Broken Justice

by Ralph Gibbs

  “End of the line, boy,” the gunman said.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” the archer said as he jumped out, fired a shot and jumped back. The arrow barely missed the man for a second time; however, it forced the gunman back behind the building. “I’ve already killed two of you today; hand over my sister and you can go.”

  “Not going to happen,” the gunman said. “She’s better off with us. You can’t keep her safe. We’ll take good care of her.” The man’s words were said with such villainy that Franklin was sure he twirled a handlebar mustache when he said them. Though he didn’t know it, those words doomed him. Until now, Paris had hesitated to act, unsure of what was happening. Now, though, Franklin could feel the heat rising from the woman. She ripped off the night vision goggles and handed them over to Franklin.

  “Cover me?” Paris hissed.

  “Of course,” he said, knowing by instinct there was nothing he could say that would keep her from becoming involved. Paris pulled her knife and moved toward the man with the girl. He was too intent on watching his partner, to notice Paris coming up behind him. Franklin sighted in on the gunman squaring off against the archer and waited for Paris to make her move. When Franklin heard the little girl scream, Franklin pulled the trigger and dropped the gunman. As Paris emerged holding the child, Franklin ran over to make sure the gunman was no longer a danger.

  “What’s your name?” Paris asked the girl as she clutched Paris tightly.

  “Anita,” the little girl said.

  “Did the man hurt you?” Paris asked.

  “No,” the girl said. “He hurt Nate, though.”

  “I think Nate’s okay,” Paris said.

  Franklin checked the gunman and discovered he was still alive, though his minutes were numbered.

  “Are there any others?” Paris asked. The girl shook her head.

  “There was another man, but Nate got him, too,” Anita said.

  Paris turned to Franklin and said, “I’m guessing we’re good. You want to get the boy?”

  “Nate,” Franklin shouted. “We’ve taken care of the men that kidnapped your sister. You can come get her. I know she wants to see you.”

  “It’s okay Nate,” Anita shouted, “they’re friends.”

  There was still no answer.

  “Damn,” Franklin said. “He doesn’t trust us. That’s bad news. If he’s not already, he’ll start making his way back to the rooftops and will try to kill us.”

  “I’ll tell him not to kill you,” Anita said. “Nate! It’s okay. They saved me. Don’t kill them.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” Paris said, “but your brother probably thinks we’re forcing you to say that.”

  “They’re not forcing me to say that,” Anita shouted. Paris and Franklin laughed.

  “There we go,” Paris said to Franklin. “That should solve everything.”

  “Nate, how can we prove we’re telling the truth?” Franklin asked.

  “Let her go,” Nate shouted back.

  “Fair enough,” Paris shouted. She walked to the corner. “I’m stepping out with Anita in my arms. Don’t go getting trigger-happy.” She strode to the middle of the alleyway where Nate could get a good look at her. Nate stepped out with an arrow notched and the bow half drawn.

  “Where’s the other one?” Nate asked, looking around.

  “Franklin, come on over,” Paris said. Franklin walked out and made a show of holstering his weapon. He stepped up beside Paris.

  “Let my sister go.”

  Paris knelt and put down the girl on the ground, but Anita refused to let go of her neck. Nate misunderstood what was happening and aimed his bow at Franklin.

  “I said, let her go.”

  “Calm down,” Franklin said. “Your sisters scared. Give my partner a minute.” Then to Paris, he said, “Paris, hurry, or this will get ugly.”

  Paris reached behind her and gently pried Anita’s hands apart and said, “Anita, it’s okay. You need to go to your brother. He’s worried about you.”

  Anita looked over at her brother and turned serious. “Nate, you put that bow down right this minute,” she said, crossing her arms and stomping her feet. Franklin and Paris stepped back. “These people helped me.” After another moment, Nate relaxed the bow but kept it ready.

  “Okay, Anita?” Nate said. “But I need you to come to me now. We don’t know these people, and they could be worse than the other guys.”

  Paris reached down and swatted the girl on the butt. “You heard your brother,” Paris said. “Go on and do what he tells you. He’s a smart kid.”

  Franklin waited until Anita was close to her brother. “I’m Franklin, and this is FBI Special Agent Paris Ishida.”

  “What kind of name is Ishida?” Nate asked.

  “Mine,” Paris said, clearly not amused at the question.

  “Is there still an FBI?” Nate asked.

  “No one’s told me differently,” Paris said. “Until they do, I’m an FBI agent. Shooting an arrow at me is a federal offense.”

  “Yeah, well, how do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

  “I’m going to reach in my pocket,” Paris said. She took out her badge and tossed it over. Anita ran over, picked it up, and showed the badge to her brother.

  “How do I know this is real?” Nate asked.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, kid,” Paris said irritated. “I don’t know, maybe because we saved your sister. Look, just toss me back my badge and do what you want. We’re camped inside that building over there. In the back room. We have fire and food.”

  “Do you have any coffee?” Anita asked.

  Franklin’s face soured. Coffee was a sore subject with him.

  “We have coffee, but Mr. Perfection here won’t make it,” Paris said, shoving her thumb at Franklin.

  “That’s because it’s not coffee,” Franklin said, turning on Paris and ignoring the kids. “It’s coffee grounds thrown in hot water and boiled into a muddy mixture. When I find a decent percolator, I’ll make coffee. Can we not have this discussion again?”

  Anita handed Paris her badge and ran back to her brother.

  “Let’s go,” Paris said. “They’ll come, or they won’t.” As Franklin and Paris headed back to their campsite, they spotted Gunilla.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” Paris asked, not hiding her irritation.

  “I heard a shot and came out to investigate,” Gunilla said. “I found this man injured. He’s going to die if I don’t help him.”

  “Let him,” Paris snapped.

  “You don’t mean that,” Gunilla said shocked.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, now clearly angry. “Come here.” She reached down and grabbed Gunilla, who nearly stumbled as she was pulled to her feet. She led the woman around the corner where Nate and Anita still stood. “See that little girl. That man, you want to save, kidnapped her and was probably going to rape her. Something you wouldn’t know anything about. He dies.” Paris turned on Nate. “Nate, this is Gunilla. She’s a doctor. If you come to our camp, she’ll give Anita a checkup and make sure she’s okay.” The revelation seemed to do the trick. Releasing Gunilla, Paris now rounded on Franklin. “Are you going to finish him off or do I need to do it?”

  “I’ll take care of it once the kids are inside.”

  As the group made their way back to the station, Franklin knelt next to the wounded gunman and searched him. As he did, the man opened his eyes.

  “Hel . . . help me?” he pleaded.

  “We’re past that. We were past that the moment you kidnapped that little girl.”

  “Please. We weren’t going to do anything.”

  “Were you planning to throw her a birthday party?” The man didn’t respond.

  “She looks so much like my daughter,” the man said tears forming in his eye. His voice was weak, nearly a whisper.

  “That only makes it worse. What’s your name?”

  The man closed his eyes, and his head slumped.
Franklin checked his pulse. Rummaging through the dead man’s wallet, he found a business card showing his name was Adam Henderson. Before he was a child abductor, he was an industrial paint supplier.

  Searching the body, Franklin failed to find anything of use that they didn’t already have or could find. That wasn’t true of the man Paris killed. On the man’s key chain, Franklin found a military can opener, what everyone lovingly called a P38. He stared at the opener as he sat heavily on the sidewalk. He felt like crying but wasn’t sure if it was the find or because he had been forced to kill again. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty. The men were probably going to do unspeakable things to the little girl, and yet he felt the weight of the world for another death he was responsible for.

  When Franklin returned to the campsite, the fire was going again, and Nate and Anita were enjoying one of the party’s freeze-dried camp specialties. Anita smiled up at him as he entered. He smiled back his despondent nature temporarily abated. He took heart in the fact that even after her ordeal, Anita seemed to be in good spirits. Nate was telling his story.

  “I grabbed my motorcycle and headed after them,” Nate said. “I grew up in these parts, so I know most of the back roads. I was able to get ahead of them. Lucky for Anita, they stayed on the highway.”

  “It seems what most people are doing,” Paris said. “We’ve run into a lot of people using the highways to travel.”

  “How’s Anita, doc?” Franklin asked.

  “Hungry and dehydrated, but otherwise she’s in surprisingly good health.” Gunilla handed over another pouch of food.

  “Good,” Franklin said, as he opened his backpack and pulled out a bag of marshmallows he was saving for a special day. This seemed as special as any. He stuck three marshmallows on one of the half dozen sticks he cut before coming back in. Holding them over the fire, he waited for them to blacken.

  “What is that?” Anita asked.

  “Are you telling me you’ve never had a marshmallow?” Franklin asked.

  “Of course, I have,” Anita said. “I like them in hot chocolate.”

  “You’re in for a treat,” Franklin said as he removed them from the fire and blew them out.

  “Yuck, they’re all burnt,” Anita said.

  “That’s the best way,” Franklin said. He blew on them to cool them down, plucked one from the stick and handed it over. “Try it.” Franklin thought she might hesitate, but she merely plopped it in her mouth. Her smile, missing two front teeth, said everything he needed to know. He handed her another.

  “I didn’t think they would come through in the dark,” Nate said. “I figured they’d wait until morning. Luckily, there was enough moonlight for me to see.”

  “Since they had a grenade, it probably worked out for the best,” Franklin said.

  “Why a bow?” Paris asked.

  “Nate was the school archery champion,” Anita supplied and then plopped another marshmallow in her mouth.

  “A gun works better,” Paris said.

  “Not for me,” Nate said. “I can’t hit the broad side of a barn with a pistol standing three feet away. I’m okay with a rifle since targeting is somewhat similar, but I still miss the bullseye more than half the time. I don’t miss with an arrow. I was the state champion two years running; like to think it would have been three, but God had other plans.”

  “What are your plans now?” Gunilla asked.

  Nate shrugged. “Like most, we’re just drifting around trying to decide what to do.”

  “Our parents are dead,” Anita said softly.

  “We thought about heading to our grandparents’ house because we didn’t have a better option, but chances are they’re dead too,” Nate said. “Last we heard from them; they were both infected.”

  “What about the two of you?” Gunilla asked. “Did you catch the plague?”

  “Yeah,” Nate said. “I didn’t have it as bad as some. Anita came out of it not knowing who I was for a few days.” Everyone seemed to look at Anita at the same time.

  “What . . . I got better,” she said, adding another marshmallow to the one already in her mouth. This was hotter than the last, and she almost spat it out.

  “What about you?” Nate asked. “Where you headed?”

  “Franklin has family in Charlotte,” Paris said. “We’re going to go check on them and then head to Colorado. We hear the president is out there.” Paris saw the look that passed across Nate’s face. “What’s the matter?”

  “How are you planning on getting there?” Nate asked.

  “We heard there’s been a lot of storms in the mountains and some bridges are washed out, so we thought we’d head south around the mountains,” Paris said.

  “You will want to stay away from Atlanta,” Nate said.

  “Why?” Franklin asked.

  “I’ve heard they’re lynching your kind,” Nate said.

  “His kind?” Gunilla asked.

  “Black,” Franklin said sourly.

  “But you’re not black,” Gunilla said, confused.

  “I’m black enough for some, not enough for others,” Franklin said. “My mother was black; my father was white.”

  “Then there’s you,” Nate said, pointing at Paris. “You’re—”

  “American,” she quipped.

  “But you look—”

  “Japanese,” she finished for him, in case he said Chinese, which would only serve to make her mad. People had been calling her Chinese her whole life, and she took exception to it. There was a difference if people cared to look.

  “And I don’t know what you are, except pretty,” Nate said looking at Gunilla.

  “I’m Swedish, you little charmer,” Gunilla said, smiling and poking his shoulder with a finger. “If you spent less time at the archery range and more time in school, you might know that.”

  “Several colleges were already looking at me for a scholarship,” he said proudly.

  “And people wonder why the world laughed at the American education system,” Gunilla said.

  “Can we get back to what’s happening in Atlanta instead of belittling a system that no longer exists?” Franklin said. “How do you know what’s going on in Atlanta?”

  “I don’t really, but people on the road talk,” Nate said. “They tell of this guy named Abraham who led a group of his followers to Atlanta. He claims to be the president of the United States and, as such, they were returning the United States to the original Constitution just as the founding fathers intended.”

  “Original Constitution?” Gunilla asked, puzzled.

  “Slavery,” Franklin said, throwing his marshmallow stick at the fire in disgust. He stood up and began to pace. “Paris, you ever heard of this Abraham guy?”

  “I don’t recall an Abraham in the line of succession,” she said. “Considering the death toll, I imagine presidential succession probably ran deep. Still, I don’t remember anyone in Congress named Abraham, either.”

  “Chances are it’s just some group claiming to be the government, and they’re going around lynching anyone not white?” Franklin said.

  “That probably sums it up,” Paris said.

  “What I don’t understand is why people are letting this happen,” Gunilla said.

  “Some aren’t,” Nate said. “There’s been fighting. From what I’ve been told some of Atlanta burned down. Parts of it anyway.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why people would fight for him,” Tempest said.

  “Security,” Paris said. “People want to be secure. They don’t want what happened to our little spitfire here to happen to their children, or to them. Look at what happened after 9/11. We gave up some of our freedoms to feel secure. To be secure, these people are willing to go along with whatever or whoever they need to.”

  “We’ll need to change up our route,” Franklin said. He spread the map out on a dusty table. “Once we get to Charlotte, we’ll need to head due west, pass through the mountains and, God help me, Tennessee.”

&
nbsp; “What’s wrong with Tennessee?” Nate asked.

  “It’s Tennessee,” Franklin said stoically. “Let’s turn in. I’ll take the first watch. Paris, I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours to relieve me. Nate can relieve you.”

  “What about me?” Anita said.

  “And what about you?” Paris said.

  “I want to stand watch too.” Franklin was impressed with the girl. She’d been through an ordeal, and she didn’t seem fazed.

  “All right,” Paris said. “I’ll wake you up, and you can stand watch with me.”

  “I can stand watch by myself,” she insisted. “I’m not afraid.” Had she been standing Franklin got the impression she would have stomped her feet again.

  “I’m sure you can,” Franklin said as he walked to the door. “But you need training first, and Paris will train you. After a couple of nights on watch with her, you can take the watch by yourself. That is if you’re coming with us.”

  Anita turned to her brother and said, “I want to. They’re nice. I like them.”

  “I don’t see why not,” he said. “It’s not like we have any better options. Charlotte is as good a place as any. We can always leave if we want.”

  “Good, it’s settled,” Anita said, putting another marshmallow on the stick.

  Franklin took up the bag of marshmallow. “That’s enough for tonight,” he said. “Anymore and you’ll turn into a marshmallow. Finish that one and turn in. You’ll need your rest if you’re going to stand watch.”

  Once outside, Franklin pulled out the plastic bag that held his list of names. He also pulled out the business card and started to add Adam Henderson’s name to the list when he looked up to see Paris come outside.

  “What ya’ doing?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said as he started to put away the list. Paris snatched it from his hand.

  “What is this, anyway?”

  “It’s a list of dead prisoners.”

  “So, you told Carl. Why do you have it?” She examined the paper. “Did you just add this name? Who is Adam?”

  “He’s the dead man on the corner. The man I killed.”

  “Is this a trophy list?” Paris asked heatedly.

  “It’s a list of prisoners I had to kill.”