Joey grumbled, “I don’t know why you’re being so civil. This guy stole from us. You goin’ soft on us?”
“My job is to get our food back, not to start some war—”
“Hey guys,” Ainsley interrupted in a lazy drawl.
Spencer moved toward the front of the truck, his gun drawn. He peered toward the open garage. “A generator? Oh, hell yes. We’re taking the generator as payment for this guy being a pain in the ass.”
“Um, guys—”Ainsley said again without urgency.
“Spit it out, Ains,” Darla said while keeping her eyes trained on the porch.
“Yeah, um, the dude we’re looking for is just chilling over there,” she lifted her hand and pointed to a corner of the yard.
The man sat in a lawn chair, sunglasses on, holding a beer can. He didn’t move or wave, but they could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. His head was titled to the side and his cheek flat against his shoulder.
“I’m pretty sure he’s asleep,” she added and then dropped her arm, with her unloaded gun, by her side.
Darla grumbled and took off marching and as she neared the chair, it became clear that Ainsley’s prediction was true. There the thief sat, sheltered from view initially by a large weeping willow, in a plastic lawn chair; his head hung limp to the left and he snored on occasion with a throaty growl, his hands clutching his newest treasure: warm beer.
Raising her gun, Darla poked the muzzle against the man’s shoulder. He didn’t budge. She tried again, this time poking his cheek. He shifted in his chair, his beer can sliding down his hand an inch, but still he didn’t wake.
“What do you expect?” Ainsley asked. “Stealing our stuff was hard work.”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Come on, step back,” he said. Then without warning, he raised his hand upward and fired two shots into the air. Bang-bang, in rapid succession.
The deafening blast wakened the sleeping man with a jump and, startled, he flailed wildly, flinging his can to the ground, where it dropped with a thud, foamy liquid pouring out in a gush and seeping into the grass. Then he tipped over in the chair and scrambled backward, his eyes wide like saucers above his now-askew sunglasses. And when he settled, his breathing heavy, on the ground in a heap, he ripped the glasses free and stared up at his visitors with shock.
Darla motioned and snapped once and immediately the four of them trained their guns on the thief. Even Ainsley brought her hand up, although her weak wrist made it look like she was pointing the gun at the man’s feet.
“Don’t move,” Darla said. She was calm, as if discovering him was merely inconvenient, but her tone was still commanding. “Sit up and put your hands where I can see them.”
“I’m not armed,” the man replied. “I’m not armed,” he said again as he shifted to his knees and lifted his hands so the crowd could see.
“You have a productive day today?” Spencer asked, his voice dripping with contempt. “Maybe you wiped out our entire food supply? Maybe you thought you’d leave us to die? And you bought a little boy’s silence with a chocolate bar?”
The man was quiet. Then he licked his lips and blew a breath of air. “Look man,” he motioned toward the guns, “I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you lowered your weapons.”
“No,” Darla answered.
“I’m not armed and I’m not dangerous. So, maybe lower the guns out of my face?” The man raised his eyebrows and waited, and then he added, “Please?”
“What’s your name?” Darla asked, taking a step forward.
“Dean. Dean Trotter,” he answered and Darla exchanged a look with Spencer.
“Well, Dean,” Darla answered without budging, “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. You have a preference of which I tell you first?”
Dean thoughtfully considered his options. “I want the bad news first.”
“Everything you took today from us…we’re taking it back. And we’re taking your generator. And we’re taking your truck and trailer to transport. Unless you’ve got a stash of weapons too and a small army hidden in your house, I’m pretty sure you’re screwed. But I’ll make a deal with you…you walk back for the truck and we’ll hand over the keys. I don’t need your truck.”
Dean coughed. “Look…”
“You don’t get to negotiate,” Spencer snapped. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“Fine,” Dean answered, lowering his head. “What’s the good news?”
Darla smiled, “We aren’t going to shoot you.”
Ainsley leaned forward a few inches and cocked her head. “And your son may be alive and on his way to Nebraska?” she added. “I never met the dude, I was just saying…in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” Dean replied. “Who else would’ve loaded up my brother’s balloon without my permission?” He scanned the faces of his captors and ran his hand through his hair, then he flashed them a sheepish grin, all teeth, and tossed his hands up. “Well, I’m sorry about the stuff, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. Right?”
“You can, actually,” replied Darla.
“You stole from a child,” Spencer added. “That didn’t cross your mind?”
Dean scrambled to his feet, still raising his hands. “Hey now. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t think…I thought you had more. Who puts all their food outside?”
“People who think they’re the only ones left in Oregon,” Ainsley replied. “But point taken.”
Darla shot her a look. Ainsley pursed her lips and shrugged.
“Well,” Dean continued. “Look, no hard feelings. Really…I’m just a dude trying to hunker down for the duration, you know? I’d been watching the houses… I didn’t want trouble. Just…I didn’t think you could follow me. My stash was dwindling…you run out of places to go. I want to start over. Can I start over?” He waited for their reply. Then he shot out his hand.
The group exchanged wearied glanced.
“I have weapons back at the house,” Dean added quickly. “And a large stockpile. I’ve hit up East County in my spare time…got the trailer up past 182nd one day. I’ll let you take a look. Maybe we can work out some trades. Your meals would make life easier.”
Darla shook her head with disbelief and Joey watched wide-eyed. Then he was the first to chuckle; a slow bubbling laugh that he tried to suppress and then, understanding its inappropriateness, it only seemed to grow. When he looked at Dean, he stood there with a half-smile on his face, watching Joey like he was a simpleton.
“I’m sorry,” Joey said after a long second. He covered his mouth his hand. “I’m sorry. Just…” he laughed again, “I think we just made a friend.”
Spencer muttered under his breath, but then was the first to lower his gun. “You’re a real piece of work, Dean,” Spencer said and he put his hand on Darla’s arm, encouraging her to follow suit. She resisted at first, shaking Spencer off, but then he gave her a solitary look—a moment just between them, and Darla dropped her weapon. Then he turned back to Grant’s dad and sighed, “I can’t decide if you’re a genius or an idiot.”
“Don’t think I haven’t heard that before,” Dean said with a smile. “Anyone up for a beer?”