Early Release

by Jason Michelsen

  Her voice had risen, but still remained below the hearing of the increasingly complacent guards. Eyes shimmering with unshed tears reflected a fanatical resolve throughout the group. For not being a speaker, the nurse couldn't help being proud of where her words had led. This was a people once defeated, never to be oppressed again.

  In the end, the American spirit knows right from wrong, and will only tolerate the latter to a certain point.

  The sounds of the party outside were louder now; the drinking was in high gear. Lisa turned to Rachel and took a deep breath. The young widow nodded and clasped her hand tight. A look passed between them that shared more than any words could. It was time.

  Without a word, Rachel let go of her hand and left the bleachers. Lisa watched her approach the guard and talk her way into an escorted trip to the outhouse.

  She let out a sigh of relief quietly. No point letting everyone else know how shaky her confidence in this plan was. The hardest part was still to come.

  "Abby, are you ready?" Lisa still stared toward the door Rachel had been led through. Only when she heard no response did she turn around.

  Abby was just a girl, seventeen years old, but the only surviving member of her family. The rage contained inside her was critical to this plan. She just needed to hold it together.

  "Abby," she began quietly, "we need you now. Are you sure you can do this?"

  The raven haired schoolgirl stared at her with eyes overflowing with pain and loss. Slowly, as though every inch was a struggle, she shook her head. Was this too much? Was this girl going to crack before she could fulfill her part of the plan?

  Exasperated, Lisa rose her suddenly cutting voice. "Abby! You said you could do this. Now you think you're going to back out and leave us all to die? I bet your parents would be real proud, if they hadn't already died on you!"

  Before she could regret her words, Abby's fist slammed squarely into her jaw, and the world spun.

  92

  While most of the Prophet's army were getting festivities off the ground, Adam was beginning to panic. In all fairness, he should have panicked much earlier, so he didn't feel too bad about how close to a nervous breakdown he was.

  The search was going fine right up until they checked the barn on the north edge of town, where they discovered not one, but two sleeping bags laid out in the loft. Assorted gear lay neatly next to the bags, making a rather comfortable looking nest. A quick rummage through the packs turned up two prison uniforms; one an inmate's, one a nurse's.

  Adam put these things together reluctantly in his mind. Saul had come here with the nurse, who was now held in general population. Saul would never leave someone behind who depended on him. He also had the kid with him, which presented a serious problem for his promotion potential.

  Armed with this new knowledge, he led his team slowly east while he tried to plan his next move. They would have to speak with Brittsen, it was too obvious to avoid. He could only hope she didn't know anything to put him on the right trail. How could it be this hard to not catch someone he hunted?

  Approaching the school, the sounds of drunken fun filtered through the cool night, and Adam noticed several of his crew looking longingly toward the carousers on the football field.

  "Jimmy, why don't you go meet some more of the gang." The local boy looked up in surprise. Thus far he had only seen the hardworking side of alignment with the Prophet. "Matter of fact, all of you should get a break and a drink or two. Pretty sure I can handle questioning a tiny nurse by myself. I'll come get you once I know our next step."

  Without a word the group fled in the direction of the bonfire. Relieved at being free of extra ears around for this conversation, Adam headed for the entrance.

  Halfway there, he noticed the prisoner being escorted toward him and stopped dead in his tracks. Walking toward him was the girl's mother.

  She looked distracted, and the convict knew he should take the opportunity to get out of sight, but he was paralyzed by her mere presence. When the woman finally noticed him, she did not have the same problem.

  With a shriek to make any banshee jealous, she rushed him. A face that formerly seemed fit for Aphrodite became as wrathful as any god the Greeks could have imagined. Spritely as she was, Adam still lost his wind when she hit him with seemingly supernatural force.

  He hit the ground and rolled, reflexively trying to protect himself from flailing fists and clenching claws. Several blows landed before he could subdue her; all the while her escort stood by trying to suppress laughter. The chubby guard was very lucky Adam wasn't a killer at that moment.

  Pinning her arms to her chest with one hand -- and his body weight -- he covered her mouth with the other. Turning to her still-chuckling escort, he fixed the man with a glare that immediately extinguished the laughter.

  "I've got her, since she's apparently too tough for you to keep out of trouble." The venom dripping from his voice earned a blanching of the man's face in the firelight. This new rank has its perks, I guess. "Get back inside, I'll bring her back in a minute."

  Looking torn, the guard took half a dozen steps before turning back to caution Adam: "Careful, Prophet said we can't touch the women without his permission."

  "She just attacked me, I'm sure he'll understand!"

  "Yes sir, but you might want to get rid of her when you're done."

  He quickly walked back to the gym as Adam shook his head. Like I'm not supposed to touch her in self-defense. But when he looked back down and saw the terror in her eyes, the meaning of those words struck home.

  Oh. Touch her.

  Many emotions ran through him as he lay on top of her, easily suppressing her struggling form. Disgust that someone thought he was that type of person. Anger that the order was actually necessary among this crowd. Intoxication with the power that he realized he held over her.

  At this last, he felt almost physically ill. He shook his head to clear the thoughts, and made a fateful decision.

  "I'm going to let go of your mouth now, I need you to not scream, okay?"

  Seeing agreement in her teary eyes, Adam slowly removed his hand from her mouth and shifted his body to reduce the pressure on her. As she decided she wasn't going to be raped, she visibly shifted from fear back to rage.

  Before she could begin an outburst, he spoke to her quietly. "I told you I've never killed anyone."

  "That was before you murdered my daughter."

  "I'm telling you again, I have never killed anyone."

  "You're lying. You killed my daughter for that maniac!"

  "I don't lie! Well, okay, I do. But I'm not lying now!"

  "I heard the shot. I heard them congratulate you for shooting a defenseless little girl."

  "First of all, that kid is not defenseless." Adam unconsciously rubbed the bump on his head from the collision with Smiley. "Second, hearing a shot means nothing. I shot into the air so she could get away. Then I told these guys I killed her so they wouldn't kill me, and would stop looking for her.

  "Incidentally, if they find this out, they'll kill me and hunt her again, so you probably shouldn't mention it."

  He could clearly see that she still didn't believe him. She was horrified of hope; believing there is such pure good in the world is dangerous to a person tempered in pain.

  "Why would you let her live? It doesn't make any sense."

  "Two reasons. First, as I may have mentioned, I am not a killer. Second, it was part of the payment to someone I owed my life."

  "You sold my daughter to pay a debt?" Her eyes bulged as he realized how poorly he had worded that idea. As his luck demanded, the first thing she believes out of his mouth was the dumbest thing he could have said.

  "No!" He took a deep breath and thought before he spoke. "A man who took me in and helped me survive in prison was there. Saul would never have forgiven himself if I had killed her; he would see it as his personal failure. So I left your daughter with him and told them to leave town."

  "Saul? David Saul? Y
ou mean he's free?"

  Confusion reigned in his head until he remembered seeing her with the nurse. Of course Brittsen had told this woman everything about how she ended up there.

  "Yeah, and he was supposed to leave, but now that I know he was traveling with Brittsen, I think he may still be around trying to rescue her."

  He considered that he shouldn't be telling her this much, but he couldn't stop. Something about her made him want to be a better man. Not even knowing her name, Adam found himself as desperate for her approval as he was for the Prophet's; more than he ever was for Saul's.

  The awkward nature of their position dawned on him, and with furtive glances around to make sure they were not being watched, he stood and offered her a hand.

  She ignored it, climbing to her feet on her own, with wariness never leaving her eyes.

  A crash sounded from inside, followed immediately by shouting from the guard at the door. The blond broke for the gym, leaving Adam staring after her, his hand still extended, forgotten. Who runs back to their prison, he wondered.

  Walking slowly in the direction of the commotion, his instincts told him something was very wrong. His pace increased in concert with the rising din from the gym, until he was running the final steps to the eerily fire lit building.

  He arrived to find chaos. The captives were all gathered in a roiling mass of humanity near the center of the gym. It reminded him of the crowd that grew around prison fights when the guards didn't care to stop it. The sounds emanating from the middle confirmed the impression. Four perimeter guards were shouting to break it up, or at least make a hole so they could see. Adam caught a quick glimpse through the shifting crowd and was floored to see the nurse locked in a wrestling grip with a young Hispanic girl.

  As the guards waded through the throng to the women, a thought occurred to him. Scanning the room, he found the woman he had followed in. She was creeping up slowly behind the only guard who had not entered the fray. Clutched in her hands was some kind of wooden plank--a piece of the bleachers?--that she was raising for a swing.

  "Behind you!" came a shout from Adam's right. Jimmy had come in behind him, and warned the other man just in time.

  With one arm upraised to deflect the blow, he used the other to smash his rifle into her stomach. While she collapsed, the crowd turned on the guards who had foolishly wandered into their midst. The trap was sprung.

  Jimmy, sensing his newfound partners were in trouble, switched sides again and lunged at Adam. Fortunately for the felon, betrayal was something he knew well, and it could no longer surprise him. He sidestepped smoothly and cracked the smaller man across the back of the skull as he passed.

  After pulling the gun from the crumpled man's waist, Adam turned to survey the gym. All four guards in the crowd had disappeared, and the frenzy of the locals suggested they wouldn't be coming out in very good shape--if at all. What really captured his eye, however, was the blond. She lay against the near wall, weapon nowhere to be seen, with an angry killer standing over her. While Adam willed his frozen body to move, a gun was raised, its barrel planted against her forehead.

  93

  "He reminds me of my crazy uncle who thinks lampshades are aliens trying to take over the world."

  Eve's assessment wasn't far off, but David knew they were in no position to be picky about allies. Since their meeting in the hardware store, he had noticed signs of Thompson's slipping grip on sanity. Most telling was the girl's evident wariness around him. She had shown no fear of anything, but the old correctional officer had her shook.

  That worried him more than he cared to admit.

  He kept her close; not a difficult task considering how she moved around the room artfully keeping David between her and the object of her apprehension. Were it not for the high stakes of the situation, he would have been amused by the dance. But now the old Saul was coming out, examining and discarding possible courses of action in a tireless search for the best plan.

  "I don't understand the problem," Thompson complained. "Why not just make more of these pipe bombs and just blow them all to hell?"

  David sighed. "Those are not precise enough to use as weapons in a hostage rescue. If we start throwing them all willy-nilly, we could hurt a lot of innocent people.

  "Priority one of this mission is--"

  "Yeah, yeah," the vigilante interrupted, "Priority one is elimination of collateral damage. I've heard your speech. The way I see it, though, you can't make breakfast without breaking a few eggs."

  "Actually, you could just have cereal without breaking--"

  "Eve," David forestalled her argument, "just let it go." He had already decided that correcting the cliches that never came out quite right was a losing battle. Thompson seemed dedicated to exterminating the escapees with an almost religious zeal. As long as he could direct the obsession, it was an asset. If he lost control of it.... Well, David didn't want to think about what would happen if that passion went postal.

  "Yes, priority one is eliminating friendly casualties. Priority two is rescuing Lisa, Rachel, and as many others as we can; and priority three is eradicating as much of the Prophet's gang as possible.

  "You can help us achieve the first two goals, and you can go nuts with the third. But until we get them to safety, you control your bloodlust."

  "So what's the point of the explosives if not to kill the inmates?"

  "Can you please stop expressing your burning desire to kill all the inmates? Need I remind you that I was an inmate? At least call them 'Prophet's Inmates' or something so I know you're not planning on shooting me when my back is turned."

  In fact, Saul was quite sure Thompson would execute him given half a chance. He would have to be careful not to give him that chance. As long as they still needed each other he should be okay, but after that all bets would be off.

  While he assembled the last of the bombs from the materials he found in the surprisingly well-appointed hardware store and garage, he snuck a glance at his comrade. Head shaved in denial of his balding pate, he was pudgy in the way of a man who spent his youth working hard and dreaming harder. Burning out, all that prized and pharmaceutically built muscle degraded to fat, leaving a sloppy shell over a bitter heart. He never could change the world, but it sure could change him.

  The events of the past week turned a cracked mind into a broken one; Thompson mumbled to himself quietly across the room.

  "These are only to be used as diversions. They'll be loud enough to get a reaction, but not cause too much damage. We only need the gang to believe they're under attack. Between the alcohol and the adrenaline, they should be confused enough to slide in and out without too much risk."

  "He's back!" Eve called from the front window. The collapsing house looked a lot worse than it was, and David made his way through the wreckage with confidence.

  "Did he go back in?" he asked his lookout.

  "I think so. He came from that way with some weird looking guy and looked like he was heading up the steps." She pointed as she spoke, indicating a path from the direction of the bar to the town hall.

  Probably just out to keep morale up.

  "Alright kiddo, it's about that time. You know what to do?"

  Using the child like this sickened Saul; no kid her age should have to actively participate in a battle, no matter how small their role was.

  He watched a gap-toothed grinning boy in a green headband run toward him down a sun-drenched, sandy street. His eyes were glazed from the drugs, but the grin didn't disappear, even when his head snapped back from the 5.56mm round fired cleanly through his forehead. Saul got the shot off just in time; he was barely able to hit the ground before the grenade the boy had carried ripped holes in a shuttered storefront and two Soldiers who had counted on him.

  "David? Are you okay?" The girl's voice trembled slightly.

  He was on the floor in a crumbling house in Webster, not back in Sadr City. David closed his eyes and collected himself before climbing unsteadily to his feet. Thi
s was not the time for the flashbacks to return, but the stress and lack of good sleep were a recipe for disaster.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered belatedly. "I was just remembering something."

  That was the understatement of the century. Calling a PTSD flashback remembering was like calling decapitation a sore throat. For now, at least, there was no reason to worry Eve with the extent of his occasionally debilitating condition. Instead, he prayed that she came through this night without a case of her own.

  "One more time, what's your job?"

  She looked confused, had she already answered him? He could always hide behind the perfectionist excuse for the redundant drilling, if he needed to.

  Fortunately for him, she didn't comment on his lapse; just answered the question plainly. "I trail behind you, staying hidden. If someone gets the upper hand on you, I throw this pipe and take cover. Otherwise, I just follow you until we stop outside the school and plan our next step."

  Saul had to smile; the recitation was nearly word for word what he had told her. She'd make a fine Soldier, if the United States Army survived.

  Full of affection for this tough little girl, the emotion contrasted with the pain of the flashback so strongly he was almost overwhelmed. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.

  "Good job. Stick to the plan and we'll get through this with flying colors." This prompted an unexpected embrace, reminding him that for all her bravado and intellect, Eve was still a scared little girl underneath.

  Together they walked back to the kitchen where Thompson sat quietly conversing with himself. Saul shuddered at what may have happened if the officer had seen his episode. Exposing his weaknesses was not something he liked to do, particularly to homicidal crackpots whose ties to him weren't quite as strong as dental floss.

  "Hutchins is back to his headquarters, it's time to go."