The Last of the Freemen (14 page)

He lifted his eyes from the floor to Erin in a half squint, and folded his arms across his chest; it took her a moment to realize he was restraining a chuckle.

“That's a good one,” he said.

“I wasn't trying to be funny,” she giggled, shaking her head.

“Well then, I'd say it looks like the start of another overly interesting day.”

“I'm not the best conversationalist.” She smeared sloe jam on a slice of bread and sighed. “I've always been a little shy, actually. My husband was the talker, in social situations.  How about you?”

“Me?”

“When you were married.  Who did most of the talking? I don't mean at home, so much, I mean when you were out socially.”

“I don't go out socially.”

“Ever?”

He stared at the floor and thought.

“Frieda, my wife Frieda, she could get talking to people. Like her father, Bern.”

“What about your second wife, Rosie?”

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“She was always talking.  Never stopped. She was always trying to be funny at first.  Then the fun stopped.  The talking didn't.”

She took a bite while shaking a rattle to entertain Hughie.  “Mmm.  This is good.  So what’s a sloe, anyway?”

“A kind of wild plum. They grow on thorny little trees, we plant them around pastures, to hedge in livestock.”

“Well, I learned something new.”

She watched as he stared at the floor; though he no longer wrung his hands, he held them tightly clasped together.

“So is it a really big deal, these guys showing up like this?”

He shrugged.

“I'll find out when I talk to Oscar. Hartmut has a way of being overly emotional.  That wouldn't be a problem except he pulls so many other families with him. He gets people at each other's throats.”

“Some people just have that in their natures.”

“Maybe.” He squinted. “Sounds like somebody else is here now.”

“When it rains, it pours.”

“Harm!” Hilda called frantically up the stairs.  “Why is Torsten here?”

He stood quietly and looked at Erin.

“The day just got more interesting,” he said wearily.  ”No point hiding now.”

He started out of the room.

“What?  Should I come, too?”

“No.  Not yet.” He closed the door and hurried down the stairs.

Shouting erupted in the backyard; lifting Hughie, she went to look out the window, and saw a young man, clean-shaven and blond - having just stepped out of a sporty red sedan - being confronted in the barnyard by a brawny fellow in his fifties.  Oscar stood between them with his arms outstretched in both directions.  The brawny man was backed by two others who looked like younger versions of himself, all with full beards; as he caught sight of Harm crossing the yard, he recoiled in fear and ran away. His sons closed in behind him and prepared, fearfully, to intercept Harm, who raised his hands in the air and slowed his pace. Finally at Oscar’s urging, they all came together and talked.

There was a soft knock at the bedroom door.

“Erin?” called Hilda.

“Come in.”

She entered with a sigh.

“What a morning! I see you have a good view here.”

“At least they seem to be talking.”

“Oscar is the best. He could make peace between cats and dogs.”

“That man seemed really terrified of Harm.”

“Hartmut?  Sure he is. Harm didn't survive in the gangster world without being a little rough from time to time.  He has a reputation.”

“It's all so confusing.”

“It is. But Oscar will work something out.”

“Do you think we’ll have to leave here now?”

Hilda sat down in the chair, leaned forward to rest an elbow on her knee, and considered.

“I don't know. Whatever happens, you’ll have Harm to protect you.”

“He’s just doing his neighborly duty, his burden.  Until he can ditch us with my brother-in-law.”

“I think he’s losing sleep worrying about you, about the both of you.”

Erin’s eyes were drawn to window as Harm and the young blonde man walked off together beyond the barn; Oscar led the others toward the house.

“They're coming this way, some of them. Not Harm, though, or the other one without a beard.”

“That's Torsten.  He’s another outcast like Harm. They work together.  I'd better get downstairs.”

After Hilda left, Erin fed Hughie while pacing the room; she heard voices in the kitchen but not clearly, and looked out the window from time to time, but saw no sign of anyone. Minutes passed and there was a footfall on the stairs.

“Erin?” Hilda asked through the door.  “Would you like to come down? Hartmut would like to meet you.”

“Is it okay?”

“Of course.  Otherwise Oscar wouldn't allow it.”

Trembling, she followed Hilda downstairs and into the kitchen; Oscar sat at the table in usual spot. At the far side was a big man wearing a denim shirt and a black leather vest, with shoulder-length brown hair and a grizzled beard; his arms were folded across his chest, and his deep blue eyes seemed frozen in a perpetual wide-eyed glare. His sons – both in their late twenties - sat on either side of him, the one to the left holding the same pose, while the other rested his elbow on the table and supported his chin with his fist. Hilda sat down at the far end opposite her husband; Erin stood cringing before them all.

“Mrs. Gordon,” Hartmut began in a deep, booming voice, “there’s no reason for you to fear us.  I’d like to commend you for what you’ve done. Too few people these days have the courage to protect their children, and their way of life. If there were more like you, we wouldn’t have so many problems.

“However, we don't like Harm.  We think he's no good for the
Frielingen
. With you, we have no problem.  So what do we do? You English who resist are our only hope, the only chance that they might exhaust themselves in their plundering.  If you escape, it undermines their inevitability. It emboldens others to do similar things.  And so, we’ve offered Harm, and we offer you, our help, in doing whatever you need to get away safely.”

“Thank you.”

“Our arrival may be well timed. From what they say they’ll soon be ready.”

Erin looked in confusion to Hilda, then Oscar.

“Torsten is here,” Oscar said with a tinge of regret, “because they found your brother-in-law.”

Torsten and Harm came in through the back door; Torsten had short, neatly trimmed hair, and was of average height, though he looked small next to Harm.  He wore jeans and a red windbreaker.  Erin clutched Hughie tight as they approached.

“So, this is it?” she asked.  “You found him?”

She pursed her lips and held back a sob.  Harm moved forward and pulled out a chair for her; she sat heavily and set Hughie to her lap.

“He's in hiding,” Torsten said, “with some patriot-survivalist types.  Dieter and I went there last night.  They're very paranoid.  They're all either wanted by the government, or at least think they are.  But they really want guns, ammunition, and food.  So they're taking their chances and making contact with us.”

“Where are they?”

“East of here. A hundred and fifty miles or so.”

“How did he end up there?”

“Don't know.  He figured out, after he survived the Cull slaughter, that the authorities don't allow for survivors.  He must have known someone there, that allowed him to move underground.”

Hartmut grew excited and slammed his big, weathered hand on the table.

“These are the kind of people we need to support!  We need to find more groups like these and help them!”

“No,” Harm said.  “Half the patriot groups out there are government traps.  Most of the rest have been infiltrated, or are being monitored, to some degree.  Forget groups.  Find families that are resisting, and support them.”

“Very well,” Hartmut conceded.  “Then we find families.  But how do you know, then, if you can trust this group?"

“I don't.” He pulled out another chair and sat next to Erin.  “That's why we proceed carefully.”

Erin turned to him in dismay.

“You don't know if they're a government front group?  And you're bringing me to them?”

“I'll be there, in case anything goes wrong.”

“And he's your brother-in-law, after all,” Torsten said. “He wouldn't welcome you into a trap, would he?”

“I hope not.”

Hartmut leaned forward and cleared his throat.

“I think a greater concern is that the
Asesinos
are scattered everywhere over there. They killed my nephew last week, and his family has been terrorized. Gang members are living in their house right now. I came here, among other reasons, hoping to find help getting them out. Our old disagreements must be put aside.”

“Harm?” Oscar said as he stroked his beard. “Any thoughts for taking on the
Asesinos
?”

Erin shifted Hughie from lap to shoulder, and again turned to Harm.

“We're going into an area controlled by that gang?”

“Not exactly, but close.”

“Is that safe?”

“More or less.  Where your brother-in-law is, it’s very suburban.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It doesn’t fit their pattern. 
Asesinos
are predictable.  They're like the Culls, in a way.  The cops don't touch them.  The Feds help them.  The news reports all say that nothing can be done.  Whereas the Culls are used to spread fear in the cities, the
Asesinos
are used to rip apart what’s left of small town America.”

“The Culls,” Hartmut interjected, “have only machetes and clubs.  The
Asesinos
have automatic rifles, courtesy Uncle Sam.”

“True. But even so, they only capture areas that have been disarmed. My cousin Dieter pulled some families together out that way, about thirty miles from your nephew, and fought them off. 
Asesinos
run away when enough people shoot back. If your nephew weren't so much like you,” he directed at Hartmut, “he could have joined them.”

“Salt in the wounds, Harm,” he groaned, and clenched his fists.  “I'm here so that we can avoid such tragedy in the future.”

“And isn't it true,” said Hartmut’s son on the left, “that the National Guard went door-to-door after that, looking for the guns?  To keep the
Asesinos
from getting them, they said, like they always say.”

“They did,” Harm said.  “But they couldn't find any of them. They stole a lot of food, though.”

“So then,” Hartmut said, sitting up straight, “your people over there still have their weapons?”

“They do. But that's not how we’ll get your family out.”

“You mean you can rescue them?”

“I believe I can,” Harm nodded.

“If you can get us the automatic rifles, we’ll go with you -”

“No. I'll buy them out.”

“But I have to kill the men who did this. Maybe I can contact the Shrikes.  They've been fighting back.”

“Good luck.  The Shrikes don't talk to anyone. My guess is they're a family group, that's why the Feds haven't found them.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they had someone on the inside with local police, too. But I’ve tried to contact them, and so has Dieter, with no luck.

“No, we buy them out first. Then we talk about killing. There are some
Asesinos
you can deal with. Only their leaders answer to the Feds, or have any idea what's really happening. The rest actually think they've captured their own territory, and they're looking for spoils.”

“You have friends among them?”

“No.  But some can be bought.”

“I want them dead.  We have to come along -”

“Shut up, Hartmut,” Harm snapped.  “This isn't a negotiation. I could've had them out of there already, if I’d known. When families stop talking, you forget they even exist.”

“It's true,” Hartmut said, tears rolling down his face.

“You can help us, Hartmut,” Torsten said.  “We lost a truck yesterday, a box truck we used for smuggling.  Dieter had to abandon it near a checkpoint.  He barely escaped.  That truck was going to be our transport for Mrs. Gordon.”

“Ah!” Hartmut said, his eyes lighting up.

“Your sister lives, what, maybe an hour from here?”

”Ja!”
He slapped his hand on the table.  “Willy’s reefer truck!  You know about the false wall! He hasn't run any contraband in years, but - if I talk to him, I think we can use it. Let's not waste any time, then.”

He stood and his sons did the same.

Harm rose and started to leave also; as they converged near the door, Hartmut reached out his hand.

“Thank you, Harm.  I don't know what to say. I’ll owe you more than I can repay. And we've defamed you so. But changing times change our minds -”

“No hard feelings,” Harm said, patting him on the back and ushering him out the door. “Sometimes I don't like me, either.”

They filed out, Torsten following behind them. Oscar sat with his arms folded, tugging at his beard, at a loss for words.  Hilda shook her head.

“I don't whether to be happy, or to cry my eyes out,” she said.

Erin looked at them both and kissed Hughie on top of his head.

“Me either,” she said.