“I’m sorry.”
“I bury.” She steps onto the driveway and waves the cleaver in a sweeping arc. “All dead” she says.
“But you survived.”
“I survive. You survive. She survive.” With the cleaver she indicates the child.
“You have food?” he asks.
“Soon gone.”
“I will bring you some potatoes.”
“Yes, bring” she says, and then “No, no bring. Wait.” She goes in but turns in the open doorway to say again “Wait.” In a few minutes she comes back with a handsaw in one hand and a crowbar in the other and no cleaver. She has a down-filled jacket over the cardigan. She gives the cedar siding a whack with the crowbar and says “For take wood. For cut wood.” She holds up the tools. “I come hotel. I stay hotel.”
He takes the crowbar. “Yes, come” he says. “I will look after you. Could you gather up any food you have in the house?”
But the old woman is staring past him. She has a fearful expression. He turns. A man and a woman and a boy of seven or eight are standing at the foot of the driveway. They are dark-skinned, African. They just stand there looking at him and the old woman.
He says to them “Are you hungry?”
16
Will stood hunched on the eastern sidewalk, forearms flat on the railing, hands overlapping, chin on hands, facing east, the direction of Wing’s farm. Frost touched him on the back. He turned slowly. Frost said “Don’t fall asleep.”
Some of the dogs were tied to the railing. Others, including King and Puppy, were free but lay sleepily on the warm pavement, twitching an ear whenever someone spoke. When Frost arrived they rose and wagged their tails and went to him. Those tied to the railing whined.
Will said “Could I do somethin’ else? I’m tired of this.” He sounded unhappy. “I’ve been watchin’ for hours. All I ever saw was a squatter lookin’ for brush to burn. And I saw a million rabbits and one or two crows.”
“Yes, you can do something else. You’ve been a good lookout. Now you can go back and help bring the soup. And Jessica’s cut up some rabbits for the dogs.” Frost watched Will trot down the middle of the roadway toward his farm. King started off after Will, but Frost whistled him back.
The sky was cloudless. In the east the sun sat low over the airport. It was already getting colder. All seven of the guards were lounging on the opposite, western sidewalk with their spears and swords. Deas, the field boss, was there too, and a couple of Frost’s younger men who had no other duties, and three of Wing’s men. All of these except Wing’s men had rabbit skin ponchos. Some of them leaned back against the railing, now and then exchanging a word or two. Wing’s men all faced the other direction, downriver, where in the distance a crowd of equal size occupied the centre of Fundy’s Bridge.
Tyrell and Oak sat at the edge of the sidewalk, watching Frost. Oak got up and stepped over the lane divider to take Will’s place, looking down on the River Trail.
Along the western railing a dozen strange shapes of rusted metal were lined. Frost gestured toward these. Tyrell stirred, looked around, rose tiredly and said “Hastins,…”
“Keep your voice down” said Frost.
“Hastins, hide them shields so’s our friends downriver can’t see them.”
Hastings and Newton leaned their spears against the railing and started laying the shields on the roadway, where they would be hidden below the edge of the sidewalk. Nordel helped them. The shields were automobile sheet metal — doors, hoods and trunk lids. On some of these, traces of ancient paint remained, like islands in a sea of corrosion. Most had holes rusted through. As the men lifted the shields away from the railing, crumbling pieces sometimes came away in their hands.
Tyrell stretched and ambled to the middle of the roadway to join Frost. He was wearing canvas trousers, like Frost. With the sun behind him his pale eye patch stood out against his dark face. He shrugged and said “I know, but they’re solid enough. Those skaggers won’t be able to shoot straight, anyhow. Not with armed men and dogs charging at them. How’s Daniel Charlie comin’ along with them bows?”
“Good. He’s working hard.”
“You got anybody over at Little Bridge?”
“If they come they won’t come over Little Bridge. They’d have to go through Fundy first. Wing’s man Pender is there just in case.”
Tyrell stepped closer. With what appeared to be an intense effort he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Frost, it’s about these spears.” He hefted the length of rigid plastic pipe. “I never said nothin’ before, but I am pretty damn sure they’d be useless in a fight. They’re way too light.”
“What would you like instead?”
“Maybe wood. Seein’ Daniel Charlie’s sawin’ wood for the bows, he might as well saw up some for new spears. Maybe he’s already got some the right size in that there inventory. What does Claws Wits say? In his book. Does he like wood or does he like plastic?”
“Clausewitz doesn’t talk about spears. He talks about tactics. He talks about terrain.”
“What the hell’s that?”
“Tactics — what to do, when to do it. Terrain — how to use the land.”
“Bridges?”
“Definitely.”
“Would you read it out for me?”
“Yes. But all you have to do is ask Will. Ask him when he’s here on guard next time. He knows the whole book.”
“Frost, I can’t ask a kid about war.” Tyrell’s voice had crept up to its usual volume. All the men had stopped what they were doing and were standing and listening.
“You would make him happy” said Frost. “He wants to be useful.”
Tyrell thought for a minute, and nodded. “Fine, I will. I’ll ask him. Now what about them spears?”
“I’ll ask Daniel Charlie.”
On the eastern sidewalk lay a few large stuffed plastic bags. Frost gestured toward these and said “You got enough of everything for sleeping?”
“Uh huh.”
“Keeping dry when it rains?”
Tyrell shrugged. “More or less.”
“Staying comfortable?”
“Could you send up that there hammock of yours and them pillows?”
“You mean to tell me the pavement is too hard? I’ll have a word with City Hall.”
“Who the hell is that?” said Tyrell.
One of the men at the railing, Richmond, called “Frost.”
Frost went to the railing. Richmond pointed toward Fundy’s Bridge and said “I think that’s him. That looks like his leather jacket.”
Frost said “Bastard. He’s waving.”
Tyrell said “Here’s a tactic. Or maybe it’s a terrain. Langley ain’t going to stay on that bridge overnight. He’s going to go down and stay with his soldiers somewhere at the north end. I go alone. I find a place to hide. I wait till he comes along in his Ricketyshaw and I give him a little surprise.”
“With that?” Frost glanced at Tyrell’s spear.
“They’re okay for throwin’. I throw, he’s dead, I run. We go home and get drunk.”
“I can’t risk losing you, Tyrell. Anyway, you think he doesn’t have guards all over the north approach?”
Frost looked down at the river itself. Here and there a ripple picked up a touch of the setting sun . “There’s Amber.” Although Amber’s barge was closer to Fundy’s Bridge than to Frost’s, she could be seen clearly. She was moving from plant to plant, fiddling with her roses, leaning on her length of reinforcing bar. She went into her shack and came out with a dark box-shape in one hand. With difficulty she sat on the beam that ran around the edge of the barge, with her back to the river. She laid her bar on the deck and took the box-shape in both hands. The thin, sad sound of a concertina drifted up on the twilight.