“What do you mean?” Clyde asked, uncrossing his beefy arms.
“Last week, an enemy walked onto this land as easy as you please. No one stopped him. Nothing stopped him. He came in here and used words—and bribes—to put a wedge between us. You know it’s true. You feel the dissension. It’s all because of Tom Walker.”
Thelma muttered, “Here we go.”
“Ernt,” Ted said. “It’s just a job. We need the money.”
Dad raised his hands, smiling.
(Leni knew that smile: it was not a sign of happiness.)
“I am not blaming anyone. I understand. I’m just pointing out a danger you’ve missed. When TSHTF, our neighbors will all have sob stories to tell. They’ll want what we have and you’ll want to give it to them. You’ve known them a long time. I get it. So I’m here to protect you from yourselves, too.”
“Bo woulda wanted that,” Mad Earl said. He rolled a cigarette and lit it up, taking a drag so deep Leni thought he might die on the spot. “Tell ’em,” Mad Earl said, finally exhaling.
Dad squatted down, opened the cardboard flaps of the box, and reached in. He then got back to his feet, holding a plank of wood that had been studded with hundreds of nails, hammered in close to each other to make what looked like a weapon. In his other hand, he held a hand grenade. “No one is ever going to just walk into this place again. First, we’re going to build a wall and put razor wire on top. Then we’ll dig a ditch around the perimeter, in the places where attackers will come in. We’ll fill it with these nail beds, broken glass, spikes. Anything we can think of.”
Thelma laughed.
“This ain’t no joke, missy,” Mad Earl said.
“You put the grenade in a mason jar,” Dad said, beaming at his cleverness. “We remove the pin, put the grenade in the jar, and compress the safety lever. Then we bury it. When someone steps on it, the jar breaks, and kablooey.”
No one spoke. They just stood there, dogs barking in the background.
Mad Earl clapped Dad on the back. “Hell of an idea, Ernt. Hell of an idea.”
“No,” Thelma said. And then: “No. No.”
With Mad Earl’s cackle going full volume, it took a moment for Thelma’s quieter voice to be heard. She pushed her way to the front, then took another step, until she was standing alone, the point of the arrow. “No,” she said again.
“No?” her father said, his mouth squelching up.
“He’s off his rocker, Dad,” Thelma said. “We have children here. And, let’s face it, more than a few drinkers. We can’t booby-trap the perimeter of our home with buried explosives. We’ll kill one of us, most likely.”
“Your job isn’t security, Thelma,” Dad said. “It’s mine.”
“No, Ernt. My job is keeping my family safe. I’ll go along with stockpiling food and creating water filtration. I’ll teach my daughter useful skills, like shooting and hunting and trapping. I’ll even let you and my dad yammer on about nuclear war and pandemics, but I am not going to worry every day of my life that we could accidentally kill someone for no reason.”
“‘Yammer on’?” Dad said, his voice going low.
Everyone started talking at once, arguing. Leni felt the schism between them rip free, crack wide open; they separated into two groups. Those who wanted to be a family (most of them) versus those who wanted to be able to kill anyone who came close (Dad and Mad Earl and Clyde).
“We’ve got kids here,” Thelma said. “You have to remember that. We can’t have bombs or booby traps.”
“But they could just walk in here with machine guns,” Dad said, looking for support. “Kill us and take what we have.”
Leni heard Moppet say, “Could they, Mom? Could they?”
The argument re-erupted. The adults clotted together, went toe-to-toe, voices raised, faces red.
“Enough!” Mad Earl finally said, raising his skeletal hands in the air. “I can’t have this happening to my family. And we do got little ones.” He turned to Dad. “Sorry, Ernt. I gotta side with Thelma.”
Dad took a step back, put distance between him and the old man. “Sure, Earl,” he said tightly, “whatever you say, man.”
Just like that, the argument ended for the Harlans. Leni saw the way they came together as a family, forgave each other, began talking about other things. Leni wondered if any of them even noticed how her father hung back, how he watched them, the way his mouth flattened into an angry line.
SIXTEEN
In May, the sandpipers returned by the thousands, flying overhead in a swarm of wings, touching down briefly in the bay before continuing their journey north. So many birds returned to Alaska in this month that the sky was constantly busy and the air was loud with birdsong and squawking and cawing.
Usually, this time of year, Leni would lie in bed listening to the noises, identifying each bird by its song, noting the season’s passing by their arrivals and departures, looking forward to summer.
This year was different.
There were only two weeks of school left.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Dad said as he turned the truck into the school parking lot. He parked next to Matthew’s pickup.
“I’m fine,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
“It’s the security, isn’t it?”
Leni turned to look at him. “What?”
“You and your mom have been sorta mopey and glum since our last time at the Harlans’ place. I know you’re scared.”
Leni just stared at him, unsure of what the right answer was. He had been extra edgy since the fallout at the Harlan place.
“Thelma’s an optimist. One of those head-in-the-sanders. Of course she doesn’t want to face the truth head-on. ’Cuz it’s ugly. But looking away is no answer. We need to prepare for the worst. I would die before I’d let anything happen to you or your mom. You know that, right? You know how much I love you both.” He tousled her hair. “Don’t worry, Red. I’ll keep you safe.”
She got out of the truck and slammed the door shut behind her, then hauled her bicycle out from the truck bed. Settling her backpack strap over one shoulder, she leaned her bike against the fence and headed toward the school.
Dad honked the horn and drove away.
“Pssssst! Leni!”
She glanced sideways.
Matthew stood hidden in the trees across from the school. He waved her over.
Leni waited for her dad’s truck to disappear around the corner and then hurried over to Matthew. “What’s up?”
“Let’s skip school today and take the Tusty into Homer.”
“Skip school? Homer?”
“Come on! It’ll be fun.”
Leni knew all the reasons to say no. She also knew that today was a minus tide and her dad was going to be clamming all morning.
“We won’t get caught, and even if we do, big whoop. We’re seniors. It’s May. Don’t seniors in the Outside skip all the time?”
Leni didn’t think it was a good idea, thought it might even be dangerous, but she couldn’t say no to Matthew.
She heard the low, elegiac honking of the ferry’s horn as it neared the dock.
Matthew reached out for Leni’s hand, and the next thing she knew they were running out of the school’s parking lot and up the hill, past the old church, and out onto the waiting ferry.
Leni stood on the deck, holding on to the railing as the boat eased away from land.
All summer, the trusty Tustamena hauled Alaskans around—fishermen, adventurers, laborers, tourists, even high school sports teams. The hull was full of cars and supplies: construction equipment, tractors, backhoes, steel beams. To the few hardy tourists who used the boat as a blue-collar cruise to remote destinations, the ferry crossing was a pretty way to spend the day. To locals, this was simply the way to town.
Leni had ridden this ferry hundreds of times in her life, but never had she felt the sense of freedom on it that she felt now. Or possibility. As if maybe this old ship could sail her right into a brand-new future.