Through the Storm(47)

“What’s left of it. They demolished most of it after World War I. The commander’s house is over there.” Pastor Wayne pointed to a small stone building with no roof or doors.

Drake walked among the ruins and then to the boulders that looked over Riverbank, several miles of freeway, and the Chehalis River that flowed along the south of the town.

“Where did you get all this fence stuff?”

“Remember Ben Huntington, the Christmas tree guy? He milled the posts and is doing more. Another man at the meeting, Rob Gunther, manages a farm supply warehouse in town. He had the fence.”

“Did you guys do all this work? Are you trying to fence in the hill?”

“A dozen people worked on it, including me.” Pastor Wayne grinned. “Yes, we’re trying to protect the Fremont Hill community. We did a lot today, but there’s much more to do. By tomorrow evening we plan to have a simple plywood roof over this observation post and we’ll be extending the fences north and east from here.”

“I can help.”

“I planned to ask you.” Pastor Wayne rested one hand on Drake’s shoulder and pointed with the other. “That stretch of the fence will run east and eventually go along the back of your property.”

“My property?” A week ago, Drake was a kid playing video games, and the farm belonged to his father. Sadness surged within him. Was it really his farm now?

Pastor Wayne pointed along the fence line. “Is it okay if we continue?”

“Yes, but I want to be there when you build it.”

“Of course.” Pastor Wayne turned and gazed at the town and river below.

Drake leaned on the boulder and gazed at Riverbank and the freeway. His father had once said that the difference between a man and a boy was accepting responsibility. If he had inherited the farm, and the responsibilities of a man, it all felt overwhelming.

Moments later, the sunlight faded like a dimmer switch being turned down. He looked up as gray storm clouds rolled toward them.

Drake shivered.

*

King County, Washington, Friday, September 9th

Conner watched as Jason pulled a key from one pocket and a pistol from the other. He knocked again, but when no one answered, he used the key to enter. Warily, Conner and the others followed and did a quick search of the house.

Minutes later, Jason walked into the dining room. “Did you find anything?”

Conner shook his head. “Nothing suspicious. There’s even food in the kitchen.”

“Why would Sue and Raymond leave?” Jason asked as Tim and Madison walked into the room.

“We should search the barn and greenhouse,” Tim said.

Madison stood beside Conner. “We’ll help you look.”

Conner nodded. It seemed to him that criminals would have taken the food and made a mess doing it. “They might be headed to Cle Elum, but sure, we should check outside.”

The four left through the back door.

“Sue and Raymond just keep a few acres of pasture for their horses.” Jason gazed at the farmyard. “They lease the cornfield to the old couple on the next farm. They might be there.”

“They would have seen us heading down the road,” Conner said. “But I’ll walk toward that farm.”

Tim headed to the barn, and Jason strode toward a large greenhouse.

Madison pointed to what appeared to be a toolshed with an Old West-style water pump beside it. “I’ll check that out.”

Conner ambled along with her in the direction of the shed and past the water pump. He bent low and slid through the barbed wire fence into the cornfield. The crop stood taller than he did, ready for harvest in a few weeks. He strolled along one row and over to another, not expecting to find anything. He stirred up small clouds of dust as he walked.

After a couple of minutes, he could see the next farmhouse but no one outside. While trying to decide how to approach the home, something hard pushed against the back of his head.

“That’s the barrel of my shotgun at the base of your skull.” The man thumped Conner’s back as if to reinforce the point. “Drop the rifle and put your hands up.”

Conner did as commanded, but someone grabbed the rifle before it hit the ground.

“Don’t turn around or move suddenly,” the man instructed. “How many are with you?”

Determined not to tell him anything useful, Conner shook his head. “We don’t want any trouble. We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

“We’ll see about that. Go back toward the house you came from—slowly.”

It irritated Conner that twice in a week a gun had been pointed at him, but fear moved him to do as told. With his hands up, he turned and walked back. The man had managed to stay out of sight. Only he had spoken, but Conner thought he heard two people moving behind him. His pace slackened.

“Keep going.” The gun barrel jabbed into Conner’s back.

“Don’t hurt him,” a woman pleaded.

A man and a woman? Could they be—?

Madison stepped out of the cornstalks twenty feet ahead. Her eyes widened as she turned to run. Conner felt the gun barrel scrape across his back. Near his right shoulder, the end veered into view. In a single flowing motion, Conner spun backward, ducked under the barrel, and knocked it skyward.

It fired with a boom.