Ted was repairing one of the doghouses, while Clyde worked a cowhide, preparing to make it into ropes of rawhide. Off to the left, thirteen-year-old Agnes was practicing throwing sharp silver stars into trees. Thunk-thunk-thunk. Marthe was whittling wood to make a slingshot. Donna was over at the clothesline, pinning up sheets. Dad and Mad Earl had gone into Homer.
Thelma threw a bucket of sudsy water over the table, sent the fish innards sliding to the muddy ground, where the dogs fought over them.
Seated in a chair, with Moppet on the ground beside her, chattering away about some bird’s nest she’d found, Leni worked at repairing a crab pot.
There was an uneasiness in camp now. Ever since Mr. Walker had shown up at the compound and reminded the Harlans that his place in their lives had been secured long ago—and offered well-paying jobs—Leni had seen the way the adults looked at one another. Or, to be more precise, didn’t look at one another.
A schism had opened. Not only in town, but also here, at the Harlan compound. Leni wasn’t always sure who was on what side, but the adults knew. She was pretty sure Dad hadn’t spoken to Thelma or Ted since that night.
A horn honked loudly enough to startle Leni. She dropped the crab pot, which landed hard on her ankle. She yelped and kicked it aside.
Dad’s truck rolled in and parked by the toolshed.
Both doors opened at once; Dad and Mad Earl exited the pickup.
Dad reached into the back, grabbed a big cardboard box, hefted it into his arms. The box rattled and clanged as Dad carried it into the compound. He went to the high ground by the beehives and looked out at the people. Mad Earl stepped up and stood beside him. The old man looked tired, or more tired than usual. He’d lost most of his hair in the past year and the lines in his forehead looked like they’d been etched in place. White hair sprouted from his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, his ears.
“Gather ’round,” Mad Earl said, gesturing.
Thelma wiped her hands on her dirty pant leg and joined her husband.
Leni sidled up to Mama. “They look drunk,” she said.
Mama nodded, lit a cigarette. They walked forward, stood beside Thelma.
Standing on the ridge above them like some high priest, Dad smiled down at the people gathered before him.
Leni recognized his Big Idea smile. She’d seen it lots of times. A beginning; he loved them.
Dad placed a hand on Earl’s shoulder, gave a meaningful squeeze. “Earl here has welcomed me and my family into this safe, wonderful place you’ve created. We almost feel like Harlans. That’s how warm you’ve all been. I know how much Thelma’s friendship means to Cora. Honestly, we have never felt that we belonged anywhere until now.” He put the box down with a rattling clank, pushed it aside with the blunt toe of his rubber boot. “Bo wanted me to have his cabin. Why? So I could bring what I know to this family. He wanted someone here he could trust to protect his family. As you all know, I have taken that responsibility seriously. Each of you is a crack shot. You are also adept with a bow and arrow. Your bug-out bags are packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. We are ready for martial law or nuclear war or a pandemic. Or so I thought.”
Leni saw Thelma frown.
“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.”