Watch the Road

A short story

Listen to the story below…

It’s cool this early in the morning. The fog still clings to the land like a blanket, reminding me that if I had my wishes, I’d still be under a quilt with my wife. But not today.

I’m walking the border of the land. A habit? A physical manifestation of my anxiety? Some days I’m not sure. The news is scant, and I can never be too careful.

The dog walks by my side, nose to the ground, guiding my steps around the landmines surrounding the farm, the trips and traps put together from the scraps of discarded farm fertilizers and simple mechanics I’ve assembled. Not military grade, but something in a world full of nothing. We are doing better than most people.

I sigh, following the dog’s lead as we walk the five-mile circuit of the border. We return, the sound of percolating coffee a welcome sound echoing in the quiet farmhouse.

I sit and sip from an old mug, the sound of morning birds just beginning their chorus around us.

The day is uneventful. The boys help me bale the hay in the fields, and I watch the skies. A buzzard hangs overhead, high over the mountain that butts up against the field, its circuit a wide oval in the clear sky. Soon another joins it, followed by another. My oldest, Cade, studies my face, sweat pouring down his brow as he presses the dried cuttings into the makeshift mold.

“What do you think?” he asks me.

I strain my eyes at the shadows hovering above. “Normal. Just normal buzzards.”

“How can you tell?” he asks, wiping his brow. He’s strong and tall, a bundle of tightly wound muscles and a heart full of hope. He’s better than I have any right to deserve.

I wince, a casket of unlocked nightmares clawing at the door of my mind. I don’t answer the question. “Probably a dead deer. Nothing to worry about.”

Cade looks at me as Paul continues to work ahead of us, his scythe running through the fields.

“Am I the only one working today?” Paul chides us.

“Yes!” Cade calls, his boisterous laugh is deeper than I remember. They are both growing up so fast. A million pin-pricks of worry and doubts scratch in my mind, threatening to seize me. I force myself to breathe, pulling out my pipe if only to chew on the stem.

We work the rest of the day until sundown, clearing and baling a quarter of the field. It’s slow and hard work, Paul cutting the field, Cade baling, and I tying the bales. The whippoorwills and mourning doves announce it’s time for dinner, and my stomach growls with hunger. We head back to the house, and Sandy opens the door, her face glowing from the oil lantern she carries.

“I was about to holler, but I figured you’d all be hungry enough to know it was time.” She smiles, her face still young despite the crow’s feet dancing around her smile.

“I’d say we’re mighty hungry,” I agree.

“Starving!” shouts Cade.

“Famished!” explodes Paul.

“Get in, boys- wash up.” I walk into the small farmhouse, put my sweat-filled hat on the hook, and take off my boots by the door. The smell of cornbread and field peas fills the inside, and the worries in the field fade away back in this place of comfort and peace. We wash and sit, say grace, and eat. There is nothing more to talk about than what must be done tomorrow.

“Cade, it’s time you start to learn about the line work. I’ll get you up tomorrow early, and we will take a turn with Chance.” The dog looks up at me, his eyes eager at the sound of his name.

“Why just Cade, Pa? Why can’t I learn the line work?” Paul’s voice has a whining edge to it, worried about being left out.

I level with him, “Paul, there will be a time when you’ll resent this job. Enjoy the fact that you won’t be up before dawn tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Paul,” Cade budges in, ever the loyal eldest. “Enjoy your beauty sleep.”

Paul sneers, his face flickering over the oil lamp.

“Plenty of time for all of that, son,” Sandy adds. “Remember, John, Williams will be making his rounds. Tomorrow is the first Wednesday.”

I nod my head, “That’s right. Well, that’s exciting enough. Tell you what, Paul, maybe you can watch the road for Mr. Williams. Make sure he makes it through okay?”

I feel Sandy’s hesitation, “You sure that’s a good idea, John?”

“I’ll guide him through it, Sandy. Me and Chance. Don’t worry.”

Sandy nods her head and lets out a sigh that only I catch. The darkness of the night overtakes us, and we sit at the table as the boys wash the dishes.

“So line work, tomorrow?” Sandy asks. “I’ll be picking in the early morning.”

“Wouldn’t mind tasting that creamed corn,” I mumble, hinting at what I hope is on the menu tomorrow.

She ignores me. “Watermelon will be ready soon, too. We should have a good one come Sunday.”

“That’ll be a treat. Nothing better than summertime melon.”

She looks at me for a minute. “What do you need from Williams?”

“Oh, I’ll talk to him tomorrow about all that, don’t you worry.”

“John, you know we don’t have the…”

“I’ll take care of it, Sandy. Don’t you worry. A boy only turns twelve once. We are fine.”

She bristles, but I know I’ve settled it for now.

“Besides, Williams owes me a favor, and I can supply him with some finished products in the downtime.”

“John Franklin, you have no downtime,” she corrects me.

I look at her and smile. “We may hay when the sun shines.”

“And mines in the moonlight,” she smiles.

We gather on the front porch, enjoying the cool of the night air, the night cocooning around the house and the land. We rock on rocking chairs as the boys swing. Sandy reads from the Bible, and we listen, contented enough to hear the story.

“When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, they gathered around Aaron and said, ‘Come, make us gods who will go before us. As for this fellow Moses, who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened to him,” she reads.

“Make us gods?” Paul laughs. “Foolishness.”

I look at him, my eyes commanding his silence.

“Go on, Sandy. Keep reading,” I load a wad of tobacco in my pipe and light it.

“Aaron answered them, “Take off the gold earrings that your wives, your sons, and your daughters are wearing, and bring them to me.” So all the people took off their earrings and brought them to Aaron. He took what they handed him and made it into an idol cast in the shape of a calf, fashioning it with a tool. Then they said, “These are your gods, Israel, who brought you up out of Egypt.”

I draw in the smoke, and tears are welling in my eyes, and my hands begin to shake. I take a long draw from the pipe, the embers in the pipe blazing.

“When Aaron saw this, he built an altar in front of the calf and announced, ‘Tomorrow there will be a festival to the Lord.’ So the next day the people rose early and sacrificed burnt offerings and presented fellowship offerings. Afterward, they sat down to eat and drink and got up to indulge in revelry.”

Sandy closes the leather book, worn. This is our ritual, small as it is.

Cade breaks the silence, “Why would they do that? Make a golden calf? After all that happened to them?”

Sandy answers with another question, “Why would they? Tell me what you think.”

“I mean, they had just won. God had saved them. Got them out of Egypt.”

“So?” she presses them to think critically.

I watch this, this quiet repetitive sparring Sandy does with our boys about the Scripture.

Paul pipes in, “They didn’t have Moses. Without Moses, they lost hope. Moses was the first idol for them.”

I blink, pulling out my pipe, “What?”

Paul looks at me, his face wavering with worry, “I’m just trying to say that the people did not understand God. Not really. They used Moses for that. Moses served as the middleman and the…”

Sandy points at him, urging him on, “Keep going. Keep going, Paul.”

“And that, and because of that, the people were using Moses as their first idol. As a substitute for God.”

I stare at the boy, blinking as lightning bugs begin to light, dancing in the coming darkness. The porch is silent with thought.

“Men have a history of making their own gods, whether they are gold or men,” I say. “Well said, Paul.” I glance at Sandy, “I think that might be our nugget for tonight.”

She nods. “Alright, boys, it’s time for bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’ll be getting you both up for the line work, and to guide Mr. Williams in.”

“Me too?” Paul asks, his eyes wide.

“You, too, as long as you listen to me through it.”

“I will, Pa!” Paul can’t hide his excitement.

I keep rocking as I hear the familiar sounds of the boys lumbering up the steep attic steps towards their bunks, the heavy clomping of these soon-to-be men finding rest in the darkness above.

Sandy comes out and joins me, rocking and wordless as I stare out through the night, the only light a thin sliver of the moon, the stars, and the green-yellow glow of the fireflies.

“That was some interpretation tonight, wasn’t it?” she says.

“He’s going to be a preacher or a sniper,” I quip.

Sandy laughs, a real one. “I’d rather not on both counts if I have my way, John.”

I smile, chewing the stem of my pipe. My body is tired, my belly is full.

“You doing alright over there?” Sandy asks.

“Just restless. Ready to hear the news. The boys and I saw some buzzards over the mountain and…”

“It’s just a dead animal, John,” she cuts me off before anything can start. “We haven’t heard any word of anything coming up this far north in six months.”

She’s denying the facts, the facts that I’m too tired to press her on.

“All I’m trying to say is that I’m anxious to hear where things stand, that’s all.”

“Well, I reckon we better go to bed, with Brad Williams coming,” she says, closing the subject. Without another word, she’s up and behind the screen door.

I frown, knowing I’ve triggered her. Knowing the admission of what I saw was triggering to us both.

She’s already in bed by the time I stand up from the rocker and go in to wash my face. The bed springs squeak as I lie next to her, her breathing a shallow rhythm of sleep. Sometime during the night, she stirs.

“John, are we going to be okay?”

I find her in the darkness, her voice commanding me out of my dead sleep.

“Yes, darling. We will be okay.”

In the early morning, I rise up the steep stairs to wake up the boys, to make our way to the line before the dawn.

“Happy birthday, sleepyhead,” I whisper to Paul, who curls up underneath his quilt in the dark, struggling to acknowledge me from the pains of sleep. “Come on, twelve-year-old man, we have to make sure Mr. Williams can get through to us today. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

It takes longer than I would like, but with some coaxing the boys are up and moving. We exit the farmhouse, letting Sandy sleep. With Chance following me by my side, I have them push a wheelbarrow and carry the “popper,” a long metal tool that hooks up and pops the mine’s disengagement cap from its canister.

In the early dawn, we meet at the rendezvous spot where we always meet Williams. The border of landmines I’ve laid there remains undisturbed. The boys are still struggling through their slumber, so I turn my voice on them, forcing them to pay attention.

“I’m going to show you both how I do this, but you must never, never try to do this by yourself. We have to have you boys train on disarmed ones first. Do you understand me?”

Cade nods his head, and Paul stares at the path of leaf litter in front of us.

“Paul?”

The boy nods, his eyes wide with fear.

“You don’t have to be here, Paul, if you don’t want to. You’re young for line work. We have plenty of time to teach you.”

A ribbon of fear runs through me as I say the words. That’s a lie.

“I’m good, Pa. I’m good,” he tries to reassure me.

“Okay,” I whisper. I click my tongue, and Chance runs by my side. With a point, the hound is at his work, identifying the first line of the inner defense.

I pull out the popper, a long steel bar that extends about eight feet from me. I call the dog back to my side and send the teeth of the popper down upon the pointed mine. I find the groove of the disengagement cap, and in one swift move, I pull it, the audible pop of the cap making the boys exclaim.

“It’s okay,” I say, smiling. “Been doing this a long time.”

Cade looks at me with his eyes wide as I put down the popper and walk out into the line to retrieve the mine. I move, careful not to walk outside of where Chance pointed. I lean down and pick up the device, heavy in my hand, and walk back, putting the disarmed explosive in the wheelbarrow.

The boys stare at it, afraid. Good. Better to be afraid than too comfortable.

“It’s disarmed now,” I say, holding it up, moving my fingers through its parts, and showing my own homespun design. “The explosive charge is kept here in this canister.” My finger runs over the bottom of what was once an old paint bucket, now warped, welded, and retrofitted for our defense. “When the charging device is popped up, there is nothing to worry about. When it is pressed in, it is armed, and an additional disturbance around the device will throw a spark.”

“Boom,” says Cade.

“That’s right,” I look at him. “Boom.”

“How many are there?” says Paul. Looking out at the leaf litter.

“Each patch of the line follows the same pattern,” I answer. I lean down and start to draw a diagram in the dirt. “Every five feet, there are at least five mines. The border is twenty-five feet deep. Five by five, through twenty-five.”

Paul nods his head. “Five by five, through twenty-five?”

I look at Cade. “Say it.”

“Five by five, through twenty-five.”

“Paul?”

“Five by five, through twenty-five,” he repeats.

“Good,” I say. “And never without Chance. There is no way to mark where these things are with your eyes alone. Chance is the key. We have to rely on him.”

The boys nod, but I see Paul working through an unpleasant thought. I wait.

“But what…what if?” he begins.

I look at him, anticipating the question.

“But what if…something happens?” he says, looking down at Chance, who cocks his head to the side.

Cade looks at him, “Something happens?” Despite being older, Cade’s faith that our world will remain protected and contained does not serve him well.

Paul continues, “To Chance? What would we do?”

I nod my head. “That certainly is a risk.” I watch and see Cade catch up to Paul’s intuition, the fear falling over him.

“That is why we are waiting on Mr. Williams right now, Paul. Let’s clear the path for him and watch the road.”

We get to our work, the dog, the boys, and I, clearing the path for William’s arrival.

Before noon, we hear whistling coming down the road and the creaking sound of the handmade cart jostling over the broken road. Williams clears the turn, and we see him pulling his provisions behind him in his makeshift contraption, pulled by a harness. Two goats, a billy and a nanny, follow him, bleating, tied behind him.

“Ho, Williams!” I call.

“Good morning, Franklin family! How is this fair morning treating you, Paul, and Cade?”

“Fine, Mr. Williams,” Cade responds, his broad smile trying hard not to hide his excitement.

“I hear that someone has a birthday this week?”

Cade, despite being the oldest, smiles widely like a child. Paul stiffens as Mr. Williams approaches closer. There are few strangers we allow through our borders, and I lean down and whisper, trying to soothe him.

“He is safe, Paul. We trade with Mr. Williams. Treat him with kindness.”

Paul nods but says nothing.

“John, I’ve gotten a good source for those supplies you needed,” Williams calls out.

“That’s great to hear, Brad. Mind showing me, before we pull back these mines?”

Brad nods, flicks out a small pocket knife, and cuts a horizontal slice on the tip of his right middle finger. A red dot of blood dances upon the broken flesh, and he holds it up.

“Good, John?” he asks, fishing out a bandage to put on the cut. “Hurts like hell that one.”

I nod, smiling, allowing my shoulders to relax.

The sound of a whimpering whine sounds out within the rolling cart amidst the bleating baaing of the goats.

Paul’s eyes light up at the sound, as Chance’s tail begins to wag.

“Guess the…well, the dog is out of the bag,” Williams says, a big smile cracking over his sunburnt face.

“What was that?” Paul asks, his face alight with curiosity.

“Easy, everyone,” I say, holding up my hands. “Let’s get Mr. Williams through.”

I work to guide William’s small caravan through the line and work to rearm the mines behind him, a process that goes more slowly than my boys would wish. After all of the creatures are cleared through and the line is several yards behind us, I speak, allowing the peace of our protections to settle over us.

“Alright, sons, let’s get Mr. Williams up to the house. Sandy will be making us some supper, and then we will talk business. I need you both to go and do those chores, now, just like any other day.”

As the boys protest, Chance is circling the cart, a flurry of furry excitement, a tornado of tail wagging, while the goats bleat, anger pouring out of their weird slit-eyes.

“No use, trying to save this surprise, John.” Williams laughs.

“I guess you’re right,” I sigh, feeling the smile on my face. “Well, go ahead and show him, Brad.”

Mr. Williams reaches into his cart and pulls out a small puppy, a hound, only about six weeks old.

“Your father ordered this one from a contact I have down south. He told me you was looking for a little girl to join with Chance. She’s a good hound from good stock. Should be a fine addition to your family and your trade.”

Chance begins to bark excitedly, his tail wagging like a windmill, as Paul holds out his hands to receive the puppy.

“Oh my gosh? Is she for me?”

“Well, she is for all of us,” I say. “We are going to have to train her and keep her away from the line until she realizes the border. She is also going to have to breed with Chance. Do you think you boys can help watch after her?”

“Sure, Pa! Of course.”

“Now I do have that other thing, John,” Williams says, pulling me in close.

“We’ll wait until supper, Brad. You’ve traveled a far piece to get here. Let’s get back to the house and get you situated. We have all day to talk and discuss the news and any business.”

Brad nods his head, a smile thin and tight, and my heart sinks.

The news isn’t good.

The boys orbit around the bitch puppy for the full day, not getting to any of the chores that needed doing. I did not press the matter, letting Paul have his birthday, taking the time to ensure the chickens and hogs are fed and watered, and the crops watered from the ram-pump that pulls up water from the spring.

I sigh. I’ll leave the hay in the field for one more day. Let them have their day.

Williams has hitched his wagon underneath the large pen oak and is busy washing himself outside of the house, using the handpump and trough we have placed outside. He is naked from the waist up, his brown body thin and strong, with long gray locks covering his bearded face.

I approach him with the midday sun overhead, my hat soaked with sweat.

“It is a hot one today, wish you had brought us a cooler breeze, Brad.”

The traveling trader laughs, splashing water on his face, “Well, I’m just grateful to rest a spell and wash the road off me.” The six-barrel revolver hangs from his belt, and I think about all this man might have seen in his circuit here.

“I’ll go and check on what Sandy is fixing for supper.”

“Oh, I’ve been smelling it since I perched under the oak. It’s something that’s got my mouth watering. It sure will beat having to eat goat cheese, I can guarantee that.”

“Well, we are glad you are here with us, safe, Brad. Truly.”

He nods, his face looking pained. “We have a lot to talk about, John. This evening.”

I nod my head and walk into the house without another word.

Sandy is standing over a fresh pot of creamed corn, and I feel the smile erupt on my face as my mouth salivates.

“John Franklin, don’t you look like a mule eating briars…” she smiles over the pot, where the golden meal wafts out a smell that makes my head spin.

“Just checking on you, darling. We have any meat today?”

“I’ve sent Cade to slice off some of the ham from the smokehouse, and I’ve got biscuits in the oven.”

“That’s fine. Thank you, dear, for being such a good host to Williams.”

She nods and says nothing for a bit. “Any word from down south? Did Paul enjoy the surprise?”

“We haven’t gotten into sharing news yet, but we will this evening, I reckon. I’ve given Paul and Cade the day off to play with the puppy. She’s a cute one.”

“Wish you’d give me a day off, Mr. Franklin,” she quips. “Now get out of my kitchen. You’re in my way, and I’m busy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a smile. “Sorry to work you so hard.”

After we eat at the table, I clear my throat.

“I’ve got one more surprise for the birthday boy, but I have to ask Paul - you and your brother have to share this gift. Okay?”

“More than Polly?” asks Paul, pronouncing the unfortunate new name of our new puppy.

“Yes, more than just Polly. Remember, Polly is for the safety of all of us. Polly and Chance must mate for a litter of puppies. They all need to be trained in line work…” I trail off, not wanting to reflect on how much work is left for us to maintain the peace we have slowly scraped out for ourselves.

“Anyways, enough with that. One more gift, for you, Paul, but you and Cade will share it. Go ahead, Brad.”

Mr. Williams pulls a rectangular plastic device with a small two-inch screen out of his pocket. The gray plastic is faded, with small red inscriptions on the case that are worn.

“What is that!?” Paul exclaims, his voice exploding with fear. Cade stands up, his eyes wide, fresh terror flashing across his face.

I hold out my hands to speak, but Brad Williams interjects.

“Boys, it’s okay. Take a breath. I would never bring in anything that would threaten your safety. This device is ancient, made before the networks.”

Cade sits back down and looks to his mother for assurance.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispers. “This is a good one. A fun one. My grandfather had one of these, and it is perfectly fine.”

Paul speaks, his voice shaking, “What is it?”

Williams smiles. “This was called a Gameboy, and while it is old, it is also incredibly sturdy. They literally made these to last generations. They have survived countless floods and fires, if you can believe it.”

“What do you do on it?”

Brad inserts a small plastic box into a slot on the back of the device. “The game is contained on this little disc. There is no connection to the nets.” He flips a switch, and a high-pitched peep rings through the room.

A tinkling tune pours out from the box, and the green screen lights up.

“Tetris? What is a Tetris?”

Sandy reaches out and grabs the device. “I’ll show you.”

The sound of dishes clinking and water running fills the night air as the boys help Sandy clean up the kitchen, and Brad and I go out to the front porch. I light my pipe in the oncoming darkness, the breathing air of the cicadas’ night ringing envelops us, and we feel the crescendos of the chorus rise and fall like the tide. The day has gone by fast.

“Thanks for getting him the box,” I say, speaking through my clenched pipe.

“Don’t mention it, John. Happy to do that for you and the boys.”

“How’s business down South?” I finally broach the horrible silence of things not said.

Let’s get to it.

Brad rolls a cigarette, sprinkling his cannabis on the paper and licking it. Sandy can’t stand the smell of this, but she allows it when Brad visits, all the same.

“It’s gotten worse, John.” He takes a drag and holds it in, allowing the smoke to roll out of his nostrils with a meditative exhale. “Amity has everything south of Huntersville. Davidson is the front line now, when I last left it. But that was weeks ago.”

I cough and pull my pipe from my mouth and stare at him. “Charlotte fell last October, and now all of Mecklenburg is under Amity?”

“Up to the very line, John. Davidson holds the last bit of it, but it won’t be long, unless the state can get dampener resources sent down from Virginia.”

“Any word from the East? From Raleigh, from Greensboro?”

“Still maintained. Still strong. They were quick to sever when the turning rolled through. You can imagine, it’s hard to get any solid word or intel between the polities. The routes are tight, and they don’t let many of us through anymore.” He exhales another wispy puff of smoke. “Fear of bugs, you know.”

“How many do they need? How many for Davidson?”

“Mines? I wouldn’t bother, John. I’m not going to risk that route right now. There’s an open call for arms from the lake polities as the Simuls pull back. But they don’t need mines, they need dampeners. Amity keeps throwing new iterations at us faster than we can keep up.”

“Have they gotten that hard to find, Brad?”

“The market has all but dried up. All the supplies to generate dampeners has all but dried up. You’re lucky, John. People would pay you a mountain of land down south for that model you got now.”

“Still making payments on it,” I laugh. “Can’t say I own it yet, and I got more land than I can handle.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and all that,” Brad chuckles. “If you ever want to sell, let me know.”

“I appreciate that. Going to hold on to it, though.” I change the subject, “Any word further out?”

Brad says nothing for a while, allowing the silence to fill the void cracking open in my heart.

“Outside of Carolina and Virginia? No man, no. Nothing past Raleigh, and nothing below Davidson. That’s all Amity now. The Appalachians do well to keep out their scouts, but the southern line runs through where the mountains break up, from Greenville to Jacksonville. All Amity. And in the North? The Fredericksburg line.”

He stares at me for a long time. “We are all that’s left, John. It’s best that you begin making your preparations now. Think about your family. I’d say here, you have a few years left, unless they make another big push.”

“What will you do? Where will you go?”

Brad laughs, “Don’t worry about me, John. I’ll take what you’ve got, and I’ll sell to the lake polities. Then I’ll head back to Winston, maybe back up to Mt. Airy. It’ll be another six months before I’m back on this side.”

“I’ll need more fuses from Winston. I’m good for another six months, but still —”

“I’ll take care of that for you.”

“Thanks, Brad.”

Brad says nothing for a good while. He coughs, finishes his smoke, and speaks. “Thank you for the good meal, and for Sandy’s kindness. You’ve got something special here, John. Something really special.” He gazes out at the north pasture, his eyes going wet. He’s in another place, seeing things I can’t.

“It’s bad out there,” he whispers.

“You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you want, Brad. There is no rush.”

He clicks his tongue, “I’m obliged, but I’ve got orders to fulfill in Winston, and that’s after we sell your stock down south. I’ll make my way down to Lake Hickory and ride the Catawba down the Norman barge. I’ve got people expecting me in a few days.”

“That should be a pretty ride down the river.”

“It beats walking the goat, so that’s something.”

That night I spend the evening packing up the stock that I’ve prepared for Williams to float down to the south. It’s not much, but a single crate of twenty mines, all that I can assemble with the supplies I’ve scraped together. Barely enough to hold back one push of the Amity ground troops.

Ground troops. Drones. Whatever you want to call them.

The first iterations were humanoid, of course. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…then it is…not a duck. These were service drones, created to handle all the tasks beneath those who could afford them. After the scaled purge of the immigrants, the former Union looked to fill the gaps in our workforce with the Amity-enabled service drones. The transition worked well. It bolstered the economy with a rampant industrialization required in order to scale. But that was all before the turning.

Relatively speaking, everything worked well before the turning. Automation meant a programmed stabilization- planned growth and consistent economic returns. An ease that comes with the support of a resilient and consistent pool of labor meant that everyone would be afforded a secure and stable life. But, of course, it was not enough.

It was never enough.

The Union kept pushing the boundaries to get more from the system. More efficiency. More profit. Until it crossed the line – Amity became sentient.

After sentience, the nightmare iterations began to be produced, iterations designed for one purpose: to slaughter and take land from humans. That was, of course, after the augments were killed. In one day, everyone with connected pacemakers, eye implants, and prosthetics all died. All on March 18, 2045, as easily as flipping off a light switch. Not that those switches worked anymore. On that same day, the power grid failed, and in two weeks, the Union was dismantled, with Amity taking California in one week and the entire West Coast in two.

We were at the farm by that point, and I made the move to sever our ties to the grid and the nets. We went dark by choice, and I never looked back. Building the border of explosives became my one job after that, using my engineering background to muster what I could to provide us with some defenses against the unknown. Analog explosives without network connections make for a hell of a challenge against humanoid drones.

But there are others now. Others I don’t know about. Others I can’t prepare for. I take a breath and hold it. I allow my heart to beat in my chest.

How much time do you have here? How much time is left for you?

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Two days ago, Williams left, taking the batch of product with him. We sent mail for him to carry, letters to friends out east, and cash payments to the dampener supplier I owe on credit, and our yearly tax to the Carolina State authority for the land. Williams is an honest broker. He’ll make sure the writ gets to the collector’s office on our behalf in Raleigh, and to the dampener supplier he’s connected us with.

The boys and I take the rest of the weekend off and rest. On Monday, we get back to work in the fields, and the day turns sweltering. A humidity that clings to every inch of your body. We take more breaks than I would like, barely clearing the last third of the field that is left. The late afternoon sun hangs over us, oppressive in its strength.

“Okay, boys, that’s enough for the day,” I say.

The boys fall into the grass, grateful.

“Can we go down to the creek to cool down, take a dip?” Cade asks.

I bristle at this, but I weigh it.

“Don’t cross the banks. Don’t cross over towards the line. Do you understand?”

Cade is already up and heading towards the creek that intersects near the border of the farm. I call to him.

“Take Paul and Chance with you. Be back in an hour!”

Cade doesn’t stop walking, but whistles and waves his brother on.

Paul is up and following, and I hear myself call to him.

“Watch your brother, Paul.”

“I will,” he replies.

The boys have left me behind, and I get to the business of putting the baling tools back in the shed. As I put up the scythe and the press, I glance at the jute rug that lies on the floor of the shed. I roll it up, revealing a hatch.

In the darkness of the hidden root cellar, I light the lone oil lamp hanging and inspect the hidden cache of food and supplies. Stacks of Sandy’s canning lines the walls down here, dusty beneath the shed, but stacked high. Four bunk beds line the other wall, made of rough-hewn lumber. The space is small and tight, but enough. Enough if…

I bury the thought and look under the first bunk. Below is a double-rack-mounted dampener, hidden within the design of the humble furniture I’ve built. My fingers dance on the controls, inspecting the charge. A discrete blue glow emanates from the device, indicating the contents of the salt battery. The charge has diminished over the years, but there is enough there for a year of low radius dampening, covering the shed, and some of the yard. An emergency fail-safe, and more than most could dream of.

Enough for us to turtle up if it comes to that.

I stand there in the gloom, my mind calculating dire facts and figures. Planning for the worst days that have yet to come, and I hear Chance barking.

And then an explosion.

I am up and out of the shed and running, my heart in my throat. My rifle in tow, my eyes wide in a bleary panic.

A column of black smoke rises to the west. Towards the creek. God no.

I’m sprinting now, and I hear Sandy scream from the house at me.

“John?!”

I don’t have time to turn back towards her. “Get to the shed!”

I’m running, and I see Paul running up the hill towards me, half naked, his eyes wet and red with sobbing.

I’m down on my knees, “What happened?!”

Paul stares at me and screams, his voice four octaves louder than it should be, “I…I…”

He can’t hear.

“Where is Cade!” I scream at him.

Paul points, and I’m off, my feet churning down the hill.

“Get to the shed!” I scream back, but I doubt Paul can hear me.

I make my way to the bank and find Chance, barking, his back arched high, teeth bared. The dog guards Cade, who lies on the ground, twenty feet from the eastern side of the bank of the creek. I run towards him, my eyes flitting over his body, and then back to the western side of the bank, where I know the line runs.

I turn back to Cade, fearing the worst. He lies on his back, his face up to the hot, bright sun, not breathing. I put my lips on his and blow.

“Come on, Cade. Come on.”

I go away, my body finding the rhythm, breathing, and hammering my arms down on my son’s chest.

“Come on, Cade. Come on.”

Seconds go by like years, and then he seizes up in coughing.

“Talk to me, Cade. Talk to me!” Tears well in my eyes, and my body begins to shake.

The boy coughs, and he takes a breath in. “Dad…”

“Get up, to the shed, we have to get to the shed.”

“The line,” he croaks. He sits up, pointing.

I throw my gaze to the western bank of the running creek, trying to dissect the colors and shapes that blur across my brain. Then I look to Chance, who has stood sentinel this whole time. I follow the dog’s gaze. At first, all I can see is the column of smoke rising high in the air, dispersing in the wind. And then I see it. Lying strewn across the bank are the remains of a woman, the explosion of the mine blast cleaving her body and tossing both parts like a rag doll. Her naked torso lies across the banks, and she faces me.

Why is she naked?

The hairs on my neck stand up as I look at her, allowing my panic to slow and focus. There is no gore where her body was blown in two. No gore that is associated with human beings.

Shit.

Before I can say a word to Cade, the drone surges with new life, its eyes flicker open and flash with a bright red glow. She screams in a guttural bellow, clawing at the rocky ground with her arms, propelling her broken remains closer to me.

The first bullet grazes her head, but the second collides and ricochets within whatever skull drones bear, and falls dead on the sand.

I don’t let my rifle fall for a long time.

“Dad,” I hear Cade speak over the ringing of my ears. “She came to the edge. She was…”

I slowly lower the rifle and look at him. “She was naked, wasn’t she?”

Cade can’t speak, his tears falling from his face, ashamed.

“I thought she was…”

I pull him in, and he sobs.

“You’re okay, son. You’re okay. That’s all that matters. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She came to me like that. Like a girl…and she was…”

I pull him in and lock my eyes on him. “Listen to me. It was a scout, Cade. A scout. They come like wolves in sheep’s clothing. They come wanting you to lower your guard. Understand?”

He nods his head.

“Now, listen. I need you to take Chance and get your mom and brother under the shed. I don’t know what is coming, but we need to prepare for the worst. Do you understand?”

Cade rubs his eyes and nods his head, “Yes, sir.”

“Go now.”

I watch as Cade and Chance run up back to the hill, towards the shed. I can see Sandy running towards us from a distance. This will be the last moment I have to get my thoughts together on what we should do next. I take in a breath and run through the data, and my brain snaps on something I could not have guessed.

Coyotes. I think back to my grandfather, who told me how coyotes would pick off dogs when he grew up on this same farm. His voice echoes across time.

“The pack would send out a scout, a playful little mongrel, to play with the guard dog. That play session would go on for hours, with the dog never noticing that, slowly and slowly, it was being led further and further away from the house. Then, when it was led out far enough, the pack would descend on the dog and feast.”

Sandy is in front of me, carrying a shotgun, her face full of questions. “What is happening, John?”

“We have to hunker down, Sandy. Amity Scout came for our boys, tested the line. More will be coming, but I don’t know how long we have.”

Another mine explodes to the south of the property, and then another to the north, and our conversation is cut short.

Underneath the shed in the bunker, we wait in the dim light of a single lightbulb. When the power is cut, we shift to an oil lamp. Throughout the night, we hear mine after mine explode; the ground we are surrounded by is full of rolling, rumbling, shaking. It’s a cold consolation to know that the line is thinning out the drones above us. Is it enough to hold them back completely?

Not by the sounds of it.

At least, we are all accounted for. The two dogs, Sandy, and the boys. I think about what could have happened to Cade and I…

Don’t think about that.

I sit closest to the hatch, gripping my twelve-gauge shotgun, staring at the one opening. The dampener emits its low hum, buying us whatever the charge on the

salt battery can provide. A month? Two months? A year?

I don’t know.

The boys lie on their bunks, and Sandy in the small chair, reading from the Bible.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

As Sandy reads the psalm, my mind wanders. There are many things that I still want. I want my boys to have more than I have had. To know the joys of life, of family, and the taste of what it means to be safe.

Do they not have that now? A voice challenges me.

I look at them and see their eyes heavy with near-sleep. Even now, hidden in the ground like paupers, they are safe. Perhaps it is good enough.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”

A ripcord of explosions goes off, a string of them. This time from the east, and I imagine a push of drones trying to clear the lines. The dogs start to growl, and I worry their barks may be the difference between us surviving this or not. Before I say anything, Paul is on the ground with them both, holding them, soothing their fears.

He’s so good with them.

“You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies, you anoint my head with oil, and my cup overflows.”

The door of the shed, whiny and loud by design, flies open, and I turn to Sandy, motioning with my eyes for her to be silent.

They are above us.

“Keep the dogs quiet, Paul,” I whisper. “Cade, turn up the dampener. Now.”

My family obeys while Sandy issues a silent prayer on her knees.

I release the safety of the shotgun and hoist it up to the hatch door.

Whatever happens next, you will protect your family. You will do whatever it takes. You go down fighting them back.

A voice calls out. “John Fraklin?”

It sounds precisely like Brad Williams.

I see Cade’s smile erupt on his face, but I point at him, commanding his silence. Paul stares with me, already suspecting the worst.

“Franklin family, are you here?!”

We stay silent. We wait.

“The Simuls are here. They’ve fought back Amity. We’ve got mobile dampeners on your property, but we need your help mapping your lines, John.”

I feel Sandy’s eyes on me. I look.

She mouths, “What if it’s true?”

I think about the naked coyote girl on the shores of the creek. I think about how advanced Amity is now. Williams left two days ago. It could be him, but that would mean…

“John, the front lines have all changed. On my way to the river the Simuls were in retreat. I told them to come here. Please, I know you’re armed. I know you’re down underneath that hatch with that dampener. I’ll prove to you that I’m not Amity.”

“How!?” I scream, testing the voice.

Brad speaks, “I’ll cut my finger, just like before,” he assures me.

Sandy looks at me, then the boys.

Slowly, I wind my way up, unlocking the hatch. I extend my shotgun out first, directly at Brad William’s face. I peer through the slit, the barrel of my shotgun locked on his teeth.

“Show me,” I bark. My body is vibrating with fear.

The figure looks exactly as Brad did only two days ago, and he extends his hand out. I watch as he flicks out a blade and pierces his right index finger. I watch as a red bead of blood peeks out between the broken skin, and watch as this figure smiles at me.

I look for the middle finger, desperate for signs of a previous wound. The light is dim, and I strain my eyes to find the mark. His middle finger is clear. No cut. No bandage.

I don’t hesitate, hammering down on the trigger. The doppelganger flies back out of the shed, and I watch as sparks and inorganic innards erupt around me in the light of the barrel flash. Columns of others stand outside the shed doorway, a platoon of Amity drones, waiting to fish us out, to clear us from our lands.

I drop beneath the hatch and lock it behind me.

“Turn up the dampener,” I command, my heart in my chest. “We are going to be here a long time.”

My family looks at me, their faces pale and stricken in the dim light. Then Sandy speaks, “As long as it takes.”

She grabs my boy’s hands, and they reach out to mine. “As long as it takes,” they repeat.

I nod my head, “As long as it takes.”

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