Indivisible (Overlooked by Liberty)

by Blair Smith

  That stopped him, but Tater was wrecked: One bullet had caught her in the neck, another in her lower rib cage.

  Helen lifted her pet with a grunt, and left. Forty meters down the hall the unmistakable vroom of a motor-gun revving up echoed through the empty corridor. Helen realized she had forgotten to dispose of his weapon before leaving, and maybe she hadn't maimed him. I should have shot the bastard three times. She picked up her pace. Her arms began to burn already from carrying Tater. A hail of motor-gun balls sprayed the corridor, stray ones shattering showcase windows on both sides of them. Helen and Tater turned the corner as balls whizzed by into the shop at the end of the hallway.

  Helen scurried across a glass-enclosed walkway that led to the shopping complex on the other side of the square. She checked for open doors--finding none. Her arms sagged with the weight of the dog. Helen gave up looking for an open room and frantically bolted down two flights of stairs and left the building onto the street. Her first intention was to race to the warehouse. Think this time, Helen said to herself. That bastard knows where I'm going. More cautiously now, she prowled up Chatham Street and circled back to Quincy Market. She waited on the glass walkway she had crossed before. From that vantage point she could view any shadows moving in the courtyard or hear Tumult approach from the corridor in either building.

  It was a relief to put the dog down. Her arms hung limp by her side as she rubbed each elbow in turn. Helen kneeled over Tater. She felt overwhelming sympathy for her pet. It crossed her mind that if she wasn't carrying the dog she could have outrun Tumult to the warehouse. After all, he was shot. She knew something kept her clinging to the animal: Tater was the last vestige of her son's life; she was another being with a shared love for Barry.

  Helen stroked Tater's head, "You're a good pup." The dog only blinked but she had heard it. Helen took off her jacket and girdled Tater's midsection. She wrapped the animal's neck with her blouse and hugged her bloody pet. "You'll be all right. I'll take care of you now." As she said it, from her crouched position with arms about the dog, Tumult appeared at the end of the courtyard. He followed her trail, scanning the ground for sign. Helen looked down the hall and saw the drops of blood. "He trailed us," she whispered to herself.

  Tumult stood just below the glassed walkway. The man looked at the pecks of blood leading toward the stairway to the side. Helen raised the revolver and clicked off three rounds through the glass just as the Virginian had instructed her. "Pop! Pop! Click. Click."

  After the shattered panel fell, Tumult stood below in the opening holding his face; a bullet had struck his nose. To Helen, the rest happened in agonizing slow motion. Tumult pulled his hand from his bloody face and yanked the starter cord to his motor-gun. The stream of balls began shattering the entire glass enclosure, strafing back and forth across the walkway.

  Nuggets of glass hailed down on woman and dog, engulfing them in a shower of pointy teeth that pricked with every hit. Helen leaned over Tater to shield her from the rain of glass as she crawled and tugged, staying low to the concrete floor that provided refuge.

  The only remaining garment Helen had on her upper body was her bra. Tiny lacerations tattooed her back. She was paralyzed by the shower of glass that pummeled her. Finally, small hands grabbed her and tugged her forward. Thad had run off from Tumult's attack pack and circled back.

  On hands and knees, pulling Tater, Helen crawled toward the main building. Crystal nuggets cut her hands and knees. The glass enclosure gave way to cool, fresh air. Helen felt the warm blood from the plethora of cuts as they pooled together and oozed down her side in streaks. The shooting had finally stopped when Tumult emptied his ammo hopper. He clutched his face as he headed back in the direction of Bunker Hill.

  In the hollows of the building, Helen patted Tater's head and rested against the wall. Thad began taking his jacket off to put around her. They were about five blocks away from the wharf.

  "Ya found her!" Butch declared. He had made his escape from the attack pack by claiming he had to go to the bathroom and sneaking off. When the rebels had gone to look for Butch, Thad ran away to distract them. Leg-men from the pack raced after him. When they saw they couldn't gain on the boy, they dropped their guns and ammo to lighten their load. It was still no use, Thad knew he could outrun the larger leg-men. And he did.

  Now, with lacerations of his own on the back of his head and neck, Thad stood over Helen; she was shaking from the encounter. He had overcome his own fear to save her. Helen knew that. She got up and hugged the boy. "Thank you." He looked away and responded with a jittery smile; she had very little on.

  Butch picked up Tater with a grunt, "Gotta go." They headed toward Union Wharf.

  At Union Wharf, Chaos, Max and Captain Thomas of Regular Army discussed the possibilities of getting out of the city. The Wizard had set up the meeting with Thomas; unbeknownst to Chaos and Max, Thomas had been the officer in charge at the Dixville site.

  "We've got a ship in the harbor loaded with supplies and munitions," said Thomas. "If you can get it out of the harbor and back to the North Country, you can have it."

  "It's not that simple," Chaos corrected. "If we all get on that ship it would only take one missile to take us out. A pilot with computer-enhanced imaging could fly in this stuff. They only need to launch one missile."

  "You're right," the Captain replied. "But the boat is loaded with top-of-the-line weaponry and an array of hand-held missiles. Not only that, but there are eighty-seven Guards on that boat who know how to use the stuff and want to join your resistance. Most of them are from the North Country. We've been able to get information, even with the communication blackout the military imposed. There's more Guard who have gone AWOL and would like to join. It's just a matter of locating them and letting them know."

  "I still think we should split the munitions up in a bunch of different boats," Chaos persisted.

  "Agreed."

  At that point Max had only listened in on the discussion. He spotted Helen entering the warehouse, now carrying Tater. The boys and one of Chaos' scouting packs followed. "Helen!" He ran over and offered to carry the dog but she refused. With Thad's jacket around her shoulders, she defiantly staggered in with blood-streaked hair. She saw Chaos but continued to a table where she placed her pet. The stunned group encircled her, all asking questions at the same time. Helen ignored them. "Somebody get me a medical kit. I've got to fix her."

  -

  Chapter 13

  Helen sat in an office just beyond the warehouse. She had washed her hair and cleaned up, finally finding time to sit and relax behind a large desk. She instinctively reached to her shirt pocket to find the picture of Barry. It was gone. She remembered the photo was in the shirt left at Quincy Market in the struggle. Helen had an uncontrollable urge to return to the site. She would be without a picture of her son until she returned home. If she made it home. Helen got up from her chair to see Chaos. As she opened the door, she was surprised to find someone opening it at the same time. It was Captain Thomas. A rebel had told him Helen's son was at Dixville.

  He fumbled, trying to find the words, finally telling her about his part in the massacre. Captain Thomas' pathetic apology wasn't the way she envisioned her first meeting with the murderer of her son. Oh, she knew it was an automated ambush, but some soulless son-of-a-bitch set it up. Helen couldn't look at him; she was uncertain how to feel and still numbed from her ordeal with Tumult.

  "I just wanted to give you this." Captain Thomas handed her a memory disk. "I copied the imaging off the AutoMan. Do as you wish with it; it's about time everyone knew what really happened that day." His hand shook as he held it out to her.

  "What is it?"

  "Compressed imaging of the Dixville Massacre."

  "Compressed imaging?"

  "It shows what happened that day."

  Helen held it with both hands and just looke
d at it. She didn't know if she wanted to see it.

  "How are the boys who survived?" Thomas asked.

  The question jolted Helen from her trance. "What boys?" She didn't know what to tell him; that had been secret.

  "There were two kids in the roots of a fallen tree. I didn't see a blood trail so I presumed they were not hit."

  "Ah--"

  "You don't have to say anything. I understand." Captain Thomas lowered his head and backed out of the room, "I'm truly sorry. I just wish it could all be undone."

  Helen looked up from the disk, "So do I." The Captain closed the door, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand as he exited. "So do I," she repeated. Helen hadn't noticed it earlier but her eyes had teared too. She saw Wolfenstein's backpack on the edge of the desk. She opened it and pulled out his pocket computer. After loading the disk, she viewed scenes through the Toshiba graphic interface. The entire display couldn't have lasted more than two minutes from start to finish: The first Scout that triggered the device stuck his face in death's mouth, the constant strafing from side to side, then the pin-point single shots that either finished children off or targeted kids hiding behind trees and rocks. "Jesus, God!" She saw Barry. She didn't see her son actually but recognized his shoes extending out from a boulder. Helen put a hand to her mouth and stared at the screen as AutoMan pummeled away at the legs that extended beyond the stone. Her eyes winced with every flinch of her son's legs. Butch could be seen on the edge of the screen trying to go after him but an overpowering hand yanked him down. And then came Mr. Ronolou's heroic act that allowed the Rousells' escape. She replayed it over and over.

  "What's that?"

  Helen raised back upon hearing the words, and nearly hit Steve Morrison in the face with the back of her head. She hadn't heard him come in. "That's Dixville Notch, isn't it?" he queried, incredulous. His chewing gum fell out of his open mouth as he looked down.

  The question stirred her from the nightmare. Helen nodded yes. Steve walked around her and saw the tear paths that marked her face. "I'm sorry. But you see, this can end it. This disc would hang the President. He had to know. It was at least a cover-up on the part of the White House. They knew it wasn't smugglers."

  Tater woke from her anesthesia and began to stir. The new surroundings confused her. She recalled the same overwhelming stench of disinfectant at Barry's death, and in her own limited capacity, wondered why she was there. There could be no transfusion for her. On the floor beside her, Butch reached over, "Shhh, it's okay. Stay," he whispered and began stroking her head. Thad nudged a bowl of water closer to her. They appreciated the companionship of their mascot beside them. Tater accepted the solace but roamed the room with her eyes to see if Helen was somewhere among the shadows.

  People moved about the ward quietly. Steve Morrison searched for Wolfenstein, scanning carefully from side to side. He found him asleep and nudged his shoulder.

  "Look," demanded Morrison. Dixville images from the computer glared into Wolfenstein's eyes.

  "What is it?" Wolf could hardly see. "Hold on, give me a minute." He turned his wristwatch up to the screen's light. "It's almost one o'clock!" Wolfenstein caught himself speaking too loud, "Okay, okay." They moved to the open part of the warehouse away from others. "Now, what the hell is so important?"

  "AutoMan had a digital imaging system. Look." Wolfenstein watched the glaring scenes with squinted eyes. "I need you to help me get it to a news affiliate just outside Inner Boston. I want to send it tonight. We have a satellite link. There's someone there twenty-four hours a day."

  Chaos noticed Wolfenstein and Steve acting peculiar and walked over to check. "Is this Dixville?" inquired Chaos looking over Steve's shoulder. Both Steve and Wolf nodded. "Where did you get this?"

  Steve spoke slowly, "Captain Thomas brought it."

  "How'd he get it? Never mind. I'll go ask." said Chaos. "If he was there, I want to know what he's doing here." He started to leave but turned back. "Wolf, would you make a bunch of copies of that and get them out to all the pack leaders to keep in their red disk case."

  "Me too," Steve added, wanting a copy.

  "And make sure Helen doesn't find out about this." Chaos could tell by their faces his warning was too late. "What?"

  "She's seen it, sir," Steve confirmed.

  Chaos shook his head and stomped toward the office where Helen was. Steve turned to Wolfenstein. "Did I just call him 'sir'?"

  "I think you did."

  Chaos found Helen seated behind the desk in a doleful state. "You all right?" He walked over slowly and pulled up a chair. Putting an arm around her, he said softly, "Steve showed it to me."

  "I knew it was pretty horrible up there. I overheard some of the dads talking about it. Half the kids were gut shot and then hit a second time trying to drag themselves to cover. And what Butch said about Charlie Ronolou was true. That tough old bird did sacrifice himself to save those boys. Old Charlie, a Scout to the end."

  "What was Thomas doing with the imaging from Dixville? I wonder if we can trust the guy."

  "He asked about Butch and Thad," said Helen. "Well, not by name but he asked about them. He said he knew they were there hiding. He feels bad about the whole thing and wants to do something," she sighed. "The bad guys aren't what I thought they were. I don't know who to hate."

  "You don't have to hate anyone." He held her in his arms. "Get some rest. We'll be leaving here within the hour." Chaos didn't want to question her at the time, but her story about being chased by a Boston gang didn't jive. "You know, the dog wasn't hit with motor-gun rounds like you said earlier. They were 22 slugs."

  "Well I guess I must have accidentally hit her myself when I was shooting at them. It was dark, you know." Helen hadn't told him the truth. She was afraid of what Chaos might do, or rather, what Tumult might do to him. "And I think you already know your brother's a jerk. He just left me there."

  Chaos didn't believe her, but nodded yes. "Just try to get some rest." He left to find out more about Captain Thomas.

  Helen left the office, found a mat, and cuddled beside Tater, stroking the animal's head until they dozed off.

  Chaos devised a three-part escape from Boston. The first strategy was to leave quickly to take advantage of the fog and darkness. Conditions made it difficult for aircraft to fly. Secondly, they would leave a radio jammer at the dock with automated Masadas fending off Seal teams that might try and silence it. All-band jammers had a radius of fifteen miles. That would put the Mountain Boys out of the Federal radar radius. If the weather stayed bad they could be well into Maine by the next day. Chaos' final ace: They would divide the munitions between many boats and make a shell game of it. They had a second jammer they would turn on in case of attack; pilots would have no communications system. The low altitude under cloud cover would make the pilots easy targets for smaller hand-held missiles from the many boats, and then they had the anti-aircraft batteries on the ship Captain Thomas had brought. Chaos was hoping the Feds' attempt to take them in Boston had been hastily thrown together and that they could just leave without a hitch.

  For the past three hours attack packs had been pillaging the harbor and commandeering boats of all sizes. They found a cargo ship loaded with cigarettes stamped Taxes Paid to the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, waiting in the harbor to be off-loaded. Chaos ordered the cigarettes dumped into the harbor. It was all too easy: The all-frequency jammer atop Hancock Tower still mangled radio signals for a fifteen-mile radius. And within that communication blackout, the Feds were unlikely to do much offensively. On their way out, the Mountain Boys had booby-trapped the Hancock Tower three floors above and below the jammer; they used motion detectors as the triggering device. The only way to get by the devices was to have someone go in and detonate them, or wait until the batteries in the motion sensors drained. Chaos hoped the Feds wouldn't destroy an entire buildi
ng like the Hancock just to take out a radio jammer.

  "I'd like some answers about why you are here," said Chaos to Captain Thomas as Mountain Boys moved supplies and gear around them.

  Captain Thomas welcomed the interrogation, hoping it would clear the air and allow them to work together: "The truth about the Dixville tragedy has been withheld from the American people long enough. We were assigned to stop the smuggling in the North Country by any means necessary, the any means necessary emphasized. The White House wanted to make an example of the smugglers. After months with little success halting the smuggling of medical supplies, and a number of soldiers hit by locals in the hills, the AutoMan came strongly recommended. They claimed it had been thoroughly field-tested and would be perfect for blocking mountain routes in outlying areas. It had sensors to detect weight and weaponry. The thing should never have fired on those kids." He shook his head. "It just should never have happened. I'm not the only one who feels this way. There are a lot of messed up men and women in my unit trying to deal with this tragedy. As an added precaution afterward, they split up our unit and scattered us all over; we were ordered not to talk about it."

  If the Captain was acting, he was very good at it. Chaos believed his story. Being a soldier of a different sort, he understood the predicament of battle, the possibility of the innocent getting hurt. "So the White House has known all along about this?"

  "From the day it happened. Not everyone is in agreement: there's dissension at the top. But a direct link to the President and the Dixville Massacre isn't likely. Nothing was in writing. Besides, as tough as it is to accept, I screwed up by allowing a technician to turn off one of the sensors. It was my task force that did it. Exposing the truth about Dixville would only ruin the soldiers in my unit, at least that was my rationale for not saying anything for awhile. It won't touch the White House; they'll claim it was a military cover-up. But it might stop the bloodshed that's about to happen.