Fight for Power (11 page)

I fell back into a restless sleep, waking just as the sky started to lighten. I strapped on my pistol and slipped out of the house. The plane sat on Herb's driveway, its wings extending well over the pavement onto his lawn on one side and our lawn on the other. With my ultralight tucked into the handmade hangar covering our driveway beside the lawn, it was like I was at an airport. And really, since I was using our street as my runway, it
was
a little airport. Of course, the Cessna couldn't take off or land from our street. It would need a much longer strip, assuming it could ever get into the air to begin with.

I ran my hand along the leading edge of the wings. It had a few little dimples, but it was mainly smooth and clean. This old plane had been kept in good shape. I mentally initiated the preflight checklist that I did before every one of my lessons, doing a visual inspection, manually testing to make sure things were operational.

Herb had made it clear—and my mother even clearer—that I wasn't going anywhere until it was completely checked out. But that was all just talk anyway if we couldn't get the engine running. Today our two mechanics would have a look at it. I would have felt more confident if they were airplane mechanics instead of car mechanics, but still, an engine was an engine.

I looked up and saw Brett coming down the street. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Looks like you've finally got yourself a real plane,” he said.

“I already had a plane. Now I might have two. You must have gotten up early.”

“I didn't go to bed. I knew I wouldn't be able to get to sleep.”

“I know exactly what you mean. It's hard to sleep when there's so much going on in your head,” I said.

“It's not my head, it's my blood. You get so pumped with adrenaline, and then when nothing happens there's no place for it to go.”

“It almost sounds like you're disappointed there wasn't a battle.”

“Well … I guess I am, but there will be other opportunities. I'd like to think we're not through with those bastards just yet,” Brett said. “I'd like another shot at them.”

“I'd like to never see them again.”

“If not them, it'll be somebody else. Sooner or later somebody will end up in my rifle sights.”

He had a slight smile on his face and a look of almost wonder in his eyes. It was like he was anticipating a battle to come.

“So what's the plan for the plane?” he asked.

“Today the mechanics are going to try to get the engine going. If they are successful, then Mr. Nicholas and I are going to go over it from top to bottom and see if we can put it into the air.”

“You can't take off from here, can you?” Brett asked.

“Nope. The street isn't long enough. I'd taxi it up to the hill and use Erin Mills Parkway as my strip. It's straight and clear and would easily handle a takeoff and hopefully a landing.”

“You don't know if you can land it?”

“I can land it. It's just that the final test to see if it can really fly is flying it. Until then, well, we don't know for sure. One way or another it's coming down. It would just be nice if it was a landing I could walk away from.”

“You know, I don't want to fly with you, but getting up there for the first time in a machine you're not sure about—it's a bit of a high, isn't it?”

“I'd rather know that it was airworthy,” I said.

“Come on, admit it! The first time you took up your ultralight, wasn't it a wicked buzz?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” What I
wasn't
going to admit was that most of the rush hit me when I realized I hadn't checked the fuel before going up and was feeling the sheer terror that I was going to run out of gas and crash. I'd never told anybody about that.

“Is that what you felt when you ran toward that building yesterday?” I asked.

“It is a rush. I get one whenever I go outside the walls, especially at night.” He slapped me on the back. “Maybe I should go up with you in your ultralight one of these times, just for the high.”

“Don't you get enough of that already?” I asked.

“It's addictive, man. You just want more and more. Do you get tired of flying?”

“Nah, of course not, but it's not the same. I take precautions, do the preflight checks, and know my equipment. I don't just go running toward a building I think is filled with people with weapons.”

He laughed. “That was crazy, like a jolt of electricity surging through my veins.”

“I still can't believe you just ran in like that. What were you thinking?”

“That's the whole thing, man. I wasn't
thinking
, I was
feeling
. Like I said, it's a rush.”

We stood there in silence, watching as the horse-drawn cart passed by the end of the street. How strange that the sight of horses in the neighborhood was the new normal. So much was new. All of the front lawns turned over, crops popping up through the soil. Two men and a woman walked by, rifles slung over their shoulders. And, of course, the ultralight and Cessna sitting in front of my house and Herb's.

“Have you ever gone hunting?” Brett asked out of left field.

“Target shooting, but never hunting.”

“You'd mentioned to me once that there were deer down in the ravine,” he said.

“Yup. There used to be a big herd, but it's hard to know if there are any still there now,” I said. “Probably lots of people would have the same idea.”

“Only one way to find out,” Brett said. “We need to go and try to find them. I've seen bows and arrows hanging in your garage. We could use those.”

“You've done bow hunting before, right?” I asked. I remembered him saying something about it.

“It's the only real way to hunt.”

“It does seem like more of a challenge, more of a fair fight,” I said.

“It's more than that. It's just more … more real, more
intense
. You're right there.”

I didn't really care about any of that. I was just thinking about how much meat was on a deer, how many mouths it could feed, and how we now had extra mouths to feed. Why hadn't I thought of this before?

“Let's have a look at those bows,” Brett said. He gave me a slap on the back. “This could be fun, buddy!”

“What could be fun?”

Lori. I turned around. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt—was it one I hadn't seen before? Something was different.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning to you.” She gave me a little hug. Somehow it seemed awkward in front of Brett.

“I like your hair,” Brett said. “It makes you look older.”

Hair! That was it—she'd had her hair done. And I hadn't said anything.

“You're up awfully early.” I thought it was best to change the subject.

“Cows don't sleep in. They need to be milked. So what's going to be fun?”

“Brett and I are going out to see if we can get a deer. We're going to go bow hunting.”

“Wouldn't you have better luck with a gun than a bow?” she asked.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Brett said. “Besides, we'll take our guns along.”

That was just smart. It didn't make sense to go outside the neighborhood armed with only bows and arrows.

“You're obviously busy now, but those cows need to be milked twice a day so there will be other opportunities to help if you really want to,” she said to me.

“Then I will, for sure.”

“It'll be nice to have help and company.” She paused. “Thanks for
that
, at least.”

I knew what she meant. This was back to the hair and me not saying anything.

“I was going to say something about your hair, really … It looks good.” I paused. “But you
always
look good.”

Lori smiled, but before I could say anything more Brett cut in.

“So enough gabbing. Let me get cleaned up at your place, and then we can go get us some meat.”

“Can I grab breakfast first?” I asked.

“No, it's always better to go hunting on an empty stomach. It gives you a little more incentive.” He turned to Lori. “And I'll see
you
later.”

*   *   *

By the time we had both gotten ready and gathered the bows and arrows, the shift change on the wall was in process. New guards were now in place, while others were either lingering or making their way home. A lot of the people on the walls weren't the usual guards, who were still resting or sleeping from yesterday's raid.

Up ahead I saw Mrs. Julian walking with her dog, Bubbles, a little white poodle with a bright pink sweater. Until a few days ago I only knew Mrs. Julian as poodle owner, but she'd filled in on the security team and Bubbles was a guard dog. He was certainly a lot different from the German shepherds and Labs that some people had on patrol, but I'd been told he was good at alerting the guards to outside noises. I guess that made sense. If I was that little, I would be super-aware of what was happening around me.

“Good morning,” I said as we came up to her. I dropped to one knee and gave Bubbles a scratch behind the ear.

“Nice sweater,” Brett said.

“Bubbles is old and he gets cold easily, even in the summer,” Mrs. Julian explained. “It was a bit chilly last night for him.”

“Thanks for being out here,” I said.

“Just doing my part, although I'm not sure what good I'd be if there was a problem,” she said.

“As long as you can alert people, you're doing your job,” Brett said. “That's why they have people with guns out here.”

“And I'm so glad I am not one of them!” she said.

I think we all agreed with that.

“I'm just so thrilled that everybody came back fine,” she continued. “Is it true that you brought back prisoners?”

“Not prisoners,” I said. “Survivors. People
they
had imprisoned. Women and children.”

“Oh, my goodness, that's awful … not that you rescued them but that they were being held prisoner. I don't think I even want to hear anything more. It's too disturbing. I should get home and give Bubbles his breakfast. I just wish I had more of his special food.”

“I heard that one of the scavenging parties just brought in a lot of dog food,” I said. “Bags and bags of it.”

“That won't please Bubbles. He simply
refuses
to eat kibble. He's
very
fussy.”

I saw a flash of disgust cross Brett's face.

“We better get going,” I said. “And Bubbles does look hungry. Take care.”

She and Bubbles walked in one direction, and we headed in the other.

“If she isn't careful, little Bubbles there might just become somebody's meal,” Brett said.

“At least he's earning his keep.”

“I feel so much safer knowing that she and her dog are on duty,” Brett said sarcastically.

“I guess the extra eyes and ears are what matters,” I said, although I didn't really disagree with him. “Maybe you should have complimented her hair.”

Brett looked confused.

“Like you did with Lori.”

“Oh, I get it,” he said. “Big difference. One is an older woman with a poodle, and the other is young and, well, has it going on.”

“Hey,” I said sharply.

“Don't take it personal. I was just telling her what she wanted to hear,” Brett said. “Young people want to look older, and older people want to be seen as younger.”

Actually that did make sense.

“It's the same way a smart woman likes to be told she's pretty and a pretty woman wants to be seen as smart. Stick around with me and I'll give you the benefit of my years of experience with the ladies.”

“Just stay clear of Lori.”

Brett smirked at my look. “Don't worry, I'll leave her alone. I respect your stuff.”

“She's not my stuff.”

“I thought you two were going out.”

“We're going out, but that doesn't make her my property.”

He laughed. “Whatever you say. I just know that I'm pretty protective of what's mine, that's all. Nobody touches something that belongs to me.”

There was a tone in his voice and a look in his eyes that made me realize all over again he wasn't somebody you'd want to cross.

I almost said that she didn't belong to me, but I figured there was no point in pushing this fight further. He didn't get it, or maybe he thought I didn't get it. Either way, though, he needed to keep his eyes and thoughts somewhere else besides on Lori. She wasn't mine, but she certainly wasn't his.

More people joined us out in the street. Two little girls—who couldn't have been more than eight or nine—were up ahead of us, water containers in hand, on their way to the creek.

We were going to cross the creek and head out of the neighborhood into the woods that bordered us on the west and went all the way to the Credit River down in the valley. At that point, there was a band of brush and wilderness that extended right down to the lake in one direction and up into the country in the other. That's where the deer lived. It was the perfect place for them. There were lots of things to eat and cover from the winter weather, and because of the local bylaws it was illegal for anybody to fire off a gun, so they had long been completely safe from hunting. Usually their only danger was being hit by cars. Now they didn't have to worry about cars that much, but nobody was going to be enforcing a ban on hunting.

My mother had told me that before any of this started the only time she'd ever fired her service weapon off the practice range was one time when she was new on the force and had to shoot an injured deer that had been hit by a car. Twenty years later, it still bothered her. Probably shooting a deer today wouldn't trouble her at all if it meant food for the neighborhood.