Broken Justice

by Ralph Gibbs

  “No need to shout, Paris,” Franklin said.

  “They’re a white supremacist organization,” Paris said, ignoring him. “I doubt very seriously they’ll want me coming to their all-white happy place. Not to mention, I’m with the government. I’d be lucky if I’m not strung up the moment they spot me.” Paris pointed at Franklin. “And, as sure as shit, he won’t be able to visit.”

  Gunilla stood up and nearly toppled over her chair. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” She rushed from the room, locked the bedroom door, and no amount of coaxing by Danica could get her to come out. Franklin stopped Paris from kicking in the door. She didn’t emerge until Private Tisden rang the doorbell.

  “I’m sorry,” Gunilla said again as she left her room, her eyes red and puffy from tears and her backpack slung over her shoulders.

  “Don’t be,” Paris said, surprising everyone with the softness and hurt in her voice. “Just don’t go.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Gunilla said as she walked out the door and into the rain. Major Barrette and his men were waiting for her on the street. Paris stalked behind her, flanked by Danica, Franklin, Anita, Nate, and Ruiz. Matthew waited at the door of the house.

  “Hello,” Major Barrette said as they came together.

  “Fuck off,” Paris said. Major Barrette ignored her.

  “I’m sorry for the early takeoff, but the weather will only get worse,” the major said.

  “Hello major,” Danica said, taking a neutral tone. “I understand you’re cutting your patrol short and heading back to Atlanta.”

  “I want to get Gunilla to her new home as soon as possible.”

  “And what about you?” the major said to Paris. “Are you staying here?”

  “I’ll be heading out as soon as the storms let up,” Paris said, curtly.

  “I’ll be heading with them,” Danica said.

  “Any idea which way you’ll head?” Greg asked.

  “With winter coming, I figure the best way is straight through the mountains,” Paris said before anyone else could answer.

  The major held out his hand. “I guess this is goodbye, then. Good luck in your travels. I hope we meet again sometime. If you ever change your mind, there is a place for you in Atlanta.” It was a lie, but he doubted he’d ever see them again.

  “Thank you, major,” Franklin said, grasping his hand. Danica hugged Gunilla. “I wish you’d change your mind and come with us.”

  “I want to, but I can’t,” she said. The major noticed the slip.

  “I promise you she’ll be well-loved in Atlanta,” the major said hurriedly, hoping they hadn’t noticed. “You’re all welcome to come.”

  “Why the hell not,” Paris said to Gunilla pushing Danica aside. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “This makes no sense. Yesterday you were looking forward to going to Colorado and uniting with your dad and now . . . I don’t understand. Do you think I’m still upset about what happened? I’m not. I mean not at you, not entirely. I know it wasn’t your fault. I just need a little more time.”

  “That’s not it,” Gunilla said.

  “Then what is it?” Paris insisted.

  “It’s just—” Gunilla faltered.

  “Come on,” the major said almost in a panic. “Is this any way to treat your friend? She’s going somewhere where she can help people. Where she can do some good in the world.”

  “I know why she’s going,” Greg said, stepping forward.

  “Mr. Fulton get back with the others,” the major said, sharply.

  “What do you mean?” Paris asked.

  Franklin noticed Private Tisden reaching into the satchel he was carrying. “Hold it, son,” Franklin said, pulling his pistol from his holster.

  “What the hell,” Danica said, pulling her weapon. The rest of the group hesitated a moment longer, as if in shock and then pulled whatever weapons they were carrying and aimed them at the major and his men. A few of the residents that were watching the proceedings started down their porch as if trying to get a better look. A lot of people hustled back inside, most going for their weapons.

  Major Barrette held up his arms. “Okay, everyone, take a breath,” he said. “This is all just a misunderstanding. Everyone lower their weapons and let’s talk about this.”

  “Kid,” Franklin said, taking a step toward Private Tisden. “When you pull your hand out of that bag, it better be empty, and you better do it slowly.” Franklin lifted his weapon higher. “Slowly, I said.” Private Tisden did as ordered. When his hand was free, Franklin walked over, took the bag, and pulled a pistol from it.

  “What did you mean you know why?” Paris asked Greg, ignoring everything else around her.

  “Mr. Fulton, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop right now,” the major said.

  “The major threatened your lives if she didn’t come with us,” he said.

  “He said if I didn’t go with them, his commander would come in here and kill everyone to get me,” Gunilla finished, no longer constrained to the secret.

  “Is this true major?” Danica asked, already knowing it was.

  “It is,” he said. “My commander and his men will be here soon.”

  “You’re lying,” Ruiz said.

  “No, that part is true,” Greg said. “Or at least it will be. The commander detailed a few men to watch the town. By now, they’ve radioed the commander to let them know there’s a problem. He’ll muster up the men and be on his way within the hour.”

  “Look,” the major said. “This doesn’t have to end in violence. Let me take Gunilla, and we’ll leave. Otherwise, the commander will march in here and burn the place to the ground and take her, anyway. Is all that bloodshed worth one woman?”

  “I should cut your throat,” Ruiz said, pulling his knife.

  “Back off,” Franklin said, reaching out and restraining him. “Now’s not the time.”

  “All right, all of you put your hands up,” Danica said, coming to a decision.

  “You’re making a mistake,” the major said, looking disappointed as he put his hands in the air.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, you’ll need to hurry,” Greg said. Danica walked up to Greg and pushed him toward the major.

  “Hey,” Greg started.

  “Shut the fuck up and put your hands in the air,” Danica snapped. Greg looked like he wanted to say something but decided against it. Danica turned to Ruiz. “Get everyone together. Tell them it’s an emergency and to meet in front of the house in ten minutes.”

  “Seems you threw your lot in with the wrong people,” the major said to Greg. “Metaphorically they stabbed you in the back. I intend to be more literal.” They ushered the major and his soldiers into Danica’s house.

  “Okay, Greg,” Danica said when they were inside. “You can put your arms down.”

  “I don’t understand,” Greg said.

  “I’m sorry, but I have a plan, and I didn’t have time to explain,” Danica said. She opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a roll of duct tape. “Hold out your arms.” She taped Greg’s wrists and then cut them free. “Leave the tape on. I want it to look like you escaped. Do you know where the major’s sentries are?”

  “No, but it won’t take long for me to find them.”

  “Go upstairs to the master bedroom,” Danica said. “Right outside the window is a tree. Use it to climb down to the ground.” She handed him a taser and a knife. “Find the guard and use one or the other.”

  “I’d rather have a gun.”

  “I don’t trust you enough for a gun.”

  “That’s silly. The guards have guns. Once I put them down, I can use theirs.”

  “Fine,” she said, realizing he was right. Franklin handed him Tisden’s weapon. “But don’t shot them unless you have to.”

  “We should kill them,” Paris said, pointing her weapon at the major and his men.

  “Hey,” the major said. “You can’t kill unarmed prisoners. It’s again
st all the laws of war.”

  “We’re at war now?” Paris said.

  “We’ve been at war since the first Africans set foot on American soil,” he said.

  “Save me the bullshit,” Danica said. “Or I’m likely to let Paris kill you just for being stupid.” She turned to Paris. “We’re not going to kill anyone. Killing in cold blood is against the law and makes us no better than them. Civilization may be dead, but I intend to uphold the law: my town, my rules. If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave. If you want to do something, tie them up. I need to address everybody and let them know what’s going on.”

  **********

  As Greg Fulton headed upstairs, he looked back down to see Paris taping Major Barrette’s hands together. What the hell was he doing? He still couldn’t believe that he had stepped forward and ratted out the major. Where had that come from? Now he was an outcast. Actually, he was more than an outcast: he was fucked.

  Crawling out the window and down the tree, he could hear Danica in the front yard addressing the residents. There seemed to be a quick moment of panic, but she calmed them down. She may be young, but she was a natural leader. He didn’t doubt that even without the uniform, she would be a commanding presence. As she told them they needed to leave, or hide until these men were gone, he passed out of earshot. Running behind the building, he ran toward the northern exit. There were two ways into the neighborhood, at least by car. A hundred different ways if they walked, but vehicles were the best option, and those would be where the guards were.

  “Fulton,” someone said from the shadows. “Over here.” As he crouched down and looked for the owner, a sentry emerged from a group of bushes near the back of a house. Greg nearly shit himself when he realized it was Sergeant Jeffery Stewart. Sergeant Stewart was army special forces, at least until the plague hit and he deserted. He was also a psychopath with a mean streak. He had watched Stewart lynch three people. When he asked why he didn’t just shoot them, he replied that lynching was more fun.

  “You shoot them; it’s over,” he said. “You hang ‘em, and you get to watch them beg for their lives, then squirm and jerk about a bit when you stretch the rope tight.” Someone told him Sergeant Stewart once hung a man until he almost stopped twitching, then dropped him and started again.

  “It was like watching a cat play with a mouse,” the man said of Stewart. “He might have done it all day if the major hadn’t put a stop to it by shooting the prisoner.”

  “Sergeant Stewart,” he said. “You alone?”

  “Private Boston is covering the other end of the town,” the sergeant said. “What’s going on?”

  “Just a little misunderstanding. You report in.”

  “I did. The colonel is mounting up.”

  “Let me have your radio.”

  The sergeant didn’t hesitate.

  “Colonel Dorsey this is Fulton,” he said into the radio.

  “Greg? What’s going on?” the colonel asked. “Sergeant Stewart said they took you prisoner.”

  “Just a misunderstanding, sir. A woman accused Private Tisden of raping her.”

  “Any truth to it?”

  “I don’t know, sir. The girl seems traumatized enough and considering what the doctor and her bodyguard went through, they were pretty pissed.”

  “Why’d they take everybody?”

  “Danica figured it was best to take them all to her house and sort it out. Keep a riot from breaking out.”

  “I’m told a crowd had gathered in front of the trooper’s house,” the colonel said.

  “Yes, sir. She’s talking to them assuring them she’ll handle things.”

  “Can we salvage the situation, or do I need to come in?”

  “The major believes he can salvage the situation. He said to tell you if Tisden was guilty he would shoot the bastard himself.”

  “All right, I’m standing down, but I’ll send two extra men to help out.”

  “That’s probably prudent sir.”

  “Tell Sergeant Stewart to continue monitoring the situation and let us know if anything unusual happens.”

  “I will sir,” Greg said and then handed the radio back. “When are you due to report in next?”

  Sergeant Stewart looked at his watch and said, “In about an hour.” It was all the sergeant said before Greg tasered him into unconsciousness. Greg pulled out a couple sleeping pills from his breast pocket and shoved them down the sergeant’s throat. Kicking in the back door of the nearest house, Greg dragged the sergeant inside a closet, tasered him again just because he could and then put a chair under the doorknob. Ten minutes later, he was doing the same with Private Boston.

  “We need to speed things along,” Greg said when he returned.

  “What timeframe are we looking at? Danica asked.

  “You have an hour before the sentries fail to report in,” Greg said. Another ten minutes before someone tells the colonel that something’s wrong, and another ten minutes after that before he does something about it. Say about ninety minutes before they roll into the neighborhood.”

  “Any idea what to do about them,” Danica said, pointing to the major and his men.

  “I have a suggestion,” Paris said.

  “Something a little less medieval,” Danica said.

  “I might have an idea,” Greg said, pulling out the sleeping pills.

  CHAPTER 41

  Colonel Dorsey sat in the Humvee acquired from Fort Benning, the army base nearest Atlanta, which lay abandoned and ripe for plundering. It was where they pilfered all their military equipment: from weapons to uniforms. Because Fort Benning was home to several armored and mechanized infantry divisions, they also had access to tanks, not that anyone knew how to operate one. However, it would only be a matter of time.

  Sitting in the passenger seat with one leg dangling from the hatch, he puffed on a cigar while his men searched the neighborhood. Inspecting his cigar, he had a hard time understanding why anyone liked the damn things. Still, given his rank, it seemed appropriate and more commanding. He puffed away and hoped, like beer, it would eventually become an acquired taste. For the thirtieth time, Major Barrette circled the vehicle drinking sugar-laced coffee trying to shake off the effects of some drug.

  “Major, would you stop pacing?” the colonel said, after blowing out a stream of smoke. “It won’t work. It’s like a hangover. There’s no cure but time.”

  “Yes sir,” the major said but continued to circle. “I’m sorry, sir. I think I’m circling more because I’m mad more than anything else.”

  “I’d say you have ample reason to be. I promise you, when we find them, I’ll let you personally string up Mr. Fulton.

  “Thank you, sir. That helps.”

  When the sentries had failed to report, Colonel Dorsey figured events had taken a turn for the worse. Mounting up, he’d charged straight into the heart of the community, only to find the place deserted. He sent men to scout around, but so far, they’d discovered no trace. While the scouts searched, the rest of his men tore apart the community, looking for anyone that could give them a clue which way the group headed. Colorado was a sure bet, but which route? If only a helicopter unit were nearby.

  They told Major Barrette they would head over the mountain, but that was probably a ruse. Or, was it the truth disguised as a ruse? It was the poison cup scenario. Was the poison in the cup in front of you or the cup in front of your opponent?

  “Sir, we’re still not finding anyone,” a soldier said coming up to the vehicle and saluting.

  “Fuck,” the colonel said, throwing the cigar to the ground and crushing it under his foot as if trying to take out his anger on the tobacco. “I know someone’s here. I can feel it. Probably squirreled away in some hidey-hole. Oh well, if that’s the way they want to play it, fine. Burn the place to the ground.”

  “What?” Major Barrett said nearly sobering up. “Sir, this is one of the few places we’ve found that has functioning hot water, toilets, and electricity.”<
br />
  “We have all of that in Atlanta,” the colonel said with an air of haughtiness.

  “We’re not in Atlanta. This could serve as a forward base for later patrols. It’s an oasis in the desert. It would be a crime to destroy it.”

  “It could also serve as a place for the enemy to gather strength,” the colonel said.

  “What enemy?” the major countered.

  “Miss Justice, for starters. They’ll probably return as soon as we leave. Only the next time we return, they’ll be stronger and ready for us. Best to drive the rats out now.”

  “Sir, I must protest,” the major said, the drugs making him feel bold. “There is no reason to burn this place other than your selfish pride.”

  “Major Barrette—”

  “Colonel, look around you,” Major Barrette said, sweeping his arm wide. “What do you see? The entire world has gone to shit, but in this tiny little place, chaos is held at bay. It’s not much, but isn’t this what we’re trying to save?”

  “Private, you have your orders,” Colonel Dorsey said, not listening to the major. “Tell the men to burn it all down.”

  “Yes sir,” the soldier said, saluting.

  “Major Barrette, I’ll overlook your indiscretion because you’re under the effect of drugs,” the colonel said as soon as the private left. “However, drugs or not, you ever speak to me like that again in front of a subordinate, and I’ll have you whipped, then hung. Do we understand each other?”

  Major Barrette’s hand twitched at his side. For a moment, he considered pulling his sidearm and blowing Colonel Jackass’ brains all over the inside of the Humvee. If the private wasn’t still close, he might have finally followed through with his frequent and favorite fantasy and blame it on a sniper. A few would be suspicious but wouldn’t care. They might thank him if they found out. Colonel Dorsey was one of the worst commanders he’d served under. He wasn’t even a colonel. He was a former convenience store clerk with connections to the ‘good ol’ boys’ running the show. He had no leadership skills whatsoever. He was clever, at times, but most of the time, he made one bad decision after another.