You’re probably wondering how a silly little vine out back made me a prisoner in this house. There’s really not much more to the story to tell you though. One day they showed up and asked me about the vine, and then later the same day they were crawling all over the place. I’m not supposed to contact anyone about it because it will “cause a panic.” I guess they’re right about that part. I am a little panicky about the whole situation.
Somehow my computer is still able to create a “secure” connection to my clients, but when I trace the packet flow I can see it going right through their servers. I wish I knew how they managed that little trick. I can’t get an unadulterated connection to anything on the internet. If I try to get a message out, I’m certain they’ll block it before it even leaves the property. They’ve jimmied the phones as well. If I call someone I can hear a delay before the person responds. I tried to tell Stavros to stop by, but he said there was static on the line and hung up. I called him back and was able to talk to him with no problems, as long as I didn’t mention the vines or the government visitors. Hell, they may come in an tear up this letter, even though I don’t have anywhere to send it.
I miss you terribly, but I’m glad you didn’t stick around for this. You’d go crazy, trapped in this house.
BRAD WOKE UP to the alarm, same as a normal day. He didn’t reset the alarm, though. Before the casually-attired government guys took over his property, Brad used to wake up just long enough to set the alarm forward for another half-hour of sleep. Now he pushed his legs over the edge of the bed at the alarm’s first warning. Wearing pajamas every night became habit as well.
The only window where he’d drawn the blinds was in the bathroom.
He didn’t talk to himself anymore as he walked through the house. Whenever he passed a window he cut his eyes sideways to spot the closest government guy. He often turned off the television right in the middle of a program and peered out the window to track the progress of the men. They sent trucks back and forth to the back pasture, until they’d carved deep grooves in the lawn by the gate.
When he read a book, he kept his finger in the crease between the pages to mark his place; his attention drifted so often he read at a snail’s pace.
Herm knocked on the door at four in the afternoon. He always knocked at four. For the first few days, Brad was too angry to let Herm in. He blamed Herm for the arrival of the rest of the government guys. Herm was the first, and lied to him back when the vine problem was a very small part of Brad’s life.
Herm always opened with the same question—“How have you been, Mr. Jenkins?”
“Why don’t you tell me? Any plans to get the hell off my property any time soon?” Brad usually asked.
“We’re working as fast as we can,” Herm would always reply.
They placed the back deck strictly off-limits to Brad. The government guys installed a lock between the handles of the French doors to make sure Brad didn’t even try to go out there. Brad was dying to see what they were doing with the hole under the garage. From time-to-time he could hear them using heavy machinery—jackhammers and excavators from the sound—back there. The garage was sealed as well. Brad didn’t see the government guys move his truck out of the garage, but he imagined they probably pulled it out late one night. He couldn’t imagine his garage still had a floor, with all the noisy digging going on back there.
Brad toyed with the idea of drilling a hole through the wall of his mudroom so he could peek into the garage. He reasoned that even if they discovered him doing it, he’d probably get at least a few seconds to look at what was going on. He even went to the cellar and got his cordless drill. He put it in the bottom of a cardboard box and carried it up to the mudroom, leaving it on the floor next to the garage wall. The idea bothered him, though—he didn’t want to know what they were doing. He simply wanted them to leave him alone.
Three sides of Brad’s house had a pretty big yard. In front, his lawn extended nearly half the distance to the road. The pasture the government guys drove their big trucks through was at least an acre and a half, and the lawn out back, down to the pond, was nearly as big. Back before the government guys took over the chore, Brad would set aside a solid two-and-a-half hours each summer week for mowing.
The side yard though, the one just out the door from his laundry room, only measured a few paces before the woods started.
Brad measured the steps in his head over and over, as Herm stood there for his four o’clock visit. He pictured throwing open the door, sprinting to the woods and then running. After a small uphill climb, he’d be descending down a steep bank to the creek. The creek wound north and west until it met up with the river at the big marsh. If he took a left at the marsh, he should pop out behind the burned down Cartonio place.
“Mr. Jenkins?" Herm asked.
“Pardon?” Brad asked.
“I trust you’ve found your kitchen well stocked?" Herm asked.
“Well, no, actually,” Brad said. “You people have accurately replaced what I’ve been eating, but I don’t buy the same exact things every week. I would be getting lots of fruit this time of year—apples, pears, peaches. The apricots are no good anymore. They’re all bland and unripe.”
“Would you prefer to make us a list?" Herm asked.
“How am I supposed to know what’s good? I have to see the selection in person,” Brad said.
“I’m sorry. We’ll try to work something out,” Herm said.
“Yeah, I bet,” Brad said.
Herm nodded, shrugged, and turned for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob as if he wanted to say one more thing. Herm let himself out, leaving the thought unspoken.
Brad tried to act casual as he gathered his laundry. He put his sneakers in the bottom of his basket, along with his swiss army knife, wallet, and a bunch of other things he thought he might need. In the laundry room he loaded his clothes into the washer and left everything else in the basket. The government guys never looked like they were actively watching him, but he wanted everything to look perfectly normal, just in case.
In the living room, Brad turned on the television and waited for his laundry to finish. If he could just get to the woods, he was certain he could find his way. His nearest neighbor, Butch, lived about seven-tenths of a mile to the north. He’d have to run longer though, assuming his path through the woods would meander more than the road. Brad figured his stamina would carry him at least a mile or two. His last serious foray into running was years ago, but he stayed in good shape.
If he cut a little to the east, he could find the snowmobile trail, which the riders kept pretty clear. Brad didn’t want to risk it—the government guys could easily stake out those trails. In fact, he thought, they might have a guard on those trails, just to keep any random four-wheelers from finding their efforts at the vine patch.
Brad wondered how far he could get before they spotted him. With a little luck, he thought he might get away from the house unnoticed. He left the television on and made his way back to the bedroom to do a little surveillance. From the window in his master bath, he could see the outside of the laundry room door. He sat on the toilet and pushed up a corner of one of the blinds. Nobody was posted outside the laundry room door. In fact, he couldn’t see anyone posted on that side of the house at all.
When the buzzer for the washing machine sounded, Brad had been staring at the television for several minutes. He debated whether to make his break now, or wait until the laundry was out of the dryer. It would be more natural for him to take a long time in the laundry room after the dryer was done—he always folded his laundry there—but he was tired of waiting. He knew he wasn’t a good actor, and the longer he stayed in front of the television, biding his time, the more likely they would grow suspicious he was plotting something. The laundry required attention and the sun was setting. He figured his best chance had arrived.