"Now, I think we must frankly discuss the situation here and nationally. Tomorrow the rest of the committee will arrive, and it is essential that you understand how things are, just in case you have anything planned to disrupt the event."
His eyes narrowed as he regarded Devon, who sat with his teacup suspended halfway to his mouth.
"Tell me," Devon said. "Why did you arrive a day early?"
Scriver stirred his tea and smiled. "Now, that is a good question. The simple answer is that Ms. DeMille begged me to. The general wished to enact his revenge before the committee assembled and she was desperate to thwart him. I am the one person who outranks him."
He sat back and sipped from his cup before nodding in her direction. "You see, Mr. Myers, Marianna works for me."
Chapter 15: Committee
Devon tucked Jade in and kissed her on the forehead. Darkness was falling as he'd finally gone to pick her up from the jail and to oversee the release of the other prisoners. Laverne was none too pleased, though Scriver had revealed that the sheriff was also working for him. However bad things had been in Hope, it seemed, they would have been far worse if Marianna and Laverne had been cut from the same cloth as Mendoza.
Marianna revealed that the old folk who'd been bussed out of town over the past few days had been taken to the copper mine and were being housed in the same workers' dorms that Jessie had escaped from. She had sent orders that they were to be treated well, but their repatriation would depend on what came of the committee meetings planned for the coming days.
If she and Scriver were to be believed, this visit was not ceremonial. This was the first time the entire leadership had met in one place since the night of the firestorm and they had much to discuss. The Sons of Solomon, it seemed, was an organization split into two broad factions. Mendoza led those who believed that they were undertaking a religious or quasi-religious mission to remake the world and, at the same time, the remnants of humanity. To them, a person's worth equaled their value in terms of what they offered the organization. Since for most people, this was muscle power, Mendoza's faction valued youth over all else. Scriver hinted at some dark secret in the general's past that had turned a principle into fanaticism, and many went along with him. Forceful personalities often attract followers, however insane their philosophy.
Scriver led the moderates—though that was a relative term. Both sides had engineered the firestorm, whether actively or simply by not putting a stop to it. But Scriver's view of the future was much more closely aligned with that of the Amish—self-sufficient communities that lived in harmony with one another and nature. Devon suspected that anyone capable of sanctioning the wholesale destruction of the human race couldn't be described as anything other than a monster. But monsters came in many forms, some more dangerous than others. Mendoza was a demon from the deepest pits of Hades, whereas Scriver was of an entirely different sort. Devon knew he was still dangerous, despite the urbane persona he'd adopted, but he was less likely to string people up in a public square.
Devon went into the bathroom and mopped the floor. He'd been horrified when Jade had asked him to help her wash, but in the end, he'd gritted his teeth and gotten on with it. When he'd caught sight of her legs, they'd looked so thin he could have snapped them in half, and he could see her ribs even as he assiduously kept his gaze from her small breasts. His anger had rekindled as he washed her back and saw the bruises running down her spine, buttocks and legs. Most of these had happened, she said, when she'd been working in the fields, but Mendoza and his goons had added to them while she was their prisoner.
Once she'd wrapped herself in a towel, she'd bent over the sink as Devon poured clean water from a jug to rinse the shampoo from her hair. He'd finally found the courage to ask, "They didn't … you know … Mendoza's men … they didn't …"
She'd giggled from under the curtain of hair and water. "No one touched me like that. Mendoza told them. They could kick and punch, but nothing else."
"Thank God," Devon had said, pouring the last of the water, then handing her another towel to wrap around her head. She'd stood up, her whole body shaking as she rubbed her hair dry, and he'd seen again the young girl he'd first met in Libby Hawkins's hideout.
"Nobody ever cared, you get me? I love that you do," she'd said. "It's cool, after all these years, to have someone like you around. Like the dad I never had."
He'd smiled at her, and finally relaxed as all uncertainty about what they were to each other disappeared.
She'd insisted on a hot chocolate before bed—he'd half expected her to ask for a story—but now she was resting on the pillow, asleep in seconds, so he leaned down and planted a second kiss before moving back into the living room and flopping onto the couch to consider this new situation.
As far as he knew, Joe, Martha and Gert were still hiding, ready to gun down the committee tomorrow. Now, Devon wasn't naïve. He saw Scriver for the scheming politician he was, but if he'd known that this governing body was made up of these two competing philosophies, he wondered whether he'd have agreed to the assassination attempt. He couldn't see Scriver ordering the suffocation of people simply because they were old.
And the new world needed some form of government. Perhaps someone like Scriver was the right choice, and his organization the means to a better future, whatever their crimes of the past.
Devon sat in the darkness, his eyes focusing on the patches of reflected light coming in from outside.
It all came down to whether he believed Scriver could succeed. Mendoza commanded a small army, but they had evidently obeyed Scriver's orders once the general was taken in for treatment. And Mendoza himself seemed to recognize Scriver's authority.
They were both odd men. Mendoza, monster though he was, clearly subscribed to some morality, however twisted. Rape and sexual assault were the common currency of occupations throughout the ages, and yet it seemed he did not allow his soldiers to cross that line. He reminded Devon of Hick in at least one way—revenge was his rocket fuel, but Paul Hickman was a total patsy when compared to Mendoza.
No, there could be no safe future while Mendoza survived. But if half the committee shared Scriver's philosophy, then it was not right they should die in a hail of bullets.
And yet, he had promised Martha and Joe their revenge.
He sat up straight and nodded to the night. If they went through with the plan, they made it all the more likely that Mendoza would take control. There had always been little enough chance that they'd kill every committee member, and knowing Mendoza, he'd be one of those to survive. By attacking the doves, they would be handing unopposed power to the hawks.
Somehow, he had to stop the wholesale slaughter of the committee. But Mendoza had to die.
And, pondering this dark conundrum, exhaustion finally overwhelmed him and he fell asleep.
The following morning, he found Marianna behind her desk at the community center. "I don't really have time to chat," she said, without looking up. "I've still got lots to do before the committee members arrive."
Acting as if he hadn't heard her say anything at all, Devon took a seat and silently waited until, with a sigh, she put her pen down. "Well?"
"You were working with Scriver all along?"
"Yes. I confess, at first, I fell under Mendoza's spell, but I soon enough realized what sort of a man he is. But he liked me for some reason, and so I was there when he met with Scriver. The chairman sensed my discomfort, and he sought me out. It was very dangerous for him."
"And for you. If Mendoza had found out …"
Marianna nodded. "I've lived with that fear ever since, but that hasn't been nearly so hard as the guilt of being a party to Mendoza's crimes, even as I tried my best to restrain him without triggering any suspicion. When that guard was killed, I knew he wanted to hold the executions before the committee arrived as he feared they wouldn't allow it, so I got a message to Scriver asking him to get here as soon as possible. Your attack on Mendoza bought just enough time to s
ave your friend. But he won't forgive, you know. My advice is to leave Hope immediately."
"What happens when he finds out you betrayed him?"
"I've done nothing to make him suspicious. The only people who know of my role are you, Mr. Scriver and Laverne. I presume I can trust you?"
Devon grunted. "Yeah, but I wouldn't put my faith in Laverne keeping his mouth shut."
"Then that goes to show how little you know. He was sent here by Scriver."
"Well, I can't go anywhere just yet. Not until I see which way the committee ends up leaning."
Marianna shrugged, and turned her attention back to the paperwork on her desk. "Then you're a fool. You need all the head start you can get, because he will come after you."
Devon settled back in his chair, framing what he was about to say carefully. "Can I make a suggestion about the public part of today?"
That got her attention. "Go ahead."
"They're all going to appear on that platform for some sort of ceremony. Is that right?"
"It is. What of it?"
"I suggest having some citizens, including, say, some children, join them."
She put the pen down again and fixed him with a glare. "What is this all about, Devon?"
He sighed. In for a penny. "I believe there might be an attempt to … disrupt the occasion."
"By who?"
Devon shook his head. "I'm not saying any more. But, if you include some Hopers on the platform, you'll be able to protect the committee members."
"A human shield? Are you serious?"
Devon got out of the chair. "I've given you the warning. It's up to you whether you do anything about it. Frankly, I've given up trying to control what happens. Neither of us can see the future, except to know it would be a lot darker under Mendoza."
"Are you suggesting I should kill him myself?"
His hand on the doorknob, Devon turned to her and, for the first time, saw the young woman he'd left at the church. With no bodyguards in the room, she looked alone and vulnerable. "No, I'm saying we have to protect the committee." He nodded and left and only understood the words he'd just said as he emerged into the sun.
Mendoza was at the service held in the Greek church that morning. Devon stayed as far from him as possible, but their eyes locked for a moment as he arrived, and Devon understood the meaning instantly. Mendoza would behave himself while the committee was here, but Devon was a dead man as soon as they departed. Well, one way or another, he intended to be gone before then.
Devon sat in the back row of seats, thigh to thigh with Lynda Strickland, looking over the heads of the people at the dark wood screen behind the altar with its paintings of, presumably, saints. Some wore wise expressions, others looked puzzled or in pain, making them a fair representation of all the facets of his own personality as he waited for the service to begin.
The committee members sat at the front, so all he could see were the backs of their heads. Most were old white men, though there were also people of color and, as far as he could tell, two women. Mendoza sat at the end of a row, with Marianna immediately behind him.
The committee, who'd rolled into town in separate small convoys, each with its own small complement of troops, had supplied their own speaker. He was an old, white bearded man who, with his wide girth and open, round face looked more like Santa Claus than a priest.
"People of Hope," he said, looking around at the congregation benevolently. In fact, the little church could hold barely a hundred souls and most of those, it seemed to Devon, were committee members and their entourages. "We are honored to be here in this beacon. This city is aptly named, for here we will begin the work of building a new nation, a new civilization. This is the third and final chance for humanity."
He held up one finger of a chubby hand. "The first was the choice offered to Adam and his wife, which led to their expulsion from Eden." He raised a second digit. "The second was when the Earth was washed clean by the Great Flood, when Our Lord promised never again to visit such destruction on the world.
"And what did mankind do with this gift? Take away the rod and the child runs amok. So we, the Sons of Solomon, took responsibility for the control of our species. And behold, in one night, we have restored balance. Now we will build a virtuous and harmonious society that will delight our Heavenly Father."
There were some murmurs of assent from the congregation, but, unless Devon was very mistaken, it was hardly unanimous. He knew that the Sons was a disparate organization. Some, like the speaker, were obviously inspired by their own religious point of view, though even these varied considerably. Others had acted out of a sense of responsibility to the planet and its ecosystem.
And then there was Mendoza. A man who seemed to be driven largely by hatred and anger.
"As we took responsibility for the purge, so shall we take responsibility for the rebuilding. People of Hope, rejoice, for you are witnesses to the birth of a new covenant. Amen."
It was, at least, mercifully short and the rest of the service was conducted in a more traditional manner by a former preacher who'd retired to the town.
As Devon walked toward where they were holding the public ceremony, he glanced again at where his friends were supposedly hiding. He couldn't imagine what they must have been thinking as he attacked Mendoza, and the executions were called off by a stranger. They must have assumed that Devon would have been, at the very least, thrown in jail. And yet here he was, walking free.
The church bells finished ringing as the crowd around the platform swelled until it looked as though just about all the survivors of Hope were there and Devon had to weave his way through those who'd spilled onto the sidewalk. The mood was noticeably less gloomy than the previous day—clearly word had spread of the change in management. They were here to discover what that would mean in practice.
Devon could see black-masked guards forming a solid ring around the platform but, just as he was about to emerge from the crowd to make his way to the steps, a hand gripped his arm.
"Are we go, or no?"
He swung around to see Gert peering out from under a baseball cap and only just managed to stop himself from calling out his name. "No," he mumbled.
Gert nodded, let go and disappeared into the crowd. Good, that was one of the three out of the picture, and the most deadly. Now, he had to rely on the civilians to form a screen that would prevent Joe and Martha from getting a clean shot.
A guard patted him down as he reached the platform, then jerked his head toward the steps. As Devon climbed them, he spotted a group of children being led by Marianna. She glanced up at him, then led them onto the platform, where they stood in a line behind a row of chairs. Devon took his place on the far end of the row.
Then, a double column of guards scattered the crowd, moving like a crocodile toward the steps. Between each pair walked a member of the committee with Scriver leading the procession.
Chapter 16: Betrayal
Mendoza climbed the steps last, shooting a poisonous glance at Devon as he took his seat beside Scriver, who glanced along the line before standing again and approaching the lectern.
Devon listened as Scriver painted a picture of a cooperative future in which they would all work together for the benefit of mankind. He touched the religious angle lightly, reading a speech he'd obviously long prepared and agreed with the rest of the committee. It was entirely different in tone from the one Mendoza had made twenty-four hours earlier. Where he had painted a picture of a broken world in need of an iron fist, Scriver talked of cooperation and community. Devon almost found himself believing it, and he sensed a mood of optimism and hope spreading among the crowd, faces turned up, drinking in every word he said.
As he finished with an exhortation to build the world together, people raised their hands, clapping and cheering him. He stood and accepted the applause; a politician in his element. Devon returned his gaze outward, and a sudden flash caught his eye. It was coming from the top floor of Bowie's Grocery Store. With
out thinking, he jumped to his feet, calling out a warning as he ran toward the lectern.
Splinters erupted from the wood as a pair of shots punctuated the sudden quiet. Scriver yelled in pain as Devon pushed him to the ground, aware of the sounds of feet running in all directions as the members of the committee sought cover. But there were no more shots.
"Get off him!" It was Mendoza's voice.
Hands pulled at Devon's arms and he was rolled away. Blood poured from Scriver's shoulder as he moaned in pain.
"Secure the committee!" Mendoza called. "Secure this man."
Devon was hauled to his feet.
"Take them all to the community center, including him," Mendoza roared, sidearm in hand.
"Scriver needs medical help," Devon said. "Take him to the school!"
"Do as I command!" Mendoza barked over the roar of truck engines.
Devon tried to keep a fix on Scriver and Marianna, but he lost them both in the melee as he was dragged into the back of a troop carrier and then forced along to the end as other people followed him in.
So, Martha had taken her revenge, and it might cost them their chance of peace.
But why weren't they going to the school? All the city's medical equipment was there, and if Scriver was to be saved, he needed immediate help.
The truck lurched as it headed toward the community center. Devon peered between three soldiers in the front to see a Jeep carrying Mendoza leading the way. He could see Marianna's blonde hair and, leaning against her, Scriver.
He recognized members of the committee sitting alongside him. Many were clearly shaken; others were asking questions of each other.
Oh, Martha, what have you done?
Devon was herded along with the committee members until they were crammed into the mayor's office, though he'd caught a glimpse of Marianna as she leaned over Scriver in the room that Lynda Strickland used. Aside from them, however, every other member of the committee was here.
Last Hope: Book 5 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 5) Page 11