by John Grit
Nate whispered in Deni’s ear, “Certainly the higher ranking officers knew about this. Did you have any idea what was going on in the Southwest?”
She shook her head. “They’ve kept us completely in the dark. I doubt even Donovan knew.”
Nate gave her a look that said he didn’t believe a captain wouldn’t be privy to such intel.
She shrugged. “Why would they keep this secret? What’s the point?”
Nate had no answer. “It could all be BS. This guy might not even be a general. For certain, if it’s true, the U.S. would’ve taken California back by now, even with a weakened military.”
Deni furrowed her brow. “I’ll ask Donovan about it tomorrow, but I expect he’ll tell me it’s bull.”
The recording of the interview with the General ended. The next words out of the mouths of the radio duo shocked everyone listening.
“Can you believe that shit?” Chip asked. “This asshole general was talking as if the immigrants had done something wrong. After all, they just took what was theirs back. The U.S. took the Southwest from their people in the first place.”
“Right on,” Doug said. “For the first time since governments began to cast their dark shadows over mankind, we have a chance for real freedom under Anarchy. But the right-wing Nazis never give up. They’re busting their ass to bring back their tyranny. The next thing you know, they’ll have us all slaving for the almighty dollar again.”
“Not me,” Chip countered. “And not if the Warriors of Anarchy keep fighting.”
Mouths dropped, and the crowd buzzed. A few listeners laughed.
The laughing ended abruptly when Chip added, “If we have to, we’ll kill every Capitalist in the former U.S. to stop them from enslaving us all over again! It’s the government’s job to provide for us, not help the corporations force us to work to earn money so we can buy things that should be free in the first place. How could anyone with a conscience charge for food, healthcare, energy, and anything else that people need to survive?”
I guess farmers, doctors, nurses, and oil producers should work for free, Nate thought. And these nuts complain about Capitalism enslaving them.
Doug continued the rant. “Capitalism and technology caused the plague. I think everyone knows this, but a few will not admit it. They’re the ones who are trying to ‘better their lives’ by bringing back all of the things that enslaved mankind. Some towns have even managed to tap into solar and wind power plants and now have electricity and running water.” His voice became shrill. “The crazy bastards must be stopped!”
“Well, the ice cream was good,” Brian quipped.
“Morons isn’t the word,” Deni said, “they’re nuts. Maybe it’s the stress of the plague and its aftermath.”
Nate sat there with a worried look on his face. He tried to speak to Deni over the buzz of the shocked crowd. “If this is coming out of Denver, it means this movement is more widespread and larger than I ever thought.”
“Great. That’s all we need.” Deni tugged on Nate’s arm. “I must report this to my CO. Let’s go.”
Nate stood and rearranged his slung rifle. “Okay, but if he’s doing his job he already knows about this.”
Chapter 29
A month later.
Caroline edged away as the weasel-faced man walked by.
His cold eyes flashed to Caroline for a second and then to Mrs. MacKay. He nodded and exposed perfect teeth. The smile was as cold as his eyes. If there was any humanity behind either, it didn’t show. “I hope you’re doing well on this fine morning,” he said, overly pleasantly.
Caroline waited until the man was out of hearing range. “That man makes me uncomfortable, Mrs. MacKay. I’m not sure why, but the way he looks at little girls makes me shiver.”
Mrs. MacKay stopped walking along with her and pondered her words. “Thom Noley? He seems to be harmless. He showed up a month or so back and has worked hard and caused no trouble. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him pay any attention to the children at all. He stays away from them.”
They went on to the horse stalls to examine an injury on a horse’s leg. It was swollen, and Caroline was worried it may have been bit by a rattlesnake.
Samantha was there with one of the women who watched after the small children.
Inside the stall, Mrs. MacKay checked the leg while Caroline held the horse by the bridle and calmed it with soft words.
“That’s no snakebite.” Mrs. Mackay sounded sure. “It’s just a bruise.” She straightened her back and rose to her full height. “I’m getting too old to lean over like that for more than a few minutes,” she complained, rubbing her back. “Just give her a few days’ rest. Make sure everyone knows she’s not to be worked until the leg has had a chance to heal.”
Caroline followed her out of the stall and closed the gate. “I’ll do that. In fact I think I’ll hang a sign on the gate in case someone doesn’t get the word.”
Samantha looked up at the two adults, her eyes revealing worry. “Is she going to lose her leg like Caroline?”
“No,” Caroline answered. “She wasn’t shot. It’s just a bruise. She’ll be fine. People don’t always lose an injured leg. My leg has healed just fine.”
Samantha hugged her. “I’m sorry I said that. I made you feel bad. I could tell.”
Caroline patted her shoulder. “Oh, no you didn’t. I was just surprised you’d think the horse was going to lose its leg is all. Don’t worry about it. It was nothing.”
“Samantha looked up at her. “I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“I know that. But the fact is my feelings aren’t so easy to hurt. Don’t worry about it, my little friend.”
~~~
Three hours before sunrise, on the coldest night of the dying year, dipping down into the low twenties, voices in the hall woke Caroline. Her first thought was to check on Samantha, still fast asleep on her pallet next to other children and bundled in blankets for warmth. Her next action was to put her leg on and then her boot. She grabbed her rifle and opened the door to be met by Ramiro in the hall, holding his fist up to knock. The two locked eyes.
“Have you checked to make sure all of the children who should be in your room are there?” Ramiro asked.
Caroline nodded. “No one is missing.” Her eyes flashed down the hall and she saw frantic parents holding their sleepy eyed loved ones.
Kendell stood in the hall in front of a bedroom, not knowing what was going on.
“A little girl is missing,” Ramiro told him. “Please check if any children who should be in your room are missing.”
Kendell said, “They’re all here,” and rushed back inside the room to put on his boots and prepare to help search.
Ramiro waited until Kendell took his rifle in hand and rushed out the door, closing it behind him. “You and Caroline please search the horse stalls, while others search the tool shed and other outbuildings.”
Kendell and Caroline took off for the stairs, then rushed through the house and out the backdoor.
“Don’t wait for me,” she said. “I won’t be far behind.” But he didn’t have to wait; she was right on his heels.
Both immediately noticed a dark trail of tracks in the frosty grass. They followed at top speed, their breaths misting in the cold. Approaching the horse stalls with caution, they slowed the last twenty yards, keeping their rifles ready. When they heard a little girl crying, Caroline pushed Kendell out of the way and pulled on the heavy double doors, finding that someone had chained them from the inside. The clank of the chain gave warning, and they heard him flee out the backdoor. Kendell ran round the left side of the building to catch him.
The sturdy building was constructed of brick and heavy timber, the windows all protected with one-inch-thick steel bars in jailhouse fashion – a relic from the days when horse breeders were worried their multimillion-dollar race horses could be stolen or even poisoned to eliminate competition. There was no way Caroline was going to gain entry on the
front side of the building, so she rushed to the right and around the corner. The moon was out and the building cast a shadow that she couldn’t see into. From out of that shadow, a knife slashed at her throat. Only her quick reflexes saved her life. Thrusting the rifle up and in the way protected her neck. The blade drew blood only from the back of her left hand. She threw herself on the frosty ground, landing on her back, and fired just as he came at her again.
Kendell raced around the building and pointed his rifle at the prone figure writhing on the grass. “Caroline! Are you hurt?”
The man was moaning loudly, but Caroline’s voice carried over his. “Yeah. My hand.” She struggled to her feet and pointed the rifle at her attacker. “You have a flashlight?”
“Yeah. Batteries are almost dead.” Kendell dug around in his pocket and pulled out a small light. In a second, he had the man’s face lit up.
The weasel-faced man Caroline never trusted grimaced in pain and blinked in the light, holding a hand over a bullet wound in his left side.
“Check him for weapons.” The tone of Caroline’s voice was flat and hard.
Kendell searched him and found him unarmed. The knife was lying on the ground out of his reach.
They heard the little girl screaming. Hate burned in Caroline’s eyes. She took careful aim, compensating for the height of the sight above the barrel, and shot much of the man’s right hand off at the wrist as he held it up in response to Kendell’s light blinding him.
He screamed in agony and horror.
“What’s wrong?” Caroline asked. “I thought you liked to hurt? It’s not so fun when it’s you that’s hurting, is it?” She put a bullet through his right knee. He howled in agony. “That should hold him. Watch him while I go check on the girl.”
The man moaned and held his bleeding wrist with his good hand while Kendell kept his rifle aimed at him. People came running in groups of two to six, gathering around, asking what was going on. Caroline reappeared with a hysterical three-year-old girl in her arms, covering her eyes so she couldn’t see the man’s condition. Caroline had put her warm wool shirt on her, leaving her with only a thin T-shirt in the cold. The mother rushed up crying and took her away, heading for the house.
Caroline yelled, “Get back everybody!” The rage in her voice compelled them to move fast. She aimed and fired again; taking off most of the man’s other hand at the wrist, the bullet crashing on through and ripping the right wrist lower down than before, as he was holding it to stem the bleeding.
The man’s renewed screaming seemed to be more from terror, than pain.
A woman held her stomach and screamed, “Have you lost your mind?”
“Yes,” Caroline answered, “I have.”
She took off the man’s other knee with two quick shots, nearly amputating his leg. Without another word, she walked back to the house, not about to ask for approval or forgiveness. If they didn’t understand, that was their problem.
Kendell held his rifle on the screaming man as he bled to death. Not knowing what to do, he stood there and watched as the man grew weak and became silent. Finally, he passed out.
Kendell said, “He ain’t goin’ nowhere. And he ain’t hurtin’ no more little girls.” He left the others and went to check on Caroline. He had seen she was bleeding heavily from her hand.
Ramiro and Mrs. MacKay met Kendell halfway to the house. He stopped just long enough to say, “The child murderer attacked her and she defended herself.”
No one even remembered the weasel-faced man’s name when they buried him the next day, and no one bothered to pray over him or mark his grave.
~~~
Mrs. MacKay and Caroline sat at the dinner table talking over the events of four hours past.
“How’s your hand?” Mrs. MacKay asked.
“I’ll live.” Caroline wondered what was coming. Banishment?
The elder woman persisted. “Don’t you think you should allow someone to take you to town and have a doctor look at it?”
“If it starts to look like it’s infected, I’ll go. Kendell promised he would drive. I’d rather not get him involved, though, the trip could be dangerous.”
“Ramiro and I haven’t decided yet if there should be a tribunal to investigate what happened last night.”
“What’s to investigate?” She held her bandaged hand up. “He came at me with a knife while running from the scene of the crime. I shot in self-defense.”
“The first shot, yes. There were witnesses who saw the last shots. Kendell will only say it was self-defense, but the others…they say you lost it.”
That Kendell is alright. Caroline had no patience for weakness. He needed killing and she killed him. What was the problem? “It took more than one shot to do the job. I figured if he didn’t have any hands he couldn’t hurt me anymore.”
Mrs. MacKay blinked and regarded Caroline for a few seconds. “I don’t think anyone believes you were afraid of him at all. You mean he couldn’t harm children anymore. Did you hate him that much?”
“He left his mark on me.” She held her hand up again. “I also saw his handiwork on the girl.” She looked away. “He was the kind of asshole you had to get to know to depreciate.”
The corner of Mrs. MacKay’s mouth moved ever so slightly. “Under the extreme emotional stress you were under, no one judges you. The problem is some people are afraid to have you around after what they witnessed last night. They think you have an uncontrollable temper.”
“Tell them as long as they don’t rape and murder little children or come at me with a knife, they’re safe.” She sighed. “Or don’t. I don’t care. If you want me to leave; I’m gone.”
Warmth radiated from the widow’s wrinkled face. “You’re too valuable an asset to lose. It’s not like you killed someone who didn’t deserve it… and we would miss you.” She rose from her chair. “Rest today and don’t worry. Most here are grateful you removed a threat to their children and couldn’t care less how it was done. This is a problem Ramiro and I will have to work out with those who witnessed the bloodshed last night.”
~~~
Chesty and Tyrone had taken over the lower floor of the courthouse and turned it into a sheriff department office of a sort. The Army still used the holding cells occasionally, but had no use for the rest of the first floor and was more than happy to let Chesty and Tyrone use it. The former sheriff office was too far out of town as far as Chesty was concerned, and it had been burned to the ground during the early days of rioting, anyway. All of the sheriff department branch offices had suffered the same fate. Millions had blamed the government for the plague and expressed their anger on any symbol of authority, especially law enforcement officers, vehicles, and buildings.
Nate and Brian sat at a table in the courthouse cleaning their rifles and discussing how the serial killer had been caught and killed.
Nate reached for a small bottle of bore cleaning chemical. “In a way, Caroline is the kind of person this country needs right now.”
“Yeah.” Brian pushed a cleaning rod down the barrel of his rifle. “But it sounds like some of the people who saw it are now afraid of her. You and I both know she’s not quite normal.”
“Normal?” Nate set his rifle on the table. “What would be normal after what she’s been through? So far she hasn’t harmed a single innocent person.”
Surprised and a little stung by his father’s reaction, Brian spoke in an apologetic tone. “I know she was put through hell and most people would have gone completely nuts. I wasn’t criticizing her.”
“It’s obvious she’s been through a lot,” Chesty said. “And I bet the scars that show are nothing compared to the ones on the inside. Scarred or not, there are children who will not be murdered thanks to her, and not just the one her and Kendell saved that night.”
Tyrone listened but kept most of his attention on his task at hand and didn’t say anything. He busied himself with compiling reports of people running across small groups of suspicious-looki
ng young people who might be members of the radical gang. It appeared they were probing the town, learning where the spots most vulnerable to attack were. The Army was still trying to understand exactly what the group was about. The term terrorist organization was already being used among officers and noncoms.
Nate’s eyes peered unfocused into his past. “Growing up, I knew Vietnam and elderly WWII vets. Those who served during WWII seldom if ever talked about their experiences in the war, unless it was to tell some story completely unrelated to combat. Don’t think I’m diminishing their service, what they went through, or what they achieved. My grandfather died in Europe, so I know many of them lived with nightmares their entire lives. Well, the fact is the great majority of them never suffered that experience. Most of the 16 million who served in uniform never left the U.S. Maybe that’s why most of them looked on the war in calm retrospection, though there were certainly some who were deeply scarred by their experiences. Those captured by the Japanese in particular. Seeing others tortured to death and experiencing some of that torture yourself, knowing that it would resume the next day and the next without end until death, can break the strongest mind.”
He looked at his son, hoping he would understand. “Caroline was never a soldier, yet she went through the same hell, watching her own family murdered in horrible ways and witnessing Carrie put through unimaginable hell. She deserves respect and understanding. She might not be the life of a party, but so what.”
Chesty hesitated, then decided to speak. “And the Vietnam vets? Why were there so many news stories in the 70s and 80s of them committing suicide or going nuts and killing people? How could that war have been worse than WWII?”