“Are we close to your home?” asked Kyle.
“Yes, very close. We’ll pass a subdivision on the right. It’ll have large houses and its own private lake. Just past that is where I live. Look for a sign that says Hidden Acres, and that’ll be home.”
Alexis leaned into her husband, pressing her forehead against his chest, and held his upper arm tightly. He felt her breathe a sigh of relief, then she released him as they turned to walk down the hill toward the lake. Near the trough of the valley, an access road led toward the lake and around its shoreline. Near the entrance to the park was a small empty parking lot and a pier for fishing. Just past the pier, they saw a man and a young boy beneath a small shade tree. The man was casting a fishing lure into the water, while the boy stayed close to his side. Stopping at the shade tree nearest to the lake, Kyle and Alexis sat down in the grass while Robert went toward the pier with several empty bottles, the water filter, and the rifle slung on his back. The man who was fishing watched Robert walk to the end of the pier, and as Robert and he made eye contact, the man started to raise his hand in a friendly wave. At that moment, Robert removed the rifle slung across his back. The man saw the rifle and dropped his hand. He called the boy to his side and whispered something to him as he kept a cautious eye on Robert and the rifle. Robert saw the man and boy talking and decided to ignore them as he filtered the water. He looked back toward his companions. They were still sitting deep in the tall grass under the canopy of a large oak tree, resting.
Suddenly the man’s fishing pole bent sharply and his attention focused on the taut line. The young boy had been curiously watching Robert, out on the pier filtering water. The boy got up and moved toward him. Robert watched the little boy’s approach, then looked over at the man, who was desperately trying to reel in a large fish. The boy came closer and stood by Robert’s side.
“What are you doing?” asked the boy.
“Getting water for me and my friends to drink.”
“Are you a bad guy?”
“No. Why would you think I’m a bad guy?”
“Daddy is afraid of you.”
Robert pointed to the man struggling with the fish. “Is that your father?”
“Yes. My mommy is in heaven.”
He looked into the boy’s eyes and his heart sank into a bottomless pit as he thought of his own children.
“I’m sorry.”
“Can I have some water to drink? We don’t have any more water.”
“Yes, of course. Go get your container and I’ll fill it up.”
The young boy ran back to the little tree and brought back an empty plastic jug that at one time, many months ago, had been full of milk. Robert filled it with clean water and the boy hurried back to his father with it. By the time the child reached his father’s side, the line had broken, and the fish got away. The man sat back on the shoreline, defeated, staring at his dangling fishing line blowing in the wind. The boy showed him the jug of water and pointed toward Robert. The man quaffed some water from the jug, handed it back to his son, and then walked out on the pier toward where Robert stood. Robert had finished filling their water bottles and was ready to leave. The man approached Robert and removed his hat, nervously rolling it up in his hands. He cast his eyes downward, and stopped several feet from Robert.
“Sir, I want to thank you for the water.”
“Okay, I’m glad to help. I have to go now. Please excuse me.”
The man looked up in alarm.
“No, please, wait just one minute.” His gaze went down again and he twisted his hat more tightly in his hands, wringing it like a wet washcloth. “You look like you’re doing better than most people I’ve seen down here. We’ve had it hard these past few months.” The man began to choke up from deep emotions, then cleared his throat. “His mother died, and now we have run out of food. Do you have any food? Anything at all that you can spare?”
“I’m sorry, I have to go now.” Robert put the full bottles of water and the filter back into his bag and slung the rifle onto his back.
The man dropped to his knees in front of Robert, let go of the wrinkled hat, and clasped his hands in front of himself as if praying for mercy. “Please help us. Give us something.”
“Don’t do this in front of your son. Get up.”
“Please, it’s not for me. It’s for my son. Please, I’m begging you. I’ve lost everything and I can’t lose him, too. Please—”
“Get up. Take this.” Robert handed him what was left of the beans and rice he had in the plastic container in his pocket. The man grabbed the container and pried the lid open with his trembling hands. His fingernails were long and dirty. He put the container on the wooden planks of the pier and slid it directly in front of his son. The boy wolfed the cold beans and rice down while his father sat next to him, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder. Robert walked by the two huddled together on the pier. When he stepped onto the grass, Robert looked back at them once more. The boy was still ravenously eating and his father was right by his side. Robert remembered the can of tuna in his pocket and pulled it out. The label was missing from long ago. He walked back to the man and handed the tuna to him. The man held the small can like it was a precious gem and ran for the access road. He pressed the top of the can onto the concrete and moved the can in a circular motion. In no time, he had rubbed the soft metal of the can’s rim away. He hit the lid with a rock, pulled the jagged metal away, and then ran back to his son, offering him the open can of food. Robert could not stand to watch any longer. He returned to his friends, handed them their water bottles, and they all drank their fill, sitting in the shade.
“What was that about?” asked Kyle.
“It was horrible. They’re starving and the man just wanted food for his son.” Robert paused. “We should go now, the sun is getting low.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Alexis.
“No.”
They heard Robert’s stomach growl from hunger and knew that he was lying. He pushed the bike loaded with their belongings back up to the road. The other two were close behind him as they continued up the hill and out of the valley.
Their final landmark before Robert’s neighborhood was an upscale subdivision named, Swan Lake Estates. The subdivision’s entrance monument was located on the right side of the road near a large sycamore tree. They could see the community’s stone monument soon after the immense tree came into view. They stayed on the opposite side of the road as they passed. When they got near the tree, they saw a naked body hanging from a low limb. The noose was positioned correctly on the side of the neck, in just the right location to break the neck when the body fell. Robert counted thirteen loops on the hangman’s noose. Someone knew what they were doing. The back of the legs were soiled with filth from the bowels releasing at the moment of death. A large sheet of plywood was on the ground leaning on the subdivision’s stone monument. In large letters the sign read, TRESPASSERS WILL BE KILLED. He had always thought that this subdivision was full of high-society people who never did anything for themselves. He was surprised to see this type of message displayed. That meant someone from the pampered crowd had to get their hands dirty, and that they were taking a stand.
There was a breeze at their backs, but it provided little relief from the late summer heat. The setting sun burned their necks as they pushed forward. His only solace from the sun and evening heat was that his destination was directly ahead. He could see his subdivision’s monument on the corner of the road they would turn onto. They trudged past the stone structure slowly, and he announced, “Hidden Acres,” as they plodded along. Robert led the way down the road to his house, with Kyle and Alexis close behind. The scene was an absolute contrast to the neighborhood that he had left months ago. Sections of lawns were spaded over and planted with vegetables. Lawns that were not turned into gardens were overgrown with grass and weeds. Garbage was piled in mounds at the ends of driveways, an effigy to a society of convenient disposal. The trash piles had a wretched smell and flourished with buzzing insects. Dogs, rodents, and starving people had shredded and picked through the plastic bags that once lay intact, waiting for sanitation trucks to haul them away. The windows of the homes that had not been abandoned were opened to let a breeze through. They had not yet seen any people. They assumed all were inside hiding from the heat, or perhaps out searching for food and water.