Melt (Book 8): Hold

by Pike, JJ

  “Tell them what you told me,” said General Hoyt.

  “Jacinta tried to kill us.”

  “Who?” Christine had joined them outside the front door.

  The soldiers talked over each other making it impossible to understand a word they were saying. Alice pointed at the young woman closest to her. “You. Tell me what happened.”

  “We went to Wolfjaw Ridge.”

  Alice didn’t bother trying to hide her surprise. These weren’t the same soldiers. They were a new batch.

  “Alistair offered everyone a new life. He has an underground city, he says, and supplies that will last years.”

  If her eyebrows had moved any higher they’d have slid over her skull and down her back. Alice could not have been any more shocked. An underground city? When? How? Incredible.

  “But that didn’t extend to us. When we arrived we were taken to a copse of trees and…” The soldier laughed so hard one of her comrades had to slap her on the back to get her to stop coughing. “…Jacinta wanted us to hang ourselves. I mean, talk about stupid.”

  “Jacinta? Alistair’s right-hand gal? That Jacinta?”

  The soldier nodded. “When we wouldn’t she went away. When she came back she told us that she couldn’t kill eight people for no reason and she set us free. She said the nuclear rain would get us if we didn’t take cover, so we’re here. To take cover.”

  “Jacinta set you free?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know that she felt good about it, but she would have felt worse if she’d gunned us down.”

  “Incredible,” said Alice. “Alistair will be furious.”

  Maggie-loo bounded towards them. The soldier bent down and rubbed her ears and oooed and aaaaahed. Alice wanted to rip the young woman’s hands off her dog, but she didn’t want to make her feel like a leper.

  “Shall we move this way?” Alice pointed towards the backhoe that sat on the edge of the property. “Let’s put our heads together and come up with a way to keep you safe.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The questions rolled in from the stunned crowd like a tsunami rushing up the beach, obliterating everything in its path. The Ridgers were riled up; as they should be. Alistair stepped back and let them vent.

  “She works for the FBI?”

  “What was she doing here?”

  “Has she been gathering evidence? Reporting on us?”

  “What did she say? She has our names. What has she told them?”

  “Why was she allowed through the gates?”

  The minute the impetus switched from, “What activities was she engaged in and how will it impact us?” to “How was this allowed to happen and who can we blame?” Alistair put a stop to the questions.

  “Josephine Morgan,” he said, “do you deny that you work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation?”

  She didn’t answer. Clever. She didn’t want to indict herself further.

  Alistair couldn’t look at her, though he was burning to see her reactions. He had her dead to rights and she knew it. This moment, though, was purely his. This was a moment—no, the moment—he wanted everyone to remember. He raised his hands high above his head. He’d brought himself back to his calm center. He was in charge of his wits. This was going to be a great, great day. “We allowed this woman to come into our lives because we believed she might add value. Our children would read and write. We wanted our young people to be able to add and subtract and carry numbers in their heads. We wanted to build a literate community, capable of forging a new future. There would be no computers. No one else doing the thinking for us. We wanted to turn the clock back to a better time; a time when we were authentic human beings exercising our brains, doing the hard thinking, not letting someone lead us by the nose because we’d forgotten how to do the simplest things. Adding and subtracting. Reading. Writing. Even the dreaded cursive script which so many of our teenagers couldn’t decipher when they first arrived here. We wanted to free them from the tyranny of ignorance and ineptitude that cripples our public schools.” He’d embraced all those ideals. He wasn’t ashamed of wanting what was good for his people. He’d let Josephine into Wolfjaw because they didn’t have teachers. She’d said she could teach the basics. He’d believed her. He was angry that she’d pulled the wool over his eyes, but that was a different matter. His heart had been pure. He’d allowed her in for all the right reasons. She was the traitor, not him.

  Alistair walked back towards Josephine so they were face to face again. “Instead of honoring that trust, Josephine Morgan took what she learned about us and fed it to the enemy.”

  She was impassive, her face a mask, but he knew better than to believe what she presented. She was a lying liar. A lying liar who’d finagled her way into Wolfjaw under false pretenses. She deserved the ire of the Ridgers.

  “What shall we do with her?” He threw the question out like a challenge.

  “Shoot her dead! Right between the eyes. Take her down. Finish her.”

  Alistair didn’t see who shouted, but that was only the first of a string of suggestions, each more violent and inventive than the one before, streaming from the crowd.

  He snuck a look at her. No change. She still mocked them with her passivity and blandness. He’d see her grimace or twitch or something before he was done. Once Alistair Lewk decided he wanted something, he got it.

  “No, a bullet’s too fast. Don’t put her down like a rabid dog. That would be a mercy. String her up! Hang her high…”

  “Not even.” They shouted over each other, competing for space. “A rope would snap her vertebrae. She doesn’t deserve a fast death. Like I said before, bury her up to her neck and pour molasses over her…”

  Alistair shouted over the top of the melee. “The rule of law. The rule of law. We abide by the rules and the rules say the Council must deliberate and vote.” He turned and walked away from Josephine, seeking Richard out of the crush of bodies. “As the elder in the group, what do you have to say on the matter?”

  “She has offered no answer.” The crowd parted to let Richard through. “You have laid a heavy charge at her feet, but she has made no reply.” He took his time, leaning to the left. His walking stick wasn’t going to be useful for much longer. He was fading, losing muscle tone, getting sicker. He never complained which only made everyone love him more. Even though his body was failing, his mind was as sharp as ever. People would weigh what he said carefully. The mob had already reverted to “crowd mode” whereas seconds earlier they’d collectively been engaged in groupthink, with no reflection, and plenty of “Do it now! Now! Now!”

  The Ridgers closed the path that had opened up in front of Richard, making a circle with him in the middle, Josephine at one end, and Alistair at the other. It was the perfect setting for an ad hoc trial.

  “Do you wish to speak, Mizz Morgan?” Richard faced the accused. It was an invitation, not a challenge. Richard brought calm and confidence to the gathering. This was precisely what Alistair had hoped for.

  Josephine made no reply, not even a nod or shake of the head. She was infuriating.

  “I understand your silence. We will appoint someone to answer in your place.”

  Richard was right. She should be seen to have a defender. Anyone but Herb would do.

  Richard eyed the Ridgers. “Who will speak for her?”

  “I shall.” Mandy Balek stepped forward, an infant in a sling on her hip and her young ones not far behind. No surprises that she would be the one to volunteer to speak for Josephine. Her three grade schoolers were all straight-A students.

  Mandy flashed a smile at Josephine, who allowed her eyes to soften and—gods, was there such a thing? Had they twinkled? Alistair had to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from taking a run at her. That got a reaction? Mandy’s smile got you to show some emotion? You deceiving, thieving, traitorous malefactor. I would see you hang and burn and rot. Who are you that you dare cross me?

  Richard raised his hand. Though his fingers were cu
rled and the backs of his hands spotted, the gesture carried the solemnity of the moment, reminding Alistair that justice could and would be served.

  “Mandy Balek. Raise your right hand and repeat after me…”

  Mandy raised her right hand, placing her left over her heart.

  “I, Mandy Catherine Balek do solemnly swear and affirm…”

  She repeated the words back to Richard.

  “…that I am honor bound to speak only that which I know to be the absolute truth.” She didn’t blink or falter. She was going to make a formidable defense representative. “I will not infer, deduce, or speculate…”

  Alistair loved this oath. It had so much of the Wolfjaw spirit. He forced himself not to look towards Jo. She could not take this from him. Could not, would not, never ever. Wolfjaw was his creation; this oath the philosophy at its core. They were the bearers of truth. Anything less would not be tolerated.

  “…as to facts not known to me personally.”

  There were several members of the crowd mouthing along with Mandy. They wanted this to be just and fair and by-the-book every bit as much as Alistair did.

  “Further, I will not invite, encourage, or promote any form of falsehood. I will not perjure myself nor make any claim or representation that might cause another to perjure themselves. My testimony, here given under oath, will be comprised of all I know, with nothing held in reserve or abeyance.”

  Richard nodded as she completed the oath.

  “So say I, Mandy Catherine Balek.”

  Richard shifted his weight from his good leg for a second but winced and had to go back to listing heavily to one side. “How long have you known the defendant, Jo Morgan?” Richard was the perfect person for the new recruits to see in action. He was the best of Wolfjaw.

  “Two years.”

  “In those two years have you experienced or observed the defendant behaving in a manner destructive to Wolfjaw?”

  “No. Never.”

  “But here she stands accused of being an FBI agent.”

  “That’s not a crime,” said Mandy.

  Someone pushed her from behind. She staggered into the circle but righted herself, clutching her baby closer. She didn’t retaliate. “Well, it’s not. Doing your job is not a crime whether you do it in here or out there.”

  Alistair stole a look at Jo every few seconds, but she was doing her Buddha impression and it only served to stoke the fires of his hatred, so he forced himself to look at Mandy and Richard and not the traitor.

  Richard took a deep breath. Funny how that served to underline the fact that what he was about to say was infinitely more important than anything Mandy had said thus far. Alistair loved the way Richard did his job. Loved it. “Working for the FBI might not be a crime, Mrs. Balek, but the question we have to ask ourselves is: is it conducive to our peace? Mizz Morgan came here presenting herself as one thing while being another, which suggests she had something to hide and that ‘something’ was not in our best interests.”

  There was a round of applause, some thumping of feet, the odd “Hear! Hear!” from a couple of older Ridgers. The crowd was on Richard’s side, all the way.

  Alistair didn’t block his smile. Let her look to him for reactions for a change. She deserved to see how much pleasure this brought him.

  “If she meant us any harm, why weren’t we raided?” Mandy wasn’t flustered. Her question was matter of fact. It bordered on supposition but skirted the issue rather deftly. Alistair couldn’t interrupt and correct her. He was not permitted to speak without Richard’s permission now that proceedings were underway, which was perhaps a good thing. It encouraged him to keep his thoughts to himself which in turn meant his hands were going to remain clean.

  “Why indeed.” Richard paused for a long time. A minute at least. In a court of law a minute of silence spoke volumes.

  Mandy took it as an invitation to continue. “They didn’t come. There was no take down. We weren’t gassed. This didn’t turn into Ruby Ridge or Waco.” She was eloquent. Impassioned even. Even more impressive was the fact that she remained inside the confines of the oath she’d just sworn in front of them. Each of her claims were factual. “If she wanted to take us down she didn’t need an excuse.” She looked at Josephine and shrugged. “No offense, but your people aren’t known for being the sharpest knives in the drawer. If they see guns they imagine violence, rather than defense.” That one came perilously close to being more opinion than fact, but as Richard didn’t seem to be of a mind to challenge it, Alistair held his peace.

  Mandy turned to the people behind her. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think it. I know you did. We all did. We’re out here. On our own. Doing something that most Americans dream of. We pay no taxes. Bow to no central authority. And live by a set of rules that we created. We’re self-sufficient in every way possible.”

  Alistair tapped into the undercurrent vibrating through the people around him. Though Mandy was now testifying rather than giving evidence, he had to allow it. He was learning something important about his people. They’d been afraid. He hadn’t known that. He’d thought the walls and guns and training had made them feel more secure than Mandy’s speech suggested. Deep in their hearts they thought of themselves as a legitimate target for the authorities. At some level they’d lived in fear. That was untenable. He had to right that as soon as possible.

  Note to self: work on this when we’re in Wolfjaw Down. Even though there’s no government to speak of anymore, there will be invaders. People always want what’s not theirs, especially if it’s plentiful and in easy reach. My people need to know that I’ll do everything in my power to protect them.

  Richard covered his mouth while he coughed. That didn’t sound good. He’d need to see Nurse Patrice ASAP. “Let’s say you’re right, Mandy. Let’s say Josephine and her colleagues didn’t bring fire down on our heads. There have been no raids, no bullets, no arrests. There haven’t even been complaints, as far as I know. But, let me ask you this: could Josephine Morgan have been quietly, steadfastly, meticulously compiling a case against us?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You mentioned taxes. We don’t pay taxes, you said.”

  “And?”

  Richard leaned on his walking stick with both hands. The pain had to be extreme for him to show so much strain.

  Alistair looked over his shoulder for Jacinta. “Find him a chair.”

  Jacinta gave the order to one of her people. She didn’t want to miss the trial of the century.

  “Let me recap. You mentioned Waco and Ruby Ridge, both violent altercations between the United States government and independent thinkers who were somewhat, though not entirely, like ourselves.” Richard coughed again, his shoulders shaking as his lungs struggled to get enough oxygen. He was left wheezing and winded but pressed on. “But the FBI often operates below the radar, working with, for example, the IRS.”

  Alistair had an unfamiliar sensation in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t a man who worried about those things that weren’t under his direct control, but the IRS was a hydra-headed monstrosity that could take down even the most stalwart and street smart players. He didn’t bother looking in Jo’s direction. Even if Richard had landed a bullseye she was trained not to show the slightest flicker of reaction. Even her face was a lie.

  “The most famous case of tax evasion leading to imprisonment is Al Capone. You all know the story, so I won’t bore you with the details. The salient point is that he wasn’t jailed for racketeering, money laundering, or murder; though his nemesis, Eliot Ness, surely believed he’d engaged in all of those activities one way or the other. Al Capone went to the penitentiary for not paying the tax man. Other high-flyers were stripped of their assets. Abbot and Costello lost their houses and had to sell the rights to some of their films. Nicolas Cage owed over six million dollars to the Federal government at one time. Martha Stewart…”

  Jacinta walked into the center of the circle and offered Richard the chair. He waved her away w
ith a smile and a kind word.

  “My point being, Mizz Morgan might have been coming after us like a stealth bomber. The IRS, at the FBI’s urging, could take us down with a million paper cuts instead of tanks and guns. Is that not so?”

  Mandy didn’t reply. How could she? It was a hypothetical question. And very clever at that. If Alistair had been in Josephine’s shoes he would have defended himself in this moment. Only she knew what she’d been doing all this time. Did she have a dossier filled with her jottings of their white-collar crimes? Was she that kind of pencil-pushing, small-minded weasel? Her face said the same as her lying mouth: Nothing.

  “It is Mizz Morgan’s right not to incriminate herself,” said Richard, “but in the absence of hard evidence we must conclude she came here on FBI business, not out of the goodness of her heart.”

  Richard was absolutely, positively, unequivocally right, but Mandy wasn’t wrong. Why hadn’t Josephine’s trigger-happy colleagues crashed their gates? Where were the lawsuits and injunctions and orders from on high to do this or desist from doing that? They’d been left in peace. If that had been her doing she would have had a compelling reason, but what? Alistair couldn’t begin to imagine what it might be. He tucked his personal curiosity behind the practical matter of what needed to happen next. She needed to be sentenced.

  Richard was pacing. Closing arguments would be good. He had to be able to feel the urgent need for justice oozing from the people around him. Serve Mizz Morgan, as he called her, up on a plate and be done with it.

  “I would like time to confer with my colleagues,” said Richard.

  Well, damn. Alistair let the disappointment leak out of him like a hot hiss from a tired balloon.

  Richard hobbled to Alistair’s side. “I need to ask you some questions.” He was wheezing, harder and faster. “Could someone run to my house and fetch my inhaler? I’m having a hell of a time here.”