The Passage

his arm coming around the front and holding Frank's good arm in a grip tight

enough to keep him from striking out in pain. Big Tom calls out.

Now!

Big Tom pulls as Frank cries out and lurches back, kicking his feet. Red is

standing at the ready, a splint made from a chair leg in his hands, with Billy

at his elbow, trying to help. Behind them is a drama just as compelling,

going unnoticed. Tammy is squeezed back into the corner of the room, hugging

one of her dolls, her face a frozen mask and voice silenced.

An hour later the winds have stopped howling. Red throws the bolts holding

the storm door tightly shut, and pushes on the door slightly, opening it a

crack. Big Tom, hesitant and cautious, sticks his head out, glancing around.

All is calm, only the broken landscape attesting to what had occurred only an

hour before. Big Tom is closely followed by his Billy, with Red and Martha

bobbing up and down behind them, trying to see. Martha blinks and struggles

to hold back her tears, seeing the life they built so painstakingly

devastated.

34

Every building tossed a kilter, branches torn off any trees left standing, and

the windmill a twisted tangle in the corner of the barnyard. Big Tom says,

At least we're still alive.

And then, showing his practical nature.

I'll go see if I can get the pump to work . . we need

to store and hold any clean water in the tank before

it drains away.

Big Tom walks through the splintered wreckage that was the house and barn.

Red remains behind, his hand on Billy's shoulder, as they both stand silent

and still. Martha has her hand to her mouth, the family frozen at the sight.

_______________________________

Where cataclysmic forces tear civilized trappings asunder, nature often

remains unruffled. Except for an occasional tree limb tossed into the tall

weeds, the pasture lands look much the same. A horse and rider emerge from

the cow path that wends through the woods, riding hard.

Netty, her hair coming apart and looking like it hasn't been combed in days,

is on the run. Her cream colored jodhpurs are black in places, soiled beyond

hope, attesting to the fact that Netty has been living in them for days. Her

face is oily and dusty, and the horse is covered with dust where the sweat is

now rolling off its flanks. They are on the run. She slows the horse when she

gets to the next clump of trees, turning to look over her shoulder. Netty sees

what she fears, coming behind her, and speaks quietly to her horse, setting

off again.

Haw

The group at the farmhouse has constructed a makeshift tent set up over a rope

strung between trees, weighed down by rocks along the edges of blankets hung

over the rope. Bedding of all kinds has been stuffed inside the tent, with

some laundry hung on another rope strung nearby. Life goes on. A fire is

smoldering between some stones and a pot is hung on a hook overhead, some

metal from the wrecked barn used to rig a metal beam over the fire. A menage

of wooden chairs salvaged from the house is set near a table with three legs,

the fourth corner stabilized on a barrel.

In the distance Netty comes into view, ridding hard. At first only a few

puffs of dust are visible, but then the figure of a horse and rider. Netty is

raised high in the stirrups, English style, leaning forward over the big bay's

shoulders, helping the weary horse carry its burden as easily as possible.

Martha rises from where she is washing and peeling potatoes and carrots for

soup, watching Netty race toward the tent city.

35

Netty dismounts before the horse stops, swinging her legs alongside the horse

and under its nose, signaling the horse to stop short. The bay braces its

front legs, it's rear haunches splaying outward in a frantic bracing motion.

She says,

They're coming . .

Martha, stuttering, her hand to her throat.

Wwwwho, wwho's coming?

Big Tom is rushing up, a rifle in his hands, setting the rifle to the firing

position. He has a grim look in his eyes, his jaw set, as he has been braced

for intruders and needs no explanation from Netty. She sees an ally in his

face, their eyes meeting, and she quickly explains.

I'm Netty Finley, Buck Finley's granddaughter. I was

at the Clearwater Resort when it happened.

Among friends at last, Netty allows her face to shows the strain of the past

few days. Big Tom glances at the horizon, scanning, impatient for her

explanation. Netty is shaken.

They killed them all .. all .. even the baby. .

Netty is having a hard time talking, overcome, but fighting the urge to

collapse into weeping, clearly due and coming. Glancing up into Big Tom's

eyes, Netty pointedly explains.

I think they're following me.

Big Tom, meeting her eyes, nods at her briefly, his jaw set, a silent

understanding between them.

An open top jeep is following puffs of dust in the distance and soil recently

pounded with horse hooves, tracks evident, following Netty. Engine revving and

the voices of young males, the Groggin brothers, whooping it up as though on

the hunt for a prey that can't get away.

Yeehaw!