by Reed, N. C.
“What's going on here?” Gordon Sanders walked up suddenly.
“Mister Webb is leaving,” Mitchell told him calmly. “Decided he doesn't like it here and wants to try his luck elsewhere.”
“I did not!” Webb cried out. “Mister Sanders, he's trying to make me leave!” he pointed at Mitchell.
“Well, I'm sure he has a good reason for it,” Gordon said calmly. “What have you done now, John?”
“Wh... . what?” Webb had clearly expected the older Sanders to defend him and was caught short when that didn't happen.
“What mischief have you been up to?” Gordon asked again. “I know you were warned to behave and promised you would. Apparently, you haven't lived up to it if Mitchell is angry with you. What did you do?”
Webb was silent, trying to figure what he could say.
“You tell him or I will, and don't forget the clock is winding down,” Mitchell threatened.
“I s... said something about Mark not getting the help he needed,” Webb mumbled.
“Tell him all of it!” Mitchell roared and Webb flinched.
“We were teaching them basics of behavior in combat,” Mitchell turned to Gordon when Webb stayed silent. “Nate was using what happened to Kade and Corey as an example of treating wounded. Nate bragged that Kade had done the right thing and Mister Webb then had to add that it was too bad Kade hadn't been in the hole with his brother.”
“Well, John,” Gordon sighed, shaking his head sadly. “I'm sorry you feel that way. That's the same attitude that led your father to leave as well. I hope your story ends better than that.”
“I don't want to leave!” Webb all but screamed.
“Your actions say otherwise, I'm afraid,” Gordon replied calmly. “You've broken your word more than once and you've done your best to stir up trouble and cause unrest around here and, well, we've had enough of it. There's just too much at stake to let you keep going the way you're going. We can't afford that kind of attitude. We're living on the brink as it is thanks to your father. I see no reason to give you an opportunity to add to his legacy.”
“What?” Webb almost screeched.
“Three minutes,” Mitchell was looking at his watch. “Better hurry if you want to say goodbye.”
“Look, I'm s-sorry!” Webb struggled to get the word out. “I didn't mean it! I was just running my mouth because. . ..” he trailed off.
“Because?” Gordon prompted him.
“Because I'm still bitter at how you treated us,” the boy ground out.
“At how we treated you?” Gordon showed his surprise. “What did we do to you, John Webb? Other than take you in and care for you I mean.”
The younger Webb looked at the ground, caught again in his own words.
“Two minutes,” Mitchell reminded him. “Better skip the goodbyes and get moving. If you go the back way you can stop long enough to grab whatever of your stuff you can tote, but you better be fast because I’ll be watching.”
“Please don't make me go,” Webb begged, still looking at the ground. “Please. It won't happen again.”
“You said that before and yet it did,” Gordon pointed out. “I don't see any reason to believe you this time since we did believe you the last time and you took advantage of it.”
“I told you I didn't mean it!” the younger man cried out, desperate. “I swear I didn't!”
“Then why did you say it?” Gordon asked. “Did you think we wouldn't do anything about it?”
“Maybe,” Webb muttered. “I don't know.”
“That's what a four-year-old says,” Gordon chided. “Surely you can do better than that.”
“I doubt it,” Mitchell Nolan snorted and Webb's face went red again, his head coming up in anger.
“You want to try me, boy?” Mitchell's face took on an almost sinister grin. “You want some? Cause at this point I'd love to let you have it,” he took a step forward but Gordon put out a restraining arm to stop the soldier.
“No,” he said quietly. “Let’s not have you dirty your hands like that. Clearly, he isn't up to the challenge of being a man yet. At least his brothers were better than that.”
“I'm a man!” Webb shot back suddenly.
“You're a punk ass bitch with delusions of grandeur,” Mitchell Nolan snorted in amusement. Again, Webb looked angry and again Mitchell took a step forward, hand going to the knife on his harness.
“Stop,” Gordon said, again restraining him. “Let him have his five minutes,” he went on. “Then send him on his way.”
“Please don't,” Webb was shaking his head, tears falling. “Please.”
“There's no reason to let him stay,” Mitchell looked at Gordon. “There's every reason to put him down before he becomes a threat.”
“What?” Webb's face went pale rather than red this time.
“John, do you have no concept of the kind of men you're dealing with here?” Gordon asked him. “Is that where your attitude is coming from? Do you know that the only reason you're still here is because of my father?”
“Huh?” This seemed to shock Webb most of all.
“My father was the one who decided to allow you to stay here despite your piss-poor attitude, young man,” Gordon informed him. “The others were ready to make your entire family leave because of your behavior. Did you know that?”
“Because of me?” Webb almost goggled. “But that. . .that ain't fair!”
“Who cares about fair?” Mitchell demanded. “All we care about is us. That's all you care about, right?”
“I told you that wasn't so!”
“But your actions say otherwise, son,” Gordon told him. “And now your family may suffer for it,” he sighed.
“You're kicking them out?” Webb looked stunned despite the conversation up to then.
“No, but your loss will weigh on them,” Gordon admitted. “And with you gone they may try to follow, I don't know. I hope they will at least wait until they've recovered, but I can't make them. And of course, your mamma won't be able to follow.”
John Webb looked like a fish out of water. His mouth was working but no sound emerged.
“I swear to you I won't make no more trouble, Mister Sanders,” he said softly. “I swear it. Just don't make me leave my mamma. Please.”
“We can't trust him,” Mitchell said as soon as Gordon looked at him. “And if we can't trust him then we can't use him. He's a waste. Taking resources that other people, trustworthy people that we can depend on, need. I say he goes.” His hand dropped casually to the pistol holstered on his leg as he said it.
“I promise you I won't be no more trouble,” Webb was blubbering now. “I swear it!”
“I suppose if you were to march into that classroom and apologize, that might make some difference, though I can't say it for sure,” Gordon mused. “Remember that at least two of the people you made your promise to are sitting in there as well. Going through the same training you were supposed to go through. And now they still have to while you won't, I guess.”
“Why not?” Webb asked, surprised yet again.
“Because you aren't trustworthy, numb nuts,” Mitchell replied at once. “Think we're gonna give you a gun? Now?”
“But I... I promised!” Webb protested.
“Promises obviously don't mean shit to you,” Mitchell snorted. “Your word ain't worth the air it takes to give it.”
That stung the young Webb worst of all. He had been raised his whole life to be a man of his word. Always. His mother and father both had instilled that in him since he could walk. If he made a promise, he kept it. If he gave his word, he did whatever he said he would. To have that called into question, rightfully so, hurt far worse than Mitchell Nolan's fist.
“I say we let him have the chance to humble himself in front of everyone anyway,” Gordon winked at Mitchell. “If he does that, then Beverly and Gary can decide what to do about him, or else take it to the rest. For myself, I imagine I’ll side with you,” he added.
“Suits me,” Mitchell nodded. “Get your ass moving,” he ordered Webb. “And please, give me a reason to kill you,” he added. “That would make the problem go completely away and have done with.”
Webb stumbled forward, finally seeing for the first time exactly what Gordon Sanders was talking about. John Webb had thought himself tough, tough enough to run his mouth and get away with it no matter what. In Mitchell Nolan however, he found a man who laughed at him because he wasn't tough. Not at all. To Mitchell Nolan and the others like him, John Webb was just a punk. Not even deserving to be called a man.
And he had no one to blame for that but himself.
-
“. . .when you call in, be sure to use your call sign, which we’ll assign you as we get closer to completing your. . ..” Nate trailed off as a visibly shaken John Webb returned, followed by Mitchell Nolan and Gordon Sanders.
“And?” Nate asked, looking at Mitchell.
“This punk wants to talk,” Mitchell said with marked disdain, drawing a scowl from Beverly Jackson which he cheerfully ignored.
“That right?” Nate asked Webb, who nodded slowly. Nate could see that the young man's hands were shaking and that he'd obviously been crying. He also had the beginnings of a good bruise on the side of his head.
“Well, go on then, I guess,” Nate sighed, stepping back.
“I'm sorry,” Webb muttered, his head still down.
“I can't hear that way back here,” Gordon said from the back of the class and Webb's head shot up.
“I said I'm sorry for how I was acting,” he told the room. “I was running my mouth with no cause to do so and making things hard on everybody else. And I had promised to act right but I didn't. I'm sorry.”
“He's leaving,” Mitchell told Beverly and then Gary. “Unless you bunch decide otherwise, he's leaving. We can't trust him not to do this shit again, and I for one wouldn't risk turning my back to him if he had a gun. It's too risky to let him stay.”
“I thought you said if I...”
“You need to hush,” Nate told him softly. “This is out of your hands, now.”
Webb fell silent though clearly, he wanted to keep protesting.
“You promised us this was finished, John,” Gary sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.
“I know,” Webb nodded. “I apologize for that.”
“Sorry doesn't cut it,” Beverly surprised everyone in the room that wasn't part of the Troy outfit. “Sorry was for before you gave your word to behave. What will your brothers think when they hear?”
“I don't want them to know,” the younger Webb sounded desperate.
“How are we to keep them from hearing it?” Gary fielded that one. “Room full of people in here and some of them work in the infirmary from time to time. Others live and work in this building as well. They're gonna hear about it sooner or later.”
“I’ll have to go and tell 'em then,” John muttered. “I'm the one that did it.”
Gary looked at Beverly and shrugged. She raised an eyebrow before turning to look at Gordon who raised his hands as if to say 'your call'. Rolling her eyes at the two men, she turned back to look at a broken and beaten John Webb.
“John, you have to admit you aren't trustworthy if you’ll break such a simple promise as this,” she told him finally. “We have the same problem with the women at the Orphanage. We can't trust them to do anything other than watch the children they came here with, and can only trust them to do that because they have their own children to raise. What can we trust you with? At least with them they've been on their best behavior since they arrived. You can't even say that.”
“I'm sorry,” he repeated.
“I didn't ask you to be sorry,” Beverly snapped back. “I asked you how you could make it right!”
“I don't know,” he admitted. “I don't know what would make it right.”
“Him leaving would make it right,” Mitchell Nolan spoke up at once and Webb's face flushed again.
“Enough,” she told a clearly unrepentant boyfriend. “John, if the situation was reversed, if we had done something like this to you, how would you want us to fix it? Or would you even give us a chance to fix it?”
He had been on the verge of answering before she added the last part, which brought him up short. Would he give someone else a chance to fix something like this? It wouldn't really be up to him, though, since it would be his family making the decision, as they all would have been affected. . ..
His thought process jarred to a halt as he realized what he had missed until this very moment. He looked slowly around the room, taking in each face watching him, but he wasn't embarrassed by it now. Instead he was seeing them in a different light. Almost as if he were seeing them for the first time.
“You're a family,” he said finally, his voice sounding almost as if he were in awe. “I’d. . .I didn't see it until right now. You're, all of you, a family.”
“A light dawns in the east,” Gary Meecham said quietly and Gordon chuckled at that.
“I didn't see it,” Webb said again. “I... I didn't look. If you had done something to us it wouldn't be up to me. The older folks in my family would decide, not me. But. . .all of you are a family so if I do something to one of you, it's the same as doing it to all of you.” This was a dynamic he could understand. He had lived by it all his life. Family first, last and always.
“That's right,” Beverly nodded. “We are a family. Trying to survive. You're making it much harder to do and we don't appreciate it. We're tired of it. So, what will you do to fix it? Or will you just go,” she shrugged.
“I can't go,” Webb shook his head. “I have to stay and make things right,” he surprised them by saying. “I can't leave until I fix what I did. I have to fix that first.” It was like seeing and listening to an entirely different person from the one Mitchell Nolan had dragged from the room minutes before.
“Then what will you do?” Beverly pressed him.
“All that I can,” he said earnestly. “All I know how. Whatever you say. It... it’s a lot to make up for so I’ll have to do a lot, but I can. I'm strong and I ain't no stranger to hard work. You point me to it and I’ll do it. Whatever it is.”
John Webb suddenly wanted very much to have the chance to be a part of this new family. Not to replace his own, but to be a part of something bigger. Something more. He was sure his brothers and sister would feel the same way once they could see what he was seeing right now.
Mitchell Nolan sighed suddenly, knowing that his girlfriend was about to give in. He looked at Gary Meecham and saw a look of approval on his face as well. A glance at Gordon Sanders earned him a shrug of 'what can you do'. Beverly looked at him with another raised eyebrow, a look he was coming to hate, before looking back to the front of the room and giving Nate Caudell a nod. Nate nodded back out of John Webb's sight and stepped forward, shoving the younger man toward his seat.
“Well, sit your stupid ass down,” the commando ordered. “You missed about ten minutes worth of my expert tutelage which I will not be repeating, so you can beg or borrow from your teammates once class is over.”
Webb's face literally lit up like a child at Christmas and he bounded to his seat with enthusiasm that could not be feigned, ignoring even the few laughs at his joy at being included in the class once more.
“Now,” Nate was in front of them once more. “Now that the entertainment segment of today is at an end, where were we? Right. Call signs. When you call in to Plate, or else when you try to call someone else, always, always use your call sign, which as I said we will be issuing you as we get closer to concluding your training. Your call sign will identify you to your teammates while refusing anyone who is listening in on our frequencies any information, or intel, intelligence, as to who you are or where you are. All defensive positions are also named, and when referring to them you will. . ..”
Mitchell and Gordon slipped out the back as the class droned on. Once outside Gordon finally let loose the la
ugh he'd been holding.
“Oh me, you had him going,” he told Mitchell. “That was something to see!” He laughed for a few more seconds until he realized that Mitchell wasn't laughing.
“I'm sensing no humor from you about this,” he said dryly.
“That's because there isn't any,” Mitchell assured him.
“So, you really intended to make him leave?” Gordon asked.
“What I actually intended was to make him leave, then follow him a little ways and kill him,” Mitchell shocked the older man with his casual reply. “I saw no reason to allow him to become the same kind of threat his old man was. Not to Beverly and JJ.”
“Well, I can understand that,” Gordon managed to reply. “I'd hate for it to come to that, however. Despite his mouth he's not a bad boy and we do need the help, so long as he keeps himself in check. There's no reason for us to have to do that for him.”
“So long as we agree,” Mitchell nodded before moving off.
“Uh, yeah,” Gordon said to the departing back. Shaking his head, he wandered home, having forgotten what he was doing over here to start with.
He'd probably remember about the time he got back home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
-
“. . .and we are all of us the worthy ones. Do you hear me? We are the Worthy. That's right, say it again. We are the Worthy for we have been found worthy in this terrible trial that has been visited upon us! Where others have fallen or given up or been taken away, we remain! We remain because we are worthy! Never forget that brothers and sisters! Never forget that we are The Worthy! As you toil and labor to climb back to where we were, remember always that….”
“Man, that guy's dreaming,” JJ shook his head. He and Leon Tillman, the Deuce, were sitting in the radio room, where JJ had managed to find the 'Zealot Broadcasting Network' as he had begun calling it.
“Yeah, but you can bet there will be a ton of people out there who listen to him and will follow him,” Deuce pointed out.
“How can they be listening to him?” JJ asked.
“Dude, this stuff?” Leon indicated the receiver they were listening on. “This is vacuum tube technology, man. The flower of the 1920's industrial revolution. Stuff like that will have survived the Storm in all likelihood. That's how he's managing to do all this.”