by Joe Nobody
“He has the brightest, rust-red hair I’ve ever seen on a boy,” Hannah had reported. “And more freckles than any three kids should ever be allowed.”
Sure enough, Bishop spotted a mop on the approaching rider that left no doubt he had the right guy.
As predicted, Ricky slowed and then dismounted his bike immediately before the sandbar. Just as the tracks indicated, the kid pointed his bike toward the side of the road where Bishop was hiding.
Ricky was almost through the obstacle when the scrape of a boot caused him to turn. Before he could execute the maneuver, however, the world went black as Bishop pulled a dark pillowcase over the lad’s head.
“Hey, what the hell…” the protestor snarled from inside the hood. Before he could finish, Ricky was on his ass, and then a heartbeat later, an incredibly strong pair of hands yanked on his arm, twisting it viciously until his body flopped face down into the sand.
Ricky barely felt the boot on the small of his back, the pain shooting through his shoulder being so intense. “Oh, God! Who are you! Stop! Please!”
“Shut your mouth,” came a harsh, low growl as Bishop torqued just slightly on the kid’s arm. “Shut up before I rip off this arm and shove it up your ass.”
“Okay, okay, Mister. Take the bike … it’s all I’ve got.”
“I don’t want your bicycle, boy. I want to know where the Quakers are meeting tonight.”
His prisoner’s hesitation was too long, telling Bishop instantly that he had the right man. Still, Ricky tried to play it dumb. “The who?”
Again, Bishop torqued on the arm. Not enough to dislocate the lad’s shoulder, but almost. “Don’t try to bullshit me, son. May sent me to find you and your other friends. Where do you meet?”
The mention of May’s name caused another lengthy pause before the muffled answer came from under the hood. “You know May?”
Bishop didn’t have time to play nice. Still, he was a bit surprised at the youth’s resilience. Normally, the ambush and hood were enough to motivate all but the most disciplined tongues. Pulling his sidearm, he pressed the weapon close to Ricky’s masked head and cocked the hammer. Without any warning, he fired a shot into the sand.
In a way, the Texan felt sorry for the kid. The .45’s report was enough to make a person’s ears ring for hours. Without any warning, inside the dark confines of the hood, he was sure Ricky’s brain was just about to go into convulsions. The smell of urine soon confirmed that fact. On the other hand, there were accusations that he had participated in a massacre and torched food bound to the famine ridden U.S.
“The next one goes into your right kneecap,” the Texan shouted. “I carry a .45 automatic with 200-grain hollowpoints that have a velocity of 980 feet per second. I will fire at an upward angle so that the lead shatters your tibia, crushes your patella, and shreds every tendon between the femur and your asshole. You will never ride that bicycle again. Where is the fucking meeting?”
Inside the darkness of the cloth, Ricky was trying to cry, breathe, think, and lie all at the same time. The resulting gibberish didn’t answer Bishop’s question.
The Texan shook his head in frustration. The kid at his feet was being stubborn. He touched the tip of his boot to the back of the prone kid’s calf, sure that it felt like the barrel of a pistol to his hostage.
It was like a bolt of electricity shot through Ricky’s convulsing body, a clear, “Nooooo!” escaping from the terrified lad’s throat.
“Where is the meeting?”
“It’s at the warehouse, you son of a bitch,” he sobbed.
“What warehouse?”
“The one just outside of town, next to the water tower.”
Bishop loosened his grip on the boy’s arm, then pulled the weak-kneed youth to his feet. A moment later, the red mop of hair was exposed, Ricky blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. “Come on, son. You’re going with me.”
As expected, the removal of hood stiffened the boy’s constitution. “Fuck you, Copperhead. I’d rather die than be a slave. You can kill me right here and now, but I ain’t going anywhere with you.”
“I’m not a Copperhead, dumbass. I work for the Alliance,” Bishop stated with a serious voice. “The second thing you should know about me is that I’ve killed more men than you have hairs around your pussy. I strongly suggest that you show me a little more respect.”
When the youth didn’t respond immediately, Bishop pointed to the widening, damp stain that darkened the front of Ricky’s pants. “And lastly, you should really work on controlling your bladder, baby boy.”
Embarrassment was now added to the whirlwind of emotions clogging Ricky’s brain. Bishop didn’t care. Lucrecia’s hourglass was running out of sand. There were hundreds of lives on the line, including Butter’s.
Reaching for the microphone, the Texan broadcasted, “I’ve got him, Sheriff. I would appreciate a ride.”
“Everything okay?” Watt inquired across the airwaves.
“Yes, everything is fine. By the way, you wouldn’t have a spare pair of trousers in your trunk, would you?”
Having dry jeans didn’t seem to help Ricky’s attitude. Nor did learning that May had been captured by the Copperheads.
“She knew the risk,” the defiant youth stated boldly. “We all know the risks.”
Terri was playing the role of good cop. After Bishop’s initial encounter with the lad, there was no need for a bad cop. “Why didn’t you come to the Alliance? Why didn’t anyone come forward and report that slavers were ravaging the countryside?”
The suggestion seemed to offend the young man. “We did. When the Copperheads first started taking people from their homes, several folks went to the men who were running the town. The next night, the whistleblowers disappeared. It was several months before we found out that the slavers were bribing the local cops and the man who called himself the mayor.”
Sheriff Watts spoke up from the corner, “That’s believable. From what I’ve been able to ascertain, these Copperheads used the same old tricks as the cartels. Bribes and threats were common along the river.”
Pointing a finger at Watts, Ricky spat, “Bribes? Graft? Tell the truth, Mr. Honest and Upright. Hell, half of the people that ended up in Bella Dona’s meat market were delivered by your deputies.”
For the first time since Bishop had known the good sheriff, Watts showed embarrassment.
“Sheriff?” Terri asked. “What is he talking about?”
“Ma’am, what did we do with criminals back in the early days of the recovery?”
Terri tilted her head in thought and then answered. “We exiled them. We ran them out of Texas with a stern warning not to come back.”
“Yes, ma’am. That was about our only choice. There weren’t any jails or prisons, so my men were ordered to take people to the border and kick them out of the Lone Star State. What few deputies we had here along the border did the same thing, forcing criminals into Mexico.”
Bishop rolled his eyes, “So we were using Bella Dona as a warden, her plantation as a prison? Wonderful. That’s just great.”
Watts shook his head, instantly becoming defensive. “My men didn’t know anything about slave labor or any plantation. They were ordered to kick offenders out of Texas, and they did. What happened to them on the other side of the river wasn’t our concern.”
Spreading his hands, Ricky barked, “Homeless criminals roaming from house to house, terrorizing our community. No wonder the leaders struck a bargain with Lady Bella Dona. And when the supply of felons was low, they subsidized their catch with locals. Now do you understand why we didn’t come to Alliance and ask for help? Hell, from what we could see, you people were in bed with Bella Dona and her lot, feeding them a ready source of human flesh.”
Terri studied the redheaded young man sitting in the corner, eventually shaking her head in disgust. “So you take it upon yourselves to murder a bunch of innocent truckers?”
“Innocent, my ass. They were warne
d. We went to the guy gathering the convoy and explained how they were buying food grown by the hands of slaves. Captured and imprisoned citizens. Jeb … or whatever his name was, didn’t believe us or didn’t want to. He pulled a shotgun on us. Said if we didn’t get away from his truck, he’d cut us in half.”
“So you murdered them,” Watts stated with disdain.
“We are fighting a war. There are causalities in war. As soon as those truckers left Texas with their trailers loaded with equipment … equipment that the Copperheads use to build weapons, they became combatants. Hell, there are tanks rolling around the plantation now. All thanks to the good ol’ U.S.A. We couldn’t just stand by and let Bella Dona and her henchmen get stronger and stronger. What else were we supposed to do?”
“How did May find out where her sister was being held?” Bishop asked.
“One of the slaves escaped and managed to make it to the settlement on the lakeshore – the one that was burned a few nights ago. The villagers had been fighting the Copperheads for months, just like us. They handed the fugitive over so we could hide him. He told us where April and several other gringos were being held.”
“So May, a 20-year old girl, takes it upon herself to go and rescue her sister?” Terri asked, still not believing the kid’s story.
Grunting, Ricky shook his head. “You underestimate May. When she first joined our cause, we all made the same mistake. Within three months, she was our leader, and no one has questioned her since. She is the strongest person I have ever met and one of the smartest.”
Bishop shook his head, “She must not be too smart. She managed to get herself captured along with one of my men.”
The kid grunted with a light laugh, “You think that wasn’t intentional? May knows the only way we can destroy the Copperheads is to turn the Alliance against them. She played that dumbass hulk on your team like a cheap fiddle. And guess what? Now you’re in, like it or not. Mission accomplished.”
Terri had to admit, the young man was right. The Alliance was in knee deep and sinking further into the quagmire with each passing hour. Nick and Diana were on their way. The Army was sending a general from Fort Hood. Sheriff Watts was voicing rare complaints about the draw on his limited manpower.
Bishop sensed his wife’s growing frustration. Returning his attention to their guest, the Texan decided to try to intimidate Ricky, “Bella Dona wants us to bring her the Quakers’ heads. There are dozens of innocent lives that will be lost if we don’t comply. Why shouldn’t I just round up your friends, put you on a school bus, and deliver you to the plantation?”
“There’s little we could do to stop you,” Ricky answered with a shrug. “But then again, what would our families and friends say? Do the people in Alpha really want it known far and wide that the Alliance supports slavers over its own citizens? Go ahead, lady. Wrap the Quakers up in a neat, pretty, little package and put a bow on top if that’s the reputation you want your government to have. May predicted that the Alliance would fall within six months once people knew that our blood was on your hands.”
Terri struggled to keep her temper from boiling over. Combined, the Alliance members involved in the convoy operation had decades of experience dealing with everything from international relations to law enforcement. Yet, despite their knowledge and history, a second-string bunch of locals had pulled the organization into the middle of a conflict that could result in a hot war and hundreds, if not thousands of causalities.
Ricky seemed to relish her dilemma. “What is your problem? Why are you mad at us? If someone kidnapped your family and you knew they were being forced into slavery, wouldn’t you do everything within your power to set your loved ones free?”
He then turned and glared at Bishop, “You’re a tough guy. Mean and capable. How many people did you say you had killed? And yet you sit there staring at me as if I’m some sort of monster or criminal. You threaten to shoot me. Why? From where I’m sitting, I’m the white hat in this drama. We were doing the right thing! Why aren’t you and the all-mighty Alliance rolling south to wipe this scourge from the earth?”
Bishop just sat, staring back at the kid with a blank expression. When it became clear that the Texan wasn’t going to answer, Ricky threw up his arms in disgust. “You people make me sick. I’m not the criminal here. You are. Who sits around intimidating a kid when there are citizens you’re sworn to protect laboring in bondage? Since we’ve been sitting here, Bella Dona and her crew have probably worked another half dozen innocent people into their graves.”
“Why is it every time I have a conversation with you people down in Texas, it blossoms into some huge international incident?” the President’s voice boomed over the radio.
Diana glanced at Nick and rolled her eyes, “Believe me, sir, we’re not any happier about this than you are.”
“Slaves?” the voice from Washington barked. “That’s a pretty broad term, Miss Brown. A term often twisted to encompass all kinds of business models. If I recall, before this new world order, there was a media exposé about slave labor in China being used to produce imported goods. I also remember headlines about factories burning in India where child labor was supposedly involved. And wasn’t there some huge scandal in Texas about the sex trade and illegal immigrants?”
“Yes, sir, I do remember reading about all of those events.”
“While personally, I am outraged by such practices, the downfall of society has moved the bar when it comes to individual rights and human dignity. You said Bishop and Terri reported seeing thousands of well-fed, productive people on this Mexican plantation. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Well let me tell you, ma’am, when the snow starts flying this winter, I’m going to have about two million starving souls in the upper Midwest who would gladly sign up for hard labor in exchange for a mouthful of food. I don’t know about your administration in Alpha, but we fight this same moral dilemma practically every, single day here in Washington. Which is more important, human dignity and freedom, or a belly full of food? It is easy to mount a philosophical debate while enjoying a four-course meal, but a little dicier conversation out in the real world. The choice is never easy or clear.”
Diana nodded, able to relate to what the man on the other end of transmission was saying. “I understand, sir, but that’s really not what I wanted to speak with you about. We requested this conversation hoping to learn what the United States had used to procure the food from Mexico. What form of payment did you use?”
There was a pause, and then Diana heard the rattling of papers in the background. “I’m looking at the inventory sheets, Miss Brown. Looks like a bunch of farm equipment to me. I see a long list of diesel and gasoline engine parts, tractor treads, wheels and tires, welding supplies, and a host of other industrial goods. Why is this information important to you? I don’t understand?”
After throwing Nick a questioning look and receiving a confirming nod, Diana responded, “Because we believe they are building an army, sir.”
Again, Washington was silent for a considerable period. Finally, “I suppose the stuff we sent them could be used to repair military equipment. But, it could also be implemented to maintain a farm or a food processing plant or a factory that makes tennis shoes.”
“I understand, Mr. President.”
“So, if you don’t mind sharing, what are your plans, Ms. Brown? Obviously, we both have a lot at stake here.”
“At this time, sir, we don’t have any viable solution to the issue. I have my best people working on it, but so far I’ve not heard any reasonable plan of action.”
A low grunt sounded over the airwaves before the Commander in Chief spoke again. “You have my sympathies, Diana. This is a deep quagmire if ever one existed. I’m sure you’re well aware what will happen if widespread starvation rears its ugly head among our population.”
Diana sighed, “Yes, sir. They will come south … to Texas, and I’ll have more mouths to feed.”
“Yes, sir, we are well aware of that potential. We all want to avoid causing any more suffering or hardship.”
“I wish you the best of luck, Diana, and please, give my best to Bishop and Terri, if you would. Tell them I look forward to seeing my godson soon.”
“We could wipe out the entire plantation with a single air strike,” Nick stated evenly. “Four F-15 Eagles could probably do the job in less than a minute. Unfortunately, dozens of Alliance citizens, as well as Butter and the truckers, would probably be killed by the bomb’s collateral damage.”
“That would leave us with thousands of unorganized, hungry refugees at best,” Diana said, shaking her head. “I don’t think that is a viable option.”
The big man’s focus then settled on Bishop, “Could we insert a Special Forces team and attempt to pull Butter out?”
“Doubtful,” the Texan replied with a frown. “Castro isn’t stupid. I’m sure he’s moving the hostages around every night. He’s probably doing the same with his own worthless carcass, as well as Lady Bella Dona. The facility down there is the size of a small city. We’d never find our people before being discovered and engaged.”
“What about an airborne assault?” offered the general from Fort Hood. “We could transport in with a few dozen Blackhawks full of infantry and take over the entire place in a matter of minutes.”
Bishop stood and stepped to the wall map, pointing with a pencil. “The hostages are in at least two different places. We know they have armor here … and here. It would take a huge invasion force to control both locations, and even then, there’s no guarantee that we would find our people. No, General, my read is that an invasion of any sort is out of the question. Those people down there are absolutely ruthless. They will kill our citizens the moment they sense anything is wrong.”
“Would they accept any other form of ransom?” Diana asked. “Can we offer something other than the Quakers?”
