The Time of the Stripes

by Amanda Bridgeman

  *

  Stanley Barrick reviewed the press release that they were about to issue. With input from several experts, it very carefully laid blame on the irresponsible behavior of reporter Richard Keene and attempted to quell fears. They couldn’t debunk Dr. Pellan’s theory, so the focus was not on the CDC and the government withholding information, but rather protecting people from the chaos that had ensued thanks to Mr. Keene’s sensationalist story and reckless disregard for the safety of the people.

  He slid the paper across his desk to Colin, who quickly hurried out of the room to have it issued through the proper channels.

  “My soldiers have confirmed that Pellan’s apartment was empty,” Levin said. “His cell phone and his belongings were there. He’d be a fool to enter the SZ with what’s going down, but you never know. He’d be a fool to stay in the Clean Zone too. Anything from his family?”

  “No. His ex-wife is in Paris with their daughters. They’re being watched,” Stanley said. “Is there an update on this Magnus Bracks?”

  “No. We’ve increased the military presence around the town, along the wall and at the gates, but we’re on standby. I’m not sure why you gave the local authorities forty-eight hours to handle things themselves.”

  “They wanted to handle things discreetly. That’s our preferred method too.”

  “They haven’t been handling things very well so far.”

  “No one knew how far this Bracks guy would take things.”

  “Well, we’re watching the clock and waiting, but if things begin to turn away from discreet, we’ll go in regardless.”

  “Any more violence?” Stanley asked.

  “Things have been quiet since the riot, but overnight the Striped Ones have marked out their houses, and empty homes belonging to Clean Skins are being ransacked. They’ve also been daubing Bracks’ slogans around the place: The Time of The Stripes, The Weak Become The Strong, and the like. Most residents are staying in their homes, but some have tried to flee over the wall and out of town through the blockades. We’re sending them back until we’re given the order to remove the barricades and blockades. The press are all over it, of course. They’re hungry for another video upload from Bracks.”

  Stanley nodded. “Well, we’ve put our own plans in motion. A media package is being put together on Bracks and his history with the unions. It will be ready to air straight after the press release goes out. It won’t paint him in a particularly nice light, which may help persuade his followers to think twice about what they’re doing.”

  “Good. What’s the latest from the CDC?”

  “Well, they’re pissed at Pellan for granting the interview and making them look bad. They want this cleaned up as much as we do. There may be no contagion, but they still want to further study the residents. While there’s chaos in Victoryville, there’s no chance they can get the opportunity.”

  “You know, we could forget the media package and just take Bracks out before he has the chance to take this further?” Levin said, eyes firmly on his colleague’s.

  Stanley shook his head. “If we put a bullet through his head now, we risk making a martyr of him to his followers in the SZ. We can’t do that. Can you imagine the outcry if some sniper takes him out? How will that look? The cowardly government hiding in the shadows and shooting a sick man in a wheelchair, who’s on the verge of death? No, that will only fan the flames. We’ve got enough to deal with.”

  “Well, as soon as that forty-eight hours is up, we’re going in and we will remove him one way or the other,” Levin said bluntly.

  Stanley nodded. “Agreed. Just keep a close eye on it for now and report back to me.”

  *

  Deputy Leo Cann finally heard the door to the storeroom unlocking. He tensed, holding onto the snapped mop handle he had decided to brandish. The door opened and Roy Kenny stood there, face twitching. He kept back a little, staying out of reach should Leo come out swinging.

  “I wouldn’t advise that, deputy,” Roy said, motioning to the handle in his hands, as an armed Langdon Swan and Trent Ford flanked him.

  “What the hell are you doing, Roy?” Leo shook his still aching head.

  “I should ask you that,” Roy said.

  Leo looked at him. “I’m trying to do my job. Trying to keep the peace and stop people from getting hurt.”

  “Yeah, you did a real good job of that,” Trent smiled snidely.

  “What are you doing?” Leo asked again, accentuating the words, eyeing each one of them as he did. “Why did you lock me up in here?”

  Roy shrugged. “We’re trying to stop you from getting hurt, deputy. This ain’t a fight you can win. So you best just stay out of it.”

  “What?”

  “Magnus has declared the SZ out of bounds for the Clean Skins. When those aliens come back, they’re going for them, not us. We’ll be safe over here, and we don’t want any of them near us. If they try and come for us, we’ll kill ’em.”

  Leo spoke through clenched teeth. “This will end badly, guys. I’m telling you. You will go to jail.”

  “Says who?” Roy asked, tilting his head back to eye him down his nose, face twitching nervously. “A new world is upon us, deputy. It’s only a matter of time before those aliens come back and the rest of the world ends up like us. The way I see it, the old law don’t apply no more. There’ll just be us, the Clean Skins, and the aliens. Your badge means shit around here now.”

  “How long do you think it will be before people know I’m missing? They probably already do. The chief would’ve tried to call me after the riot.”

  Roy shrugged. “You can walk out of here any time you like, deputy, so long as you keep on walking and stay the hell out of things.”

  Leo stared at him. “You know I can’t do that, Roy. I’m in charge of policing the SZ.”

  “No, you ain’t in charge of nothing no more! And the quicker you understand that, the better. I don’t got much patience for slow learners.”

  Slow learners? Leo thought, feeling like he was staring at one. His eyes moved to scan the background behind Roy, and the faces walking past. They all seemed to have weapons.

  “Hey!” Roy yelled at him. “Eyes front!”

  “Alright, fine,” Leo said, realizing there wasn’t any point in trying to talk them down. He wasn’t equipped to talk down a whole warehouse full of armed hostile people. “How about you just give me back my gun and let me walk out of here.”

  The three men laughed.

  “What you’re doing right now, holding me here against my will, that’s jail time right there,” he told them firmly. “Not to mention the assault of a police officer, and theft of my weapon.”

  Roy stopped laughing and his face fell flat.

  “Don’t be stupid, Roy,” Leo said firmly. “Let me go.”

  “See, I don’t think you understood my request, deputy. I’m not getting a strong feeling here that you’re going to walk away from this.”

  “I’m not going to try and stop you, Roy. I know I’m outnumbered. I just want to leave. With my gun.”

  “You’re going to run to the chief, though. I can see that in your eyes.”

  “I see it too,” Langdon said, nodding, sniffing. “He’s going to squeal like the little pig he is.”

  “Get the chair,” Roy ordered Trent, who nodded and disappeared.

  Leo’s hand tightened around the mop handle. “Roy, don’t be stupid,” he pleaded.

  Trent came back with the chair. “How we doing this?”

  Leo tensed up again. “Roy?”

  “We gave you a choice, deputy. Can’t say we didn’t give you that.” Roy raised his gun and aimed it at Leo’s face. “Hands up.”

  “Roy?” Leo felt his body flush with sweat, and his heart beat double-time.

  “Get ’em up!” Langdon yelled, also aiming his gun.

  Trent started making his way into the room with the chair. Leo’s eyes darted between t
he three, trying to think of a way out, but quickly realized there wasn’t one. The two weapons aimed at his head made any move with a broken mop null and void.

  So did thoughts of Claire and Lena, and not seeing them again.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Roy threw Leo’s own words back at him.

  He exhaled and dropped the mop handle he’d been holding. Langdon rushed in, threw his arm around Leo’s throat and yanked him into the chair that Trent had placed down. They grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, and he felt his handcuffs being ripped off his belt and snapped around his wrists. Langdon grabbed a fistful of Leo’s hair and pulled his head back, as Roy peered into his face.

  “We were hoping, as a Striped One, you’d be more supportive of our cause, deputy,” Roy said, face twitching. “Maybe you just need a little longer to think about where your loyalties are.”

  “My loyalties? My wife and child are Clean Skins, Roy,” he told him through gritted teeth. “What do you expect me to do?”

  Roy gave a nod to Langdon who let his hair go. “Or maybe,” Roy said, ignoring his words and stepping back, “you might just need a little persuasion to walk away and forget about all of us?”

  Leo felt a crack across his right cheekbone as Trent’s fist flew past his face. It was followed by a blow from the left as Langdon caught his jaw. Leo hunched over as he spat blood out onto the floor.

  “More?” Langdon asked Roy eagerly.

  “Nah,” the hardware store owner said. “Let him think on that a while. We can give him some more encouragement later.”

  Leo stared at the blood splattered floor, his head throbbing double-time, as the three of them left, locking the door behind them.

  *

  Abbie watched Richard, concerned. He sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his head sunk in his hands. They’d just seen the latest update on the news. The government had issued a statement in reply to Richard’s story on what they were calling Pellan’s Theory. Both Richard and Dr. Pellan were made out to be villains, troublemakers wanting to cause a sensation, with little regard for the human consequences. Both were now wanted by federal agents to answer for their actions. Richard was wanted for questioning, but a warrant was out for Dr. Pellan’s arrest. Photos of both men were displayed on the screen with the word “Wanted” underneath. Victoryville residents were encouraged to call a number on the screen should they have any information on their whereabouts.

  “Jesus Christ,” Richard whispered, shaking his head. He looked up at Abbie. “Do you think your friend will call me in?”

  Abbie thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No.” She couldn’t explain to Richard about Josh’s mother, that he wouldn’t want to draw attention to the street.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded. Then added, “For now.”

  Richard breathed out and combed his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe they plastered Dr. Pellan’s face up there like that, like he’s some criminal. I mean, we knew it was a risk, but . . . I guess we hoped things would turn out differently. God, I hope he’s alright.”

  Abbie moved to sit on the couch beside him. “Do you have any family out there, Mr. Keene?”

  Richard looked at her. “Rick. Call me Rick.”

  “Rick.” She gave him a nod.

  “I have a sister. Adopted. Tom and Margaret, my parents, adopted us both when we were young, from different families,” he said sitting back in the couch. “They’re all fine. They’re in Iowa.” His eyes seemed to stare off into nothing.

  “Your real parents?” she asked.

  “They died. Car accident. Them and my brother. Sally, my adoptive sister, her mother was a single parent. She died of cancer when Sally was just three.”

  Abbie nodded in sympathy. “At least they’re safe,” she said. “I’d love to know where my family are.”

  “Yeah.” Richard thought of the framed photographs he’d seen around the house the evening before, of Abbie’s family; noticed items throughout the house, left untouched, as though their owners had only been there yesterday, as though Abbie was expecting, or hoping, that they would soon be back. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to have your family disappear like that,” he said, “but at the same time, I know what it’s like to be left alone like that. So suddenly.”

  She gave him a sad smile, a slight shine to her eyes.

  “I wish I knew where the missing were,” he said. “I lost two colleagues, two friends . . . but I’m rapidly losing hope that I’ll ever see them again.”

  “Me too,” she whispered, listening to the empty quiet of the house around them. Even Charlie was quiet. Kaitlyn was upstairs feeding him.

  Richard looked at the TV screen. “I just thought the people deserved the truth,” he said quietly. “I never thought things would end up like this, that people like Magnus Bracks would—”

  “You couldn’t have known,” Abbie tried to reassure him.

  “Something out there did this to us, Abbie,” Richard turned his face to her, his eyes imploring. “Something our experts can’t explain did this to all of us. We need to unite, not fracture like this. That’s what I wanted. It’s what Dr. Pellan wanted: people to reunite with their families. Who knows how much time we have left? These things could come back and take more of us. I don’t want to spend what little time we may have left fighting each other, do you?”

  Abbie shook her head, her face softening with sympathy. “I’m not fighting anyone. That’s why you and Kaitlyn are here.” She smiled gently. “I’m glad you told us the truth.”

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then turned to watch footage rolling on TV of the newly-marked houses in Victoryville, and the red spray-painted slogans scrawled over stores and parts of the barricade fence. Ugly words that spoke of hate and war.

  This is the Time of the Stripes!

  The Weak Become the Strong!

  *

  Mayor Russo waited calmly. He was sitting alone in his office, the door closed, silence around him. He always closed his door for important phone calls, the kind where he needed to concentrate and ensure every word he spoke was careful, calculated, and clean. A politician was nothing if he couldn’t wield words. And the truth was, this was probably going to be one of the most important phone calls of his career.

  Magnus Bracks was cunning and Russo had to be prepared for that. So far in their dealings, Russo had managed to stay a step ahead of him. But he was smart enough not to take that for granted. Things could change at any time. They almost had. It was the most important lesson he’d ever learned from his shrewd father: never turn your back, never assume you can trust anyone, don’t take anything for granted.

  But maybe he had. Taken things for granted. Maybe that’s why Bracks seemed to have gotten the upper hand. Maybe Russo had become too complacent in his Clean Skin. And maybe that’s why the chief’s accusation of his privilege had stung.

  He thought of the footage he’d seen that morning of houses in the Striped Zone defaced with the sickening thick red stripes and graffiti. The welts, once considered a mark of something heinous, were now being celebrated and embraced with pride. They believed the aliens had marked them because they didn’t want them. The Striped Ones now believed they were safe. They believed that Clean Skins, like Russo, were next on the alien’s hit list and that the outsiders would just stand back and let it happen. Somehow, the tables had turned and if he wasn’t careful, the Clean Skins would become the greater victims in this.

  Russo closed his eyes briefly, slipping his fingers beneath his glasses to rub his tired eyes. You are not a victim. That’s not how this is going to go. Just sort out Bracks and you’ll get Victoryville back. You can still turn this around. Save the town, save your career. Don’t let Bracks win. Don’t let that asshole—

  “Well, if it isn’t Mayor Russo,” Bracks’ wheezy, rough voice said through the phone. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
<
br />   “This isn’t a pleasure, Mr. Bracks,” Russo said, straightening his glasses. “I think you know why I’m calling.”

  “Do I? Well, I’m not so sure,” he wheezed. “You see, I tried to contact you a number of times recently, but you wouldn’t take my calls. So forgive my confusion, mayor, about your sudden interest. Did you finally find time in your diary to squeeze me in?”

  “As you’re well aware, things have been more than a little crazy since this phenomenon occurred. My attention and focus has been tied up with many other things—”

  “Like taking care of your Clean Skins on the other side of that wall?”

  Russo paused, exhaling measuredly. “What is it you want, Mr. Bracks?”

  There was silence for a moment. “I think I made that clear in my video. I take it you saw it?” Magnus wheezed and coughed up a chuckle. “Oh, you must have. That must be the reason for this call.”

  “You’ve incited riots and you’ve made open threats against Clean Skins, Mr. Bracks. You realize charges can be laid against you.”

  “So lay them. You won’t be around much longer to see them enforced.”

  “Mr. Bracks, I’m calling you to appeal to your better judgment. Now it’s confirmed that the Striped Ones are not contagious, we would like to take down the barrier—”

  “No one is taking down that barrier.”

  “It’s not your barrier. It’s the town’s.”

  “Don’t hide behind the town, Russo. That was your barrier to keep us out. Now we’ve decided we want to keep it. So now it’s ours. Ours. And we’re keeping you out.”

  “There are Striped Ones who wish to be reunited with their Clean Skin family members, Mr. Bracks. And vice versa. The barrier will come down, we will end this peacefully, and you will hand in your arms.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says the law. This is not a fight you can win. Have you seen the military presence along the wall? The other units at the camp on the outskirts of town? The only reason they’re still there and not here is because I’m holding them off. If you don’t end this peacefully, they will go into the Striped Zone and take it from you.”