Redaction: The Meltdown Part II

by Andrews, Linda

  Boots squeaked on the floor behind Manny.

  He didn’t turn. People were filing in for the big show. Their beloved preacher was being railroaded by the military. Religion was on trial because the Doc was an atheistic scientist.

  How they didn’t see Trent Powers as the douchebag, he’d never know. And he didn’t care.

  Wheelchair Henry deserved justice.

  Someone walked in front of him and he leaned back.

  With a sigh, Sergeant-Major Dawson sank onto the molded plastic chair. “You’re up early.”

  “I didn’t sleep.” All Manny saw on his eyelids was Wheelchair Henry and another soldier wrapped in plastic like shirts then slowly lowered into a pit and buried with rocks.

  “No. I expect not.” The sergeant-major stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I was sorry to hear about the Colonel. He was a good man.”

  Manny’s throat tightened and tears pricked his nose. But they wouldn’t fall. He wouldn’t be able to cry until he’d completed his mission. “The best.”

  He didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. Not by someone like Trent.

  “You fired in the salute, didn’t you?” David’s fingers traced the flap over his pants pocket. “At his and Singleton’s funeral.”

  For a moment, Manny’s heart stopped. The soldier knew about the gun. Would he take it away? Would his plan be over already? “Sorry about your soldier.”

  “He died for these people.” David sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And many of them resent us. Can you believe that?”

  Manny relaxed slightly. This wasn’t about the gun. “They’re idiots.”

  “That’s my opinion but the truth is we need them. Conspiracy nuts and all.”

  “Why?” They should just get rid of them. Once they were out there, on their own, they’d learn the lesson Manny had months ago.

  “Do you know how to build a house, wire it, plumb a line, grow food, sew clothes or teach science?”

  “No.” But nobody knew all of that. How could they?

  “Neither do I.” David sat up. “That’s why we need them. We don’t want to survive this crap, we want to live again. Build a society that isn’t as fucked up as the one we left behind. Those comforts we took for granted are part of that.”

  “And so we have to put up with the stupid people?”

  “Pretty much.” David slipped his hand in his pocket. “Of course, they have the easier task of putting up with us.”

  Manny laughed then caught himself. He shouldn’t laugh. Wheelchair Henry lay in an unmarked grave back in Flagstaff.

  The soldier looked him in the eye. “If I asked you not to shoot Trent Powers, would you do as I asked?”

  “No.” Manny’s fingers tightened on the gun.

  “I understand.” David’s mouth tightened. “But I’m gonna have to ask you to change your pants.” He nodded to the camo pants Manny still wore. “I can’t have my men implicated. We’re going to look foolish enough having let you slip passed our perimeter.”

  Manny blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I wish I didn’t either then I’d take the bastard out myself. But the Doc was right.” David pushed to his feet. He opened his palm revealing a slim black rectangle inside. “Fresh clip. Twelve rounds, plus the one that’s in the chamber. You’ll be able to fire all thirteen.”

  Manny reached for the ammunition.

  David clasped his hand, sandwiching the ammunition between their palms, and shook it. “Make them count.”

  “I will.” Manny stared at the clip. Thirteen rounds. Seven for Trent and six for the buddy that helped him.

  “Now go change. I’ll make sure your seat is waiting for you when you get back.”

  Manny stuffed the clip in his hoodie and pushed to his feet. The soldiers weren’t going to stop him. He staggered down the aisle. Pins and needles stung the feeling back into his legs. The door stretched far away then snapped back.

  Robertson jogged across the back of the room, intercepting him by the exit. “Here. You should eat something.”

  Without thinking, Manny reached for the tan MRE pouch. Heat pulsed under his fingers. “Thanks.”

  “Sausage. My favorite.” Robertson pushed open the door. Generators hummed in the darkness. Stadium lights lit up the park across the street. People moved in the pearly gray light. Two men shoveled snow into piles. “Of course, I heard your crew is making flapjacks and biscuits for breakfast, so save room.”

  “My crew?”

  “Yeah. The folks you and the Colonel rescued.”

  Someone laughed. Manny’s breath caught. That sounded like his sister Lucia. He shoved the MRE pouch at Robertson. “I have to go.”

  “Sure.” Robertson caught it then hot-potatoed it. “Shit, that’s hot.”

  Manny ran out of the cafeteria and down the cleared sidewalks. Leaping the snowbank, he landed in the street then crossed to the park.

  Luce stood at the top of a pile patting snow in her palms. A red tassel dangled from her knitted cap and slapped her cheek. “We’re having a snowball fight, Manny.”

  Something wet and cold slammed against his back. He turned as his brother José hurled another one. It hit his hoodie pocket, knocking the gun into his gut. Christ! “Don’t do that.”

  What if the gun had gone off. What if the niños had been hurt?

  “Chicken.” Jose clucked while scooping up another ball.

  Connie set another round by her boots. “Now, Jose. You know the rules. No hitting those who don’t want to play.”

  Jose kicked at the mound of snow. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Yoo-hoo, Manny!” Standing under a huge pergola, Mildred waved her arm. Her red hair stuck out of the bun at the back of her head. “Come help. We’re going to have lots of hungry people soon.”

  “Go on, young Manny.” Connie shooed him with her hands before selecting a snowball from her stockpile. “I’ll look after these rapscallions.”

  She hurled it through the air, hitting Jose squarely in the belly.

  Jose clutched his stomach. “Ooh, you got me.” He fell back in the snow bank.

  “Thanks.” How did the blind woman do that? He shook off his thoughts. After he talked to Mildred and found out what happened to his things, he’d change then come back and…

  He trudged across the parking lot. And what? Say goodbye to the niños? If he shot Trent, he’d die too. And that was fine.

  But would the niños understand?

  Or would they think he deserted them like their parents, brothers and sisters?

  Mildred looked up from stirring flour. White streaked her cheek. “Ah, just the man for the job. Dilute that goat’s milk, won’t you. Half and half for the flapjacks.”

  Manny’s hands shook as he measured out the water and milk then dumped them into a bowl. “Where are my clothes?”

  Behind the pavilion, men added twigs to the grills. A woman stirred a giant pot on another. Steam danced above the top. Blue and white speckled pitchers bubbled on a third.

  “I’ll make you a deal.” Mildred cracked eggs on the wooden picnic table. With one hand she separated the shell and the egg dropped into the pit in the flour. “I’ll tell you where your clothes are, if you give me Henry’s gun.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t bother to lie to me, young man.” She shook the wooden spoon at him. Batter dripped from it and plopped into the bowl. “I know you have it. I saw it at the funeral.”

  Manny hugged his hoodie pocket. “I’m going to avenge him.”

  “That’s not your place.” Mildred beat the batter until the bowl spun. “It’s mine.” She stopped, placed both hands flat on the table and drooped over the bowl. “I loved that man for forty-two years. And I’ll have to live how ever many come next missing him.”

  Tears plopped into the bowl.

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed. “It’s my eye that man took and for me to take his eye in payment.”

  Manny b
it his lip. It was her right. He dipped into his pocket and eased his fingers around the gun. “Henry wouldn’t want you to kill him.”

  Mildred shook her head. More red curls sprang free. “I know he wouldn’t. That’s why I’m going to honor his memory by forgiving that bastard.”

  He reeled backward until he slammed into the neighboring picnic table. “Forgive him?”

  “Yes.” She held out her hand. “And if you cared at all about my husband, you’ll do the same.”

  His hand shook on the gun. “How can you say that? Of course, I care. That’s why I have to avenge him.”

  “Henry wouldn’t want it. Neither do I.” She snapped her fingers. “You want to make someone like Trent Powers suffer. Then live a full life, love someone with your whole heart and be happy. That little twerp will never get that and it will eat him up inside and kill him very, very slowly.”

  How could she say things like that? People like Trent only understood violence. “That’s not good enough.”

  “You will not kill anyone with my husband’s gun.” Mildred picked up the spoon again and shook it at him. “I will not have Henry looking down from Heaven and see you becoming just like Trent. He would never forgive me. And I…” her face crumpled, “and I would never forgive myself.”

  His vision swam then something burned his right cheek then his left. He touched his face and encountered wetness. He was crying. The constriction in his chest broke open, anger drained through the cracks, leaving only pain and emptiness. But he wasn’t alone. Not any more. He was with people who understood him and what he’d gone through.

  “We failed to protect our children and grandchildren from the Redaction.” Tears settled in the laugh lines around her eyes, smoothing them out. “Henry and I can’t fail you too. And if you go through with your plans for vengeance, we will have. I don’t know if I’d survive that. I just don’t know…”

  He knew he wouldn’t. But he needed to stop thinking only of himself. Others needed him and he couldn’t let them down.

  “We’ll be okay.” Manny set the gun on the table. “We’ll help each other through it. Like Henry would want us to.”

  Instead of reaching for it, Mildred opened her arms.

  He circled the table and fell into her embrace. On the wind, he could almost hear Henry whisper ‘about damn time.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  David scanned the cafeteria turned courtroom. The German shepherd hunkered at his feet, waiting for his command. People crowded in the seats, sometimes three on two folding chairs. Men and a handful of women packed the twelve feet between his men, stationed at each of the six double doors. Arms crossed and chin down, the civilians’ hostility flowed around the room like hot lava.

  He hoped his men didn’t get burned today.

  Walking to the front, he made eye contact with Vegas, stiff with anger. Michaelson’s oil stained finger aligned over the trigger. Janovich on duty despite his swollen face. Young Folger with a white knuckled grip on his M-4. Ray, whose muscles intimidated more than his carbine. Stalking at his side, the dog sniffed the air.

  Damn Mavis. The woman had the uncanny knack of being right. One false move and the whole place would erupt.

  And the civilians would get hurt.

  With the modified stock on the M-4, his men would keep firing until they were overrun. David nodded to Robertson standing by the entrance to the hall where the bastard Trent Powers was being held.

  The private jerked his chin toward the empty seat behind the defendant’s folding table.

  Manny hadn’t returned.

  Good. Someone had reminded the kid of how much he had to lose. Powers wasn’t worth it. David removed the reserved sign as he passed. He pointed to an elderly woman worrying rosary beads between arthritic fingers. A man in his forties helped her to the seat then returned to his post by the serving station.

  After one last look, David turned his back on the crowd. His footfalls blended with the buzz of chatter.

  Mavis, General Lister and two full bird Air Force Colonels sat at a table. None of them wore their Kevlar vests. The higher ups always did like making it hard on the enlisted folks.

  Standing next to the prosecutor, Lieutenant Sally Rogers fiddled with the camera aimed at the judge’s table in the front to record the proceedings. She smoothed back her hair, resuming her seat at a desk. After checking her side arm, she rested her fingers on the keys.

  The American flag stood to the left of the judge’s table. The Arizona State flag hung on the right.

  The clock recorded one minute until zero-six-hundred. Almost show time.

  He thumbed the safety off his weapon and planted himself beside Mavis. The dog stretched out in front of the stage. He’d do his best to keep her safe, get her out alive.

  “I have coffee if you need any,” she whispered behind him.

  “I’m fine.” With her at his side, he faced the crowd. His hands rested on the carbine.

  A Marine appeared in the hallway and nodded.

  Lieutenant Rogers stood up. “All rise, this court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Bob Anderson presiding.”

  Feet stamped, metal chair legs scraped linoleum and fabric rustled as everyone in the cafeteria pushed to their collective feet.

  Mavis set her hand on his back, cupping his shoulder blade through his vest. “I think it only fair to report that dozens—”

  “—One hundred three—” Lister interrupted.

  “—One hundred and three military issued tablet computers have gone missing,” she finished.

  David shook off her touch. What the hell was she doing distracting him now with such nonsense?

  Lister coughed. “And the evidentiary database has been accessed nearly two thousand times.”

  Holy shit. The whole of the camp must have looked…. David turned as the judge draped in a purple graduation robe strode toward the desk. “Which files?”

  Mavis smiled. “Why Trent Powers’, of course.”

  David grinned. Hot damn. Trent’s sneaky maneuver to be tried by a judge had back-fired. The people had access to all the ugly details of his crimes—no filter through counsel or the courts. Made him glad he’d linked Colonel Henry Dobbins and PFC Singleton’s death to the case.

  Lister smoothed his jacket. “We won’t be prosecuting anyone for the violation. I have to agree with the Doc that sometimes full disclosure is in the best interest of the people.”

  “We would like for you to collect our property back.” Mavis winked. “We’ll need the computers eventually.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Damn but she was brilliant. David had no doubt she’d arranged the whole thing. He stood up straighter.

  The judge took his seat. He patted his pocket and removed a pair of readers. Unfolding the glasses, he hooked them behind his ears. “Sit down everyone. Can’t have you looming over me.”

  After a few chuckles, the people who had chairs resumed them.

  “Bring in the defendant and his counsel.”

  The Marine disappeared down the hall. He returned a moment later with his comrade and the accused.

  Trent Powers strutted to the defendant’s table. He waved to the crowd and gave them a thumbs up. The nutjob didn’t seem to realize the people weren’t exactly pleased to see him. His blue sweater had creases and a sticker clung to the back pocket of his charcoal trousers. His dress shoes reflected the fluorescent lighting.

  His lawyer, Jake Turner wore loose jeans and a stained collared shirt. A blue and red tie hung from his neck.

  David tightened his grip on the rifle. The fucker had new clothes. Where the hell had he gotten them?

  Brother Bob tugged a single sheet of yellow legal paper from under his robes. “Will the accused please stand.”

  Trent pushed to his feet.

  “Having reviewed the case all night, I am prepared to render my verdict and my sentence at once. As explained to your counsel, there will be no appeals. My decision is final and binding. Do you understand?”
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  Trent’s brow furrowed before he smoothed it. “Of course, your honor.”

  Good, the bastard was worried. David hoped he shit his shorts when he learned he was sentenced to die by firing squad. Every soldier would have live ammunition. Given the times, it would be foolish not to. And when they were done, the asshole would be in more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle.

  That was justice.

  Judge Bob adjusted his glasses and unfolded the paper. “I, Judge Anderson find you guilty on the count of first degree murder of your ex-wife, Denise Powers and second degree murder of your neighbor Belinda—”

  A smattering of applause rippled around the cafeteria. Someone shouted a denial. A few in the audience set this jaws. Damn. Not everyone was on Mavis’s side.

  “What!” Trent jumped and banged his fists on the table. “You can’t do this!”

  Judge Bob glanced up. “Counsel control your client.”

  “I’m sorry your honor.” Jake Turner reached for Trent.

  Trent punched him in the face. “Lying, cheating.”

  Judge Bob snapped his fingers at the Marines. “Restrain him while I pass sentence.”

  The two Marines stalked forward, each grabbed an arm.

  Trent dangled between them like a slab of beef—if beef kicked and swore while hanging from a hook.

  David forced the smile from his lips. Couldn’t happen to a more deserving bastard. Now for the really fun part. The sentence. What would the asshole do when he learned he was about to die?

  “This is a travesty! I’m innocent,” Trent yelled.

  Judge Bob stood up. “The sentence is banishment.”

  Banishment? Banishment! David slipped his finger on the trigger. What the fuck good was that? The fucking asshole would still be alive.

  Standing, Mavis leaned over the table. Anger outlined her lips in white.

  “You can’t do this!” Trent arched his back and slithered toward the floor. The Marines held him tight.