A Darker Justice

by Sallie Bissell

  “Here.” Tommy hurried to the window. “We can get out this way.”

  He unlocked the window, pushed it up, and stepped seemingly into midair. Mary gasped, expecting him to plummet to the ground, but then she realized that Tommy wasn’t falling anywhere. He was standing on some kind of ledge.

  They hurried over. The boy stood on the top deck of an ancient fire escape. A tall hemlock clustered around the old structure, hiding it from all but the keenest of eyes.

  Mary studied the rusted scaffolding. “Are you sure this will hold us?”

  “It’s pulled away from the wall in a couple of places,” Tommy replied. “But it holds me okay.”

  Mary frowned at him. “There’s one of you. How about all three of us?”

  “It’s the best way I know. That waiter thing’ll only get us to the main floor, and we’d never get past Tallent.”

  Mary sighed. Tommy Cabe’s escape plan must seem reasonable to someone young in body and mind. Her arms and legs felt like lead. She could only imagine what Irene must feel like. She looked over at her friend. “What do you say, Irene?”

  Irene shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do but wait for Wurth to come up and chop off some other parts of me.”

  Mary smiled. Of course, Irene would vote for action. “Okay, Tommy. Lead the way.”

  Tommy helped Irene onto the ledge, then Mary followed. Outside, the hemlock-scented air instantly cooled the clammy sweat from their bodies. Mary felt the stairway give an ominous shudder as Tommy and Irene began their descent.

  “Tommy, you hang on tight!” Mary called in a whisper, then realized with chagrin that she must sound just like his mother.

  “I will,” he assured her, his voice floating up from the shadows, buoyant with youth, calm as if he did this every night.

  Cautiously they made their way down. The tree had grown through the bars of the scaffolding, making it necessary for them to climb over branches as well as negotiate the loose, rusty stairs. Once Mary heard Irene yelp in pain; another time a rusty piece of railing came off in Mary’s hand. The noise they made seemed deafening; with every step she expected Wurth to turn on some spotlight and cry, “Prisoners on the fire escape! Get ’em, boys!” That would end it for them. Then all they could do would be bid each other good-bye.

  They passed a boarded-up window on the second floor, then, after an eternity, they finally reached the bottom. As Tommy dropped the remaining six feet to the ground, they heard footsteps, passing close by. Without a word, they shrank into the shadows. Mary and Irene huddled together, peering through the branches of the tree. Two boys came into view—both wearing Trooper uniforms.

  “Are they really going to chop off that old lady’s head?” one asked.

  “Yeah. At midnight.”

  “Are they going to let us watch?”

  “I don’t figure we have much choice.”

  “What are they going to do with the other one?”

  “Wurth said she would be treated like a captured female.”

  The first boy snickered. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

  “Yep. Injun pussy for us tonight.”

  “Awwrriiight! Heat up the skillet, Pocahontas. Big meat’s coming in.”

  The boys walked on, giggling, their footsteps fading into the night. Mary felt a hot revulsion boil up her throat. Irene reached over and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  They huddled a moment longer, then Tommy called, “Come on. We have to hurry. Those two’ll make a round of the castle every ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” Mary called. “I’m going to lower Irene down. You catch her.”

  She helped Irene scoot to the edge of the platform. Tommy eased her down to the frozen earth below. Next Mary dropped from the railing. Finally all three of them stood hidden beneath the tree, breathing in the cold, sweet air.

  “Where to now?” Mary peered through the thick green branches.

  “I know a place they’ll never find us,” Tommy replied. “If we can just cross the lawn and get into the cover of the trees.”

  Irene shuddered, then nodded. “Lead on, Tommy. We’re right behind you.”

  CHAPTER 42

  The high winter moon cast a puddle of bright light on the floor of Robert Wurth’s study. Wurth sat at his desk, savoring the one cigar he allowed himself each evening, watching as a single line of red type pulsed in the darkness.

  What the hell do you think you’re doing?

  He watched as the thirty-one letters seemed to throb, just like the apoplectic vein that bisected Dunbar’s forehead. The little webwatchers at FaithAmerica had duly reported the message he’d relayed to that French porn site, and now Dunbar was right this minute sitting in front of his own computer in California, waiting for Wurth to type in a reply. No doubt furious, thought Wurth, taking a long, relaxed drag of his smoke. No doubt cursing the moment he’d let me take that vote. Chuckling, he leaned forward and typed in three words.

  Proving my reliability.

  He clicked the “send” button and sat back. In a few moments another line of bright red letters came on the screen.

  You’re a dead man if you do this.

  Wurth laughed out loud, for once amazed at Dunbar’s naiveté. Did he take him for an utter fool? He’d been a dead man since the first day he’d signed on this job. That’s why he’d taken steps to protect himself. That’s why he could sit here calmly in North Carolina while Richard Dunbar was panicking in California. Another line of red type appeared on the screen.

  I’m warning you!

  Wurth laughed harder. How silly Dunbar’s words seemed at this distance! Nothing more than verbal spitwads falling laughably short of their intended target. Though these little messages were funnier than anything he’d seen lately on TV, he knew it was time to end this. He put his cigar down and typed two sentences.

  Visit the website at midnight. Watch your prophecy be fulfilled.

  He punched the send button, then logged off the computer. He would not be talking to Richard Dunbar ever again. Taking up his cigar for a few final puffs, he considered everything that had happened. All in all, it had been an amazing week. The whole operation had gone far more smoothly than he’d expected. Mary Crow had alarmed him at first, but even she had blossomed into a flower more beautiful than his wildest imaginings. His boys had gotten a chance to learn female anatomy along with his physical interrogation strategies. Right now, with those two interlopers Tuttle had caught, they were learning how to deal with prisoners of war. Wurth chuckled. By this time tomorrow, he would have no more virgins in his Army. The last class of Camp Unakawaya would graduate well seasoned in the ways of both sex and death.

  Smiling, he puffed his cigar down to the nub and ground it out in his ashtray. It was time to go. He had things to do, places to get to. He got up from his desk, dropped his keys in his pocket, then picked up a black leather briefcase. With a final, lingering look around his office, he walked to the door, the briefcase hanging heavy in his hand.

  Seven of his best Troopers lounged in the flag-draped foyer. The moment they saw him, they snapped to attention. He looked at them and smiled.

  “How goes it, Tallent? Any problems with our prisoners?”

  “None, sir.” Tallent reported. “Both are present and accounted for.”

  “Good.” Wurth stashed his briefcase in a small closet beneath the stairs. “In half an hour I want you and Metzger to have all the other boys assembled in the gym. Have Earlington bring my sword case. When we get the Honorable Irene Hannah over there, we’ll begin.”

  “Yessir.”

  With a brisk salute, Tallent left his post by the door and strode down the long hall. Wurth faced the boys in front of him.

  “All right, gentlemen. Let’s form an honor guard to move Judge Hannah out of her cell. A new phase in American history will begin tonight, and I want you all to conduct yourselves with as much courage as the patriots at Bunker Hill. Is that clear?”

 
“Yessir,” the boys answered together.

  “Okay. Quick march in formation, third floor.”

  With that, the boys turned and jogged up the old walnut staircase. Their jack-booted feet thundering in unison up the stairs sounded like fifty, and the flags that hung from the gallery swayed with their ascent. Wurth followed them. As they climbed, he could hear excited voices echoing from other parts of the building. He smiled. Though he’d told no one of his plan, his troops had whispered all week about what was going to happen. Secrets were always hard to keep in armies, be they the Troopers at Camp Unakawaya or the beaches of Normandy.

  When they reached the third floor, he called them to a halt.

  “I’ll lead the way, gentlemen,” he said as he moved to the front of the column. “We’re soldiers here, not hooligans.”

  He looked at the six Troopers who faced him, then he turned and led them down the hall. She must know by now, he thought, his pulse rising in anticipation. By now she must have heard us coming.

  They marched to the room, then he halted his troops as her guard, Honeycutt, snapped to attention and saluted him.

  “Is everything in order, Honeycutt?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well.” With those words, he stepped forward and grasped the doorknob in his hand. Soon, he thought, I will show these boys the power of a Feather Man. Soon I will teach Richard Dunbar all about reliability. Soon I will be far away from here, too far for anyone to find me.

  “Judge Hannah,” he began, turning the doorknob as he spoke. “I’m happy to inform you that your period of incarceration is over. In just a few moments, we will escort you out of this building and over to a place where you’ll be able to meet many of your old friends.” He took a breath to explain away any objections the old woman might have, but when his gaze fell upon Irene Hannah’s table, he felt a great sinking in his chest. Though the lightbulb still glowed from the ceiling and the table was still nailed to the floor, the straps that had bound the old woman hung limp and empty. Judge Irene Hannah was gone.

  CHAPTER 43

  The siren began screaming just as they crossed into the darkness of the woods. A shrill, incessant wail, it sounded like the alarm raised when convicts break out of prison.

  “Uh-oh.” Tommy Cabe looked over his shoulder at the now brightly lit castle. “I think they just found out we’re gone.”

  “What will they do?” asked Irene.

  “Hunt us down,” Tommy said matter-of-factly.

  “How much time have we got?” asked Mary.

  “Maybe ten, maybe fifteen minutes.” Tommy wiped his glasses. “They practice this stuff all the time.”

  “So what should we do?” Irene shivered as she spoke.

  Tommy pointed to the mountain that loomed above them. “There’s an old cave just beyond that ridge. My friend Willett had a hideaway inside. If we can make it there, they’ll never find us.”

  Mary studied the hillside. As high, thin clouds raced across the full moon, she could see that it was a steep, tangled growth of laurel and pine. It would be a hard climb for someone in perfect condition. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten, and she knew Wurth had not provided room service for Irene, either. “Is there anyplace else we could go?” she asked Tommy.

  “Not that they wouldn’t find.”

  Mary looked at Irene. “What do you think?”

  “It doesn’t sound like we have much of a choice.”

  Without another word, they hurried up the mountainside. Before they’d climbed fifty feet Mary heard Irene gasping for breath. She stopped and put her arm around her old friend’s shoulders.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just winded,” Irene wheezed. “But you’ve got to promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “If I ever tell you that I’m not fine, you and Tommy must go on without me. Otherwise, I’m not moving another step.” Irene’s voice brooked no argument.

  “I’m not leaving you in these woods, Irene.” Mary’s teeth began to chatter with the cold. “We’ve come too far—”

  “You’ve already come too far, Mary. Far beyond what I deserve. I should have sent you back to Atlanta on Christmas Eve.”

  “I wouldn’t have gone.” Mary smiled at the face she loved so well. “Now you’re stuck with me.”

  “Mary, I . . .”

  “Come on, Your Honor.” She grabbed Irene’s arm. “We can argue the point on our way up this hill.”

  They scrambled upward. Tommy bounded up the steep hillside like a young goat, but Irene and Mary had to pull themselves up by the small maple seedlings that crowded the forest floor. Mary kept glancing over her shoulder, alert for any sign of Wurth’s boys. So far, no shadowy figures were running up the hill after them.

  Suddenly Irene groaned and fell.

  “Irene?” Mary knelt beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  “My knee gave out. Give me a second to catch my breath.”

  Mary turned toward Camp Unakawaya while Irene rested. Every light in the old castle was glowing brightly. Through the trees Mary could see uniformed boys running toward the tennis court. A few had already formed ranks. She knew it would now be only minutes until Wurth sent them up into the hills, to hunt the three of them down.

  “We need to hurry, Irene,” she said urgently.

  “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Mary helped her up, then, together, they began to climb forward. After two more steps, Irene cried out in pain.

  “Damn!” she cried, collapsing again.

  “What’s the matter?” Mary asked as Tommy hurried down the hill to see what was wrong.

  “Oh, I hurt my knee years ago playing tennis. It’s real cantankerous when I run.” She gave a bitter smile. “This may be it for me, kids. Like Hugh says, no foot, no horse.” Her gaze turned serious. “I’m not fine now, Mary. You need to go on without me.”

  Mary turned to Tommy. “How much further is the cave?”

  “Not much. A couple hundred feet after the top of the ridge.”

  “If you know the king’s carry, we can get her up the hill.”

  When Tommy shook his head, mystified, Mary showed him how to intertwine his arms with hers and make a seat for Irene between them.

  “Come on, Irene,” said Mary. “Jump aboard.”

  Irene sighed, but she gripped Mary’s shoulder and rose to her feet, lowering herself onto their outstretched arms. “I don’t think this is going to work. I’m too heavy.”

  “Not at all, sweetheart.” Mary winked. “Just relax and enjoy being carried up a mountain by this handsome young man and me, your humble servant.”

  Tommy snorted, but Mary could tell her remark pleased him. Suddenly she felt as if she could run up the mountain with Irene slung over her shoulder, if she needed to. She had not been able to save her mother. She was going to do better by Irene. “Ready, Tommy?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Irene was not a heavy woman, but neither was she light, particularly climbing uphill. After only a few steps Mary’s arms began to tremble as her breath came in ragged gasps.

  “You want to stop a minute?” Tommy asked.

  “Not till we get to that cave.”

  Doggedly she sidled up the mountain like a crab. Though the temperature was well below freezing, sweat began to drip from her forehead. A gust of icy wind carried the distant howl of a dog. Mary felt a new terror rising inside her.

  “Wurth doesn’t keep dogs, does he?” Mary asked, wondering if Wurth might keep a whole kennel of rottweilers hidden away, always at the ready to track his escapees. If he let dogs loose on them, they wouldn’t have a prayer.

  “Nah. He hates dogs. Says they’re just C rations with tails.”

  “Thank God for small mercies,” Mary whispered, the taste of her own fear receding in the back of her throat.

  They inched their way up the mountainside, Irene clutching her shoulders, Tommy’s fingers digging into her arm. Fina
lly they crested the ridge. After struggling through a thicket of witch hazel, they broke into a cleared area. An old, weedy parking lot lay in front of them; ahead, another mountain loomed in the darkness.

  “Straight ahead,” panted Tommy. “Not much farther at all.”

  “Good.” Mary’s arms tingled, almost numb. “Let’s hurry.”

  With Irene holding on, Mary and Tommy tried to find a common, ground-covering gait between them. Tommy galloped like a racehorse, and Mary had to pump hard to keep up with the boy. Though they were both gasping as they crossed the treeless expanse of grass, they did not slacken their pace until they reached the shadowy growth of rhododendron that clustered around the cave itself. Forcing the last bit of strength from their legs, they set Irene down at the mouth of the cave, leaning her against the ancient, fading sign: “It’s always coooool inside!” Only then did they sit down and give their racing hearts a chance to slow.

  Far away, another dog howled as a truck ground its gears, lumbering up a mountain road. As always, night sounds up here were deceptive. Sometimes you could hear things miles away; sometimes you could miss a twig breaking right beside you.

  “How far is the highway from here?” Mary asked Tommy.

  “This cave road joins the county road about half a mile that way.” He pointed to his left. “It hits 441 about two miles away.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it.” Mary raised an eyebrow at the boy.

  “My friend Willett told me. He was gonna run away.”

  “And did he?” asked Mary.

  Tommy Cabe swallowed hard. “I’m pretty sure Willett’s dead. I think Wurth killed him.” For a moment his voice sounded thick with tears, then he nodded decisively. “But he could have run away. All you have to do is sneak over to 441 and hitch a ride with someone.”

  “Where are you from, Tommy?” Irene asked gently.

  “My mom and I were renting a trailer in Cherokee. But I grew up in Harlan, Kentucky. My grandfather has a farm there. That’s where I’d like to hitch a ride to.”

  “Sounds nice.” Irene smiled.