by Roger Hayden
A few of Arthur’s men passed by the window, walking down the street and headed to the wall for their guard shift. Arthur was moving away from forced labor to offering incentives to work. His pay-by-the-pill method had seen great success so far. Nearly half the town was hooked. The wall extended from the north to the eastern part of town. They were halfway there.
“Their leader, Rob, was actually a pretty normal guy. They’re civilized enough. He fled there with other Nyack residents.”
Teresa stroked Arthur’s arm. “Well, whoever they are or wherever they came from, you have to deal with them before they terrorize this town again.”
“It’s not that easy. I’m working out a compromise right now. Something to keep them at bay until we’re ready,” Arthur said.
“Ready for what? Just send Larry and the boys in there and drive them out. They should be locked up with the others for what they’ve done to us. Put them to work on the wall.”
“They have weapons. A lookout tower and trip wire traps everywhere. It’s not as simple as you think.”
Teresa moved Arthur’s arm off her shoulder and shifted away. Steam from the bubbling water on the stove traveled into their nicely furnished living room. Arthur followed her back into the kitchen, still pleading his case.
“I need more people. Not just freemen. We’re going to need an army.”
Teresa spun around from the stove. “An army? Oh, come on! We’re dealing with what, twenty people at the most?”
“It’s not about that!”
Teresa turned the stove off. “Then tell me, what else is there, what else is it about?”
“These mountain folks are a blessing in disguise. Do I really need to explain that to you?”
A knock came at the front door. Arthur was expecting Larry. They were headed to town with preparation in mind.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m dumb. I waited six years for you. Six years! Is that dumb? Maybe I should get my head examined after all.”
Rob touched her shoulder, causing her to shudder. He continued, nonetheless. “This town lacks an external threat. We need an enemy to unite against.”
“I understand,” Teresa said. “But did you stop to think where all this perceived compromise is going to get you? People will think you’re weak.”
Someone knocked on the door again.
“Come in!” Arthur shouted.
The front door opened. “Just me, Larry.”
“We’re in the kitchen,” Arthur said.
Larry’s boots clicked across the hardwood floor as he entered the kitchen and leaned against the wall. His trim handlebar mustache branched out just above his lip. He had changed into fresh clothes—a biker shirt and black jeans. “Afternoon, Teresa,” he said with a nod.
Full of anger, she barely responded. Arthur lightly kissed her on the forehead. “We’ll talk about everything later.”
“Don’t let me hold you up,” she said sarcastically.
Arthur knew there wasn’t much left to discuss. Not when she was upset. He went to his room to change and emerged wearing a tan cargo shirt and jeans and pistol holster slung over his shoulders. He grabbed his boonie cap hanging on the wall and walked out of the house with Larry.
“Be back later, dear,” he said as they left, and gave Larry a look that said, “women!”
Larry and Arthur traveled down the neighborhood street under an overcast late-afternoon sky. They kept a steady but easy pace, talking about a litany of plans already in the works. There was so much to do, they didn’t know where to start.
***
The first stop on the mayor’s journey was to visit the prison. It wasn’t the state prison he had broken out of with dozens of other convicts. It was something different: an abandoned warehouse they’d converted into a holding center for those guilty of transgressions against the town of Tartarus.
Conditions among the prisoners were poor. They were rarely fed, and except for outside forced labor, seldom saw anything beyond their confining walls. There were twenty-two prisoners—men, women, and children—all detained for a variety of “crimes,” which included trespassing, ration theft, and subversive behavior against the freemen. They were a sad, hopeless bunch. But an offer was in the works that would change everything for them.
Arthur entered the heavily guarded warehouse, where rooms were lined along both sides of a wide, concrete hallway. Like everything else, the building lacked power. However, open skylights high above provided a decent amount of light, and each room had a thin glass window on the door. Arthur wasn’t sure what the warehouse was before they had found it vacant and abandoned, but it made the perfect prison.
He walked past two guards, Eddie and Nathan, who had just come on shift, and then into the last room on the left. He stepped close to the window and looked inside. The Reverend Phelps, an outsider caught wandering the town with a small group of followers, had been locked up for over a week.
He hadn’t been given any contact with his people or with the outside world, for that matter. He was in what Arthur referred to as the decompression phase. A week of solitude did wonders, helping a man realize how alone he really was—or so Arthur believed.
Phelps was sitting on a cot in the dark, empty room, wearing the same clothes they had captured him in: a tattered dress shirt and slacks. His bare feet touched the concrete floor, his head hung low, and his eyes were closed.
“That’s my boy,” Arthur said to himself with a laugh. He pulled a granola bar from his pocket and knocked on the door. Phelps’s head shot up as Arthur unlocked the door and stepped in. A sliver of light shone in from the narrow window above. He could barely see the pastor’s face. Last time they had met, Phelps had received a pistol blow across the head, sending him to the ground with a probable concussion.
“Good afternoon, Reverend,” Arthur said and closed the door behind him. Phelps looked away as he approached him. Even in the dim light, Arthur could make out the enormous bruise across his face, coupled with an eye still swollen shut. “How are you feeling today?”
He received no answer from Phelps and boldly took a seat on the cot next to him. It squeaked under his weight. He removed his boonie cap and set it on the cot next to a dirty pillow. “I came here to talk to you, hoping that we could reach an agreement. You see, I’ve been doing a little thinking, and I believe that we’ve been a little too harsh on you and your friends. With the way things are now, everyone is just looking out for themselves. A community can’t possibly function with such selfishness. There’re tasks that need to be done, and part of taking you prisoner is to get you into our labor program. But first, we need to determine if you pose any threat to the good people of this town.”
Arthur paused and waited for a response while holding the granola bar out for Phelps to take. But the reverend just sat there, staring ahead.
“Oh, of course. How could I forget?” Arthur said, pulling out a water bottle stuffed in his pocket. “Here. I know you’re thirsty.”
Phelps paid no mind to the water bottle or granola bar. Arthur set them next to him. “Now don’t go telling me you’re on some kind of hunger strike. That would be stupid. You’ll waste away to nothing. Then what good can you do?” He moved closer, intent on a response. “Take the water, Reverend. Please.”
Phelps finally reached for the bottle without saying anything. He slowly unscrewed the cap and took a swig. After one swallow, he gulped down the entire bottle and then set it aside.
“Damn!” Arthur said. “I knew you were thirsty. Now eat something.”
“I’d rather not,” Phelps said in a strained voice.
“Come on.”
“What do you want?” Phelps asked. He turned his head and looked at Arthur with knowing eyes. “Either end this travesty now or leave me be.”
Arthur had him talking. Good. The time was ripe to make his offer. “I came to offer a way out. Something reasonable and fair. Your group was caught trespassing and stealing from us—”
“We committed
no crime!” Phelps objected. “We were just passing through. That’s not illegal, and you have no authority to hold us any further.”
“I have all the authority that I want,” Arthur said. “And the only way that you’re going to see the light of day is if you work with me. You’ll discover soon that I’m a fair man. I only want what’s right.”
Phelps scoffed. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
Arthur shook his head defensively. “Now hold on, Reverend. I know you’re angry, but hear what I have to offer first.”
Phelps looked away in disgust but then made careful, unyielding eye contact. “What is it?”
“There are people out there who wish us harm. People who live up in the mountains and conduct midnight raids on surrounding towns. I need an equipped force to help put an end to it. But it’s not going to be easy. They have defenses set up. I just came from a meeting with their leader earlier today. He rejected any compromise. These people will attack us again. As mayor, it’s my duty to protect our residents against it.”
“This is none of my concern,” Phelps said. “You’ve held me and my group here for over a week against our will. What makes you think we would do anything for you or anyone else here?”
“Because if you help us, I’ll release you. Simple as that.”
Phelps thought to himself and shook his head. “Why do you ask this of me? I’m not a soldier, nor are my people. We’re not violent people like you. We serve only God.”
“This is the deal,” Arthur said. “Convince the able-bodied men in your group.” He stopped to think to himself. “Dale, Zach, and Harvey, right?” he asked, counting on his fingers. “Convince them to join my cause, and I’ll see to it that you’re all freed.”
“I can’t,” Phelps said.
“You can, and you will. Their fate is in your hands now. Stay locked up in here as we risk our lives to defend this town, or take a stand with us as free men.”
Arthur rose from the squeaky cot. “Now come with me, and let’s talk to them.”
Phelps looked up as Arthur hovered over him. “They won’t listen to me. They’ll think I’m crazy.”
“You’re a man of God. Well, I’m a man of government. And there comes a time where we have to use our talents to convince others to do something they would naturally oppose. Work with me, Reverend, and I’ll grant you your freedom.”
Phelps looked conflicted, but seemed to be considering it. Arthur said nothing else and waited patiently. After a long silence, Phelps rose, holding his back in pain.
“Excellent,” Arthur remarked. “Now we don’t have much time. Let’s go.” He led the way out of the cell as Phelps limped behind him. They walked out into the hall where Phelps stood dazed, looking around. He hadn’t seen anything beyond the confines of his room since being detained. Food had been slipped in daily—and a waste bucket. That had been it.
Reverend Phelps longed to be free, back in a normal world of peace and goodwill toward men, if such a thing was still possible. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Or if he could tell his people what Arthur wanted him to say. Silently, he prayed for guidance and hoped that he would do the right thing.
***
An urgent meeting had been called and everyone summoned to the town square. All residents were expected to attend. There would be no food or drug distribution. The mayor, it was said, had other plans. An immediate threat alert had been issued for the town, which included curfews and headcounts. Arthur’s minimal force had managed so far to keep order, but their authority would soon be tested as it had never been before.
By late afternoon, Arthur took the stage under the canopy of their pavilion, with more than a hundred people waiting in the courtyard. Rumors had flown about a group of outsiders who had attacked the town and had fled into the mountains. The thought of this excited some residents. Perhaps the freemen weren’t so infallible after all. Arthur counted on this romanticized notion of people supporting an outside coup, and he had just the right angle for counteracting it.
“I call you hear today, good citizens of Tartarus, to stand together in this moment of crisis. You may have heard some things about this outside threat already, and I’m here to explain exactly what is going on.”
He was flanked by three armed guards on both sides to emphasize the militarized tone of his speech. If he was going to present his case, it was going to be from a position of strength.
“The people who came here threaten everything that we’ve built so far. Since the September twelfth blast, ‘Judgment Day,’ as it’s been termed, we’ve taken a town in absolute ruin and restored order and stability. While some may have thought our methods too harsh, I believe that my men and I have only done what was necessary. We stepped in where your government failed you. And where are your elected leaders now? Probably hiding in a bunker somewhere underground.”
Arthur took a step back and placed his hands on his hips while taking a deep breath. With no microphone or bullhorn, he had to make sure his words were loud and resonating. The residents would have to be inspired to walk away, ready to charge into battle. Before his brief stint in politics, he had always wanted to be a general.
“The outsiders did more than trespass into our town. The attacked two freemen, killing one and injuring the other.”
He stopped and ran both hands down his face.
“And I regret to report that they made off with a substantial amount of our supplies. Food, water, and perhaps worst of all, your medication.”
The wary and addled crowd gasped. Frightened people looked at each other. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing.
“How much of it?” one man shouted out from deep within the crowd.
Arthur paused then looked down. “All of it.”
A roar, filled with pain, rose from the crowd. Fists pumped in the air, punctuating the frenzied outcry. Arthur continued to stoke their rage, fanning the flames, as he laid out his plan for quick, decisive action.
“Now calm down, everyone!” he shouted in an attempt to be heard over the raucous panic and anger. “Listen to me!”
Jerome, standing close to Arthur, raised his pistol in the air and fired. People screamed, and the blast sent most of the crowd huddled to the ground in fear. An eerie silence followed. Jerome stared out angrily into the crowd. “Y’all listen to what the mayor is trying to tell you!”
Arthur looked at him with annoyance but then was pleased to see the crowd complying. He continued, his voice sharp and confident. “As I was saying, I have a plan. We went to the outsiders’ hideout with the intent to solve this thing peacefully. The people, twenty or so of them, turned us down. They said that no measure of peace with us is worth their own safety. So we have no recourse at this time but to take the fight to them. I’m proposing a force three times the size of theirs to invade their hideout and wipe them out!”
At first, people were quiet, but then a few began to whistle and shout. Then some began cheering, and finally, most of the others joined in. Arthur had been pacing from one end of the pavilion to the other, looking determined and confident. “It’s time to tell the enemies of this town that if they attack us and steal from us, they will face the full wrath of our citizens! Join us! Join us in taking back what is ours!”
He had whipped them into a frenzy. The cheering continued, amplified by clapping and stomping. A wide-eyed group of residents clamored in front of him, their faces full of rage and anticipation. The attack would take planning and strategy, but he had succeeded in the first, most important step: the people were ready to unleash their months of bottled rage, fear, and desperation on the unsuspecting mountain people, who would soon face the fatal repercussions of a town scorned.
***
The camp was at a time of reckoning. Rob had spoken to Arthur, the supposed mayor, and the words exchanged were very clear. He had been given an ultimatum. Either work with the criminals running the town, or face conflict. Whatever the outcome, Rob wanted to be prepared. He didn’
t trust a thing Arthur had told him. And he knew that when they came back, people were going to die. He had to convince the camp of what he knew to be true.
“We don’t have much time. It’s very clear to me what they plan to do,” Rob told the group before him.
Carlos and Mayra. Peter and Krystal. Brad and Ashlee. Elliot and Reba. They all wanted answers. The standoff between Rob and the outsiders had put everyone on edge. Some considered leaving altogether, but Rob pressed them on standing their ground. There was no reason to run. If they did, they wouldn’t find a safer place to hunker down. This point alone became a cause for contention.
“We need to leave, and we need to leave now,” Peter announced, standing up from his bench. He cradled his bandaged hand as a reminder of the ruthlessness of the people they were facing.
“It’s not that easy,” Rob said. “We chose this spot for a reason. Sure, we could get in our cars and drive anywhere, but we don’t know what else is out there. We could drive across the Canadian border and find towns and cities even worse off than here. But that’s not the point.”
Carlos suddenly spoke up. “I don’t want my family to be here when they come back. It’s foolish to stay around.”
Most of the group agreed, giving grumbling support.
“None of us want our families in this situation,” Rob said. “But you’re forgetting one of the most important rules in times of crisis.”
“What’s that?” Carlos asked.
“Staying put,” Rob answered.
The group talked among themselves in a quiet huddle. Reba had finally built up enough strength to come outside. The kids were all in their cabins, told to lie low while plans were made. Everyone was on edge, there was no denying that, and Rob knew he had his work cut out convincing them to stay and fight. Even Mila, standing a few feet away, didn’t think that it was their best option. She wanted to take their beat-up Datsun and get as far away from Bear Mountain as possible. But Rob had other ideas.
