Page 39 of Snake

“I wouldn’t call, but everybody else is on a job, and Abigail called for some help. I can’t handle it on my own.”

“Abigail Freeman?”

Mel chuckled softly, then cut it off, like he remembered Cox wasn’t in the mood for frivolity today. Not that he ever was.

“Only other Abigail I know around here is eight years old, Cox. Yeah, I mean Abigail Freeman.”

Abigail Freeman had a little place in the hills north of town, and a decent-size herd of goats she rented out as brushers. She also made soaps and lotions and shit like that. When she had new kids, she did tours, where little children could pet the babies and give them some milk. She also had a mixed fruit orchard, as well as the usual complement of chickens, and a couple herd dogs.

Her yard was full of whirligigs and windchimes, garden gnomes and stonework animals. Her house was bright purple with black trim. She dressed in flowing cotton dresses in bright colors, even when she was working with her goats. And as far as anyone knew, she’d never been anything but alone. Abigail Freeman was one of Signal Bend’s ‘characters.’

What Cox knew best about her was that nobody in the state of Missouri, or possibly the whole world, made better pies and jams.

She was a nice lady, one of the few people in the world Cox thought was truly decent. A loner, but not some Unabomber psycho. Just somebody who kept to herself unless there was a need she could fill. A hundred years ago, people probably would have called her a spinster. Four hundred years ago, they probably would have burned her at the stake.

She didn’t like to make a fuss, so it was unusual for her to call the Horde for help.

“What’s she need?”

“She was out with the goats this week, and when she came back, somebody’d trashed her place while she was gone. Looks like they drove straight through the goat barn. They tore up her yard, killed a bunch of chickens, spray-painted nasty shit on her house, made a whole damn mess.”

Mel’s voice had taken on a dangerous rasp as he’d spoken. Mel was one of the mellower patches and probably the most good-natured; it took a lot to get him mad. But when he got there, look the fuck out.

On the other hand, Cox was mad every day from the moment his eyes opened to the last blink of the night. Perhaps especially today, it took nothing to ignite his rage. “What the fuck?”

“She was cryin’, Cox. I can’t let that sit until everybody gets back tonight, but it sounds like it’s too much for one guy. I need you, brother. She needs us.”

“You know what today is,” Cox reminded him.

“I do, yeah. I’m sorry.”

Cox sighed. “I gotta go to my mom. If she’s doing okay, I’ll help after I get her back home. But if she’s not,” and he did not expect her to be, “I gotta stay with her. I’ll let you know.”

“Heard. Thanks, man. I’ll go over myself and do what I can until I hear from you.”

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~oOo~

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As Cox drove to his mother’s house, he passed the property Autumn Rooney and her company had bought a few months back. SBC had the construction contract, and they’d razed the old buildings. They were scheduled to break ground soon, after their current job—the last homes in a new suburban Springfield development—was complete.

For now, the large lot was a muddy hole. A big, cheerful sign stood up front with a rendering of the finished project and the promise: Coming Soon! Signal Bend Pavilion! A Heartland Homestead! Bringing the Best to You and Yours! A MidWest Growth & Progress Project.

Though he’d been instrumental in turning around the club’s attitude about Autumn and her big plans, Cox rolled his eyes as he drove by the sign. Its blazing cheerfulness came off as condescending. A strip mall, no matter what it looked like or what it promised, was not going to turn any town into a Utopia.

Autumn’s seemingly sincere belief that her ‘Heartland Homestead’ would be some kind of magic pill had not swayed him to talk to Badger about giving up a fight they’d already lost. If anything, it was that shitty notion she’d planted in his head, that Signal Bend was a ‘company town.’

She maybe wasn’t completely off base about that.

Cox had lived his whole life in Signal Bend, and he’d grown up revering the men who wore the Flaming Mane. He’d been a kid when some rich, three-piece-suit motherfucker had sent in an army to mow people down in the streets, but he and his brother had taken up arms in that fight. He’d been there to see the Horde save the town.

He’d been nearly a man when a drug lord had sent another army to destroy the town and bring the club to its knees, he’d sat with his mom and brother in town hall meetings while people screamed at Isaac, blaming him, but in the end, the Horde had saved them all again, and sacrificed a great deal in the effort.

Now he had a patch himself, and to no small degree becoming Horde had saved him. He had purpose, he had direction, and he had a way to be that he understood. His mother was everything, but alone with her in that dark, sad house, he would have drowned. The way she was drowning.

To Cox, and to most of the townsfolk he knew, the Night Horde was why Signal Bend was strong. From inside the Keep, he understood that the club had the town’s best interest at heart. Their control over Signal Bend wasn’t about power; it was about keeping home home.

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