Broken Justice

by Ralph Gibbs

  “Heading home to my ex-wife and kid.”

  “And where’s home?”

  “Charlotte, North Carolina.”

  “Going the wrong way, weren’t you?” Carl said.

  “Figured I’d pull a Huck Finn and raft down the Shenandoah. Less chance of running into trouble.” Franklin laughed and then grabbed at his side. “Turns out I was wrong.”

  “I’m confused,” Carl said. “If you’re from North Carolina, what were you doing all the way up here? Sightseeing?”

  “I was working at the prison.”

  “I see. I’ve been up to the prison a few times; don’t remember hearing about you.

  “I was a new hire. Came on, just before the plague started.”

  “I don’t remember hearing about a job opening. This close to the prison, people here pay attention to that. The prison was a major employer in the area.”

  Franklin tried to shrug. “Don’t know what to tell you. One of the veteran’s groups set up the interview.”

  “What branch?” Carl asked.

  “Army. Thirty-One Bravo.”

  “Military police?” Carl said.

  “For a few years.”

  “Then you know Ed Travers? He was ex-army as well. He liked to seek out ex-military at the prison and talk about old times.”

  “Afraid not, sheriff. As I said, I was only working there a few days when this shit started. After that, people stopped coming to work. I did know Andrew Pollard. He was sort of my mentor.”

  “I knew Andrew. He lived just outside of town here. He just got back from Germany if I remember correctly. I didn’t know he trained new hires. Usually, that’s Ed’s job.”

  “Andrew and Doreen went to Greece. Andrew hated it. Said he wanted to go to Bermuda and see tits on the beach but going to Greece would keep Doreen happy, so he went along with it. As for training, I think they were sending him a message.”

  “What message?”

  “From what he told me, he slapped around a prisoner and got caught on camera.”

  “Where were you staying?”

  “I hadn’t found a place to live, so I was staying at the hotel just down the road. Once the plague hit, I stayed at the jail full time. Then, everyone just left. Some guard told me to go home and not come back, so that’s what I did.”

  “And the prisoners?”

  “You would probably know more about that than me. I overheard you say you were heading up there.”

  “Never made it. I was planning on trying again next week.”

  “Why?” Franklin asked.

  “I wanted what’s in the armory, or more to the point, to keep others from getting at what’s in the armory. I also wanted to see if anyone was alive up there. And speaking of that . . .” Carl reached into his pocket and pulled out the plastic bag that held Franklin’s list of prisoners.

  “What’s this?” he asked, holding the paper out to Franklin.

  With an effort, Franklin reached up and took both the paper and bag. “A list of dead prisoners,” he said, with just a little anger in his voice. Carl knew he was from the prison the entire time.

  “I guessed as much. But why do you have it?”

  “To give it to whoever is in charge.”

  “In charge of what?” Carl asked.

  “Whatever’s left of the world,” Franklin said, annoyed.

  Gunilla took the sheriff’s arm in hers. “I think it’s time we let my patient get some rest. Besides, you promised to show me how to line dance. You two can talk more later.”

  “All right,” Carl said as he started to follow Gunilla outside. He turned to Franklin. “It was nice to meet you, Franklin. I’d like to talk more later.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “True.”

  “Men,” Paris said after the sheriff left. “Throw around a little charm, and they’re easily led around by their peckers. You think he bought your bullshit?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  “Uh-huh. Do I look like I have a dick between my legs?”

  “Leave me alone,” he said defensively. “You heard the doctor; I need my rest.”

  She picked up the magazine. “Uh-huh.”

  “You don’t have to stay here and watch me like I’m eight,” Franklin said gruffly. “Go out and play or something. Go learn to line dance. Or if you want to treat me like I’m eight, bring me some chicken soup.”

  Paris tossed the magazine on the side of the bed. “Here, just in case you want to know how to dress sexy this summer.” She walked to the door. “Do I have a curfew, Daddy?”

  “Bite me,” he said, closing his eyes.

  CHAPTER 29

  Franklin stepped defiantly through the creaky screen door and onto the porch sipping a glass of warm, sweet tea as if daring the world to dampen his first day outside since arriving at Round Hill. The screen door double-slapped shut behind him as he looked up into the afternoon sky and drank in the warm sun. Having been cooped up because of his injury, he was going stir-crazy lying in bed. When Gunilla finally proclaimed him fit enough to get out of bed, rainstorms kept him bottled up for another week. He’d lived in the south long enough to know the humidity would be stifling later this afternoon, but he didn’t care. Putting his glass down on the railing, he turned his body, trying to work out the kinks.

  “Gunilla will be pissed if you open that wound.”

  Franklin shielded his eyes from the sun to see Sheriff Ledford drinking a bottle of soda and sitting in an old wooden white rocker in desperate need of repainting.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff. What brings you out here?”

  “Just checking to see how you’re doing. Looks like you’re healing up nicely.”

  Franklin took a seat on the matching rocker next to the sheriff. “Where are the girls?” he asked, still shading his eyes.

  “I’ll be right back.” The screen door groaned as the sheriff disappeared inside. Coming back, he handed Franklin an old green baseball cap with a worn brown edge and a fishing patch sewn onto the front. “Gunilla is finishing up a few house calls. Paris is escorting her.”

  “You didn’t go with them?”

  “I needed to get a few things done this morning.”

  Franklin adjusted the cap to fit his head. “Sun’s bright today.”

  “Thomas always intended to put a roof up over this old porch but never got around to it.”

  “Right now, it’s perfect the way it is,” Franklin said, letting the sun warm his face. “Did you know the owners well?”

  “Round Hill’s a small town. Just about six hundred people before the plague. Most everyone knows everyone else here. But I knew Thomas Ledford better than most.”

  “I’m sorry,” Franklin said and then took a sip of his tea. “I guess just about everyone in the world’s lost someone they loved. How many people are left here?”

  “Just under a hundred.”

  “Seems like you fared better than most,” Franklin said, sounding impressed.

  “Not really. Those people we found shot on the road haven’t been the only victims. Many of those living away from town have needed to move closer for safety.”

  “That makes little sense. There’s plenty of stuff in the world for the taking, why kill people over it?”

  Carl shrugged. “Some people are just dicks. Have you ever spent time on the Internet? When people don’t have to fear the consequences of their actions, their primal nature takes over. Suddenly, everything they ever wanted to do, they can.” He took a swig of his soda and grimaced. He looked at his glass. “You know, I think one of the things I will miss most from the old world is ice, especially with the summer heating up.”

  “Doesn’t this town have generators?”

  “Several. And a couple of good mechanics to keep them serviced, but fuel will eventually be an issue. I’d rather save the fuel for winter and the planting season in the spring.”

  “You’re using your cruiser,” Franklin pointed out. />
  “I was out taking a survey of the empty farms, feeding cattle, and checking on the people still out there. It’s my one luxury. I won’t do that much longer. Mostly, everyone walks wherever they need to go now. We’re bring in horses, so in a few years, it’ll be just like the Wild West around here.”

  “There’s plenty of fuel out there.”

  “Not as much as you might think, at least around here,” Carl said. “We’re off the beaten path. Not many fuel trucks pass this way unless it’s on purpose. Right now, we have about a dozen tankers in town and almost as many empty ones to hold fuel we siphon from cars and the gas stations in the area. The problem is other towns are doing the same thing. That’s how one of my men got shot. Some people from Purcellville didn’t like the fact that we were about to drive off with a fuel truck.”

  “Who won?”

  “We drove away with the truck, so I guess we did. But now, I have to wonder about retaliation and raids on our fuel supplies.”

  “How are your defenses?”

  “We’ve surrounded the town proper with a barricade of cars, trucks, school buses and tractor-trailers. Eventually, we’ll build a wall. We just have to figure out the best way to do it. We have someone in the church tower full time to warn us if anyone approaches and others are guarding the roads to town. We keep the tankers inside the town. I don’t like that, though. One good spark and the entire town will blow, but I don’t see as I have many choices. That fuel will be the difference between life and death for this town come winter.”

  Franklin removed his hat and wiped away the sweat. “If it were me, I’d dig a hole and bury them,” he said, adjusting the hat. “They’ll be close enough that you can defend them and get fuel in case of an emergency.”

  Carl liked the idea. “I know where I can find a bulldozer. I swear had I known what I was getting into when I ran for sheriff . . .” he let the thought trail off.

  Franklin laughed. He liked this man. If he hadn’t been worried about his family, he might have stayed. “It sounds like things are well in hand. Outsiders are going to be envious.”

  “That’s part of the reason I want to go to the prison and raid the armory.”

  “Do you really think it will get that bad?” Franklin asked as they both spotted Paris and Gunilla, making their way up the street. They waved, and the girl’s returned the greetings.

  “Are you a student of history?” Carl asked.

  “Schooling was never my strong suit,” Franklin said, thinking it an odd question. “That’s part of the reason I ended up in the military.” The sheriff just nodded his understanding.

  “It’s not that I think things are going to get worse it’s . . . In ancient times, before Europe became a set of unified countries, it was a series of city-states. Each city was like its own country. Rome, Sparta, Athens were all city-states at one time. As they grew and became stronger, they conquered outlying areas and even other city-states. The loser of the conflict often became a vassal of the winner.”

  “If you’re worried about that, become a strong city-state,” Franklin said.

  “Again, we’re too far off the beaten path. Just like you, people all across the United States, probably the world, are traveling from one area to another searching to see if loved ones or people they knew and cared about survived the plague. Once they have their answer, they’ll finally settle down. When they do, they’ll want to go somewhere they have the best chance of survival. They’ll gravitate toward what’s left of the bigger cities.”

  “There’s not a lot of people left to fill the cities.”

  “Oh, I realize that. It’ll be generations before city-states become powerful enough to expand. Cities will become supply centers first. I’ll likely not see a true city-state in my lifetime, nor will my children, if I have any. But eventually they will rise and expand, and when they do, I want the town I grew up in to be able to negotiate favorable terms. I want it to be important.”

  “Anyone killed when you took that tanker?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Then you should be able to work out a deal with them. Most people aren’t too keen to shoot other people. If you go to them before they get desperate, maybe you can help each other. Even merge. If nothing else, you can set them up as a trading partner. That’ll help you grow.”

  The sheriff took a long deep drink from his soda. “Maybe,” he finally said.

  “You’ll probably have to give over the tanker as a peace offering.”

  Paris stepped up onto the porch. “What are you two up to?”

  “I’m on my lunch break,” Carl said. “Decided I’d stop by and see how Franklin was doing.”

  Gunilla stepped over to Franklin and examined the wound. “It looks good.” She poked the wound.

  “Damn woman,” Franklin said flinching.

  “Doesn’t seem to be any nerve damage,” she said.

  “When can he travel?” Paris asked.

  “Under normal circumstances, I’d say he was okay now, but given the present situation, I’d say another week,” Gunilla said.

  “Well, I think my lunch break is over,” Carl said, stepping off the porch. “There are a few more farms I need to check on.”

  “You want some company?” Gunilla asked.

  “That would be nice,” the sheriff said, beaming.

  “Is she going with us when we leave?” Franklin asked as the cruiser pulled away.

  “I don’t know,” Paris said after a long pause. “If she wants to stay, I’m not going to stop her.” She moved over to take the sheriff’s place in the rocking chair. “It’s obvious they like each other, and they spend a lot of time together. I’m pretty sure they haven’t slept together, but that could change before we leave.”

  “What about you?”

  “I haven’t slept with him either, and I wasn’t planning to, though he is cute in a rugged, muscular kind of way.”

  “Ha, ha. Hilarious. You know what I meant. You still leaving?”

  “I owe you that much.”

  Franklin set his jaw. “You don’t owe me a damn thing.”

  “We see things differently.”

  “Then, you heard the doc; I’m leaving in a week, weather permitting.” It didn’t.

  Three weeks later, there was a farewell gathering at the sheriff’s house to bid Franklin and Paris farewell, complete with food, music, and dancing. It was a crowded gathering that moved outside to accommodate nearly all the townspeople. Sheriff Ledford, to the amusement of everyone, announced the gathering to be an official bonafide shindig.

  “Have you ever seen so much food in your life?” Paris asked as she sat down across from him at the picnic table, holding a pair of beers. There were six more picnic tables set up in the yard. It looked like a beer tent at a German Oktoberfest celebration. She offered a beer to Franklin. He shook his head.

  “Not since the Thanksgiving family reunion of 2005,” Franklin said. “I’m guessing not so big anymore.”

  “This little outing makes the world seem normal,” Paris said. “I forget that beyond this town, the world is a shit hole.”

  Franklin smiled. “I was thinking the same thing a little while ago. We had the Bronze Age, the Iron Age, the Dark Age, the Age of Enlightenment, The Information Age, and now we have the Shit Age.”

  “Age of Shit sounds better.”

  Franklin couldn’t help but laugh. He liked Paris, might have even been attracted to her, but they could never be more than friends. His past and the list in his pocket were reminders of the heavy burden he carried. One day, she would know the truth and would never look at him the same again. Hopefully, that was in the far future.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked, nodding toward Gunilla. Franklin turned to see Gunilla and Carl dancing together. “You think she’s going with us tomorrow? Travis and Rebecca already said they were staying.”

  “Tempest?”

  “Tempest wants to go,” Paris said. “I tried to talk her out of it, but
I think she’s imprinted onto you.”

  “Me?” Franklin asked as his face contorted in a mask of confusion.

  “You rescued us. She feels safe with you. She needs to feel safe.”

  “I’m not the one that freed her. You were.”

  “That was my partner. He did all the heavy work and then died for it.”

  “He sounds like he was a brave man. Maybe someday you can tell me about him.” When Paris just smiled and lowered her head, Franklin knew it would be a long time before she would be ready to talk about her experience. But she needed to talk about it to someone. Ironically, the only health professional she could talk to was Gunilla, and right now, he believed Gunilla was the last person Paris wanted to talk with. He wasn’t altogether sure Paris didn’t blame Gunilla for her rape and the death of her partner. He saw how she looked at Gunilla sometimes. Not all the time, but now and then she got that same gleam in her eye she had when she wanted to shoot the boy back at the storage facility.

  “If Tempest needs to feel safe, she should stay here where it’s actually safe,” Franklin said. “Anywhere beyond the borders of Round Hill is the opposite of safe.”

  “I tried,” Paris said and then started singing. “But she on-ly has eyes for you.”

  “You . . . you don’t mean?”

  “Just like a man,” Paris said. “Keep it in your pants, Terminator. I just meant because she’s imprinted on you, she won’t feel safe around anyone but you. At least for a while.”

  “Or until I get her killed.”

  “That would put a damper on any future relationship.”

  “And Gunilla?” Franklin asked, ignoring the jab. Paris shrugged.

  “No idea, but I think it’s time we found out.” When the song finished Paris waved Carl and Gunilla over.

  “Enjoying the party?” Carl asked.

  “Almost makes me want to stay,” Franklin said.

  “You’re welcome to.”

  “It’s time I joined all the other people traveling around looking for family members. I’ve stayed long enough, which brings me to my question. Gunilla, are you coming or staying? If you’re coming, we need to put supplies together for you, but no one will fault you if you want to stay.”