by Lopez, Rob
*
“There’s no telling what a man like that is going to do.”
Chuck put wood on the fire beneath the bubbling pot. Doug, with one arm in a sling, gazed into the darkness, the light of the fire playing over his pensive face.
“What can he do?” he said. “He’s got Red and a couple of other guys with him, but that’s about all. We’re in no shape to fight.”
Chuck straightened up. Figures emerged from the forest, bringing more firewood. The cabins and lodges of Camp Grier were silent and dark, the atmosphere somber. Only the building that Sally and Harvey had turned into a medical clinic showed any signs of life, candles burning in the windows. There were many wounded to tend.
“No, we’re in no shape to fight,” admitted Chuck, “but you try telling him that. They’ve got his wife.”
“It’s a damn shame,” said Doug. “And who is this Connors guy, anyway?”
“Rick’s old commanding officer, by all accounts.”
“So he’s military as well? Surely, this has to be some kind of mistake. They’re both on the same side. If Connors really is an officer, and not some bandit, then he can be reasoned with. Maybe we need to send some kind of delegation to explain. We can set up a dialog and find a solution to this that doesn’t cost any more lives. Maybe even get some help for Scott,” added Doug with a glance toward the clinic.
Chuck stooped to pick up a basket, and Doug helped him with it, tipping blood-soaked bandages and towels into the boiling water.
“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” said Chuck. “There’s something about Connors that doesn’t sit right with Rick. At least, that’s the impression I got. They’ve got some sort of history together, and I think it’s kind of dark.”
“How dark?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like to pry.”
“Me neither, but … well …”
“I know. A little more information would be useful right now. I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m worried that Rick’s going to get himself killed.”
“Can you talk to him?”
“I don’t know him that well. I mean, he’s a nice enough guy, but … he’s not the same right now. Even his own son is afraid to approach him. He’s volatile. I think he’s ready to take the fight to Connors, whatever the consequences.”
“This is something we don’t need now.”
“It’s out of our hands.”
Doug picked up a stick to stir the pot’s contents. The sharp metallic odor of blood rose from the simmering water. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he leaned back as he prodded the roiling cloths.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said. “It’s bad medicine.”
A guttural cry of pain from inside the clinic caused him to flinch.
Chuck sighed deeply. “I think any kind of medicine would be good right now,” he said.
*
Sally added two teaspoons of salt to a quart jug of sterilized water and stirred until it was dissolved, holding the jug up against a candle to make sure there were no particles in the fluid. Pouring the saline solution into a soda bottle, she attached a cap to which an IV tube had been inserted, inverted the bottle and hung it from a harness nailed to the wall. Checking that there were no air bubbles in the tube, she removed a clothespin compressing the tube, allowing the fluid to drain to the catheter inserted into Scott’s forearm. She then took his pulse.
It was weak, and the skin was dry, pale and colder than it should have been.
Scott coughed and uttered another cry as the slight movement shifted whatever was inside his abdominal wound. The pain was etched on his face and he’d aged terribly since he’d been brought in less than twenty four hours before. April, perched on a chair, her head leaning on Scott’s pillow, stirred at the cry and anxiously stroked his hand. She’d barely left his side and she was sleepy. As her eyelids drooped again, Scott rolled his head to kiss her, his parched lips settling on her hair. Breathing in short gasps, he glanced up at Sally.
“You need to rest too,” he croaked.
Sally removed the bloodied towel from his belly, checked the wound once, then added a fresh towel to cover the bullet hole. “You shouldn’t speak,” she said.
“You can all rest when I’m gone,” he whispered. “I ain’t gonna last much longer.”
Sally looked across to little Daniel, asleep on a mattress on the floor, his legs twitching like a dog having bad dreams. Clearing her throat and swallowing hard, she turned back to Scott. “You’re not going anywhere, soldier, so I don’t want to hear talk like that.”
Scott didn’t answer. Staring at her with bulging eyes that gleamed yellow in the candlelight, he held her for a moment in a visual grip, a mixed sense of doom and menace oozing out of him. Then his eyes narrowed to slits, a ghost of a smile passing his lips, and his head sank back into the pillow.
Sally gathered up soiled towels and bandages and left the room, closing the door behind her. She was in the dorm of what, before the storm, had been a pastoral retreat for Christian students. The crucifixes were still on the wall. Rather than giggling teenagers having forbidden late-night gossip-sessions, however, the cots were filled with heavily snoring patients, recovering from minor battle wounds and general exhaustion. Sally dumped her load into a laundry basket and dragged her feet to the table in the middle of the dorm. A single candle burned low in its stub. Sitting down and putting her head in her hands, she closed her eyes for a moment, releasing a pent-up sigh.
There was a scrape of boots on the outside deck, and the door opened, the large form of Harvey filling the frame. Pausing on his way to collect the basket, he softly gripped Sally’s shoulder.
“You should get some sleep,” he said quietly.
“I can’t,” said Sally with regret.
“At least try.”
“There’s too much on my mind.”
Harvey gazed sadly at her. “You still thinking of removing that bullet?”
Sally massaged her face. “It’s crazy. I’m a nurse, not a surgeon.”
“Uh huh.”
“But if I don’t, then …”
“I hear you.”
“I don’t know what to do, Harvey.”
“Have you prayed?”
“I’ve done nothing but. I’m waiting for guidance. I want to do the right thing, but I’m scared.”
“Can he survive if you just leave it be?”
“It’s possible.” Sally sighed, then scowled. “Oh, who am I kidding? The answer’s almost certainly no.”
“And if you operate?”
“I could kill him prematurely. I have no idea what damage the bullet has done. Simply cutting further to investigate could finish him off. I’ve got no painkillers and he’s weak. And I don’t have the expertise. It’s not my area.”
Harvey drew up a chair and sat down. “It’s a tough choice. I remember the time you told me about assisting a surgeon in removing a bullet from a boy in Africa.”
Sally snapped her head up. “He died. We had one of the smartest, most selfless surgeons I ever worked with. We had analgesics and antibiotics and the boy still died. Once the bullet has damaged organs and started infection, there’s almost nothing that a field clinic in primitive conditions can do.”
“But he still operated.”
“That’s not fair, Harvey. I don’t want to be pressured into this.”
“I’m not pressuring you.”
“You’re guilt-tripping me.”
“No. You’re struggling with yourself. Operating was your idea. I’m just reflecting back what you said.”
Sally sank back in the chair, gazing across at the crucifix. “I should be used to this,” she said absently. “I’ve seen enough death and suffering in my lifetime. I thought maybe I would get used to this.”
“Nobody with a heart can get used to this, and you have a good heart.”
“I’m not sure about that, and right now I’d take a hard-hearted, skilled surgeon over me any day.”
>
“Oh, I’ve seen you be pretty hard. But mostly, you’re hard on yourself.”
“I’m supposed to be. A life of self-examination and care for others: that was my calling. I thought I could do that as a nurse and a Christian. But what if I’m no damn good, Harvey? What if I let a man die because I was afraid to do what I could? And what if I kill him too soon because I was dumb enough to think I could perform a miracle?”
Harvey gazed at her for a while. “You’re running circles around yourself. This kind of thinking is better left for the morning. There ain’t nothing more you can do tonight. I’ll say one thing, though. If you decide to go ahead and operate, I’ll be proud to be your assistant. I can’t guide you the way the Almighty would, but I take pretty good direction, and I ain’t afraid no more.”
Biting her lip, Sally leaned forward and cupped Harvey’s hands. “Thank you,” she whispered.
2
In the basement of the Buncombe County Courthouse in Asheville, Lauren lay on a bunk in a cell. The tiny holding pen was dark apart from a faint flicker of light that came through the small grille in the door. She hadn’t heard a sound from the other side for some hours now – or at least it felt like hours. She’d been brought from Black Mountain in the dark, squeezed into the back seat of a car between two militiamen whose body odor quickly filled the vehicle cabin. She could smell the brooding tension and the fear. It was something she remembered from her time in Iraq: immediately after some tense action a distinct scent would permeate every nook and cranny of a Humvee as they drove away. Usually it was just sweat, though adrenaline seemed to have a way of making it smell different. If things had gotten really bad, there’d be bodily fluids too, plus the tang of propellant from discharged weapons and the earthy smell of dirt after having burrowed into it, praying to God that you wouldn’t get hit.
That same odor traveled back with them from Black Mountain, and Lauren knew something bad had happened, though nobody spoke. Fick, the Special Forces soldier who’d arrived with Connors, sat in the front of the car, and whenever they were stopped at a checkpoint and asked, “How did it go?” he’d gruffly answer, “We kicked their asses.” There was no sense of victory in the vehicle, however. All the clues pointed to a big and costly battle having taken place.
And all because she’d been dumb enough to get herself caught.
Her leg hurt like crazy from her bullet wound and she couldn’t walk on it. Worse still was the agony of not knowing what had happened. When she was dragged to the cell beneath the courthouse, her desperate questions were ignored and she was simply thrown onto the bunk and left in the dark. Unable to sleep, she tortured herself with bleak thoughts: Had the community at Round Knob really been attacked? Was Fick right about the outcome? Were her children okay? And what about Rick?
Why was Major Connors so determined to get her husband? That seemingly minor revelation grew until it overshadowed all the others, and she realized that was the key factor here. It didn’t matter whether she’d been caught or not. That hadn’t really been the trigger for hostilities. At some point or another, there would have been conflict between the two, and Rick knew it.
She remembered Rick deflecting questions about Connors. What was it that Connors had said to her? What kind of man keeps secrets from his wife? And Rick had indeed kept a secret from her. But why? What was there to hide?
She also recalled that Rick didn’t feel safe, even after their victory over the Round Knob raiders and the subsequent peace. He knew something was coming, but she’d told him he needed to relax more and abandon his warrior mindset. Like he didn’t need it anymore!
She felt a fool. One, for not reading the signs, and two, for not pressing him harder on the grim secret he’d been keeping. As his wife, she considered it her duty to be informed. How the hell could she let that pass? Instead of fantasizing about the decor of the lodge and nights in front of the fire, she should have made absolutely sure that her family would be secure, and if that meant dragging every nugget of information out of her husband, then she should have done it. With hot tongs if necessary.
None of that helped now, though. The night dragged on and the pain in her leg gnawed at her reserves until she was exhausted, dozing fitfully between nightmare visions of her family being attacked.
She snapped awake at the sound of a key turning in a lock. Voices murmured and the door to her cell swung open. A silhouette stood in the doorway, dressed in full combat rig. She thought at first it was Rick. She lifted her head in relief, then saw it wasn’t.
It was Fick. Behind him, on a table, sat the flickering candle, and in its light she saw Connors and another man. She was still handcuffed, and Fick leaned over her and easily lifted her up, dragging her off the bunk and across to the table, dumping her in a chair. A young man sat across from her, taking paper and pencils from a briefcase.
“Good to see you again, Mrs. Nolan,” said Connors, leaning against the wall. “It’s a shame it has to be under these circumstances, but with a little cooperation, we can change that. I’d like to introduce you to our newly appointed circuit judge, Mr. Reid. If it’s okay with you, he’d like to ask you some questions.”
It wasn’t okay with Lauren, but she was under no illusions about where the power lay. It was gratifying to see, however, that Connors had his arm in a sling. Whatever had happened recently, he hadn’t escaped unscathed. It was possible the battle hadn’t gone the way he wanted. Turning to observe the so-called judge, she noticed that Mr. Reid, aside from being a little young to hold such a position, didn’t appear too confident. Shuffling through his papers, he avoided her gaze and took a deep breath to compose himself.
“Yes, questions,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’d like to confirm that you are, indeed,” he glanced at a paper, “Mrs. Lauren Nolan, former resident of Fayetteville and, uh, currently of no fixed abode.”
He looked up at her for the first time. Lauren studied him, but said nothing.
Reid cleared his throat again. “I would just like to point out that this interview will function both as arraignment and preliminary hearing, to establish the basics of this case. I have here the statements of the witnesses to the crime, and must inform you that you are being held on a charge of second-degree murder. Please may I confirm that you are, indeed, the defendant Lauren Nolan.”
The situation felt surreal to Lauren, and she wondered if they were playing some kind of mind-game with her. “And if I’m not?” she asked.
Reid looked a little embarrassed. “It has been established beyond all reasonable doubt that you are Mrs. Nolan. You have been identified by several credible witnesses. It’s simply a matter of protocol that you confirm your identity for, uh, court purposes.”
“Well, I’m not,” said Lauren stubbornly.
Reid pursed his lips. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “You are, and that’s all there is to it,” he said briskly.
“If you’re the judge, where’s my lawyer?”
Reid stared down at his papers, and Connors spoke up. “There are no lawyers, Mrs. Nolan. They’re all dead. Consider yourself lucky to even be getting a trial.”
Reid coughed and began. “Under emergency law of the State of the Carolinas, a felony will be tried in a court of law, with the presiding judge listening to both sides of the case. Provision does not yet exist for either full legal representation nor trial by jury. It is my job to weigh the evidence, establish the degree of the crime and to pass sentence.”
“In other words,” said Lauren, “you’ve already decided where this is going.”
“I listen to the evidence, Mrs. Nolan,” said Reid irritably. “It has been established that you were at Myers Park when the victim, Luke Walsh, in company with other witnesses, was shot dead. It has been established that you were seen to shoot Mr. Walsh with an M16 rifle. It has been established that you handed in the same model of rifle to the Black Mountain checkpoint prior to your arrest. A magazine matching that rifle was found upon your person after t
he arrest. This, then, is the case for the prosecution. What I have not yet done is listen to evidence for the defense. This is your opportunity to furnish the court with such. Two other people were seen with you at Myers Park, both women, one with a baby. It will greatly improve your chances if you can summon them as witnesses. If you plan to enter a Not Guilty plea, that is.”
“If you know so much, how come you haven’t summoned them already?”
Connors answered for the judge. “Because we cannot find them, Mrs. Nolan. We need their names, and some indication of where they might be. Tell us who they are, and we can make sure you have a fair trial.”
Lauren recalled the day of the shooting. It was Sally and Dee who’d been with her, and while they certainly could have provided witness statements, it was obvious that Connors was only interested in finding them in order to get closer to Rick. Which meant that Rick was still alive, and possibly on the run. There was no way she was going to give Connors any information that would help him in finding her husband.
Leaning forward on the table, Lauren said, “Mr. Reid, are you aware that you’re being used?”
Connors spoke up again. “Mrs. Nolan, are you aware that the penalty for murder is death by hanging? If you value your life, you’ll cooperate with the court.”
Ignoring him, Lauren continued to direct her comments to the judge. “This whole thing is a sham. Did Connors put you up to this? Because the only thing he’s interested in is finding my husband. We’re both being used.”
“You’re running out of time, Mrs. Nolan,” intoned Connors.
Reid fumbled with his pencil. “If there are no further pleas, and with the power invested in me by the State of the Carolinas, I hereby set the date of the trial for tomorrow.”
“You spineless son of a bitch,” said Lauren. “You’re being set up. Look at me. This isn’t justice, this is a show trial.”
Connors nodded at Fick. “I think Mrs. Nolan is ready to return to her cell.”
Fick lifted her out of the chair. As he did so, she kicked at the table, driving it forcefully into Reid’s groin as he stood up to gather his papers. “All Connors wants is power, and you’re helping him,” she cried. “What do you think this is all about? Get your head out of your ass and take a look!”