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We enter the ranch-house, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, look about, and by all appearance the place is neat as a pin, weirdly spotless, almost sterile… directed down a short hallway eventually led to an untenanted room, sparely furnished, a table surrounded by a dozen metal folding chairs, with a fake potted plant in the corner and a small metal bookcase containing several well aged books. The walls are white. Pointing, ordered to “sit there, in front of the window, hands on the table palms up.”
The two from the roof were now stationed at the doorway. Emotionless, watching their leader.
Sitting across, she began, “I got maybe five minutes. I’ll say this once. We are being watched. The Regional government employs… spy’s. Every day, observed. Your gang watched every day. Your community watched. We were advised or threatened. Told you would eventually approach us, make some kind of offer, a deal, whatever. If we reciprocated, they, the militia, would crush us. This cabal, directed by a woman not to be trifled with, lacking compassion, and not fond of you. Whatever you have done has left her with an intense desire to garner revenge.”
“For now, think of us as a ‘Honey Pot’, a lure designed to draw you in. And, here you are. My advice, stay away!”
“Do you want us to stay away?” Addison asks.
I could see by the long pause there was more. Are they detainees in a ‘prison’ subjected to mistreatment? Physically or mentally abused? Or taken care of. If so, I wondered at what cost. The words ‘honey pot’ still echoing in my mind. Addison broke once again the silence.
“Again, do you want us to return?”
Silence. The situation was surreal.
“Your name?” I ask.
“Claire.”
“How many occupants?”
Without hesitation, “Twelve. Time is up. We will escort you to the end of the drive, at which time you need to exit stage left, quickly. Do not look back.”
“One last time, do you want to leave?” Addison repeated.
Claire and Addison make eye contact, mere seconds, but wondered what was communicated in that moment.
Intervene? It will be a drain on our resources that will wear everyone down. The escalation, potentially deadly.
Withdrawal? It will anger many, especially the Committee seeking expansion. As this is it, just sit and stare. A warning or what? This all made no sense.
Raising my hand, “I have a question.”
The guards respond to my movement.
“We’re done, stand-up,” Claire orders.
“What’s the…”
“Shut-up! Get up.”
Standing, head out. I noticed the smell of wet soil, light shining from an attached room, perhaps a garden. Did I hear a moo? On the table, torn parchment, someone had scribbled the word… la ayuda. Outside, approach our mounts when I turn to ask… find myself doubled up on the ground, clutching my solar plexus, gasping for air, eyes watering, a rifle barrel next to my head, hear a gentle voice whisper, sorry. Struggle to mount my horse, and with Addison, head toward the exit, followed. Without looking back, head homeward. My mind cluttered with the recent events as we rode in silence.
Was this a well-rehearsed ruse? Outreach, a plea for help?
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