The Rule of Three (25 page)

I waved as Mr. Peterson rumbled by on his tractor. He raised a hand and then put his eye back on his work. The land he was tilling was on a slight slope and he had to work across the face of the hill so that when it was planted the furrows would hold the rain—and soil—rather than let it all erode and run down into the creek. The strip was long and narrow, blocked in on one side by the backyards of houses and on the other by the big steel-and-cement fence that separated the field from the highway. The fence had been built as a noise barrier to block out the roar of high-speed traffic on the road. Now it was a different type of barrier. It stood three times as tall as me, solid and thick and built atop a small hill. It now guarded the whole north side of the neighborhood.

At two-hundred-foot intervals construction teams were building ledges where sentries could stand and look over the fence. The ledges weren’t much larger than what was needed for a sentry or two to perch. It all reminded me of the cardboard castles we’d constructed in elementary school when we were studying medieval times. This was a strange, real version though. I wished we had a moat so that we could build a drawbridge—but actually with two creeks forming part of our eastern and southern boundaries I guess we did, sort of.

Mullet Creek was so low from all the water that was being drawn upstream that it was now only a few inches deep. It would only protect us from invaders who were afraid of getting their feet wet. As I stood there, watching and thinking, I was continually passed by people going to and from the creek with water containers. It was mostly kids doing the work. Almost everybody said something to me as they passed. It could just be a simple hello or good morning, but some talked about my speech, about the plan, about what was happening.

In a neighborhood where I’d lived fairly anonymously my whole life I was now known by everybody. It was strange. Then again, what wasn’t strange?

I walked along a thin strip between the turned soil and the edge of the creek where a defensive fence was being constructed. The sounds of pounding hammers and handsaws were mixed with loud talk and good-natured laughter. It was as if the people were focusing happily on the task at hand instead of the reality of why the task was necessary to begin with.

There were dozens of men and women at work. Todd’s father had become one of the lead hands. He wasn’t making furniture, but those same skills were being put to work in building the walls that would protect us. Todd was helping him and had been working so hard I hadn’t even seen or spoken to him. Funny, up until this time, the only thing Todd had been able to do with a hammer was hit himself on the thumb, but he was showing some true skill. I guess the real upside to this was that it meant when he was wielding a hammer he wasn’t obsessing about holding a gun.

I was impressed by how quickly the wall was going up. Half the gap between the last house and the highway was closed. The barrier was built of materials recycled from the fences that used to separate neighbors. It wasn’t very high, and didn’t look that solid, but it was becoming another boundary between us and the outside world. The fences were tying us together, making us into one group, separating us from everybody else.

Five families had chosen to remain independent and not join the effort, so their backyard fences remained. Their rights were being respected, although I didn’t think everybody respected their decision. My mother had told me there had been rumblings about expelling them from the neighborhood, but she was adamant that their right to determine their own destiny was going to be protected. To do otherwise would have run completely contrary to what we were doing—trying to preserve an island of order in a sea of disorder.

I was glad the dissenters were down to only five families. Originally there had been eighteen that didn’t want to accept our plan. In time I expected the last five to join as they realized surviving on their own was not a long-term possibility, although I guessed that’s what they were hoping—that this wasn’t going to be long term.

Hope was good. Unrealistic hope wasn’t.

Just by the creek, Herb was standing on one of the platforms overlooking the highway, staring out. I wondered what he was looking at—what he was thinking. I wanted to talk to him, and he hadn’t been the easiest person to find.

In the rush to help lead the effort to do things he seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once, and when we were together, there were so many other people that we really couldn’t talk much. Now I wanted to get to him before anybody else did.

I walked quickly along the boundary. In the shadow of the highway fence I felt safe. It was so solid—cement and steel—that it inspired confidence. I just wished we had the material and skills to build a wall like it around the whole neighborhood.

Herb noticed me coming, waved, and motioned for me to join him. I was glad for the invitation. I climbed up the ladder—which had been borrowed from a house and was tied to the ledge. The platform sagged slightly under my added weight.

“It’s pretty quiet out there,” Herb said softly. “That’s what they always say in old cowboy and war movies before all hell breaks loose.”

“Do you think all hell is going to break loose?”

“Hopefully not until we’re ready to handle it.”

“And do you think that will be soon?” I asked.

“Soon that hell will break out or soon that we’ll be able to handle it?”

“Both, I guess.”

“I am pleasantly surprised by how fast things are coming together.”

Our conversation was settling into a familiar groove. Me the optimist, him the pragmatist. Me asking questions, him not always answering them directly. “So you think we’ll be ready?”

“I didn’t say that,” Herb said. “We’re getting more ready every day, and we can certainly handle some things.”

“But not everything.”

“A large, organized, well-armed group could sweep along this highway, over these walls, and wipe us away like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Think about what happened at the police station.”

I didn’t like to think about it, but he was right. People had attacked and destroyed a police station with frightening violence and terrifying weapons. If they attacked here, what would we be able to do to stop them?

I looked along the highway and was grateful to see only disabled cars. There were hundreds and hundreds of them stretching out as far as the eye could see in both directions. All had been abandoned midcommute, and while most remained intact, some had been vandalized. At least one looked like it had been barbecued.

“Our saving grace is that no large, organized, well-armed group has appeared on our horizon so far,” Herb continued.

“Do you think we could stop them … the sort of group that attacked the police station?”

“Unlikely. I don’t know who they were, but they had to be some sort of militia or even members of our own military.”

“You think the army did that?” This suggestion jolted me. I still had hopes that the military would come to rescue us.

“We don’t have enough information to know the answer for certain. You only have to know history to know that soldiers can become protectors or warlords, depending on their leadership and all sorts of other factors.”

“And you think that’s happening here?” I asked.

“Look around. Aren’t we constructing a feudal kingdom to protect ourselves?”

“But that’s to protect ourselves, not hurt other people.”

“Not everybody has such noble ideals. Right now, even more than the walls, our best defense is our distance from the city, combined with the lack of modern technology. Lack of transportation and communication has meant that anybody who would attempt to attack us would find it difficult to launch an effective attack.”

“I guess that’s all good.”

“Good for now, but don’t forget that we’re not the only ones getting organized. Challengers will soon appear on the horizon, and they’re going to want what we have inside these walls,” Herb explained. “The irony is that the better we prepare, the more force will be wielded against us.”

“You mean the higher the fence, the more we build our defenses, the more people are going to think there’s something here to defend.” After weeks with him, I was getting good at understanding the guy.

“That’s right, Adam. This neighborhood is going to be like a flame to moths. We’re going to attract attention, if not attacks. But we have no choice. We’ll prepare as best as we can. I’ll be happier when all the walls are finished and all the trees and shrubs outside the walls are cut down.”

Crews were working on the outside of the fence with chain saws and axes, cutting down and clearing anything that anybody could hide behind. The bigger trees were being cut into sections and hauled inside the walls. The wood would be stacked to dry and season and eventually be used for firewood.

“It’s important that we have clear lines of sight if there’s a firefight,” Herb said.

I shook my head. It really threw me to even hear stuff like that.

“I understand it’s overwhelming, but it’s important that I keep being honest—at least with some people. For now let’s just keep planning and working and preparing.”

27

The committee was gathered in our living room for one of their nightly meetings. There were a dozen people, sitting on chairs and couches that had been pushed back against the walls to open up the center of the room. Herb and my mom were running the show. Howie was there, too. They’d put him in charge of the checkpoints and the guards on the walls. I pretended to clean the pantry, which was starting to look pretty cleaned out in general these days, listening in from the kitchen as they talked.

Danny and Rachel sat at the kitchen table, quietly playing a game of hangman on a scrap of paper. For a second I wished I could be like them, not really understanding the big picture.

The community’s leaders were all there—Judge Roberts, Councilwoman Stevens, Dr. Morgan, Ernie Williams, Mr. Gomez, who was now in charge of salvaging teams, Mr. Peterson, Mr. Nicholas with his engineering skills, and Captain Saunders, the fire chief.

They were finishing up discussing the need for day care. There was so much work to do that there had to be a place for young kids to be cared for while the parents and older siblings were pitching in. So the committee agreed to open up a day care center and a school for kids twelve and younger. I thought that might be something Lori would be interested in helping organize.

Next they discussed the medical situation. The walk-in clinic was open for business, and half the pharmacy was being converted to be a small-scale urgent-care hospital, with space for eight beds. That would be ready within a week, with donations of beds, curtains, and furniture coming from houses all over the neighborhood. Dr. Morgan had even created a small operating theater where at least simple procedures could be done.

I couldn’t help wondering whether Mr. Smith would have died had the clinic been up and operating. It had been over two weeks since he was killed, and his family had finally agreed to a funeral. Up to this point his body had been stored in the big freezer in Ernie Williams’s grocery store. Ernie was here and seemed eager to get the body out of his one operating freezer.

Two doors down from the clinic, a dentist had already started seeing patients. All four—clinic, pharmacy, hospital, and dentist—were being powered by one generator. It wasn’t enough electricity for full service but provided lights, a cooler for some medications, and, if other things were turned off, enough power to run a dental drill and the few pieces of medical equipment that were still operational and useful in a primitive setting.

Security was the next item on the agenda.

“We’ve divided the security detail into three units,” my mother reported. “Each has sixty-five members. Each unit is on duty for twelve hours and then off for twenty-four.”

I edged closer to the doorway so I could see into the room. This was the stuff I was more interested in.

“How many of those security people are trained?” Judge Roberts asked. He was sitting in my father’s favorite reading chair.

“I guess that depends on the definition of ‘trained,’” my mother replied. “We have ten police officers, three more retired officers, five former military members, six men who were trained as security guards, two private investigators, and eight firefighters or paramedics who have some parallel training. I have officers in charge of each unit.”

“Are all of those people carrying weapons?” Councilwoman Stevens asked.

“All have some form of weapon, but so far we’ve limited firearms only to those who are fully trained.”

“And the rest are being trained in the use of firearms, correct?” she asked.

“Training is taking place around security issues, the use of weapons in general, but even when they’re fully trained we don’t have enough firearms to equip everybody,” my mother said.

“How many people could be armed?”

“We have enough pistols, rifles, or shotguns to arm one hundred and twenty people. I wish we had more weapons and ammunition.”

“Should we be scavenging for those items outside our walls?” Mr. Gomez asked.

“The only way to get more weapons is to take them away from people who already have them, and they’re not going to let that happen without a fight,” Herb said.

“The most important question is, do we now have enough security to safeguard the neighborhood?” Councilwoman Stevens asked.

“There have been no intrusions into the neighborhood since we established the increased security and started constructing the perimeter fence,” my mother said. “We are safe for now.”

“For now?” the councilwoman asked.

“We will continue to become better trained, equipped, and fortified, keeping ahead of the curve of potential invasion forces,” Herb said. He paused. “At least that’s the hope.”

That last sentence fell into silence.

While there was a whole committee of people who were in charge, it was starting to feel more and more like there were two clear leaders: my mother and Herb. Their opinions seemed to matter the most, their advice was taken, and they seemed to have divvied up responsibilities. My mother took care of the day-to-day security, and Herb tried to figure out what was coming next and get us prepared for it. I had started to think of it as a two-part system: she did the here and now, and he did the future; she did inside the wall, and he did outside. So far they hadn’t disagreed about anything. I wondered what would happen when they did.