The Last of the Freemen (5 page)

“What am I going to do?” Erin asked as they drove along an old logging trail, under the cover of tall spruce trees.  “Where can I go?”

“Don’t worry,” Bern said. “You won't be thrown to the wolves.  You’re with good people.”

“I'm a fugitive, now, and forever.”

“Ha!  You’re in good company. We’re all fugitives, in a way, because when you understand how it all works, you have to hide what you know, and what you do, or they’ll kill you.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“And Harm, he’s been wanted by them for most of his life.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story. But it hasn't stopped him from living. There’s life out there, out of their view, you know. Hidden, underground, whatever you want to call it. But of course it's not under the ground, really. We live out in the open, but we don't draw attention.  There's a world of life that doesn't partake in their system, in their enumerations. That’s what you’ll find. That's why they’d like to catalogue everything under the sun, because if they don't know about it, they can't control it or kill it. You were raised, I imagine, trained even, to believe such a thing isn't possible.”

“I suppose, because I still don't believe it.”

“We’ll sort it out. When Harm catches up with us later, he’ll have a plan.  He always does.  And beyond our escape here, we’ll have many minds we can tap.”

“I’m sorry that you two are losing everything on account of me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Those buildings were once our homes, but we have other places to go. We’ve been ready for this for a long time. It was going to happen sooner or later, for any of a number of reasons. I’m sure you’ve gathered that we engage in certain activities... that might not be to the liking of the hoodlums in power.”

“I did get that impression.  I suppose I shouldn’t ask too many questions.”

“Good. Just as well if you don't.”

“Although I might not be able to help myself.”  She frowned and pursed her lips.  “Do you think it was the right thing to do back there?”

“Killing them, do you mean? What else could be done?  How would you feel if they took your baby?”

“I’d want to die. But does that make it right to kill all those people?”

“Ach, the world can be a harsh place. Those people have to bear responsibility for what they were doing, for defiling the natural order. You don't violate the family bond.” He glanced at her as she stared forlornly out the window.

“You know,” he continued, “everyone loves to eat steak, but no one wants to work in a slaughterhouse. And everyone wants to be free, but no one wants to get the blood on their hands to keep it.  But that’s what it takes, sooner or later, because someone always wants to shackle you, and won’t be dissuaded by anything except the grave.”

“Harm doesn't seem to mind.”

“Oh, he has a special hatred for them. See, he was taken into state custody as a boy. Taken from his family. They want cookie-cutter citizens, you see, and they’ll break any that don't conform. But not him, they made a lifelong enemy of him.”

“Why did they take him?”

He stroked his beard. “Well, see, we don't like to send our children to the government schools, but we have to be careful -”

“Who’s ‘we’?” she interrupted.

“Oh, never mind that.  I mean, people like us, well anyway, they got caught and the thugs in uniforms came and took him away, he was eleven at the time. He escaped and got home after a few days, walked about thirty miles, but they came and got him again. Threw him into some rough places, so he couldn't escape. His father died of a heart attack, a year or so later, fighting in the courts to get him back. It was murder by government harassment, really.  They went after him, they threw the book at him, ruined him mentally and financially.

“But Harm finally escaped again, he had to kill somebody to get away.  Imagine that.  They turned a boy into a killer at the age of twelve. But arrangements were made, let’s just say, since we knew they’d be looking for him with any of his relatives, it was arranged for him to come and stay with me. See, I was a friend of his father’s. So it was worked out, new identity and all, and he lived with my family after that.”

“So he’s like a son to you.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “In a way. It’s been rough, though, more so than with my blood sons. They resented him some.  And there’ve been times -” he shook his head but didn't finish the thought. “Not that I regret taking him in.  Every quarrel we’ve had, he’s more than made up for it, the help he’s given my family. He’s always worked hard, always wanted to earn his keep.  And my daughter loved him.”

“Your daughter?  And Harm?”

“They were married.”

“Were?”

“Oh, I’m not going to talk about it, not now.” He slowed and turned the car from the dirt trail onto a narrow gravel road.  “I’ll get all emotional, and this isn't the time for it.  I need clear eyes.”  He wiped a tear from his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket.

“It’ll all be ashes soon,” he continued as he accelerated the car, “and it’s just as well, I suppose. Too many memories there, of people dead or moved on, not much life. Might as well burn. The house where the children played, where -” he stopped himself with a gasp and pulled himself upright, then shook his head.

“It was a car accident,” he said. “Took my wife and my daughter. Frieda, my daughter, she was seven months pregnant, so I lost a grandchild as well.  They’d left early that day, they were headed to my sister’s place, to help with some canning.  A drunken idiot hit them head on.  Killed them instantly.”

“I'm sorry.”

He nodded and blinked several times to clear his eyes.  “Harm didn't take it well.  He started hitting the drink.  Imagine that, two hundred and fifty pounds of drunken rage in your house. After a few weeks it was too much. So I had to tell him, shape up or ship out.  He was gone the next morning. I didn't see him again for five years.”

“Wow.  Where did he go?”

“I don't know.  Got in with some rough characters, from what I gather. He doesn't talk about it much. When he came back he had a lot of money, and a lot of smuggling connections.”

She tucked her hair apprehensively behind her ears. “Would you say that he’s a moral person? I mean, he seems to kill people like it’s a day on the job. I don't know what to make of it.”

“He’s a killer, it's true. And that makes him different from you and me.  It's a threshold most of us never have to cross, and it’s fine by me if I never do.  But he does what’s right, by his own lights. You’ll have to judge for yourself. Even some of our own people don't know what to make of him.”

“Your own people?”

“Oh, I mean, extended family, that’s all.”  He watched as she gazed pensively at Hughie.  “Another thing you should know,” he said, “before you judge too harshly. I would never have brought you food on my own. I had no idea about your husband, because I never read the newspapers, or watch television.  It was Harm who sent me over.”

They stopped at a gravel driveway where a livestock gate - marked with a ‘no trespassing’ sign and fastened with a chain and padlock - blocked their entry.  Bern left the car running while he opened it, and did likewise as he closed and locked it behind them; he drove slowly as the gravel quickly gave way to a sandy dirt road, which led into an old pine plantation.

“So, what is this place?” Erin asked.

“It’ll be a sort of safe house, you could say.  If I can just remember where to turn.”

“Connected to your illegal activities?”

“Harm always has a back-up plan.  This land belonged to some of our people, they wanted out of this state but couldn't find a buyer, and Harm stepped in.  They got out, and Harm got something he wanted, a back-up location just a few miles away.”

“Very secretive.”

“He needs to be.”

“What sorts of things do you smuggle?  Maybe I shouldn't ask, but I'm curious.”

“I suppose there’s no reason not to tell you.  It’s not like you can go back.  Harm, in the past, he's moved booze, and tobacco, along with guns.  This little Heckler & Koch bullpup,” he said while patting the stubby submachine gun on the front seat next to him, “you can’t just go to the store and buy one of these.  Like he says, the more laws they make, the more opportunities for those willing to break them. But he's moved away from most of that, except the guns and ammo, and he only sells those to people he sympathizes with. And with government rationing, food is a valuable item right now. He connects a lot of our people to markets, alternative markets they might not have access to without him. Beyond that, and what I mostly help with, are things that hardly make money.”

“Like what?”

“Well, they have all those new laws against medicinal plants, herbal medicine, you know, the government wants a total monopoly, so they can use medical care as blackmail, scaring people into not getting out of line. So Harm started selling to renegade herbalists.  Really, he practically gives the stuff away, just to help them. And there’s the war on so-called invasive plants, which is really a war on self-sufficiency, so he’s also been dealing in banned plant material to the homesteading types. But there’s not much money in that, either. He does it just to undermine the system.

“So, the illegal plants, that’s where I've been helping mostly. We have so many of them growing on the old property, kinds we bring with us wherever we go.  And our own people, when they move out of places like this in a hurry, they don't always have time to bring all the plants with them, so we help make up for that.”

“You said it again, Bern. You keep mentioning your own people.”

“Oh?  I suppose I do.  Here it is!”  He braked and turned sharply to the right, then proceeded along a narrow, overgrown trail that left the pine plantation for a thicket of young broadleaf trees.

“That’s all you're going to say?”

“Ha!”  He shook his head and stroked his beard.  “It's not something we talk about.  But I've let it slip, haven't I?  Harm says I'm dangerous that way, I talk too much.”  He sighed and drove without speaking for a few minutes.  Erin finally leaned forward.

“Bern?”

“I know, you deserve some sort of an answer.  But it's not easy to explain.”  They came abruptly to a three-sided pole shed in the midst of the thicket; not far beyond, a small, similarly overgrown cabin was visible.  He drove into the shed and shut off the engine.  “I don't know how to say it, and anyway, you wouldn't believe it.”

“You could try.”

“Let’s get inside.  I’ll think about it.”

They exited the car and headed for the cabin; it was a mild, sunny afternoon and the path was fairly straight and level, passing through dappled shade and dense undergrowth. Bern lugged the diaper bag, the milk crate, and his gun, while Erin cradled the sleeping Hughie.

“Stay away from the brush,” he said.  “For deer ticks. Without Harm and Mangler around here to eat them all, I'm sure the deer are out of control.  I see they’ve been browsing.”

“I was wondering why I never saw any deer at home. Or ticks.”

“No.  We always have venison, though.  Mangler, too.”

“Isn't there supposed to be a certain season when you can hunt?”

“Ha! For subjects of the crown, maybe. I suppose you expect Harm to get a hunting license on his own land?”

“No.  I’m seeing the pattern.  So, it’s his land, and not yours?”

“It was mine.  He bought it under one of his aliases, so my family could move, but he still calls it mine sometimes, he says it doesn’t feel like it’s his.”

The single-story cabin had only one window, which was boarded up; the sagging porch and shingle roof were in decay.

“Good thing it's not raining,” Bern remarked as he glanced up through a hole in the porch roof and fumbled with his keys.  The sturdy steel door and frame were newer than the rest of the building; he turned the key in the brass lock, the deadbolt clicked, and he pushed the door open.

Inside was a single room, with a fireplace to the left, a small wooden table and two folding chairs in the center, and a gray metal storage cabinet on the right.  A cot was leaned against the wall by the door.

“People lived in a place like this?” she asked as she stepped into the musty air.

“Oh, not recently. This was the first house of the family that lived here, and it was only temporary, for a couple of years, before they got a better house built. The newer one was closer to the road, maybe a half a mile east of here. This one probably hasn't been lived in for a hundred years. But they kept it as a guesthouse.  The main house burned down a few years back. Thieves taking out the copper pipes, I think that's what started it.”

“So for how long are we going to be here?”

“Till nightfall, at least.  Harm had some errands to run. He should be here in a few hours. Then we’ll leave, in the night.” He looked around and scratched his head. “Let me go back and get the crib, and the other bags.”

“Thank you.”

She sat on a chair and waited for him to return; the door was left ajar to provide light. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out images of heart-shaped leaves painted on the daub between the logs; the wooden mantelshelf above the stone fireplace was carved with similar shapes, as well as acorns and oak leaves.

Bern returned, leaving the door open behind him, and quickly unfolded the crib as if he had done so many times before. After setting it in the corner near the fireplace he went to the storage cabinet and removed a plastic jug of water, which he placed on the table.

“We don't seem to have drinking glasses,” he said, searching the cabinet, “so just drink from the jug when you're thirsty. There are more in there I can drink from, if you're worried about germs.”  He switched on a battery-powered lantern and came to sit at the table across from her, then turned the light off.

“It works. I’ll save it till dark.  We can leave the door open till then.“ He leaned on his elbows and shook his head. “Busy day. And I didn't see the half of what you did, from what Harm told me.”

“I'm in shock, I think, because I don't even know how I feel.”

“Me either.”

“I mean, I feel horrible, and scared, but at the same time I feel almost relieved, because life has become so unbearable anyway.  Is that strange?”

“Hardly. Living like you’ve been, hungry, isolated, and at the mercy of bureaucrats?  That's no way to live.”

“But how will I be living from now on, do you think? Where will I go? I have skills, but where will I be able to use them?”

“We’ll work that out. We have people who can help figure these things out.”

“You said ‘we’ again.  Like Harm called me ‘you people’.  There’s nothing else you can tell me?”

He nodded.  “My people. About that.”  He leaned back and stroked his beard. “It's hard to know where to begin.  A little of our history, I suppose. We’ll have to go back to the eighth century, to the time of Carl the Butcher.”

“Carl the Butcher?”

“You people call him Charlemagne.”