by Mackey, Jay
“Oh, God, Brady!” She’s crying. Runs to me. “Brady. They took Wilson. And Rob is hiding.”
21
59 days until the Pulse Anniversary
“Wait. Wilson what?”
Rachel is frantic. I’ve never seen her like this.
She reaches me. Grabs at my shirt. “He’s been taken. Now he’s gone, and Rob is . . .” She’s almost incoherent.
Jake walks up behind her. I look at him for clarification.
“She got here a few minutes ago, looking for you,” says Jake.
“You have to help,” says Rachel into my chest.
Jake takes her arm and peels her off of me. “Come on. Let’s go sit down,” he says, leading her back to his table.
We all sit, and I ask, “What’s happened?”
Rachel swallows and says, a little more coherently this time, “Wilson was grabbed by some men. Army . . .”
“Militia?” asks Jake.
“I guess. I don’t know. And they almost got Rob, too.”
“When did this happen?” I ask.
“Last night.” Her eyes are red and swollen. “They were walking home, coming from the bicycle shop. Some men came zooming up in one of those army trucks, those hummers or whatever they are . . .”
“Yeah,” says Jake. “There are a couple of those around town.”
“So these men jumped out, grabbed Wilson and threw him in the truck. They were going to take Rob too, but he got away.”
“Jesus,” I say.
“It’s just like he said was going to happen,” Rachel is crying again. “Wilson said they were going after him. And now they’ve got him. You’ve got to do something, Brady.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You know those guys. The one that’s head of the militia. And the governor. You need to get them to let Wilson go. And leave Rob alone. They weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“I don’t know, Rachel. Those guys are more likely to arrest me than to help me.”
“You have to. There’s nobody else who can do anything. Rob said to get you.”
Oh, man. Even Rob thinks I could help. I look at Jake for guidance, and he says, “I told you your contacts would come in handy.” He shakes his head like he figures it will be a wasted effort.
“I’ll try,” I say. “I don’t think it will do any good, but I’ll talk to them.”
Rachel grabs my arm. “Thank you. Thank you. You’re our only hope.”
“Where is Rob now?” I ask.
“He’s hiding. He came home in the middle of the night and told Mom and me what happened, and said to get you. Then he took some clothes and things and went somewhere they wouldn’t find him.”
“Do you know where he is?”
She nods. “But I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She looks at Jake.
He says, “That’s good. I don’t want to know. Brady, why don’t you go see what you can find out from Williams and Wayne. I’ll check in with a couple of my guys, and then we’ll meet over at Flip’s apartment.”
I tell him okay, and then we send Rachel home and tell her to sit tight, and I’ll see her tonight.
As I ride to downtown Lafayette I get progressively madder. Rachel was right. This is exactly what Wilson said would happen. They were going to make it against the law to be gay, and he and Rob were going to get arrested, or thrown in jail, or worse. Jesus, I wonder what they’ve done to him.
I go looking for Colonel Williams at the office where I’d had to report in, but there’s a new person in his old outer office, this one female, middle-age, not attractive. I tell her I’m here to see Colonel Williams. When she asks what it regards, I tell her I’m reporting in. That I do this every week or so. I know it’s a lie, but figure this woman doesn’t know that. She nods and disappears through the door behind her, leaving me alone. I wait for what seems like a long time before she reappears and says, “The colonel says he’s tied up.” I know she’s trying to intimidate me. It’s working.
“But I need to see Colonel Williams. It’s about some things that just happened. Last night.”
“If it’s a police matter, or, ah, a militia matter,” she says, “you should go across the street and talk to a militiaman. The colonel is very busy.”
This woman is a bitch. I try again. “Look, I know Colonel Williams . . .”
“So do I.”
A real bitch. “Did you give Colonel Williams my name?”
She cocks her head. She never asked for my name.
“Tell him Brady Gruen needs to talk to him.” I give her a hard stare to try to let her know she’s not scaring me away. She doesn’t look like she cares. But after what seems like a very long time to be in a staring contest, she goes back through the door to Williams’ office.
My hopes are running low when she comes out and says, “Go on in.”
I scamper through the door, afraid she’ll change her mind. Colonel Williams is seated at his desk. He says, “Hey, Brady. What brings you by? Something important?”
I tell him that a friend has been arrested, that there’s been a mistake and I need to fix it.
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I give him my story, that a friend—I don’t mention Wilson’s name—has been arrested. He asks me what the arrest was for. At first I say I don’t know, but he’s shaking his head like, this isn’t my problem, so I blurt out, “It’s probably something to do with being gay. Some people have accused him of that.”
He nods now. “Yeah. Okay. So he’s gay?”
“I don’t know for sure. I guess.” Jeez. This feels like I’m turning somebody in, not getting somebody out.
He says, “I know there were some actions planned. But those are under the purview of local militia, so I don’t necessarily know details and timing.”
“Actions?”
“Yeah. This is a big thing for Pounds. Or for somebody in his organization. These religious nuts.” He sits in his chair, staring off into the distance. Then he says, “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Wilson Langstroth.”
He calls out, “Melissa.”
The woman from his outer office sticks her head in the door and says, “Yes?”
“Would you run across the street and see if they picked up a Wilson Langstroth last night. And, if so, what is the charge, and where is he now?”
After Melissa leaves, Williams turns back to me. He looks genuinely disturbed. This is definitely not the reception I expected, given that he’s head of the militia.
He says, “You know, the only things I care about are, can I trust you and are you willing to fight. That’s what’s important. All this shit about what god you worship and what you do with your dick, that’s meaningless when all the chips are on the table.”
“If you’re so against Pounds and all his new laws—this one and the thing about abortion . . .”
“Oh, don’t get me started on that. It’s these same religious freaks.”
“But why are you with Pounds, then, if you don’t believe anything that he does?”
He nods a couple times and chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it sounds that way, doesn’t it? But no, there are many things he does that are right. And one big one that I’m not going to tell you about. But he saved a lot of people. Some things he did, decisions he made, back before and just after the pulse. Just watch and see what happens in those so-called Great States of America over the next year or two. We have to put up with some shit now, but it’s nothing like the shit going on down there. Trust me on this.”
“Why? What’s going on down there? You mean them closing their borders and attacking us?”
“Old news.”
“What? And what did Pounds do? I didn’t see him do anything.”
“You didn’t know what was happening anywhere except what you could personally witness back then, remember? But one of the advantages of being in Germany when the pulse hit was that I got to see it all from another side, a side
where we could actually talk to each other, where we still had technology that worked. There are people who know a lot more about what really went down than anybody here.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
He shakes his head. I want to press him, but then he says, “Don’t ask. I’m not saying I’m one of those people, but if I was, I wouldn’t talk about it.”
“Then why tell me any of this?”
“Sometimes, something happens and you just have to let your frustrations out, know what I mean? I guess this is one of those times. And I’m not real worried about you doing something that’s going to come back and bite me on the ass.”
Melissa comes back in.
“What have you got?” asks Williams.
“Wilson Langstroth was picked up last night in a militia action. Apparently, he was seen with another male performing sexual acts in public. The second male managed to elude arrest. Mr. Langstroth is currently in the Lafayette City Jail, awaiting transportation to the Christian Re-education Camp near the Illinois border.”
“Thanks, Melissa,” he says, dismissing her.
Once she’s gone, he says, “That’s about what I figured. He’ll be sent to one of these re-education camps so he can learn not to be gay.” He makes a face, so I’m pretty sure where he stands on re-education for gays. “It’s one of Pounds’ things. Not one of his better things. But anyway, these camps are new, so I don’t know a whole lot about them. At least this one is pretty close.”
“What did they say he was doing?” I ask.
“Public sex. What, was he at some outdoor orgy or something?”
“No. Fuck no. He’d never do anything like that. He was walking home from work.”
“Well, some of those boys in the militia might have got carried away. It’s surprising how many homophobes there are. How do you know Wilson?”
“He runs a bicycle shop. And with my delivery service, bikes are really important. He keeps me on the road.”
“What about the other kid, the one that got away? You know him too?”
I’m not going to give up Rob. He’s in the militia, so if they know he’s gay, he’s in trouble. “No. I don’t know who that was.”
He nods, but the look he gives me makes me feel like he knows I’ve lied. He’s probably thinking that I’m not so trustworthy after all. I decide to change the subject. “Wilson said that the new laws basically made it against the law to be gay.”
“Sounds like he has some smarts.”
“Can’t you get him released?”
“No. Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got to pick your battles. This may be one you want to fight. Good luck with that. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Sorry.”
22
59 days until the Pulse Anniversary
Jake is incredulous when I tell him about my talk with Williams. Not so much about what I learned about Wilson, but the stuff about Pounds, and how Williams disagrees with so much of what’s happening. He, too, wonders what Pounds did to earn Williams’ support, and what’s really going on down in the GSA.
We’re meeting in Flip’s apartment, and Rick is here too. He and Flip have some knowledge of the re-education camps. Apparently, there are several. They know of one up in Michigan, and another in Northern Illinois.
‘From what I hear, this one is brand new. We’re lucky, because it’s only maybe fifty miles or so from here,” says Rick.
“What do they do at these things?” I ask. “You know re-education is a joke, right?”
“Sure, and I’m guessing these things are more concentration camp than summer camp,” says Flip. I swear he’s been wearing the same T-shirt and jeans every time I’ve seen him.
“Right, but the ironic thing is that this one is in a former summer camp,” says Rick. I don’t know, but he seems a little older now than the first time we met.
“What can we do?” I ask. “How do we get him released?”
“We don’t,” says Flip. “The only way to get him out is to help him escape.”
“But,” I say, thinking about Wilson and Rob forever being fugitives, “isn’t there some legal thing we can do?”
Flip smirks. “You must be mistaking the Republic of North America for somewhere else. Like maybe the good old US of A before the pulse. When we had an actual legal system. Now, as far as I know, there’s no due process, no presumption of innocence, and even trials are rare, and certainly not for things like gayness.”
“Gayness?” says Jake. “Come on Flip, let’s take this seriously.”
“I’m taking this seriously. It’s serious as shit,” Flip says, pacing around the little living room. “We’ve heard of this kind of thing, but it’s the first time around here.”
Jake asks me, “Do you know when Wilson’s to be transported to the camp?”
“No. I don’t think Williams knew, and he made it pretty clear he was done talking to me,” I say, frustrated that I don’t have that information.
“If we were going to do it, maybe we could set a watch on the jail, wait for them to load the prisoners, and then ambush them,” says Rick.
“No. We can’t do it near the jail,” says Flip. “That place is crawling with militia, even at night. And if they have some kind of motorized transportation, we’d never be able to intercept them. They’d be too fast.”
“We’ve got the old pickup, and maybe that Toyota. I think we’ve got enough fuel for them both,” says Rick.
Flip nixes that. “No. Don’t want them sitting around town, and besides, neither of them will be too good at chasing down, or sneaking up on, any vehicle they’re likely to have.”
I say, “If we know where the camp is, couldn’t we just wait on the road for them to come by and ambush them there?”
Flip looks at me, squints and says, “Umm. So, how do we know what route they’ll take? How do we know what vehicle your friend is in? If they don’t move them for a week, do we camp out near the road and wait, keeping watch the whole time?”
“Okay, so that’s not a good idea,” I say. I feel foolish. I don’t know how to do it. I just know we have to do something.
“No, this is a big operation,” says Flip. “We’ll need some time to get a plan, get organized, get the right people involved. Let me ask a question: If we do this, are we going to save Wilson, or are we going to save every person they have in that gay camp?”
That’s easy. “Everyone.”
Flip looks at Rick and then Jake, and they agree. “Everyone.”
“Good. Then we’ll do it at the camp.”
Jake says, “Wait. Are you sure we should do this? It’s going to be risky, and it’s definitely taking us in a new direction.”
Flip says, “Hey, this is just what I’ve been looking for. I know Shanna says that her petition is going to be a shot across the Pounds’ bow. Bullshit. He’ll shrug that off like a horse shrugs off flies. But this, if we can pull this off, raiding one of his camps, that’ll be a real shot across his fucking bow. He’ll pay attention to us then.”
Flip looks at Jake, who says, “Let’s do it.”
Flip gives everybody an assignment. Rick is to get a couple guys and set up surveillance on the jail, see if more prisoners are brought in, if any are sent out, and if so, how. Jake is to ask around town to see if he can tell how people are feeling about the militia and the things they’re doing. Also, he’s to see if he can get an idea on how many men have been picked up, and if any women have, too. I’m to get my rifle and be ready.
Flip says, “You wondered why I asked you to practice shooting. Well, this is why.”
He wants me to come into town every other day, so they don’t have to go round me up if they’re going to launch.
I point out that the camp is probably closer to me out in Juniper than to them here in West Lafayette. He says that may play in my favor, but let’s assume everyone will leave from West Lafayette, either together in one or more of the vehicles they have, or separately
by other means.
I thank them for doing this. “I know none of you know Wilson, but he’s a good guy. And I haven’t even talked to Rob yet. He’s in hiding. Who knows what kind of danger he’s in?”
He tells me to touch base with Rob, that maybe he’s got some friends who’d like to join us. And if Rob’s in the militia, maybe he can get some inside info on what’s going on.
As we’re leaving, Jake says, “Well, you were reluctant to use your gun when we talked to you before, but I didn’t hear you complaining today.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I don’t know. I still don’t want to shoot anybody. But if I had to, if that’s what it takes to rescue Wilson and Rob, then maybe I can do it.”
“You’ve done it before when you had to.”
“I know. But I’m not happy about it. I wished it never happened.”
“Good.”
23
Pulse Anniversary, 8:23 p.m.
I’m trying to keep a straight face, not give up the fact that I’m not only scared, but shocked. I stare at the captain’s glasses, at the duct tape holding the broken temple together. This guy must be important. He’s a captain, and he’s here questioning me. Can’t he manage to get a new pair of glasses? Oh, I get it. Nobody’s making eyeglasses anymore. Not on this continent anyway. But shit, how does he know about me? Everything about me. My wallet’s gone, so he has my driver’s license. It’s got my Cincinnati address, but he knows I now live in Juniper. It’s not like he can check some computer records. Something is fucked up. He’s looking a little impatient, waiting for me to say something. I better say something. I hope I don’t sound like I’m crying, because that’s what I feel like doing.
“I, uh.” My voice cracks. Shit. “I came into the GSA across the Roebling Suspension Bridge this morning, legally, using my Ohio Driver’s license for my ID. I didn’t smuggle anything.”
Smack! He slams his hand on the table. “I don’t have time for bullshit!” He looks pissed, but I bet this is an act. Still, scared the shit out of me.
