Matt could tell he’d reached Dawson land by the shoulder height split-rail fence along the road, well maintained in spite of the man’s advanced years. Along the fence he found a decent haul of edible weeds, and he silently thanked his good fortune as he bent to the task of gathering them into the bags. He was so intent on the task that he didn’t even realize Jack was out and about until he heard a shout and looked up to see him swiftly approaching.
Old the man may have been, but he certainly looked spry enough as he made a beeline across his fields towards Matt, waving one arm and continuing to shout angrily. Matt couldn’t help but notice that the Jack’s other hand stayed hovering near the small of his back the entire time.
He hurriedly straightened from the patch of weeds and waved back. “Afternoon, Mr. Dawson!” he called.
Jack slowed slightly, some of his anger fading. “Matt? Matt Larson? How about that. I know it’s been a while, man, but you look as if you’ve lost weight and aged 5 years since I saw you last! And you were pretty skinny to begin with!”
Matt smiled bleakly. It had been a few years, sure, but nowhere near that long. “Been a rough few months. Although you look the same as ever.”
The old man turned a sudden suspicious glare at the grocery bag he held. “What you got in there?”
“Weeds,” Matt admitted frankly, holding the bag out. “The edible sort. I’ve been gathering them along the road. Hope you don’t mind me foraging near your property.”
Jack finally seemed to fully thaw out, both hands dropping to his sides as he ambled the rest of the way to the fence and rested his arms atop it. “I’m not so bad off that I’m eating weeds yet. Not for lack of trying from those jack booted thugs who come by like clockwork to poke around my house, of course.”
Matt frowned. From what he’d seen of Ferris in the last three or so weeks it was hard to imagine the man going easy on anyone. “Glad to hear that, although I’m kind of wondering how you manage it.”
“Fowls,” the old man said with a snort. “That FETF weasel and his goons don’t do a lick more work than absolutely necessary, so for now they’re only going for the easy food. I hear they’re rounding up livestock to be butchered when needed, but my chickens and geese are way too much bother. They didn’t seem interested in hauling a few scrawny birds back to town, let alone slaughtering them, plucking them, and cooking them.”
Hearing that sort of made Matt wish his mom had kept the rabbit hutch she’d maintained when he was in his early teens. He doubted Ferris would’ve been any more interested in them. “Glad to know they’re letting at least that much go for now,” he said. “How about besides Ferris? You handling things okay way out here by yourself?”
“Yeah, been pretty quiet around here, thank the Lord,” Jack said. “Although I found a few members of the entitlement crowd squatting on the far southern end of my land a couple days ago, looking like they’d been there at least a week. Explains where some of my missing stuff got to.”
Matt furrowed his brow. “Entitlement crowd?”
The old man looked embarrassed. “Ah, yeah. That’s what I’ve taken to calling their sort. I noticed with the influx of refugees that in a crisis humanity seems to split into two groups: those that are mostly decent and hardworking, grateful for what they have and respectful of other people’s privacy and property, and the entitlement group. The people who feel like the world owes them something and they’re entitled to whatever they can get by any means.”
Jack spat off to one side. “They’re the ones who sit around in the refugee camp waiting for FETF aid and complaining about lack of food and poor conditions even though that weasel Ferris can never get enough volunteers to dig latrines, build shelters, and do all the other stuff that needs doing before the snows fall. The ones who sneak into people’s houses and steal, and when caught doing it act like the owners are bad guys for not sharing. The ones who turn nasty and violent to get what they need. I’m still hoping Anderson will grow a pair and send most of them on their way, even though I know Ferris never will.”
Matt nodded. He didn’t like the term, but he could see a few instances where it applied. “So what did you do about them?”
The old man seemed to take offense at something in his tone or what he said. “I wouldn’t have minded if they’d been polite and decent about it,” he snapped. “Apologizing for trespassing and asking if they could stay at the least. And more willing still if they’d offered to help out and acted like human beings instead of animals. Heck I could use a little help around the place, and someone to watch the fences way out there where I have trouble getting wouldn’t have gone amiss. I would’ve been willing to help them out with what I could spare in return.
“Instead I see a pile of my possessions, tools and antiques from the shed attic mostly, sitting in the center of the camp mouldering in the wet. They immediately get all belligerent and in my face when I walk up, like I’m the one trespassing, and one vicious little weasel even tries to club me from behind with a bit of my own fencepost!”
Matt wished he was surprised by that. “What did you do?”
To his surprise Jack casually reached behind his back and pulled out a new looking SP101 to rest on the fence between them, as if to emphasize that he still had it even though FETF was confiscating weapons. It didn’t take much to put two and two together and guess that the vicious little weasel was inhabiting a shallow grave somewhere nearby, courtesy of the small but high caliber weapon.
“I exercised my God and constitutionally given right to defend myself and my property,” the old man said with a steely glint in his eye. “Wasn’t happy about it, would’ve preferred not to do it, but when push came to shove I did what I needed to. And wouldn’t you know it, after that the other squatters ran off to cause problems somewhere else. All except one middle aged lady who offered to stay and be my wife if I’d take her in.”
That did surprise Matt, although it made him think of Trev and Mandy. “Did you?”
Jack spat off to the side again. “I’m too old for that sort of nonsense. Besides, I may be getting closer to the finish line but I’m not eager to lose what years I’ve got left in me. Don’t relish running the risk of getting my throat cut in the night by sharing a bed with a complete stranger. Besides, even if I did ever find I was over my Suzy and wanted another missus I wouldn’t pick her from the entitlement crowd. Things’re so hard these days you want someone willing to buckle down and work to survive alongside you.”
Matt thought of Sam, and for what seemed the millionth time felt a surge of gratitude for having her in his life. “I hear you. Especially when ever since FETF showed up things seem to be getting harder and harder.”
The old man snorted. “Funny, just about everyone I talk to seems to be saying that. I thought those pencil pushers were supposed to come in and make things easier for people, but all they seem good at is stealing what little folks have and spreading it around to people who don’t deserve it. FETF? Hah, more like fed up!”
Matt smiled for the first time in what felt like days. “Me and my family were set up all right, but not an hour ago Ferris finally kicked down our door and stole what little food we had. Now I’m going around picking weeds for dinner. Having a hard time of it too since everyone else has the same idea.”
Jack hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted, then shook his head. “Ah well, your Mona has been coming around with a hot plate for me every month or so for the last decade making sure I’m still kicking, so I suppose I owe you something. Better you than one of Ferris’s goons anyway.”