people on high points, good view of the water,
how many needed to sight the boats incoming?
Now the farmer ponders.
Well, lessee. . .
The farmer has stopped in his tracks to mentally compute, and is
pointing off into the air in a half circle where the water surrounds
the farming community.
I guess 3 at the least, best off would be 5,
but 3 would do it.
Finegan is finally onto something.
OK, I’ve got those 3. Next step. Trip wires.
You got wild life that would trip wires 3 feet
or more above ground? You cleaned out the deer
around here?
The farmer laughs.
Oh, deer are extinct! We kept our breeding
stock and the chickens in the house, slept
outside, but the deer, they got taken out.
Finegan says,
83
From what I seed of that group, they’d not be
inclined to crawl along the ground. We could
trip wire the whole perimeter to see off
alarms. Double trip it, in fact.
In what is to be their typical response, the farmer says,
I got no wire a’tall.
And once again, Finegan to the rescue.
I do. Plenty enough. Fine wire, but it won’t
break. Now, next step. Best is something like a
bell, a clang, can’t mistake it, ya’know. Have
your night vision guys with a bell too.
The farmer says,
I got no bells.
Finegan says,
I do. Lets get started.
Finegan turns to put his hand out for a handshake with the farmer.
What’cha got in trade?
______________________________
The night, along the humid river front, is filled with the sounds of
insects singing. Finegan, the farmer, and several other farming folk
are sitting in the shadows of an outdoor camp next to the collapsed
farmhouse and barn. Occasionally someone swats a mosquito. No one is
saying a word, all listening intently, eyes ranging along the perimeter
of the farmstead. Suddenly there is the sound of a clanging bell,
followed minutes later by a second clanging bell of a different pitch,
coming from a different direction. Finegan points.
That’s your far guard and a trip wire on this
other end.
The group mobilizes, grabbing clubs and pitch forks, one carrying a
coiled rope over his neck and down under one shoulder. They take off in
the direction of the trip wire.
______________________________
Three teenage boys are clustered in the woods. The raid leader says,
What the fuck was that?
They are standing, momentarily confused, looking around. One of them, a
clumsy goof, says,
I ran into somethin here. Ah . . it’s a wire. A
wire.
The leader says,
Well duck under it. Common. Move it already.
The bell clangs out again.
84
Christ you can’t do anything right. Don’t pull
on it, duck under it.
The three boys get on hands and knees and are starting to crawl along
under the trip wire when the farming group bursts onto the scene,
swinging clubs.
______________________________
Half a dozen prisoners are tied back to back, in pairs. They are all
tied at the ankle too, so running is impossible for any of them. Five
are boys, one a teen-age girl. All are very resentful of being
captured. Coffee has been brewed over a campfire and scrambled eggs and
toast being served to the farming community. Finegan and Joey are
guests. The prisoners are not being offered anything but a drink of
water from a tin mug, held to their mouths. Finegan gestures to the
prisoners and turns to the farmer, who is seated on a hay bale next to
him. Finegan asks,
What’cha goin’ to do with ‘em?
The farmer replies,
Shoot em?
Finegan says,
One thing for sure, you’ve got to sink their
boats. They’d just take up again down the
coast. . . I can do that. Got a drill. Sink em
all and sink em good. Shame, but that’s the
first place they’d head.
The resentful farmer says,
Yeah, but they’d raid on land too.
Finegan says,
Harder to hide on land. And harder to run. On
the water, they could move, find new territory.
They had the element of surprise, at least at
first.
Finegan and the Farmer are pondering the situations, chewing and
swallowing and slurping, both staring at the glowering group of
prisoners. Finegan asks,
How much did they steal? Give me the value in
days stolen from y’all.
The farmer leans back for a moment, taking in a deep breath, looks up
toward the sky, and pausing in his chewing for a moment. Then he
swallows.
Given how many of us’en had to watch, and days
lost collecting our harvest? I’d say several
85
months. This been going on for months. We did
plant and have a harvest waiting, but made no
progress, y’know?
The farmer gestures around the site, indicating the state of his
outdoor camp, which is still out in the open except for some tarp tents
in the farmhouse yard. Finegan has a suggestion.
Here’s what I’d suggest. This group owes you
that time. Make a chain gang and work them for
that time. Take them months to work it off.
Maybe they learn something about farming and
don’t have to steal no more. Doing ‘em a favor.
Good behavior, that one gets off first, on his
own, across land. Send ‘em off as a group and
you’ve got a gang formed. The ringleader goes
last. Keep a night guard on for a good while
after too.
And as usual, the farmer says,
I got no chain and I got no locks.
And Finegan says,
I do.
______________________________
Finegan and Joey are walking across the gangplank with a plate of
scrambled eggs for Barney, who is wagging his tail, greeting them.
Several of the farming community are following him, bearing produce –