Sanctuary

MARCH 13, 2015 ^{• • •}

Gordon finished packing what few things he had with him. The doctor had just given him a clean bill of health. He couldn’t wait to get off the ship.

The past couple of weeks had been very tough for him. When he arrived in Coos Bay, he was in a lot of pain. He had a small laundry list of ailments when he showed up in sick bay aboard the USS Makin Island. The terrible headache he had been suffering from was a severe blast-induced concussion. The other injuries included a minor tear of a ligament in his thigh where the bullet had hit, a sprained left ankle, and a dislocated shoulder.

He was still in need of physical therapy for his shoulder, but he would get that when he arrived in McCall. The thought of seeing Samantha and Haley thrilled him, but he was very anxious about how Samantha would treat him. He spent many hours thinking about what he would say to her, how he would make it up to her.

During his time in Coos Bay, he had seen some old faces. Colonel Barone paid a visit to him while he was recovering. He thanked the colonel for all his help, some of which the colonel was not aware he had provided. McCamey and Jones stopped by and paid a visit upon their return too. They sat down and spent hours detailing the events of the battle outside. None of Rahab’s followers made it out alive. They were in shock that Gordon had survived the explosion. The floor had collapsed and Rubio had been crushed under debris. Gordon had asked about Lexi, but they didn’t find a clue that she had even been there. Not a body part, not a scrap of clothing, nothing. It was a mystery. He then asked about the woman they had tied up. They reported that they found her dead, her throat slit. All Gordon could imagine was that Lexi must have done it right before they left but he thought he remembered seeing the woman alive as they drove off. It didn’t make any sense.

The third set of visitors who came after McCamey and Jones were Gunny, Brittany, and Tyler. Brittany’s wounds were healing nicely and Tyler was thrilled to see Gordon alive. Tyler couldn’t talk about anything else but going to Idaho. He was as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

The first thing that Gunny had asked for upon reaching his bed had been the Randall knife. He asked half jokingly, knowing Gordon’s injuries were severe. But to his surprise, it was still attached to his gear when they put him on the chopper. Gordon handed it over with gratitude in his voice. Though he hadn’t been able to use it on Rahab, he felt that it was a lucky talisman that kept him safe.

With the small pack on his shoulder, he looked around at the empty, drab berthing space and bid farewell. He stepped out and headed down the busy narrow passageways toward the quarterdeck. With everyone back from the patrols, the ship was alive again. The passageways served as the veins for the ship. The blood was its crew coursing through it.

He reached topside and stepped out into the midday sun and took a deep breath. The fresh air was a welcome treat compared to the stale air of the ship’s interior. Ever the Marine, he requested permission to depart the ship and exited when he was cleared. He was walking slowly and with great effort. Even after two weeks of much-needed rest and recovery, his body hurt.

The wound on his face no longer required a bandage. Black thread poked out of his face along a jagged thick scar that was forming. Rahab was right. Every time he saw or touched it, it reminded him of Hunter and the long road to avenge his son’s death.

When Barone had visited him earlier, he made Gordon promise to visit him before he left. Gordon wasn’t sure if the visit would be personal or if Barone had an agenda. All he wanted to do was get on the road and begin his trip to McCall. But if Barone had something for him to do, he couldn’t just leave. He owed Barone for the staunch defense he gave him those many years ago after the events in Fallujah. So if Barone were to ask him to jump, Gordon would feel obligated to ask how high.

He was impressed with the little town of Coos Bay. It was bustling with activity. Commerce had returned, shops and stores were open, markets were vibrant in the streets. Gordon was taking in all the sights, smells, and sounds the quaint little town offered. When he made the turn onto Commercial Avenue, the sound changed. He could hear chants and yelling echoing off the building a few blocks away.

He increased his pace so he could find out what was happening. When he made the last turn onto Fifth Street, a large crowd of several hundred people were protesting outside of city hall. They held up signs that read GO AWAY!, WAR CRIMINAL, and TRAITOR. Gordon assumed this was all directed at Barone and the Marines. He weaved his way in and around the crowd till he reached the entrance.

Two armed Marines stopped him.

“Hi, devil dogs. Colonel Barone wanted to see me,” Gordon said.

“What’s your name?” one asked.

“Sergeant Van Zandt,” Gordon answered. He decided to use his old rank because he thought it might help.

“Hold right here, Sergeant,” one of the Marines ordered.

The chanting and yelling from the crowd were very loud and distracting. While the Marine radioed in, Gordon turned to look at them. It was a mix of young and old, black and white, men and women. He caught the eye of a few, who returned a hard stare.

Gordon turned back and looked at the other Marine. “Looks like idiocy is alive and well.”

The Marine didn’t respond to his comment, though he did crack a smile.

The other Marine got off the radio and said, “Right this way.” He turned, opened the door, and let Gordon go through.

City Hall was abuzz. People hovered near windows looking at the scene outside, talking in hushed voices.

The Marine escorted him upstairs. On his way up, he ran into Gunny.

“Van Zandt, good to see you up and about,” Gunny said, patting him on the shoulder that had been dislocated.

“Ouch!” Gordon cried out.

“Don’t be a pussy, it’s a little dislocation. Since you’re well, let’s meet for a drink tonight.”

“Smitty, that’s not going to happen. I’m saying good-bye to the colonel, then I’m out. I need to get home.”

“So you planned on leaving without saying good-bye to me?” Gunny looked a bit hurt.

“Ahh, well… hey, don’t be a pussy,” Gordon joked.

“Then I guess this is good-bye.” Gunny held out his hand.

Gordon took it firmly and shook it. “Thank you for everything, Smitty. So hard to believe everything that’s happened to both of us since we met so many years ago in Fallujah.”

“Yep, a lot has happened. You take care of yourself. And if you ever find your brother, tell him I still think he’s a jackass.”

Gordon laughed and said, “Will do. Take care, my friend, and stay frosty.”

Gunny waved, cleared the last stairs, and disappeared.

Gordon finished the climb and found the seating area outside of Barone’s office. There was unintelligible yelling coming from behind the closed door, no doubt in relation to the protest outside.

The door swung open and several civilians came out, obviously upset.

“Get the fuck out! I’ll be damned if I’m going anywhere!” Barone screamed at them as they scurried away.

Master Sergeant Simpson went to close the door and saw Gordon sitting there.

“What can I do for you?” he asked Gordon, irritated to see another civilian.

“I’m Sergeant Van Zandt. The colonel requested to see me.”

“Oh, yeah, the rescue. One second.” Simpson stepped away.

“Bring him in, I absolutely want to see this Marine!” Barone bellowed.

Simpson brought Gordon into the room and left.

“Sergeant Van Zandt! So glad to see you’re among the living again. You know, you looked like the proverbial shit when you came in here.”

“Yes, sir. I got a bit messed up.”

Barone looked at Gordon’s grown-out hair, which was curling up all along the sides. “Van Zandt, you’re starting to look like a hippie. I should have had someone give you a buzz when you were in sick bay.”

Gordon touched his hair. He hadn’t had a haircut since November. After the Marines he kept his hair longer, but always neat. Now his curly brown hair looked unkempt and shaggy.

“Take a seat.” Barone pointed to a chair in front of his desk. “Can I offer you a drink? Whiskey?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll have a drink.”

Barone poured, then sat in the chair next to Gordon, rather than the one behind his desk. He didn’t want the conversation they were going to have to feel proper or official.

“Van Zandt, I’ll just come out and ask. What the hell happened?”

Gordon took a healthy swig and said, “How much time do you have?”

Gordon gave Barone an abridged version of his life after the Corps and everything that happened after the lights went out. Barone sat and listened intently, only offering apologies or sincere comments when appropriate. Gordon wrapped everything up with the attack on Rahab’s compound.

“After that story, I need another drink,” Barone joked. Grabbing Gordon’s empty glass, he poured more.

“I don’t think I’m the only one who had a lot go on. And by the way, Gunny Smith mentioned your son. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Gordon said.

“Thanks,” Barone replied. He swallowed hard. “Listen, you know my story and what I did. Now, I’m not going to justify it, but I did what I had to do for my family.”

Gordon could sense it coming. This meeting wasn’t about saying farewell. Barone wanted him to do something.

“I’ve had to do things that weren’t conventional, and let me tell you, they weren’t convenient.”

“Sir, I’m not here to judge. The world has changed. We’ve changed. I get it.”

“I know your brother didn’t agree with my position, and therefore, we had to let him go. We gave him a nice going-away gift, but I understand some things went wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Sir, if you’re worried that I hold a grievance against you for my brother, I don’t. I’m not happy it had to go that way, but I do understand. As for judgment about your actions with the ships and whatnot, let me say that I gave up on my country when it gave up on me. When I sacrificed everything to go serve and the thanks I got was a court martial for doing the right thing? Believe me, I don’t have sympathy for the government anymore. People can call me a cynic but I don’t know if they ever had our interests in mind. I’m sure many of them are bunkered down, living high off the hog right now, while the rest of us fight and scratch to survive.”

“I was there with you in Fallujah and went to bat for you later, but those assholes in Washington needed a scapegoat. They needed some red meat to feed the antiwar crowd. Unfortunately, you were the one on the menu. Let me say that a little payback was given recently,” Barone said, referring to his sacking the capitol in Salem and killing Governor Pelsom, who chaired the senate committee that sought Gordon’s court martial.

Gordon craned his neck and eyed Barone suspiciously and asked, “Payback?”

“Don’t worry about it. Listen. You and I have crossed paths again for a reason. We’re kindred spirits in many ways. We both loved the idea of what we thought our country was, we then both suffered the harsh fucking five a.m. wake-up call that it wasn’t what we thought. That it’s run by corrupt politicians who are self-serving and are only there to look out for themselves.” Barone began to get heated but calmed himself. “Forgive me, I digress.”

Gordon finished his second drink and started to feel the effects of the whiskey.

“Van Zandt, I brought you here to ask something of you. It’s not an easy job, but you’re the man for it.”

Gordon was right—he knew it was heading in this direction. But how could he refuse? Barone had done so much for him.

“I have a few packages that I need to have delivered. What I’ll give you in return for their delivery is your very own Humvee to keep with a trailer full of fuel, ammo, and rations to last your family a year, as well as equipment and whatever you need from our supplies.”

Gordon leaned back in his seat. “Wow, that’s quite an offering. But I don’t understand. Why don’t you deliver it yourself?”

“It’s a delicate matter. Let’s just say that the packages are alive. They’re people.”

“Sir, I’ll be honest. All I want to do is go home. My wife and daughter have been waiting for me for too long. I owe you and I understand that. But if I’m going to even think about doing this, I need all the information,” Gordon insisted.

Barone nodded and began to recount the latest developments. He told Gordon about holding Cruz and other staff from the United States as prisoners. He touched on the treaty that had been agreed to, but had not yet been formally signed. The one thing that stood in the way of signature was that Barone had to return Cruz and the secretary of state as a sign of good faith.

“I still don’t understand why I need to do it. You have thousands of Marines that can. Why me?”

“I can’t spare a man here. You’re heading in the general direction so I thought that if I sweetened the deal, you’d do it. I’m actually trying to help you,” Barone said.

“So where do I need to go?”

“Cheyenne, Wyoming.”

“Cheyenne? That’s way past McCall, plus—” Gordon began to argue but Barone interrupted him.

“Van Zandt! I helped you out, gave you men and equipment. Hell, your actions killed some of my men, and now you won’t help me? Unbelievable!” Barone barked.

The pleasant demeanor of the conversation was quickly deteriorating. Gordon understood why Barone would be incensed, and quickly decided that it was best for him to agree.

“Fine, I’ll do it. I just don’t understand why you can’t put them on a chopper and fly them there. Driving them there is an odd way to do it.”

“Let me explain a bit more. You saw that fucking crowd of do-gooders out there? They think they’re standing up for what is right. They think this is pre–December Fifth. They think that the old systems are still in place. They forget who protected and died for those systems. We did. You and I fought for those types out there and now they’re standing up saying they want me to leave. I, of course, refused. Now, this bitch of a mayor comes into my office saying that they will hold me accountable by indicting me for war crimes and treason. Just who does she think she is?” Barone stood up and started to pace the room. He was fired up from mentioning the situation. “You should have seen her eyes when I told her the President of the United States had made a treaty with us. Shit, she flipped out when I told her that! You are asking why I need you. I need someone I can trust. You’ll have one of her aides riding shotgun with you.”

“I still don’t understand,” Gordon said, looking puzzled.

Barone was feeling the alcohol, and was beginning to slur his speech.

“I have to be the thing I hate the most, a fucking politician. I have to manage the situation that the mayor has caused, and I gotta do it with kid gloves. Believe me, I want to go in with a sledgehammer and fix it, but I can’t. So I sat her down this morning and we came to an agreement.”

“That was an agreement?” Gordon joked about the yelling and screaming he heard when he first showed up.

“Oh, that was just pillow talk between us. You should have heard it earlier when she found out that I had taken the vice president. Oh my God, she lost it. Eventually she begrudgingly agreed and we worked out the details. What you heard before were a few parting comments about how she wanted me out. Tough shit, lady.”

“I still don’t know why you don’t put them on a bird and fly them. Hell, you’d be done with this in no time and I can go on my way. You know how bad it is out there,” Gordon said.

“She doesn’t trust that my men will do the right thing,” Barone barked.

“Then have President Conner send some choppers from Cheyenne. Driving is—let me put it bluntly—stupid.”

Barone stopped pacing and slammed his glass on the desk. “Van Zandt, I’m controlling this situation. I don’t want to see any U.S. choppers coming in here. I need to maintain control over this entire thing. Having Conner send in choppers gives him more intel on what we have going on here than I like. Here’s the reality: I don’t know if our little treaty will last and I don’t need him having eyes on our operation here.”

“Then mix it up. I’ll drive them to a location—”

“Enough, Van Zandt! Are you going to help me and do it my way or not?”

Gordon paused before he answered. He thought the plan was a total soup sandwich, but he didn’t want to say no.

“I’m in, Colonel.”

“Good.”

“Can we run through it all again? She wants one of her people to go?”

“Christ, Van Zandt, do I need to spell this out for ya? That blast hurt your head, didn’t it?” Barone said. “She doesn’t believe me. She wants to hear it from the president himself. I don’t feel like picking up the phone and having her talk to him, because… fuck her. If she wants to talk to him, she can go to Cheyenne. I thought she’d jump at going; however, she caught on to my plan. She is now sending a surrogate to get verification. Her caveat for sending her aide was that we find a third party and you, my friend, are it.”

“But who’s bringing this person back? I’m not coming all the way back here.”

“All I care is that you deliver them there. I never gave my word to bring ’em back,” Barone joked.

“Seriously, you want me to leave them?”

“I really don’t give a fuck about them. If they love the U.S., then hell, you’re probably doing them a favor.”

“You’re really putting me a bind, not having transpo for their return,” Gordon commented.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Fine. How many people am I taking?”

“Three. Cruz, a staff person, and the mayor’s rep.”

“I’ve got a problem. I promised my friend Brittany and her son, Tyler, they’d be coming with me. I need a vehicle large enough for six people.”

“You’ll have it. It won’t be a Caddy, but it’ll get you there safely.”

“All right, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. So here, have another!” Barone said, grabbing the bottle from the counter behind his desk and handing it to Gordon.

Gordon exhaled deeply and said, “Respectfully sir, you are one crazy son of a bitch.”

“Good morning, Pat!” Conner said happily as he walked into the coffee shop.

“Good morning, Mr. President. The usual?”

“Of course.”

Handing him his hot cup of coffee, Pat said, “Thank you so much for the MREs and milk. What a gift!”

“You’re welcome! You earned it.”

“Mr. President, we need to go,” Dylan said, sticking his head into the shop.

“Wait a minute,” he shot back to Dylan.

“Mr. President, you need to go.”

Conner eyed Dylan, but knew that his tone signaled that something was wrong. He thanked Pat again and left quickly. After stepping into the Humvee, it sped off abruptly, throwing him forcibly against the seat.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked urgently.

“We just received credible word of an assassination plot against you,” Dylan said.

“What?”

“I just got the call; we didn’t want to alarm Pat and the others in the shop. So that’s why I went in.”

“How do you know?”

“We caught a group of people attempting to access the federal zone north gate. When one of the police asked them their business, a guy took off running. We arrested them all. During the interrogation, one told us they and two other kill teams were sent to assassinate you.”

Conner took a deep breath and asked, “Who are they?”

“We don’t know what group yet, but we’ll get that information soon enough. They’ve been sent to Warren for further interrogation.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“This will prompt a discussion about getting a new vice president.”

“I don’t need another VP. Cruz is mine.”

“But—”

“No buts, we made the deal. He’ll be back here soon.”

“So are these assassins American?”

“No, sir, they’re Venezuelan.”

Isabelle awoke to find Pablo staring at her.

“Hi,” she said softly as she stretched.

“Good morning, my love, how did you sleep?” he asked.

Their relationship had grown into an intimate one after their third dinner together. Isabelle’s affair with the “Butcher of Sacramento,” the moniker that her father had given him, had driven a wedge between the normally close father and daughter. She didn’t like many of the things Pablo had done, but she rationalized that what she was doing was surviving. She tried to reason with her father that allying with Pablo would protect the two of them, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“I slept great,” she purred as she placed her long, slender arms around his neck and drew him closer.

“Ah, you tease. I can’t. I have an important meeting with General Pasqual.”

“Ugh, General Pasqual,” she mocked, rolling her eyes.

Pablo slid out of bed and walked to the large window, opening the blinds. Sunlight splashed across the large bedroom, formerly the governor’s master suite.

“Why that tone about the general?” Pablo asked curiously.

“I just don’t like him,” she said, twirling her hair.

“Why? He’s a trusted commander. I specifically had him handpicked. He has an impeccable record, and he’s brilliant,” Pablo said in his defense.

“I don’t trust him. I don’t think it’s wise to trust anyone, but I specifically wouldn’t trust him.”

Pablo looked at her oddly. He was always taught by his father not to trust anyone. And if what he did to his own father wasn’t a lesson enough, you can’t even trust family. Once again, he felt as if Isabelle knew him intimately.

“Why don’t you trust him?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I feel like he’s always whispering to others, and when you’re not looking, he’s throwing nasty looks at you.”

“I think you’re seeing things. I trust him. He’s a valuable part of my command; besides, what exactly do you think he’d do?” Pablo said, now attempting to brush off suspicion of his top commander.

“Do his men love him? Will they do whatever he says?” she asked.

Pablo thought about the question for a second, then dismissed it. “He is loyal. He’d never work against me.”

“Next time you see him among the others officers, watch how he interacts with them.”

Pablo thought even longer but decided to not have his mind clouded by doubt. He looked at her leg sticking out of the sheets and rubbed it. “I forgot that you’re a woman. Women’s minds are always contemplating sinister and mischievous things. I think you’re bored. You need to find something to do besides conjuring up such petty and childish things.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said in a bored tone. “Why would he challenge you? What would he gain?”

Her last two questions resonated with him. He needed Pasqual, but did Pasqual need him? Fear gripped him when this concept announced itself. He stood up quickly and went to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

He slammed the door, turned on the battery-powered lantern, and poured a bottle of water into the plugged sink. He splashed the water on his face and stopped to look at himself in the mirror.

Could he trust Pasqual? Nothing stood between Pasqual and him. She was right—Pasqual’s men loved him, but did they love their emperor more?

He knew the truth to that question. Of course they didn’t, but they did fear him. But was fear enough to keep them in line? His mind raced as he headed out for his meeting.

“Brandon and Luke, I want to talk with you,” Sebastian said.

The boys walked over to him. Both had their arms crossed in an attempt to stay warm. The temperatures had dipped down into the teens and it was getting colder. The overpass had provided shelter for more than a week. A snowstorm had forced them off the road and stopped their journey north.

“Can we talk after we make a fire?” Brandon asked.

“Not necessary, this won’t take long. After what happened to Brandon more than two weeks ago, I’ve decided to let you both keep guns on you.”

“Fuck yeah!” Brandon chirped with excitement.

“Just so it’s on the record, I think this is a bad idea,” Annaliese chimed in.

“I know you don’t have training, so I’m keeping it simple. I have two revolvers. Here and here,” Sebastian said, handing Brandon a Smith & Wesson model 649, and Luke an old Colt Detective.

“What is this?” Brandon snapped angrily.

“It’s a revolver.”

“Yeah, a fucking grandpa gun, I want a Glock or something badass like that.”

“Until you have training, this is what you’re going to get.”

Luke held the pistol in his hand like it was a baby bird. He didn’t know what to do with it.

“Sebastian, look! Luke looks so uncomfortable. This is a bad idea. And that one”—she said, pointing at Brandon—“will shoot us with it, probably.”

Brandon raised the pistol and pointed it at her.

Sebastian’s expression changed to anger as he slapped the gun out of his hand and stepped into Brandon’s face.

“Don’t ever, ever, point that at anyone in this group again! Do you understand me?”

“I’m sorry, I was just joking,” Brandon said sheepishly.

“You don’t point a weapon at someone unless you intend to use it!”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it!”

“See what I mean?” Annaliese exclaimed.

Sebastian picked up the revolver and put it back in his pocket. “You were right. This was a bad idea.” He reached over and snatched the gun out of Luke’s trembling hands.

The boys both stood, unsure of what to do.

Brandon, who was always so sure of himself, looked down and mumbled a few words under his breath about how stupid he was for doing that.

“Go make the fire,” Sebastian ordered.

Both boys turned around and began to assemble the materials for the fire.

Sebastian turned to Annaliese, who said, “Is this where I say, I told you so?”

“Don’t start with me.”

Sebastian walked away from her and began to unload the sleeping bags.

She walked up behind him and rubbed his back. “Hey, I’m sorry to rub it in your face.”

He turned around and said, “I have a lot of responsibility here. I have to protect you and those boys. It’s just me.”

“I think I can handle myself.”

“I’m not saying that, but I feel it’s my responsibility. These boys are old enough to handle a gun.”

“Old enough… but not mature enough,” she remarked.

Sebastian looked at her, then toward the boys. She had a point. When he was Brandon’s age, he had been shooting for years and his father had taught Gordon and him how to handle and respect a firearm. These boys didn’t have that kind of upbringing. It wasn’t right or wrong, it just was what it was. These boys needed to mature. He knew Brandon had the will and desire to use it, but was not trustworthy because of his emotional state. Luke could be trusted not to abuse it, but the reality was that he might not use it at all because he feared it.

“Why don’t you start training them properly, if you feel like they need to be armed? Get them shooting starting tomorrow morning. Then when you feel that they’re ready, let them have the guns. Just take your time with it.”

Annaliese’s reasonable suggestion felt right to him.

He leaned in and embraced her tightly. “What did I do to deserve you?”

She answered him by whispering into his ear, “Have you seen how hot you are? I’m the lucky one.”

“Fire! I made fire!” Brandon bellowed.

They both turned and saw the fun-loving child who Brandon kept hidden. Deep down he still was a twelve-year-old boy, but the new world had perverted him. Sebastian didn’t know just what kind of man he’d become.

“Scott, just because they don’t have cars and other things doesn’t make them less of a threat. It actually makes them more of one!” Nelson said heatedly.

Nelson had called the community to a meeting to discuss Truman. He was getting a lot of pushback from the residents.

“This isn’t our problem. We’ve been living here for years! Now you show up, and we suddenly have a problem,” an older woman said. She was one of the original homeowners in the community.

“Nelson, I understand your concern, but I agree with Sadie. I don’t see how this affects us,” Barbara, Sadie’s neighbor said.

“It affects us all, because we have decided to come together as a group to survive this.” Nelson pleaded for their understanding.

“Nelson, I agree that we should be vigilant and watch out for anyone who could be an adversary, but attacking them for no reason out of an assumption that they’ll attack us soon doesn’t make sense,” Scott said.

“Scott, everybody, these men will come for us one day, trust me. They know what we have and now Truman has justification in his mind that it’s payback for his brother,” Eric said, impassioned.

“But we didn’t do anything to his brother!” Sadie asked.

Scott, Nelson, Samantha, and those directly involved with Raymond’s death and disposal were the only ones who knew about it. They never mentioned it to the others; this made it more difficult to convince them that Truman was probably making plans to come raid their community.

Nelson looked over at Samantha, then to Eric, and finally to Scott.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Sadie’s husband, Bob, blurted out, noticing the looks exchanged.

Scott had been in Eagle’s Nest the longest, so he felt it was his duty to finally tell the truth. “Yes, Truman’s brother Raymond was killed here. He broke into the old Gallants’ house and attacked Samantha. She killed him. We didn’t want to alarm everyone so we kept it quiet. I can assure you it was in self-defense.”

The room burst into conversation. “Just tell Truman the truth, I’m sure he’ll understand,” Barbara suggested.

Nelson and Eric had to stop themselves from laughing. They both knew that Truman wasn’t a man of reason.

“Yeah, he’ll understand that he now has justification to come after us,” Eric snapped back. Nelson shot him a look. That type of tone wouldn’t win anyone over. The chatter continued as homeowners debated the approach to take.

“Be quiet, please! We need to discuss this together,” Nelson begged.

“This isn’t our concern. You owe Truman an explanation. If you think that going in and killing them all will solve this, you’ve lost your humanity. That’s not how we do things!” Sadie barked at Eric and Nelson.

“Such old fools!” Eric shot back.

“So what happens if we attack him and kill them all, who’s next? When does it stop? Who do we not kill?” Barbara exclaimed.

“You’re an idiot! You really are!” Eric remarked disrespectfully.

“Eric, you’re not helping, stop it!” Nelson snapped. More comments were volleyed back and forth, civility and neighborly affection deteriorating.

Frustrated, Scott stood and whistled loud. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him expectantly.

“We’re not going to accomplish anything if we disrespect each other. Sadie, Bob, Barbara, what happens in Eagle’s Nest does affect us all, Nelson is right there. But…”

Sadie muttered something but Scott held up his index finger, signaling he needed another minute.

“But Nelson is wrong about attacking Truman. Sadie is right, we don’t do those things. So here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll stay vigilant, keep reinforcing our boundaries, and go about life. If something happens we will work together to fix it, but we must work together.”

Nelson leaned back in his chair, clearly frustrated. The meeting ended shortly thereafter. Nelson stayed at Scott’s to discuss how to enforce the border.

After the meeting, Samantha waited up for Nelson to come back. He walked in and saw her sitting at the bar in the kitchen, playing solitaire by the yellowish light of the kerosene lamp.

“I want to discuss something with you. I know it’s late but it needs to be said.”

“Okay. Is this how Gordon used to feel when he’d come home and hadn’t taken care of the honey do’s?” Nelson cracked, rekindling some of his trademark humor.

“There are two things that need to be done here. We either leave, or you take control of this place and keep us safe,” she stated bluntly. “We’ve already waited long enough. If you ask me, we’re lucky nothing worse has happened.”

His eyes widened with surprise at her forceful tone.

“I’m serious, Nelson. Scott’s plan is stupid. We can’t sit here and wait to be attacked. You need to do something!”

He didn’t know how to respond to her. She was right, he needed to do something. Taking charge wasn’t in his nature, though; he preferred not to have that type of responsibility.

Haley walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, and said softly, “Mommy, I had a bad dream.” Samantha picked her up and held her. Kissing her on the top of her head, she walked out of the kitchen.

Watching them walk off, an intense feeling of protectiveness overcame him. He knew he had to do something. But if he was going to initiate direct action, he’d better do it right.