Broken Justice

by Ralph Gibbs

“She was gone by the time I got there. She headed to Washington. From what I gather, when she caught the virus, she found her way into an empty house and rode it out. That gave me a chance to catch up, but the slavers found her first. I got caught a few days later, trying to rescue her.”

  “You didn’t catch the plague?”

  “Nope,” Paris said, still unsure how she’d been spared.

  “Neither did I. How long were you with them?”

  “I don’t really know. I was kept in a box and hooded for a while. A week. Maybe less. Too long. They were headed home to somewhere in West Virginia when they caught me.”

  “And the others?”

  “They grabbed all the girls in Virginia. Tempest and another girl, though, were taken from two guys that kidnapped them in Charlotte.”

  “North Carolina?” Franklin said, shocked. Paris nodded. “Funny, that’s where I’m headed.”

  “Family?” Paris asked.

  “Ex-wife and son.”

  “You heard from them since the outbreak?”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to me,” Franklin said.

  “You think she’ll want to talk to you now?”

  “Who knows? But I need to find out how they are. What happened to Tempest’s friend?”

  “Killed herself. The guys that grabbed them in Charlotte raped them every night for a week, but then Ethan and his bunch killed the men, and the girls thought they were rescued.”

  “Only to be raped by a different group,” Franklin said, sadly. “Poor girls.”

  “The woman lost it. When they stopped on a bridge to let the girls pee, she jumped. She hit the water and never came up. From what I was told, the bridge wasn’t that high. She just never came up.”

  “Jesus. It takes a special kind of desperation to drown yourself. I’m surprised Tempest is stable.”

  “She’s strong. Stronger than me.”

  Franklin lifted the door to the next unit. “So, what’s your plan now?” Franklin asked.

  “Finish the mission,” Paris said as if it should be obvious.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Franklin said, looking in the storage unit. “I think that just got a bit easier.” Paris came to stand next to him and smiled as they looked at a large white pickup truck with a camper shell.

  “They teach you to hot-wire a car in FBI school?”

  “I learned how to hot-wire a car back in San Diego, during my unsavory youthful days.” Hot-wiring proved unnecessary, as the keys were in the ignition.

  CHAPTER 27

  With the truck loaded with the supplies salvaged from the storage facility, the group headed toward the small city of Front Royal, leaving the prisoner alive and bound inside the storage facility office. It was a decision that did not sit well with Paris. She wanted to hang the man. At first, Franklin thought she was kidding and went along with it thinking to scare the boy. It might have been sadistic, but no one could say he didn’t have it coming. Franklin mentioned he’d seen a large tree at the back of the property they could use. The man whimpered, and Franklin was sure the prisoner would wet himself. Franklin was staggered when he realized Paris wasn’t kidding.

  “No,” he said, heatedly taking her aside. “I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, and I know the world has gone to shit, but you are still an officer of the government and sworn to uphold the law.”

  Franklin felt like a hypocrite. Here he was arguing with Paris to spare this rapist’s life, but not too long ago he was acting as the prison’s grim reaper dispatching all manner of criminals. Was there a difference? The only difference he could argue was that he was already a convicted killer, while she wasn’t, though she’d killed. If he allowed her to kill this boy, then the next prisoner and the next, where would it end? Would she end up killing people for jaywalking? More importantly, could she live with herself? God knows, he was having a tough time with it.

  “There is no more government,” she hissed softly.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Then where the fuck are they?” she said with such hatred that Franklin was taken aback.

  “No idea,” Franklin said, calmly. Paris started to say something, but Franklin forged ahead. “Part of the reason I want to go to Round Hill is that there’s a sheriff I know there. If you want, we can take the bastard with us, hold a trial and if he’s found guilty—” Paris shot him a hard look, and he corrected himself, “—when he’s found guilty, you can hang him or shoot him.”

  “No,” she said hotly, as she pulled her weapon. “I’m going to shoot him now.”

  Franklin’s arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. He could smell urine as the man wet himself in fear. Paris struggled to lift her arm, but Franklin, with considerable effort, kept it still.

  Franklin set his jaw. “I meant what I said earlier,” Franklin said, grimly. “If you want to kill him in cold blood, you’ll have to go through me.” For an instant, the fire in her eyes suggested she was about to try, but then seemed to catch herself and realized what she was about to do. Her eyes softened, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Franklin hoped the danger had passed. She let Franklin slowly guide her weapon back to her holster, her eyes never once leaving his face.

  When the weapon was secure, she pushed past Franklin and knelt next to the prisoner, her knee catching him in the groin. She grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head up to meet her gaze. The back of the prisoner’s head thudded against the wall, and he whimpered.

  “You messed with the wrong bitch,” she hissed into his face. “You tell that asshole leader of yours that a she-demon, straight from the ninth circle of hell, is coming for him and God Himself won’t be able to save him. He won’t be able to save any of you. Anyone at your compound when I come calling is dead. I’m going to burn that fucking place to the fucking ground. No amount of pig’s blood will stop me.” She thudded his head against the wall a final time and stalked out. Franklin checked the man’s bonds.

  “I’d listen to her,” Franklin said. “I haven’t known that woman all that long, but I can tell you messed with the wrong person. Next time you pass a video store, you might want to check out Rambo. I have a feeling the movie will become relevant to your life.”

  **********

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” Paris said, slamming on the brakes in the middle of the road. She gave Franklin an icy stare. “You should have let me shoot him.”

  “You have to admire his guts,” Franklin said, looking at the pharmacy. “I think after the third time Gunilla poked me with that make-shift needle; I would have told you all about this place if just to get a break while you searched it.” Paris pulled into the parking lot.

  “Just as soon as people realize that modern medicine is a thing of the past, these places are going to be worth more than gold,” Paris said. “Travis, you stay with Rebecca. Everyone else, come with me and get what you think is useful. You have fifteen minutes. Gunilla, lead the way; you know what we need more than anyone.” She turned to Franklin. “We might be able to use some of this to trade for supplies.”

  “Provided they don’t kill us and just take it,” Franklin said.

  “Listen, if you and I are going to get along—and I’m not convinced we are—you need to understand I’m the glass-half-empty person around here,” Paris said. “Find your own personality disorder; that one’s trademarked.”

  Nearly fifteen minutes later, Paris came out the door and yelled behind her, “Times up, people. We need to get rolling.” Among them, Gunilla, Tempest, and Addison carried nearly a dozen plastic bags full of supplies.

  “Did you find anything we can use?” Travis asked. In the back of the truck, Rebecca lay moaning and sweating from infection.

  “We found a few things,” Paris said. “Antibiotics, vitamins, pain meds.”

  “What’s Gunilla so happy about?” Travis asked.

  “She found a microscope,” Paris said. “You should have seen her when she pulled that out from under the pha
rmacist’s counter. She looked like a little girl who got a pony for her birthday. I was surprised she didn’t break out in a dance.”

  “I might still,” Gunilla said giddy.

  “What’s so special about a microscope?” Travis asked. “Rebecca needs drugs.”

  “My boy,” Gunilla said patting Travis on the check. “You have proven that everything bad they say about the American education system is true. With a microscope, I can change the world.”

  “I think the world has changed enough,” Travis said.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Paris said. “You can teach later. My guess is he’s led a sheltered life and needs a lot of educational guidance.”

  “I need a minute with Rebecca,” Gunilla said. “I want to see if I can get some medicine in her. I also might want to put in new stitches with the stuff we found.”

  “Fine,” Paris said. “Five more minutes and we’re gone.

  “Hey, doc?” Franklin said as Gunilla crawled in the back of the truck. He rested his elbow on the tailgate as he talked with her. “While I’m thinking about it, make sure you don’t tell anyone we meet, you’re a doctor.”

  “Why not?” she asked as she opened a bottle and popped two pills into her hand. She propped up Rebecca’s head. “Take these, honey. They’ll help you sleep and help bring down your fever.” Rebecca took the pills and chased them down with a few sips of bottled water. “I want you to drink the rest of that water over the next half an hour.” Rebecca nodded her head. She turned back to Franklin. “You were saying.”

  “Because medically trained personnel are going to be as valuable as the stuff we just found. And at the risk of honing in on Paris’ disorder, people that would otherwise be friendly might just kill us to get at you. Those in Round Hill might take us in, but if they know you’re a doctor, they might not let you leave.”

  “That’s horrible,” Gunilla said as Franklin walked away.

  “We’re living in horrible times, Doc,” Franklin said as he got in the truck.

  Parris tapped on his window. Franklin reached over and engaged the engine to roll down the window.

  “What’s up?”

  Paris reached into her bag and tossed a folded map into his lap. Franklin tried to catch it, but it bounced off his fingertips and fell into the floorboard under the steering wheel.

  “Shit, where did you find this?” Franklin said seeing that it was a map of the area. “I looked all over the store and couldn’t even find a road atlas.”

  “It was under the microscope,” Paris said.

  “Of course, it was,” Franklin whispered as he opened the map. When he realized the map’s width was too clumsy for the cab, he got out and put the map on the hood. As the others crawled into the truck bed, Tempest came over and watched Paris and Franklin map out their route.

  “Highway 340 leads straight to Front Royal, but there are no cutoffs between us and the city,” Franklin said. “It looks like we have no choice but to go into Front Royal.”

  “You think they will be there waiting for us?” Tempest asked.

  “It’s a good bet,” Franklin said. “It’s a major waypoint from where we are, and it has the first major bridge in the area. We can bypass most of Front Royal, but we’ll have to pass through the outskirts of the city.”

  “They can’t know which way we’re going,” Tempest said.

  “They can give it a good guess,” Franklin said. “By now, they know we’re not floating down the river. They’ll also know we’re not going to hang out in the woods. Not with an injured girl. There are two roads on this side of the river we could use, given the timeframe.” Franklin pointed to the map as he explained his reasoning to her. “Skyline Drive here and 340 here. Skyline Drive is just a scenic byway with no shelter or places to pick up supplies. They don’t know what I have in the way of supplies, but they know you had nothing. So, they can make a pretty good guess we’re on 340, and when the two good ol’ boys fail to check in, that’ll be confirmation.”

  “But they won’t know if we’re going north or south,” Tempest said.

  “Which is why they’ll cover both ends,” he said. “That’s our advantage. They split their forces into three or four groups. One to cover the north, one to cover the south and one or two to search the road.”

  Tempest thought about what Franklin said and studied the map. “Why can’t we use those bridges?” she asked, pointing to the north-eastern edge of Front Royal.

  “They’re railroad bridges,” Paris said.

  “Which could be an option in an emergency,” Franklin said. “There are several houses near those bridges. Just hole up in one until nightfall, then cross. It looks pretty industrial, so I’m guessing we’ll be able to find transportation on the other side.”

  “We can call that Plan B,” Paris said. “Crossing a railroad bridge isn’t easy, and we’ll have to cross at night, without a flashlight and carrying an injured girl.”

  “Our best bet is to take this road,” Franklin said, leaning closer to read the name. “East Criser Road. It’s right on the edge of the town. If we follow it to Remount, it’ll lead to 55, then Interstate 66. We can head north after that.

  “How long will it take to get to Round Hill?” Tempest asked.

  “Depends on how congested the interstate is,” Paris said.

  Tempest studied the map. “There’s a lot of smaller roads we could take; that wouldn’t take as long,” she said.

  Franklin shook his head and said, “There have been storms over the last several weeks. If we come across a downed tree and can’t get around it, we’ll lose a lot of time backtracking. If we run across the same thing on the highway, with four lanes, more than likely we’ll be able to get around it. Our best bet is to stay on the bigger roads.” There was a gunshot back down the road.

  “Planning’s over,” Franklin said hastily folding up the map.

  “Gunilla, all secure back there?” Paris yelled as she ran for the cab.

  “Thirty seconds,” Gunilla yelled back.

  “Hurry the hell up,” Paris said.

  “All done,” Gunilla said. Paris gunned the motor and raced toward Front Royal. An hour later, they arrived at the outskirts of the small city. Just as they arrived, a white dual cab pickup truck and a blue SUV sprinted up behind them.

  “It’s them,” Travis yelled.

  “Fuck,” Paris said, pressing harder on the accelerator.

  Travis pushed open the camper back window and fired. The truck jerked to the left and bounced over the curb as if surprised they were being fired upon. The driver over-corrected and was forced to slow down to keep from losing control and flipping the vehicle. Ironically, sideswiping the side of an overturned car helped them regain control.

  Several men in the SUV leaned out their windows and returned fire. The camper glass shattered, and everyone in the back screamed in terror. Travis tried to aim for the driver of the SUV, but Paris made a sharp left to avoid a stalled car, throwing off his aim and causing the bullets to rake the upper windshield.

  “Travis, aim for the engine,” Franklin yelled as he readied his weapon.

  “We’re coming into town,” Paris said. “Ah, shit.”

  “What?” Franklin asked and then turned to see that the road they wanted to take was blocked by several stalled cars.

  “Just keep going straight,” Franklin said. “It still leads to 55. It’ll be up a few streets.” Flipping around in the seat, he rolled down the window and began to fire when the opportunity presented itself. Travis shifted his aim. After more than a dozen shots, the SUV’s radiator began to blow steam, and the vehicle slowed and stopped. The men in the vehicle piled out and ran to the nearby abandoned cars trying to find one that worked. The four men in the truck continued after them.

  Entering the town, it seemed as if they’d entered the fictional town of Mayberry on a Sunday morning. It was empty and peaceful. Then a bullet tore off his side-view mirror. “We’re going to need to do something about them,�
�� Franklin said more to himself.

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Paris said. Behind them, they heard what sounded like water being thrown against a windshield. Franklin turned and for a moment wondered why someone had sprayed red paint over the back window. It was only when he focused in on the chunks of debris, he realized what happened. Everyone in the back started screaming.

  “Oh Jesus,” Franklin said.”

  “What happened?” Paris screamed.

  “Addison’s dead,” Travis said. Almost howling, Travis turned and emptied his weapon on the pursuing truck. The man leaning out of the passenger window jerked, dropped his weapon and slumped over. His upper body weight pulled him the rest of the way out of the window, and he slid under the truck. The truck swerved and slowed down, allowing Paris to gain distance.

  “Travis, hand me another pistol and some flash grenades,” Franklin ordered. Travis handed them through. He turned to Paris. “When you make the right onto 55, slow down and let me out.”

  “What the hell are you going to do?” Paris demanded.

  “I’m going to end this,” he said slamming home a full magazine. “I’ll catch up with you at 66. If I’m not there in two hours, make for Round Hill without me. If I’m able, I’ll meet up with you there.”

  “What if you don’t stop them?” Paris said.

  “I’ll stop them.”

  “Get ready,” she said. As she approached the corner, Franklin opened the door and waited. Paris cut the corner, slowed, and Franklin leaped out. Though she slowed, Franklin still needed to run to keep from stumbling headfirst into the road. Instead, he slammed into a nearby car which stopped his momentum but temporarily stunned him. Catching his breath, Franklin hid behind a car and waited. As the truck carrying the gunman neared, he jumped from hiding and threw a flashbang through the open window.

  “Watch out,” he heard someone scream, but by then it was too late. The gunman hanging out the backseat window was bringing his weapon around when the grenade went off. The car jerked left and then right, throwing off the gunman’s aim. The storefront window behind Franklin shattered. The truck jerked left again and then plowed into the side of another car. The gunman hanging out the window whipped forward, and Franklin heard his back snap. Sprinting to the truck, Franklin finished off anyone not already dead. As he shot the last man, a black four-door sedan rounded the corner. The occupants from the SUV had found a replacement.