face is oily and dusty, and the horse is covered with dust where the sweat is
now rolling off its flanks. They are on the run. She slows the horse when she
gets to the next clump of trees, turning to look over her shoulder. Netty sees
what she fears, coming behind her, and speaks quietly to her horse, setting
off again.
Haw
The group at the farmhouse has constructed a makeshift tent set up over a rope
strung between trees, weighed down by rocks along the edges of blankets hung
over the rope. Bedding of all kinds has been stuffed inside the tent, with
some laundry hung on another rope strung nearby. Life goes on. A fire is
smoldering between some stones and a pot is hung on a hook overhead, some
metal from the wrecked barn used to rig a metal beam over the fire. A menage
of wooden chairs salvaged from the house is set near a table with three legs,
the fourth corner stabilized on a barrel.
In the distance Netty comes into view, ridding hard. At first only a few
puffs of dust are visible, but then the figure of a horse and rider. Netty is
raised high in the stirrups, English style, leaning forward over the big bay's
shoulders, helping the weary horse carry its burden as easily as possible.
Martha rises from where she is washing and peeling potatoes and carrots for
soup, watching Netty race toward the tent city.
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Netty dismounts before the horse stops, swinging her legs alongside the horse
and under its nose, signaling the horse to stop short. The bay braces its
front legs, it's rear haunches splaying outward in a frantic bracing motion.
She says,
They're coming . .
Martha, stuttering, her hand to her throat.
Wwwwho, wwho's coming?
Big Tom is rushing up, a rifle in his hands, setting the rifle to the firing
position. He has a grim look in his eyes, his jaw set, as he has been braced
for intruders and needs no explanation from Netty. She sees an ally in his
face, their eyes meeting, and she quickly explains.
I'm Netty Finley, Buck Finley's granddaughter. I was
at the Clearwater Resort when it happened.
Among friends at last, Netty allows her face to shows the strain of the past
few days. Big Tom glances at the horizon, scanning, impatient for her
explanation. Netty is shaken.
They killed them all .. all .. even the baby. .
Netty is having a hard time talking, overcome, but fighting the urge to
collapse into weeping, clearly due and coming. Glancing up into Big Tom's
eyes, Netty pointedly explains.
I think they're following me.
Big Tom, meeting her eyes, nods at her briefly, his jaw set, a silent
understanding between them.
An open top jeep is following puffs of dust in the distance and soil recently
pounded with horse hooves, tracks evident, following Netty. Engine revving and
the voices of young males, the Groggin brothers, whooping it up as though on
the hunt for a prey that can't get away.
Yeehaw!
Big Tom is leaning against a large tree trunk, his rifle resting on a lower
branch. The sound of a jeep is heard in the distance. The open topped jeep is
seen bouncing along a dirt road through the field, approaching. Big Tom
lowers the rifle, moving his eye close to the sight, bracing himself against
the tree trunk. A shot rings out as Big Tom jerks from the recoil.
Red has herded the group into a cistern room, where spring water is drawn and
foods stuffs are placed for cool storage - an old fashioned cooler. Red is at
the door, peering out through a crack, his finger to his mouth reminding them
all to hush. Red has his rifle resting along his leg, not cocked but there
just in case. He is standing in for Big Tom, second in command.
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Martha has her two youngsters close to her, one under each arm and leaning
into her. Everyone is silent, scarcely breathing. Danny has his hand over his
hysterical girl friend's mouth, her wide eyes looking up steadily and
unblinkingly into his. He has taped her wrists and ankles and secured her to
a chair, taking no chances. Netty stands behind Red, peering over his
shoulder. Frank and Jane are in each other's arms, Frank running the fingers
of his good hand lightly up and down Jane's arm as she rests her head against
his good shoulder.
_______________________________
Big Tom is in the distance, walking down off the hillock, his purposeful
stride showing no tension or hurry. He takes his hat off and waves it in the
direction of the cistern room, signaling the OK. The door opens and Red
emerges as Big Tom comes within voice shot.
They won't trouble anyone anymore.
_______________________________
Behind what used to be the barn, the ladies are bathing, and a sheet has been
hung between the trough and the tent city, for privacy. Martha, dressed in a
bathrobe, is toweling off Tammy's head, while Tammy stands with a large bath
towel wrapped around her tiny frame. Daisy is complaining that the water isn't
warm, shivering and muttering as she quickly washes off with a wet cloth and
slips into one of her boyfriend's large wool shirts. Netty is washing with
relish, for the first time in days, soaping repeatedly and rinsing as though
she thought this day would never come again.
Jane has recovered from her scalp wound, but still has a thin strip of white
cloth tied around her head. She is being cheerful, or at least trying to be,
telling stories to Tammy about pioneer women, how brave they were, and the
hardships they bore. The obvious point is that these things can be survived.
Jane continues with her monologue.
They washed like this all the time, and in winter,
while standing by the stove! Never hurt them a bit.
Can be kind of fun if you think about it.
The ladies are walking back in a leisurely manner to the tent city from the
horse trough, a laugh now and then heard from the group, tension gone now that
the threat is past. Mark and Brian walking up the dirt road toward the group,
relieved to find others still alive and well. Martha breaks from the group and
runs toward the tent city, to warn Big Tom, with Tammy reacting to the sight
of two strangers approaching by standing stock still, staring in their
37
direction, so that Netty has to return, taking her by the hand to lead her
along.
Mark and Brian are seen as limping, dusty, Brian almost staggering. Big Tom is
striding into view, coming from the direction of the tent city which the woman
are now jogging toward. He holds the rifle pointed straight up in a warning
fashion, clearly stating that the visitors are to stop and identify
themselves.
Mark is the larger and more handsome, is almost twice the bulk of the slender
Brian, who has a thin face and light fine hair which he wears on the long