Fifty Years of Peace (Abrupt Dissent Series) (7 page)

The revelation hit her with force, and she nearly slipped on the steps. He reached up and pushed the trap door open.

“Because the New States doesn’t want us to know that it wasn’t the U.S. that caused the Starving. Why would they do that Grandpa?”

“I don’t know,” he said as he closed the shed door. “All I can tell you is that the people I used to talk to about these kind of things, those people that helped keep this town alive when it was hardest, a lot of them have disappeared…”

He trailed off and lifted the lantern high overhead. “Who’s there?” he called.

She turned in the direction he was facing, and saw George Washington sitting on their back porch, waiting for them with a rifle against his shoulder.

“Now you want to put that weapon down boy,” her grandfather called. His voice had a deep note of threat that she’d never heard before, and suddenly she realized that the man who’d killed to keep his town alive was facing the scared boy from the festival.

“Stay where you are,” the boy called out. “Put your hands up, both of you!”

“Grandpa…” Jenny whispered.

“Do as he says,” her grandfather said. He raised his hands, and Jenny stepped out from behind him and did the same. “Girl you get behind me…” he hissed.

“Don’t move!” George called.

“Grandpa,” she said loud enough for George to hear her. “I know him, this is George Washington.”

“The boy from the fair,” her grandfather called, “the terrorist?”

“No!” George shouted. He stood and tightened the rifle against his shoulder.

“You followed my daughter here to my house, is that it? Well take whatever you came here for. We’ve got money, I’ll show you where it is; if it’s food you want we have that too, but if you try and harm my granddaughter I will see the end of you.”

“What were you doing in that shed?” George asked. Moonlight trembled against his thin cheeks, and his eyes swept back and forth behind the riflescope. Jenny could see how nervous and tired and scared he was, and she was frightened. Why had he come here? Why was he threatening her when she’d tried to help?

“We needed to fix a leak in the roof,” her grandfather said. “That’s where I keep the shingles.”

“It’s not raining,” the boy said.

Grass rustled against Jenny’s legs. The crickets fell silent.

“You’ve got technology in there, don’t you?” George said.

“Who are you boy, some sort of New States’ spy? I’ve faced killers like you before. I’m still here, but they’re all buried under my south field.”

He took a step toward George Washington, then another. Jenny didn’t want to see them hurt each other; there was no need for it. Even after the bombing, she knew somehow that George was good. He’d warned her, he’d told her he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, and she believed he still didn’t.

“Grandpa, wait!” she shouted. “He won’t hurt us. He’s not one of them.”

Ten feet separated her grandfather from the rifle’s muzzle, then eight.

“Then who are you son? Tell me what kind of person comes into another man’s land and holds a gun on his granddaughter.”

Behind his rifle sight, George blinked. A look of pain broke across his face, and he lowered his weapon.

“You don’t need to come any closer,” he said, “I won’t hurt you. My real name is George Reynolds, and I’m from the United States. I…I need to ask for your help.”

Her grandfather invited the boy inside and they all entered the house without a word.

Jenny and George sat at the kitchen table and watched as her grandfather lifted a kettle from the stove and poured hot water over a mixture of rosehips and currants.

“Drink son,” he said, “you look half-dead.”

George brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip. He’d slung his rifle over his shoulder, and stared in anticipation as Jenny’s grandpa placed a basket of biscuits and plate of cheese on the table.

George began devouring them as soon as they hit the table, only stopping to sip the hot tea.

“You followed me all this way?” Jenny asked.

With his mouth still full, George replied, “It wasn’t too far. In training we must have traveled three times that in a day.”

“What kind of training would that be?” her grandfather asked. The kitchen table’s lamplight fell over his old face like sunset on a mountain’s rugged slope. He was still watching George closely, and saw that he’d left a long knife within easy reach on the countertop.

“The U.S. Army Rangers,” he said.

“But you’re my age!” Jenny blurted.

“Every citizen of the United States trains for the military from the time we can read.”

“Why are you here?” her grandfather asked.

“My parents and I, we came here because we learned that Assemblyman Arnold would be in town. When you stopped and asked me questions, and offered me help, I thought maybe you were the one I could start with. Our orders were to make contact with sympathetic townspeople and stop Arnold and the rest of the New States Congress from what they’re about to do.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

George licked his fingers and reached for another biscuit. Jenny watched on in amusement at how little he knew of table manners. This was the longest amount of time she’d spent with George, and in the soft light she could see that under the dirt and grime and early chin stubble, George was a very handsome young man. 

“I don’t know,” he said, “but my parents do. Arnold hunts people that he considers ‘disloyal’ to the New States government.”

“And you involved my granddaughter in this?” her grandfather’s voice rose.

“Grandpa it was my choice to help him. His parents are hurt. George, you said they weren’t far from here.”

The boy looked down at his food, silent. She saw his lip tremble as he took a deep, halting breath.

“They’re in the mountains. They were both shot by a sniper crossing the border at Rockfish Gap. I got them far enough to make a camp where they’ll be safe, but we lost most of our supplies. We…we didn’t have much food.”

“Well you do now,” her grandfather said. “We can get food and help to your parents, but I need to know what’s going on George. If you want us to trust you, you have to do the same.”

The boy shifted in his chair, frustrated. Then he met her grandfather’s gaze.

“The food trains are running more often, with more cars, but they’re all going south.”

“South,” Jenny questioned, “but Assemblyman Arnold said they were expanding north.”

“They’ve been lying to the whole country,” George said, then looked at her grandfather. “Anyone who kept technology this long has to know that.”

Her grandfather stared out the window, watching dawn’s first purple light brush the hills. Jenny couldn’t believe the whole night had nearly passed. So much had happened in two days and she was so full of questions that she thought she’d never sleep again.

“Jenny, I’ve known this day was coming for a long time,” her grandfather said. “When the war ended and I saw the government was more keen to keep us from knowing things than helping us rebuild, I knew something wasn’t right. The farming came back easy, sure, but everything else…” he trailed off and warmed his hands around his mug. “It doesn’t take technology to make asphalt for the roads; it just takes stone and oil. They have plenty of that in Texas but they don’t fix the roads. They don’t want us traveling. They don’t want us figuring things out. The only thing that’s changed in forty years are the food quotas. They ask for more and more of my yield every year, and I’m not alone. The quantities they ask for just don’t make sense. Now George says the food’s going south, away from where the New States say they have the biggest need.”

He met George’s eyes. “The question is
, why?”

“We don’t know. That’s why my parents came here. Maybe they can explain things.”

“Maybe,” her grandfather said. He pushed back from the table and stood to collect their mugs, but froze at the sink. Porcelain shattered against the metal basin.

“You both need to go. NOW!” her grandfather yelled.

George snapped out of his chair and unslung his rifle. Jenny followed her grandfather’s eyes and saw a line of torches in the road that led toward the Two Star Ranch. As the sun rose, she could just make out a broad shape on a struggling horse, Assemblyman Arnold, with his cowboy hat, and sidearm at his hip.

***

Linden reigned in his horse in front of the Two Star Ranch and pivoted out of the saddle. The animal gave an aggrieved grunt and shimmied away from him toward the two dozen Texans and New Louisville policemen he’d brought as a show of force. If anyone from the United States was watching, he wanted them to understand who they were dealing with.

“Johnson, step lively now,” he called behind him to Jacob. The boy jogged forward and stood in front of the assemblyman.

“Are we clear on your new role?”

“Of course Assemblyman, and thank you.”

“Excellent. Now…”

The house’s door opened, and a tall man with snow-white hair and the broad chest of a lifetime of hard work stepped out to greet them.

“Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” Linden called.

“That’s Richard Williams, sir,” Jacob whispered, “Jenny’s grandfather. He owns the Two Star Ranch.”

“Is that you Jacob Johnson?” the old man said as he left his porch. “Clem. Darnell,” he greeted a few of the other policemen with a nod. The townspeople nodded and tapped their hats, uncomfortable that Richard had ignored Assemblyman Arnold. The old rancher strolled down the path to meet the party and stopped in front of Linden. He squinted in the morning sun that poured out over the mountains and held out his hand.

“Mr. Williams it is a pleasure,” Linden said as they shook. “My name is Linden Arnold, and I have the honor of being one of the New States’ Assemblymen.”

“You’ve come to visit me all the way from Dallas?” Williams asked. “I sure am honored. I can offer you some water, or perhaps some fresh milk? We’ve got some butter still holding up just fine as well if you’d like some breakfast.”

“Mr. Williams that is awfully hospitable of you,” Linden said, “but I’m afraid we can’t accept. I’m here on some…unpleasant business.”

“We need to talk to Jenny right away,” Jacob said. “is she in?”

“Would you mind telling me what this is about?” Williams asked.

“Jacob here tells me you weren’t in attendance at the fair yesterday, so you might not have known of yesterday’s occurrences. However, your daughter was, and we need to ask her a few questions to clarify our eyewitness accounts. As I’m sure you understand, it’s important in these situations that we don’t reach conclusions without all the applicable facts.”

“You’ve brought quite an armada with you to question my granddaughter, is this about the bombing?” the rancher said.

“Unfortunately it is,” Linden answered, “your girl saw a suspect Mr. Williams, but she lied to Jacob here about it. We very much need to talk to her. I’ve got an order here signed by Sheriff Dickson to search your house. I hope you understand that the paper is a courtesy.”

“Jenny wouldn’t lie,” Richard said. “Jacob, you’ve known her since…well since forever, and you know that…”

“Where is Jenny, Mr. Williams,” Linden asked.

“Now Assemblyman,” Williams started, “you and I are just getting acquainted, and I’m not sure how long you’ve been in this part of the New States, but you’ve got a bit to learn about how we do things in New Louisville.”

“No doubt, no doubt. But as ignorant as I may be, I can’t help but notice that you’re stalling me. Where is the girl?”

“She takes long rides mornings, up north.”

“Things will be much easier for you if you drop the act voluntarily, and tell us where the girl is.”

“There!” one of his Texans shouted. Linden spun and saw two figures on horseback a half-mile away fleeing toward the river. One had long hair that billowed in the wind, and the other had a rifle slung across its back.

Linden’s nostrils flared. He turned back to Williams, his hand so tight on his pistol grip that he felt the ivory handle cut painfully into his palm.