The Great Crime Spike: A Dystopian Thriller Novel (Liberty Down Book 1)

by Eric M Hill

  “Immediately,” he answered, with an outstretched hand.

  The president gave a curious look at Anderson’s outstretched hand. “Well, this is a first,” he said, firmly clasping his enemy’s hand and looking intently into his eyes. “To democracy.”

  “To democracy…and my daughter.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes after leaving the White House, Dr. Anderson was doubled over on the side of the highway throwing up. What had possessed him to make a decision as though he was God? Was he doing this as a desperate act to save the nation? Or was he just a vengeful father seeking an eye for an eye?

  He spit the fowl phlegm out of his mouth as best he could. “God help me,” he pled. “What have I done?”

  Chapter 41

  Jake Peterson glared at the message on the screen. He wished he could disbelieve what he had read, that it was an administrative error that could be fixed by calling someone. But it was no mistake and a phone call wouldn’t fix it. For there was no one to call. The federal court was at it again. They were ordering him to release one hundred and twenty prisoners. Most of which were convicted T1 predators. Cold-blooded murderers without a conscience. And two who were suspected of killing one of his correctional officers.

  This would be the first in a series of four court ordered releases…since the last series of court ordered releases eighteen months ago.

  Warden Peterson’s hands trembled in rage. His pink face turned red. The oil on his thinning, sparse hair seemed to loosen from the steam rising from his scalp. A low, hissing stream of curses poured through his thin, quivering lips. He had promised himself that if the courts pulled this Bill of Rights cruel and unusual punishment crap on him and the citizens of Washington state again, he would call it quits.

  The warden’s eyes narrowed in furious resolve. But he wasn’t calling it quits. He was calling Dr. Anderson.

  ***

  Anderson mirrored Warden Peterson’s response when he told him how the courts planned to stick it to Washington state again. His friend’s prison had been high on the list of the first prisons and jails to receive the T1P-E treatment—Tier 1 Predator Eradication. Now it was number one.

  “Johnny Ray and Nick Palmer, them first. I want them first. They killed one of my men. I can’t prove it, but I know it was them.”

  “Done,” said Anderson. “What are they in for?”

  “They’re both worthless pieces of crap,” said the warden. “Johnny Ray’s trailer park trash. Came out the womb a sick SOB. Skipped torturing animals as a kid. Went straight for humans. Killed his four-year-old sister when he was only nine. He was babysitting her. Apparently, she got on his nerves. He bashed her head in with a marble ashtray. That wasn’t good enough. So he finished the job with a baseball bat. He’s been killing folks ever since.

  “And the other one, just as bad. Only difference is as far as we know, he specializes in killing women.”

  Anderson’s breathing quickened. He tried to cover the effect of the warden’s words on him, but his face wouldn’t fully cooperate. “Does he rape them?”

  “Does he rape them?” Warden Peterson answered as though there were a million details he could share. “Oh yeah, he rapes them alright.” He looked at the pain in Anderson’s face and stopped. The warden pointed at the wall as he looked at Anderson. “They want to loose this animal on society again. Kyle, as sure as I am standing here before you, I can guarantee you that the day that man is released from prison, some poor woman or young girl is going to be raped and killed. And he’ll keep raping and killing until he’s caught again. The only way to save those women and young girls from this psychopath is to take him out.”

  Anderson’s chest was hot, his eyes cold. “This predator will never rape and murder again. Johnny ray will never murder again. This whole pack of wolves they’ve ordered you to free will never terrorize society again. They’re not leaving here alive.”

  A nasty frown came to the warden’s face. “’Bout time somebody’s done something permanent to stop these predators.”

  “That time is now,” said Anderson. “Let’s go do what these judicial eunuchs don’t have the balls to do.”

  Chapter 42

  Washington State Penitentiary.

  Walla Walla.

  Concrete Mama.

  The Walls.

  The Hill.

  It was known as many things to many people. Bottom line: it was prison. A hellish, nightmare of a prison for both inmates and correctional staff.

  “I hate this place, Kyle,” the warden said, as he and Anderson and two guards walked down the hall toward the large room where the predators were to meet their doom. He immediately felt something like a pressure lift from him. He marveled at how his admission made him feel. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever said that. I can’t believe it’s taken me all these miserable years to admit this to someone.”

  The guards definitely shared the warden’s sentiments. But they were surprised that he had openly confessed what every guard said only among themselves.

  “Warden, how can any sane person not hate a place like this?” asked Anderson.

  He mulled this over a few moments, then said for the sake of the guards, “Yeah, I guess so. Still, doesn’t help none to hear the warden say it.” Then his anger rolled past his professional caution again. “I hate everything about this place except the fine men and women who work among these criminals. They killed one of them and they’re going to pay.”

  The two correctional officers accompanying them didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded good to them.

  Anderson was silent as one of the guards sped up before them and opened the door to the auditorium. The guard stepped in first, then the warden, Anderson, and then the second guard. Anderson’s gaze skipped over the u-shaped metal bars that were bolted in front of each chair. Chairs that were also bolted to the floor.

  “It’s right there in front of them,” said the warden.

  Anderson looked up at the large screen. Any conflict he might have had of bringing these predators to the mysterious justice of cellular self-elimination had died in a shopping mall parking lot with his daughter.

  “Every single one of them will watch television after their physical examination,” said Warden Peterson. “Or so they think.”

  Finally, it’s going to happen, thought Anderson. “Excellent,” he answered.

  The warden pulled Anderson to the side and asked in a low voice, “That other guy in Austin, he was tied up. He had to watch the screen. These prisoners are going to be handcuffed to the chair bars, but what’s going to make them keep watching? The first time something in that screen starts coming at ‘em—”

  Anderson interrupted. “The first time. You said it. I’ve made modifications. It doesn’t take long. It doesn’t take a second time. By the time they notice something’s off, it’s too late.”

  Warden Peterson knew Dr. Anderson was a super genius, but this didn’t stop his incredulous stare. After a few silent seconds, he asked, “We spray something into their eyes. They look at the screen. They die. Just like that?”

  “For all practical purposes, yes. The machine that the Austin predator was strapped to, I’ve converted to this screen. And the glasses he wore are now optical drops, not spray.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “The direct optical application shouldn’t take long at all. But it’s really up to the predator’s own body.”

  “I’ve got to free these monsters in a week.” The warden sounded as though he could use some reassurance.

  “According to my research, there’s very little possibility they’ll last beyond a day.”

  “But they could?”

  “Theoretically, yes.”

  “Could they theoretically not die at all?”

  “Extremely unlikely. But theoretically, yes.”

  “Theoretically yes? Nice time to tell me,” said Warden Peterson. “I have one week!”

  “But they don’t
,” said Anderson. The warden’s face lost none of its surprise or anger. “Warden, I sincerely believe all of these men will die. But to say this is a new science would be the greatest understatement ever. So, no, I don’t have one hundred percent certainty. I only have ninety-eight to ninety-nine percent certainty. Even at ninety-eight percent, that leaves one-hundred and seventeen to one-hundred and eighteen of the one-hundred and twenty predators dead. Worst case scenario: Can you live with only two or three of these animals walking free versus the whole pack of them?”

  Somehow an errant thought entered the back door of the warden’s conscience and pounced on him. You are conspiring to murder over one hundred people! The warden was thoroughly surprised and unsteadied by the sneak attack. Memories of murdered correctional officers, and cold, hard logic helped him recover. After several moments of brutal mental combat, he stood triumphantly over the body of his attacker. He had only two choices: kill the predators, or let the predators kill others.

  Anderson looked intently at the warden. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Not at all,” he lied. “I guess I just can’t help but be curious about how something like this works.”

  “There are things about this science that I don’t understand, and may not ever understand,” said Anderson. “The things I do know about it, I can’t share with anyone—too dangerous. What I can tell you is that neither the drops nor the screen harms the predator in any way. They’re not poisons, either separately or acting together. What they do is start a process within the predator that brings him to justice. If he’s not a murderer, he has nothing to worry about. If he is, he’s dead. As you know, poison doesn’t behave that way.”

  The warden looked at Anderson, his fuzziness apparent. “I don’t understand what happened to that predator in Austin. I don’t know how eye drops and a TV screen can kill one man and not another. But I do understand that I’ve lost a lot of good officers to these predators, and one very recently.

  “I understand that those wives are now widows and those children now have no father. I understand that if I let them go, they’re going to make more widows and fatherless children. I understand all I need to understand. Let’s give these predators their Eighth Amendment eye drops.”

  Chapter 43

  The one-hundred and twenty handcuffed and shackled predators were shuffled four at a time to the prison clinic for their exit physical examinations. Without exception, every prisoner was obviously smug and happy. They smirked, grinned, and some dared to laugh and taunt the guards, even though this was enough for a private, unofficial beat-down.

  Conversely, the correctional officers who escorted them wore hard, disgusted expressions. They’d seen this before, but it was never easy watching vicious criminals released upon society by the courts.

  At the warden’s request, prisoners one and two were Johnny Ray and Nick Palmer, respectively. Johnny Ray was for the most part silent as the doctor examined him. The fact that the doctor was female and not half bad-looking wasn’t enough to pull him out of his silent musings. He was enjoying planning to have a heck of a good first day of freedom.

  Nick Palmer’s mouth, however, wasn’t on any such leash. Yeah, his psychotic mind was twisting and tumbling and flying through the air with lustful possibilities. Boy, was he going to stick that landing! But that was the exact reason he had to let it out.

  “You know who I am? In here, they call me the wizard.”

  “You’re Nick Palmer.” She placed the stethoscope over his t-shirt. “I need you to cough.”

  Nick was amused. “You put that thing over my shirt. How are you going to know if something’s wrong with me?”

  “It works just as well over the shirt than it does directly against your chest.”

  Like a furnace that had been instantly lit by an ever present pilot light of hatred of females, a blaze of rage erupted in his chest. A woman had defied him. “You’re a hard woman, Doctor.”

  “Mr. Palmer, please cough.” Her voice was firm, but not confrontational. The prisoner was shackled at the feet, and his handcuffed hands were attached to a chain that went around his waist. He couldn’t lift his hands. She was safe. Besides, she’d been through this a thousand times before. Be respectful, but firm. She noted the presence of the guards only a second away. I’m in control, she told herself.

  The predator glanced at the door without moving his head. Two guards stared through the glass door. He knew he’d make their wish come true if he made a threatening move toward the woman. But you morons aren’t as smart as ‘ole Nick, he thought.

  Nick’s eyes were dark with control. He owned her. She just didn’t know it yet. “Doctor, I have something to say that’s very important.”

  She could tell by his tone that this had nothing to do with his physical health. “Okay, Mr. Palmer, but I also have something to say that’s very important. You are a prisoner in a state penitentiary. I don’t know why; it’s none of my business. But irrespective of your crime, you’re entitled to a medical examination before you’re released. Now I’m here to provide that examination. Conversations between medical staff and prisoners are limited to medical care. You know the rules.”

  The rules? A female was telling Nick Palmer the rules!

  Nick’s body tremored invisibly with rage. It wasn’t the handcuffs and ankle shackles that kept him from pouncing on this woman, and it wasn’t the guards. It was the promise of getting out in one week. The predator pushed hard against his fury. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. The rules. My rules.”

  The doctor looked as if she was about to motion for the guards.

  “Rosa.”

  Her body chilled. He knew her name!

  “Rosa Padilla Perez, fix your face now!” he ordered in a low voice with a normal expression. “Those guards come in and I will come to see you when I get out of here.”

  She was clearly overwhelmed and mentally spinning on a fast merry-go-round of fear, but the promise of his threat helped her to fix her face.

  “That’s better.”

  “Who told you my name? It is strictly against the rules for anyone to—”

  “Rosa Padilla Perez, 1348 Cherry Blossom Lane. Social security number 142-36-1919. Fix—your—face, Rosa. I meant what I said about visiting you.”

  She did.

  “Predators are always dangerous…and sometimes smart. I’m both. Now, Rosa, about those rules,” said Nick. “I don’t like the way you’re checking my lungs. Makes me think you don’t care about my health—that this is just a job to you.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Your job. Get that thing under my shirt. I wanna feel your hands on my chest. Convince me not to visit Cherry Blossom Lane.”

  Doctor Perez saw sickness in his eyes. Not physical, but mental. Whatever he had been locked up for, it was there, in his eyes. She did not want this sick man anywhere near her home. She’d always been a terrible liar. She couldn’t even play a gag on someone without giving herself away. But she determined that she’d perform with the brilliance of an academy award winning actress. She had to. Her life depended on it.

  She lifted his shirt and put the stethoscope against his skin. She moved her body so the guards could see only her back and not her hands. One hand pressed the stethoscope against his chest. She placed the other on his left pectoral and massaged. “Please cough.”

  Nick coughed loud enough for the guards to hear through the crack in the door.

  “How do you feel, Mr. Palmer?”

  The predator smiled. “I feel real good, Doctor.” He whispered, “Make me feel better, Mustang Mama.”

  The doctor’s lips parted in surprise. Surely, he wasn’t referring to what it sounded like.

  “BKG-061. I never would’ve taken you for a Mustang. You look more like a CRV.”

  Her hand froze on his chest. “You know my car and license number.”

  “Weekend warrior, Air National Guard Major Perez, I know everything about you. Predato
rs like me, we have lots of friends.” Nick loved the helplessness in her eyes. “Do you want Master Nick to forget what he knows about you?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “Any minute now, one of those idiots are going to ask you if everything’s okay.”

  The doctor’s voice was hurried. “I’ll tell them it is.”

  “Good. Then you tell them you need me to lay on the table while you check my hernia.”

  She swallowed hard, willing back the tears that could get her killed. “Okay.”

  “Okay, Master Nick,” he corrected.

  “Okay, Master Nick.”

  In a few seconds, it happened just as the predator predicted. The guard closed the door back to its previous width. He and the other guard watched the doctor’s back as she examined the prisoner.

  “Now Mustang Mama, if you want me to forget where you live, you better use these few minutes to get real creative with your hands.”

  She did—with the desperation of a woman trying to keep a rabid animal from biting her.

  But Nick had known from the moment this woman had spouted off at the mouth about rules that he would teach her a lesson. She had exactly one week before he visited Cherry Blossom Lane.

  Chapter 44

  Johnny Ray, Nick Palmer, and the other gleeful prisoners were processed through the last station of their exit physical exams before being led into and seated in precise order in the auditorium. This last station was the optical examination.

  Johnny Ray jerked his arms up a couple of times. His handcuffs pulled against the chain that was attached to the u-shaped iron bar that was bolted into the floor.

  “Going somewhere, bro?” Nick taunted his closest prison friend.

  “Guess not,” said Johnny. “Least not till next week.” He smirked. “I bet the court’s lettin’ us go is like a crab up the warden’s butt. I love this country.”

  “Now that you brought up my favorite subject,” said Nick. “The first butt I’m gonna have when I get out of this place is that female doctor’s.”