by Connor Mccoy
“You still are staying safe on the streets at night?” Katie asked as Melvin put the tea down in front of her. “You haven’t run into one of the groups of thugs who like to push people down and kick them to death?”
“I’ve been able to avoid them so far, but I know people who’ve been attacked.” All roads lead back to Arthur, Melvin thought. “And you, Katie, have you remained safe here?”
“My dog disappeared,” she said, “but other than that I’ve been fine. I’ll have to find a puppy. It’s very handy to know when someone is approaching. Dogs are good at that.”
“If I hear of a puppy, I’ll let you know,” Melvin said. “I assume you don’t want anything too big.”
“I don’t mind a big dog in the winter,” she said. “They keep me warm. But it’s harder to find food enough to feed a large animal, so all in all, smaller is better.”
“Things may happen in the next couple of days, Katie, and if things turn out well, there will be a permanent medical clinic at the museum. If things do work out well, I want you to know that you are welcome to come to stay there in the winter. The building has heat and hot water. You don’t have to freeze all winter.”
“I don’t want to sponge off you, Melvin,” she said.
“You won’t be sponging, I’ll put you to work in the soup kitchen we want to get started. I know you have experience with that kind of cooking. We could use your help. It’s not a shelter, it’s a community. Everyone helping to make life better for the community. I hope you’ll consider it.”
“Let’s wait and see what happens over the next few days. I don’t like to plan for an uncertain future.”
Melvin left soon after this conversation. He hugged Katie again and told her not to forget his offer, and then he disappeared back into the night. He found the young man he’d wanted to give soup to before he’d realized he’d forgotten hot water and made him hot soup. Then went back to his rounds of the streets.
Many times he spoke of the clinic, and that something good would be happening there in the morning, but at other times, like with Katie, he didn’t mention it. There was the possibility of violence, and he would not ask the old or infirm to swell the crowd. It was already hard enough for the sick and elderly to keep themselves alive without exposing them to the mob mentality.
He sought out Joe, the man whose brother he’d stitched up after a knife fight those weeks before. He felt uncomfortable as he climbed the stairs to the office home where Joe lived. He should have checked back long before this. He was out of breath when he banged on the glass door to the suite of rooms Joe inhabited. He was spending too much time in the clinic, he was out of shape.
A gun was cocked on the other side of the frosted window, and Melvin stepped back. “It’s me, Melvin. Let me in, Joe. I want to check on Daniel.”
The door opened with a bang and Joe stepped out aggressively, gun held high. He lowered it when he saw it was indeed Melvin, and that he was alone. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m still waiting for the Court to come and take our Daniel away.”
“How is Daniel?” Melvin asked. “Has he healed?”
“The stab wound is doing well,” Joe said. “But don’t tell him that. I’m pretending it’s infected. I’ve been slipping him a sedative and pretending to be drawing infection from the wound. I won’t let him look at it. If he knew he was better, he’d be back out in the street fights again. My mother would kill me if she were here to see this.”
“Where is your mother? She didn’t die, did she?” Melvin asked.
“No, she was at home in London when it all went down. She’s stuck there now. And I hope they are handling things better than we are.” Joe shook his head. “Come and see Daniel.”
How Joe had gotten the bed up all those flights of stairs, Melvin did not like to contemplate, but one of the offices had been converted into a bedroom, complete with bed frame and mattress. Daniel was lying on the bed, fully clothed and sound asleep. Joe pulled up Daniel’s shirt to expose the wound, which was red, but not inflamed, and seemed to be healing nicely.
“I want you to stop drugging him now, Joe,” Melvin said.
“But, Mel…” Joe started, but Melvin put up a hand to stop him.
“Let me tell you why,” Melvin said. “There’s something happening tomorrow, and I think you both should be there. Be in the park across from the clinic – you know, the museum – an hour before dusk. Bring Daniel with you. We need people like you to help us reclaim the city.”
“But he’ll go back to knife fighting.” Joe’s eyes pleaded with Melvin.
“Not if he has something better to do with his time,” Melvin said. “We’ll give him purpose and a reason to live. Be there.” He looked at Daniel. “Don’t expect your brother to be able to function when he’s come out from under sedation. He’s likely to be weak and woozy for a while. He may need to lean on you to get to the rally.”
“Okay, Doc.” Joe looked uncomfortable. “Was I wrong to keep him like this? I just wanted him to be alive.”
“I can’t tell you if it was wrong or not,” Melvin said. “But I do know there are more reasons for him to be awake and alive now. We need you.”
“What do you think we can do against the Court, though, Melvin?” Joe asked as they walked through the main living areas to the door. “We all are afraid of them, so they have the power.”
“The power structure of the Court is changing,” Melvin said. “One of the judges had an enforcer kill another judge. You’d think that would swing the power all in the direction of the brutal and violent, but instead, it’s created a chasm. There’s a split between the two main powers and I don’t think the Chief Justice is going to support the change in regime. She counted on Judge Davis to provide balance and compassion, she needed him. Xander thinks he can run the Court on his own, but we aren’t going to let that happen. It’s time this city went back to rule of the people for the people, with enforceable laws and an elected government.”
“How is that possible?” Joe asked. “How do you conduct an election in this climate? How do you even go about collecting ballots?”
“There are many ways, and how it actually is done will depend on the government we decide on. It won’t be fast, but if we start with one big change, the rest will follow. Come and see.” Melvin put his hand on the handle of the outer door, “Be part of the change, Joe. You and Daniel would be valuable assets. You would be appreciated.”
“If you say so, Melvin,” Joe said. “But excuse me if I’m skeptical. As far as I can tell, racism is alive and well, and more prevalent now than before.”
“It seems that way because everyone is afraid. But they are not just afraid of blacks, they are afraid of their neighbors, the store owners, their children’s teachers. Let them see what kind of man you are, and they will stop fearing you. You’ll find yourself a key player in a community. Part of the core of the new city. Be wary, that’s fine, but come with an open mind and see what is possible.”
“We’ll be there,” Joe said, “but only because if we aren’t, I know you’ll hunt us down.” He grinned. “You’ve always been a damn nuisance that way.”
“And you’ve always needed prodding,” Melvin said. “Look at you, hiding up here away from the world. You need to live again, Joseph.”
They shook hands and Melvin began the long descent down to street level. He was reasonably sure Joe and Daniel would be at the rally an hour before dusk. He was pleased with his night’s work. Bodies fed and healed and minds raised. He hoped many he had seen this night would come and those who should not would stay behind. But he knew, realistically, that some who should stay behind would come, and some who could come and stand with them would hide at home. That was the way of the world.
Chapter Fifteen
As dusk approached Glen stood on the balcony overlooking the park, and his heart pounded. A crowd was gathering, close to two hundred people filled the park, and more were coming. As he looked down the avenues leading to the open space of the
green, he could see figures streaming toward him. Melvin and Robbie had done their tasks well, and the people had listened.
He knew some had come because they trusted Melvin, some because Robbie was a reliable source of information, some because they had used the clinic and believed the people there, and a great many more because word of mouth is a powerful tool.
The time was approaching when he would need to raise the bullhorn and address these people. He had spoken to crowds in the past, such as at symposiums, political events, and educational conferences, but never had what he said been so important. If he failed to inspire this crowd, his hopes for the city would come to an end. Even if they overthrew the Koupe Tribinal, another influential group would take over the city. Perhaps it would be the elite who had survived the EMP and were hiding in their strongholds, but it would not be a government for and by the people, and to thrive, that’s what Glen believed this city, and yes, this country, needed.
Melvin came to stand next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “The others wish you luck. They are standing in the crowd. That way there will at least be three people responding the way we hope they all will.”
Glen barked out a laugh. “That would be pitiful, wouldn’t it, if I make this impassioned speech and they all stand there silent?”
“It won’t happen that way,” Melvin said. “These people are searching for hope, for a way out of their current circumstances. However they respond, it will not be in silence.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Glen said. He looked out over the crowd. “They are starting to look restless, I think it’s time to get started.”
“Go to it,” Melvin said. “I’ve got my eye out for flying tomatoes, or other less harmless weapons. If I yell drop, you need to drop.”
“Understood,” Glen said, stepping to the parapet and raising the bullhorn. A cheer rose from the crowd. “Citizens of Detroit,” he began. A louder cheer erupted. This was going to take a very long time if they insisted on shouting over him at every turn. He tried again.
“Citizens of Detroit, you have suffered under the tyranny of the Koupe Tribinal, the Cut Court, for long enough. For too long they have ruled your lives with brutality, with no written code of law, no fair and consistent punishment. Your loved ones have been ripped from your homes to be mutilated or murdered with no thought to the circumstances that brought about the need for the actions you may have taken.”
Someone down below yelled, “That’s right! The swine killed my Bonnie.” There was a general muttering of agreement. Glen cleared his throat, and they quieted. They weren’t silent, mind you, but the general roar decreased to a moderate growl.
“America was made great by the rule of law, by the people and for the people,” Glen continued, “not by the rule of autocrats and tyrants. Not by those who would rule by fear and break families, leaving your children to seek shelter in the street. It is time for us once again to elect our own leaders, and we must start at the local level.”
Another cheer rose from the people.
“But before we can install a new government we will need to overthrow the old. We will need to tear down the temple of the brutal Cut Court so we can build our new government from the ash and rubble of their court. We need to take our fates into our own hands, join those hands together, and create a society that is equitable. But more than that, we need to look forward and begin rebuilding this city as we rebuild our society.”
“Before I came to Detroit to help heal your sick and wounded, I was part of a small community of people who already had done what I am asking you to do. They expelled a tyrant and elected a mayor, police chief, and other officials. They have two-year terms, so if they don’t act fairly and with compassion, they will find themselves without an office. But the townspeople were smart enough to elect people of integrity and thoughtfulness, and there has been no need to remove anyone from office.
“This same town has power to all the homes; in fact, most of the homes have solar arrays on either their front or back lawns. Because they have power, they have refrigeration and light. They are protected against foodborne illnesses. Everyone contributes to growing or raising food, to maintaining the solar panels and batteries, to the running of the community. And to the protection of the community.”
“If a small community of just a few hundred people are able to bring this about, think what a city of Detroit’s size and population can do. The people of Detroit are strong and resilient. You are smart and capable. But we need to begin banding together and helping each other. No mother should be threatened with death because she steals rotten food to feed her children. That food should have been offered before it began to go bad.”
Again a cheer rang through the park, he was reaching them. Glen happened to see Ruth standing in the crowd, and he caught her eye. She smiled and gave him the thumbs up. Her children were gathered around her, the youngest holding onto her skirt.
“There is so much that can be done to raise Detroit from the ashes,” Glen continued. “Wind, solar and hydropower could be powering this city. We should have community gardens, and food distribution as well as medical services available to all. I do not know where the elite are hiding in this city, but I know they are there. I know that they have recruited the best medical professionals and that those professionals are only available to those who can pay. No mother should have to sell her body to get her child medical care.”
The cheer from the crowd was louder still.
“I don’t know where the elite get their food, their entertainment, their libations, but you can bet that they have all those things. And they aren’t sharing those things with the rest of us. It’s time to reintegrate the city. To bring it back to life.”
There was a brief commotion in the crowd that captured Glen’s attention for a moment, but it was over swiftly, like a lone breeze rippling through tall grass, turning into a cyclone and then dissipating. When nothing else happened, he continued on.
“My plan for the city is three-fold,” he went on. He was starting to sound hoarse, and the weight of the bullhorn was beginning to make his muscles burn. He really would have liked to wrap it up and get on to the action, but he needed the crowd to understand, get fired up, and then to take action. He hadn’t gotten them to that point yet. They were interested, to be sure, but not yet ready to march on the Court and tear it down.
Sally was standing in the area of the park that had experienced that ripple of movement that Glen had noticed. Someone was pushing through the crowd, causing disgruntled muttering and more than one cry of dismay as he pushed and shoved, walking where he wanted without consideration for adults or children alike.
When a cry of pain from a woman came from close by, Sally turned to see what was going on. She drew in her breath when she saw Xander pushing his way through the crowd. All the rage and pain of Arthur’s death flooded over her. “Murderer,” she hissed.
A man standing near to her heard and turned to look.
“He killed Judge Davis,” she said, tears springing from her eyes. “The kindest, most honorable of men.”
“Killer!” The man roared, and the cry went up around them.
Xander had not made any friends pushing through the crowd without regard for the feelings or safety for others, and he was grabbed from all sides. He struggled, whipping around and creating the cyclone effect that Glen noticed from the balcony.
“Don’t let go,” Sally cried. “He’s from the Cut Court, and he had Judge Davis killed.”
That they didn’t know Judge Davis did not seem to matter. Cries of “killer,” and “murderer,” echoed among the crowd surrounding their little group of heroes. They had him on the ground within moments. Sally went to stand over him, tears of rage and loss streaming down her face. He swore at her, called her a child and whore, but the people who held him did not let go.
She spat in his face, and put her boot to his neck, pressing until he no longer could speak. His face turned purple and, finally, his breath was g
one. She felt for a pulse.
“You can let go now,” she said. “He’s dead and in hell, where he deserves to be.”
She turned back to listen to Glen. She would not feel guilty for the death of that man. She may meet him in hell, but her beloved Arthur had been avenged.
When Chantal rose with the sun that morning, she did not dress in her usual clothes. When she was at the Court, her attire had a certain panache, the ambiance of power. She pulled on a pair of old jeans she used for physical work and a nondescript T-shirt. They were clothes that would not be out of place among the people on the street. She did not strap her thigh holster to her leg, leaving the big gun beside her bed. She did, however, wear her ankle holster, a small concession to the danger she would be in today.
She was going hunting, and Xander was her prey.
She seethed when she thought of Xander. He had hijacked her beloved Court and turned it into a travesty. Yes, it always had been brutal. But it had been brutality borne of necessity, and violence only was visited on those who used it against the weak. When he had Arthur killed, Xander had destroyed the only hope the Court eventually could be a shining light for the people of this city.
And worst of all, she had heard the order for Arthur’s death and had not taken action. She hadn’t believed Xander was serious, and for that, she never would forgive herself. She could have prevented Arthur’s death and did not.
She left the building from the rear exit, avoiding any enforcers who might be waiting at the front of the building, and weaved her way to the Court through back streets and alleys. She entered through the front of the building and walked silently along the halls, listening. She found her way to her chamber, which had been ransacked after she had left. What Xander was looking for, she did not know, but she’d had left nothing of value.
She stood on a bench and slid open the hidden vent high on the wall. Then she sat on the floor with her back against the wall and waited. It wasn’t long before she heard the building coming to life for the day. The ladies chattered in the kitchen, but she tuned that out. What she wanted was closer. She knew from the quality of the footsteps when Xander entered his quarters and then moved to the judges’ room.
