A Guardian Angel

by Williams, Phoenix

  Haley's job was promoting the pacifism that annoyed the guards so much. Maybe she alone could see how necessary it was to make the men who kidnapped and tormented them nervous. Hope was not lost. It was working.

  They were left with the bare bones minimum now. They had barely any clothes to speak of anymore and food was rare and scarce. Haley continued to give little speeches and forums to keep the spirits of her cellmates up. She must. It was all she could do.

  Everyone lumbered toward the metal bars as sharp cracks could be heard down the halls. Chatter arose, voices asked each other what was happening. No answers could be given. Haley was frightened and she could feel that mutual feeling emanating off of her peers. The gunshots continued, numerous in their release. They got louder. Closer.

  Without warning, doors flew open as the battle outside reached its loudest volume. Half a dozen armed combatants made their way into the cell block and sealed the door behind them.

  “Is she here?” one of them asked the other.

  The crowd continued its astonished chatter. They kept a decent distance from the bars, edging away from them. They tried to get as far from them as they could but after a while there was nothing to do except wait to see what these people would to do with them.

  “We've got contact,” one of the militants said to the others.

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “Alright, wait to engage,” one commanded to the rest of them. The group raised their weapons and aimed toward the door. “Fire on sight.”

  The doors flew open a second sudden time. Two Decree prison guards carrying submachine guns rushed through the opening, only to get cut down by a barrage of bullets that the first group released upon them. After a moment or two of still motion while everyone waited to see if they had survived, the militants started moving. Two of them sparked up blowtorches and demanded people to step away from the bars.

  “Haley Flynn?” the commanding militant called out.

  “Yes?” was her soft reply.

  The woman addressing her took her helmet off. She and her group were all dressed as Decree mercenaries, but when her covering came off, Haley saw something different. The rest of the militants took off their helmets, too, revealing matching brown bandanas with the emblem of an Excalibur-like sword painted on.

  They cut through the bars and four of the soldiers pried them out of their place. Inmates flowed out of the opening, encircling their rescuers. Haley stepped up to the woman who had addressed her.

  “Thank you,” she said, somewhat at a loss for words. “These people have been through a lot.”

  “I'm sure they have, but I'm here to get you,” the woman replied. “To ask you to come speak with us at our home.”

  “Who's 'us?'” Haley asked her.

  “We're the Knights of the Proletariat,” she answered.

  Private Slechta. That's what it read on the chest of Barney's brand new uniform. He didn't like the way he looked in orange fatigues but it didn't bother him too much. He and his fellow merc-cops sat in silence as their van bumped and skipped along the road. Barney looked down at his M4 like a man looks at a rattlesnake. He hadn't used a weapon quite like this before. Always domestic firearms, whatever you could hide in a suit.

  “You alright?” Paul asked.

  Barney looked up at the man who had introduced him to the idea of the Decree Nation. He lied. “Fine.”

  “We almost to Denver?” Paul hollered up to the driver.

  “Look out the window, man,” the driver replied. “We're already here. Just a few miles to the station.”

  “Sweet shit,” Paul said. He sat back and winked at Barney.

  Light flooded back into Andy's eyes, stinging them. He rested on his knees somewhere underground. The lights were artificial, but dim. Andy adjusted after a moment while someone cut the tape around his ankles and then helped him stand on his feet. As they freed his hands, a woman approached Andy. She was a young Latina woman with some sort of clever spark in her eye. Her hair was long and curly but kept back in a neat ponytail.

  “Are you Andrew Winter?” she asked him.

  Andy groaned in response, rubbing his joints. He cracked his neck. The woman's brow furrowed in seriousness. “Sorry; sore,” Andy explained in a voice that croaked. He cleared his throat. “Yes I am. Please, who might you be?”

  Her expression softened up, a light smile. “I'm Rosa. I lead the Knights of the Proletariat,” she introduced herself.

  These protestors were different than Barney had expected. He had seen photos on the news programs and in some newspapers that would float around in prison. The people in those images, at worst, could be described as hippies. But they didn't look like these people.

  The crowd was about thirty people strong, all very serious looking. They seemed edgy, their limbs danced about in hyper activity. Something excited them. It was the large figure speaking to them from the stage that still stood in place at Union Station. Blood from the Denver Massacre still stained it. The man speaking was a statue of a man. Built like a weapon himself, the man's many long black dreadlocks swirled around his head as he screamed into a megaphone. His eyes were invisible from behind thick black shades. His voice carried.

  “Leroy Graves,” he spat, “is a war criminal.”

  Agreement was cheered in variations from the amassed activists.

  “The blood of over one hundred and forty American men, women, and children are on his hands and he pushes deeper into lands and homes that don't belong to him,” the man cried. “Children!” he repeated. Sounds of disgust came from around him. “Yes, that's right. So who of us wouldn't want to see a powerful justice brought down upon his head?”

  Cheers and applause drowned out the sounds of the van doors slamming shut behind the mercenaries.

  “Haley Flynn is en route,” Rosa told Andy.

  Andy froze for a second. He felt like he didn't hear that right as he stood up straight and looked the woman in the eye.

  “You've met her before, yes?” Rosa asked.

  Andy said nothing as he remembered back to Haley's face. No more than a moment passed before he came back into his eyes.

  “Did you even know that both you and her are the top two most wanted criminals in the Decree Nation?” Rosa questioned with a slight laugh. Her voice had a winded quality to it as if she might be out of breathe every time she spoke. Similar to Marilyn Monroe.

  “I just saw that before arriving,” Andy gestured around himself, “here.”

  “Why does Leroy Graves want you dead?” Rosa interrogated.

  Andy thought for a moment about what to say, fatigued in his brain. “He wants to get back at me,” he stated.

  “For what?”

  “I dunno,” Andy started. “I think I might have called his beard pretentious.”

  Rosa chuckled charitably. “It's because you know things, isn't it?” she suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  “Well I have an inkling that you do,” Rosa started. “That's why I need you.”

  “And Flynn?” Andy asked.

  “She's born to lead,” Rosa said almost as if she was ashamed of Andy for not knowing. “Her image is a pure and hopeful one. One of change and peace. I believe that only her methods and her practices will cement our victories in the eyes of time. So it will not mar the Revolution in history.”

  Andy's eyebrow cocked in intrigued confusion. He asked for clarity. “Revolution?”

  “Break it up everybody!” Barney's sergeant called out to the upset crowd. “You all need to leave and go home now or you will be arrested.”

  “Children, are you strong?” the man on the stage carried on, ignoring the merc-cop.

  The crowd cried out its confirmation.

  “Children, are you afraid?” the man asked. Everyone expressed a negative.

  “You have five minutes,” Barney's commander declared.

  “Children, are you furious?” />
  Screams and cries erupted from the people as they turned toward the merc-cops. The mercenaries watched from over their shoulders as the protestors burst into motion. They followed their commander back to the vans. They spun around just in time to watch men and women duck down and grab assault weapons that had been hidden around the area. Barney's heart sank.

  “Fight, children!” the man on the stage cried. “Fight!”

  The air froze still for a split second. It seemed like Barney lived there in that moment for a lifetime as the pressure he felt from the incoming danger was crippling. Then, the silence was destroyed.

  Bullets exploded out of barrels into the officers of Decree, tearing through their body armor. Several of them dived behind cover as gunfire shrieked out into the afternoon sky.

  “She's here,” one of Rosa's officers informed her, to which she nodded.

  “Bring her in,” Rosa ordered.

  From a door far behind the Knight leader, Haley walked in by herself. Rosa turned to her and Andy stood up as he watched Haley recognize him.

  “My God,” Haley said, stopping. “It's you.” She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Haley Flynn?” Rosa stole her attention. “You've met Andy before, correct?”

  Haley continued walking, joining Andy where he stood. “If his real name even is Andy,” she commented. “I had no way of knowing for sure.”

  Andy couldn't think of anything to say. “I – ” he stuttered.

  “My name is Rosa,” the Knight introduced herself to Haley. She proceeded to explain everything she had already told Andy. She talked about the seizure of firearms from Decree depots. She explained the desire of the Knights to free the public from Decree. She talked about the Revolution. All the while, Haley glanced over at the former hitman with a look of distrust.

  Barney ducked behind cover with Paul. The bullets sometimes made a strange high pitched spring-like noise as they ricocheted off the van behind them. Paul had already emptied one of his magazines, ducking down low to swap out a new one.

  “You alright?” Paul asked, in the same way a tipsy friend would over loud bar music.

  “Yeah,” Barney gasped, half wondering if he was lying.

  The gunfire slowed down, now just an occasional staccato instead of a constant barrage. Barney stayed frozen behind his cover, too terrified to see if more mercenaries stood than militants. He was even too scared to ask, as Paul kept peeking over the car they hid behind. When Paul made eye contact with the horrified Barney, his shook his head. He sensed what he was asked. Paul then popped out of cover and unloaded three rounds before taking one through his shoulder. The mercenary fell over himself, passing out from the pain of the jagged hole cracked into his scapula.

  Eyes wide, Barney stared at his comrade for a moment. He was sure he was dead. And sure that he would be too if he didn't move.

  He could hear footsteps approaching. Guided by pure instinct, Barney scampered forward toward the open door of a van that was parked behind the car he and Paul used as cover. He kept his head low so that the car could cover his retreat. He hopped into the van and climbed his way into the driver's seat. Reaching for the door handle so he could flee, he stopped. Where would he go? How far could a solitary Decree officer make it on foot? He would be torn to shreds.

  So he sat in his seat, breathing heavy breaths. The footsteps came closer.

  Barney slunk down past his seat, as far down on the floor of the vehicle as he could. Someone spoke just outside the van. Muffled, undecipherable words. Barney held his breath when someone poked their head in through the door. He was just a teenager, a college student maybe. As quickly as he came, he disappeared. Barney continued to hold his breath.

  The people outside were shuffling something around.

  Barney waited.

  “A revolution is entirely necessary given the circumstances,” Rosa started to explain. “Without one, we're forced to be pushed around by both sides as they fight between themselves.”

  Haley was distressed. “But what you are talking about is violence,” she pleaded. “I mean, if we take the whole sanctity-of-life argument out of the equation, it is still going to make us look like a band of terrorists, not freedom fighters.”

  Andy felt she had a valid point.

  “That's if we lose,” Rosa replied. “With your help, we've got all that much better of a chance.” She looked back and forth between the pair. “We will triumph, and you know that when we do, the system can be rebuilt from the ground up. That's what we really need. To scrap this failure, this mockery of justice, and go back to the drawing board.”

  “What about until then?” Haley asked. “Until we put something new into place, we would just live in anarchy. Justice won't be more than an abstract concept in a world like that.”

  Rosa stepped up closer to Haley. Her face was firm. “You know that they are killing your people out there! Innocent people! People are dying so that you can all look like saints without any blood on your hands. We don't have the luxury of pacifism, Ms. Flynn. If we continue as we are, there won't be anyone left to liberate.”

  A moment of silence passed as Rosa turned away and walked back to Andy. She wore a look of expectation. Andy said nothing.

  “We can wait for help,” Haley suggested.

  Rosa laughed out loud as she spun back so that Haley was in her cross hairs. “Help? From who?” Rosa asked. “Do you understand that either side winning is a loss for the people? Federal government, Decree; they're both the same abomination. One's just louder and we're used to the other.”

  Andy looked down at the floor when they both stopped talking and he started sensing their eyes burning on the top of his head.

  “What do you think, Mr. Winter?” Rosa asked him.

  He looked up, his expression more of boredom than concern. “I don't care about your problems,” he stated sternly. “What I do, I do for my own reasons. That is that.”

  Barney could see the militants dragging the other merc-cops back toward the stage through the van's windows. Most of the mercenaries groaned, some of them even kicked. They had all been injured rather than killed. Barney could hear someone nearby piling up the confiscated weapons.

  He stayed low in the van and tried his best to watch from reflective surfaces as the injured merc-cops were bound and gagged and then formed into a line on the stage.

  “Apathy is a foolish route,” Rosa commented, stepping back. “These people are sick.”

  The large black man who had addressed the crowd appeared back on the stage with the captured men all whimpering and crying through their gags. He carried the largest and broadest looking machete Barney had ever seen in his life. In the grasp of the crowds anticipation, the frightened soldiers were bent over so that they supported themselves on their hands and knees.

  “Decree has taken everything we've believed about the safety of our homeland and the sanctity of human life and soiled it, as if it were an elegant little show,” Rosa continued. “The people that aid them most are those who do nothing about them.”

  Barney's skin trembled. His eyes were glued onto the stage as the man addressed the crowd. The megaphone wasn't used anymore, so he could only make out muffled sounds through the windows. All the people were getting excited, cheering at intervals when the man would stop speaking. Then it got really quiet as he lumbered across the stage toward the first merc-cop on the left. Silence bled in from all sides around Barney, and soon all he could hear was his own frightened heart pounding in his ears.

  With a grand gesture, the man on the stage swung his machete down and cut the mercenary's head clean off.

  Barney squirmed in discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut before he could see too much gore. But it had happened. He had already seen too much. That graphic image just as the head fell off burned itself on the inside of his retinas. He had to cover his mouth with his hand because he couldn't control the disgusted whimpers and gags that came from him. The last
thing he needed was for them to add him to that line.

  Opening his eyes in tiny trembles, he could see that the man on the stage had finished executing a second merc-cop and positioned himself next to the third. Barney's extremities were rushed in a cold wave, and his breath seemed to be his only connection to his body. Complete terror rushed over him, his limbs twitching as he looked around. He started to hear car doors slamming in the distance. He muttered a plea to the Almighty to himself as he clutched onto his rifle. He didn't hear any cars drive up. Something about the slamming made Barney nervous. Glinting caught his eye as he glanced and saw the key in the ignition. He heard more doors open and close, this time much closer.

  They were searching the vans! Barney's thoughts exploded. His body followed suit, bursting into motion as he slid himself over into the driver's seat and turned the key. The entire crowd of people all looked to the vehicle as the engine roared on with confusion.

  “Come on, come on,” Barney muttered under his breath. With one glance he became aware that all attention fell on him, and he slammed down on the gas pedal.

  Gunshots ripped through the air from behind him as Barney sped away from Union Station. Glass cracked and broke as the bullets tore through the back windshield. Barney drove while ducked as low in the seat as he could, barely able to see where he was. He sped away, uncaring of what he ran over and knocked down as he fled the scene.

  The man on the stage didn't stop the execution for long.

  -Chapter Twenty-Seven-

  Rosa

  “What's she said?” Andy asked when Rosa reentered the room.

  Rosa looked upset; solemn. Not that she looked defeated, but that she didn't know what to try next. “She said she would think about it,” she answered. “Right now she's being introduced to her bodyguards. I don't think she liked the idea.”