Eric Flint - The Grantville Gazette Vol 5, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
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ANNA'S STORY
By
Loren Jones
Anna ran for all she was worth as the mercenaries chased her, fleeing her father’s farm with no
destination in mind except away. Two of the mercenaries followed her, shouting as she ran for her life
and virtue. She didn’t notice the change in the landscape until she ran over the edge of a small cliff and
collided with a strange man.
Another scream ripped from her throat as she looked around. Strange men in strange black clothes were
all around her, surrounding her and the man she had collided with. She looked down and saw some sort
of medal on his chest. That medal proclaimed him the leader, and her fear redoubled as she imagined the
punishment he would inflict for her seeming attack upon his person. Again instinct sent her surging to her
feet and running away, down the hill and across a stream that shouldn’t be there.
Behind her she heard the boom, boom of two arquebuses being fired in rapid succession, followed by
several sharp cracks that sounded like pitch-bubbles snapping in the hearth. She didn’t look back. If the
new men were fighting Tilly’s bastards, all the better. It gave her more time to escape and hide.
1
George Blanton was spending his Sunday in the same way he had spent every Sunday for over twenty
years: watching sports on TV. It didn’t matter what sport was on. Football, baseball, basketball, hockey,
soccer, horse races, car races, even golf: if it was a sport, he watched it. He was watching his favorite
“all sports” channel when the world suddenly went white. Tremendous thunder roared through his house,
making his ears ring.
George sat stunned as the world around him returned to normal, except that the TV was off. Looking at
the clock, he saw that the second hand had stopped.
Power failure?
he asked himself, nodding as he
saw that even the VCR’s incessantly flashing clock was blank.
Yep, power failure.Shit. But what was
that flash and boom?
Standing, he walked to the pantry and opened the breaker panel. A quick
inspection showed that nothing was tripped, and the tattletale on his incoming power was off. It was the
line again.
Anger and disappointment roiled in his belly, making him clench his teeth. He had been complaining for
more than a year about the lines into his farm, and the power company still hadn’t done anything.
Walking over to the window, he looked outside as he angrily picked up the phone. He knew the number
by heart, and started dialing before he noticed that there was no dial tone either. Power and phone?
Lovely. Well, he had a solution to one of his problems. Dave’s generator was already hooked up and
ready to start. Slamming the phone back onto the hook, he stomped out to the back porch, turning the
main breaker off as he passed the pantry.
He paused before starting the generator to say a quick prayer for his son, Dave. Dave had gotten
divorced a few years after George and Mary had retired and moved to the farm. The place was big: fifty
acres of pasture and a ten-acre garden that Mary had adored, and the farmhouse had six bedrooms.
There had been more than enough room for their only child to join them.
That was before Mary had gotten sick. She had played it down, refusing to go to a doctor. She had
sworn that it was just her misspent youth catching up to her. Three months later she was gone. Cancer
had taken the love of his life.
Dave had taken his mother’s death hard. He’d been working at the mine, bringing home decent wages,
but he had become eccentric. That’s what his friends called it; George called it bonkers. Dave had
decided that the end of civilization was near, and had begun hoarding things: guns, ammo, food, water
purifiers, survival books, assorted other weapons, and clothing. And booze. The hayloft out in the barn
was packed with his stuff—cheap department store footlockers full of it.
The union contract had allowed Dave to list his parents as his beneficiaries, rather than his ex-wife, and
George had become financially independent on the same night that he’d lost his will to live. Dave had
been driving home after drinking with his buddies, and had died when his truck hit a tree.
George shook off his momentary grief. Mary had been gone for seven years, and Dave for three. The
generator had been one of Dave’s better ideas. It was a good one, commercial quality, and it was tied
directly into the house. So long as the main breaker was off, it would power the house and barn. The
flick of a switch turned George’s power back on.
George went back in to watch TV again, dismissing the flash and thunder as figments of his imagination.
He was drifting these days, and figured that he had drifted off in a doze until something happened to
wake him up. Probably whatever it was that knocked out the phone and electricity.
He spent fifteen minutes fiddling with the satellite receiver, but couldn’t locate a signal. Now he was
really getting mad. Sports had become the only thing that he looked forward to anymore. Stomping over
to the phone, he grabbed it to check for a dial tone, but it was still dead. Then a flicker of movement
drew his attention outside. Someone had just run into his barn.
His eyes narrowed even further. He didn’t like his neighbors. They knew it, and didn’t like him either.
None of the kids in the area even cut across his land any more. He had seen to that by having a few of
them arrested for trespassing. Now someone was in his barn.
His anger at the power company transferred to whoever was out there, but now it had become a quiet
fury that bore little resemblance to his earlier boisterous rage. He walked silently out of his door and
crossed the yard. The barn doors were open wide, and his Dodge Ram pickup was sitting right where he
had left it. Looking around, he couldn’t spot anyone, so he yelled, “Who’s in here? This is private
property! Get out!” Nothing moved. Then he heard a scraping sound from the loft, and something that
sounded like a stifled sob.
“Come down from there!” he shouted, but there was no response. Climbing the ladder, he carefully
looked around. He didn’t want to be surprised and lose his grip. When he didn’t see anyone, he climbed
the rest of the way up into the loft. There was a trail of sorts in the dust that had blown in since the last
time he had been up there, and he followed it to the back corner. As he drew near, he saw a flicker of
movement. Moving closer, he grabbed the top locker in the stack that whoever was up there was hiding
behind, and pulled it toward him.
A shriek pierced his ears as he spotted the disheveled young girl in the dirty dress. She was plainly
terrified, and he quickly backed away. It didn’t do much good. She continued to shriek as he held his
hands over his ears. “Stop that noise!” he roared, almost drowning out the girl’s shrieks.
Something about his shout silenced the girl. When his ears were no longer being assaulted, he took a
step forward, but she shouted, “
Nein! Nein! Geh weg! Geh weg!
” George stopped. He didn’t
understand everything that she said, but he understood “
Nein! Nein!
” Anyone who had ever seen a
WWII movie knew what that meant. “No! No!” In German.
German?
What the hell?
George looked at the girl for a moment, and then started to put two and two together. Power and phone
dead. Loud noise. Messy, frightened girl who speaks German hiding in his barn. Nodding to himself, he
figured out exactly what had happened. A car or busload of German tourists had crashed and taken out a
telephone pole.
Now that he knew what was going on, he calmed down. Looking at her, he saw that her dress was torn
and she was covered with dirt. Well, that explained some of her fear. She’d probably heard all sorts of
horror stories about the sexual habits of hillbillies. Chuckling to himself, he looked around. There were a
few things in the loft that weren’t part of Dave’s hoard, and a box of them was right where he needed it
to be. Opening the box, he brought out the old bathrobe that Mary had given him one Christmas. He
hated the thing, but it was from her, so...
He walked back over to the girl and tried to hand it to her, but she shrank away from him, still
frightened. George was getting annoyed now and stepped back to glare at her for a moment before
sighing deeply.
Take it easy, you old fool. She’s frightened and doesn’t understand,
he silently said to
himself before deciding on a plan. He put the robe on to show her what it was, and almost cursed when it
stopped short of closing with six inches of his belly still exposed. Mary had given him the robe a
long
time
ago. Taking it off, he again tried to hand it to the girl, but she still cried out when he stepped closer. He
finally gave up and threw it at her.
“There. Put it on or don’t, I don’t care. Come down to the house when you feel like it.” He pointed over
to the house as he spoke, but the girl just sat there staring at him. He decided to try some of the pidgin
German that he had picked up from the movies and said, “Comen see to da housen, ya?” The girl still just
stared at him, so he gave up and left.
George returned to the house and tried the phone again. Still dead. Taking a deep breath, he looked
around. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Looking back out at the barn, he nodded to himself.
That girl came from somewhere. The power and phone were out for some reason. That left only one
thing to do: drive to town.
The keys to his truck were hanging near the door. That had been Mary’s idea when they first moved
here, to hang the vehicle keys by the door like her parents had done. Now there were only two sets
hanging there: the truck and the tractor. Grabbing the truck keys, he left, carefully locking the door
behind him. No telling if anyone else was going to follow the girl to his farm.
He got into the truck and started it, then looked up at the loft. There was no sign of the girl, so he
backed out and headed to town. He drove slowly, watching for pedestrians or any sign of a wreck, but
there was still nothing out of the ordinary. He made the turn off of his road and headed toward town, but
slowed and stopped in the middle of the road as his mind finally registered the countryside. There was
something very wrong with what he was seeing. There was supposed to be a hill off to his left, but it
wasn’t there. A column of smoke was rising into the air off to the south, but there should have been trees
in the way.
Cautiously driving on, he kept his eyes open for any other signs of trouble. He made it into town and
found people milling about, lining the streets. Whatever the problem was, it was widespread.
An old woman in her Sunday dress waved him down and immediately climbed into the truck. “George,
take me out to Jimmy’s house. I have to get to the children.”
“Beth, what the hell’s going on here? I don’t have power or phones at my place, and there’s a little girl in
my barn shouting German at me.”
“I don’t know, George. No one does. But the word we got was that Dan Frost has been shot, and
there’s lunatics on the loose with antique rifles, shooting at whatever moves. Now, move, damn it! I have
to get to the children.” Elizabeth glared at George as he put his truck in gear.
“All right, Beth, all right. If there isn’t any help here in town I may as well go home, too. Damn, I wish I
knew what was going on around here.” He started driving back out the way that he had come, then
slammed on the brakes. Looking closely at Elizabeth, he lifted one eyebrow. “You said the police chief
has been shot? Who’s in charge, that fool Dreeson?”
“Drive, George. No, not Henry Dreeson. Mike Stearns has taken charge. Dan deputized him and the
UMWA before he passed out. Now go. You said that there’s a girl in your barn? Ken Hobbs said a girl
ran over the side of some cliff and collided with Dan just before he was shot. The men that shot Dan was
chasin’ her. That might be her. It happened out your way. I’m surprised that you didn’t hear any
gunshots.”
“Men were chasing her? With antique rifles? God Almighty! That would explain why she’s so afraid, but
why’s she shouting in German? And it still doesn’t explain where she’s from.” He shrugged. “As to
hearing anything, I’ve got the generator going. It’s quieter than most, but it’s still noisy as a lawn mower.
Can’t hear much over it if I’m close.” George drove on, thinking about what he was going to do when he
got home. Men with antique guns running around shooting folks. A girl in a torn dress in his barn. He
almost missed the turn into Jim Reardon’s place, but managed to make it without getting off of the gravel.
Elizabeth gave him a sour look, but didn’t say anything until he stopped in front of the house. “Go home,
George, and lock your doors. And get out a shotgun. Just ain’t safe ‘round here right now.” She hurried
up the steps and was met by Jim’s wife. Once the door had closed behind them, he drove off.
George pulled into the barn and climbed out of the truck, carefully locking it behind him. It was the first
time that he had ever locked his truck at home. He started to climb the ladder to the loft, but decided that
he should listen to Beth and get a gun first, so he turned toward the house.
The doors were still closed and locked, and there were no broken windows. Unlocking the door, he
started to put the keys back on the hook, then thought better of it and put them into his pocket instead.
Then he went to his gun cabinet.
The guns were mostly sporting rifles and light shotguns, but not all of them. Nestled inconspicuously in
the corner was the M-14 that Dave had been so proud of.
Antiques my ass,
he thought as he quickly
loaded the rifle. Then he went to the barn again.
At first he couldn’t find the girl, then he heard her on the other side of the loft. Walking carefully over to
her, he smiled and held his hands open out to the sides. “Young lady, you don’t need to be afraid. I’m
not going to hurt you. What’s your name? I’m George. George Blanton.” He patted himself on the chest
and said his name several more times, just like in the movies. The girl continued to stare at him.
“Are you hungry?” he suddenly asked, desperately trying to get some reaction out of her. He took a step
forward and reached out his hand.
The girl shrank away from him, shouting, “
Fass mich nicht an!
” She was trying to crowd herself farther
into the corner, and her eyes were so wide that he could see the whites all around.
He still didn’t understand what she was saying, but the way that she was acting made her meaning clear.
She was still frightened. “Okay, I’ll just stay over here,” George replied softly, taking a step back. “Are
you hungry?” he asked, pantomiming eating. The girl didn’t say anything, but she swallowed and licked
her lips. George nodded and backed away.
The footlockers in the loft were all labeled, and he picked one marked READY TO EAT. In it he found
vacuum packed beef jerky, crackers that might still be edible, and an assortment of Army MREs. Where
Dave had gotten
them
, he had never asked. And after asking to try one once, he had never asked that
again either.
Sheesh! The things they feed to soldiers.
Grabbing some jerky strips, he turned back to the
girl. She was watching him intently, and he tossed two strips to her.
She picked them up and looked at them with wide eyes and a confused expression on her face. George
cleared his throat to get her attention, and, when she looked up, tore one of the packages open and took
a bite of the jerky. Or at least he tried. The tough meat gave his dentures a real workout.
The girl looked carefully at the package in her hand, then followed George’s example. The plastic clearly
confused her, but it was when she took a bite of the meat that she finally showed some sign of life. The
first piece disappeared in seconds, and the second quickly followed. And after a few moments she had
the reaction that George had been waiting for. She began swallowing and trying to clear her throat.
Whatever else you wanted to say about jerky, it was dry as a bone.
George smiled and waved for her to follow him as he climbed down from the loft. There was a sink in
the barn, and he always kept a cup or two handy. Now he made a big show of getting something to drink
as the girl watched over the edge of the loft.
She finally gathered her courage and her skirts and climbed down, nervously watching over her shoulder
to make sure that George didn’t try anything while her back was turned. Once her bare feet were on the
ground, she carefully walked toward him. George put an old coffee mug on the side of the sink and left
the water running as he stepped back.
The girl came forward cautiously, watching George all of the time. When she reached the sink, she
picked up the old red and white checked mug and looked it over carefully, then got some water. She
seemed to find the running water fascinating, and trailed her fingers through it as she drank. After three
mugs of water, she put the cup down.
George was watching her carefully, and moved over to the side of the barn, staying in her field of vision,
and picked up a scrap of cloth. He tossed it to her, but she just caught it and stood there. He
pantomimed washing his face, and she dropped the cloth and backed away. Then her eyes opened wide
and she looked past him down the road.
George spun around, unslinging the rifle and bringing it up to his shoulder fairly quickly. Scanning the
area carefully, he turned back when there was a sound behind him. He glanced back just in time to see
her disappear into the loft again.
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zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl upanicza.keep.pl
ANNA'S STORY
By
Loren Jones
Anna ran for all she was worth as the mercenaries chased her, fleeing her father’s farm with no
destination in mind except away. Two of the mercenaries followed her, shouting as she ran for her life
and virtue. She didn’t notice the change in the landscape until she ran over the edge of a small cliff and
collided with a strange man.
Another scream ripped from her throat as she looked around. Strange men in strange black clothes were
all around her, surrounding her and the man she had collided with. She looked down and saw some sort
of medal on his chest. That medal proclaimed him the leader, and her fear redoubled as she imagined the
punishment he would inflict for her seeming attack upon his person. Again instinct sent her surging to her
feet and running away, down the hill and across a stream that shouldn’t be there.
Behind her she heard the boom, boom of two arquebuses being fired in rapid succession, followed by
several sharp cracks that sounded like pitch-bubbles snapping in the hearth. She didn’t look back. If the
new men were fighting Tilly’s bastards, all the better. It gave her more time to escape and hide.
1
George Blanton was spending his Sunday in the same way he had spent every Sunday for over twenty
years: watching sports on TV. It didn’t matter what sport was on. Football, baseball, basketball, hockey,
soccer, horse races, car races, even golf: if it was a sport, he watched it. He was watching his favorite
“all sports” channel when the world suddenly went white. Tremendous thunder roared through his house,
making his ears ring.
George sat stunned as the world around him returned to normal, except that the TV was off. Looking at
the clock, he saw that the second hand had stopped.
Power failure?
he asked himself, nodding as he
saw that even the VCR’s incessantly flashing clock was blank.
Yep, power failure.Shit. But what was
that flash and boom?
Standing, he walked to the pantry and opened the breaker panel. A quick
inspection showed that nothing was tripped, and the tattletale on his incoming power was off. It was the
line again.
Anger and disappointment roiled in his belly, making him clench his teeth. He had been complaining for
more than a year about the lines into his farm, and the power company still hadn’t done anything.
Walking over to the window, he looked outside as he angrily picked up the phone. He knew the number
by heart, and started dialing before he noticed that there was no dial tone either. Power and phone?
Lovely. Well, he had a solution to one of his problems. Dave’s generator was already hooked up and
ready to start. Slamming the phone back onto the hook, he stomped out to the back porch, turning the
main breaker off as he passed the pantry.
He paused before starting the generator to say a quick prayer for his son, Dave. Dave had gotten
divorced a few years after George and Mary had retired and moved to the farm. The place was big: fifty
acres of pasture and a ten-acre garden that Mary had adored, and the farmhouse had six bedrooms.
There had been more than enough room for their only child to join them.
That was before Mary had gotten sick. She had played it down, refusing to go to a doctor. She had
sworn that it was just her misspent youth catching up to her. Three months later she was gone. Cancer
had taken the love of his life.
Dave had taken his mother’s death hard. He’d been working at the mine, bringing home decent wages,
but he had become eccentric. That’s what his friends called it; George called it bonkers. Dave had
decided that the end of civilization was near, and had begun hoarding things: guns, ammo, food, water
purifiers, survival books, assorted other weapons, and clothing. And booze. The hayloft out in the barn
was packed with his stuff—cheap department store footlockers full of it.
The union contract had allowed Dave to list his parents as his beneficiaries, rather than his ex-wife, and
George had become financially independent on the same night that he’d lost his will to live. Dave had
been driving home after drinking with his buddies, and had died when his truck hit a tree.
George shook off his momentary grief. Mary had been gone for seven years, and Dave for three. The
generator had been one of Dave’s better ideas. It was a good one, commercial quality, and it was tied
directly into the house. So long as the main breaker was off, it would power the house and barn. The
flick of a switch turned George’s power back on.
George went back in to watch TV again, dismissing the flash and thunder as figments of his imagination.
He was drifting these days, and figured that he had drifted off in a doze until something happened to
wake him up. Probably whatever it was that knocked out the phone and electricity.
He spent fifteen minutes fiddling with the satellite receiver, but couldn’t locate a signal. Now he was
really getting mad. Sports had become the only thing that he looked forward to anymore. Stomping over
to the phone, he grabbed it to check for a dial tone, but it was still dead. Then a flicker of movement
drew his attention outside. Someone had just run into his barn.
His eyes narrowed even further. He didn’t like his neighbors. They knew it, and didn’t like him either.
None of the kids in the area even cut across his land any more. He had seen to that by having a few of
them arrested for trespassing. Now someone was in his barn.
His anger at the power company transferred to whoever was out there, but now it had become a quiet
fury that bore little resemblance to his earlier boisterous rage. He walked silently out of his door and
crossed the yard. The barn doors were open wide, and his Dodge Ram pickup was sitting right where he
had left it. Looking around, he couldn’t spot anyone, so he yelled, “Who’s in here? This is private
property! Get out!” Nothing moved. Then he heard a scraping sound from the loft, and something that
sounded like a stifled sob.
“Come down from there!” he shouted, but there was no response. Climbing the ladder, he carefully
looked around. He didn’t want to be surprised and lose his grip. When he didn’t see anyone, he climbed
the rest of the way up into the loft. There was a trail of sorts in the dust that had blown in since the last
time he had been up there, and he followed it to the back corner. As he drew near, he saw a flicker of
movement. Moving closer, he grabbed the top locker in the stack that whoever was up there was hiding
behind, and pulled it toward him.
A shriek pierced his ears as he spotted the disheveled young girl in the dirty dress. She was plainly
terrified, and he quickly backed away. It didn’t do much good. She continued to shriek as he held his
hands over his ears. “Stop that noise!” he roared, almost drowning out the girl’s shrieks.
Something about his shout silenced the girl. When his ears were no longer being assaulted, he took a
step forward, but she shouted, “
Nein! Nein! Geh weg! Geh weg!
” George stopped. He didn’t
understand everything that she said, but he understood “
Nein! Nein!
” Anyone who had ever seen a
WWII movie knew what that meant. “No! No!” In German.
German?
What the hell?
George looked at the girl for a moment, and then started to put two and two together. Power and phone
dead. Loud noise. Messy, frightened girl who speaks German hiding in his barn. Nodding to himself, he
figured out exactly what had happened. A car or busload of German tourists had crashed and taken out a
telephone pole.
Now that he knew what was going on, he calmed down. Looking at her, he saw that her dress was torn
and she was covered with dirt. Well, that explained some of her fear. She’d probably heard all sorts of
horror stories about the sexual habits of hillbillies. Chuckling to himself, he looked around. There were a
few things in the loft that weren’t part of Dave’s hoard, and a box of them was right where he needed it
to be. Opening the box, he brought out the old bathrobe that Mary had given him one Christmas. He
hated the thing, but it was from her, so...
He walked back over to the girl and tried to hand it to her, but she shrank away from him, still
frightened. George was getting annoyed now and stepped back to glare at her for a moment before
sighing deeply.
Take it easy, you old fool. She’s frightened and doesn’t understand,
he silently said to
himself before deciding on a plan. He put the robe on to show her what it was, and almost cursed when it
stopped short of closing with six inches of his belly still exposed. Mary had given him the robe a
long
time
ago. Taking it off, he again tried to hand it to the girl, but she still cried out when he stepped closer. He
finally gave up and threw it at her.
“There. Put it on or don’t, I don’t care. Come down to the house when you feel like it.” He pointed over
to the house as he spoke, but the girl just sat there staring at him. He decided to try some of the pidgin
German that he had picked up from the movies and said, “Comen see to da housen, ya?” The girl still just
stared at him, so he gave up and left.
George returned to the house and tried the phone again. Still dead. Taking a deep breath, he looked
around. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Looking back out at the barn, he nodded to himself.
That girl came from somewhere. The power and phone were out for some reason. That left only one
thing to do: drive to town.
The keys to his truck were hanging near the door. That had been Mary’s idea when they first moved
here, to hang the vehicle keys by the door like her parents had done. Now there were only two sets
hanging there: the truck and the tractor. Grabbing the truck keys, he left, carefully locking the door
behind him. No telling if anyone else was going to follow the girl to his farm.
He got into the truck and started it, then looked up at the loft. There was no sign of the girl, so he
backed out and headed to town. He drove slowly, watching for pedestrians or any sign of a wreck, but
there was still nothing out of the ordinary. He made the turn off of his road and headed toward town, but
slowed and stopped in the middle of the road as his mind finally registered the countryside. There was
something very wrong with what he was seeing. There was supposed to be a hill off to his left, but it
wasn’t there. A column of smoke was rising into the air off to the south, but there should have been trees
in the way.
Cautiously driving on, he kept his eyes open for any other signs of trouble. He made it into town and
found people milling about, lining the streets. Whatever the problem was, it was widespread.
An old woman in her Sunday dress waved him down and immediately climbed into the truck. “George,
take me out to Jimmy’s house. I have to get to the children.”
“Beth, what the hell’s going on here? I don’t have power or phones at my place, and there’s a little girl in
my barn shouting German at me.”
“I don’t know, George. No one does. But the word we got was that Dan Frost has been shot, and
there’s lunatics on the loose with antique rifles, shooting at whatever moves. Now, move, damn it! I have
to get to the children.” Elizabeth glared at George as he put his truck in gear.
“All right, Beth, all right. If there isn’t any help here in town I may as well go home, too. Damn, I wish I
knew what was going on around here.” He started driving back out the way that he had come, then
slammed on the brakes. Looking closely at Elizabeth, he lifted one eyebrow. “You said the police chief
has been shot? Who’s in charge, that fool Dreeson?”
“Drive, George. No, not Henry Dreeson. Mike Stearns has taken charge. Dan deputized him and the
UMWA before he passed out. Now go. You said that there’s a girl in your barn? Ken Hobbs said a girl
ran over the side of some cliff and collided with Dan just before he was shot. The men that shot Dan was
chasin’ her. That might be her. It happened out your way. I’m surprised that you didn’t hear any
gunshots.”
“Men were chasing her? With antique rifles? God Almighty! That would explain why she’s so afraid, but
why’s she shouting in German? And it still doesn’t explain where she’s from.” He shrugged. “As to
hearing anything, I’ve got the generator going. It’s quieter than most, but it’s still noisy as a lawn mower.
Can’t hear much over it if I’m close.” George drove on, thinking about what he was going to do when he
got home. Men with antique guns running around shooting folks. A girl in a torn dress in his barn. He
almost missed the turn into Jim Reardon’s place, but managed to make it without getting off of the gravel.
Elizabeth gave him a sour look, but didn’t say anything until he stopped in front of the house. “Go home,
George, and lock your doors. And get out a shotgun. Just ain’t safe ‘round here right now.” She hurried
up the steps and was met by Jim’s wife. Once the door had closed behind them, he drove off.
George pulled into the barn and climbed out of the truck, carefully locking it behind him. It was the first
time that he had ever locked his truck at home. He started to climb the ladder to the loft, but decided that
he should listen to Beth and get a gun first, so he turned toward the house.
The doors were still closed and locked, and there were no broken windows. Unlocking the door, he
started to put the keys back on the hook, then thought better of it and put them into his pocket instead.
Then he went to his gun cabinet.
The guns were mostly sporting rifles and light shotguns, but not all of them. Nestled inconspicuously in
the corner was the M-14 that Dave had been so proud of.
Antiques my ass,
he thought as he quickly
loaded the rifle. Then he went to the barn again.
At first he couldn’t find the girl, then he heard her on the other side of the loft. Walking carefully over to
her, he smiled and held his hands open out to the sides. “Young lady, you don’t need to be afraid. I’m
not going to hurt you. What’s your name? I’m George. George Blanton.” He patted himself on the chest
and said his name several more times, just like in the movies. The girl continued to stare at him.
“Are you hungry?” he suddenly asked, desperately trying to get some reaction out of her. He took a step
forward and reached out his hand.
The girl shrank away from him, shouting, “
Fass mich nicht an!
” She was trying to crowd herself farther
into the corner, and her eyes were so wide that he could see the whites all around.
He still didn’t understand what she was saying, but the way that she was acting made her meaning clear.
She was still frightened. “Okay, I’ll just stay over here,” George replied softly, taking a step back. “Are
you hungry?” he asked, pantomiming eating. The girl didn’t say anything, but she swallowed and licked
her lips. George nodded and backed away.
The footlockers in the loft were all labeled, and he picked one marked READY TO EAT. In it he found
vacuum packed beef jerky, crackers that might still be edible, and an assortment of Army MREs. Where
Dave had gotten
them
, he had never asked. And after asking to try one once, he had never asked that
again either.
Sheesh! The things they feed to soldiers.
Grabbing some jerky strips, he turned back to the
girl. She was watching him intently, and he tossed two strips to her.
She picked them up and looked at them with wide eyes and a confused expression on her face. George
cleared his throat to get her attention, and, when she looked up, tore one of the packages open and took
a bite of the jerky. Or at least he tried. The tough meat gave his dentures a real workout.
The girl looked carefully at the package in her hand, then followed George’s example. The plastic clearly
confused her, but it was when she took a bite of the meat that she finally showed some sign of life. The
first piece disappeared in seconds, and the second quickly followed. And after a few moments she had
the reaction that George had been waiting for. She began swallowing and trying to clear her throat.
Whatever else you wanted to say about jerky, it was dry as a bone.
George smiled and waved for her to follow him as he climbed down from the loft. There was a sink in
the barn, and he always kept a cup or two handy. Now he made a big show of getting something to drink
as the girl watched over the edge of the loft.
She finally gathered her courage and her skirts and climbed down, nervously watching over her shoulder
to make sure that George didn’t try anything while her back was turned. Once her bare feet were on the
ground, she carefully walked toward him. George put an old coffee mug on the side of the sink and left
the water running as he stepped back.
The girl came forward cautiously, watching George all of the time. When she reached the sink, she
picked up the old red and white checked mug and looked it over carefully, then got some water. She
seemed to find the running water fascinating, and trailed her fingers through it as she drank. After three
mugs of water, she put the cup down.
George was watching her carefully, and moved over to the side of the barn, staying in her field of vision,
and picked up a scrap of cloth. He tossed it to her, but she just caught it and stood there. He
pantomimed washing his face, and she dropped the cloth and backed away. Then her eyes opened wide
and she looked past him down the road.
George spun around, unslinging the rifle and bringing it up to his shoulder fairly quickly. Scanning the
area carefully, he turned back when there was a sound behind him. He glanced back just in time to see
her disappear into the loft again.
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