Broken Justice

by Ralph Gibbs

  As the group cleared the bridge and crested a rise, they froze. At the bottom of the hill, rummaging through several dozen cars was a small group. Now, the question was, were they, potential friends or potential enemies? Franklin realized this was what it would be like for the foreseeable future. Every time they ran across anyone, they would always wonder if they were just ordinary people, like themselves, trying to get from point A to point B or thieves, rapists, killers or a combination of the three. There was at least one woman with them, which also begged the question, was she there by choice?

  One man emerged from a car holding a box of cereal. Laughing, he held the box high over his head to show off his prize when he noticed Franklin’s group watching them from the top of the hill. He warned the rest of his group. They talked among themselves but otherwise took no action. The one that held the cereal box started to raise his hand and then realized he was still holding the box. Switching it to his other hand, he raised his hand in greeting.

  “I’m taking it as a good sign they haven’t started shooting,” Franklin said.

  “Really,” Tempest said. “I thought the greeting was a good sign.”

  Paris came up to stand beside Franklin. “It could be they don’t think we’re much of a threat.” Franklin stared at her. “What?” she said innocently. “I’m the glass-half-empty type, remember?”

  “Not everyone we meet will try to kill us,” Gunilla said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “Wait until you’re raped and then come talk to me about intentions,” Paris snapped as she shrugged off Gunilla’s hand. She realized how harsh she sounded and softened her tone. “If we think everyone we meet is trying to kill us, we’ll live longer.” Franklin found it hard to argue with her logic, but her delivery could be better. Since arriving at Round Hill, there had been underlying anger from Paris toward Gunilla. Sometimes they seemed like sisters, but other times, he could see Paris look at her with death in her eyes.

  Franklin returned the greeting.

  “We could just go around them,” Gunilla suggested. “Head into the woods and wait for them to pass.”

  “If we head anywhere but straight at them, they’re liable to start shooting,” Franklin said. “We’re pretty far, but they might get lucky and hit one of us. I’ve had enough lead in me for one lifetime.”

  “How many times have you been shot?” Tempest asked.

  “Too many.”

  “We could just run back down the hill and then head for the woods,” Gunilla offered, looking behind her.

  “I want to know if the woman is there by choice,” Paris said.

  “Then I guess we’re headed down,” Franklin said, starting toward the group. Paris and Gunilla came up next to him. Tempest held back a moment and then started down with them. “Don’t bunch up. Leave at least three feet between us. If this goes south, head for the woods and back to the bridge. Take off all your clothes, roll around in the mud and lay among the bodies. There is no way they’ll come looking for you there.”

  “I think I’ll pass,” Paris said.

  “Someone has to keep Gunilla safe,” Franklin said. Paris hesitated but nodded.

  “Hello,” the man holding the cereal box said when they got close enough, so they didn’t have to yell.

  “Hello,” Franklin said, coming to a halt. “We have food if you’re hungry.”

  “What? Oh this,” he said, holding out the cereal box chuckling. “Kind of an inside joke. We . . . it doesn’t matter.” He put the box on the hood of the car. “We were looking for weapons. We only have two pistols between us.”

  “Just two,” Paris said, sounding surprised.

  “We had others, but we lost them about thirty miles west of here. We were crossing a river, and our boat tipped over. We lost most of our supplies and one of our party. The supplies weren’t a big deal, really. Except Melisa lost the only picture, she had of her son.” At the mention of the picture, the woman looked as if she wanted to cry. “Finding food and supplies wasn’t hard but replacing the guns has been a bitch. Seriously, we live in the gun capital of the world, and we can’t find any. Nor ammo for the ones we have.”

  “You might not want to advertise that too much,” Franklin said. “Not everyone you meet will be as friendly as we are.”

  “Don’t we know it,” he said. “It hasn’t been an easy trip, but we’ve mostly met good people just looking for family.”

  “Why look in cars for guns?” Gunilla asked.

  “You’re not from around here,” the man said, hearing her accent. “Oh hell, where are my manners?” Coming forward, he offered his hand. “I’m Joseph, but everyone calls me Joe. That’s Eli, Robert, and Melisa.”

  “I’m Franklin. This is Paris, Tempest, and Gunilla.”

  “Gunilla?” Joe said. “Now I know you’re not from these parts.”

  “I’m from Sweden,” she said. “You were saying about the cars?”

  “As people were running from the plague—as if they could—they took whatever supplies they could find and that included guns,” Joe said. “For many, I’m betting it’s the first thing they grabbed. A lot of people developed the thirst while traveling. And as you know, when that hits you, the only thing you think about is water. We must have seen over a hundred bodies floating down the river when we crossed it. I figured they just up and left everything in their cars, including their guns.” He pointed to his belt. “Found this one in the third car we searched yesterday. Must have searched a hundred since with no luck.”

  “There’s several hundred cars just on the other side of the hill,” Franklin said.

  “Bridge?” Joe asked. Franklin nodded. “As I said, the thirst is powerful.”

  “Why not just look in people’s houses?” Paris asked. “You’re more likely to find them there.”

  “Can’t ever be sure if someone is alive in them and I’d rather find the guns without the guns being used on me first,” Joe said. “We were about to have lunch. Care to join us?”

  “You got milk to go with that cereal?” Franklin asked. Joe reached inside his pack and pulled out a box of powdered milk.

  “Just add water,” he said.

  “In that case, I’d love to,” Franklin said as he pulled out his canteen and shook it. “Poured it fresh this morning.” Joe broke into a broad grin.

  “Where you headed?” Franklin asked as they sat around a small fire next to the woods. Even though it was the middle of the day, and they were eating nothing that needed to be cooked, it seemed natural to build one while they sat around, ate, and talked.

  “Eli is headed to Virginia Beach, Melisa is going to Washington, D.C., and Robert is going to Philadelphia,” Joe said.

  “What about you?” Franklin asked.

  “I’m along for the ride,” Joe said. “I’ll figure it out as I go. And you guys?”

  “Charlotte. After that, Colorado,” Franklin said.

  “I heard rumors the president was in Colorado,” Eli said.

  “We’ll find out,” Paris said.

  “How are you planning on getting there?” Robert asked.

  “The most direct route,” Franklin said.

  “It’ll be dangerous going through the mountains,” Eli said. “Storms have caused a lot of damage to the roads and bridges. With no one to fix them, it’s making a lot of the roads impassable.”

  “We ran across one fellow who said it took him nearly a week to just find his way through,” Eli said. “Using a car was impossible.”

  “Seems like the entire world is coming apart all at once,” Gunilla said.

  “Not really,” Eli said. “I was a construction worker for a few years a while back, and you’d be surprised at what storms do every year; floods, hurricanes, storms, sinkholes, rockslides, forest fires. It’s just that before the plague they got fixed within a few weeks. Now there’s no one to fix them.”

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” Melisa said, heading toward the woods.

  “I’ll join you,” Pari
s said.

  Once they both disappeared into the woods, Joe laughed. “Some things never change. I always thought it funny how women always went to the bathroom together. What do you think they talk about?”

  “No idea. Probably current shoe trends,” Franklin said, but he could guess what Paris was talking about this time.

  “That’s easy. Hiking boots and tennis shoes,” Eli said.

  “Did you girls talk about us?” Joe asked when they returned a few minutes later.

  “We did,” Melisa said.

  “Well, then mystery solved,” Joe said. “They talk about men.”

  “She asked if you kidnapped me.”

  “Oh,” he said, a spoonful of cereal, frozen halfway to his mouth.

  “Relax,” Paris said. “If she’d said yes, you wouldn’t have been around long enough to ask that question.”

  “Oh,” he said, it being the only thing he could manage.

  “Damn, I wish I had some ice cream,” Paris said, sitting back down and taking up her plate.

  After they ate, Franklin and the girls said their goodbyes. Franklin set a brisk pace trying to put as much distance between his group and theirs. Not that he didn’t trust them; he was just trying to be safe. They were friendly enough, but desperation made the most passive of people dangerous. All it would take is a moment of inattention, and they would all be dead.

  They continued to stick to the main roads, leaving only to make camp far enough off the roadway so that people were unlikely to stumble across them while they slept. They’d run into a few more people, and it was always a tense meeting. Paris did her best to discover if any of the women had been kidnapped. The majority of people they ran into were just looking for family, even though they understood chances were slim.

  But as one man summed it up, “If there’s even the slightest chance I’ll find my daughter alive, I have to try.”

  Paris, being the glass-half-empty girl wondered how many people trying to find each other were doing so at the same time. What if the man’s daughter was on the road traveling to his house to find him while he was making his way to hers? Would they take the same route and have a chance meeting on the road or take different routes and never see each other again, even though they were both alive?

  “It depends,” Franklin said late that evening after the others went to sleep. “It’s possible they’ll never see each other again, but then again, if I were one of them, I would have left a note.”

  Paris smiled at the thought. Maybe there was a reason for hope the man would find his daughter after all.

  CHAPTER 31

  Several hours before sunset several days later, Franklin, Paris, Tempest, and Gunilla stopped on a hill overlooking the town of Pellisburg. It was a small town made smaller by the fire that had swept through the buildings on the far side of the only road through town.

  “Do you think someone burned it on purpose?” Tempest asked.

  Paris shrugged. “If it was arson, why spare anything?”

  “Lightning,” Gunilla suggested.

  “Or electrical or a gas leak or any number of other causes,” Franklin said. “Either way, I don’t think this is a puzzle we will figure out. And frankly, I’m too tired to care.”

  “This is a shame,” Gunilla said. “This looks like it might have been a nice little town at one time.”

  “Maybe in the fifties or sixties,” Franklin said. “But, more than likely, this was just another dying town.”

  “What’d I tell you about honing in on my personality,” Paris said.

  “It has nothing to do with moving in on your territory,” Franklin said. “I’ve been through hundreds of these small towns in the south, and it’s always the same. Progress passed them by, and the people had no idea how to deal with it. Instead, they did nothing, which just made it worse.”

  As they arrived on the outskirts of town, it began to drizzle, which ended all conversations as they hunkered down against the growing wind. By the time they were nearing the trailing edge of the town, it was pouring. To escape the elements, the group took refuge inside a nearby gas station. They were not the first to use the station as an overnight shelter, as there was a small stack of firewood near the remains of several past campfires. Franklin wondered if the wood was a travel offering. More than likely it was just unused fuel, but just in case, Franklin vowed to leave enough wood for the next weary traveler seeking shelter in the station.

  By the time they finished eating, the rainstorm had passed. They decided to spend the night and get an early start in the morning. With Tempest taking the first watch, Franklin climbed in his sleeping bag and would have fallen asleep immediately if not for the scream. Paris shot out of her sleeping bag with a weapon in hand before Franklin moved.

  “Was that a scream or a bird?” Franklin asked, coming up beside her, his weapon ready.

  “That was most definitely a scream,” Paris said. She rummaged through Franklin’s pack for his night-vision goggles, while Franklin scattered the fire, plunging the room into smoke and darkness.

  “Put that chair under the doorknob after we leave,” Franklin ordered Tempest.

  “You’re going out?” Gunilla asked, concerned she was being left alone with Tempest as her only guard.

  “We need to find out what’s going on, and I’d rather deal with whatever it is now when we have an advantage,” Paris said, tapping the goggles.

  “What if something happens and you don’t come back?” Gunilla asked.

  “We’ll come back,” Franklin said, trying to reassure Gunilla.

  “But what—”

  “If we’re not back by sunrise, then hightail it back north to Carl,” Paris snapped. “He’ll be glad to have you back.” She hesitated. “And don’t pretend you won’t be happy to go back.”

  “The entrance to the Skyline Drive is only a few miles from here,” Franklin said “There are no shops or gas stations on the road, so you shouldn’t run into anyone. Both of you take it all the way to Round Hill. Avoid anyone you come across. If by chance you’re captured, tell them you’re a doctor.”

  “We really should talk about these things when we aren’t under the gun,” Paris said, feeling impatient. “When this is over, let’s sit down and talk contingency plans. Right now, how about we concentrate on what’s going down outside.”

  “I thought you were a spur-of-the-moment type of girl,” Franklin said. For a moment, Paris gave him a look that made him think she was about to stick her tongue out at him. The thought made him nearly chuckle.

  The duo made their way to the front of the station, the sound of broken glass crunching loudly under their feet. As they crouched near the door, they spotted the body of a man that looked as if he might have been homeless before the plague. An arrow protruded from his chest.

  “Damn,” Franklin whispered. “Looks like we have Legolas out there.”

  “Who?” Paris whispered back.

  “Legolas? From the Lord of the Rings?”

  “Never saw it.”

  “You really should have gotten out more,” Franklin said, shaking his head.

  “Not much chance of seeing it now.”

  “Bullshit,” Franklin said. “The next video store we pass I’ll pop in for the DVD.”

  “Fine. I’ll spring for the popcorn.”

  “It’s a date,” he said and then became suddenly embarrassed. “Um, I mean . . . Do you see anything?”

  “Nothing,” Paris said, seemingly unaware of what he’d said.

  Franklin studied the body. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Notice anything about the positioning of the arrow?”

  “Got it.” The angle of the arrow entering the chest showed it had been fired from a higher position.

  “I’m not seeing . . . wait, there,” Paris said, pointing to a roof across the street and to their left.

  “Right,” Franklin said. “I see him.” As they watched, the small archer started running to the other side of the roof and looked as if he were
going to jump. The archer didn’t slow down as he reached the edge.

  “Does he think he can fly?” Paris whispered. “That has to be—” Before she could finish, the archer jumped from the higher roof and sailed to the next with only inches to spare.

  “I was wrong,” Franklin said. “He’s not Legolas. He’s Batman.”

  “Who?” Paris said.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Franklin said, looking at her aghast, not altogether sure she wasn’t messing with him. She never turned his way. He frowned wondering how a person who seemed so worldly could, at the same time, lead such a sheltered life. He could understand Legolas but not the caped crusader.

  When the archer reached the next building, he notched an arrow, leaned over the roof and fired at something hidden below. There was the sound of a scream. A child began crying, and an automatic weapon ripped off a series of bullets that raked the ledge where the archer stood moments before. Whoever was hiding behind the car, threw a small object toward the roof. The archer scrambled backward and dove over the backside of the roof hanging on by his arm. There was a large explosion close to where he had been standing.

  “Jesus, they have grenades,” Franklin said.

  Either because of the explosion or because he wasn’t strong enough to pull himself back up, the archer fell the twenty feet to the ground below. A ragged-looking man emerged from behind the car and made for the corner of the building.

  “Nate!” a female child screamed as she broke from the cover of the vehicle. A second man darted out and grabbed the girl before she could get far. “Nate!” The little girl turned and pushed at the figure holding her. “You leave my brother alone.” She kicked at his leg. At the side of the building, the ragged figure paused and looked back, which saved his life as an arrow whipped past where he would have been. The stranger, maddened by the thought he nearly died, jumped around the corner and fired off three quick shots. If the gunman had bothered to aim, the archer would have died right there. Instead, the hasty fire went wild and afforded the archer time to find cover behind a metal dumpster.