Circles of Displacement

by Darrell Bain

  “So you see, Jason is trying, but what he can do is limited so long as Burley has the bigger following. There's one more thing too. We heard about some girls that were stranded west of Huntsville, and Burley sent a group out that way to get them."

  “This is incredible,” Wanda said. “Black slavery, sex slaves, scouts out all over the place, two different factions of convicts; we have over a dozen women here and only two men, and now you're saying there's more women going to be taken prisoner?"

  “Not exactly women, ma'am,” Whitney said. “The way we got it, they are more like girls. Teenagers, with one old man and one younger one with them. It may be ok for a while, though. Jason sent some of our men along to try to make it go easier with them. You never know, though. Those shits of Burley's are all either lifers or real mean motherfu ... real bad men. And Burley's the worst of the lot. He's crazy."

  “How many convicts altogether?” Michael asked. Already, he was beginning to think of still another rescue mission. The idea of more fighting frightened him enough to cause his hands to quiver where he was holding his rifle in both hands. He tightened his grip, hoping no one would notice. Christ, what am I thinking? I'm no damn general. And why am I taking all this responsibility, anyway?

  Eli interrupted his thoughts. “Including the blacks?"

  “No, just the ones who will fight,” Michael said. Maybe there wouldn't be that many.

  Whitney creased his brows. “I'd guess about fifty altogether, maybe more. A dozen or so are Jason's men, but if they thought you'd lock them up again, they would fight on Burley's side. Same as I would for that matter.” He gave Michael a defiant look then dropped his gaze.

  Too many. “Wanda, we need to think this over. I'd like to get their other captives loose, but that's too many to tangle with. What can we do? We can't just press ahead with what we have now and hope for a break.” He looked around at his ragged followers.

  “I agree,” she said. “As much as I hate to think of leaving the girls and those poor blacks he's talking about alone, without hope, we can't do anything now. We'll have to go back and get reinforcements from Breedlove."

  Michael considered, then shook his head. “The people we have can't go against fifty armed convicts, even with Breedlove's group. All I can see is to keep searching the pattern we laid out and hope for more recruits.” And then hope they'll join us, he thought.

  Whitney spoke up again. “Mister, I sure hate to tell you this, but there's one more thing."

  What now? “Bud, you're nothing but bad news all over the place."

  “Sorry, but you better know. Everyone was talking about asking Burley and Jason to move everything to a better location if we found one, just as soon as we got back. There weren't too many stores near the prison, and supplies are running low. Did you get everyone, or did some of us get away?"

  “Shit on a horse,” Wanda said, stamping her foot on the ground in lieu of anything else to vent her rage on. “Yes, Goddamnit, at least one of them got away. Well, that rules out our search for other people. If we give them time to come back and take over Livingston, we'll never root them out. Crap!"

  Michael eyed Whitney with renewed interest. The hint of an idea began to form. At first it seemed ridiculous, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made, given their circumstances. The crux of the matter would be selling the idea to Wanda. And to me, he thought. His hands began shaking again.

  * * * *

  Damn me for an old man, I've fucked up again, McMasters thought. Maybe I was too cautious, but no way now to keep the convicts from getting back to Huntsville. The girls and their captors were only a few miles away from there now, by his calculations, and there was no hope of stopping them, even though they had halted at another clearing, for what purpose he could only guess. He couldn't make out details from the distance.

  “It looks like there's going to be a rape,” George said. “Goddamn, can't we do something?"

  “That's Mother!” Judy whispered. “Cecil, please, do something."

  The figures were blurred, but McMasters could see one person being separated from the others and led away. As he watched, blinking his eyes, he thought he saw one man step forward and rip at a blouse.

  “Cecil, stop it, please.” Judy cried, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene she could see much more clearly than McMasters.

  “Help me down,” McMasters told her. Painfully, he dropped one-footed to the ground. His wounded leg would no longer bear weight at all. “Get ready to help me back on, then be ready to run.” He leaned his rifle on the saddle of the horse. The scope brought the figures into a better perspective, but they were still fuzzy. Under the best of circumstances, it would be a chancy shot, even if his eyes could see as well as they used to. He hesitated. What if he hit the woman instead?

  In the scope, he could see Doris having her blouse ripped away. The bra followed. She struck out at her abuser and was cuffed about the head for her trouble. She shrank away, trying to cover her breasts. The convict followed relentlessly, slapping her arms aside. He pushed her to the ground and began ripping at her slacks.

  “Please, Cecil, please.” Judy's plea came to him like a ghostly apparition inside his head. His hand steadied, and just for a moment the cross hairs of the scope centered on Doris’ attacker. Gently, he squeezed the trigger, holding his breath. One second, two, then the white-clad convict slowly slumped to the ground, a red stain spreading over his back where the slug had exited.

  “Go,” McMasters said huskily. A sudden wetness rather than his outdated eyes blurred his vision now. It was the best shot he had ever made in his life, but the small victory rang hollow.

  The majority of the convicts quickly disappeared into the forest with their captives and he knew they were going to get back to Huntsville with Doris and the girls. He hated to even think about what would happen when they did.

  Once McMasters was sure they were safely away, he called a conference, which really amounted to ordering Judy and George to go along with his next idea, which he admitted to himself was really a long shot.

  “George,” he said, “I want you to go back and get your family while Judy and I work on east. We can't do any more damage to those cons now, without finding some other people to help."

  “Where are you heading?"

  “There's some more little towns east of here, or at least there used to be; then there's Livingston a ways farther, I hope. I'm also hoping we'll find some other people along the way to help us out. We'll blaze a trail so you can follow us."

  “Ain't the Trinity between us and Livingston?” George asked.

  “Yes. We'll have to cross it some way. I doubt we can count on the bridge still being intact, but we'll manage somehow. Livingston was pretty big and spread out. I'm hoping we'll find a pretty good bunch of survivors there, if nowhere else. At any rate, that's the only idea I can come up with."

  “OK, if you say so. Mama ain't gonna like this, but maybe you're right. I can't think of nothing else to do, either. Be sure and mark your trail good."

  “We will,” McMasters said. “Let's go, Judy.” He had to allow her to help him re-mount. She climbed on behind him and again put her arm around his waist. After awhile, her arms tightened and he felt her hair brush the back of his neck.

  “Thank you, Cecil,” he heard her whisper.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Wanda had neatly turned the tables on Michael's initial idea that he accompany Whitney back to Huntsville as his “prisoner,” then work with Jason to try and get a sixth column going in Burley's rear. The idea was frightening to contemplate, but it was all he had been able to think of to overcome the disparity of forces, and even so he wasn't really enthusiastic about the strategy. He was even less enthusiastic when Wanda insisted on playing the role and was beginning to be sorry now he had even mentioned it. “No! Damnit, Wanda, I won't let you do this. You can't. Just think of what you're proposing!” He thought of Dawson Reeves and other convicts like
him who had been imprisoned at The Walls.

  “I know what I'm proposing, Mike. I don't like it any better than you do, but unless you can think of something better, that's what I'm going to do. They might kill you out of hand, but they won't harm me. Not physically, anyway.” She put a hand on her hip, striking a provocative pose to emphasize her point. She was already steeling her inner mind to endure what she was almost certain would happen if she convinced Mike to go along. Well, Sheila had endured it and under much worse circumstances. If it comes to that, I'll live through it. She marshaled her arguments while Michael was still trying to reject the idea.

  Michael was horrified. Logic didn't enter into it, even though that was what Wanda had on her side. Quietly, she went over the facts again, after drawing him aside to keep them from being overheard by the others.

  “Mike, I just don't see any other way. Look at the whole picture. First, everyone here already thinks of you as their leader, their commanding officer if you want to think of it in those terms. Next, if we believe Whitney, we only have a few days before all the convicts begin heading for Livingston.

  “There are three factions: Burley and his men, Jason's soft cons, and the black slaves. Jason controls a small core of cons that wouldn't ordinarily be dangerous to us. Burley has thirty or forty men under his control who don't give a damn what they do. We can assume that he's captured those teenage girls, and God knows how they're being treated, regardless of what Whitney says Jason is doing.

  “Somehow, we have to stop them. We don't have the force to do that, even if that deputy and his gang gets back to Livingston before the cons get there. Someone has to make contact with Jason before we fight, and you already admit that we're going to have to. If he has some assurance that we'll go easy on his gang, there's a good chance he'll turn on Burley when we want him to.

  “Not only that, Whitney says if we can free the blacks, they'll fight on our side, just on the chance that they will get a square deal in the future; in the meantime, I'll work on the girls if I find them there. Does that cover everything?"

  Michael had to admit that it did, but he wasn't ready to concede yet. He was strongly attracted to her, not just sexually; he was enthralled with the difference between her and his former wife and wanted to get as deep into her mind as he had been in her body. The thought of leaving her to the mercy of ruthless convicts was almost unbearable. He thought of a possible out. “Everything you say is true, but why do you have to go? Or me either, come to think of it. Couldn't we let Whitney take off by himself?"

  “Would you trust him that far?"

  “Oh, shit, I don't know. I'm just thinking of you. Didn't you listen to what he said about those two nurses and the other old ladies who were trapped there to begin with?"

  “I listened. What I just said still makes sense. Look, it won't be for long. Breedlove should already be heading to Livingston with his people. All you have to do is bring him and everyone else who can fight and catch us on the way back when Burley comes this way. Trust me to make waves in the rear. And one last thing, Mike. I'll remind you again: if you go, Burley might simply execute you after he's gotten whatever information he wants from you. He wouldn't do that to a woman.” Never mind what he would do! Wanda remembered her refusal to submit to the colonel when that would have saved her career. What a turnabout. Now she was almost hoping for the same thing to happen in reverse!

  Michael found no way to argue with her logic. Except—"Wait! Suppose that one con we know escaped doesn't make it back to Huntsville. That would mean no expedition back to Livingston!"

  “So what? You still plan on trying to rescue the girls and the blacks and what other people Burley's cons have gathered up, don't you? It doesn't change a thing. Someone still needs to cause trouble in his rear before any chance we take will succeed."

  Michael looked around him. They were still encamped on the riverbank. What he saw finally convinced him: a gang of women, fewer than two dozen, armed with shotguns they barely knew how to use. They, with Breedlove's meager contingent, if they made it to Livingston in time, would made up his whole fighting force, and there were no others to draw on. His shoulders slumped in defeat. He tried to push the image of Dawson Reeves’ assault on Sheila out of his mind, but it kept coming back, only now the scene in his memory was insisting on replacing Sheila with Wanda, helpless beneath a slavering miscreant.

  Wanda gathered his suddenly pale body to her and hugged him fiercely. “Please, Mike, please don't get weak now. I'm scared half out of my wits. I'm going to be depending on you to get me out of this fix I'm going into. And let's face it: everyone will take orders from you; they might not from me."

  Michael drew in a deep breath. He stepped back and held Wanda by her upper arms. Their eyes met and locked. “Come on then, you idiot, and let's go see Whitney. You're going to have to get your stories straight before you leave, and God help him if he's lying.” Arm in arm, they walked back to the waiting group.

  * * * *

  “Can't we do anything?” Judy asked. She had no more tears left to shed and was beginning to talk again.

  McMasters answered as honestly as he could. “We can't attack the whole Walls unit by ourselves. The only thing I know to do now is to search for more help. We've found some people; maybe we can find others."

  McMasters was still despondent over his failure to rescue Judy's companions and her mother. He felt totally responsible, even though he had done everything that came to mind. An old mind, though, maybe too old.

  And the young girl was beginning to look at him in an odd way, a scrutiny that tugged at past memories like a just discovered photograph from his youth might have done. He recognized the phenomena. It was common for homeless women in a war zone. They sought out the strongest male they could find and attached themselves to him, mentally and physically, letting buried instincts surface and direct their actions. Before too long he would have to start thinking of how to deal with it. Young people were always impatient.

  “Where do you think we'll find some other people?” Judy asked. The thought bothered her in a way she didn't understand at all. Right now, she wanted to just stay close to Cecil. She felt safe in his presence.

  “All I can tell you is that the further east we've been, the more people we've seen. Maybe around Livingston. That's on the other side of the Trinity; maybe the cons won't think of crossing it. I'm sorry, hon. I did the best I could. Maybe those bastards will at least think a little before they try rape again. They can't know that I'm not watching."

  Judy had to be satisfied with that. At least, the last view she had had of her mother was that of her gathering her clothes. Maybe the convicts would think before they tried anything with their captives again. She could hope, anyway.

  * * * *

  It took all the influence Jason could muster to prevent a mass rape of the teenage girls when they were brought within the confines of the Walls. Even then, he might not have been able to prevent it had Whitney and Wanda not coincidentally arrived right afterwards. Surprisingly, they had gotten back to the former prison before the sole survivor of the battle by the river, but just barely. While Whitney was still describing the carnage to Burley and Jason, including his fiction of capturing Wanda, the other con made his appearance and added his story to theirs.

  Burley was so furious at the tale of their defeat that he had the convict who had run stripped of his weapon and confined with the black slaves. Jason grinned inwardly, but didn't let it show. All Burley was doing was diluting his strength.

  It wasn't all good, though. As soon as Burley heard about the Wal-Mart and other stores at Livingston, he decided to move everyone there. He reasoned that if he moved them all, he would have enough strength to overcome any opposition. Besides, supplies in Huntsville were getting low. Jason couldn't argue.

  Organizing and getting the move underway would keep everyone occupied and give him a chance to get Whitney alone. He sensed that Whitney was holding something back, but didn't dare bring it up
in front of Burley. And there was something else. The woman he had brought back with him had, when all eyes were on Whitney, winked at him, closing one eye slowly, then raising the lashes of that eye as if she wanted to give him a message. There was a meaning there, if only he could find out what it was.

  “Jason, you're the organizer. Why don't you get started with plans for the move?” Burley said in an unusually pleasant tone of voice.

  “What are you going to be doing?"

  “I think I need to talk to this little lady and see exactly what she's been doing since the change. According to Whit, it was nothing but ladies that ambushed us at the river, but I want to be sure. Ok?"

  Jason nodded slowly. He didn't have much of a basis for argument. “All right, but remember what I said. We'll all be better off in the long run if we try to act halfway human. Ammunition and supplies won't last forever. Sometime soon, we're going to have to plan on forming a society of some sort and make long range plans.” He eyed the cons jostling and bantering for a closer look at the teenage girls who had just arrived. He turned away from Burley and closed his eyes in momentary sorrow. He knew there was no way he could prevent some rape occurring before the day was over, particularly among the young black women. Too many of the cons, encouraged by Burley's cohorts, had already begun thinking of blacks as if they were a subspecies, much in the way southerners had well over a century ago.

  “Yeah, I heard you say that already. We'll see. Right now I got some business to take care of.” Burley nudged Wanda toward the office he had appropriated with the barrel of his shotgun. He shoved her inside and then turned to Jason. “Just remember: we ain't having no blacks in your so-called society, and if the women don't come around soon, the boys will get too impatient to wait. Get me?” Without waiting for an answer, he entered the office and closed the door.

  Wanda thought Burley had the coldest eyes she had ever seen. Like a snake, she thought, perpetually coiled and ready to strike at the slightest provocation.