Broken Justice

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Broken Justice Page 17

by Ralph Gibbs


  “I will do more than that if you don’t quiet down,” Danica heard someone say. The voice seemed familiar, but she was unable to place it.

  “I’m sorry,” said a soft-spoken voice she instantly recognized as Matthew.

  “Where’s Danica’s room?” the man asked.

  “It’s upstairs in the middle of the hall. Next to the bathroom.”

  “Remember, when we get up there you say exactly what I told you to say,” the man said, menacingly. “If you don’t—”

  “You’ll kill my mom.”

  Confused and scared, Danica retreated to her room nearly forgetting about the creaky stair. Back in her room, Danica chided herself for running like a frightened schoolgirl. She should have done something to help Matthew. If she’d tried something though, she could have gotten Matthew killed. She didn’t know if the stranger had a weapon or not. She listened at the door, terrified as she heard them softly make their way up the stairs and to her room. When the stair creaked, she nearly screamed.

  “Dany?” Matthew said from outside her door. “Dany, are you there?” Danica retreated a few steps, squatted down on one knee and, with shaking hands, aimed her gun at the door. This was like a horror movie. She was terrified that if she opened the door, some flesh-eating child that looked like Matthew would be standing there ready to rip her face off.

  “Dany?” Matthew said again, pleading this time. She chided herself for being scared. If she were going to help Matthew, she needed to do something. But first, she needed to calm herself. Taking a deep breath, she slowly let it out. As she did, she forced herself to relax. The shaking was less noticeable but didn’t disappear.

  “Dany,” Matthew said louder.

  It was time to take action. “Mathew?” she said feigning weakness though she didn’t have to pretend much. “Is that you? What are you doing here? Where’s your mom?”

  Smiling, Wade poked Matthew to continue. “My mom needs your help,” Matthew said. “She’s sick. Can you come help her?”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Danica said stalling, trying to come up with a plan. As soon as she said that, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. She had the plague, what else would be wrong with her?

  Wade stopped smiling. Something wasn’t right. She should have come to the door immediately instead of asking questions. He contemplated just kicking in the door. After all, she was just a young girl and probably still weak. But she had a weapon which more than made up for her youth and weakness. Maybe if he rushed in, she would be too terrified to react. Was that what Donavan thought?

  “She’s sick,” Matthew said, not knowing what else to say.

  Danica was unsure what to do next. She had no idea what was going on, only that Matthew was in danger, and she needed to do something.

  “How are you feeling, Matt?” she said, an idea suddenly coming to her.

  Wade relaxed. It made sense that she would be scared about getting sick again. The experts said that once you caught the plague; you were immune from future outbreaks, but some questioned that claim. According to the historians on the news, some ancient Greeks caught the Athenian plague again, though it was less severe.

  “Tell her you’re fine,” Wade whispered in Matthews’s ear.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Matthew, let me see your fingers. Put your fingers under the door.”

  “What?” Matthew said, not needing prompting. Wade almost inadvertently asked the same question. Wade was beginning to wonder if the plague had driven the girl insane.

  “Put your fingers under the door,” Danica repeated.

  Matthew, unable to see the door, put his hand out until he felt it. Wade, unsure what Danica was up to, let events unfold. Matthew slid his hands down the door until he found the crack.

  “All right,” he said.

  Immediately, Danica fired off half a dozen shots in quick succession. The first three shots were through the door about where the upper chest of an adult of average height would be. The rest were successively to the left. The idea was that if the first shots missed, the person would likely start running back down the hall. Matthew let out a long piercing scream and for a second Danica wasn’t sure she’d aimed high enough.

  Wade jumped at the sound of the first shot and was hit in the right shoulder, spinning him backward and to the left, which, ironically, saved his life as the rest of the bullets that blasted through the wall were where he would have run. As adrenaline pumped through his body, he picked up a screaming Matthew, kicked in the door and tossed the boy into the room, rushing in behind him.

  Matthew landed at Danica’s feet as Wade barreled into her, knocking her over and the pistol from her hand. If she had been standing, Wade would have tackled her, but using her position and his momentum, she threw Wade further into the room. Danica scrambled to her feet to face the assailant just as he got to his feet to face her.

  Wade thought he was done for but realized she didn’t have her weapon. It was over. He would win. He stood there savoring his victory but grimaced as fire pulsed through his shoulder from where the bullet had lanced through and out the other side. He needed to end this confrontation quickly.

  “Mr. Harrington?” Danica said, aghast, as she recognized her neighbor for the first time. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I just came to check on you.” Danica gave him an incredulous look. “Okay, I came for you and your weapons.”

  “Me?” she said as Matthew got to his feet. Danica held out her hand for the boy, but he just stood there looking lost. “Matthew, come here.”

  Matthew held out his hand. “I can’t see you.”

  “What did you do to him?” she asked, as she took hold of Matthew’s hand and pulled him close.

  “I didn’t do anything. It was the plague. Blindness is sometimes one of the side effects.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, almost pleading. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but you were always friendly.” Although Wade and Ivory lived in the neighborhood for years, they were the neighbors that hardly anyone associated with. They normally just did their own thing.

  Danica turned Matthew toward the door. “Matt, I want you to walk straight ahead until you reach the door. Go down the hall a few steps, then go into the bathroom and wait for me. I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

  “You might be longer than a few minutes,” Wade said.

  “What do you want with me?” Danica asked again as Matthew headed for the door. “Thinking you’ll live out some sick sexual fantasy? I promise you, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not really into sex. I actually came over because I want your medicine and guns, but seeing you in your pajamas gives me the idea that you might be valuable just as you are. You’re a pretty young thing with sizeable tits. I might not be into sex, but I’m sure others will be. I don’t doubt there will be plenty of men looking for a woman. I should be able to trade you for something useful.” He paused for effect. “However, if you give me a gun and whatever antibiotics you have left, I’ll be on my way.”

  “You must think I’m stupid.”

  “Danica, I’ve always known you weren’t stupid,” he said, almost sounding like a proud father. “It’s part of the reason I avoided you and your family. I realized early on if I spent too much time with your family, you would discover my secret. My offer was more like I was hoping you were desperate and thinking of Matthew because if you die, I don’t need him anymore, do I?”

  If the words were meant to frighten her, they worked. While Wade wasn’t a bodybuilder, he wasn’t the ninety-pound weakling others kicked sand on at the beach, either. He looked more than capable of handling himself. She contemplated giving him the weapon, but she just didn’t believe him, which meant she would be in the fight for her life, and by extension, Matthew’s. Would her training be enough? She had handled herself at the supermarket, but she had also been wielding a shotgun. She was unarmed now, and the plague
had robbed her of most of her strength and agility.

  She looked around for her gun, trying not to be obvious but guessed it was in some dark corner somewhere behind Wade. Danica took a backward step as Wade took a step toward her. It was only then that she noticed that he held one of her mother’s kitchen knives.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked, confident the situation was in hand. “You run; I kill Matthew.” She knew if she were to have any chance, the fight would have to be on her terms. To do that, she would need to project a little confidence of her own, to show he didn’t have everything in hand. Reaching behind her, she closed the door and turned the deadbolt, locking them in.

  “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you,” she said, giving him an evil leer. She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. “Just giving us some privacy. I don’t want Matthew to hear a grown man cry.”

  Wade would have laughed if he were capable. Instead, he smiled something that didn’t look natural. It was as if in all the excitement he’d forgotten his smile training. “You can’t believe you can take me,” he said, but not as confident as before.

  “I like my chances,” she said lying. She was hoping desperation, and a little bravado would help. “I’m young; you’re not. I’m in shape; you’re not. You have balls; I don’t.”

  “I might be older and a little out of shape, but I have an equalizer,” he said, raising the knife.

  She laughed and crouched lower. “From nearly the day I was born, my father trained me to be a cop. Taking a knife away from an inexperienced moron was one of his first lessons, and the way you’re holding that knife tells me just how moronic you are at knife fighting.” For a moment he hesitated, seemingly unsure of his next action.

  As he hesitated, Danica looked for the pair of fighting sticks she kept in a vase on the nightstand by the door. In truth, instead of teaching her self-defense, her father had paid for martial arts lessons from an early age. A few years later, after attending a martial arts tournament, she became interested in the art of dual-stick fighting. Part of that training included disarming a knife-wielder, but it was drilled in her head time and time again that, if possible, running was always the best option. That was not possible now.

  Her sticks were not on the nightstand. Looking around, she spotted them near the headboard of her bed, ironically next to the gun. Something in her eyes must have given her away because Wade spotted the gun just after she did. His confidence returning, he smiled wickedly and lunged for the weapon. Danica jumped him. If they both went for the weapon, they would end up in a tugging match, and despite the bravado she was trying to project, given her weakened state, he was stronger and more likely to win. She hit him like an offensive tackle, knocking him backward and off-balance. She was about to follow up with a kick to the groin, but he slashed out with the knife driving her back. Despite her earlier confidence, disarming a person with a knife wasn’t easy. Especially if that person was swinging randomly and widely. The two squared off again. She was closer to the gun, but if she went for it, he would be on top of her before she could bring it to bear.

  She felt like she needed to say something snarky, maybe throw him off his game. Instead, she grabbed the lamp and threw it at him. He tried to dodge but wasn’t fast enough, and it glanced off his right shoulder. Wade yelled as pain shot through his body, nearly sending him to his knees. He almost dropped the knife. In a panic, he screamed and went for the gun. Danica kicked the gun, sending it to the other side of the bed. He was too slow and inexperienced to stop her from punching him in the face and kidney, but he avoided a debilitating kick to the groin. He struck back, slashing her lower abdomen with his knife, drawing blood. She lost her balance and fell against the wall next to her desk, holding her stomach. She grimaced in pain and wondered if she let go if her guts would gush out onto the floor.

  She grabbed her laptop and swung it at him, missed and then threw it. He dodged it easily and closed in. The gun was close, but if she turned to take it, he would drive the knife in her back. Feeling desperate, she threw a pencil box, followed by her globe and stapler as she backed against the wall. She would have to go for the gun regardless of the consequences.

  Before she could, Wade pounced. Danica was just able to grab his arm before he stabbed her in the stomach. Using his strength, he lifted his arm, so the knife was level with her eye, but, with an adrenaline rush, she was able to keep it from moving closer. As the rush subsided, she lost ground, the point of the blade inching closer. She could see all too clearly that Wade was aiming to put the knife through her eye. As victory registered in Wade’s face, Danica noticed the wound in his shoulder. No wonder he yelled when she hit him with the lamp. She hadn’t missed with the gun after all.

  She let her arm holding the knife back suddenly relax. As the knife lanced forward, she guided the blade, so it struck the wall behind her. She felt the knife-edge brush against her ear. The knife sank into the sheetrock and snapped against the stud beneath. As it did, she released her grip and plunged her thumb into his wound.

  Wade screamed and fell back; the broken knife fell from his hands. She followed up with a knee to his groin and then raced for the gun. Coming up, she half expected to see Wade lunging for her. Instead, he unlocked the door and rushed out. She fired two shots, knowing instinctively she missed. Fearing he was going after Matthew she ran after him. Instead, he ran down the stairs and toward the kitchen door. She had a clear shot, but at the moment she was about to fire, Matthew, stepped into her line of vision.

  “Dany!” he yelled. “Dany, where are you?”

  “I’m here,” she said, running past him. “Wait there.” She rushed down the stairs and out the door, but Wade was nowhere to be seen. She fired off two shots to keep him running. She would have fired off several more, but the gun was empty.

  CHAPTER 21

  Franklin rested against the hood of an abandoned car catching his breath. His first day on the road, Franklin set himself a brisk pace traveling the highway west toward the Shenandoah River but tired out quickly. Between his time in the hospital and his stint in pre-trial confinement, it had been months since he properly worked out, and he felt it, especially in his legs. He knew he should have taken it easy for the first few days, but since he was taking the long way home, he wanted to make up time.

  With Wendell speeding off toward Arlington, Virginia, Franklin decided it best to go in the opposite direction. Wendell was a moron in all the ways that mattered, but he was just smart enough to figure out Franklin wasn’t going to stay at the prison forever. He would be armed by now and waiting in ambush. By the time Wendell figured out he’d left, Franklin was hoping to be out of the state. If he came to the prison looking for Franklin, Ammiel would give him the welcome he deserved. Wendell and his former gang were well known, and Ammiel wasn’t a fan. Eventually, Wendell would go back to making life miserable for other people. If Franklin didn’t have a family to check on, he would have tracked Wendell down and made sure he and anyone with him was added to the list in his pocket.

  For the next several days, there were no signs of life except for an occasional dog or wild animal. He once spotted a coyote crossing the road in front of him with a cat in its mouth. His first signs of death and life among humans came two days later while walking the road between the small towns of Purcellville and Round Hill. The road was mostly clear of traffic except for the occasional stalled vehicle, none of which were serviceable as either the battery was dead or the keys were gone. And despite growing up in a rough neighborhood, Franklin had no clue how to hot-wire a car. It was just as well. A moving vehicle would be too conspicuous and bring unwanted attention. Thinking like the escaped convict he was, he knew attention was something to avoid, at least until he was far from the prison.

  Around noon, Franklin rounded a bend and came upon a blue SUV parked on the shoulder with its emergency lights flashing. Someone was still sitting in the passengers’ seat and looked to be taking a nap. He crossed to the far side of the roa
d so as not to alarm them and approached. He raised his hand in greeting and started to call out but quickly realized it was a wasted gesture. There was a body lying in front of the car curled up in a fetal position with his head bashed in. Getting closer, he could see the man in the passenger seat was also dead. There were three bullet holes in the windshield. Examining the bodies, he figured they had been dead at least a day.

  While reaching in to turn off the blinkers, he heard what sounded like a motorcycle approaching. Sprinting back to the other side of the road, Franklin threw himself into a dry ditch as a red pickup truck with a Confederate flag on the door came into view. The truck, which was hauling several gun-toting passengers in the back, stopped next to the SUV. Franklin pulled out a flash-bang and his pistol but otherwise lay still.

  “Jesus Carl,” a male voice said sounding shocked. Franklin heard the truck doors open and slam shut. “What the hell happened here?” Peeking over the lip of the ditch, he watched as four men examined the scene while the two in the back kept watch. As one man started to look his way, Franklin dropped his head and hoped he hadn’t been seen.

  “Goddammit, this had better not have been anyone from town,” yet a third voice said. “This boy can’t be more than twenty years old.” There was a slight pause, and a door squealed in protest as it opened. “Maggie, this is Carl, over. Maggie, you there?” He waited a few moments and then called again. “Maggie, this is Carl, over.”

  “Sorry, Carl,” Maggie said, out of breath. “I was . . . When are you boys going to get the damn plumbing fixed? I’m too old to be going to an outhouse. I did that when I was young; I don’t want to die doing the same damn thing.” There was a long pause, and then Maggie’s voice came back over the radio. “Over, Goddammit.” The men laughed.

  “Sorry, Maggie,” Carl said. “We’re doing the best we can. In the meantime, have Enid grab a few of the boys and tell them to come about ten miles up Highway 7, just past Maven’s driveway. Tell ‘em I found a blue SUV with a couple dead bodies.

 

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