by R. A. Mathis
The crowd grew thicker as Hank drew closer to the courthouse. A strange sight greeted him as he finally arrived near the building. A huge gathering assembled on the lawn in front of Mayor Duncan’s gallows.
Hank walked faster.
Shouts of “Hang him!” filled the air. The faces of his friends and neighbors burned with rage, their eyes glazed and hearts hardened by the fires of hate.
Hank looked to the scaffold. It was empty. He spotted a man from his church and put a hand on his shoulder and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Justice!” the man shouted. “It’s about time too!”
Hank retorted, “This isn’t justice. It’s a lynch mob.”
“Get your stinkin’ hand off me, coward!” The man jerked away.
Hank waded into the throng, trying to get to the platform.
Sanger stepped onto the structure. The crowd cheered.
She raised her hand. The mob hushed. She put a bullhorn to her lips. “Now look and see how we deal with criminal scum!”
The assemblage erupted again.
Two Green Guards led a bound and hooded figure up the steps and stood him in the center of the platform. A green sleeved teenage girl tossed a rope over the thick, wooden beam running above the length of the scaffold, securing one end to the railing. The other end dangled next to the prisoner’s hooded head. It was tied in a noose.
The girl put the noose over the prisoner’s head and pulled the knot snuggly to the side of his neck.
Another recruit placed a sign around the condemned man’s neck. It read ‘Looter.’
“Time to face judgment!” Sanger snatched the hood from the prisoner’s head.
Hank recognized the young, frightened face that was revealed. It was Brandon. His face and hair were soaked with sweat in spite of the icy autumnal air. The teenager’s eyes, wide with terror, darted around the mob, looking, hoping, pleading for help. There was none.
The throng screamed and jeered, whipped into a frenzy, thirsty for blood.
“No!” The sheriff pushed and shoved his way through the vicious mob, making his way toward the gallows. “Stop!”
Brandon spotted Hank approaching in the sea of savagery. “Sheriff! Help!”
“Hold on, Brandon!” Hank redoubled his push toward the gallows, knocking wild-eyed revelers to the ground. “I’m on my way!”
Sanger glanced at Brandon then nodded to the female guard.
Hank reached the platform and began to pull himself up. He locked eyes with Brandon. “It’s gonna be okay!”
The guard pulled a heavy wooden lever.
Thunk!
The trap door dropped. The rope creaked. Brandon’s neck cracked. His body jerked. His legs twitched, dancing the macabre hangman’s jig. His bulging, terrified eyes were still locked onto Hank’s.
The mob roared its sadistic approval.
“Brandon!” Hank screamed. “God, no!”
The sheriff climbed onto the platform and tried in vain to lift Brandon from the hole beneath him.
Sanger laughed. The crowd roared louder.
Hank looked again into Brandon’s eyes. They were dead. He turned to face to the howling mob.
“Stop it!” he yelled, but his words were lost in the din of barbarism.
He pulled his revolver and fired it into the air.
Cheers turned to screams, then silence. The spell was broken. The crowd stood mute, staring at their sheriff.
Hank spoke. “Look what you’ve done. This boy never hurt anybody. He saved my life and you killed him! You’re hungry and pissed, so you murdered him to feed your own blood lust. His blood is on your hands.” He pointed at Sanger. “You let her buy you with handouts while she arrests your neighbors and sends them away in the middle of the night.” He pointed to Brandon’s dangling corpse. “Then you cheer this. Wake up! Go back to your homes. Remember who we are.”
The crowd dispersed as Sanger seethed. The female Green Guard stepped toward Hank, ready to arrest him.
Sanger waved her off. “Not here.” She regained her composure and poked Brandon’s body causing it to sway. She returned her attention to Hank. “There is a fine line between bravery and stupidity, Sheriff.” She stepped from the scaffold and strolled away across the frozen grass.
A figure exited the mayor’s office as Hank climbed down from the gallows. Another coat and green armband. It was Mayor Duncan.
“It had to be done, Hank” The mayor walked over to the law man. “People are growing restless. They’re afraid. Angry. We had to do something.”
“So you strung this poor kid up to make them happy.”
“Agent Sanger did this, not me.”
“If you didn’t have the guts to stop her, you could have at least had the guts to watch instead of hiding in your office, Finbarr.” Hank’s words dripped with disgust.
“There is no stopping her. You either do as she says, or…” He glanced up to Brandon’s lifeless form.
“We will not tolerate criminals,” Hank recited.
“Exactly.”
“And Sanger decides who the criminals are.”
“No, Hank. The law still decides that.”
Hank pointed to Brandon. “Then why isn’t your daughter, Chloe, hanging next to him?”
“She has nothing to do with this.”
“She killed three people when she robbed that pharmacy.” He pointed to Brandon. “This kid never hurt a soul.”
“Sanger and I have an arrangement.”
“Don’t touch me!” a woman’s voice shrieked from the jail entrance across the street. “Don’t you know who I am?”
It was Chloe. Two Green Guard officers escorted her from the facility to the mayor’s waiting car. She spotted Hank by the gallows and shot her middle finger at him as she climbed into the vehicle.
Hank looked back to Finbarr. “You make me sick.”
“Why won’t you play on the winning team? Think of your future. Think of Maggie.”
“Don’t you dare bring her into this.”
“She’s my granddaughter, too, Hank. Chloe’s been asking about her. She wants to see her daughter. And Maggie needs her mother.”
“Never.”
The mayor grabbed the sheriff by the arm and said in a low, forceful tone, “You need to get with the program, Hank. The America you’re fighting for is gone. Damn your pride. Damn the law. Damn whatever it is you’re hanging on to and join us.”
“And become a puppet like you?”
“Better to hang from puppet’s strings than a hangman’s noose.” The mayor turned and walked to his car.
Hank went to his office and found a note from Gunny that simply read, ‘Tritt Cemetery.’ He knew the place.
He drove southeast, leaving Freeport behind, delving deep into the wild heart of the mountains. Four lane streets gave way to narrow country roads. Asphalt then yielded to gravel. Houses, pastures, and electrical poles disappeared as the forest grew thicker with each passing mile. Gravel popped beneath the tires of Hank’s squad car as he pulled up to the lonely, forgotten clearing located just inside the Smoky Mountain National Park. Gunny was waiting for him, leaning against a tree at the edge of the old mountain family burial ground.
“Sanger killed Brandon,” Hank said.
“I know.”
“She hanged him right on the courthouse lawn and I didn’t stop it.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Hank. It was a done deal. There’s nothin’ any of us could have done.” Gunny’s face hardened. “But we can stop Sanger before she goes any further. We have to, Hank. We’re runnin’ outta time. ”
Hank walked among the tombstones. The last names were familiar. These were some of the first families to settle this area. Many of the markers, too many, were for infants and children no more than five years old. Hank’s heart ached, as it did every time he came here, for these people who died long before he was born. They were his people. Some were Hank’s own ancestors. His father pointed them out to him when he was a boy
. He recalled the stories his father told about the hard old days. The people sleeping under these stones cleared the forest, tilled the land, built homes, and raised their children in this wilderness. All that remained of them and their children were these crude, worn, slate markers, barely legible after a century and more. The last lingering hints of the blood and sweat they poured into this land were a few crumbling chimneys to mark the homesteads that once dotted these mountains, their hearth fires twinkling like fireflies in the wild darkness. But that was long ago. The land belonged to the Park Service now.
“We move tonight.” Gunny declared. “I’ve conducted reconnaissance outside Sanger’s headquarters every night for a week. Her attention is on the coming showdown with Dante. She and her goons won’t expect us.”
Hank rubbed the stubble on his chin. Shaving was a hassle these days. “Makes sense. If she blows the Dante situation, Freeport will burn and we’ll all be screwed. If she plays it right, she’ll be a hero. Anybody who opposes her after that will be seen as terrorists. She’ll have the people in her pocket. She almost has them anyway, thanks to her handing all that food out.”
Gunny nodded. “People with full stomachs ask fewer questions about neighbors and livestock disappearing in the middle of the night.”
“And eliminating the Dante threat will give her enough popularity to put a strangle hold on every one of us,” Hank added, “We’ll need every man we can still trust. I’ll recruit them myself.”
“Already done,” Gunny said.
“What about guns? This’ll take more than sidearms.”
“Got them, too.”
“Sounds like you have it all planned out. When and where do we hit them?”
“It’s best you don’t know the details.”
Hank took a step back. “You don’t trust me?”
“Of course I do, you damn fool. I’m sayin’ you can’t be involved.”
“Why not?”
“I got no family. Neither do the men I’m workin’ with. That means nobody to take revenge on if this goes south. Think what would happen to Maggie, Betty, and Cole if you got caught helpin’ us. You got a lot to lose, Hank. We don’t. Besides, if we go down, somebody has to stay behind to stand against Sanger.” He tapped a tombstone. “You can’t do that if you’re dead.”
“You need every man you can get.”
Gunny laughed. “If we can’t make it without your one armed, sixty-year-old butt, we’re already doomed.”
“I can still carry my own weight.”
“You gotta sit this one out. The indoor movie theater just opened back up. Take Maggie to a show. Talk to people. Be seen. Then go home and stay there, Hank. Let everybody see you do it, especially Sanger.”
“I won’t let you do this. Not without me.”
“It’s already done. Do your part. Go to the movies. Pretend like everything is fine. Get Sanger to let her guard down.”
“Alright. Fine. But I’m cutting Brandon down first.”
“No, Hank. You gotta let him hang for now. We’ll tend to him after we take care of Sanger.”
“All right.” Hank gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll do it. I just pray this works.”
“If it doesn’t, prayer is all any of us will have left.” Gunny stepped back into the forest, leaving Hank with his ancestors.
*****
7:00 PM
Freeport
Hank led Maggie into the theater for opening night. It was the first showing since the troubles started. The place was packed with people. All four screens were set to show the same feature at the same time in honor of the event.
“Good evening, Sheriff.” Sanger nodded to Hank as he and Maggie passed the bustling snack bar which was manned by green sleeves busily handing out complimentary popcorn and soft drinks.
“Evening,” Hank replied, trying to force a smile.
“Enjoy the movie,” she said with glee. “It’s An Inconvenient Truth, one of my favorites.”
“I’m sure we will.” Hank and Maggie found a pair of vacant seats and settled in for the show. He was surprised to find the building heated. He’d forgotten how good it felt. At least the place was warmer than some of the looks he got from his fellow moviegoers.
Maggie noticed the cold stares. “Are they mad at you, Papaw?”
“No, sweetie. They’re just hungry and scared. It’ll be okay.”
The lights dimmed and the screen came to life. The crowed cheered, thankful for this small taste of normalcy.
The evening’s entertainment started with a newsreel. A familiar face sat at a familiar news anchor’s desk.
“Hello, I’m Eduardo Garcia, America’s Newsman,” the report began, “and this is the People’s Patriotic News.”
The words ‘Treason in the Ranks’ flashed onto the screen over Garcia’s shoulder.
“There is troubling news coming from the military tonight. The Department of Homeland Security has uncovered a vast anti-government agenda running across the width and breadth of America’s armed forces. Uniformed members of all ranks in every armed service on every Department of Defense vessel and facility have been implicated in this mutinous movement. Thousands of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines are being arrested and held for questioning. President Tophet sent his personal congratulations to the DHS agents across the country whose tireless efforts were key in uncovering this treachery.”
The picture over Garcia’s shoulder switched to a villainous looking photograph of Martha Jefferson.
“In other news, former congresswoman Martha Jefferson has been captured in a heavily fortified safe house outside of Nashville, Tennessee. Ms. Jefferson’s fanatical supporters were heavily armed and refused to surrender when asked. The extremists instead opened fire, killing and wounding several unarmed Homeland Security agents. Reinforcements were then called in and a fierce firefight ensued and Jefferson was eventually captured. Her trial date has yet to be set…
Garcia’s words faded Hank’s chest tightened at the thought of the opening story..
Treason in the ranks.
He feared for his son, Cole. The last time Hank talked to him, Cole was safe in Fort Campbell, Kentucky, an hour north of Nashville, five hours west of Freeport. But that was weeks ago. Hank was so determined to stop Sanger’s purge of Freeport that he hadn’t considered the same thing happening in the Army. He prayed Cole still lived and that he wasn’t caught up in this latest witch hunt.
Hank tried not to worry, forcing happy images into his mind of Cole and Betty returning home and the joyous reunion that would follow. But the tension in his jaw refused to relent.
Loud strains of depressing music told Hank the movie started.
Thirty minutes into the film, Hank decided that he’d rather go ice fishing using his private parts for bait than sit through another minute of this audiovisual torture.
He took Maggie’s hand and whispered, “Let’s go, sweetie.”
“Good,” she breathed back, “This is awful.”
Hank snickered, “I know.”
Sanger stood in the back of the theater. She met Hank and Maggie at the door. “Leaving so soon?”
“I hate to miss the ending.” Hank feigned as smile. “But were going home. I don’t feel well.”
Sanger smiled back. “Maybe tomorrow, then. It’s playing the rest of the month.”
“Sounds good.” Hank and Maggie left the cinema and drove home. After a meager supper, Hank put his granddaughter to bed, then spent the rest of the night listening to the police scanner, praying for news of Gunny’s success.
*****
03:16 AM
FEMA Headquarters
Freeport
Gunny led six heavily armed deputies through the shadows of downtown Freeport, creeping toward the former church that was now FEMA district headquarters. The moon’s icy rays bathed the empty streets in pale, icy blue light. Wispy snow swirled through the alley away across the street as Gunny gathered his team there for one last halt before reaching their
objective. They gathered closely, crouching in the shadows of the last alley between them and the target.
“Remember,” Gunny said in a barely audible voice, “We get into the headquarters, capture Sanger alive if possible, then we burn the sumbitch down.” He patted a sack of incendiary grenades hanging at his side.
“I hate the thought of burnin’ down a church,” a young deputy said, his breath puffing as he spoke.
“It ain’t God’s house no more, son.” Gunny looked to each of his men. “Everybody knows what to do, right?”
The men nodded.
“Any last questions?”
“No, Gunny.”
“Good. Remember, if things go sideways on us, get to the safe house and stay there.” Gunny looked at each man, committing their faces and this moment to memory as he’d done before every mission he ran in Vietnam. “No matter what happens, I’m proud of each and every one of you.” He nodded. “Let’s do this.”
The team padded slowly, silently through the darkness of the narrow brick passage. The headquarters loomed closer with each careful step.
The sound of diesel engines starting echoed down the brick walls to Gunny and his men. They froze.
The men hunkered down, gluing themselves to the cold brick as the throaty baritone of heavy trucks filled the moonlit landscape.
The deputies looked to Gunny for guidance.
He waved an arm and hissed, “Stay down!”
The trucks grew louder. Their rumbling noise bounced from every wall, making it impossible to know which direction they came from.
Gunny’s mind raced, analyzing the new situation, deciding what to do.
The trucks were almost on top of them now.
“Abort!” He waved to his team. “Abort!”
The deputies jumped up and raced along the alley, away from their objective.
A tractor trailer appeared in front of them. It squealed to a halt, it’s trailer blocking their escape. Gunny turned to see a second trailer block the other end of the alley. His eyes darted in all directions, frantically searching for escape.
Silhouettes appeared on the rooftops above them. Spotlights flashed to life, casting their cold eyes down upon the men in the kill sack.
A beam of predatory light settled on the deputy nearest Gunny. The roof line above flashed and popped. Red mist plumed from the young man’s body as he was cut to pieces in front of Gunny’s eyes.
