The System

Darla ignored the dig. “Look…on the off-chance that this guy is armed and good with a gun and he happens to know we’re coming and takes us all out…then I’d much rather have a doctor stay alive to care for my son and Ethan in my absence.”

“Now I clearly know my value in this household,” Ainsley quipped. “Joey and I are going to form a least-appreciated club. None of you are welcome.”

“Yeah,” Joey replied and he pumped his fist. But he had no further retort.

Ethan frowned. “I’m even forgotten about for the least-appreciated club? Thanks.” Then he turned to Darla and narrowed his eyes, “If the cripple is perpetually stuck at home, shouldn’t I at least get a choice of company?”

“Goodness,” Doctor Krause teased. “I was never once picked last in dodge ball, you know. Y’all are going to give us a complex.”

“It’s not that,” Ethan added. “It’s just…that’s sort of a grim future for me. At least if I get Ainsley I have a chance of a pity hook-up.” He looked at Doctor Krause, “No offense.”

Doctor Krause grumbled her disapproval at Ethan’s lewdness, but Joey snickered and leaned over for a high-five.

“In your dreams,” Ainsley said, but everyone in the room noticed her cheeks turning red. So, she held her head up and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll go with you,” she quickly added to Darla.

“Ouch,” Ethan said and he stabbed an imaginary knife into his heart. “Fine. You’re going to make me do this the hard way. If you make it back from the trenches, you want to go out on a date? I know a place. It’s called my mom’s kitchen.”

Ainsley blinked twice. Then she turned to her mom, “Did you up his pain killers this morning?” She then turned back to Ethan, “Are you drunk?”

“I’m happy we get the food back,” Ethan replied with a shrug. “And yes…I may have gone a little heavy on the codeine.” He brought his hands up to demonstrate that he had imbibed a bit heavier than usual.

“What’s drunk mean?” asked Teddy from the corner, lifting his head up from a coloring book for a second before going back to his drawing.

Spencer grumbled, “Is everyone done? I have a headache, I’m tired, and I’m ready to get this bastard and our supplies. Forgive me for not having an invested interest in Ethan’s suffering libido.”

Darla, Joey, and a disgruntled Ainsley examined their weapon supply and then headed out the front door, slamming it behind them.

The Trotter farm looked exactly as Darla remembered it. The generator they used for the fan still sat in the middle of the yard; the barn remained open and the house still looked shut up and empty. The only difference was that the pick-up truck and the white trailer now sat out front—a beacon for the four survivors.

“Didn’t he think we’d notice a truck and utility trailer on our street?” Joey asked as they gathered behind the front shrubs.

“But we didn’t notice it on our street,” replied Ainsley.

Spencer maneuvered himself to the front. “All right, so we find a back door. Or head in through the garage. Or do we split up?” He craned his neck to watch the house. “We can’t assume he’s not armed.”

“We don’t split up. We stay together. Follow me,” Darla instructed and she motioned for the group to scamper across the yard, ducking and making a beeline toward the trailer. When they reached it, Ainsley was winded. She shot Darla a look.

“What? It’s a large yard.”

“Stay here,” Darla said and after a quick scan, she walked to the trailer and threw the door open. Inside was bare. All the spoils of war had already been carted inside. Shoved to the side in the now-empty space was an overturned wheelbarrow with mud caked to the wheels. Darla shut the doors and joined the clan. “We’ll have to load everything back up.”

“We should take everything he raided,” Joey added with a small bounce. “Leave him hungry.” He looked at everyone in eager anticipation.

Darla shook her head. “He’s entitled to the stuff he found fair and square. I can’t imagine if he’s been hitting up the same houses we already looted that he’d have much of anything. And he’s about to lose his goldmine.”

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?”