Broken Justice

by Ralph Gibbs

  Franklin shot him in the head.

  “Jesus, dude,” Ammiel said. “You couldn’t wait for him to finish, make right with God.”

  Franklin came back and sat in the chair. “I don’t think it’s God he has to worry about. Besides, I showed him more mercy than he showed his victims.”

  “Bad?”

  “He’s lucky I wasn’t the father of one of those boys.”

  “So, you were testing me?”

  “Lloyd was never walking out of that cell.”

  “And if I had said his name was Samuel?”

  Franklin shrugged.

  “Are you going to kill me now?” Ammiel asked.

  “I haven’t decided. What are you going to do if I let you out? There are a lot of weapons in the armory, enough to cause people a lot of misery.”

  “I haven’t thought about it. Before, I would have gone back home, ended up gettin’ into more trouble.” He shrugged. “Now . . . I don’t know.”

  “Says in your file you’re suspected in the killing of two people. Did you kill them?”

  “One was in a rival gang,” Ammiel said. “It was a revenge killing, so yes.” Ammiel thought about lying, but Franklin seemed the sort of man that would see through those lies, and if he did, it would not go well for him.

  “And the other?”

  “I was there, but JT killed him. They got into a dick-measuring contest, and JT lost. JT was always a sore loser.”

  “I thought everyone in prison was innocent,” Franklin said.

  “If you’d asked me before the plague, I would have told you I was innocent.”

  “And now?”

  Ammiel shrugged. “Don’t much see the point. Figure I better make peace with myself before you shoot me in the head.”

  “I want your word on something.”

  “I’ll be around to keep it?” Ammiel said, surprised.

  “There will be people here that will need help. I want your word you’ll take care of them.”

  “I’m not their nanny,” Ammiel said, with just a glint of anger. “Why don’t you stay and do it?”

  “I need to check on my family. After that, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

  “What if I have a family I want to check on?”

  “Your file says you’re an orphan.”

  “I got friends I’d like to know about.

  “They were never your friends. Given the right motivation, they would have killed you as easily as I killed Lloyd, and you know it.” Franklin gave the man a few moments to consider, but Ammiel just stared at him. “That’s the deal. Give me your word, and I’ll let you out.”

  “I’ll watch them and keep them safe,” Ammiel finally said after a few long moments.

  “I need to go finish this,” Franklin said, getting to his feet.

  “So, you’re going to let me live?”

  “If I were going to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

  “I can help if you need it,” Ammiel said softly. Franklin could tell Ammiel was sincere in his offer, but also reluctant. It was a good sign.

  “No,” Franklin said, but inwardly wanted to let him. “This is my burden.” When Franklin finished his grisly task, he released the rest of the prisoners and then went back to the warden’s office. Ammiel tried to talk to him, but Franklin just shook his head. He was not in the mood to be sociable. Franklin lay on the Warden’s couch and fell asleep.

  The next morning there was a knock on the warden’s door. Franklin opened his eyes and looked confused. They knocked again. Franklin pulled his weapon from the holster still strapped to his hip. “Come in.”

  Seeing the weapon, Ammiel raised his hands. “You don’t need that.” Franklin hesitated for a moment and then holstered the gun. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  “I figured you’d all be gone by now,” Franklin said.

  “A few left,” Ammiel said sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “A few even said that they would come back once they found out about their family.”

  “You think they will?”

  “One or two might. Prison’s a funny place. It’s probably one of the worst places to be, except maybe a battlefield, but when you’ve been in prison for as long as some, it’s traumatic to leave. A few even commit crimes so they can come back. That was before, though. Now. . .” He shrugged. “As for me, you’re right. I have nothing to go home to. Besides, I gave you my word I’d take care of those that need it, and I’m a man of my word, even if it was made under duress.”

  “You have the makings of a viable community here,” Franklin said.

  “I’ve been thinking much the same thing. It has fair defenses, not that it will hold off a tank, but it’ll hold off raiders. I’ve checked the food stores, and minus the food we gorged on last night, there is enough dry and canned food to last, at least, a year.”

  “You would be better served to save that for the winter. There should be plenty of food in nearby communities you can collect. But it won’t last forever. If you’re going to make this community work, I would suggest going out and finding livestock, cows, pigs, horses. You’ll need to learn to farm. About the only thing you’re missing is women.”

  Ammiel smiled. “I’ve thought of that. “There’s a women’s prison about fifty miles to the northwest. Some of us figured we’d head up there and see if any of them are still alive. I’m hoping they’ll be grateful to see us.”

  “As long as the water didn’t shut off, there should be a few still alive. It only takes a few days to die of thirst, but a long time to die of hunger. You need to hurry.”

  “We’re leaving within the hour. And what about you? Can I convince you to stay?”

  “As I said, I need to find out about my family.”

  “And then?”

  Franklin shrugged.

  “Well then,” Ammiel said, holding out his hand. “I guess all that’s left for us to do is to say goodbye.”

  Once Ammiel left, Franklin folded the list of prisoners he’d killed and stuffed it in a plastic Ziplock bag for safekeeping. He didn’t know when, but there would come a time when he would need to be held accountable for his actions here.

  CHAPTER 20

  Danica wrinkled her nose and tried to swat away the foul stench, playing havoc with her sense of smell.

  “I’m awake, I’m awake,” she said, shaking her head trying to escape the assault. Her voice sounded weak and hoarse in her ears. Was she lying on the floor? Peeling her eyes open, she expected to see the school nurse hovering over her with smelling salts. Enough moonlight filtered through the frosted bathroom window for her to see that she was alone, naked and, indeed, on the floor. Panicked, confused and believing she’d been a victim of sexual assault, Danica lay quiet, terrified she would alert the assailant who might still be in the house. If he was, what did that mean for her family?

  She spotted her father’s pistols lying nearby, snatched it up and swiftly propped herself against the tub. Thumbing the release button, she dropped the magazine into her palm, used the moonlight to see if it was loaded and then reinserted the mag. A round was already in the pipe. With the barrel resting against her cheek, she closed her eyes, listened and concentrated, but heard nothing. Suddenly, her arms fell to the tiled floor, the pistol skidding away as memories washed over her.

  She remembered Erica coming to the door but not what she wanted, recalled filling the bathtub and sliding in, but not crawling out. Then there were flashes of her thrashing around on the floor and images of her family. She wasn’t sexually assaulted; she caught the plague and survived. Getting up, she kicked something that sounded like coins rattling around the floor. Patting around, she found one of the objects and, holding it close to her face, discovered it was a spent shell casing.

  “What the hell?” she said aloud. Picking up the gun again, she ejected the magazine and tried to check the load, but it was too dark to see clearly. All she could tell was that it wasn’t empty. As she inspected the magazine, she noticed what looked like
mud on her hands and arms. To her horror, she realized the gunk covered her from head to toe; it was even matted in her hair. Suspicious, she smelled it and threw up in the bathtub.

  “Oh my God,” she said, lifting her arms out in front of her in disgust.

  She moved carefully across the slick floor, flipped the light switch up and down, and discovered the power was off. Checking the shower, she found to her immense relief that the water still flowed, but without electricity, it was freezing. She didn’t care; she spent an hour washing her body from head-to-toe at least half a dozen times.

  Shivering, her teeth chattering, she used a hand towel to pick up her weapon. There was a flashlight in the hallway table drawer she used to find her clothes and make her way to the kitchen where she saw the broken window and scattered pots. She guessed that whoever had broken in had discovered that she was infected and had run away.

  God, she must have looked horrible if a scavenger had looked her over, naked and helpless in the bathroom, and decided not to touch her. She stopped. Maybe he didn’t. Would she still be sore between her legs if the assault was several days ago? She shook it off. Now she was being silly; no one had sexually assaulted her. Still, the silliness of it didn’t stop her from touching herself to discover if there was any soreness. She may not have been attacked yet, but there would be people out there that would use the lawlessness to rape, pillage, and burn. She looked at her gunk-covered gun. If they tried anything with her, they would pay the price. But . . . Not until after she cleaned the shit off. After rinsing the gun in the sink and disinfecting her hands several times, she ate a dozen slices of moldy bread slathered in peanut butter and washed it down with a cold can of soup.

  **********

  Wade snapped awake. He had fallen asleep reading a book on camping, hiking, and poisonous plants by candlelight in Erica’s living room. He had found the book while searching through old boxes in the garage. He had no idea who they belonged to as Erica seemed the homebody type that preferred to read romance novels. Usually, he had no use for books, but he was finding the end of the world boring. Since there was plenty of food and water in the house, he took the CDC’s advice and remained inside. The only time he had ventured out was to dispose of Erica’s stinking corpse.

  Initially, he was going to dispose of her body in the backyard, let the insects deal with it, but he came up with something more poetic. Under the cover of darkness, he carried Erica’s body out to the curb and propped it up next to Donavan. He draped Donavan’s arm across her shoulder, situated Erica’s head on Donovan’s shoulder and her hands in the boy’s back pocket, so it looked as if the two were celebrating the end of the word with a romantic moment.

  As he turned his attention back to the book, he noticed a light moving around inside the Justice house. Shocked, he quickly blew out the candle, rushed to the window and watched the light shift from upstairs, down toward the living room, and then the kitchen. As it passed by a window, he thought he would see scavengers. He threw himself against the wall when he spotted Danica. She was supposed to be dead.

  Suddenly, the Erica-and-Donavan joke didn’t seem funny anymore. He briefly flirted with the idea of trying to hide the bodies but had no idea if Danica had already seen them. Had she been awake all day? If so, she had to have seen them; but if she did, wouldn’t she have come looking for Matthew? Or at the very least done something with the bodies. For kicks, he had put the knife back into Erica’s eye. Danica wouldn’t come looking for Matthew unarmed. There were plausible stories he could have told her, but they would all fall to pieces the moment she discovered Matthew.

  Even if she hadn’t seen Erica’s body, he couldn’t take the chance of her catching him moving them. For the first time since the plague began, he questioned the wisdom of leaving a trail of bodies around for people to find. He had accused Donavan of not thinking, and now he was as guilty. He would need to be more careful in the future. If he was to have any chance of survival, he would need to take the offensive, get to her before she got to him. And it couldn’t wait until morning. The question was how to get close to her without getting shot.

  An idea came to him, but it hinged on the boy, if—and it was a big if—the boy still lived. After Wade killed Erica, Matthew called out for his mother from time to time but stopped after a few days. Had he called out much longer, he would have killed the boy just to shut him up. Instead, he figured the kid had eventually died of dehydration, but he couldn’t be sure. He never looked in on him because he didn’t care. Now he cared. When he opened the door to the boy’s bedroom, the smell convinced him Matthew was dead, but when he came closer, the boy moved.

  “Mom,” Matthew said weakly.

  Wade knelt next to the boy and noticed he was surrounded in shit and vomit. He had caught the plague but survived. There was also a gallon jug of water and several plastic bread wrappings nearby. When did Erica put those in here? Thankfully, she had been more resourceful than he gave her credit. Luck seemed to be on his side.

  “How are you feeling?” Wade asked as he felt the boy’s head. His head was warm, meaning he wasn’t entirely over the plague. He hoped the boy didn’t vomit on him. He imagined Matthew was probably still covered in pustules.

  “Tired. I want to go back to sleep.” He started to lay back down, but Wade jerked him back up.

  “You can go back to sleep later.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  Wade put the jug of water in the boy’s hands. “Drink this.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the water your mom left you.”

  Matthew lifted the jug to his mouth, taking two tries for his lips to find the opening. “Where’s my mom?” Matthew asked when he finished downing half of what was left of the water.

  “In her room.”

  “How come she hasn’t come to see me?”

  “She’s been sick.”

  “Is . . . Is she okay?”

  “She’s still sick, but Danica has agreed to take care of you until your mother is better.

  “Dany?”

  “She’s waiting for us next door. After I get you cleaned up, I’ll take you over, but Matthew, if you tell Danica what happened here, I’ll be forced to kill her and your mother. Do you understand?” Matthew nodded. “Do you understand?” he asked, forcefully grabbing the boy’s arm.

  “I understand,” Matthew said, nearly in tears.

  “Come on, then, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “Can you turn on a light? I can’t see,” Matthew said.

  “The electricity is off,” Wade said, looking at the boy. “I have a candle.”

  “You do? Where?” Matthew reached out.

  Wade moved the candle in front of Matthew’s face. Matthew’s eyes were open, but they seemed to have a faraway quality to them. He passed his hand close to Matthew’s face. The boy didn’t flinch.

  “You’re blind,” Wade said emotionless.

  “I’m blind?” Matthew said in a panicked voice.

  “It’s only temporary,” Wade said lying. The news said blindness was probably permanent. Once they studied it, they’d know more. Considering the state of civilization, he doubted anyone would study the condition any time soon. The blindness complicated his plans, but it didn’t alter them. “Let’s get you cleaned up and over to Danica’s house. And Matthew, remember what I said.”

  “Yes sir,” Matthew said, tears rolling down his face.

  **********

  Dressed in her flowered pajamas, Danica sat on the windowsill of her bedroom staring out into the night, her arms and legs covered in bandages. After cleaning her pistol and eating, she had picked up her flashlight, the glow of which highlighted what looked like water on her upper arms. Upon closer inspection, she had realized her skin was glistening where she had rubbed off all the scabs that covered her body. At some point in her sickness, the pustules had either popped or dried up and eventually scabbed over. Unknowingly, she had rubbed off the scabs in the shower, and now they were leak
ing a clear liquid from each small raw wound. She was lucky all the muck she had rolled through hadn’t caused a secondary infection.

  Heading down to the basement, she had cracked open her father’s safe and grabbed another bottle of antibiotics. Putting this in the just-in-case-category, she downed two pills. She had no idea just how extensive the scabs were on her body; she’d be able to check herself over more carefully in the morning. Later, she had headed to her room, all the activity making her sleepy but finding it impossible to nod off. Instead, she sat on the windowsill, wondering if her family was alive. She figured she would fully recover enough in a few days to find out. She didn’t hold out much hope. If her father or mother were alive, they would be here.

  She looked out at the night sky and was amazed at how dark the world seemed without streetlamps. If not for the half-moon, she guessed she wouldn’t have been able to see more than twenty feet from the window. The silver lining was that she might not have been able to see anything here on Earth, but the near-total darkness afforded her an overwhelming view of the night sky, something city dwellers like her never saw. It made her long for the astronaut program all the more. When the new moon ruled the night sky, she wouldn’t be surprised if she could see strands of the Milky Way, something she’d glimpsed only once while camping with her dad in the Nevada desert, several years ago. She nearly teared up thinking about her family. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes taking in the eerie silence of the night. Did the plague kill all the animals, insects and birds too? She concentrated, trying to hear anything when she was jerked to attention by a faint sound coming from downstairs. Did she imagine it? She tried to listen for it again but heard nothing. When the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, she realized something wasn’t right.

  She ran silently to the bedroom door, grabbing her gun off the nightstand. Crouching low, she opened the door and rushed out barefoot into the hallway, much of which was still wet. She kept moving quietly, skipping over the creaky stair until she was close to the bottom.