Holding Their Own XV: Bloodlust

by Nobody, Joe

  “This is a working vacation,” Diana responded, her eyes traveling to the stack of documents piled near the cups. “We’ve gotten a lot done, but there’s always more to do, it seems.”

  “I think we should name the legislation Nathan Hill’s Law,” Terri offered out of the blue. “It was that young man’s death that got this whole thing started.”

  Smiling in agreement, Diana reached for a pencil and made a note. “I like it!” she chirped. “It adds a personal touch to what is always a sensitive subject.”

  “I remember how big a problem immigration was before the collapse,” Terri added. “It seemed like the headlines were always filled with some story about an illegal alien committing a crime, or the border patrol making arrests. Other newscasters would then retaliate with reports supporting the age-old truth that America was built by immigrants, touting that we always need a fresh influx of ideas. This problem has never been simple or clear cut.”

  “It never is when you’re dealing with human life,” Diana agreed. “What we’re working on here is just the beginning; we have a long way to go to get to the finish line. I’m sure my political opponents will find a hundred things wrong with what we’ve managed to outline.”

  “Still, it will make things better than they were before. The Alliance will always benefit from fresh perspectives, new ideas, and new workers. On the other hand, we can’t just let anybody in. That is dangerous and disruptive,” Terri commented.

  “I agree,” Diana nodded. “I think this regulation will pass the council and be enacted in short order. I want you to help me implement this initiative, at least as much as you can.”

  The two women continued to debate the content of Nathan’s Law as they sipped their tea. Just like their previous sessions, both became excited about the opportunity to make things better for Alliance citizens and speed up the recovery efforts.

  As the discussion continued, Terri’s face wrinkled with a pained expression. “You know,” she began, “this might be the only positive thing to come out of our crossing paths with Blackjack Jones.”

  “Trying to find a silver lining?” Diana asked hopefully, her eyes opening wide as she noticed Terri’s positive change in demeanor. “That would be a good sign that you’re finding a way to deal with what happened…. To feel better.”

  Without warning, Terri’s contemplating façade changed, her face suddenly going dark. Rising in a burst of energy, she rushed toward the sliding French doors, a prisoner trying to make her escape from an emotional jail. She then stopped mid-stride and turned, the agony in her eyes tugging at Diana’s heart.

  A river of hot tears ran down Terri’s face, the skin on her cheeks red and flushed. The rage, terror, and desperation that had been growing for weeks were threatening to explode. She stood there, panting, her gaze locked only on some point in time and space that was far away from the here and now.

  A full minute of silence passed, Diana studying her friend closely, waiting on the dam to burst.

  Then, as suddenly as the flare had erupted, she flashed calm and cold, a single sniffle all that remained of the outburst. Wiping her face dry with her sleeve, Terri simply stood in the middle of the room, apparently oblivious to Diana’s presence.

  “He raped me,” Terri finally blurted out. “While I was a hostage, Ketchum Jones raped me!”

  Quickly standing, Diana hurried to her friend’s side. After pulling Terri close in a secure embrace, the two women stood holding each other, gently rocking back and forth.

  Sobs racked Terri’s body, her confession seemingly having opened an emotional doorway. A minute passed, and then two.

  Weakened by the outburst, Terri released her hold on Diana’s shoulders, and darted for the couch. There, after wiping her eyes with a napkin, she made a heroic effort to rein her feelings back under control.

  “You can tell me anything,” Diana offered, gently draping her arm around Terri’s shoulder. “We have been through so much together. I am your sister, and I love you more than you know.”

  Terri began her story slowly, starting with the firefight at Carlie’s bed and breakfast. “I was knocked silly by what Bishop told me later was a stun grenade. The next thing I know, I was locked in a cold, empty room.”

  Her words captivated Diana’s attention, the listener’s eyes sympathetic and comforting. The tea in their cups was warm and soothing, doing its part to melt the walls of apprehension that shrouded Terri’s memories.

  For another five minutes, Terri’s voice relayed the horrors she had experienced in the old furniture factory. Then, as abruptly as the emotional release had begun, it suddenly halted.

  “Do you need some time to process?” Diana asked, unsure why the flowing words from her wounded friend had stopped. “Do you need a break? Are you okay?”

  Diana’s voice seemed to break Terri’s trance. Making eye contact, Terri blurted out, “The rape wasn’t the worst part. I was unconscious… I don’t remember any of it. No, what troubles me more than anything… more than the fear of finding out I contracted some sexually transmitted disease… or worrying about Bishop’s reaction… or the thought of that animal violating my body, is that fact that I gave up. I quit. I threw in the towel… And like a quitter, I refused to face what happened. Instead, I opted for the easy way out. Right there in that old mill, I made the decision to kill myself.”

  “You were under duress, sweetie. You had suffered at least two concussions and weren’t thinking straight. And most importantly, despite all that, you didn’t commit suicide,” Diana offered, placing her hand on Terri’s lower arm to steady the now trembling limb.

  Again, burning tears cascaded down Terri’s cheeks. “I didn’t go through with it because of Hunter,” she confessed. “Well, that, plus I was too scared… I just couldn’t do it,” Terri wiped her eyes before continuing. “And you know what is so ironic about the whole situation? I was too afraid to face the truth and too chicken to end it all. Guess that just makes me a coward, no matter how you look at it.”

  “Like I said, it wasn’t you locked up inside that room. It was only a portion of the woman I know, a wounded, hollowed out soul who had already suffered more than most of us could endure. You’re not weak, Terri. You’re not a coward. You are a fighter, a survivor, and a loving, caring human being.”

  Ignoring her friend’s words, Terri shook her head vehemently in denial. “I don’t believe that any more, Diana. And I dread the day when Bishop finds out how pathetic I am now. How can he ever love me again when I’m not the same person that I once was? No, I don’t dare tell Bishop,” she blurted out. “I’ve wanted to tell him a dozen times, but I just can’t get the words to come out.”

  Again, Diana pulled her friend close into a hug. “He already knows, girlfriend.”

  “What?” Terri snapped, the surprise on her face complete. “How does he know?”

  “He figured it out weeks ago. He loves you more than anything. He watched you deal with the fallout from your capture, and he knew there had to be more to the whole event. That man of yours is not stupid.”

  Springing to her feet, Terri refused to believe the words that had just been uttered. “There’s no way he has figured this out. He’s still treating me just like he always has! If he knew… if he understood… he’d….”

  Before the distraught mother could continue, Hunter’s small voice sounded from the doorway. “Mommy? Why are you crying? Do you have an ouchie? Are you okay?”

  Rushing to her son, Terri lifted the boy into the air before snuggling him close to her. “I’m just fine, little man. I am just fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” Diana whispered to herself. “But come hell or high water, we’re going to get you that way.”

  While the Alliance visitors checked their gear, Charlie gathered some of the runners that were used as a communications network between the various clusters of the survivors spread around the city.

  Bishop and Nick watched as their newly-assigned helper made each of the ten to
twelve-year-old kids repeat the message back to him. “Sister Rose needs to speak with anyone who has knowledge of the city’s pump system or flood control apparatus. They should report to the elementary school immediately.”

  Once he was certain each of the pre-teens could repeat the entire communication correctly, Charlie instructed, “Okay, off with you now. Be safe.”

  After watching several pairs of youthful, skinny legs rush into the maze, Bishop peered up and asked, “Are you sure they will they be all right, Charlie? They were all just kids.”

  “Those little rats are nearly impossible to catch. They know every nook and cranny of this town. Most importantly, they learned a long time ago that if they were caught, they would be forced into a life of either hard labor or sexual slavery, so they are all heavily motivated to keep those legs moving. Believe me, nobody is going to catch them,” Charlie reassured.

  While Bishop and Nick waited in the gym, Charlie left for a few minutes before returning with an old map of New Orleans. After spreading the diagram out on a nearby table, the host began stabbing at the paper with his index finger. “Blackjack controls this area here… and here. We believe most of his warehouses and ill-gotten gains are stored in this series of buildings.”

  For almost an hour, Bishop and Nick grilled the liaison on Blackjack’s capabilities, strengths, and mobility. “He selected his strongholds wisely,” Charlie admitted at one point. “He doesn’t have enough men to control every inch of every block, so they took over strategic locations and choke points. They also have a monopoly on what little gasoline and diesel fuel was left behind, so they are the only ones able to use motorized vehicles.”

  “That gives them a tremendous advantage in speed and response time,” Nick nodded. “They can reinforce faster than anyone who would dare take them on. He controls more ground with fewer resources. Smart. Very smart.”

  Nodding, Charlie expanded the point even more. “Not only that, but they can recharge electrical devices. I’ve seen them talking on walkie-talkies and other radios. They have lookouts in the taller buildings with everything from telescopes to night vision.

  “Things couldn’t be more different for us,” Charlie continued. “Batteries are a luxury here. Our scavengers haven’t found any new cells for nearly eight months. Every automobile, household flashlight, and television remote has been looted since the collapse. We are down to a handful of workable lights and other tools that can be used only in emergencies. Yet, Blackjack’s boys throw parties with battery-powered boom boxes.”

  “Do you have any weapons?” Bishop asked.

  It was obvious Charlie’s next response was a half-truth, Bishop sure that there were some firearms stashed away from the nun’s unapproving eye. “Sister Rose forbids any guns. Even the darts we employed against you required her permission.”

  Bishop started to press, but Nick quickly rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder to signal the end of the impromptu interrogation. Now wasn’t the time. They needed Charlie and needed to earn the man’s trust and confidence if their plan was to have any chance of success.

  Before the conversation could continue, one of the breathless runners returned and scurried up to the table. “Mr. Rutledge is on his way. He was an engineer for the city, and he said he knows the pumps like the back of his hand.”

  “Thank you, Josh,” Charlie replied, patting the young boy on the head. “Now go and get yourself a drink and rest for a bit.”

  A good ten minutes passed before a gray-hair gent appeared in the gym. Charlie immediately waved the man over and offered him a cup of water.

  “I was the city’s assistant civil engineer for years,” the older man announced after he’d caught his breath. “I retired about five years before everything went to the dogs around here. What is it you want to know?”

  For the next twenty minutes, the four men huddled over Charlie’s map. Bishop wanted to know if the huge pumps could be reversed, and what would happen if such an event were to occur.

  “I’ve never even considered it,” Mr. Rutledge admitted at one point. “Now that I think about it, there’s no reason why the grates couldn’t be opened and the polarity of the pumps reversed. It should work, but we’ll need a lot of diesel fuel to run the generators to make it happen. Most of the pumps are electric, powered by a huge generator housed in the same building. It would take a few hours to reconfigure, but in principle, doing so would quickly pump a lot of water into the city.”

  He then went on to explain, “When the levees were breached during Katrina, the flood waters rose up from the sewers. Folks who weren’t here envision a tidal wave of water rushing through the streets, but that’s not what happened. The water came up through street drains, manhole covers, and other outlets.”

  “So, if we could reverse the pumps, the results of that action would be visible to anyone in the area. Ketchum and his men would see the rising water and believe the levees had been breached again?” Bishop asked.

  “Yes. If they lived here during Katrina or have ever seen any of the local news footage of that storm, the outcome of the polarity reversal would look much the same as the previous catastrophe.”

  “And then after we chased the outlaws out of town, we could flip the pumps back to normal and get rid of the water?” Charlie inquired in a hopeful tone.

  “Yes. Again, it would take a lot of diesel fuel and a few hours with to reverse the configuration, but you could pump the water right back out.”

  The four men returned to study the map. “The best option is the London Canal pump station,” Mr. Rutledge stated after careful deliberation, his finger tapping on the paper to indicate the location. “I know that particular area well as it was close to one of the biggest breaches during Katrina. The Army Corps of Engineers updated and refurbished the system there, so it has the latest electronic controls.”

  Mr. Rutledge then drew a circle on the map, “That station would inundate this entire area if you let it run long enough.”

  “That’s most of Blackjack’s satellite headquarters and storage facilities,” Nick nodded to Charlie. “Bishop’s plan is beginning to sound more and more feasible.”

  “Sister Rose is going to want to hear and understand every detail. We should start laying this out on paper,” the local nodded. “But I agree. This looks like it could work.”

  Rubbing his chin, Bishop offered, “There’s only one problem. To pull this off, there’s going to be some serious gunplay involved. Ketchum isn’t going to just pack up and run. He’ll send people to try and ascertain why the water is suddenly rising. We’ll have to keep them far enough away from the levee so that they can’t see this is a ruse, and I only know one way to do that… use arms to enforce an area of denial. Such a tactic could get bloody.”

  “Let me handle that part,” Charlie offered in a low voice. “A lot of the other men and I are tired of living like rats and seeing our little ones go hungry while those outlaws party like they don’t have a care in the world. I think it’s time we adopted the song ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’ as our battle cry.

  Chapter 14

  Nick poked his head around the corner slowly, exposing himself little by little. Movement drew the human eye, and discovery could ruin the entire plan.

  With Charlie’s guidance, they had traveled through the survivor’s network and were within three blocks of the London Avenue Station. Now they had to travel in the open, and it wasn’t going to be easy.

  Their homeless getup might fool Ketchum’s men for a while, but according to Charlie, Blackjack’s boys became aggressive when anyone ventured too close to one of their facilities, no matter how innocent or downtrodden the interloper. Bishop and Nick also had to worry about keeping Charlie and Mr. Rutledge safe, and while neither man looked as if he just stepped out of a Macy’s fitting room, a group of four homeless men were bound to draw more unwanted attention.

  Reaching into his repurposed shopping cart, Nick produced a thermal optic. A moment later, the powerful heat-r
eading device was mounted on his carbine.

  He began scanning the street, nearby buildings, the few automobiles in the area, and any other location that might house a lookout, random patrol, or other human activity. Even a fresh pile of dog scat would glow hot in his optic.

  “The entire area ahead is cold,” he announced after a detailed sweep. “I’m going to push my buggy up to the next intersection and scout it out. I’ll wave you forward when I’m sure that it is clear.”

  Tucking the M4 inside his long coat, Nick began limping toward the next crossing, his eyes constantly scanning right and left.

  Halfway to the corner, he stopped and pretended to pick up some small piece of junk, then quickly stuffed the precious find into his cart. There, it joined a burgeoning collection of newspapers, smashed aluminum cans, and the other street treasures.

  Arriving at the crosswalk, Nick again stopped pushing his buggy and pretended to be fiddling with his inventory while he looked left and right along the street. He was just about to wave the others forward when the sound of a motor drifted across the concrete expanse.

  Motioning for the two locals to stay back, Bishop raised his weapon in preparation, ready to bail his buddy out of a jam, if necessary. No doubt he badly wanted Blackjack Jones’s head on a pike, but not at the cost of losing Nick. Revenge be damned, the big guy was going home – one way or the other.

  The SUV roaring up the street was a luxury model, probably pinched from either a new car lot or the valet key board at a fancy hotel. Nick could detect at least two men in the front seat, both sporting long beards and bandanas wrapped around their heads.

  The driver spotted what he assumed was a homeless man on the corner nearly two blocks away. Given the lack of traffic on the New Orleans streets, no one was going to give the man any medals for giving pedestrians the right of way.