by Steven Bird
“Ah, Miss Sallander, it’s so nice to see you up and about,” Chief Peronne said with a smile on his face as he reached out to take her hand, leading her into the room. “That’ll be all, for now, Fox,” he then said while closing the door, leaving Leina alone with him in the room.
Walking over to an old antique record player, Chief Peronne lowered the volume and said, “I’m sorry. That was a bit loud. I love jazz. I just can’t get enough. There’s something about the controlled chaos of it all. Jazz music didn’t stay within the boundaries of what society had previously defined.”
Removing the cork from a bottle of wine, filling two glasses as he spoke, he continued, “The early jazz musicians did things their own way. They didn’t follow a traditional meter, beat, or formal structure. They improvised, doing what they had to do, moving the song along. I admire that,” he said as he seemed to get lost for a moment in the music with his eyes closed, swaying his head to the rhythm.
Turning to her and looking her over, he said, “Did you not like the dress?”
“Mrs.,” she said abruptly.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s Mrs. Sallander, not Miss,” she replied sharply.
As the sparkle faded slightly from his smile, Chief Peronne replied, “Oh, I’m sorry. You hadn’t mentioned a husband, only the children. I guess I thought you were single. My mistake.”
Pausing for a moment, Leina said, “My husband, Cas, was killed by a group that tried to rob us several months after the collapse began.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Peronne replied in a softened tone.
“Don’t be,” she said. “He went down swinging. He almost took out the entire mob before one of them stabbed him in the back while he fought off two others from the front. I’ve never seen a man fight so hard. I’ve never seen such absolute power and ferocity in a human being. Most women I know would remember that scene as a horrific tragedy. Me, I remember it as the moment I realized no man will ever be able to live up to him. He’s my forever—even though he’s no longer with us. His fight, his spirit, it’s what’s kept me going all this time.”
After an awkward pause, Chief Peronne replied, “I admire that. Let’s drink a toast to his memory,” he said as he handed her a glass of red wine.
“He’s not a memory,” Leina replied. “He’s a part of me.”
The smile quickly extinguishing from his face, he turned and sat her glass of wine on the elegantly carved bar by the fireplace and said, “So... I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Where are the children?” she asked firmly.
“Oh, they are safe, and I want to ensure that they stay that way, which is why I have an offer for you.”
“You want to ensure they stay that way? What the hell does that mean?”
“Hey, relax,” he said. “I didn’t mean that in a negative or threatening way. I’m sorry if it sounded that way. I was referring to their long-term safety. I simply want to give you and the children a future that ensures your security and well-being.”
“I’ve done a pretty good job of ensuring their safety. Now where are they?” she insisted.
“Have you, now?” he responded in a condescending tone. “If my men hadn’t rescued you when they did...”
“Rescued,” she interrupted. “My memory is a little unclear, but the one thing I know deep in my heart is that your men didn’t rush in and save the day. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but if I don’t get to see the kids soon...”
“Miss Sallander,” he interrupted in an attempt to redirect the tension that was rapidly building in the room.
“Mrs. Sallander,” she again firmly replied.
“Of course, my mistake, Mrs. Sallander,” he said, correcting himself. “I didn’t bring you here to get you all riled up and angry. The children will be returned to you this evening. Our officers are on a pretty tight schedule as we are spread thin with the extra patrols initiated by the security breach on the edge of town. I have several officers slated to escort them from the clinic at six o’clock.”
“You had the manpower to escort me to your home, but you didn’t have the manpower to bring the children to me?”
“It’s complicated,” he said, pausing to gather his thoughts. “There is a lot going on these days, to say the least. However, I think it is important that you hear what I have to say, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with it.”
Crossing her arms in protest, she said, “Go ahead.”
“What I was trying to say,” he said as he finished his glass of wine, “was that our little community here is about as safe as it gets these days. We’re basically still a fully functioning town, with all of the things people need not just to survive, but to thrive. We are missing a few things, though. We could use someone like you to help out in the school, or at city hall. Just because the world is falling apart around us, doesn’t mean we can’t adequately keep up with the administration of our town. If you are willing to stay, we can provide you with a home, with food, with medical care, and school for the children. You’re just not going to find that level of security for yourself or the children anywhere else out there, I’m afraid. And if you insist on leaving with those kids, well, I’m just not sure I would feel comfortable letting you put them at risk out there on your own.”
“Letting? What are you saying?”
“I just want you to know that you have options now. You don’t have to be out there where who knows what will happen to you.”
Attempting to process the myriad thoughts swirling around her head, Leina stared at the large, finely crafted bookshelf that spanned an entire wall in the room as she noticed him once again pick up her glass of wine, handing it to her, saying, “I apologize that this conversation got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over. Let’s just relax and discuss what we have to offer you and the children while we wait for them to arrive.”
Reaching out to take the glass against her own better judgment, Leina acquiesced, taking a seat on a leather chair next to the bookshelf. “I’m listening,” she said, taking a sip of wine.
Chapter Twelve
His head throbbing in pain, the man awoke to find himself face down on the back of a horse, his feet hanging off one side, his head and hands over the other. Struggling in a panic, the man soon realized that his hands and feet were bound together by a rope extending underneath the horse’s abdomen. Unable to see due to the cloth bag over his head that was tied securely around his neck, the man’s struggles did nothing but increase his pain, and to cause him once again to slip off into the dark and silent prison of unconsciousness.
~~~~
Being nearly drowned by a face full of water, the man coughed and gagged, trying to expel the fluid from his mouth, nose, and lungs. Regaining his composure, the man looked around the room to see that he was tied securely to a chair in the center of a room, illuminated only by a few rays of light that shone in through the gaps in the dusty, old curtains.
His head still throbbing with pain, the man closed his eyes momentarily to regroup, when he heard the gritty voice of the man he had encountered the night before.
“It’s about time you woke up,” Jessie said as he walked behind the man, slowly drawing his knife across a stone just as a butcher would sharpen his tools before processing a properly aged carcass. His boots causing the old, wooden floor to creak with each step.
Shaking his head to clear the water from his face, the man coughed again and said, “What... what the hell? Who are you?”
“I’m just a man looking for answers,” Jessie replied as he stepped around into the man’s view, his hat pulled down low with his head tilted down to obscure his face, slowly working the blade of his knife to perfection.
His eyes locked on the blade, the man nervously said, “What kind of answers?”
“Why were you out there in the dark? Were you looking for someone? Someone... like me?” Jessie asked.
“Who are you? I... I don’t know what you...”
“Stop the babbling and get to it!” Jessie shouted. “You wouldn’t have just been out for a stroll, enjoying the night sky with your patrol rifle, sidearm, a vest, and all of your gear. What were you looking for?”
“Look, if you’re with Márquez, I didn’t have anything to do with that. We loaded what the chief told us to load. I was just doing what I was instructed to do,” the man insisted. “Several of us told him it was a bad idea. He didn’t want to hear it. But I... I didn’t have any control over that.”
Pausing for a moment to contemplate the man’s sudden confession, Jessie said, “Yeah, well, you’re guilty of participating in whatever you go along with. No man can force you to do anything but die. A man can take your life. He can cut your throat while you’re hogtied to a chair and laugh as you bleed out. A man can have that kind of control over you very easily,” Jessie said as he reflected a glint of light from the windows with the blade of his knife. “But anything you do with your own hand, whether ordered to do so or of your own accord... you own that. Cowardice toward the man who pretends to wield power over you is not an excuse. You make the choice. You can stand up for what is right, even if it costs you your life, or you can choose to be a willing participant. Which, as you can clearly see right now, at this moment, can also cost you your life. That’s your call. No one can make you be a part of his wrongs without your consent.”
“That’s why I’m out!” the man insisted. “I’m done. That’s why I was out there in the dark. I was leaving. It’s not me you want. It’s them... or him, rather.”
After a few moments of silence, contemplating his next move, Jessie said, “If you were leaving, where were you going?”
“I have... or had, family in northern Oklahoma,” the man stated in a defeated tone as he gazed at the floor.
“Where in northern Oklahoma?” Jessie asked.
Looking Jessie in the eye, the man replied, “I’d be a fool to tell you that. I’d never lead you and your men back home. I’d rather you just go ahead and kill me now. It’s bad enough that I didn’t go back home to help defend the farm when this all started. It’s bad enough that I stayed here as long as I have, getting deeper and deeper into the mess that I’m in, instead of being with my parents and my brothers and sisters during all of this. I’ll be damned if I mess up again and tell you any more than I already have. Just do it,” he said, hanging his head low and closing his eyes. “Just get it over with. I’m not going to tell you anything else.”
Pacing across the room and gazing out of the crack in the curtains, Jessie said, “Fair enough. I won’t ask you any more about where you are heading, but if you tell me about what you’re running from, and what you’ve been a part of... and if I can verify that you’re telling me the truth, I’ll let you live. I’ll let you continue your journey north to live out your days being eaten alive by guilt.”
“You’re not with Márquez, are you?” the man said, looking at Jessie with an inquisitive look on his face.
Turning back toward the man while pulling the curtains fully closed, Jessie said, “Like you, if what you say is true, I’m just a man trying to get to his family.”
“Then why were you standing watch over Fort Sumner? Why didn’t you just steer clear of the place? Or... or did you hear the radio transmissions?”
“Radio transmissions?” Jessie queried.
Breaking eye contact with Jessie, staring blankly across the room, the man explained, “The chief...”
“Chief?” Jessie interrupted.
“Yes, the chief of police, Chief Peronne. Anyway, the chief commandeered a local man’s HAM radio setup to broadcast occasional messages that announced that Fort Sumner was a safe haven with food, water, and medical care. He would then set up ambushes on the main migration routes outside of town to steal from those seeking refuge. After that ruse had begun to bring results, he got the town’s old AM radio station up and running and began transmitting at a low power setting on AM as well. He wanted to attract people, but not too many to be able to deal with.”
“Why the hell would he do that?” Jessie snarled. “Let’s back up. Start from the beginning. Tell me the whole story, starting with your name.”
“My name is Toby Robertson. Most people call me T. R.,” the man said as he began to explain. “When the attacks began, I was a hydraulics tech at a local heavy equipment shop. You know, dozers, loaders, graders, and such.”
Nodding in reply, Jessie said, “Go on.”
“When the attacks began, being a small town in the middle of the desert, we were sheltered from most of what was going on. We were small fish to the terrorists and their allies, I guess. But when the federal government abandoned the border and redirected the USBP personnel to protect political interests, the cartels south of the border, who we later found out were in cahoots with the Islamic extremists and everyone else who seemed to be in on it, seized the opportunity to rush in and take over. Sheriff Whitaker, the De Baca County Sheriff at the time, was killed in front of his home, beheaded, and impaled on his own flagpole to send a message to whoever would seek to replace him. The corpse and the blood-covered upside-down flag sent a pretty strong message at that.”
Pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts and to shake off some of his more haunting memories, he continued, “The chief of police at the time, Chief Vasquez, was a good man. He and the mayor set up a defensive perimeter around the town and enlisted the help of many of the local able-bodied men to try and keep the cartels away. It was a pretty violent time, to say the least. Our guys were getting picked off and ambushed left and right. Then one night, both the mayor and Chief Vasquez were murdered, their homes burned, and their families taken.”
“What became of their families?” Jessie asked.
“We don’t have a clue. We never saw them again. That’s when Lieutenant Peronne stepped up and declared himself the interim chief of police. He promised we would hold an election for a new mayor, who would then appoint a permanent chief of police as soon as things stabilized. To date, that simply hasn’t happened.”
In an inquisitive tone, Jessie asked, “The election hasn’t happened, or things becoming stabilized hasn’t happened?”
“The election. Well, both, really. As soon as Peronne took over, the cartels backed off, and things settled down. For about a month, things started to seem like they would be okay. I joined the Fort Sumner Municipal Police because, at the time, it not only seemed like the right thing to do, it was the only thing to do. The shop I worked at closed its doors, like most businesses, so I had nowhere else to turn. As a police officer, I would at least always have a roof over my head and food on my plate. It seemed like the only sure thing.”
Pausing to collect his thoughts, T. R. continued, “It wasn’t long after that, though, that I began to realize why the cartels had backed off. It wasn’t because Peronne was doing such a good job of keeping us safe, it was because he and the cartels had an understanding of sorts. You see, with the collapse of paper currency, and electronic financial instruments as the nation and world around us spiraled out of control, the cartels found themselves in the same dilemma as everyone else. Money, unless it was precious metals, was simply no good. People wanted to trade real assets that they could use to survive. Food, fuel, supplies, guns, ammunition, all became the new money. And if you were on the wrong side of humanity, as many were, women and children, especially little girls, also became currency. They became like gold to the cartels. They became traffickers in the sex trade as well as the drug trade. The products that will always sell, not matter how screwed up the world gets, are sex and drugs.”
“So, the ambushes are used to acquire items to trade with the cartels?” Jessie asked as he began to see the big picture.
“Some of it was for the town. Some of it was for trade and payoffs,” T. R. replied. “The area around the town basically became a big spider web, and Peronne was the spider. But since he keeps the town on such a tight lockdown—for their own safety of course—the tow
nspeople basically have no idea what’s going on outside their borders. Peronne then turned our local airport into a transportation hub for whatever the cartels wanted to move. He provided unimpeded access to the airport, as well as security for those coming and going while moving their goods. In return, the cartels left him alone and did not target him like they had his predecessors. They let him create a little kingdom for himself here in Fort Sumner, and he is always looking for ways to ensure his position by providing them with whatever material and physical support he can.”
“And the local citizens?” Jessie asked. “How do they fare in this new kingdom? From what I have seen, things seem a little tense.”
“They fare about as well as the peasants of tyrant kings of the past, I guess. They are all forced to contribute in one way or another. Whether it’s food production, labor, or entertainment for his men, everyone has to pay their fair share. Fair as he sees it, at least.”
Turning away in disgust, Jessie attempted to retain his composure. Confused with how to handle his prisoner, who seemed like a man who was simply caught up in an unfortunate situation, Jessie paced back and forth anxiously. “How do I deal with you?” he asked. “You lent your services to a traitor who enslaved your fellow man. Don’t give me that crap answer that you were just following orders, either.”
Hanging his head low, T. R. took a deep breath, and replied, “I... I don’t know. I’m not ashamed that I joined the police department. At the time, it was the right thing to do, or so I thought. But I am ashamed that I didn’t leave when I realized how things were going down.”
“Leave? Leave?” Jessie shouted. “You should have fought back, you coward! You should have taken a stand with your fellow man, not against your fellow man! There is no worse betrayal a man can do than to side against his neighbor and stand with tyranny. Over and over throughout history, tyrants have been empowered by cowards who either did nothing or just followed orders to make things easier for themselves. It’s easy to do that. It’s easy to follow orders and act as if you don’t have a choice. It’s hard to take a stand as a true patriot—to know that the first who stands up for freedom and what is right, will likely die. I would rather live a short life, having contributed to the freedom of those who follow me, than to live a long life feeling like a coward and a traitor.”
