It was early afternoon now and Matt had gone as far as he dared along the street, past where Jack’s fence ended. Out this far he couldn’t help but think of the old man’s mention of the group who’d squatted on his land in the area, and although they’d been kicked out they might still be somewhere around causing problems. Them or Razor’s goons. So he turned and started back the way he came, with barely half a bag full of edible plants.
He’d made it about halfway home when a nearby bleat made him go completely still, heart hammering in his throat. He turned to see a chocolate brown buck goat wearing a collar ambling along a side street, nibbling at the weeds alongside the road.
Matt stared at the animal, stomach rumbling. That was food, food for days for his entire family. Real food, food with substance, not bitter weeds and a third of an egg a day. He’d only had goat once and hadn’t much liked it, but now he could practically smell it cooking, taste the tough stringy meat between his teeth. That could be the answer to a lot of their problems.
Unfortunately what it was, without a shadow of a doubt, was one of the Watsons’ herd. The Nigerian dwarf goats had been too small to interest Ferris when he was rounding up the town’s livestock, and Chauncey had talked a bit about how valuable the animals had been for meat and milk while the rest of the town was struggling. He’d even given them a pint two days ago when he heard of their situation with the ration line. That fresh, creamy, odd tasting milk had been a blessing they’d been deeply grateful for.
As he stared at the buck, torn with temptation, his mind darted back to what seemed an eternity ago while on the road with Trev to bring down April’s family, when they’d talked about refugees. Trev had basically said that honest refugees died while dishonest ones survived by taking from others.
Would his friend eat that goat? Matt had a feeling that in spite of Trev’s pessimistic words he was the sort of person who’d starve before stealing. But it didn’t really matter what Trev would do, did it? What mattered was what Matthew Larson would do.
The goat ambled up to him, bleating and wagging its stubby little tail. He was young, and probably a wether judging by how friendly he was. Matt crouched down to pluck up a viny weed and offered it, and as the goat nibbled at the treat he grabbed the wether’s collar with his other hand. The goat didn’t balk as he stood and led it down the street.
Towards the Watsons’ place.
There had to be more to measure a person than what they were willing to do to survive when times were hard. The difference between the sort of person Matt would like to call friend, and more importantly would like to be, and parasites like Razor and his thugs, or for that matter Ferris and his goons.
If it came down to it he’d either find a way to live honestly or he’d face the consequences. He only hoped Sam and his family could forgive him. Even with that resolution, though, he had to wonder if he was just lying to himself. Desperation was a long ways from the Larson family as long as they had Trev’s cache waiting for them, if they could find a way to get it here past Razor’s siege and then keep it from Ferris’s inspections. And in the back of his mind rode the hope that his dad would be back with a wagon full of food any day now.
Maybe he was only being honest because in spite of their plight they weren’t truly desperate. The food up there could help them survive for most of the winter, maybe all of it if they severely cut their rations. And without that desperation he wasn’t facing the same crisis of conscience Trev had talked about.
Before reaching Chauncey’s house he encountered Wes Watson searching the streets. The fifteen year old brightened when he saw Matt and the goat and hurried forward. “Oh good, you found Coal,” he said, grabbing the goat by the collar. “Thank you so much for bringing him back. I was sent out to look for him while everyone else got to go watch the excitement.” The young man turned and hurried the spirited wether up the street towards his house.
Matt followed, a bit annoyed by how matter of fact Wes was being about him returning the goat when it had been a bit of a tough choice for him. But he had something more important to worry about. “Excitement? What’s going on?”
The young man turned to give him a surprised look. “You haven’t heard?” he whispered, a smile fighting to break free. “Ferris and his soldiers are pulling out!”
Matt stopped dead, eyes widening. “Seriously?” Wes nodded and he found himself grinning. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a month!”
“I know, right? Once I get this little cage breaker tethered I’m going right over to see what’s happening.”
“I’ll go with you,” Matt offered, catching up to the young man again. “What happened? Why are they going now?”
Wes shrugged. “Ferris claims he got a radio transmission from the FETF coordinators up north recalling him, but my dad insists he never heard anything like that on his radio. It’s been weeks since he heard anything about the Task Force at all, aside from bits and pieces concerning the relief convoy down in Price. Not since the Antelope Island refugees rioted and basically eliminated the FETF position in Salt Lake City.”
Matt nodded. He’d been pretty shaken to hear about what had happened at the refugee camp where he’d found his sister’s family, considering they’d just been there and could’ve been caught in the violence if they’d stayed just a little longer. When April heard about it too she expressed her fervent gratitude that Matt and Trev had come to get them out when they did.
When they reached the Watsons’ house Wes just dragged Coal over to the fence and tethered him right there with a bit of baling twine, then lifted him up over into the front yard. Matt couldn’t help but wonder about theft, since the refugees continued to wander the town causing trouble, but the young man seemed more interested in what was happening at the storehouse. He took off at a trot and Matt fell in beside him.
A few blocks over they found a crowd gathered at Tillman’s, a few refugees but mostly townspeople. In front of the store fourteen bicycles waited on kickstands, six of them attached to bike trailers, and soldiers were coming in and out of the store carrying buckets of grain and other food to put in the trailers or stuff into camouflaged backpacks.
Matt was surprised at the sight for a moment, until he realized that of course with even what little driving Ferris and his soldiers had done around town they’d be out of gas. This was probably their best means of transportation.
Better than walking. Matt couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of bicycles when he and Trev headed up to the cities.
Just as he and Wes arrived Ferris emerged from the storehouse-turned-FETF headquarters carrying his familiar clipboard, tapping it thoughtfully with a pencil. Behind him, completely ignored by the bureaucrat, Anderson dogged his heels looking desperate.
“You can’t leave, the town needs you!” the Mayor insisted, hurrying after Ferris as the man made his way over to watch the bike trailers being loaded.
At that Ferris paused to give him a disgusted look. “Oh, so now you care? You people have been whining about us being here since the moment we arrived.”
Anderson hesitated uncomfortably. “Well I suppose some may have been. But that doesn’t change the fact that we rely on your protection. You took our guns!”
“Relax, Mayor,” the FETF administrator said, contempt dripping from the word. “All your guns are in the storehouse. You can pass them out to every Tom, Dick, and Harry once we’re gone. Shoot each other up for all I care.”
Catherine Tillman hurried out of the crowd to intervene. “But you’re loading these bike trailers with as much of our food as you can take, not to mention a good chunk of ammunition!”