The Last of the Freemen (17 page)

Dieter shut off the engine, and the overhead door closed behind them.  Harm wrung his hands and looked anxiously around the bare, brightly lit garage.

“I don't like this.”

“Easy there,” Dieter said.  “This is how they like to do it.  It went fine when I was here last night with Torsten.”

“You were here last night?” Erin asked.

“Yeah.  We talked, brought them some things.”

The door in front of them - which led to the back yard - opened and a man clad all in black, including a ski mask, stood briefly at the threshold brandishing a pistol; he motioned for them to follow, then disappeared outside.

“Well that's a nice welcome,” Erin said.  “Are you guys sure about this?”

“It all right,” Dieter said, getting out of the car.  “They're a little paranoid, that's all.”

“And what did you bring them?”

Dieter said nothing and got out of the car; Harm climbed out and went with him to the trunk, where they grabbed the bags.  Erin trembled as she unfastened Hughie; Harm waited for her while Dieter proceeded through the door.

“Why didn't he answer me?” she asked, her voice shaking, as she climbed out of the car with Hughie.  “What did he bring?  Are you paying them to take me?”

“We're helping them some.”

“At their request?  Some kind of a trade?”

He frowned and raised his eyes to meet hers.

“What do you want us to do?” he asked.

She shrugged and shook her head, trying to think of an answer; he turned and leaned inside the car to get the safety chair.

“You’ll be with your own.”

She looked at him pleadingly as he stepped back and closed the car door; he glanced back at her but quickly looked away.

“You haven't even met them yet.  You might like it, and everything will be fine.  It's the unknown that you’re afraid of.”

He led her to the open door and gestured for her to go first; as she approached she saw Dieter in the yard on the other side, waiting and watching.  She went out into the chilly air, held Hughie tighter, and strained her eyes till they adjusted to the dark, soon focusing on the black-clad figure who stood near the house, holding open a bulkhead door; Dieter saw her hesitation and went first, going down the stairs and out of view.

“See?” Harm whispered from close behind her. “It's all right.”  He gently put his arm around her and walked with her to the top of the stairs.  “He's right down there.”

“Quiet!” hissed the man in black.

She felt Harm’s body tense as he turned to face the man, and it suddenly felt safer to move down the stairs; once at Dieter’s side she looked back, half expecting to see a confrontation, but was happy that Harm - though scowling - was slowly descending the steps.

They stood crowded in a dimly lit hallway with a heavy steel door at the end.  The masked man started down the stairs - pausing to close and latch the hatch door - then knocked four times on the wall, all the while keeping the pistol in view; they heard the bolt slide back, and slowly the door opened.

A thin, pallid woman in her thirties, with matted brown hair of shoulder length, stood in front of them holding a twelve gauge, pump-action shotgun, the muzzle pointed at the floor.

“Ain't that nice,” Dieter said, “you greetin’ us with a Mossberg I brought you yesterday!”

The woman scoffed and took a few steps back as they entered the murky, stale-smelling cellar.

“Procedure is procedure!” the masked man behind them barked in an angry whisper.  “We don't know who you are.  Now set all that baggage down right there, and step away.”

They placed the bags on the floor and moved towards the center of the cramped basement; the windows were boarded up, with blankets hanging from the ceiling along the wall to their right to serve as partitions, creating small rooms.  A stationary bicycle was in the far left corner, while near to where they stood sat a gaunt, balding, middle-aged man with glassy eyes and a forlorn expression, resting his arm next to a scoped rifle that lay across a folding card table.

“Where is Keith?” Erin asked.

“Oh - I'm over here.”  A hanging blanket was pushed aside in the gloom as he came out from a compartment near the far right corner; he was thin, with red hair and a freckled face, his jeans and tee shirt looked unwashed for some time.

“I was resting up for watch duty tonight,” he said absently.

He ventured over, somewhat timidly, and sat at the card table opposite the other man.

“Good to see you, Erin. Welcome,” he said halfheartedly.

“Is it really her?” the masked man asked.

“Of course it is,” Keith answered, then pointed at the man on the other side of the table while addressing Erin.

“This is Don. He's our post-collapse agricultural consultant, because he used to have a garden. That's Linda over there who greeted you, she’s in charge of supplies and provisions, because she's a control freak. I'm the armaments guy because I had the phone number of your gun running friends here. That’s Greg behind you, he’s the head honcho, because his Aunt owns this house.”

“
Great
Aunt,” the man in black corrected, pulling off his ski mask to reveal a narrow face, pinched nose, and thin mustache; his buff hair was shaved on the sides but longer on top, and flopped over his forehead; his small, closely spaced eyes darted around the room.  “Get over here, Don, and help me search these bags.”

“Do you have to play these games?” Don asked tiredly.  “We put up with you because we have no choice.  But if you offend these men, they can just walk out, and we've lost what might be our only chance to not die slowly of malnutrition.”

Greg stared back without responding.

“Wasn't it nice,” Don continued, “to eat real food last night?  I debate myself about whether life down here, with you miserable people and freeze-dried food, is even worth living.”

“Don't you have a garden?” Erin asked.

“No,” Don sighed, running his hand over his three-day beard. “I'm not allowed outside. Greg’s aunt does the gardening, or tries to. The slugs are eating well so far, I hear.  But it’s early in the season.  I’m still hoping.”

“You're not allowed outside?” Erin asked, casting an accusing look at Greg.

“The neighbors behind us and to the west,” Greg explained, “can see part of the yard from their upper floors. We had daily yard-time for a while, staying close to the fence, but the neighbors got a watchdog after they were robbed. Now he barks if we go near the fence.”

He abandoned the baggage and marched to the nearest, blanket-walled compartment, where he pulled back the partition to show a mattress on the floor.

“This will be yours,” he told Erin, “and we'll work you into the guard duty schedule right away. We all have other duties here besides, and we expect you to do your part.”

“Of course.”

“And now, big man,” he said, turning to Harm, “we have to talk business.”

“Wait a minute,” Erin said, shifting Hughie on her arm. “Can I ask a few questions before you go right over my head?”

“Ask away,” Greg said impatiently, throwing his hands out to his sides.

Erin turned to Keith and took a deep breath; Don suddenly hopped to his feet.

“Please, sit,” he said, offering his chair. “I've lost my manners in this subterranean paradise.  Please forgive me.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, sat down, and bounced Hughie on her knee, carefully keeping him away from the rifle he reached for.

“Keith?  Can you tell me what happened? How did you survive, when Hugh didn't?”

“I didn't see what happened to him.  And me, I played dead.”

“That's all you can tell me?”

“I really didn't see.  We ran, both of us, at first. But the Culls were coming at us from every side. People were knocking each other down trying to get away, tripping, falling, screaming. Then I fell. I don't even know if I tripped or was pushed. I fell onto some bloody dead person, and I just stayed there, closed my eyes and stayed there. I never saw what happened to Hugh.”

“So how'd you get from there to here?” Dieter asked.

“I stayed dead. A few minutes after the Culls were gone, there were shots. People moaning and crying, and shots. I could see a little bit in front of me without moving my head, there were men in tactical gear, shooting survivors.

“Then one of them stepped right in front of me, by accident I looked him right in the eye, but for some reason he didn't shoot me. He motioned for me to be quiet.  He put a bullet into the dead person next to me.  And then he kept moving. I stayed there till dark, when the crews were loading up the dead and taking them away, I crawled off in the dark, then I ran when somebody shouted, I was far enough that they didn't catch me. Of course I was hoping Hugh had survived, but I couldn't go back and look for him.

“So I was afraid to go home, to go to my car, anywhere they might find me. I called Gregg, an old college buddy, because I knew he was suspicious of the government, and the Culls, and he drove up and got me, and put me down here at his aunt’s, where her friend Don here, was already hiding, because he shot some corrupt politician dead.”

“A family-wrecking, property-stealing judge,” Don said proudly, “who thoroughly deserved it.”

“And then,” Greg interrupted, “they came looking for me. I was working odd hours, I wasn't home in the middle of the night when they kicked my doors in, it was just Linda, my girlfriend, and her brother. They took them in for questioning and let them go.  They took all my guns. I don't know what led them to me, maybe the cell call, maybe license plate readers on the highway, but I wasn't taking any chances.  I came down here, too.  But I'd been preparing for it.  We have enough food stored away here for at least a year, for all of us.  And I have dozens of bibles to give away, after this godless government finally collapses.  I assume you all are God-fearing Christians?”

“It's none of your business what I am,” Harm said.

Greg looked back in consternation, his face suddenly contorted in pain.

“We’re private folks,” Dieter offered.  “That's all.  So what else have you got planned?”

“We also have hundreds of copies of the Constitution.”

“What good will those do you?” Harm asked.

“After this corrupt government finally falls,” Greg announced confidently, “people will be ready for the truth, that we need to return to the vision of the founding fathers.  We’ll hand these out, we’ll help to re-seed knowledge of the Constitution.”

“This government is nowhere near collapse,” Harm said.  “Bankruptcy, maybe, then they won’t do so much damage.  But they’ll hang on for a long time even after they’re broke.  Too many have a stake in the plunder.  You’ll wait a lifetime.”

“No, the truth will win out. God will see that we prevail.”

“Do you know how many millions of God-fearing Christians have been slaughtered while they prayed?”

“I don't mean to say that I only pray.  God wants us to act. So I run occasional covert operations, where I go out at night to leave copies of the Constitution where people will find them. I'm sure others are doing the same, all across the nation -”

“The Constitution can’t fix anything,” Harm snapped. “Freedom isn't created by a piece of paper. It's a fact of nature, and it can only be taken away when you give someone leverage over you.”

“The Constitution assures that it will not be taken away.”

“You mean the Bill of Rights.  But it was thrown in afterwards, and not because people worshipped the Constitution, but because they didn't trust it. And they were right, but they should've fought harder. They should've known you can’t control a monster with a piece of paper.”

“What exactly are you trying to say? That the Revolution, the founding of this country was for nothing?”

“No.  My people helped chase the British out. They didn't fight to have the British system yoked around their necks with a new name, but that's what they got. Ruled by fiat, disguised as representation. If you’re fighting for that piece of paper, instead of for freedom itself, you've already lost. You're a dog fighting for a longer leash.”

Greg seethed and gripped his pistol with both hands.

“We’re a nation of laws,” he insisted, his face flushing. “Yes, we give up some freedom for order, for the common good. That's how it has to be, because we’re a nation of laws.”

“Someday,” Harm said grimly as he stared Greg down, “the men who come here to kill you, they’ll say the same thing.”

“Harm?” Erin gasped, looking back over her shoulder.  “Do you really think that?”

“We're done,” Greg said flatly, waving his pistol in the air.  “We don't need to talk any more.  I want you out of here.  Keith, help your sister-in-law bring her things to unit four.”

Keith jumped up from the table and hurried over to the baggage; Dieter sauntered closer to the door and casually placed his hands behind his back.  The color ran from Erin’s face as Keith shouldered her bags and Greg swung the door open with dramatic force.  Harm grimaced and started to wring his hands.

“You heard me, big man, get out!” Greg shouted, leveling his pistol at Harm.

“Erin?” Harm struggled to say, his voice faltering.

“Harm?”

“I - I don't think I can leave you here.  Unless you really want to stay.”

“Of course I don't!”

She gathered Hughie up onto her arm, leapt out of the chair, and ran to him, tears in her eyes; she threw her free arm around him, and pressed her face into his side.

“Thank you!”

He nodded and put his arm around her; Keith stopped and looked to Greg, who gaped, shook his head in disbelief, and turned to Linda.

“We had a deal,” Linda said angrily.  “We need those things.”

“Keep the guns,” Harm said.  “Keep the ammo and the food.  I don't want them back.”

Greg lowered his weapon and stared at the floor, his face twisted in confusion; he began to shake his head.

“I don't know about this -” he said, growing wild-eyed, “I don't know if I can allow this to happen -”

Dieter suddenly lurched forward, holding a pistol retrieved from his waistband; before Greg knew what happened the pistol was in his face, and he was disarmed while too surprised to react; Dieter then quickly stepped back and trained the second pistol on Linda, who watched in shock.

“You're makin’ me nervous, folks, you know?” Dieter said calmly. “You really wonder me.  It ain’t so hard.  We just want to leave.”

Don made a sidelong glance at the rifle on the table, a few steps distant, but saw Harm watching him; Harm shook his head and Don nodded obligingly, lifting his hands into the air.

“Situational awareness,” he said, lacing fingers together atop his head, “that’s all.  This isn't my fight.”

Harm stepped away from Erin and took Linda's shotgun, then scooped up Don’s rifle; finally he turned to Keith, who stood petrified near Erin’s blanketed cell, still holding the bags.

“Bring all that up to the garage,” Harm said.  “We’ll leave your guns up there when we go.”

Keith obediently scurried out the door, up the stairs, and pushed the hatch doors open.

“Come on,” Harm said quietly to Erin, and ushered her along.

“Any chance I can come with you?” Don asked hopefully.

“No,” Harm said.  “But maybe we'll be in touch.”