A houseboat. Finegan Fine

The farmer says,

Shore patrol, yeah.

Finegan introduces himself.

I’m a trader. Been all along the new coastline

since Georgia. Might have something you folks

need, been lookin for. We don’t raid and run,

that’s for sure.

Finegan casts a glance to his right, down river down the shoreline.

Recon it’s safe to leave my boat there? Do they

come up this far, during the day?

The farmer meets the eyes of the others for a moment, getting

confirmation on what he is about to say.

Look, I’ll come back with you and show you a

good bay, out of view and all. If there’s a

problem here, we’ll hear about it.

The farmer raises a horn he has been holding in one hand. It’s a

child’s toy trumpet made of plastic. He hands the trumpet to one of the

others and steps into the water to step into the canoe.

______________________________

82

Finegan and the Farmer are emerging from some woods near a tumbledown

farm. They are walking side by side, but the farmer is leading

slightly. They are talking as they walk toward the collapsed barn and

house. Joey is bringing up the rear, dawdling to look at things in the

woods as he goes. These woods are different from the woods along the

coastline of Georgia, where he had been raised.

The farmer has bib coveralls on, farmer boots that come up near to his

knees, and for a shirt is wearing dirty long johns. He is balding, has

not shaved in days, and a few wild hairs are growing out of his ears

and eyebrows. Appearance is the least of his worries. The farmer is

explaining their troubles.

Can’t get our rest at night. They sleep during

the day, I guess. Half of us sleep during the

day and patrol at night, the other half patrol

during the day, and no work gets done. Hell of

a business.

Exploring for a solution, Finegan asks,

If you could see at night, as well as day,

could you cut your night patrol?

The farmer responds,

You mean lights? We ain’t got those no how.

Finegan continues to explore for a solution.

No, I mean night vision goggles. I’ve got

several from a military depot. If you had a few

people on high points, good view of the water,

how many needed to sight the boats incoming?

Now the farmer ponders.

Well, lessee. . .

The farmer has stopped in his tracks to mentally compute, and is

pointing off into the air in a half circle where the water surrounds

the farming community.

I guess 3 at the least, best off would be 5,

but 3 would do it.

Finegan is finally onto something.

OK, I’ve got those 3. Next step. Trip wires.

You got wild life that would trip wires 3 feet

or more above ground? You cleaned out the deer

around here?

The farmer laughs.

Oh, deer are extinct! We kept our breeding

stock and the chickens in the house, slept

outside, but the deer, they got taken out.

Finegan says,

83

From what I seed of that group, they’d not be

inclined to crawl along the ground. We could

trip wire the whole perimeter to see off

alarms. Double trip it, in fact.

In what is to be their typical response, the farmer says,

I got no wire a’tall.

And once again, Finegan to the rescue.

I do. Plenty enough. Fine wire, but it won’t

break. Now, next step. Best is something like a

bell, a clang, can’t mistake it, ya’know. Have

your night vision guys with a bell too.

The farmer says,

I got no bells.

Finegan says,

I do. Lets get started.

Finegan turns to put his hand out for a handshake with the farmer.

What’cha got in trade?

______________________________

The night, along the humid river front, is filled with the sounds of

insects singing. Finegan, the farmer, and several other farming folk

are sitting in the shadows of an outdoor camp next to the collapsed

farmhouse and barn. Occasionally someone swats a mosquito. No one is

saying a word, all listening intently, eyes ranging along the perimeter

of the farmstead. Suddenly there is the sound of a clanging bell,

followed minutes later by a second clanging bell of a different pitch,

coming from a different direction. Finegan points.