The Last of the Freemen (18 page)

It was nearly daybreak when Erin was awakened by the jostling of the minivan over rough terrain; Hughie also woke, and started to cry.

“Almost there,” Dieter said tiredly.  “But I can't stick around, cousin.  I have to head back straight away.”

“No problem.”

“You’ll have a lot to carry all that way.  Maybe I should try to drive in farther.”

“No, you’ll get stuck.  We’ll walk it.”

Dieter turned the vehicle hard to the left and stopped, then backed up slightly.

“Then this is it,” he said.

In the faint light she could see it was a forested area, and after getting out with Hughie, smelt an earthiness in the cool air, and felt the softness of damp ground; in front of them lay a densely wooded swamp that stretched out into the twilight.

“Where are we?”

“A temporary hideout,” Harm said, removing Hughie’s car seat. “We won't have to worry about visitors here.” He opened the back and arranged all the bags, shouldering some and carrying others in his hands. Dieter leaned out the window.

“Well, Mrs. Gordon, it was a pleasure meetin’ you. I'm sure I'll be seein’ you again. I'll be back with supplies some time soon. Later, cousin,” he said, and drove away.

Harm walked to where some water-filled ruts led into the swamp.

“We're walking through that?”

“No, look close.  You’ll see planks to walk on. Just be careful, some are a little unstable, some are hidden under the skunk cabbage.  Don't trip.”

She went closer and was able to see the long line of planks, each less than a foot wide, laid end-to-end along the outside of the left rut. Hughie quieted as the new sights and smells drew his attention. Harm set the bags down and found a thin, straight, fallen branch, which he broke off at Erin’s shoulder height and handed to her.

“To help keep your balance,” he said, then grabbed up the bags and started off. She followed warily, testing the plank with her foot before she stepped onto it.

“These plants,” she said, kicking at a skunk cabbage, “give off quite an aroma. But it still smells better than that basement did.”

“Yeah.”

“I feel bad about leaving Keith back there. Even though I don't really like him.”

“We might be able help them. They’re confused.  They expected a collapse of civilization, not an intensification of it.  But still, we share an enemy. And the one named Don, I'll do some checking on him. I might find some work for him somewhere.  If his story is the one I’m thinking of, he’s quite a shot.”

Erin slipped on a dew-covered plank, and immersed her sneaker in mud as she regained her balance.

“Ah!  This isn't what I expected, Harm.  I was picturing a cute little farm somewhere.”

“Yeah?” he smiled, glancing back over his shoulder.  “Well, at least we're free.”

“I suppose.  As free as hiding out in a swamp can get.”

“It gets better up ahead.”

“That's good.  But we still have to hide, to live our lives in fear of being caught.  That doesn't feel so free.”

He paused, turned to look at her, then squinted and shifted his gaze up to the treetops.

“Freedom doesn't mean there’s no danger, you know.  It means no one owns us.  No one owns my time. I'm bound only by what my own nature asks of me, like loyalty to my family, and not by what any man, or government, tells me to do.”

“I see. I'll think about that when my foot dries out.”

They continued walking for a few minutes as the sky brightened; soon they reached higher ground, leaving the planks behind, and a meadow opened before them. He stopped at the forest edge as he carefully surveyed the area.

“My oldest brother owns this land,” he explained quietly once she caught up to him, “but I pay the taxes. My father bought all this after I was taken away as a kid. His plan was to rescue me and hide me here, but he died first. He built a little hut, that was as far as he got. It collapsed under the snow a few years ago.”

“That's too bad.”

“I was never here with him, but I feel like I was. He gave this place a name, he called it
Heitertal
, the cheerful valley. I guess you could say he was an optimist.”

She came alongside him to see what lay beyond; grass stretched for several hundred yards in front of them, dotted with a few trees and bushes, and ended where a steep, forested hill rose up on the other side.

“It's very pretty,” she said, following him into the open amidst a chorus of red-winged blackbirds and yellowthroat warblers.  “But I don't see any kind of a building.”

“Good.  You're not meant to.”

They came to a small stream and crossed it by another plank; he broke off the weathered, partly ruptured head of a cattail and gave it to Hughie, who shook it wildly with excitement; Erin watched with concern.

“What if he puts that in his mouth?”

“It’s not poison.  Let him live a little.”

The ground rose gradually as they came to a medium-sized linden tree with a wooden box mounted on the trunk, some fifteen feet off the ground.

“Look at that,” Harm said, stopping and pointing.  “Dieter got a swarm. Honeybees moved into the box he put up there.  He’ll be glad.”

“Maybe it's a good omen.”

“I don't believe in omens.”

“What do you believe in?”

He looked at her, amused, and started walking again.

“I believe we're almost there.”

They came to the base of the hill, at a spot where the slope was covered with low vegetation rather than trees; a large, dead oak branch - its brown leaves still stubbornly adhering - lay tucked behind a mulberry tree, wedged against what looked like an eroded undercut in the hill. Harm set the bags down and, with some straining, dragged the enormous tangle several feet back, revealing a vault-like door with a heavy padlock, and a sheet metal wall painted the color of the surrounding soil.

“This is it?” Erin asked, aghast.

“This is just for now, while the dust settles.  There are other possibilities, but you know, farms attract agricultural inspectors.  We have to be careful.  Anything like a normal home, we’d have to share with people willing to front for us, to take that risk.  I have to talk to some people.”

“If you say so.”

“Even out here, it’s not safe to have a garden, not these days. Drones, satellites, planes, helicopters, they're always looking for unreported agriculture. We have to keep this looking wild.  But there’s food growing here. My father planted lots of things, and I've added to them some.  I'll teach you. The fill over the roof,” he said, stepping back and pointing to the slope above them, “is planted with asparagus, fennel, hops, bellflowers, and wild onions, as I recall. All fending for themselves, and looking wild.”

“It looks like a bunker.”

“It's a shipping container, actually two of them, welded together. I did a little excavating a few years back, before they started monitoring that sort of thing, put these in and covered them over.  For now, we're safe.”

He unlocked the door, pushed it open and went back for the bags; after he brought them inside he came back to the threshold.

“Are you coming in?”

“I guess so,” she said with a shrug, and followed him unenthusiastically.

The space was narrow but long, with ribbed metal walls painted white; near the door on the right were a generator and gun cabinet, a folding table with two metal chairs, and a large gravity-operated water filter. Beyond stood a storage cabinet; halfway down was a wood stove. Light was provided by round port windows along the left wall, where the grade was lower; drainage tiles aligned with the windows passed horizontally through the earth a foot or more to reach light, and hid the windows from view.

“Well, it’s interesting,” she said.

“At the far end,” Harm pointed, “behind the door on the left, there's a composting toilet. Dieter designed it, so I’m sure it works pretty well.  It vents to the outside. Just throw plenty of sawdust in there when you use it. The door to the right is an emergency exit.  It leads to a sort of bolt-hole on the other side. There's a folded cot over there, by your bags, that'll be yours.  We have rice, flour, canned food, and some other things in the cabinet there.” He turned and looked at her.  “So – what do you think?”

“It’s a roof over our heads,” she said, trying to sound positive as she ambled along, looking things over.

She stopped at some old boards hung on the wall by the stove; they were sawn roughly at the edges, weathered, and looked like part of an exterior wall.  A large, faded green linden leaf was painted simply in the center, encircled by leafy stems with purple bellflowers. At the bottom, in black script, were the words:
Freiheit wächst ewig
.

“What is this?  I like it.”

“My father did that.  He was always painting things like that on his barns and sheds.” He came to stand beside her, hands in his pockets.  “I took it from the hut that collapsed.”

“What do the words mean?”

“Freedom grows eternal.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiled, and looked up at him; Hughie reached over and patted his elbow.

“I think he wants to go to you!” she laughed.

Harm nervously held out his hands as Hughie lurched forward into his grasp; Erin cocked her head and watched with delight as Harm positioned him against his shoulder.

“I guess I've grown on him.”

She shook her head in amazement; the sun shone its first rays through the windows.

“Harm?”

“Yeah?” he said, turning his head to avoid the cattail that Hughie waved in his face.

“We’re going to be all right, aren't we?”

Their eyes met as he thought about it, and he smiled.

“Yeah.”