Page 6 of Homestead

I’m entirely vulnerable now. And this man is currently the only thing standing between me and some sort of dangerous gang members who might attack me.

I’m not going to get on his bad side.

If you can’t be strong, you have to be smart.

That’s what Grandpa always said.

* * *

Jimmy and I make the rest of the trip in silence. It only takes about half an hour, so I barely have time to adjust to my new situation.

The one without Grandpa. The one where I’m alone.

After a while, the vast stretches of emptiness transform into a community of small farms and houses. They’re not like our neighborhood back in Arkansas—large new builds ordered neatly on neighboring lots. These homes are older and obviously repaired numerous times. Most have a motley collection of outbuildings.

But there are animals too. A lot of them. Chickens and pigs and goats and at least one big dog running out to bark at us on nearly every property.

In one pasture we pass, there are a few horses. And in another there’s a large herd of cows.

“That’s the Hurleys,” Jimmy says, nodding toward the cows as I stare at them. “They’re the only ones with cows around here. My folks had some, but they didn’t make it even a year after Impact.”

“Can’t they get a few from the Hurleys?”

“Probably. Hurleys are willin’ to trade. Had some folks come from the east a couple years back to get some since they lost all their cattle after Impact. They’re planning to come back to these parts to trade next year. So it’s not because the Hurleys are unwillin’. But tending cows is a big operation. They’re not as easy as pigs and chickens. And my folks decided to put their energy into other things. They plant all the wheat and oats and corn around here. One farm with cows nearby is enough. We all get milk from them.”

“Oh. Of course.” I keep staring, feeling like I’ve been transported into a book about pioneers.

I haven’t had anything except canned evaporated milk in nine years.

When I glance over, I see Jimmy looking at me as if he’s expecting some sort of reaction. I’m going to need help. A lot of it. Since he clearly belongs to this community, it would be good to have him on my side.

So I smile at him as sweetly as I can. “It’s real nice around here. Y’all have done a great job. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He drops his eyes and makes a harrumphing sound in his throat. I guess I didn’t do so great at buttering him up.

“My folks live over that hill.”

“Okay.” I have no idea what else to say. Grandpa always said it’s good to compliment people to get on their good side, but I’m not sure how I can say something nice about a place I haven’t even seen. So instead, I say, “Thanks for helping me.”

That attempt isn’t successful either. He frowns with both his mouth and his eyebrows. “As if I’d leave a girl by herself on the border. Be a death sentence or worse.”

I don’t want to speculate about or imagine what the worse might have been. It’s finally settling in the very real danger I was in after Grandpa got shot. It’s an honest-to-God miracle that Jimmy happened to be there and knew what to do.

Something inside me starts to shake. I try not to let it spread to my fingers and knees. “Thank you,” I whisper, looking down at my bloodstained jeans and letting loose strands of my long blond hair that’s escaped my ponytail hang forward to hide my face.

He ducks his head down to see my expression beyond them. “Don’t be scared, girlie. Good people in these parts. You’re gonna be okay.”

* * *

The evening passes in a chaotic blur. I’m not sure how I even manage to get through it.

Jimmy’s mom is Greta Carlson. She’s a tall, attractive woman who looks like she might be in her sixties. She gives me a warm welcome and chides Jimmy about how he must have scared me, whisking me away while looking like a big, raggedy bear. She’s clearly an efficient person who likes to stay busy and expects everyone else to do the same. I never really understood what bustling meant when I read it in books until I see the word come to life in her.

Her husband, Ben, is big like Jimmy but is clean-shaven and has gray hair. He doesn’t say much, but that must be his nature. He tells me he’s sorry about my granddad and they’ll bury him tomorrow in a field they’ve been using as a cemetery if that’s all right with me.

Grandpa would rather have been buried in the forest he loved, but that’s not an option anymore. I accept the offer with gratitude and offer to help dig.

Jimmy makes a sound in his throat like a laugh at that, and I don’t appreciate it. I’m not big and strong, but I’m capable of digging. And that is my grandfather after all.

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