Sunfall (Book 3): Impact

by Gideon, D.

  “Then I appreciate it,” Sorenson said. “She’s got very little time.”

  “Dotty would do whatever she could to help us,” Charlotte said. “We’ll do the same.”

  “John, let me speak to you a minute before you go,” the Sheriff said, and when the big man nodded, he lifted his hands and spoke up. “Everyone else, start clearing out. Let’s give the family some privacy and get off the property. We don’t want more arrests.”

  The crowd, with the exception of the family and the inmates, started drifting off. The Sheriff murmured something into Father Bill’s ear, then walked with John to the back of his car.

  “Someone tell me what the hell is going on!” Corey said. “Executed? This is a joke, right? This has to be a joke.”

  “I’m sorry son,” Sorenson said, and seemed to sag as if the tension of finding fuel had been the only thing keeping him upright.

  “Don’t panic,” Father Bill told Corey. “We’ll figure something out. The Bishop will ask for a pardon, and given the circumstances, I’m sure he’ll get one.”

  “Folks, we need to move out to the end of the parking lot, at least,” Fish said. “The City has sent us a clear message that they’re not playing. Let’s not tempt fate.”

  “If someone doesn’t start talking-” Thomas shouted, and Bishop Sorenson took him by the arm. “Thomas, Corey, walk with me,” he said. “Mr. Miller, you too, please.” The four of them moved off, with Father Bill following behind, pulling Sorenson’s case.

  “This can’t be happening,” Mel said, her voice soft. “He told us ‘life sentence’.”

  “C’mon honey, let’s let them talk,” Lily said, wrapping an arm around Mel’s shoulders. “And let’s move, like they said. Imagine how upset Dotty would be if one of us ended up in there with her.”

  She put her other arm around Ripley and the ladies moved off. The inmates drifted about halfway down the parking lot and stopped, waiting for the Sheriff to tell them what to do. Preacher watched the Sheriff hand John something from his trunk that looked like a clear plastic case. Then some kind of clothing...a shirt? He couldn’t tell.

  It didn’t matter. The likelihood of getting a pardon was slim. The likelihood of returning from Annapolis in time was slimmer. As if to underscore the implausibility of that idea, the drizzling rain turned into a downpour.

  Preacher looked back at Fish, whose face was grim.

  “Tell me we’ve got a backup plan,” Preacher said.

  “Something involving explosives,” Marco added.

  Fish raised his eyebrows at Marco. “Explosives might be nice. You know where we can get some of those?”

  Marco and Preacher looked at each other and smiled.

  Preacher

  Preacher sat on the couch in the Miller’s house, with Jax sitting on the floor between his knees and her head in his lap. He rubbed her behind the ears and tried not to look at anyone.

  Ripley sat on the floor on the other end of the couch, next to the cast iron stove, curled around King. Across the coffee table, Mel was curled up with her arms around her knees in an overstuffed chair. Marco sat next to her in a matching chair, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his thumb tapping a staccato beat on his wrist.

  Here in the living room, it was quiet. There was plenty of conversation coming from other parts of the house, though. Seth and Lily were upstairs, arguing. They were trying to do it quietly, but it wasn’t working. The hard rain just wasn’t enough to mask the more intense parts of their debate.

  Seth wanted to pack everyone up and leave, like Dotty had asked them to. He agreed with her, that Cindy would be coming back. He didn’t want to be here when Frank and the goons showed up again. Lily was hesitant. While Seth was fired up to just throw everything and everyone into his truck and drive as far as the gas tank would get them, Lily wanted a destination. Going off into the wild without a plan was stupid, she argued. It might just get them killed.

  Preacher agreed with them both. And with Dotty laying the safety of Corey and Thomas at Seth’s feet, it made both sides of the decision that much harder.

  He couldn’t escape the guilt he felt about that. About all of this.

  In the kitchen, Father Bill talked low with Corey and Thomas. The emotions back there had ranged from despair to rage and back again.

  “Christ, I could use a cigarette,” Mel muttered. Then she sat up and put her feet down in one quick motion. Everyone else jumped at the movement.

  “Cigarettes!” Mel said, and dashed from her chair, streaked across the room, and pounded up the stairs.

  They looked at each other, wide-eyed.

  “I thought she ran out of those a long time ago,” Ripley said. Her voice was hoarse from crying.

  “She did,” Marco said. “I’ve been looking for more for her, but haven’t found any.”

  Thumps and footsteps sounded overhead. Then a cry of triumph. Heads swung to the stairs as Mel came pounding back down, holding up a small piece of paper. It looked like a business card.

  She slid to a stop in front of Marco and thrust it at him.

  “Get me a radio,” she said. “You had to have seen a radio in one of those houses.”

  Marco took the card, confused, and his face fell when he turned it over.

  “Melanie,” his voice was soft. “This takes a special kind of radio.”

  “Then find one!” she said. “I’ll call Agent Perkins, and he can come down here and stop this.”

  “HAM radios are rare,” Marco said. “I haven’t even seen one. If I had, I’d have brought it home and found a way to power it up.”

  “I don’t want to hear that, Romeo. You go out, and you find me one.” She jabbed a finger at the card.

  What the hell is on that card? Preacher thought.

  “You can’t call Perkins,” Ripley said. “If he comes here, he’ll take you back to the bunker with the rest of the Senators and families.”

  “I don’t care!” Mel cried, her voice breaking. “If it keeps Grams alive, I don’t care! I’ll go. I’ll put up with my bitch whore of a mother and I’ll be happy about it, knowing that Grams is still here and she’s safe!”

  “If we had a HAM radio, I might be able to get in touch with someone in Norfolk,” Corey said from the doorway. “Maybe even contact the base directly. Tell Mom what’s going on. Maybe she could stop this.” Thomas stood behind him.

  “She likely couldn’t get here in time, and she’d probably get hurt trying,” Bill said from the kitchen.

  “She’s in the military. They’ve got all the fuel they need. She’s got more of a chance of getting here in time than the Bishop does,” Thomas argued.

  “Across the mouth of the Bay?” Ripley said. “That guy Marco talked to said the bridge-tunnel was flooded.”

  “The Navy has boats,” Thomas started, but Bill cut him off.

  “There’s nothing anyone in the Navy can do, Thomas. They have no jurisdiction. And your mother’s a nurse, she’s not even military police.”

  “There’s got to be something we can do,” Thomas said. “At least we can friggin’ try, instead of just sitting here. The longer we sit here the closer we get to Grams dying!”

  “There is something we can do,” Preacher said.

  Everyone looked at him, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. Not yet, anyway. Across the coffee table, Marco gave him a stern look and a barely perceptible shake of his head.

  “Well?” Thomas said, stalking towards Preacher. “Speak up! You got us into all this shit, the least you can do is offer up some kind of suggestion.”

  “That’s not fair,” Bill said, stepping into the room. “This isn’t David’s fault.”

  “Yes, it is,” Preacher said.

  “Damn right it is,” Thomas said, standing over him now. Preacher gave Jax one last pat on the head and pushed her away.

  “You wanna give me payback for that?” Preacher asked, sitting up straight.

  “Damn right I do.”

  Pre
acher nodded, and stood. Thomas, unlike Corey, was average height. But he was built wide, like a football player, and packed with muscle. This would probably hurt.

  Preacher stepped out away from the couch and the very breakable coffee table and checked that nothing was behind him. He looked back at Thomas and nodded.

  “Go ahead.”

  The elder brother didn’t hesitate. His fist hit Preacher’s jaw like a hammer.

  “Holy shit! Thomas, stop!” Ripley said. She scrambled up from her spot on the floor.

  Preacher straightened his head and wiggled his jaw a bit. It was a nice punch. A straight, quick jab. No telegraphing it with a wide arc. Preacher nodded and met eyes with Thomas.

  “Again?” Preacher asked.

  The blow came from the other side. Just as quick, just as hard. Then another. And another. Everyone was yelling. Preacher just took the hits, his head rocking a bit with each blow.

  At least he’s alternating sides, he thought.

  Ripley latched onto Thomas’ arm, dragging him back. The next swing missed. Marco dove from the chair and Thomas went down, crashing onto the floor with Marco wrapped around his hips. Footsteps thundered down the stairs and suddenly Seth was in front of him, yelling for everyone to stop.

  “Enough! Enough!” Seth shouted, holding his hands out. “We can’t do this. I know everyone’s angry, and we’re all upset, but we can’t take it out on each other.”

  “It’s his fault,” Thomas snarled, struggling to get free. Marco had crawled up his body and had him in some complicated, twisted mess. Thomas couldn’t move.

  “No, it’s not,” Seth said.

  “It is,” Preacher said, and rubbed at his jaw. It was going to be sore.

  “No, it’s not,” Seth repeated, pointing a finger at him and raising his eyebrows in a way that practically dared Preacher to argue with him.

  “If he didn’t-” Thomas started, but Lily’s voice rang out.

  “It’s Cathy’s fault!” she shouted. When no one spoke, she leaned over the railing and pointed to the front door. “That bitch stood right at that door, on my porch, and demanded Dotty let her in. And when Dotty didn’t, she got mad, and she went to Cindy. She brought the City down on us. She reported the historical violations. She fed Cindy Stalls all of the information. She’s the one responsible for this. Not anyone in this family.”

  Everyone was staring up at her. Preacher had turned to look, too.

  Lily swung that finger to point at him. “And when I say family, that includes you. So quit acting like a dumbass. You’re no one’s punching bag. You hear me?”

  Preacher blinked. “Yes ma’am.”

  “You’d better. Thomas Winters, do you hear me? He’s not your enemy.”

  “Yes Miss Lily,” Thomas said.

  “Good,” Seth said, and let out a breath. “Good. Now let’s sit down, and try to figure out what we’re going to do.”

  A deep voice boomed from the other side of the door. “Well if you’d stop yelling and answer the door, I might could help with that.”

  Simon

  Simon’s footsteps echoed down the empty halls. It was strange being back in the prison, with wide open doors and dark corridors. It was even stranger hearing the laughter coming from the men’s wing. The previous tenants didn’t laugh much.

  He stepped into the space and took it in. Thomas Winters clung to the underside of the metal stairs, doing pull-ups while Preacher watched. His brother Corey sat at one of the few octagonal bench tables in the general area, loading bullets into magazines next to a row of police-issued rifles and pistols, and tossing harmless insults Thomas’ way. Far off in the corner, the strange and quiet Marco fellow dipped twine into candle wax, laying the stiffened strands out next to assembled pipe bombs. Coleman lanterns lit both of the tables in use, and provided enough light that Simon could have turned off his headlamp, if his arms weren’t full.

  “Here we go,” he said, dropping his armload of vests onto an empty table. He thumbed the button for his headlamp, then fished a larger vest out of the pile and slid it to the side. “This one’s for you, Preacher. It’s my backup, so it should fit you.”

  The big convict straightened and walked over, lifting the body armor and rapping his knuckles on the front. He held it up to his chest and made a face.

  “It says POLICE,” he said.

  “They all do. Everyone going with me’s getting deputized,” Simon answered.

  Thomas walked over, wiping sweat from his face with the bottom of his tank top. He dropped the shirt and reached for the vests. “If I put one of these on, you’ll let me go?”

  “Hell no,” Simon said, smacking the young man’s hand away. “You, your brother, and the girls stay here. We’ve been over this.”

  “It’s bullshit. That’s my grandmother in there,” Thomas said.

  Corey spoke up from his table. “Drop it, Tom. You know Grams would kill everyone involved if we went over there, even if we came out without a scratch.”

  “Dotty’s main concern was that you kids were safe,” Simon said. “We don’t know if we’ll be able to get her out alive, much less ourselves. I’m not risking you.”

  “That’s what I’m for,” Preacher said, dropping his oversized vest on a different table. He jabbed a thumb into his chest. “Expendable.”

  Corey snorted. “If you think you ain’t getting an ass-whooping, you’ve got another thing coming. Grams gets out of there, she’ll string you up right next to the rest of us.”

  Preacher shrugged. “I’ll risk it.” He pointed down to the vests. “What’s in those?”

  “Kevlar vest, polyethylene plates,” Simon said. “Should stop most of what they’ll be throwing at us.”

  “I saw shotguns,” Marco called out from his seat. “They might have slugs. And those ARs will be packing a punch.”

  Simon shrugged. “All our guards here had to worry about were knives and maybe handgun rounds if the inmates acquired a weapon. Either way, this is what we’ve got. It’s better than nothing.”

  Marco frowned, but nodded.

  Simon looked around at the empty cells and blew out a breath. Back when he’d pulled the New Home inmates out, he’d thought it might come to this. Either the Mayor’s team, or a posse of convicts from another county; either one would seek to take control. The convicts had been his back-up plan. Bringing any civilians into it had never been part of that. Now Father Bill was insisting on coming, and Marco had told him flat-out that either he came along as part of the team or he’d follow behind them. And since neither of them were Dotty’s family, all of his words that kept the others sullenly compliant just bounced off the two of them.

  “I’m supposed to tell you that the ladies need more victims,” Simon said. “They’re playing poker, and my mother’s just about wiped everyone clean. Fish was holding his own when I passed through, but it’s a near thing.”

  The single men were over here in one of the pods in the men’s wing, while the women and families were in the women’s wing. The guys had decided this on their own, figuring it would ease everyone’s mind. Honestly, Simon thought Preacher had a lot to do with it. He’d headed straight for his old cell when they’d moved the family in, and the guys had just kinda followed along. Now all the “war talk” and activities were happening here, while in the women’s wing Charlotte’s little girls were running around and the cutthroat game of poker was taking place. Two entirely different atmospheres.

  “Penny ante?” Corey asked.

  Simon shook his head. “Tongue depressors from the infirmary. It’s the only thing they could find in bulk that didn’t have an immediate use.”

  “Our people. How much longer?” Preacher asked.

  “Should be any time now,” Simon said. “The wind’s really picking up outside. We’re in heavy tropical storm conditions, it looks like. The full hurricane will probably be here in a few hours.”

  “Are any of them former military?” Marco asked. “If not, I’ll need enough time
to run the group through some basic communication and movement drills.”

  “You’ll need to do it regardless of their status,” Simon said. “Just so we’re all on the same page.”

  “I appreciate you letting me take the lead on that, Sheriff,” Marco said.

  Simon shrugged. “I’m guessing your training is a lot more recent than mine. No skin off my nose.”

  Footsteps echoed in the hall, and two of the New Home men came through the block’s doorway carrying duffel bags wrapped in big trash bags. A few days ago, with new growths of hair and civilian clothing, they’d looked like any other town resident. With dripping wet hair plastered to their skulls, wearing wet tank tops with all of their tattoos showing, they looked every bit the hardened convicts that they were. The men looked around the block with frowns.

  “When they said y’all were in the men’s wing, I kinda figured I’d be back in my old block,” Trench said.

  “You can bunk there if you want to, but I’d prefer that you all stick together. Get to know each other,” Simon said. “The only thing off-limits is the ICE wing. I’ll probably have to burn the mattresses in there.”

  The prison had been one of only two in Maryland that housed illegal immigrants being held for trial and deportation. Most of them came through the door with viruses and lice. Even though they each got a full medical examination and treatment on their intake day, lice took multiple treatments to get rid of. Being that the ICE detainees were “temporary” residents and the prison couldn’t shave their heads like they did for their long-term inmates, killing the lice and the eggs was an unending battle. They’d never been able to keep ahead of it when he’d been Warden.

  Bringing the families here as a fortified shelter was meant to help protect them from both the storm and Frank’s so-called police force. However long they ended up staying, even with each family bringing what food they had and Charlotte’s seemingly endless supply of canned chicken, they’d have enough problems keeping everyone fed and setting up better toiletry facilities outside. They didn’t need to be dealing with lice, too. He was keeping that cell block locked tight.