* * *
The meeting in the gymnasium was not the tedious affair that George had feared. The information was mostly a rehash of what he already knew. They were stuck in 1631 Germany. It was spring. There was a huge war raging around them. And some ass from out of town thought that they ought to chase Anna and her people away. George was on his feet, shouting at the top of his lungs as John Simpson referred to his little Anna as a disease carrier. He hadn’t been this angry since—well, he couldn’t remember when he had ever been this angry.
Mike Sterns took the podium next and expressed his own displeasure with Simpson’s comments, and George felt his admiration of the boy growing. Damn it all, now he understood why Dave had thought the world of Mike’s leadership abilities. And of Mike as a person. The boy had what it took to lead a mob of hillbillies like these.
When the vote came, George added his voice to those for Mike and his agenda. Screw that stuffed suit. His kind had been why George had retired at age fifty-five, even though he could have continued on for another eight years. The stuffed suits had driven him out.
George left the gym with a definite feeling of unease, but a sense of purpose as well. Stuck here and on their own, he knew one thing for certain: they needed to plant crops. Food, as it had been pointed out, was going to be a priority. No arable land could be left fallow, and he had—well, he had Mary’s garden. He hadn’t planted it in years since her death, but it was good land. Maybe better now for having been left alone for a while.
George returned to the clinic and found both Anna and Tilda ready to go. Doctor Adams was there as well, slowly shaking his head. “Mr. Blanton, I’m glad to see you. It seems that my patient wants to leave.”
“Already?” George asked, looking at Tilda.
“I go. Not gut to aufenthault, to stay. Go heim.” Tilda nodded sharply at her last remark and stood.
“Well, home is my house for now. I’m sure Anna has told you that you have a place with me. Your house is… damaged.” George looked away, saddened by the memories that were going to be part of that house for years to come.
Anna and her mother shared a sharp exchange of words, with Anna stamping her foot and saying something that needed no translation. George interrupted, earning a nasty glare from both of them.
“If you want to go back to your farm, I’ll take you, but I really think that you’d be better off with me.”
Again Tilda looked him in the eye and said, “Go heim.”
George sighed and nodded, then led the way out of the clinic and school with a loudly chattering Anna and Tilda right behind him. At the truck it took all of Anna’s powers of persuasion to get her mother into the cab and belted in. Tilda still took the ride in white-knuckled silence with an indescribable expression on her face.
The end of the road was where the three first saw the true extent of the Ring of Fire. The cliff had crumbled due to the traffic over it that first day, but it was still a mighty testimony that something tremendous had happened. George let Anna help her mother up the bank while he struggled up on his own. His balance was hampered by the M-14 in his hands, but there was nothing that could have convinced him not to take it.
At the farm they saw the evidence of the firefight and its aftermath. The house stood, but the interior was a wreck. A fly-infested stain near the barn told of spilled blood. George stood outside, scanning the area carefully while the two women searched the house.
Anna was the first to come out, her face tear-streaked and puffy. Tilda was not far behind. Her eyes were bleak with despair. All that they’d had was ruined, ravaged by the same men who had ravished her. Now she looked at George with pleading in her eyes. With the farm so thoroughly despoiled, they had only one hope.