Collective Retribution

by Edwards, D. S.

  Adya’s thoughts raced. Where was Dmitri? Should he wait here? Should he try to kill these women?

  Two boys and three women returned from the creek a short time later. Adya recognized the young woman in the middle. She was the woman Dmitri had followed half an hour ago to kill.

  One of the boys held a shotgun. This one turned to the barn, breaking off from the rest of the group. “I’m going to saddle Trixie,” he said.

  One of the women moved to join him. “I’ll go with you,” she said.

  They walked toward the barn and the place Adya Aleksei hid. Adya panicked. He slipped out the back of the barn just as the boy and woman entered. He ran for his horse and jumped into the saddle. A million questions blew through his mind as he rode off, the sunset at his back. He didn’t have answers to any of them. He knew only that it was now up to him to deliver the information they had gathered to their troops. He knew there was a small outpost just across the California border, near Lakeview. He would ride for Lakeview and he would deliver his message.

  Adya rode hard for two days, stopping only to let his horse drink. He reached the shores of Summer Lake and rode along the highway a few miles. Up ahead was a road sign. He reined up to look: “Lakeview 83 Miles.” He started forward again.

  Adya felt a sharp pain in his chest, along with slight pressure. He touched his chest. Something hot and sticky ran through his fingers. He examined his hand in the fading light of day. It was covered with blood. He had the sudden realization that it was his blood.

  How can this be? he thought. Had he managed to cut himself in some way? His head felt light. The colors around him began to swirl. He looked down at his hand again. His vision moved in and out of focus. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  Adya opened his eyes to a horrifying sight. He was moving toward a large hole that had opened up in the ground. He felt like he was floating. He could hear a million voices screaming out in agony. The smell of sulfur and smoke filled his nostrils. He looked back and saw himself lying in the middle of the road. A man stood over his body, smiling the most gruesome smile he had ever seen. The man’s jaw was crooked, misaligned, giving him a truly grotesque smile. An evil glint shone out of his right eye. The left eye was gone. A scarred crater shone where the eyeball had been.

  Adya closed his eyes again. Everything went black. He had the sensation of falling. The screams grew louder. He heard his friend Dmitri screaming among the voices, the sound growing louder as he fell.

  41

  THE PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, TELLURIDE, COLORADO

  6:30 A.M., OCTOBER 17

  MANDI OPENED HER EYES, RUBBED HER FACE, AND STRETCHED in the predawn light. Her fingers brushed against the long, red scar on her cheek, leftover results of the nasty scratch she’d received from the she-wolf, Linda Hartley. She really couldn’t blame Mrs. Hartley for lashing out. Her husband was truly an evil man.

  Mandi’s parents had been refugees from Cuba. They’d arrived in Florida on a makeshift raft of inner tubes, plywood, and Styrofoam they’d found in a garbage dump.

  When an American fishing boat ran across them and picked them up, they’d been nearly dead. They had fled to Colorado to avoid deportation and still weren’t legal citizens when Mandi was born. Yet out of such hardship, they’d built a good life in Colorado. Her father worked hard for a rancher and saved every penny he made. They didn’t spend money on frivolous things like store-bought clothes or fancy food. Mandi’s mom made their clothes. They ate what they grew or managed to hunt every year.

  When Mandi was thirteen, her father took everything they’d saved and bought eighty acres of rich farmland. He was truly the epitome of the American Dream. Now, one man had destroyed that dream.

  Mandi washed her face and got ready for her day in the palace. She had to report for duty at 7 A.M. sharp, seven days a week. The only difference today was the reception the president was holding. Several towns in the West had a special relationship with the president. He agreed to leave them alone and provide for their protection. In exchange for this, each town leader had agreed to offer up some of the best things their regions produced, including some of their sons and daughters to serve the president. Now the day had come, it was time to pay the piper. The troops that protected these villages and towns terrorized the people who lived there, but left the mayors and other officials alone. The president had singlehandedly created a society based on the feudal model of the ancient world. He had set himself up as a king among men.

  Today, these mayors would come to the palace with their gifts. Some would bring gold, silver, the finest wines, and the richest, most extravagant foods from each of their regions. Some would bring their pretty daughters and strong sons. The president would look over the gifts of food and drink and keep the ones that pleased him. The others would be thrown into the garbage heap. He could give them to his slaves, but he chose not to. Some of the slaves would sneak out to the trash heap and salvage what they could.

  The gifts of sons and daughters were a different story. The girls that pleased him would be added to his stable of concubines. The girls that didn’t meet his standards would be given to his military commanders for their pleasure. Most would not survive more than a week. The boys who pleased him would be added to his serving staff. After a long process of education, they would no doubt be delivered to the palace doctors and castrated, instantly taking away their aggressive tendencies. The boys who weren’t utilized in the palace would be drafted into the U.C. military.

  The palace was bustling today in anticipation of the new arrivals. The serving staff had been looking forward to this reception. There would be plenty of rich food and drink for them to salvage from the garbage, and the addition of new servants would relieve some of the pressure on them. It made Mandi sad to picture the frightened faces of the new slaves, but part of her would be happy to see them come. She was human, after all.

  Mandi reported to the kitchen and loaded the presidential family’s breakfast on a serving cart. They really did eat well. They had the finest of everything: rich pastries, the most hearty of smoked meats, fresh fruit, fresh-squeezed juice, rich cream, and freshly churned, lightly salted butter. Mandi’s mouth watered as the bouquet of aromas filled her nostrils. She was always hungry, but sometimes being the president’s favorite slave and plaything had its advantages. She managed to steal a bite or two each time she delivered their meals.

  Mandi wheeled the cart to the dumbwaiter and fastened it securely. She walked up the stairs to the fourth floor and manually operated the dumbwaiter, delivering the cart to her hands. She wheeled it down the hallway to a set of ornately carved oak doors, gilded and trimmed in 24-karat gold. She knocked lightly on the door. The president’s houseboy, Billy, slowly opened it and greeted her.

  Mandi wheeled the cart to a plain-looking door, just off the palatial sitting room where the president typically had his fun with her, as well as the other girls. She lightly tapped on the door. A fat, red-faced man opened the door a crack and scrunched his cheeks as he smiled up at Mandi. He had a twinkle in his eye as he loudly smacked his lips. “What do we have today?” he said.

  Rollie Patterson was the president’s chief cupbearer. No food or drink made it to the president or his family without first passing over the lips of “Fatty Patterson.” The staff had bestowed the nickname on him due to the fact that he’d gained over a hundred and fifty pounds since he was appointed the president’s dietary guinea pig.

  Rollie walked back into his living quarters, emerging a short time later with a bib tied around his neck and carrying several gold-plated forks. He sampled each item on the cart. After every bite, he closed his eyes. Moans of ecstasy purred from his pudgy throat. He washed everything down with water, juice, and milk. Rollie finished off his sampling by chugging a glass of lumpy buttermilk and filling his mouth with a spoonful of silky-smooth butter. He smacked his lips again and wiped his mouth with his bib. “Mandi my dear, that was exquisite.”

  Mandi tried not to laugh at
the pieces of food stuck between his teeth or the multicolored drool that had stained his bib. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now I’d better deliver it before it gets cold, or we’ll all be in trouble.”

  Rollie called after her as she disappeared around the corner, “See you at lunchtime. Make sure you knock loudly. I’m going to take a nap until then!” Mandi chuckled. A moment later, she knocked on the door to the president’s bedroom, then quickly made her way back down the hall, leaving the cart behind. Someone else would be sent to retrieve it later.

  Mandi returned to the kitchen to see what the serving staff had been given for breakfast. She wasn’t thrilled to find cold oatmeal and stale bread, but she began to eat it anyway. She’d taken her second bite of oatmeal and torn off a bit of bread when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Chef Gordon Zenneli was smiling down at her. Chef Zenneli had been recruited, or rather captured, in Aspen. He was the former executive chef at the posh Gossamer Winds Restaurant. On any given night, there had usually been no less than five celebrities seated around his dining room, sampling his cuisine. Aspen had been a favorite mountain playground of the Hollywood crowd. Most of them had thrown their support behind Richard Hartley when he ran for president. Those who were still alive no doubt regretted that support.

  Chef Zenneli looked around to make sure no one was watching. He quickly put a handful of brown sugar in her oatmeal and pulled a freshly toasted English muffin smothered in butter and jam from the pocket of his apron. He set it in front of her.

  “Thanks, Gordon, You are such a sweetheart.”

  Gordon’s face turned bright red. He hurriedly retreated to his cooking duties. They had over forty guests to cook for this evening.

  Mandi smiled after him. She attacked her breakfast with newfound enthusiasm. Gordon had been sweet on Mandi since the day she’d arrived. She often caught him watching her, only to see him turn away or run in apparent terror. He was cute enough, but the part of her that was able to be attracted to anyone or even love had died a long time ago. She couldn’t return any affection directed at her. For all intents and purposes, she was numb inside. She would never allow herself to feel again or open herself up to the hurt of losing anyone she loved. She had to be tough now. She had to harden herself and become cold. One day she would kill President Hartley. She wanted to be ready.

  Mandi finished her breakfast and went to the laundry room. It was Thursday. She was running a bit late and had to finish the president’s linens before Mrs. Hartley went on her 10 A.M. horseback ride. The president expected clean sheets on his bed, and Mandi lying between them, by 10:15. If she was late, she would be beaten, and the president would focus his sick desires on someone else.

  Mandi finished the linens and touched up her hair and makeup. She sprayed herself with his favorite perfume and delivered the bedding. When the bed had been made, she removed her uniform and undergarments and crawled in between the soft, cool sheets. She prepared her mind, traveling to a field of wildflowers. She could smell the blossoms. She could feel the warm sun on her cheeks and hear the bees buzzing between the blooms.

  She’d learned the art of escaping in her mind shortly after she’d arrived at the palace and the president began his obsession with her. The first time he’d raped her, she’d struggled and tried to fight back. All that had gotten her was bruised and bloodied. Now she would hurt, and feel dirty and ashamed, after their time together, but her body would not suffer as much abuse.

  Mandi was so comfortable in her daydream, and the soft bed felt so good under her naked body, that she fell into a deep, restful sleep.

  She awoke with a start and sat straight up in the president’s bed. Had the president come to her? She didn’t feel the leftover pain that normally lingered after his rough treatment. There were no fresh scratches on her back. There was no foul body odor hanging in the air. How long had she been here? Was it just a minute? Was it several hours?

  Mandi began to panic. If she left the room too soon and he came in to find his bed empty, this would not work out well for her. If for some reason he’d decided not to enjoy his normal Thursday routine, the question was why? Did she do something to displease him? If he was displeased with her, he wouldn’t have further need of her, and would give her to his generals. If this happened, she would be dead in a week.

  Her mind raced as she got out of bed and dressed. Mandi removed the sheets and bundled them up. She remade the bed with the extra-clean set she’d brought and turned to leave the room to await her fate.

  Muffled shouts stopped her in her tracks. She strained to listen.

  It was the president. He was yelling at someone from somewhere nearby. His voice reached her through the thick walls, but she could make out only some of the words: “I want…troops are… leads you!”

  Mandi crept to the door that led into the next room and quietly placed her ear against it. The voices were no louder than before. Mandi reached for the door handle, then scolded herself. What are you doing? Do you want to get yourself killed? Walk away. Whatever this is, it doesn’t concern you.

  She slowly opened the door to the next room and took a tentative step across the threshold. This was one of her favorite rooms in the palace. The floors were polished quartz, with veins of gold running through them. The furniture was plush, and made from the finest silk fabrics. Giant crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Framed fine art hung on the walls.

  Mandi walked farther into the room. She could hear the voices more easily here. She crept toward the door on the other side of the room and carefully laid her ear against it. She could hear three voices now. The president was still yelling at someone. She could hear muffled screams. And another man was talking to the president and laughing.

  Mandi couldn’t understand everything that was being said. She didn’t recognize the other man’s voice. She knelt and placed her eye against the old-fashioned keyhole. There was just enough space to view the president standing over a man tied to a table. He held a long knife and a pair of pliers. General Scheper stood next to him, holding a glass and sipping a drink. The president reached down with the pliers and forced them into the man’s mouth. The man thrashed and shook his head violently back and forth.

  “Hold his head!” Hartley shouted.

  Edzard Scheper put his drink down and held the head of the prisoner with both hands. The president got his face within a few inches of the man’s open mouth and screamed at him. “I’m going to ask you one last time! Who is in charge of this rebellion?”

  The prisoner ignored the president and looked up at him with defiance. The president locked onto one of his teeth with the pliers. He pulled and twisted. The man screamed, then passed out when the tooth pulled free from its roots and air reached the empty socket.

  This angered the president. He threw the pliers across the room. Then he punched the prisoner in the face, rubbed his bruised knuckles, turned on his heels, and headed for the door Mandi was crouched behind.

  She jumped up. She didn’t have time to make it across the room and out the door she’d come in. Her eyes frantically searched for a place to hide. She ran into a corner and ducked behind an overstuffed love seat. Her heart pounded so loud in her chest, she feared Hartley might hear it.

  Mandi heard the footsteps of two people enter the room. One walked over to a cabinet. She heard the sound of a bottle clinking against glass. The other person sat down. “Tell me again,” the president said, “exactly where and how you found him.”

  The second voice belonged to General Scheper. “My men were on patrol outside of Ouray. They saw him walking on the edge of a canyon. They worked their way around on the road above him, and when he saw them, he tried to escape into the bottom of the canyon. They caught him about halfway down. He didn’t have any pack or weapons on him. He didn’t seem to be lost or injured. He was just there, by himself, on the edge of a deep canyon. He wouldn’t tell them anything, so I had him brought here.”

  “When we’re finished with him,” the president said, “I w
ant you to personally take a team back up there and search every inch of that mountain. They had to have missed something. I don’t think he was alone. There has to be more of them up there, and I want to know what they’re up to. Let’s see about getting you something to eat. I have a reception later today, and if all goes well, I’ll be sending some fresh girls back with you. I want to keep up the men’s morale.”

  The two men walked out. Mandi slipped out from her hiding place and entered the room where the prisoner was tied up. Now that she could see the whole room, her blood froze. There was no furniture except the cold metal table the man was tied to. The walls were bare except for a few works of art. These paintings featured mythical beasts devouring human flesh and naked people locked together, burning in bright orange flames.

  Mandi walked over to the man on the table and untied him. She shook him awake and placed her finger against her lips.

  “I’m going to help you,” she whispered. “Can you walk?”

  The man nodded. She helped him to his feet.

  “Follow me,” she said. “We have to be quick.”

  She led the way out of the room and into the president’s bedroom, where she stopped to pick up the pile of linens. She carefully opened the door, making sure the coast was clear. They quickly moved down the hallway to the back stairwell. She led them to the bottom floor and outside. She checked again to make sure no one was watching, then led him behind the palace to her shack.

  “You have to stay here, and stay hidden,” she said. “When it’s dark, I’ll show you the best way out of here without being seen.”

  The man touched her arm and whispered through blood-soaked lips, “Thank you.”

  Mandi returned to the palace laundry with her pile of linen. She slipped into the laundry shed and placed the dirty linen at the bottom of a laundry bag. She didn’t want anyone to question her about the laundry. She carefully opened the shed door and looked all around before exiting. Satisfied that no one had seen her, she quickly crossed the open ground and walked back into the palace to continue her daily duties. If she was questioned, she would say that she’d waited for the president in the sitting room, and when he didn’t show, she’d returned to her duties.