Gated Community
Walt Staples





The call came in

just as the meal began. It was Ben. “Tad, we got a leaker.”

Tad said a word he shouldn’t have loud enough for his two children at table with their mother to hear. Both broke into giggles behind their hands as his wife glared at him.

Tad came back to the table, picked up his cup, and drained it. He was careful not to meet Sal’s eye as he set it down. His wife minced no words. “I suppose you’re planning to run off again?”

He lifted his equipment down from the hook. “Don’t have a lot of choice.”

She leaned forward, teeth gritted though her voice was level. “Why can’t Ben do it?”

“Takes two.”

She relented slightly. “He’s big enough to make two and a half.”

Tad grinned. “Not upstairs. Sorry, Hon, one of the joys of being paired off with a peace officer.”

Sal came around the table and hugged him hard. “Momma was right about you, but so was Papa, so I guess it evens out.” She looked up into his eyes. “You be careful out there, you hear? You go and get your fool self killed and I’ll never speak to you again.”

*

Ben was waiting for him at the gate. With an open hand he pointed at the ground. “Here’s the tracks, Tad.”

Tad bent to examine the dusty path. “Hmm, one set. Medium sized. Either a medium male or big female.”

Ben rubbed the top of his head. “Lordy, I sure do hope it’s a male. I still ain’t recovered from that female last spring.”

Tad grinned as he stood up. “I don’t know, I think she took kind of a shine to you.”

Ben winced. “Shine? More like a chunk of my hide.” He returned to business. “How you want to handle this here leaker?”

Tad thought a moment. “No screams, so it hasn’t gotten to the settlement yet. But it is headed that way.” He came to a decision. “Let’s head across Slow Creek. If it goes around Mill Pond like I think, we should be waiting for it at the Meadow Entrance.”

The two peace officers stepped off at a respectable pace. There was no need to run and they wanted to arrive silently and rested. Ben, always the talkative one, asked, “When is Wazzo going to fix that gate? It’s been letting them get through for months?”

Tad, in the lead, shrugged. “You know Wazzo. Always one thing after another. Last week at the meeting, he swore up one side and down the other he’d get around to it this week.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. Seems like every time he tries to get around to it, all they got in stock are square ones.”

Tad smothered a laugh. Ben rarely came up with a good one, but when he did, it made them all the funnier. He made a motion for silence. While the leakers’ hearing was notoriously bad, as was their sight, their weapons made them dangerous. Tad’s father had been wounded badly by one years ago.

*

Tad and Ben had been lying in wait at the clearing known as the Meadow Entrance for a while. A branch snapped. Tad readied his net and looked across where Ben hid. Nothing of the big peace officer showed. Tad smiled. So, he was finally learning.

A small figure stepped into the clearing. Tad noted it held one of the long weapons—they’d have to be careful.

He watched it move towards the bush in which Ben hid. That wasn’t good. If it got too close, Ben wouldn’t have the time and space he needed to launch his net. The council had discussed

using something more lethal, but it had gone nowhere. The leakers were just too much like people. So the drill remained to capture them without hurting them and releasing them back on the other side of the gate. Unfortunately, the leakers didn’t seem to operate under the same rules of engagement.

One more step and the intruder would be on top of Ben. Tad threw his net. It spread out as it flew through the air. Just as it landed, its target took a step back and the net only hit on the leaker’s shoulder and slid to the ground. Tad leaped behind a white oak as the leaker jumped and brought the weapon to bear. There was a sharp explosion. A large chip of bark flew from the tree.

Tad peeped around the other side of the oak in time to see Ben materialize behind the leaker and pluck the weapon from its grasp. The leaker whirled and stared up at Ben. He gave it a big toothy grin and said, “Hi, there.” The leaker did what any normal creature would when confronted with the grin from something four times its size—it fainted.

Tad walked over to regard the prisoner. Ben, holding the weapon gingerly, remarked. “Medium male like you figured. See the hair on his face?”

Tad nodded. “Yeah, but not much. Just a little patch under his nose.” He crouched and fingered the textile that covered the leaker. “Fairly heavy. Not like that one in the summer. He had bare legs.”

“Yep. Didn’t have a weapon other than that little knife that folded. And those things that make things look close when you look through them.”

Tad laughed. “Yeah, just try to get them away from Wazzo. Says he’s still studying them. That thing that flips open with the pictures of the birds is interesting.”

Ben nudged the hard covering on the leaker’s foot. “What now for him?”

Tad shrugged. “The usual. Take him to the gate, toss him through, and reset the wards.”

“What about the weapon?”

Tad cocked his head as he reached up and ran a hand through the long, shaggy red-brown hair of his shoulder. “That goes to the bottom of Mill Pond where it’ll be out of everyone’s way.”

Ben grunted, “Okay. I’ll take care of that. You want some help with him?”

Tad rolled the leaker up into his net. “Naw, he shouldn’t be problem. Besides, as I remember, you had some trouble with the wards last time.”

“Make one little mistake and you never hear the end of it,” Ben grumped. “Anyway, the kid got back through to our side okay.”

Tad grinned and patted the enmeshed figure under his arm. “Yeah and the woods on the other side were full of these after he was seen. No, thank you. I like a quiet life.”

Tad turned and loped off toward the gate, the autumn breeze rippling the hair of his body.


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Walt Staples spent far too many years thinking the unthinkable for a living. He maintains this has had no effect on him though he admits to a predilection for collecting odd people and an inordinate thirst for Dr. Pepper. While his physical position is generally indeterminable, his heart is firmly located at 38.9N, 78.2W. He is a member of a number of organizations which shall remain nameless with the exception of the Catholic Writers’ Guild and the Lost Genre Guild--both of whose blackmail payments are in arrears. In lieu of the normal payments, he has been elected president of the CWG (a move that will no doubt prove more costly to that organization than the previous arrangement). He also wastes everyone’s time with his blog at: http://gkfields.blogspot.com.