by Kate Morris
Cory comes into the room a few minutes later and announces, “We’ve run them off. The town is secure again. Dave’s men are going after the stragglers. I don’t think they’ll get far.”
“It’s over,” Sam says with relief.
“For now,” Cory adds. She looks at him and nods.
Simon asks without taking his eyes off his work, “How’d they find the town? Anyone know yet? Were they looking for us?”
“Not sure,” Cory says. “They’ve been hitting small towns. It was probably only a matter of time until they found Pleasant View.”
“True,” Sam agrees and presses a wad of cotton gauze to the blood seeping from their patient’s side.
Mr. Killbuck says, “I was out scouting a few days ago with my son, and we saw a group of people near Nashville. We didn’t think anything of it at the time, just avoided them. Now I wonder if it was these men.”
“Can you tell me where? Draw it out on a map later, Mr. Killbuck?” Cory asks.
He nods with a pained expression and grits his teeth as Simon sews his wound closed.
“Are there more patients?” Simon asks Cory.
“A few were brought in,” he answers, to which Simon nods gravely. “I’m going back out. We’re doing perimeter checks and starting on wall repairs from the fight.”
“Good,” Simon agrees with a nod.
Cory leaves, and Sam finds some men to help carry Mr. Killbuck across the street to the medical house where he’ll need to stay until he is healed. Then she instructs the two women there to dose him with antibiotics to guard against infection from taking hold in his wound and a strong dose of painkiller that will also help him sleep. When she returns to the clinic, Reagan is conferring in the hallway with Simon.
“I’ve run an IV on her, but she’s unresponsive to stimuli,” Reagan is saying.
“Brain damage?” Simon asks.
“We won’t know until she wakes,” Reagan answers with a frown and rubs her lower back.
“Why don’t you go and lie down for a while?” Simon suggests. “Sam and I can handle the rest.”
“No, we’ve still got six patients to see. Let’s just get them through,” she says.
“Most of them are cuts and abrasions now, nothing as serious as gunshot wounds.”
“Right,” Reagan agrees as Paige emerges from the back room. “Ready, partner?”
“You got it,” Paige says with a faint smile.
Sam tells Simon, “I’ll get our next patient.”
He nods and writes something on the chart he’s holding.
They work until the sun comes up, finishing with their last patient, and the longer she’d worked alongside Simon the madder she became. These highwaymen need to be stopped. This can’t keep happening. She just wonders how many others they’ve attacked that had no medical care or anywhere to go afterward for help or food or shelter. They are a cruel and evil bunch of cowards and predators.
As she’s scrubbing up at the sink, Simon comes in beside her and lays the stack of files on the counter before lathering his hands with the antibacterial soap from the farm.
“I think Dakota will be just fine,” he says about their last patient, a teenager who lives in town with her aunt and only living relative. She’s a sweet girl.
“Mm-hmm,” Sam murmurs distractedly.
He talks about another patient and then how great it is now to have volunteers who sanitize the clinic for them. Sam tunes him out. Her mind is preoccupied.
“Sam?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“I said I don’t ever want you and Paige to run to the wall like that again. Let the soldiers and guards of the town handle that stuff. I…”
“Please, Simon,” she says with impatience. “I don’t need you telling me what to do…”
“I just worry about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you or my sister. The town has its own military force now.”
“So? I have experience. I know what I’m doing, Simon.”
He touches her arm as she dries her hands. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Like what? Kidnap? Rape? Torture? Those already happened. What could be worse?”
“Murder? Did you ever think of that?” he asks with less calm. Then he rakes a hand through his auburn hair. “I worry about you. I…I sometimes can’t sleep at night I worry so much.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“I know,” he sighs with defeat. “I’m sorry.”
She also sighs because she knows his worry comes from a place of genuine feeling and friendship.
“I don’t like you living over on Dave’s compound, but I respect your decision…”
Her mind loses focus on everything else. Simon has never voiced anything but negative objections to her living off the farm. This is a significant change, huge for him.
“Wait, you respect my decision?”
Simon pushes his glasses higher on his nose, a nervous habit, and says, “Yes, I respect your decision to live over there. I don’t agree with it, and I wish you’d change your mind, but I understand why you needed to leave.”
Again, another stunner. Sam even shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe she’s dreaming this conversation. She is exhausted, after all. She snaps out of it when he takes her hand in his. Sam jerks back.
“Sorry,” he apologizes and shoves his hands into his khakis. “I was just hoping to find time to talk. Now’s clearly not the time, but if you can, I’d like for you to pencil in some time for us to talk.”
“Simon, I gotta go. I have something I want to do,” she says quickly, not liking what she sees in his eyes.
“Oh, sure. Yes, of course,” he stammers and steps aside to let her pass. “Where are you going?”
“To question that prisoner,” she answers honestly.
“Ok, sure. Wait, what did you say?” he nearly yells and follows closely on her heels. “You’re going to do what?”
“I’ve thought about it all night while we were working,” she says. “It bothers me that this keeps happening. That kid in the jail is the key to finding these people.”
“The teenager?” he asks.
“Yes, of course,” she answers as she smashes her lab coat down into the laundry hamper. The volunteers usually make sure to scald and clean their soiled articles. “It’s not like I’m going down there to interview the adult men you guys took as prisoners. No thank you, bub.”
“Bub?” he asks and rolls his eyes.
Sam laughs at him as they leave the clinic. “I don’t need an escort, Simon. I’ll be fine walking that whole three blocks to the sheriff’s office.”
“It’s a bit further than that,” he corrects. Then he jams his hands into the pockets of his khaki’s again as if he needs to stop himself from touching her. He gives an unsure shrug. “I don’t mind walking with you. That is if you don’t mind me doing so.”
“Um, sure. Whatever,” she answers. Sam is thrown off kilter. She has no idea what is going through Simon’s mind or why he’s behaving so agreeably. He offers a pained grin.
“One of the mortar rounds hit the parking lot behind the old feed mill,” he comments and indicates the massive hole in the ground near their clinic.
“Could’ve hit Grandpa’s clinic,” she says with fear.
“Yes,” Simon agrees.
John jogs over to them and says, “Hey, kiddo. Doing ok?”
“Yes,” she answers.
“You look awfully determined. Where are you going? Running from the Professor?” he asks with a laugh. Simon does not laugh but furrows his dark brow at John.
“I’m going to talk to the kid you guys have in the jail. This is ridiculous. It has to stop.”
“You’re telling me you’re going to question a hostile prisoner?”
“Yes,” she answers decisively.
“Alright,” he says with pluck. “Is the boss done in the clinic?”
“I think so,” she says of Reagan. “You
should make her rest, John. She looks really tired lately.”
“I know,” he acknowledges with a sigh. “That’s where I was headed. Simon, you got this?”
“Yes, sir,” he says with a nod.
John kisses her cheek and jogs away.
“What did he mean?” she asks.
“He just wants me to keep an eye on you. He worries,” he tells her.
Sam groans, “I don’t need help, Simon. I’ve got my pistol. I’m not exactly going in there to hug the kid.”
“Just be careful. You’ve never done this before. Heck, I haven’t had a whole lot of experience in it, either. He won’t talk. They’ve all tried; John, Derek, even Dave,” he explains as they approach the sheriff’s office. “I mean, I haven’t tried, but heck, I can barely talk to most people as it is. I’m not exactly an expert interrogator of prisoners.”
“No, I can’t see you wanting to torture someone,” she says with a scoff.
“You’re pretty much the only person I feel completely comfortable talking to,” he confesses with a shrug.
“People really like you, Simon,” she says. “You have a kind, honest face. People trust you.”
He smirks. “Everyone but you.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles and opens the door for her.
They meet with the sheriff and his men to tell them the plan, and he leads them to the basement where the boy is being kept. Sam has never seen him up close. Doubt sets in that he won’t talk to her and that this is a terribly stupid idea. Then she sees him. He is sitting on his cot cross-legged reading a book by the faint sliver of light streaming through his window. He looks depressed and scared.
She knows the guys have questioned him numerous times, but they also aren’t going to beat up or waterboard a kid. She hopes to have better luck.
The sheriff cuffs his hands behind his back and leads him to an interrogation room. It feels odd and impersonal. She’s not a detective, and it makes her uncomfortable.
“Can we get some hot tea, please?” she clears her voice and asks the sheriff’s wife, who nods and leaves to retrieve it.
“Let him sit in there and wait for you,” the sheriff says. “Don’t rush in. Keep him on ice for a little while. Old interrogation trick.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam agrees with a nod.
His wife returns about ten minutes later with a tray of hot tea and homemade rolls that look like they might be sweet. She thanks her and enters the room with the sheriff and Simon. The boy’s eyes dart nervously to them. They widen with fear.
“Hi,” she says and waves. “I’m Sam.”
He doesn’t reply but stares at the men. This is not going to work with them in the same room with her. He’s too afraid of them.
“Hey, guys,” she says, turning to Simon and the sheriff. “Can we have a few minutes of privacy? Can you uncuff him, too?”
“What?” Simon whispers with ferocity.
“I could cuff him to the chair with one hand,” the sheriff offers.
“That’d be fine. I want him to be able to eat and drink,” she explains, ignoring Simon’s building anxiety that she easily reads. “You’ll be close.”
“Yes,” he says tightly.
“I’ll be fine.”
After another minute of hesitation, he leaves with the sheriff. She knows the mirror on the wall has a room on the other side. Her father used to watch detective dramas on the television at night. It’s pretty much the only thing she remembers about those shows. She sort of wishes that she’d paid better attention to the interrogation parts. Frequently, she just fell asleep on her father’s muscular shoulder.
Sam sits across the wide, stainless steel table from him and says, “Anyway, I’m Samantha. Everyone just calls me Sam. Do you want some tea? Are you hungry?”
He nods after a long pause. Sam pours them both hot tea and offers a sweet roll over and helps herself to one. They eat and drink in silence for a few minutes.
“Are you…are you a doctor or something?” he asks, pointing to the stethoscope hanging around her neck.
“Oh,” she says and touches it. “Forgot to leave it at the clinic. No, I’m not a doctor. Just a nurse. I like helping out when I can. There are a bunch of kids here, little kids mostly, that have Scarlet Fever.”
“Fever?”
“Yes, it’s a sickness like the flu, pretty nasty stuff. How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” he answers.
“Yeah,” she nods. “I guessed about that. The kids are fighting for their lives. This illness is very dangerous.”
He frowns as if he finds this information disturbing. “That sounds bad.”
“It is. It can be deadly,” she explains. Then she goes on to tell him what it means and how they are trying to treat it. She also brags about Grandpa and Reagan and how great they are. He looks on with what she can only describe as an expression of wistful longing.
“Do you have family?” she hits him with next.
He immediately looks at the table.
“You can tell me. It doesn’t matter,” she says. “It’s not like we’re going to try and track them down and hurt them. We’re not like that.”
He nods. “I know.”
“Then why not tell me? Are they still alive?” she asks, but he looks away. Instead of pushing, she tells him about her family, hoping he’ll open up.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“What’s your name? It seems I should know if we’re talking about our families,” Sam suggests.
“Adam,” he answers quietly.
Sam sips her tea and takes another bite of her sweet roll. If this kid wasn’t their prisoner, she’d probably think nothing of sitting and talking with him. He seems like a nice boy . He has sad brown eyes with dark circles of stress and sleeplessness beneath them.
“They…” he starts but stops. She lets him go, allows the silence between them to build. “They killed my dad. They took me and my mom.”
Sam nods. “I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.”
“They have her,” he says softly.
It is all he needs to say. Sam knows now why he has not told them of the locations. He is afraid for his mother’s life, and smartly so.
“They’ll harm her if you tell us,” she says, to which he nods. “I understand. But if you tell us where she is, we’ll rescue her. We have men whose specialty is doing just that.”
He shakes his head and looks down at the table to avoid making eye contact.
“Some of the men in our group were in the military. They know what they’re doing…”
“No,” he whispers vehemently. “It’s too dangerous. They know you guys took me. They’ll know I told you where they are.”
“We can work this out together,” she says and reaches across the table to touch his forearm. Then she pulls back. “You tell us where she is; we get her out first. These guys are smart. They’ll watch the place for a while before going in. She won’t be harmed. I promise you they’ll do everything they can to protect her.”
He seems indecisive, so Sam keeps pressing.
“Why were you with them on the road?”
His brow pinches together with stress, and he resumes looking at the table instead of her.
“Were you killing people with them? People on the road?”
He quickly shakes his head, “I was just a lookout. I didn’t want to kill anyone.” He pauses for a moment before explaining further, “They knew I didn’t want to kill anyone. They made it clear that if I couldn’t help out, they’d kill my mom just like…”
He swallows hard and doesn’t answer. “Like what?”
“Like they killed my dad,” he says, a tear slipping loose and rolling down his cheek. “We were living in a trailer with my uncle and his family out in the woods, not far from here actually, close to Nashville. My uncle owned the place. When everything happened, my dad drove us from Kansas to get to his brother’s place. It was good. It was safe.”
His
eyes take on a haunted appearance, and Sam says, “Until it wasn’t, right?”
Adam nods. “Yeah, until it wasn’t. They…they killed everyone. My uncle, my two cousins, my dad.”
“What about your aunt and mother? Why’d they let them live?”
He scowls angrily, “They make the women do a lot of the work. They have to cook and take care of gardens and animals.”
Sam hates to ask the question but forces herself to, “Do they…are they expected to sleep with these men, too?”
“Not all of them. I think a few of them are using some of the younger women. I think maybe my aunt. She’s dead. They killed her, I’m sure of it. They just told us she died, not how or why. I saw her body, though when they made me help bury her. I think one of them tried to rape her and she fought back. She was like that. She wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. Some of those men are monsters, pure evil. Some of them aren’t so bad. They aren’t as mean. They’ve never bothered my mother. She’s…she’s not well, not since Dad…”
Sam reaches across the table this time and takes his hand. He does not pull away. He seems to take comfort in the solace she is offering.
“My mom’s in a real bad place. I keep trying to think of a way to get us out of there. It’s impossible. No way in. No way out. Never. We’re trapped.”
“Why are they doing this?”
He shrugs. “Why do any men do bad things? Because they can, I guess. They have followers, a lot of them. They take what they want from people. It’s how they exist, and once you’re in, you can’t get out.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asks, forgetting momentarily that she is supposed to be interrogating. Now she just wants to help Adam.
“They keep the place locked down twenty-four hours a day. Nobody in that they don’t approve. Nobody out. Only the men going on the runs get out.”
“But we saw small places in the woods, like mini-camps or something. What’s up with those?”
