WWIV - Basin of Secrets

by lake, e a

Pausing to display great thought, Willem turned to the condemned and spoke with a heartfelt tone. “I might have been more merciful. Maybe just sliced off an ear or a finger. But your friends…” A quick jerk of his head to the crowd was followed by a crooked smile. “…well, they seem to have a different punishment in mind.” Drawing closer, he pressed the knife to the man’s throat. “What say you?”

  The offender’s steely glare remained focused on Tarlisch. “You are a rotten piece of horse crap. That’s all you are. You give me another chance, and I’ll do the job proper. I’ll run you through and laugh at your rotting corpse. Your men can kill me after that. As long as I save all these people from a bastard like you.”

  Willem peeked at the crowd and then back at the brave sounding man. “So you want to play the martyr? Well, let me tell you something. My father and brother both died for a cause, so I know a thing or two about martyrs. You’re just a bully around here, that’s all. None of your friends, the people you seem to want to save by killing me, seem to care about your worthless existence. Why should I then? Come on, plead for your life. Beg me.” Willem pressed the tip of the shiny steel blade against the man’s chest, feeling the skin beneath his shirt stretch and give just a little.

  “I wouldn’t beg you if you wore a crown. You may fool these people, but you don’t fool me. You’re not a savior, you are the antichrist.” With that, he spit directly into Willem’s face, causing him to jerk away.

  Wiping the saliva away, Willem leaned back in, undeterred. “You may not beg me, but they will,” he whispered, poking the knife blade back at the crowd. “And soon they will all bow down and beg for my mercy.” Placing the tip directly over the man’s heart, Willem pushed a little harder. A small spot of crimson appeared on the man’s dirty white shirt. “And they will worship me, not as their savior…” He applied more pressure to the blade, as the man cringed at the pain. “…but as their God.” Willem spit his last words between gritted teeth and shoved the blade deep into the chest of his foe. The body shuddered as life escaped through the wound.

  Finally, Tarlisch stepped away and watched as his men released their grips. The man stumbled forward and fell to the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood.

  Tarlisch turned to the stunned group, his eyes cast down, arms wide open. “I am sorry, so sorry, you had to witness this. A poor soul, lost in his own delusion. A delusion that I somehow thought of myself as a king.” His voice trembled giving just the right tone to his soliloquy.

  Looking amongst the group, he let out a long audible sigh so that everyone could experience his personal pain. “I want to live free of all this fighting. I want to be free to move about Salt Lake safely. And I want it to be the same for you.” Nodding at several people upfront, he reached for them to come closer. “We need to be safe, friends. We need to feel like Salt Lake is the last safe haven left on earth. If we work together, we – all of us – can accomplish this.” Several women reached and patted Willem’s arms. He softened further at their expressions of love. “Today, we offer to you double rations.”

  Cheers rose in the crowd with Willem’s words.

  “We, me and my group, are not the enemy. We seek to live in peace with everyone.” He let his eyes fall upon the dead body to his right. “With the exception of people like that. Jeremy and his –”

  “George, boss,” Howard shot forward.

  “George will help spread the word. My own soldiers will step in the rest of the week, fetching fresh water for next month’s supply. They will work day and night to ensure you have everything you need.” Willem stepped aside and pointed at the building. “So come friends, come one and all. And enjoy.”

  Howard stepped away from the group and approached Willem from the side as his boss glad-handed people, accepting their praise and adoration. He signaled for Andy and his men to remove the body. After the tide of bodies squeezed past and into the warehouse, Willem turned to his second. “Make a note, Howard; we need a proclamation – no knives in public. Penalty is death.” Howard followed Willem back toward the wagon, waiting to take them back to city hall. Tarlisch turned abruptly. “Oh, and another thing.” He peered into the joyous crowd inside the facility. “Send double rations for a couple weeks to that loser’s family. Let them know just how much we care.” Willem looked back at the wagon. “What is it, Howard?” he asked in a bored tone. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  After letting out a quick snort at his boss, Howard stared into the warehouse. “No one’s going to be too happy about wasting a week fetching water. Isn’t that something we could have the regular citizens do instead?”

  Willem sighed. “Howard, you’re my best friend in the world, my confidant, the person I trust most. Why can’t you see the big picture here?”

  “I do, Will. I just don’t like it.”

  Willem turned to face his friend. “We do this task, this simple fetching of water, and think of how the general population will see it. They say ‘Those Red Rangers, they really do care.’ That’s what they’ll say.” Howard continued to glance off, pouting in Tarlisch’s mind.

  “Howard, look at me,” Willem requested. “Fill about a third of them in plain sight, so everyone can see. Make a big production out of loading and unloading. Send the troops out to the streams in the foothills. It probably will do them some good. The people will be happy, the team will be happy, I’ll be happy.” His glare intensified.

  “What about the rest of them? The other two-thirds?” Howard asked.

  Willem grinned and stared to the west, the direction of the Great Salt Lake. “In the middle of the night, have a couple teams take them to the lake and fill them. But put them in the back end of the warehouse when they’re full.”

  Shaking his head in complete confusion, Howard almost seemed dizzy – either from the excitement or Willem’s plan. “And when they discover we filled a bunch of barrels with salt water…” Willem cut him off with a leer.

  “We blame it on the prior administration, “Willem answered. “The barrels we filled are in the front of the pile. Not at the rear. It will help them realize just how corrupt those people were. And what a godsend it was that we arrived when we did.” Willem slapped Howard’s back and pointed him toward the wagon. “Fill young Jared in on our plan. I’m sure he’ll be happy to join our team. Given what he witnessed today, I’m confident he will.”

  As they walked, Howard laughed out loud at his boss. “You never were very good with names, Will. I guess some things never change.” He helped Willem into the wagon.

  Willem wiggled in glee, plopping onto his seat. “If they’re important to me, Howard,” he said emphatically, “I remember their names. Otherwise…” he waved his hands at his entire surroundings. “…otherwise, they’re all just nameless adoring fans. One of many, I tell you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  She watched as Steven deliberately kept himself at arm’s length. What did he have to be afraid of, her? Turning her away, Cara felt her frown grow with her frustration. “They were so self-righteous and condescending. Those three. Only Emily was on my side.”

  “As usual,” Steven added.

  Cara chaffed at his comment. “And what exactly does that mean?”

  Holding up his hands, Steven surrendered. “Just that you can always count on her. That’s all.”

  Checking their surroundings, she noticed everyone else in camp was busy with their harvest duties. Those not doing a task, such as Steven’s men from the woods, were most likely catching a late afternoon nap.

  “What are your thoughts?” she whispered to her husband. “And be honest with me.”

  Steven likewise checked their surroundings for any little ears lurking nearby, she assumed. “Well,” he said, leaning toward her, “I think you may be right this time.” Cara felt her eyes open wider as she nodded. She knew he too was on her side.

  “But,” he added. This single word made Cara’s face back to a tight pout. “We need more proof to convince the others. We get that proof, maybe t
hey’ll agree to go on high alert.”

  “Did you know the Tarlischs?”

  Steven nodded. “I knew Henry and his wife well. Virgil, Willem’s older brother, too. They were decent folk. At least they were years ago. Hell, Henry and Virgil have been dead for six years now I bet.” He stared into Cara’s narrowing eyes. “Willem has motive. Bond and his men did kill the two.”

  “Did they live close to you?”

  “They were a little more rural than me. I was sort of a city guy. But I’d been to their farms more than a few times.”

  “Back when you were mayor of Provo?”

  Steven looked around and scratched the back of his sweaty neck. “Yeah, when I was mayor and when I went to Washington to serve out that term for the congressman who died. Henry was always a decent contributor to my campaigns. I liked him, I really liked Virgil. He was a smart young man. But Willem was always the pouty one. The second son of a rich man. The forgotten boy, he always felt.”

  “How much older than Willem was Virgil?”

  Thinking for a second, Steven sighed before continuing. “At least six years. I thought I heard one time that Virgil was 38 when he died. I bet Willem is about that same age now. He was old enough to know that Virgil was first in line for his father’s farms, not him.”

  “Will he come looking for Captain Bond?” Cara asked. “If he did what those people said he did?”

  Steven’s eyes focused on the fence, pondering her question. “Yes, he will,” he quietly answered.

  Cara frowned. “And how can we protect ourselves from him? If he does come.”

  His eyes came back to his wife’s. “That will be a problem. They’re probably armed. And we don’t have much. The best chance will be for you to talk him off.”

  Cara scoffed at his words. “Me? You’re joking, right? Because I’m not sure I have what it takes to chase off a murderer, Steven. Perhaps you or Chet could handle that.”

  Reaching for her hands, Steven’s gaze intensified. “Cara, you’re the leader of this camp. The group elected you. And the group will expect you to take the lead.” She tried to interrupt, but he shushed her. “Everyone believes in you, because you’re strong, Cara. You’ve made it through so much. Even more than most people know about. You’re a natural leader, dear. You can do this if you have to.”

  She looked away and shook her head, still holding her husband’s strong, calloused hands. “I’m glad you have all this confidence in me. Sometimes, most times, I don’t feel like I do much. Aside from settling squabbles over food or wood. Who should harvest, who should dry. Those aren’t important things, Steven. This will be.”

  “And you’ll be ready if it happens,” he finished. A quick hug and the two strolled hand in hand toward the front of the camp. Back to another day of harvest and survival.

  By late in the day, another group arrived, repeating the same tale as the previous one. Still, no eyewitness accounts were offered, and still, the assembly contemplated action. Cara begged for them to send word to Camps Eight and Ten to see what they knew, if they were able to confirm the terrible reports from Salt Lake. Reluctantly, her three adversaries agreed, and a scout was dispatched to each camp. The bad part was they wouldn’t return until morning.

  Just before nightfall, a rider from the Upland Guard plodded into camp, high on his brown steed. He had news, shocking news.

  Sitting amongst the assembly and several other important camp members, the rider – known only as Wilkins – told his tale. Lit by the nightly fire in the front center of the community, he held everyone’s attention like a gypsy storyteller.

  “A few days back, can’t recall the exact day, Erickson and the council were giving a speech,” he began in his tenor tone. “There was quite a crowd there I’m told. Maybe 1,500 people from the community. I don’t know what the speech was about, and it don’t matter no more.”

  Cara snuck a quick glance around the fire at the others. Just as she thought, this young man held their attention like a puppeteer before a group of children. Pleased with herself, she listened as he continued.

  “About five minutes in, the shooting broke out. From what we were told, it was quick. Thirty seconds and everyone on stage was dead.” Gasps of horror sounded out into the night air. The man pressed on. “They were all shot in the head or the neck is what I heard.” This brought forth wails of fright from the group, men and women alike, the scene almost too gross to comprehend.

  “And who did this?” asked Chet, his old, lined face darkened more than usual by the dwindling flames.

  “Willem Tarlisch, Howard Melby and their gang. Tarlisch’s Red Rangers they’ve always called themselves.” His light blue eyes surveyed the assembly. Each of their faces turning slowly toward Cara. Silently, she sat focused on the fire.

  “Thank you, Wilkins,” Cara said, still staring at the orange flames, giving off just enough light for everyone to notice her resolve. “This information helps guide our decisions. Decisions we need to make soon, I fear.”

  “Well, that ain’t all ma’am,” Wilkins replied. “I got more info that might interest you, too.”

  Later, long after the last rays of daylight disappeared, the assembly sat solemnly in Cara’s home. Spread out in a casual circle between the small dining and living areas, Chet gave Steven a silent nod.

  “If you don’t want me here,” Steven spoke, “I can run over and keep George and his kids company.”

  Chet’s head shook. “No, please stay. We value your insight. You know the Tarlischs better than anyone here.”

  Checking his wife, he noticed a quick peek and a small nod.

  Chet rose to speak first. “Cara, I’d like to say I’m sorry for not listening to you earlier. It would seem that once again, you’ve proven a capable leader. Very wise, very wise.”

  “Cara,” Carol Johnson added, “I, too, would like to apologize.”

  Her red hair moved slightly as she shook away their remorse. “We will not live in the past. We never have, and we won’t start now. We must deal with the problems we will face. I think it’s best if we stay focused on that.”

  “Agreed,” said Charlie Watson. “And the first question is this: That Wilkins kid said Tarlisch is going to come searching for Bond. How much stock do we put in his words?”

  Eyes shifted back and forth to one another, most finally resting on Cara. To Steven, it seemed as if no one wanted to be caught second-guessing the fiery woman who was already one up on most of them.

  “I think we have to be prepared,” Cara answered. “We have to realize that 100 or more armed men may show up at our gate. We need a plan for that…in case it happens, of course.” Steven smiled as his wife tempered her well-deserved anger against the group.

  “I guess,” Chet paused as he stood, “the biggest question is: Will Tarlisch attack?”

  In a corner, deep in thought, Steven noticed the silence first, then the feeling that every set of eyes was staring his way. He looked up to discover his premonition was true. “Yeah, he will…eventually.” Heads turned back to Cara. A deep sigh rose and fell in her chest. “Before that,” Steven continued, “we need to get our story straight about Talbot Bond. Just in case.” Four heads signaled their agreement with small nods. Cara stared at her husband, perturbed she had ever heard the name.

  By late in the day, another group arrived, repeating the same tale as the previous one. Still, no eyewitness accounts were offered, and still, the assembly contemplated action. Cara begged for them to send word to Camps Eight and Ten to see what they knew, if they were able to confirm the terrible reports from Salt Lake. Reluctantly, her three adversaries agreed, and a scout was dispatched to each camp. The bad part was they wouldn’t return until morning.

  Just before nightfall, a rider from the Upland Guard plodded into camp, high on his brown steed. He had news, shocking news.

  Sitting amongst the assembly and several other important camp members, the rider – known only as Wilkins – told his tale. Lit by the nightly fire in
the front center of the community, he held everyone’s attention like a gypsy storyteller.

  “A few days back, can’t recall the exact day, Erickson and the council were giving a speech,” he began in his tenor tone. “There was quite a crowd there I’m told. Maybe 1,500 people from the community. I don’t know what the speech was about, and it don’t matter no more.”

  Cara snuck a quick glance around the fire at the others. Just as she thought, this young man held their attention like a puppeteer before a group of children. Pleased with herself, she listened as he continued.

  “About five minutes in, the shooting broke out. From what we were told, it was quick. Thirty seconds and everyone on stage was dead.” Gasps of horror sounded out into the night air. The man pressed on. “They were all shot in the head or the neck is what I heard.” This brought forth wails of fright from the group, men and women alike, the scene almost too gross to comprehend.

  “And who did this?” asked Chet, his old, lined face darkened more than usual by the dwindling flames.

  “Willem Tarlisch, Howard Melby and their gang. Tarlisch’s Red Rangers they’ve always called themselves.” His light blue eyes surveyed the assembly. Each of their faces turning slowly toward Cara. Silently, she sat focused on the fire.

  “Thank you, Wilkins,” Cara said, still staring at the orange flames, giving off just enough light for everyone to notice her resolve. “This information helps guide our decisions. Decisions we need to make soon, I fear.”

  “Well, that ain’t all ma’am,” Wilkins replied. “I got more info that might interest you, too.”

  Later, long after the last rays of daylight disappeared, the assembly sat solemnly in Cara’s home. Spread out in a casual circle between the small dining and living areas, Chet gave Steven a silent nod.

  “If you don’t want me here,” Steven spoke, “I can run over and keep George and his kids company.”