we have to assume that they are. If we assume they’re hostile and we’re wrong, then they’re dead. If we assume that they’re friendly and they’re not, then we’re dead. Which would you rather it be?”

“But they could become our allies, like Olde Burnham.” I needed to at least think there was a way out of this that didn’t involve us trying to kill each other.

“They could become allies, but there’s a big difference. I initiated contact with the Olde Burnham neighborhood knowing that we were clearly bigger and stronger. If they started something with us we could finish it with them. They weren’t a threat to us.”

“But we could have been a threat to them,” I said.

“We could have destroyed them,” Herb said. “Just like those people we discovered could destroy us.”

That thought sent a chill up my spine.

“We present a very attractive target. Our job is to make us a hard target. We have to make it too expensive, too costly, for them to try to overrun us. If we are well enough defended they might try a nonmilitary approach. We might be able to offer them food.”

“So we would trade with them.”

“Well, if you consider us giving them food and them not killing us a trade, then I guess we’d be trading,” Herb said.

“But that’s like blackmail, like extortion.”

“It’s survival. Of course it’s a fine balance. If we gave away too much food we’d be in trouble anyway.”

“A lot of grumbling about food has started already.”

“Everybody has run out of their own personal food by now,” Herb said.

“Almost everybody,” I said. Herb had stocked so much canned and packaged food that he was still doling it out to my family and the Petersons. I had been shocked when I had seen all the full cupboards and shelves in his basement, but now that I was spending so much time with him, I wasn’t really surprised. He must have been through a lot to be so cautious. “I guess I should feel a little guilty.”

“No you shouldn’t. It’s my food and I can share it with whomever I choose. Besides it’s not like anybody is starving. There’s enough food from the community kitchens for everybody to live on,” he said.

“That was a pretty good stew last night,” I admitted. “It was very tasty, although I guess I really don’t want to know what the meat was.”

“Ernie would be the person who would know best. You could ask him.”

“I think I’ll pass on that.” I knew what the possibilities could be. I’d noticed that there were far fewer squirrels in the neighborhood and fewer stray dogs outside the walls, which sort of gave me more information than I wanted to know. I knew that whatever people were able to catch or trap was being added to the meals.

“I’m hoping that tonight’s meeting will help people understand why there’s a need to restrict and ration our food,” Herb said.

Each week there was a large town hall meeting at the gym for all who wanted to attend. That, along with the little newspaper, was the best way to pass around important information.

“I guess the big question is, how much are you going to tell them?”

“It’s a fine balance, a delicate dance. We have to give them enough information to get them scared but not enough that they’re terrified.”

“Are you going to tell them about the other settlement, the one with all the weapons?”

“There’s no need. Not yet. That’s still classified and restricted to the committee members. You are going to be at the meeting, right?”

“I’ll be there as long as you don’t make me talk again.”

“I think that should be avoided. You’re not the best person to talk when we might have to shade the truth.”

I awoke sometime before dawn to the sound of thunder. Funny, the skies had been clear when I went to bed and I didn’t hear any rain on the skylight. Maybe the rain was coming but hadn’t arrived. It would be good for the crops if it did rain.

Then I thought about my plane. It was in its little canvas hangar, but if there was a storm coming there could be big winds. I should get up and make sure it was okay. I sleepily pushed back the sheet and then jumped at the sound of pounding on the front door.

I leaped up and grabbed my revolver. I’d gone no more than a couple of steps when something lit the way down the stairs. My mother was already heading down, a flashlight in one hand, a shotgun in the other. Rachel and Danny came out of their rooms, too. I didn’t need much light to see the scared look on their faces. I hoped they didn’t see the same expression on mine.

There was more pounding on the front door—stronger and even more insistent.

“Open up!” It was Herb.

My mother threw open the door.

“Olde Burnham is being attacked!” he exclaimed.

There was another rumble, but it wasn’t thunder.

“Explosives,” Herb said. “They radioed to say they were under heavy attack.”

“What do we do?” my mother questioned.

“I’ve already sent Brett to get the away team ready to go out—with your permission of course.”

“Of course. Shouldn’t we send more people if we’re going to help fend off the attack?” she asked.

“They’re going in that direction, but we can’t commit them to do anything until we know what’s out there.”

“Shouldn’t you be back on the walkie-talkie, then?”

His expression turned even grimmer. “I can’t get a reply.”

“Have they been overrun?” my mother asked. “Is it over?”

“If it was over, the explosions would stop.”

“So we should get every available person to offer assistance and—”

“We need to know what’s happening. We need to sit tight and wait for Brett to report in.”

“There may not be time! We have to go right away if there’s any chance to offer assistance,” my mother insisted.

“We need to get ready to go, but we can’t go,” Herb said. “If we rush into the unknown, in the dark, we might only get ourselves killed and save nobody.”