I winced as my grandson slammed the back door. It echoed in the night like the crack of a rifle shot, even out where I was sitting. The banging door had become my grandson’s trumpeting herald. He’d been told and scolded and threatened for years, but he never remembered. His father and mother had been raised during a time when such noise could get them killed, but Whit knew only safety and stability.
“Don’t slam the door, Whit!” his mother yelled, almost as loud as the door had been.
I sighed and made sure the shotgun leaning against the wall beside me was within easy reach.
“Grandpa?”
“Behind the barn, Whit.”
He shuffled and scuffed across the courtyard, sending rocks bouncing ahead of him. Maybe the racket would do some good and scare off any snakes still soaking up warmth from the hard-packed ground. At eight, Whit thought he was too big to sit on my lap anymore, so he settled onto the bench beside me and leaned back against the splintered barn wall. His breath still carried onions from the potato soup.
“I thought you had homework after dinner?” I said.
“I do,” Whit said with a sigh. “But Emily was really annoying me, so Mom said I could come out here with you. But just a few minutes.”
“Well, I’m glad you came. I like your company.”
“Whatcha doing?” the boy said.
“Just stargazing. It’s a beautiful night. We can even see the Milky Way.”
He was quiet for a while, his silhouette cutting a black hole in the already dark night as he looked up.
“Dad said it used to be hard to see many stars because of the dust.”
My stomach knotted and a cold shiver swept over me. The asteroid impact in Mongolia had been horrible for those living there, but at least they had died quickly. The rest of the world tore itself apart as dust shrouded the entire planet, plunging us into a winter that lasted for three years. We had been so hungry. So many had died. So many had become . . . animals.
“Yep, the impact made a huge mess,” I said. “But even before that, it was hard to see many stars because there was so much light.”
Whit’s silhouetted face looked up. “People really used to live up there?”
“Yep.”
“Do you think we’ll build rockets again, soon enough for me to go into space?”
I smiled to myself in the dark. “Maybe. They’re already building new airplanes over in Huntsville, instead of patching up old ones. That’s a good sign. The first time around, it was only about fifty years between the Wright brother’s airplane and the first manned rocket, and they were developing the science as they went. It could be much quicker this time.”
He leaned against me and started picking at the planks of the bench.
“I’m going to go up there,” he said in an almost whisper. “Dad said the key is learning everything I can, especially in math.”
“You’re really going to go?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Then what are the Three Rules of Defense?” I said.
He groaned and slid down further on the bench. “What does that have to do with anything? There hasn’t been a bandit attack since before I was born!”
“You’re missing the point, Whit. It’s never a matter of if, but when.”
He muttered something beneath his breath, then sat up straighter and said, “The first rule is vigilance. We have to know about threats heading our way. The second rule is preparedness. Have the necessary tools built and ready. And the third rule is action. We have to defend ourselves when we have the ability to do so.”
I slipped my arm around his shoulders and hugged him to me. “Good job, Whit. Complacency is always our greatest failure.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, then stood up. “I better go in and do my homework.”
“Okay,” I said. “Try to talk your mom into saving me some corn bread.”
He laughed. “I think she already did,” he said over his shoulder, then was gone, running toward the house.
How quickly something like an asteroid impact could become ancient history. Were we destined to keep making the same mistakes?
The ever-alert, ever-ready part of me, developed during the hard years after the impact, sounded an alarm. The door hadn’t slammed. I hadn’t even heard it open or close. The kid couldn’t be that quiet. I stood and picked up my shotgun that leaned against the barn beside me.
Before I took two steps, a dark figure rounded the barn.
“Grandpa?”
Thankfully, I hadn’t raised the gun. “You spooked me, Whit.”
“Sorry,” he said, then hesitated.
“What is it?”
“I’ve been reciting these rules for years but just now realized something. The Three Rules of Defense aren’t really for bandits, are they?”
I squeezed Whit’s shoulder. “No.”
“I’ll never forget, Grandpa. I promise.” Then he turned and ran back toward the house.
Maybe he wouldn’t, I thought and settled back onto my bench. Then the slammed door echoed through the night. Of course, only time would tell.