“Okay.” Pinder nodded with his head down. He seemed unsure of how to handle any more questions about Brett.
“So,” Maggie changed the subject. She felt desperate to get away from reality. The vision of Brett didn’t fade. It stopped being a subject between the two of them. “Is it about time for our talk?”
“Talk?” Pinder seemed caught off guard for a second. Good.
“You told me when all this was over we’d talk and it would all make sense.” She decided to mimic his bowed head. Maggie’s ears were perked up to pick up any noise of approaching footsteps.
“Well,” Pinder seemed to choose his words carefully. It’s what you do when you’re caught off guard and it’s about to get personal. “Okay, then.”
“The floor is yours Mr. Pinder.” She turned to make eye contact but Pinder kept his eyes narrowed to the ground. A bitter flash memory of Brenda laughing at some forgotten joke between them. It felt faded with time. Maggie pushed on, “tell me how all of this makes sense.”
“Maggie,” His voice started as a whisper. As if he was afraid of being overheard. “You are a woman.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
“Yes,” Pinder smiled thinly. The train slowly loomed before them now. It felt like they were suddenly walking toward a courthouse.“Truth is the army isn’t sure what to do with you.”
“Really?” She crossed her arms and continued to listen. Once again, she performed a careful 360 of the landscape. She looked up and noticed Pinder had taken the moment to collect his thoughts. His bespectacled eyes were more focused now. “Please continue,” her tone was edgy polite.
“Maggie, it’s still a man’s army.” Pinder explained slowly. “It’s not that you aren’t capable. It is just the old boys still make the decisions.”
‘Tell me about it.’ Maggie slowly nodded and felt numb. It’s always gonna be like this. ”I can’t explain this kind of violation to a man. But fuck, should I really have to?’
“Exactly, you are an outsider.” Pinder seemed heartened by her opening up. “I understand that feeling. That’s why we’ve really been on the same side.”
“How do you understand my situation?” Maggie was intrigued enough to ask a pointed question. “How could you possibly understand?”
“I’m gay, Maggie.”
“Oh,” Boom. It was a silent thunderclap that landed between them. “You’re an outsider, too.” Damn, he was right. It all just made sense.
“You could say that.” His mouth was a cryptic smile but the eyes were watching her every move. How will you react? Maggie wondered how many times Pinder had had this conversation. How many times had it backfired? She saw Pinder in her imagination walking away from family, friendships and even jobs because of one trusting moment gone awry. Damn, that must be lonely.
“So,” The gravel under their feet provided a steady rhythm to the conversation. Keep it honest, she decided. “Is that why you need to have dirt on everyone you work with?”
“That is why I need to have dirt on everyone I work with.” He nodded his head with a calculating smile. “There is more than one way to win a battle, Maggie.”
“Agreed.” Maggie gave him a slow smile as a reward. The sunlight hurt her eyes but she wanted to make eye contact and let him know he was okay. He finally looked up and paused before an almost embarrassed smile broke out on his face. Maggie wondered how it must be to constantly live every minute awaiting punitive judgment. How would it feel to just have one minute of acceptance? It might happen one day, Mr. Pinder. Then again, it might not.
“I guess I have a report to fill out.” He seemed more relaxed as he paused before the metal steps into the train. “Anything you want me to say?”
“We definitely need commendations for Brenda Vorhees, Private Chalmers and Mr. Esterhaus.” Maggie wished there was more, much more they could do. Fuck, Vorhees and Chalmers had volunteered. Maggie took a deep breath while Pinder let her climb the stairs first. “One more thing, I need a favor.”
“You got it.” Pinder spoke as he began to climb the stairs. “Is it about Symons?”
“Yes,” She reached the top of the stairs, turned slowly and paused to screw up her courage. “Can you make Sergeant Symons MIA and not a deserter?”
“I was already planning to do that.” Pinder was standing beside her now. “I want to put in a commendation for you as well.”
Brenda was suddenly in front of Maggie showing her baby clothes, I’d love children one day, she confided. Esterhaus on the phone with his kids. A proud father of two little girls who would give anything to hold them in his arms. They were miles away as he wiped a tear away and didn’t let it show in his voice. Chalmers, so young and such a man at the same time. Brett Symons, ………..
“I just want to forget about this day.” Maggie felt a mist begin to cloud her vision. She turned away toward the passenger car on her left. “I think I need to visit the ladies room.”
“We’ll talk later about what we’re going do about Murphy.” Pinder thought he was being reassuring but as Maggie walked away her hand shot up to shoulder length as if to terminate the conversation.
“I ….don’t think he’s gonna to be a problem anymore.” Maggie already regretted what she had said. Damnit, she trusted Pinder. But, just by speaking out he was involved. Maggie lowered her head and opened the door to the bathroom. It snapped shut with finality, ending the conversation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Pinder took a few seconds to digest the moments and curiosities between them as he watched the door. He then turned slowly and sighed. He tried to find a flicker of the emotions that had erupted at the first sight of Maggie on the tracks. As he made his way to the engine compartment Pinder contemplated the personality of Lieutenant Hunter. An outsider, just like me.
“Can we get under way, Joel?” Pinder announced himself by asking a question.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Joel was watching the progress of the things on Racine. They had started to try and claw their way up the embankment. Pinder felt a slow chill as they made their way to the top after countless attempts. They never quit do they? Pinder watched a middle aged woman tumble half way down embankment and roll onto the street. Her patterned dress flew above her head to reveal legs that were stocky and caked with dried blood.
As she slowly stood up the engine let out a squeal of steel meeting steel . A gentle lurch signaled they were under way. The woman stared down the behemoth and bared her teeth in a hungry challenge. Pinder’s attention moved to her left by what could not have been more than a few feet. It was simmering in the rising sun. The black Limousine held little interest for most of the specters that seemed transfixed by the train. One boy of twelve without a nose or cheekbone dabbed his finger on the windshield of the huge vehicle and licked something off his fingers.
Blood…..
Blood smeared like barn red mud on the windshield with almost perfect circular streaks from the wipers. The crimson river cascaded down the hood like a stream feeding into a larger body of water. Spatters on the roof and grill completed the picture. The twelve year old boy returned to the windshield and ran his hands through a patch of dark red. As he licked away greedily, others followed his lead.
“I ….don’t think he’s gonna be a problem anymore.” It was Maggie’s voice in Pinder’s head. This time her words held far more meaning and gravity.
“I see.” He nodded with a whisper and turned his attention to the broken fuel gauge. It was pinned on full and hadn’t moved in hours. Please, just a bit more. He thought of prayer and wondered what he could barter with the almighty for salvation.
You can’t cry, they’ll hear you. You can’t scream, they’ll hear you. You can’t do anything. Maggie fumbled with her belt as she stood up and caught her reflection in the mirror. She was pale as hell with wild eyes and a tired, glazed look. I need sleep but I can’t fucking sleep. It felt like a nursery rhyme in her head. I need to scream but I can’t fucking scream.
I need……..
I need……..
I need…….
I need him back. I need them all back. Her mouth wavered as Maggie stepped closer to the mirror to examine what was left of her insides. Please, let them all come back. Let it be a dream, let it be a mistake, let it be something other than it is. Two tears raced down her cheeks, one from each eye that quickly was dripping off her chin, landing soundlessly on the metal floor. He really loved you and you just let it go. You acted like it was nothing.
It wasn’t like that…. Mock defense for a battle that was already lost.
Do you love him, Maggie? She felt for the emotions that Brett made her feel and found darkness, a void. His face was before her and fading like a picture over time. First, the surroundings whitened a paler shade every few seconds Then, his rugged shoulders were invisible. The dimple on his chin that Maggie found so sexy was there for now. His fingers seemed grayish to her memory. She remembered there was the constant tumble of their hands when they were close. Each finger searching for the right place of thrill for the both of them. Brett slipping his arms around her and kissing her lightly on the space between her neck and shoulder. Her heart flew skywards at just his touch. Yes, right there. Sleeping beside him and losing herself in his scent.
He’s gone now.
Maggie observed carefully a slow change in her face. She felt ugly, lost, confused and dirty. Did you use him? Did it hurt when you said good bye? She leaned closer to the glass to study herself further. He hung around you like the good man he was.
“Hey, I always said I got your back.” She heard him say.
Are you sure he left because he thought you were dead? Maggie watched her eyes slowly start to widen. Maybe he was just sick of your shit. No, it wasn’t like that, the defensive side of her was still feebly fighting back. It just….It just wasn’t right anymore. Right for who, Maggie? It was about career. She felt something start to turn inside her like a knife. Face it, we can put a uniform and some stripes on you, but you’re still the same little bitch you always were.
“NO!” There was a blur from below her right shoulder. Maggie’s fist had a mind all its own. The shattering mirror was deafening.
*
The hotel room seemed covered in a thick blanket of shock. The mirror in the bathroom had a sudden spider web of shattered glass where her punch had repeated history. Maggie stared at the perfectly circular point of contact, the way it caved in at the sides and cratered the wall behind it. There was a knock at the door that was a flurry of nervous taps.
“Uh…..ma’am?” A nervous female voice of a middle aged woman followed the flurry. More taps on the wood. “Are you there?”
“Just a second.” Maggie finally answered to silence the sound. Shit, she saw blood start to drip into the sink. Maggie wrapped a pristine white face cloth around her fingers and watched the fibers change color to wine red. “I’ll be right there.”
The door opened to reveal a short woman with graying hair and business perfect grey slacks and short sleeved, white shirt. Her eyes scanned the room for a minute with the nervousness of a cat. They finally returned to Maggie who tried to act nonchalant as the face cloth gave her away with crimson stains.
“Yes?” Maggie drew a blank at her face.
“I heard a crash,” The women’s eyes scanned the room nervously again. “Is everything alright?”
“Fine,” Maggie tried to act normal. Sorry, I don’t know what that is anymore. “Can I help you?”
“I have your uniform.” She held up a few coat hangers in a grey travel bag. “We measured you yesterday.”
“Oh,” it hit Maggie like a forgotten anniversary. She opened the door and allowed the woman to pass. “Please come in.”
“Oh, my.” Just like you to find the bathroom as soon as you’re in the door. Maggie watched the woman slowly turn around in a look of faux dramatis.
“I was trying to kill a spider.” Maggie avoided eye contact and tried to find something else to talk about and came up blank.
“Nasty things, spiders.” She laid the uniform on the bed, opening the grey leather carrying bag before turning back toward Maggie. Her small hands reached out and touched the cloth around Maggie’s hand. “I’ve taken first aid.”
“I’m fine, really.” Maggie tried to politely protest but it was clear some people don’t take no for an answer. The woman carefully turned Maggie’s hand right to left and then nodded her head.
“Nothing to worry about here,” It was her best bed side manner. She then paused and exclaimed: “Oh my, that will need a few stitches.” The incision of the silver star was like a handwritten dash in black blood on her palm. The woman paused for a moment and raised her eyes in question.
“Spiders,” Maggie offered in a monotone. “Nasty things.”
The uniform was a new one. The green camouflage was a few shades brighter. In light of Maggie’s memories of Chicago the Canadian Flag on the shoulder seemed almost alien, definitely foreign. Still, it held a sense of beginning, a new life. Try not to mess this one up, okay? She watched the careful etchings of dye on fabric that made up the camouflage. It all seemed so archaic, like 18th century soldiers lined up in perfect rows for battle. They found us through smell now. This was so yesterday’s war. She touched the bars and traced the name above the right pocket. HUNTER, the name was in bold black letters.
“The dress uniform should be ready in a few weeks.” The woman offered. “Would you mind trying it on?”
“Sure.” Maggie picked up the battledress shirt first while her mind was miles away. As soon as the train pulled in to a safe destination her first job was to try and find Desjardin and Benjamin. The EVAC hospital they had been evacuated to had been over run. They were still picking up the pieces of who had gone where. The private she spoke to sounded overwhelmed.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He apologized. “It’s a general pull back everywhere.”
Her second call had been to find Esterhaus’ ex-wife and kids. She had taken the children to be with her family in Miami. Again, that word reared up and blocked her path. Miami had been over run. Again apologies from the Red Cross but there were literally a half million cases of “missing, presumed dead” to be looked into. Maggie had passed billboards that had grown up over night on street corners and the few open shops in Batavia, North Aurora, Geneva and Montgomery. Their contents fluttered like dying leaves in the wind.
MISSING:
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?......
TOM YASTERCHUK : WE LOVE YOU AND ARE STAYING AT THE BATAVIA SHELTER.
PLEASE HELP US LOCATE………
PLEASE HELP ME FIND MY WIFE…….
OUR LOVING CHILDREN PLEASE HELP!!!!!!
Maggie helped establish a defensive line in these small communities that seemed to be holding after a vicious fire fight of two weeks. It was slow at first. A few houses in a neighborhood secured and fortified with refugees in the basement. The next day, venture out and secure a few more. The lessons of Chicago started to bear fruit.
“Let them come to you.” Maggie‘s defensive stance was not popular among the officers. But, it proved the most effective. In two weeks they had established a line of defense. Her reward arrived two days later. Military police pulled into town and asked few questions. In front of a shocked group of civilians and fellow soldiers she was arrested.
“Whoa!” Her CO’s voice rose from a gathering crowd as they put chains on her feet. “What the hell?”
“Are you afraid of me or something?” She quipped to an MP who declined a reply.
A week into the silence of confinement, guards recognized her and information started to flow. It was always in a whispered word here and there. Maybe even a question. It was all processed slowly and carefully. A picture formed.
“Your sister is okay. She hooked up with the 3rd Infantry and had a front row seat to report on the counter attack that re-took Congress.” The guard lingered for a second while picking up a stray plastic cup that fallen off t
he tray shoved under the door. “The White House is still surrounded.”
Washington would hold, barely. Maggie let her thoughts rest in gratitude for Molly’s safety and the news from friendly’s. A few months later Molly tweeted: “If it wasn’t Washington. We would have cut out weeks ago.”
“Got your name in the paper, ma’am.” A whisper at breakfast time. “Tribune ran a story on you. Sorry, can’t get it to you. They’re watching us. “Maggie placed her fist on the floor and gave a thumbs up sign as the tray passed through. Thanks.
“Have you had any contact with a Captain Pinder or a reporter named Nicholas Bestoni?” A square headed lawyer asked pointedly several days later.
“I’ve been in solitary.” Maggie gave a bland reply. Pinder must have dropped his report on Murphy somewhere. That was a lot of shit hitting the fan at once. It struck Maggie as she looked at the man trying desperately to be a bulldog. The world is ending all around us and here we sit pretending to deal out justice. She spared a glance at the county jail cell that had been renovated into solitary and smiled.
The Drumhead Page 29
