Broken Justice

by Ralph Gibbs

  “I think so, sir. I believe they’ll survive the winter, but they lack some skills.”

  “How so?”

  “They can hunt, but they don’t know how to skin an animal. The major is trying to gain their trust by teaching them how to dress a deer.”

  Dorsey nodded his approval. “That’s good.”

  “A few of them have started vegetable gardens, but right now they’re too dependent on leftovers.” Leftovers were the term his people used for food left on store shelves, in warehouses, and homes. There was a lot left, but the majority would be useless in a few years. What rats and animals didn’t get into would eventually spoil. Anyone relying on leftovers for long-term survival wouldn’t survive.

  The door opened, and the colonel’s aide stuck his head in and said, “Sir, the rovers captured some Asian woman spying on our camp.”

  “Asian?” Colonel Dorsey said raising a questioning eyebrow.

  “Sir, that sounds like that FBI agent I was telling you about,” Tisden said.

  “Make her comfortable,” he ordered his aide. “Bring her coffee and a plate of food.”

  “Yes, sir,” the aide said, closing the door behind him.

  “Sir, I should head back before they discover I’m missing.”

  “I’m betting she’s already seen you enter camp.”

  “Are you going to kill her?”

  “Kill her?” the colonel asked, sounding just as puzzled as he looked. “Why would I kill her?”

  “She’s with the other government,” Tisden said as if that was reason enough.

  “There’s no need for that. Besides, this Miss Justice probably sent her. If she fails to return, Major Barrette and his men would be in jeopardy. If I kill her, I’d immediately have to storm the settlement, and that would cause a lot of unnecessary deaths. I don’t want to risk the doctor.

  “When you return, I want to you tell Major Barrette he is to convince the doctor to join our group. Say whatever is necessary. Promise whatever he needs but convince her to come or we’ll come get her. I would much rather her join of her own free will. If I get hurt, I don’t want her working on me knowing I killed her friends. However, if it comes down to massacring that entire settlement to get her, that’s what I’ll do. You tell him that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colonel Dorsey walked down the hotel’s long hallway to where two guards were positioned on either side of the last door. On the way down to the floor where Paris was being held, he couldn’t help but think what the acquisition of a doctor would do for his standing in Atlanta. Bringing back an important person like her, even if she wasn’t a full-fledged doctor, would gain him much-needed exposure with the senior staff. Despite the Winthrop Society’s plague-depleted ranks, advancement was turning out to be tough. This find might be the only way to advance from his position as a glorified squad leader on a scavenger hunt out in the middle of fucking nowhere to a higher position, preferably to one that never left Atlanta. Hell, he’d take senior sanitation officer if it meant staying in Atlanta.

  As he approached the door, one guard reached over, opened it, and then stepped out of the way. Entering the room, the colonel froze when he discovered the agent tied to a chair.

  “What the hell is this?” he said, turning on the guards. “Why is she tied up?”

  “She’s a prisoner sir?” the guard said as if it should be obvious.

  “She is no such thing. Untie her.”

  “Yes sir,” the guard said, rushing inside to comply with the colonel’s orders.

  “And where the hell is her breakfast,” he asked rounding on the other guard.

  “I . . . I don’t know sir,” the guard stammered.

  “Then go find out!” The guard said nothing as he ran off, followed shortly by the sound of the stairwell door opening and the crashing of glasses and plates. The guard returned a moment later.

  “Sir?” the guard said, his uniform stained with food.

  “I heard.”

  “Is the first lieutenant getting more food?”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said.

  “Then you go clean up that mess.” The guard saluted and left. The second guard quickly removed himself from the room before the colonel could order him to do something equally unpleasant and positioned himself outside the door where he couldn’t be seen.

  “Agent Ishida, I hope you will accept my sincere apology for the way my men have treated you.”

  “I’ve been treated worse,” she said sourly, as she rubbed her wrists.

  He noticed the bruise at the corner of her eye. He moved closer to get a better look as if he wasn’t sure it was a bruise. The sudden movement startled Paris, causing her to take a quick step back into a defensive position. Colonel Dorsey raised both hands to show her he meant no harm. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He slowly pointed to her eyes. “Did my men do that?”

  “Don’t sweat it. I deserved it. If it makes you feel better, you can make it up to me by telling me how long you plan on keeping me, prisoner. My people know I’m here.”

  “Just like a government official, always getting things wrong,” he said crisply, but there was no malice in his voice. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re free to go anytime you wish.” Just as he was about to say more, his aide returned with a tray full of food.

  “Sorry it took so long,” he said.

  “I heard,” Dorsey said.

  “Since you haven’t yet exercised this morning, I took the liberty of giving her your breakfast,” the aide said as he placed the plate on the table in the back of the room. “Hope you don’t mind. The cook is preparing you another.”

  “That’s fine,” Colonel Dorsey said as Paris picked up a piece of bacon, sniffed it and then inhaled it.

  “I love bacon,” Paris said when she was done. She licked her fingers.

  “Would you like more?” the aide asked.

  “No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I need to get back.”

  “Very good,” the aide said and left. Paris eyed the rest of the food.

  “Please,” Dorsey said, indicating the plate and bowl. “Sadly, the milk is powdered but passable.” Paris picked up the decanter, swirled the contents, and then set it back on the table.

  “I’ll pass,” Paris said. “Growing up poor, I’ve had more than enough powdered milk for one lifetime.”

  “I’ve toyed with the idea of dragging around a few cows, but it would slow us down. Not to mention the thought of getting tuberculosis scares the shit out of me.”

  “That’s a myth.”

  “Is it?” Dorsey said with interest.

  “Well, partly,” Paris said and smiled. She’d had this exact conversation with Gunilla as they traveled to Charlotte. Thanks to Gunilla, she got to sound smart. “The tuberculosis virus that infects humans differs from the virus that infects cows. Same family, but it’s genetically different enough that the cow version is incapable of causing tuberculosis in humans.”

  “How do you explain all the people contracting the disease from drinking unpasteurized milk?” Dorsey asked.

  “That’s where the partly comes in,” she said, breaking loose a piece of biscuit and sampling it. “Just like a lot of diseases, it’s caused by a combination of unsanitary conditions and infected milkers. A single person infected with human tuberculosis and coughing into a bucket of milk would infect a lot of people. However, if you have people put on surgical masks and you sanitize the milk buckets after each use—”

  “We could have fresh milk,” he finished for her, sounding as if he were salivating at the thought.

  She finished off the top portion of the biscuit. “Yep.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Paris shrugged. “I read a lot,” she lied. “So, what now?”

  “What . . . oh, as I said, you’re free to go. That said, I would prefer your people not to spy on my camp. It’ll save us from having more misunderstandings. If you need to know something, ask. P
lease let Miss Justice know that.” Paris looked at her watch. It was about twenty minutes to eight. There was no way she would make it back in time, but she could get back before Franklin did something stupid.

  “If that’s the case, I need to get back.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  “That’s unnecessary.”

  “Come on, you know I’ll insist.”

  “I figured, but I thought I should follow the script.”

  When they were outside the hotel, Paris extended her hand. “Thank you, colonel, for the hospitality and the bacon.”

  He grasped her hand. “Can you hold—” Before he could finish his sentence, Private Tisden stepped outside. “Oh, never mind. Here’s Private Tisden now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to send Private Tisden back with you. For safety.”

  “I don’t need an escort, colonel. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  “It’s not for you. It’s for him. The man couldn’t fight through a wet paper towel.”

  “Hey,” Private Tisden said. The colonel just looked at him. Tisden shrugged. “I didn’t say it wasn’t true. It’s just . . . It’s just a man doesn’t like to hear that sort of thing about himself. I could develop a complex.”

  It was shortly after nine when the two arrived back in the neighborhood. Mostly, they walked in silence, which was how Paris preferred the trip. It didn’t mean Tisden didn’t try; it was just that Paris refused to engage. Since there was a small group waiting for Paris and Tisden when they arrived, Paris figured the sentries had reported their arrival. She was happy the sentries were alert. The glares were enough to make her feel like a teenager caught violating curfew, which had happened often enough. Gunilla ran to her, hugged her and then punched her in the arm.

  “I thought you left,” she said, hugging her again.

  “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” Paris said evenly. Gunilla continued to hold her tight against her. Paris hesitated and then timidly, like someone trying not to burn themselves, hugged her back, softly at first, and then with deep affection. Paris didn’t know why, but she could feel some of the anger she felt toward Gunilla peeling away. She didn’t know if all the anger would dissipate but maybe enough that she wouldn’t feel like ripping the skin off Gunilla’s face every other time she looked at her.

  “I . . . I wasn’t sure,” Gunilla said.

  “I have some good news for you,” Paris whispered, but before she could say more, Franklin interrupted her.

  “I’m glad I didn’t have to kill the major and his men to get you back,” Franklin said, sounding annoyed. The major laughed, believing Franklin’s statement was a joke. Danica wasn’t so sure. Paris knew he wasn’t.

  “What happened to your eye?” Danica asked. Gunilla broke the embrace and looked at her eye. She reached up and touched it. Paris flinched.

  “I ran into a door,” Paris said. Gunilla glared at Tisden who raised his hand in supplication.

  “Don’t look at me. I can’t fight my way through a wet paper towel.” He pointed to his face. “Do you see any bruises on me? If I touched her, my face would look like Freddie Kruger’s right now.”

  “Leave the boy alone,” Paris said. “He wasn’t the door.” Tisden suddenly remembered he forgot protocol.

  “Sir,” Private Tisden said, shooting a salute toward Major Barrette.

  “Welcome back, private,” the major said. “Go get yourself something to eat. We’ll debrief later.

  “Major, while you and your men are not prisoners, I’ll thank you for informing me first before sending anyone on errands that involve leaving the community in the middle of the night,” Danica said. “It’ll keep from us having misunderstandings, and it’ll keep me from thinking you’re up to something nefarious.”

  “It won’t happen again. You have my word. However, I’ll need to send someone back to camp daily to let the colonel know we’re okay. His orders, not mine. He considers it an insurance policy.”

  “That’s fine, but do it during the day,” Danica said.

  “About your sentries,” Paris said.

  “Nate already filled me in,” Danica said. “I’ll have a word with them. Several words. By the way, the same goes for you. I’m not keeping you, prisoner, here, but while you are here, you’ll play by the rules and not go out without letting someone know. If you can’t abide by that, you’re free to find somewhere else to stay.” Paris curtly nodded her assent.

  “Did you have a nice walk?” Franklin asked.

  “I’ve had less stressful,” Paris said.

  “Shall we take this inside?” Danica said. “I’m hungry.” She looked up at the sky. “Maybe we should eat out here on the picnic table instead. It looks like it’s shaping up to be a nice day.”

  “It won’t last,” Paris said. “In fact, you might want to batten down the hatches. We’re in for some heavy storms over the next week.”

  “Again?” Danica said.

  “How can you tell?” Major Barrette asked, looking up at a clear blue sky. “Are you a weather witch?”

  “I’ve been in touch with my superiors.” Paris was going to keep her contact secret, but it was bound to leak out, eventually.

  “The government’s still functioning,” Gunilla said excitedly. “Who did you talk to?”

  “President Dixon—”

  “Jesus Christ,” Franklin said. “He’s still alive.”

  “No, I think Jesus has been dead for more than two thousand years,” Paris deadpanned. “The president, however, is alive. As is Senator White, except he’s the vice president now.” Paris decided to wait until they were in private before she informed Gunilla her father also lived.

  “I seem to remember that happening before the world died,” Danica said.

  “Where are they?” Franklin asked.

  “There were rumors he was holed up inside Cheyenne Mountain,” Danica said.

  “The rumors are true,” Paris confirmed.

  “Why don’t we finish this discussion over breakfast,” Danica said. “Major, care to join us?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said, removing his hat and bending low with a flourish as if bowing to a Broadway audience. “Give me fifteen minutes to see to my men?”

  “Bring along your medic,” Danica said.

  “Before I go, do you mind telling me what you found out about the weather?” Major Barrette asked. “If it’s going to be bad, I’d like to send another runner to warn my colonel and to tell him we’ll ride out the storm here.” He would also tell them about the president as well, but that was better left unsaid. “Unless you already told him?”

  “It didn’t come up in conversation,” Paris said. “What the president told me was that we could expect heavy thunderstorms, high winds, and possible hail. They said there might be flash flooding in the mountains, which makes me think we’ll see a little flooding around here as well. Especially if any of the storm drains are clogged, which is probably most of them.”

  “Goldilocks is situated on high ground, so hopefully we won’t see much flooding here,” Danica said. “Not much we can do about it if it does, other than ride it out. Major, go ahead and send your man.” Danica turned to Toscana. “Let’s pass the word. Ruiz, make sure Salustio has plenty to eat. After breakfast, we’ll see him off.”

  An hour later, Major Barrette dropped his napkin on his plate. “That was one of the best meals I’ve had in ages,” he said. “My compliments to the chef.”

  “Chefs,” Toscana said, pointing at Matthew.

  “My compliments to the chefs,” the major corrected.

  “I second that,” Greg Fulton said.

  “Thank you,” Toscana said, followed a few moments later by a smiling Matthew.

  “Major, the boys brought in two deer last night,” Danica said. “When can your men show us how to clean it?”

  “Will an hour be acceptable?” the major said.

  “We’ll be ready,” Danica said.

  “It’ll get messy.�
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  “We’ll make sure it’s down the street.”

  “My boys will be there.”

  “Is there some way we can repay you?” Danica asked.

  “I’d say breakfast more than made up for it, but I would be grateful for the services of the doctor,” the major said.

  “Are you sick?” Gunilla asked.

  “I’m not feeling a hundred percent, but I’d like to get my men an examination,” he said. “I mean no disrespect to Greg, but it would be nice if I could have my men looked at by a real doctor. Seeing as she’s a woman and a pretty hot one to boot, they’ll open up about issues they might be unwilling to tell anyone with close ties to Atlanta. Also, I’d like to pick her brain about what medicines I should look for in our travels.”

  “We can start now if you’d like,” Gunilla said, putting down her napkin. She turned to Danica. “Unless you want my help cleaning up. That’s the least I can do.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Danica said.

  “You can do the dishes after dinner,” Paris said.

  “I’ll lead the way,” the major said getting up from the table.

  CHAPTER 37

  Growing up in eastern North Dakota, people considered Major Barrette something of a Casanova or a cad depending on who you talked to in the small town of Pittsville. Often described as a young Mickey Rourke, he topped in at inch over six feet, gifted with naturally broad shoulders and strong, stout running legs. Having only known the older version of the actor, the description offended him until he watched a few of the man’s early movies. Afterward, he tried to copy the actor’s style. It worked for him, but it helped that he was a natural charmer, somehow instinctually knowing what to say to get inside a woman’s pants. In high school, his friends told him he was a cross between a used car salesman and a Hollywood sex symbol, the latter a more accurate description of his future career endeavors. While some considered his natural charm a gift, Major Barrette viewed it as a curse, and as evidence, he often cited his three failed marriages, the second ending in suicide.