by Connor Mccoy
The enforcers had begun gathering in the courtroom, and there were rumblings. Xander had killed one of their own after he’d obeyed Xander’s orders and killed one of the most beloved judges on the Court. That he’d been killed after obeying an order angered them, that Arthur had been betrayed outraged them. Xander would not find any followers among them today.
But that didn’t stop him from trying. It wasn’t long before he entered the Court and stood on the dais, calling the enforcers to him. Chantal moved to the observation window in the hall and saw that the enforcers stayed where they stood. And when they did not flock to him, Xander grew angry.
“Cowards,” he said. “Is there not one among you who would come with me today and avenge the death of your comrade? He is dead because of the Melvins. Do you not see that? Had they been executed when they first were brought here, our honored enforcer still would be alive.”
“Talk straight, Xander,” one of the enforcers said. “You ordered him to kill, you ordered him killed, and then you killed him with your own hands. None of those things needed to happen, regardless of the Melvins.”
“We do not understand your obsession with killing the people who are healing our families,” another spoke up. “The Melvins set my sons arm so he will grow up able to use both hands. They are healing the young and comforting the old. They feed us. What do you do, beyond requiring us to pay you tribute and obey you?”
“We punish the guilty, the criminals who prey upon you.” Xander’s reply had a note of desperation.
“You punish the guilty and the innocent alike,” another voice arose. “You would have killed a woman for trying to feed her children and let a letch who would have taken advantage of her go free. Your laws serve your own purposes, not those of the people.”
Upon hearing this, Chantal felt as if she’d been speared through the heart and shrank against the wall. The truth of what the Court had become wounded and shamed her. She had failed the people she would have served.
“If you will not follow me, then I will do this on my own,” Xander said. “Stay here and fester in your cowardice. I will take care of the Melvins on my own.”
Chantal moved back to her room with no time to spare. She was fortunate that Xander passed through the hallway focused straight ahead. Had he glanced to the right he would have seen her, she was sure of it.
She gave him a two-minute head start and then followed him out into the street. She noticed a handful of enforcers ahead of her, but they too were tracking Xander, not walking with him or in his wake as followers would do. She may yet have some allies.
They trailed him through the streets, winding through others who were headed in the same direction. Something was happening, and she wondered what could be drawing the people all to the same spot in the city. She imagined it must have something to do with the people who had taken on the responsibility for healing the ills of the city.
Chapter Sixteen
As they approached the park, Chantal noted the size of the crowd gathering there and began to run, afraid that she would lose Xander there. She ran past the group of enforcers, drawing near to Xander so she could see where he was going. He must not get away. A plan was forming in her mind, a way to punish this man she hated. To remove him from the Court forever.
She still had hope for her beloved Court, the Koupe Tribinal. It could become the bastion of truth that she believed it should be. With the right leadership, their Court could lead the people, show right from wrong. Teach them how to help each other.
She almost was near enough to touch Xander when a woman turned to look. It was one of the Melvins, and the look on her face when she saw Xander was so full of hatred that Chantal was frightened for herself. But the Melvin didn’t see Chantal. She shouted something, Chantal couldn’t tell what, and before another minute had passed Xander was wrestled to the ground, and the Melvin was standing on his throat, pressing down with all her weight. Not many moments more and Xander had stopped moving, stopped breathing and the Melvin turned away.
Others in the crowd dragged his body away, passing it from person to person until it was dumped in the gutter of one of the streets ringing the park. Chantal did not know what to feel. The Melvin and the crowd together had taken care of her job. Xander was no longer a threat to the stability of the Court.
Finally tuning into what the doctor Melvin was saying to the crowd, she realized that she would not be able to save her Court. At least not the physical shell. Unless maybe, if she pleaded, they would allow the Court to remain standing. She turned and slid through the crowd, back onto the street and began to run. She had to evacuate the building before the crowd arrived.
Glen’s voice was giving out as he explained the details of his three-part plan. One, tear down the Cut Court; two, build a community garden here in the park so that when spring came, they’d be ready to plant, while also converting the museum’s ballroom into growing space for the winter; and then, three, finally start forming communities and building a democratic government.
“Winter is coming,” he shouted into the megaphone, “we need to build now so that when spring comes, we are alive and ready to prosper. It’s time to tear the Koupe Tribinal to the ground, brick by brick, beam by beam. Bring it here, to this park, where not only will we prepare for a garden, but by doing so we build a monument to Arthur Davis, a truly courageous and compassionate man.”
A cheer rang out across the park, and Robbie’s crew pulled the boat trailer into the street, facing toward the Cut Court.
“Follow our young friend,” Glen yelled, “and bring back what we need for our new life.”
Robbie started forward as the roar went up. The crowd was ready. Glen watched as the children began to run, and then realizing they weren’t going to be trampled slowed to a fast walk. Glen and Melvin ran down the stairs and out into the street, mounting bicycles that Melvin had rounded up for this purpose.
Glen sped on ahead. His goal was to be at the head of the group when they reached the Court. There would be no loss of life if he could help it. Melvin dropped back, having his own role in the march.
Glen listened. Yes, there it was. The chant was beginning. “Liberty! Liberty! Liberty!” The words swelled all around him as they marched, more than five hundred strong, moving to dismantle the Court.
Glen rode harder, spurred on by the chant and his need to be at the head of the pack. He reached the boat trailer, which he could see had been modified yet again, this time with a platform to help move the building materials. Dismounting, he walked his bike next to it, still overwhelmed by the echoing chant and the strength of numbers following him.
And others joined them as they marched along. Families emerged from their cars, or from doorways shouting questions and often joining the throng. They were marching for a life free of the tyranny of the Cut Court.
They reached the narrow alley and Glen led the throng down to the steps. He walked down to the Jackal’s mouth and pounded on the door. All around him the words echoed,” Liberty! Liberty! Liberty!”
The door opened and there stood the Chief Justice, a lone figure between the Court and the throng. Glen held up his hand for silence, and the chant died away, the people at the back getting the message long after those standing behind Glen.
“Will you stand aside, Justice?” Glen asked.
“Is there no way to redeem the Court?” she asked. “To make it into what it was meant to be?”
“No,” Glen said. “Too much evil has been wrought in this place. You either stand with us or against us, but it is your choice. I will escort you from this place unharmed. What you do after that is your choice.”
“I have no need of an escort,” she said, chin held high. “The building is empty, all who worked here have either joined you or fled. It is yours to do with as you will.” She disappeared into the interior of the building.
Glen held the throng back by the force of his will until he judged she would be clear of the building, then he stood aside and let
them in.
At first, it was chaos, people trying to get in and out of the building through the same door blocking each other. The people in the rear pushed in their anticipation of entering the Court. But Robbie came to the rescue, finding and marking the exit through the front of the building. Every item that could be removed was, and then the building started to come down, but when the interior walls were down to the studs, Glen stepped in.
Luckily, most people were content to take a small piece of the Court, a pan from the kitchens, a stool or a cabinet. A foursome took out the judges’ conference table. The hardcore ones tore out the sinks, the useless ovens, the cisterns, and the toilets. Glen’s main worry was that someone would start sledgehammering a load bearing wall and bring the building down on the rest of them.
Luckily, there was an engineer in the group that directed people up to the top, where they could bang away at bricks and mortar without risk of the building coming down on their heads. Building materials began to make their way to the park, a brick at a time. Tools were brought in so more of the materials could be salvaged.
Glen left the demolition of the building to the engineer and the group of people he’d recruited, and went back to the park. What he’d expected to see was a pile of materials, what he found was like a warehouse, things sorted – and not on the grass where they eventually wanted to build their garden, but in the streets surrounding it.
Glen joined Mia and Sally in the center of the park where a fountain used to stand. Mia was demonstrating her organizational skills by drawing a scale map of the park with raised beds in place. She looked up and smiled.
“What do you think of erecting the Arthur Davis Memorial Community Center right here in the middle of the park?” she asked. “We’ve got plenty of materials. We could have closets for our gardening equipment, and right here in the center, instead of a fountain, we could have a huge fire pit so people could stay warm in the winter. What do you think?”
“I think we’d probably burn the place down,” Glen said. “Otherwise, it sounds like a fine idea.”
“We’d model it after the longhouses of the Pacific Northwest. Or yurts. I’ll bet there’s an engineer in the group that can help me design a cinderblock building that is safe to heat.” She grinned, exuding excitement. “Can I pursue it?”
“This is a democracy,” Glen said. “Put a team together, create a design and then we’ll put it to a vote. I’m pretty sure it will fly. Everyone needs a place to come and get warm.”
Christian came bounding up. “I’ve got my group ready,” he said. “Where should we build our raised bed?”
Mia showed him the map she’d drawn and assigned him the first corner in a grid of vegetable garden beds. “You put the first one in, and then the others will be built off of yours. Hopefully, that will give us a pretty regular line of beds.”
“Okay, we’ll start now while there is still some light.” He went bounding off again.
Mia turned back to Glen. “He’s happy to have something to do,” she said. “He can help in the clinic, but here he’s got some expertise. He makes an excellent group leader.”
“I agree,” Glen said. “It’s a good use of his skills.”
She leaned in, “Do you think there is any threat from the enforcers?” she asked. “Should we be posting guards?”
“I don’t think so,” Glen said. “I think they’d be happy to fade back into the community. What would attacking any of us do for them? There is no greater authority for them to hide behind now.”
“That’s true. But they could steal building materials,” she said.
“So could a thousand other people in this city. I think we can survive the hit. If we need more materials, we can pull down more of the building.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t stay out here too late, we’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
“And the day after that, and after that, and it goes on forever,” she said. “Or at least until it starts snowing.”
“I’m going in,” he said. “I need some tea for my throat, I shouted myself hoarse today.”
“You were awesome,” she said.
Mia watched him walk away and felt more than a little pride in her heart. He’d been able to do what no one else could. He pulled together hundreds of people and made them into a community willing to fight for their lives. What one or twenty could not do, five hundred could accomplish with ease. So many more people would survive this winter than the last because they had each other to rely on.
She had seen Ruth earlier and had taken her to the ballroom in the museum. They’d found her family a place to live on the ground floor, and Mia had left her to figure out a way to grow food. So, while Mia worked toward food for the following summer, Ruth worked toward food for the winter.
Mia also had the community center, which made her happy. What could be better than a place for families to stay warm in the winter, and gather as a community in the summer? If she weren’t in charge of assigning raised beds for teams of citizens to build she would be searching for an engineer or an architect – even a builder would be helpful. In fact, a builder probably would have practical knowledge that the others would not. It’s one thing to plan a building and another to put it together and make it stay up.
Maybe she needed a team – or would that just cause arguments? She mused over the problem as she assigned teams their beds to build. What was the best way to get this done? As darkness fell she lit an oil lantern and leaned over the chalk outline she’d drawn of the park. Here, in the middle, that’s where it should be. There was enough land here that they could build quite a large building. Big enough to honor Arthur and to keep many families warm. And the proximity to the medical clinic was perfect. Almost everything they needed, all within reach.
She was surprised when Christian put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s late, Mia,” he said. “Let’s go inside. I bet it’s been hours since you’ve eaten.” He slipped his arm around her waist, and they walked through the park together. Groups had set up camp in the park, and as they called greetings the two passed. Already a community was forming, and trust was building.
Mia smiled and returned the greetings. She felt as if she were floating. The demise of the Court had been so cathartic. A weight had lifted from the community, and the city was ready to rise again and be rebuilt from the ashes.
She laughed out loud.
“What?” Christian asked, holding her tighter.
“I’m just being fanciful,” she said, “thinking of Detroit as rising from the ashes, ready to be born again. But it’s the people really. They were ready to take a risk, to knock down false security and be open to a new democracy. It means work for them, but the rewards could be so worth it.”
“You’re right,” he said, smiling down at her. “The rewards are so worth it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Chantal stood on the far side of the street and watched as everything she associated with the Court was removed. Her chair from the dais was one of the first things to go, and not long afterward the copper pots and lids from the kitchen. She stood watching until actual bricks from the building were piled into wheelbarrows and pushed away down the street.
She followed the stream of building materials down the streets, retracing the path to the park where Xander had been killed. She was surprised. She had assumed they would create a huge pile and burn the Court in effigy, but that wasn’t what was going on. Everything was being sorted, like with like. And in one corner of the park a small, seemingly doorless structure was being built.
She moved closer and learned it wasn’t a structure at all, but a raised bed for a vegetable garden, to be ready for spring. With that small revelation, the weight that had been oppressing her was lifted. The Court wasn’t being torn down, it was being transformed. What once was an imperfect hall of justice now would lay the groundwork for a self-sustaining community. She could think of nothing better.
Chantal turned and left the park, making
her way back to her apartment overlooking the city. She climbed the stairs slowly, her mind numb and her body tired. It had been so long since she had given in to her exhaustion or been overwhelmed by emotion that she almost didn’t recognize why she felt as if she were moving through liquified amber.
When she sat in front of the wall of windows, the night fully dark now, and watched the fires and flashlights springing into being all over the city, she was reminded of the hope that Arthur held for the city. She thought of the painting, inspired by his vision, that leaned against the wall in her bedroom. She remembered what a good man Arthur had been. Her heart ached for him, and she cried. She cried for all the people who had been harmed in the name of a better city for everyone. Some innocent, some not, but all scarred, maimed, or dead in the name of something better, something bigger than the individual.
The problem with that ideal, she thought, was that it was individuals who made the community. The many were made up of the few, the singular, and when you sacrificed one, you changed the whole. And not necessarily for the better. Definitely not for the better.
She awoke still sitting in the chair as the sun began to rise. Her neck ached, and she was stiff, cursing herself for not having the energy to move to her bed when she’d finally stopped crying. She took a gallon jug of water into her bathroom and splashed some of it into the stoppered basin. She splashed some on her face before using the rest to brush her teeth.
She looked at the jug, and the realization came to her that she wouldn’t have anyone to bring supplies to her anymore. She’d be lugging her own water up all those stairs unless she figured a way to gather rainwater from the roof. She was going to be doing a lot of things herself that she’d relied upon others to do for her. Perhaps that was for the best. It was time she became self-reliant.