Chapter 8
Brian sprang to his feet and worked his way carefully through the trees. In a moment he was peering out at a stream where several farmers were guiding two teams of rearing horses as they drew wagons through the water toward a narrow blacktopped road. From a patch of brush atop a nearby embankment there came the flash of guns.
After what he had seen in the last few weeks, the situation was crystal clear at a glance. Brian took a quick look at the farmers, their honest, hard-working faces twisted in despair, then he dropped behind a thick log and slammed roaring shot after shot into the brush. As he stripped a fresh clip into the magazine, he shouted, “Carl! Smitty! Steve! Hurry up and we can get the lot of them!”
There was a wild scramble in the brush and three men were desperately pumping their bicycles in a mad race to get away down the road. Guns and belts of bullets were strewn over the road in their haste. Brian sent a final shot close above their heads. There was an additional clatter on the blacktop, and they streaked off at an even higher speed.
In the stream, the horses splashed and plunged, but with the end of the gunfire, the farmers managed to lead them up the low bank to the road.
Cermak was at Brian’s elbow.
“What was that?”
“Ambush,” said Brian. “They were hidden in the brush along the road down there.”
“Ah,” said Cermak, “kill the farmers and take the horses.”
Brian took a careful look around, then walked down toward the farmers.
There were, he saw, four of them. Two were ripping up shirts to bandage a man who was wounded. The other farmer, a burly man of about sixty, smiled broadly and walked over to Brian with outthrust hand.
“Friend, I’ll never be happier to see anybody if I live to be a hundred! That gun of yours was the sweetest music I’ve ever heard.”
Brian gripped his hand. “For the last week we’ve been shot at from about every farmhouse we’ve passed. Now I see the reason.”
The farmer nodded. “It’s gotten so a man can’t turn his back without getting a bullet in it. You can’t live unless there’s enough of you to stand guard day and night.” He shook his head. “That’s why people shoot at strangers. My name’s Ed Barnaby. You and your friends move in with me till you’re rested up, and maybe you’ll think better of us.”
Cermak and the others came down and the wagons made their way along the road. With the addition of the guns and ammunition left behind by the ambushers, they made a formidable party.
Ed Barnaby explained that they’d taken the wagons to get grain left behind at the farm of his friend, Dave Schmidt, who had moved in with him.
“You see,” he said as they traveled slowly through the gathering dusk, “we’ve got plenty of room. It’s a big house, and there’s just me, my wife, my three boys and two girls; and now my neighbor Dave Schmidt and his family. That sounds like a lot, but when you see the house, you’ll see there’s plenty of room.”
The house was a dazzling white in the moonlight, standing among tall trees that arched above its steep, black-painted metal roof. It stood three full stories high, with tall windows, and a porch that ran around two sides on the ground and second floor. A two-story, L-shaped addition, apparently added as an afterthought, was itself as large as an ordinary house.
“My Granddad wanted lots of room,” Ed Barnaby said with a broad, appreciative grin. “He had fourteen children, ten of them boys.”
Brian slept that night in a room with delicately flowered, silvery wallpaper, on a soft bed with crisp clean sheets and light warm covers. The next day they had pancakes and sausages for breakfast, and Ed Barnaby showed them the springhouse, dairy barn, chicken coop, smokehouse, hog pen, stable, icehouse, pond, and a small blacksmith shop.
“Grandfather,” said Barnaby, “believed in being self-sufficient. I think we can make out all right, so long, that is, as we can keep from being shot dead or burned alive. Grandfather could probably have handled that problem, too, but I’m not so sure Dave Schmidt and me have the right idea. If we’d known what we were doing, we’d never have got caught in that stream bed the way we did. Now, I’ve watched you boys, and it seems to me you know how to handle yourselves. If you’d care to rest a little before going on west, we’d be glad to board you, if you’d guard the place for us.”
Brian and the others liked the idea. While Barnaby and his people worked in the fields, Brian, Carl, Smitty and Steve Cermak made sure no one raided the farm. They studied the layout of the buildings and showed Barnaby the places where it was easiest to get in. Barnaby had two of his sons drive in several lines of fence posts, and Brian and Carl put up barbed wire. They cut down one of the trees, and several bushes that obscured the view from the house. Now, from the cover of the big building, those inside could fire on anyone who tried to tamper with the fences. Then they built a small, sturdy platform around the trap door opening on the roof of the house, and they had a view out over the barn and outbuildings, where one man or woman could serve as a lookout while the others worked.
They’d been there a week when they began to feel well rested and ready to move on.
“I hate to see you go,” said Barnaby as they were eating a big dinner. “We’ve been getting our work done for the first time since this trouble started. We’ve been getting our sleep, too. I used to jump awake two or three times a night thinking I’d heard somebody out in the barn. I hope you won’t leave unless you’ve got to.”
The others eagerly joined in, offering to help stand guard at night, and then a shrill whistle, the prearranged signal for trouble, interrupted the meal.
Carl, who’d been on watch on the roof, came down the stairs fast.
Ed Barnaby said, “What is it? Should we get our guns?”
“Yes, but stay hidden and don’t shoot unless the other side shoots first! There are hundreds of them!”
***
While the others took up their positions inside the house, Brian and Ed Barnaby, each carrying their guns, went out on the porch.
Dozens of armed men, their guns at the ready, stood at the line of fence posts that stretched across the front lawn. The barbed wire lay in lengths on the grass, each strand cut off where it had been stapled to the posts. The men waiting by the fence posts watched the house and buildings alertly. At the center of the lawn stood a man with a whistle raised to his lips, watching the house and waiting.
Back of this line, men trudged past on the road, in a long column, four abreast. The men carried guns, and, watching closely, Brian began to notice significant details.
Every twelve men, there was a break in the column. The men at the head of each file were armed with semi-automatic weapons—often M1 rifles or carbines. The second men carried rifles, usually Springfields or American Enfields. The third men carried shotguns. After that, there was a miscellany of sporting rifles, shotguns, and foreign weapons, until at the end of the line, the third men from the end carried shotguns, the second men from the end carried rifles, often Springfields or Enfields, and the last men carried semi-automatic weapons.
Now, as they marched past, Brian could see that at the head and tail of each section another man walked at the head of the files on the left side of the column.
Barnaby murmured, “Look businesslike, don’t they?”
“There’s a break every so often when they go by. What’s that for?” Brian wondered.
“They’re formed in units. Apparently there are four twelve-man squads, the squad leaders marching in front, the assistant squad leaders in the rear. The four squads make up a platoon, with the platoon leaders marching on the far side of the columns.”
“What’s this coming now?”
Down the road came four men abreast, carrying heavier guns than any they’d seen till now. Behind them came four men carrying light loads of ammunition, and behind them four more men heavily loaded with ammunition.
“Those,” said Brian, “are automatic rifles. Whoever’s running this has it all organized.”
Next came four men pulling a light cart carrying a water-cooled thirty-caliber machine gun, and four more men pulling another light cart loaded with ammunition. Behind that came a man leading a saddle horse, and beside him a tall, dreamy-looking man wearing on his dark-brown hair a thin band of silver ornamented with slightly raised crests that flashed and glittered in the sunlight. As Brian watched in astonishment, this man raised his right hand; there was a barked command and a single blast on a trumpet. The column came to an abrupt halt. Another shouted command followed, the armed men turned to face the farm buildings, the officers came through the intervals of the line, and the tall man with the band of silver flashing on his head stepped to the horse and swung into the saddle.
For an instant Brian expected the whole line to come forward in a rush, but then the high, clear, carrying voice of the man in the saddle reached out, its tone reasonable, appealing.
“Farmers, just a word before we march on. If the crops are to be planted in good season, they have to be planted now. But no man can work in the fields and stand guard with a gun at the same time. If we’re to avoid starvation later, we have to get rid of these killers and arsonists now!
“We all know that for weeks you’ve had to fight off these human rats. You’ve been held back and slowed down because you had to struggle with the vermin. That’s over with. Now you can put away your guns and plow and plant to your heart’s content. The Day of the Rat is over.” He beamed and swept his hand to indicate the men around him, then he raised his clenched fist. “Right here is the Cat!”
There was an involuntary murmur of approval from the house, and then a roaring cheer from the men in the road.
The farmers were out on the porch, talking excitedly, and the armed men on the road had broken formation and were on the lawn opening boxes of dry rations and taking mugs of steaming coffee and cocoa from men who carried trays from a wagon in the road.
Schmidt, the neighbor who lived with Barnaby, said excitedly, “Sounds like they mean business.”
Barnaby looked at the guns and grinned. “They’re equipped to do business!” He glanced at Brian. “What do you think?”
The best Brian could manage was to say, “It could be.”
Brian was looking at the flashing silver circlet on the tall man’s head.
Carl had come out on the porch, to be followed by a dubious-looking Smitty and an expressionless Cermak. Carl glanced around, noting the way the men were spreading out in the shade under the trees, then went back in the house.
Cermak glanced at Brian, and said dryly, “What do you think of that guy, Brian?”
“What he said was all right. But what’s that crown for?”
Smitty was watching the corner of the house where the porch ran around the other side. “I don’t know if you noticed, but one of those people just came up onto the porch with a sheet of paper and a stapler. It looks to me like he tacked up some kind of notice.”
Brian saw the man go down the steps. “Let’s take a look.”
They walked around the corner, to find, stapled to the wall, a large oblong of heavy white paper bearing in small black print a long series of paragraphs. Brian’s eye skimmed rapidly over large sections of print as he read the more outstanding points:
NOTICE
Owing to the disastrous failure of electric power throughout this region, be it resolved:
1) That this country, and those districts contiguous to it, shall unite for common defense and be known hereafter as the Districts United.
2) That the inhabitants of these Districts United shall act toward the creation of conditions in which unlawful elements shall be eliminated.
Toward these desirable ends, the following measures are hereby set in motion:
1) Since outside criminal elements are carrying out their practices of killing, arson, robbery, and bushwhacking, a new crime has come into existence, which shall hereinafter he known as “karb,” from the initial letters of the criminal acts referred to. Therefore a Defense Force is hereby created. This Defense Force shall eliminate all criminals practicing karb, by hanging, shooting, decapitation, or whatever other method.
2) To facilitate swift and purposeful action in eliminating karb, a commander of the Defense Force is appointed, who shall be known hereafter as the Districts United Karb Eliminator, or, from the initial letters of the words, D.U.K.E., which may be shortened to DUKE or Duke.
3) The duties of the D.U.K.E. shall be to care for and control the Defense Force, restrict and eliminate karb, and endeavor to create those conditions in which work can be carried on without unlawful interruption.
4) Toward this end, the following rules are hereby put into effect . . .
There followed a long list. By order of the D.U.K.E., any foreclosure of mortgages or other sale or exchange of farm properties was suspended. By order of the DUKE, all money taxes on land were revoked. By order of the Duke, all money taxes on income or property were revoked. There then followed a list of taxes payable in storable foods of various kinds, in firewood and in hay, grain, and livestock. To avoid the wrong persons being shot or hanged, and to make things easier for the flying squads of karb-eliminators, no one might travel without a permit from the Duke’s local representative. At the end was a paragraph to the effect that any grievance or complaint could be taken to the Duke.
“Nice,” said Cermak, dryly. “The Duke is everything.”
Smitty said, “Look how the notice is signed.”
Brian and Cermak studied the imperious scrawl at the bottom of the paper. The signature itself was impossible to decipher but below it were the printed words, “Charles, Duke of the Districts United.”
“He’s got the thing organized, justified, and explained,” Smitty said, “so if you read it sentence by sentence it seems almost reasonable. And, of course, the Duke himself forbids mortgage foreclosures and taxes, and will punish karb and right wrongs. The food taxes are put in sort of anonymously—just some unavoidable thing that had to be done.”
“What he’s setting up is a feudal system,” Brian commented. “The farmers are tied to their land, and pay part of their crops in return for protection. The ruler controls the armed force, makes the laws himself, and administers justice. Same thing as the Middle Ages.”
Cermak shook his head. “They say the government is still holding out in the northwest—in Montana and Oregon. I think we should head there the first chance we get.”
“Yes,” said Brian. “And we’d better move fast. It won’t be long till they have the lid nailed down tight.”
Smitty glanced at several of the Duke’s men who were heavily bandaged. “Evidently there are a few people around who don’t like being boxed up.”
Brian studied them. “It might be worthwhile to know what happened.” He moved down the steps, past several of the Duke’s men who were joking with the girls of the family, and crossed the lawn to the group of bandaged men. He bumped one of them with his elbow, turned to say “Excuse me,” then blinked as if in surprise.
“You must have run into trouble.”
The man’s head was heavily and neatly bandaged, and his left arm was in a sling. But he grinned. “Run into a gang of scientists.”
Brian said, “Scientists can’t fight, can they?”
One of the other men, his right hand covered by bandages, gave a groan. There were about half a dozen of them, all badly beaten up, and they all glanced at each other. One took a bite out of a loaf of bread sliced lengthwise, a chunk of meat in the middle. Around this mouthful, he said, “I never knowed they could fight, myself. But they learned us a lesson.”
Another said, “They hit us with everything. To begin with, they weren’t on foot or on horseback. They were driving trucks.”
Brian looked blank. “Special kind of engine?”
“Diesels. They started them on compressed air. And when old Duke seen them trucks coming toward the crossroads, he like to run us into the ground getting there first to throw up a roadblock. But that was only the start of the fun. We must have outnumbered them . . . anyway, ten to one, but they had machine guns, hand grenades, and flame-throwers, and just for variety every now and then an arrow would fly out of one of them trucks and somebody’d get skewered. I’d have let them go, myself. We were all getting kind of tired of them. But not old Duke. He was all over us, telling us we had to get this bunch, and pretty soon they run low on ammunition, and that flame-thrower of theirs give out, and we got them.
“They had their women and kids with them and everything. Bunch of scientists, headed west. Planned to join up with the Federals up in Montana, near as we could figure. Duke made a deal with them, so now we got the only crew of scientists around here. Duke figures we can use them to make steam cars, fix up locomotives, make gunpowder—lots of things. Only trouble is, they wouldn’t strictly promise not to try to get away. Got to be careful they don’t sneak out on us.”
Brian and the Duke’s man were still talking when Carl came up, looking worried, and drew Brian aside.
“Listen,” said Carl, “Anne’s gone.”
“Gone! Where?”
Carl kept his voice low. “We think the Duke’s got her.”
***
There was the blast of a whistle, and the Duke’s men started back to the road. In a few minutes they were again in formation, and the cooks’ helpers were picking up the coffee and cocoa mugs, pieces of waxed paper, and empty ration boxes that were left piled at the base of trees and shrubs. Quickly, Carl explained what had happened.
“Schmidt saw Anne go outside. She wanted to ask her father about something, and said she thought she’d seen him go outside near the fence. She was going to come right back in, but this Duke saw her and called her over. That’s the last anyone’s seen of her.”
Brian looked at the column of troops just starting to move past. Far down the column was a truck, which he recognized as one of Cardan’s. He climbed up on the porch, then onto the porch rail, and carefully scanned the marching column.
“There’s only one place she could be, Carl. That’s in the truck.”
Carl bit his lip.
Smitty came over, followed their gaze, and stared at the truck. “That’s one of ours!”
Brian jumped down and told him what the Duke’s men had said.
“Then,” said Smitty, relieved, “they must have gotten away from that crew with the bows and arrows.”
“That doesn’t help us any if Anne’s in that truck.”
Cermak had come around the corner of the porch and stopped abruptly. “Who’s in the truck?”
Brian said, “Carl thinks Anne is gone. We both figure if she’s in that column anywhere, it’s inside the truck.”
Cermak stared at the passing truck. “Yes. He is the Duke. She is the peasant’s daughter. If he wants her he will take her. Wait a minute while I go inside and make sure.”
“Damn it,” said Carl, looking at the two guards armed with Tommy guns at the rear of the truck, “how are we going to get her out of there?”
Smitty looked at the platoon coming along behind the truck. They looked particularly well armed and tough.
Slowly the troops moved by.
Cermak, his face carefully blank, came out of the house. “She’s gone, all right.”
“Whatever we do,” said Carl, “we’re going to have to do it fast.”
Cermak said bitterly, “There isn’t a thing we can do, and that Duke knows it.”
“We can’t just let her go!” Carl insisted.
“You think she means more to you than she means to me?” Cermak asked. “But I’ve run my head into too many stone walls not to know another when I see it. Count their guns, then count yours. Go read the notice on the porch. We won’t get anywhere against him. But they say the government is still holding out in Montana and a few other states, and sooner or later they’re going to have to finish this Duke. Maybe, if I tell them what he’s doing, they’ll do it now.”
Brian said, “I think I see how we could get close enough to keep an eye on her, and maybe get her free later.”
Carl said tensely, “How?”
“Join up with them.”
Anne’s father said angrily, “Don’t you think he’ll know enough to suspect your reasons, and put you where you can’t do anything?”
Brian again described what he’d learned about the Duke and Cardan.
Carl snapped his fingers. “He wants scientists!”
Brian nodded.
Smitty said hesitantly, “That might work.”
“You do what you want,” Cermak said. “I’m going to find what’s left of the United States and tell them what’s going on here. I know you’re doing this for Anne, Brian, but be careful this Duke doesn’t suck you in. He’ll be clever.”
Fifteen minutes later Brian, Carl and Smitty had said good-bye to Cermak and their farmer friends, and were on the road, walking steadily and fast toward the tail of the column on the road ahead.
Before long, they caught up, explained what they wanted, and a tall benevolent figure with glittering ducal coronet greeted them cheerfully, quizzed them briefly on their specialties, and then rubbed his hands together.
“This is a splendid day, gentlemen. I’ve already captured a number of men scientists, and a woman scientist who was staying at a farm along the way. But you are the first to join me voluntarily.” He beamed upon them paternally, then told them where to get shelter halves, blankets, and food when they camped that night. Then he sent for someone to help them get acquainted.
The next day, following stops at several more farms, the Duke and his men set out for their base.