CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Colonel’s office could barely hold the number of people inside. Max stood to allow the women to sit when they entered. Linda, thankfully, appeared fine. Her face bore lingering irritation like it ate a sour melon but otherwise seemed pleased to see him. He gave her a smile which she briefly returned. Her eyes quickly darted toward the younger woman, as if to say, “Take care of this one.”

  He gave a subtle nod and followed the eye movement, remembering having learned the girl’s name was Cathy Fletcher. She, it turned out, had an up road trek of trouble ahead. All of it, Max could tell, was written on the Colonel’s face.

  “Sit,” the commanding officer of the Regiment demanded, and both women complied.

  Max moved closer to the wall, finding a photograph to stare at while listening to the exchange. It was the kind service men kept in their offices, reminders of better or worse times that shaped them and prevented full inclusion in the civilian world. He examined a row of men wearing powder blue uniforms and spied a younger version of the Colonel. The boy in the photo grinned innocently, beaming his joy at standing in front of an A-10 assault plane.

  He caught Shayde watching him study the picture and lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

  The man rolled his eyes as if to say, I told you, he’s a real Colonel.

  A-10. At least he has some cool factor after all, Max thought. But the man was still Air National Guard.

  “Miss Fletcher,” the senior officer asked, “of what crime are you accusing my officers?”

  She opened her mouth, expecting questions but not that one so directly. She closed it again, then opened it to speak.

  He cut her off.

  “Because it seems to me,” the Colonel observed, “neither of you were harmed. Were you raped? Was she?” Without waiting for an answer he turned to Linda. “Ma’am, did either of the men lay a finger on you?”

  “No,” she said quietly, in barely more than a whisper. “He walked into the showers and stared at me.”

  “Stared at you? What do you mean?” He rubbed his temples despondently. “I don’t understand. Is it possible he walked in and looked with shock upon you, not expecting to find a woman using the soldier’s showers? The men’s showers. Did you have permission from me or another officer to use them? Why were you even in there if you didn’t?”

  “No,” she answered quickly, then changed her mind. “Yes. I mean, I don’t know. Cathy said we could, but hung a sign so men wouldn’t walk in on me. She was scrubbing laundry and I was bathing. Then he walked in and stood there, staring at me.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I screamed.”

  “I see. You screamed, not because you were in danger, but because a man, one of my officers, saw you naked.”

  “Yes, but he looked like he wanted to do more and I was afraid.”

  “He looked like he wanted to do more. How does someone prove such an accusation?” the Colonel asked.

  Cathy answered before Linda. “Some men have a way, Colonel, of showing a woman their soul. If she was afraid, it was because he made her feel that way.”

  “And that was enough to destroy him?” The anger suddenly flowed as if a dam had broken. Words spewed as the Colonel shouted. “What gave you the right to blind a man during a dangerous time? One growing worse each day! What entitled you to remove his ability to sense danger around him, to see it coming, or even to have an ability to stop it?”

  “You did!” Cathy shouted. “When you brought me here against my will and spouted nonsense like repopulating the world! I didn’t ask to be part of your cult!”

  “I could have left you on that compound where I found you!” the Colonel snapped.

  “You should have!”

  “If I had,” the senior officer explained, regaining his composure, “you would have been a slave to that disgusting man and his entourage. I rescued you and your son, giving you both a chance at a better life.”

  “You don’t get to decide my future.”

  “No, Miss Fletcher, that’s where you’re wrong. The society that once protected you is dead. Men like me must decide your future, and that includes what you did to my officer.”

  “He deserved it.”

  “Maybe so, but we need every able-bodied man who stands for a better future! Nothing you could possibly say could excuse your actions! A soldier is blind now, because of you. Blind and crippled and the side of freedom is down a very valuable man!”

  She stammered, unable to speak clearly.

  “And so I ask you again,” he said, suddenly as calm as before, “of what crime do you accuse my officer?”

  Max flinched, studying the girl who had never considered she may have been guilty of a crime herself.

  She sat dumbfounded, staring forward and replaying the events in her mind. When the tears came, they fell slowly from a mist around the edges, tearing away to drip along cheeks that had somehow remained dry for too long.

  Something deeply troubled this girl’s past, and the Colonel yearned to say something to help. A glance toward Shayde revealed he shared in wanting to protect these women, but their fates were sealed. The girl had overreacted and now a valuable man was lost.

  “Your silence damns your claims, Miss Fletcher.” The Colonel said with finality, turning his back to look out the window. For some reason, he had left his own uncoated by the spray foam layers around the building. His eyes stared out at the city, northward as if examining the cloud of falling ash and snow in the distance. It would never stop in their lifetime, Max and this man knew, remaining as a grimy film over society. The ash of war had buried any justice these women may have had in a different world. “I want to help you,” he finally said, “and I believe you protected this woman in the best way you knew. But you have no authority here, and that man once did. And so I ask you, are there any crimes you wish to levy?”

  “Yes,” she answered flatly. “There was a second man, Hank. He held me down and fondled me while his partner, Steve, went in to bother Linda.”

  “Ah, yes. You are unmarried, and thus your body still belongs to you. His taking advantage deserves paid restitution. He will be forced to make amends to you. Of that I guarantee.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  At least there was some good news from this exchange.

  “Since Hank desires to marry you, I believe that will be sufficient enough. He is leading a patrol at the moment, so the ceremony will take place as soon as he returns. It will be held privately in this office to prevent others from thinking that simply touching a woman is enough to claim her.”

  Cathy’s body stiffened. “No! I don’t won’t marry him! I refuse!”

  “I’m afraid that’s the only way Steve will drop the charges against you, as he expressed to me this very morning. He said, and these are his words, that life as a full man is over, and it is up to his brother to protect and build upon whatever’s left of their family’s legacy.”

  “No!” she protested. “I can’t.”

  “He will live under your roof as long as you are married to Hank, and you will pay restitution by nursing, nurturing, and caring for the man you so willfully destroyed. That’s my final decree.”

  “I have a son,” she said softly. “He won’t understand.”

  “Your son now has a father and an uncle, so understanding will emerge in time.”

  “Colonel...” she stammered.

  “That is all.”

  Shayde moved to assist the women from their seats and walked them to the door. Once they were gone, he moved to stand beside Max. They exchanged a knowing look. The Colonel had not been wrong, and the soldiers knew that fair was fair. But they also believed the brothers had meant both women harm. This verdict bothered them both.

  “Do you need more from us, sir?” Sergeant Walters asked, obviously as ready to leave the room as Max.

  “I do, actually. I need your combined tactical experience. I recently sent scouts north to McCutchanville, and they investigated gang activity there. Large amounts of citizens were taken there.”

  Both men cocked their heads questioningly, confused by the odd location.

  “It seems they’ve claimed the surrounding schools and country club as bases for their foothold, so we’ll strike them as military targets.” The Colonel paused. “Most importantly, they hold the airport.”

  “That’s why the city feels empty,” Max realized. “The gangs know you control the city, so they’ve been driving residents northward. Are the citizens white or black?” he asked the Colonel.

  “The scouts only saw white captives.”

  “Why does it matter?” Shayde asked, not immediately understanding.

  “Restitution,” Max explained.

  “Restitution? For what?”

  “Tell him, Rankin,” the Colonel ordered, “and let’s be finally done with the tension between you and me. Since we took you into custody, you’ve demanded to know where I stand in regard to a race war—well now it’s time it’s clearly laid out.”

  Max paused, thinking of all those arguments with Betty and how they’d been losing Tom to the gangs—to those full of hatred and seeking revenge. Whatever Dr. King had envisioned, this wasn’t it. This was the future his son desired, and the gangs had power enough to provide it for him and those other young people who’d given up on America—and thought America had given up on them.

  Max felt his knees weaken, remembering his time driving through cities during the protests over racial justice. He had been fresh out of the service then, newly seated as a trucker and fighting to keep his meager route profitable. The warnings had gone out far and wide throughout the industry, with the older drivers cautioning about the 1992 riots in Los Angeles. That was a prophetic time, when a black man was unfairly beaten by police. Amidst that angry protest, a white trucker had been pulled from his rig and beaten to a pulp. His only crime was being white in a time and place where more melatonin meant unfairness.

  But that wasn’t the case in the midwestern cities, not this most recent time around.

  The truckers, pulled from their rigs and shown on the news in Kenosha, were oftentimes white, but Max knew the assailants weren’t always black. This time, the anger was more about unsettling America and making the middle class uneasy—socialist constructs of revolution that would seek to enslave all people equally. No, much of the political and monetary backing of these incitements had more to do with financial inequality than true social injustice.

  That became more evident when even his rig was pelted by concrete-filled water bottles and feces. Max saw firsthand they hadn’t just targeted white owned businesses and corporations, but black-owned as well. In each situation, the opportunists looted and vandalized the lifelong fruits of labor by men like him—entrepreneurs who’d chosen self-reliance over dependency upon government masters.

  The young people he witnessed pulling guns and throwing Molotov cocktails were barely older than Tom, wherever he may be. These grandsons and daughters of those who marched with the reverend were too far removed from ideals like love and equality. They instead viewed brave men like Max as having fought colonialist wars on the wrong side. It went against the desired narrative to better yourself through merit when capitulation to the state was meant to keep everyone happy.

  They called me a sellout and do not see the true evil.

  That was the true war in Max’s opinion. Poverty was the modern-day slave’s shackle.

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  Max had watched his own brother grow up addicted to the system—suckling at promises made by the true enslavers. It was easier in his day to snare a man with promises than by chains. But that was something Max Rankin figured out only after he joined the Marines to better himself. He knew those who often championed minority causes also heralded the societal constructs that kept people like him impoverished and dependent upon the riches they offered—affordable Nikes, iPhones, and needles. The true masters over his people were the false deliverers of racial justice and equality.

  During the protests, Max had realized the American flag hanging from his rearview mirror made him a target, but so did the Marine eagle, globe, and anchor on his license plate frame. He was a symbol of freedom and of self-rule, making him a target of the rioters no matter the color of his skin. He feared the mentality of the mob during this time more than walking as a soldier during the Iraqi war. There too, the enemy sought to kill him as a champion of freedom and equality.

  In American cities, the enemy sought only to punish him for proving they could escape their chains if they succeeded in self-reliance. Max was proof they could better themselves if they stopped listening to their masters. But they listened intently to the lies, and the message was take what you want and we’ll reward you. Of course, the reward would only come after granting their masters more of the privilege his people might have earned for themselves.

  “Slavery,” Max finally said, breaking free from his thoughts. “They want retribution for slavery.”

  Shayde turned wide-eyed toward his Colonel, shocked and full of disbelief. “There’s no slavery now! What’s he talking about?”

  “Plantations,” Max muttered, remembering a pamphlet Betty had found in Tom’s room. “One master home per family, and a crew of white slaves to work each.”

  “Precisely,” the Colonel agreed. “There are extremists among the gangs seeking to flip the script and make the white people their beasts of burden.

  “I will help you,” Max promised. “But only because my wife and son are out there. I’ve got to find them. It’s possible Tom has fallen in with this lot and I need to reach him, to speak reason. Where are they amassing the families?”

  “The Evansville airport. You’re welcome to search there for your family as long as the overall mission is a success,” the Colonel agreed.

  “That depends on the terms of what you consider success. You’ve been calling me by my rank, but I’m not yet a member of the Regiment. Colonel, where do you stand in regard to my people? I need to know now, how many of your men would cut down my family in the heat of battle, like the cavalry did to the Sioux at Wounded Knee? I cannot, and won’t allow that. I’ll kill every man who tries to kill a black man, woman, or child simply for sport. Kill me now or finally tell me about your idea for this new world.”

  “Not every white male is a racist, Maxwell Rankin.” The Colonel’s eyes flicked to the photo of himself standing before the A-10 Warthog. “I saw you looking at that earlier, and I know you’re judging me for serving Air National Guard instead of full active duty. But make no mistake—I’m not another George W. Bush with gained appointment because of who my daddy was.”

  “But you had white privilege.”

  The usually calm and stoic senior officer broke a smile. “Perhaps, it was my privilege that my alcoholic father ignored his wife and kids, drinking himself to death every single day of his life?”

  “An alcoholic father doesn’t mean you understand,” Max accused. “You don’t get to avoid the free pass your skin gave you.”

  “Did the color of your skin prevent you from reaching the rank of gunnery sergeant? Or from purchasing that big rig of yours after the war? Tell me, Gunny, did you ever fail to promote for any reason except merit? Were you ever skipped over because of the color of your skin?”

  “No. The Marines was a meritocracy, and I earned everything on my own!”

  “Exactly. The United States Military was a cross-section of America, and the best part of it was there weren’t no black, white, yellow, red, or brown. There was blue, green, khaki, and various shades of dress for each. We dealt with those who brought their hatred into our ranks as individuals and sent them packing because we never wanted their beliefs to taint another soldier’s opinion of the brother or sister helping to bring him or her home. My daddy taught me that.”

  “You said your daddy was a drunk.”

  “I did, but I never said he never taught me anything! What I learned was how not to be a racist. Oh, he was born to one, raised by his daddy to hate everything about anyone who wasn’t like him. But he came home from Vietnam a changed man in many ways. He would have died over there—maybe been better for us if he had—but he made a friend, a brother from Los Angeles, California, who literally lifted him on his back and carried him out of several firefights.”

  “So what? Your father was a soldier.”

  “My father was a Marine!” The Colonel changed when he said this, deeply proud yet mourning a connection he and his father never shared. But this man indeed understood the price his father paid.

  “I didn’t realize,” Max said, aware he’d misjudged.

  “A black man threw his body on a grenade so my father and their other fireteam members could return home to their families. A black man’s blood, skin, and hair exploded so close to my father, he insisted till his dying day Jim was fused into him. Even his soul had burrowed its way deep inside, or so my father would breathe into my face when the whiskey wasn’t working. My father owed his life to that man, but knew his life wasn’t as worthy as Jim’s would have been.”

  “Survivor’s guilt,” Shayde said with a grunt. “I’ve heard of it. The man who lives does so while wasting the gift he received.”

  “No. Not wasted, only believed so,” the Colonel explained. “Daddy came home after surviving two more tours and passed on Jim’s gift by even saving others along the way. But the crux of who he was died over there, and only the shell returned. No, the real evil in the world wasn’t the racist he was before the war, but the assumed privilege you suggest he enjoyed. That privilege didn’t save him from being spit in the face by a Jane Fonda wannabe at the airport. That woman walked right up to him with a smile on her pretty face and, when he leaned in close to listen, spit in his eye and called him a baby-killer. Before he could react, he was doused from behind by her hippie boyfriend. I was there, watching it all as a young boy.”

  “What did they throw on him?” Shayde asked.

  “I expected my daddy to return home from Vietnam smelling like a soldier, rough and leathery with gunpowder on his skin and a hint of Old Spice. But instead, my only memory of my father wearing the Marine Corps dress blues provided a life-long memory of cat piss.”

  “I’m sorry that was his return home,” Max said, “and I’m sorry mine was better.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m happy yours was better. What I’m saying is there’s no room in this world for extremists on either the right or the left, nor categorized by color. Destruction of property doesn’t lead to equality, it creates division. Burning down businesses, whether small or big, is terrorism, and it affects everyone in the community. Human rights existed in the world before the end because Americans stood up against tyranny.”

  “Not all the people Walters and I are about to fight believe freedom means all Americans!”

  “No, I don’t suppose they do, but it always has, no matter what they believe or how historians revise the narrative. Max, do you know the name of the first American killed during the American Revolution? Tell me, Marine, because if you don’t, then that’s part of the problem of how our country died.”

  “No. I don’t,” Max admitted.

  “Crispus Attucks.” Shayde whispered.

  “Yes. Crispus Attucks. Brought to the American colonies by the same tyrants that killed him. He survived slavery, became a sailor, and then lived as a self-made man. Not only a black man, but an American man in Boston. He was the first person killed fighting for a voice in what became known as the Boston Massacre. Sure, he was silenced years before Martin Luther King was able to speak up for all American people, but he did so valiantly and not high on drugs. He’s a true black hero to celebrate.”

  “What’s this got to do with the mission?” Max demanded, though he knew by now the man’s beliefs truly aligned with his own. The Colonel was a good man, with good reasons for his desire to repatriate the region.

  “There is a fully armed body of soldiers—criminally minded—capturing citizens and corralling them as slaves. I can’t allow that in what’s left of America. And mark my words, America will not die as long as the Spirit of ‘76 is remembered. We can’t win an urban war yet, not with their soldiers living like guerrillas in the city itself. But what we can do is attack the airport—the true brain of their illegal society. We’ll take away all of their weapons and resources and return the people, all the people regardless of color or creed, to a lifestyle protected by fair laws and representative government. We will conquer them now, tonight, while they’re weaker than us, and help the survivors appoint a self-governing body. But it must be one rejecting slavery and respecting existing land ownership. Otherwise, men like Crispus Attucks and my father’s friend, Jim, died in vain.”

  “Why fight a war at all? Why not resolve this peacefully?”

  “I grew up in a time when the reverend spoke for that peace. He taught that racism comes in many forms, but the truest face of it is hatred and divisiveness, not lack of awareness or enjoyed privilege. People aren’t inherently racist and can’t help where in society they’re born. But they can choose how they treat others. With understanding of societal problems, we can do so with love and find real solutions. But to believe otherwise is failure to see the real problem. Divisiveness is a weapon used by those seeking more power, and power is always politically motivated. I agree with Martin Luther King that the only way to break down hate is through nonviolence, but society is different now, and the balance of power in a warlord state doesn’t care about color of skin. We have a chance to win a war and nip divisiveness early. There may be some in my Regiment who disagree, but my intention after the war is for an inclusive society. I hope now we’re finally clear and you understand my position.”

  Shayde stepped up, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “We need your help, Devil Dog. None of this is about race, it’s about preserving liberty for all. I can’t do it alone and I’ll need you there.”

  Max paused, hearing the voice of Tom arguing in his mind. Then he heard Betty, urging him to listen to his son. But that’s the problem, he thought. The young are blinded by the lies of politicians. “Count me in,” he finally replied.

*****

  Cathy knelt beside Josh, hugging him closely and whispering consoling love. He stared down at the wooden cars in his hands, lost in their wonder and desiring freedom to play by himself. He never understood his mother’s tears, only that Joshie Time had ceased being her priority the night she killed his father. She let him go with reluctant release and watched him sulk off on his own. She lifted red eyes toward James Parker and Linda.

  “You can’t go through with this,” the young corporal insisted.

  “I will, and I have to, but I have a plan. I promise I won’t belong to him more than a few days or weeks, then I’ll be able to return. You’ll see.”

  Linda chuckled. “You have a plan?”

  “I’ve lived with an abusive husband before, and I know how to handle one better than anyone alive, I suppose. No matter what Hank is, he isn’t Clint Fletcher.”

  “Who?” James asked.

  “Her ex-husband,” Linda whispered, casting a thumb over her shoulder at Josh. “The boy’s father.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was abusive.”

  “Clinically insane sociopath, actually,” Cat said with a sigh. She spoke her full story aloud for the first time since relaying it to Jenny Klingensmith a month or so before, beginning with the night he was waiting in her apartment. She teared up less this time when she spoke about her sister, but this time didn’t worry Josh was listening. That bothered her more than the story itself, that she’d finally told it enough times she knew he could handle it as well as she. By the time she got to the boat, the gunshot, and Clint’s final dive over the side, both James and Linda were staring at the boy.

  “I wish he hadn’t tried to do it in front of him,” James whispered.

  “Clint always sought an audience. The adoring fandom gave him power,” Cat explained, “and apparently he witnessed his father do the same to his mother years before. Hopefully I ended that cycle when it comes to Josh.”

  “You need to bring him to the Colonel,” James insisted. “He’s an actual psychiatrist and can help. You’ve no idea what that kind of trauma will do if left untreated.”

  “More than his mother being forced to marry Hank and to live with Steve? No, the Colonel’s part of the problem and I’m working on a plan to get away from him, too.”

  James sat silent at that, angry the woman he’d been growing to fall in love with was being forced to live with the two officers.

  “Look,” Cat said. “I lived with Clint so many years I learned to survive. Plus, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  “Like what?” Linda asked.

  “Hand me my bag,” the younger woman said in a whisper, as if about to reveal a secret. “I’ll show you.”

  Linda handed it over, and Cat pulled open the zipper. “Crazy Mike took Clint’s gun from me and also a knife I stashed. Hell, he even took Clint’s stolen jewelry and precious stones, but he missed the most important item I’ve ever owned.”

  Both James and Linda leaned in. “What is it?” Linda asked with a whisper, peering inside as if expecting an ax or machete or nuclear weapon.

  “My escape plan.” Cat peeled the inside zipper over and revealed a single stitch where the handle was sewn. “When I got to nursing school, I was trusted to work with chemicals and even medications.” She leaned in and added so Josh wouldn’t overhear, “In my advance classes, I even handled poisons.”

  Linda laughed aloud, finding the prospect of her friend carrying around a hidden stash of poison the funniest thing since the night of the apocalypse. Cat realized this was the first Linda had laughed since losing her children at Yellowstone, and it wasn’t the poison that was so funny, but her admiration for the tenacity of her friend. She smiled back proudly.

  “You’re going to use it on Hank and Steve,” Linda whispered with glee. “Get them back quietly and end it once and for all, then come back to us?”

  Cat nodded. “Yeah. That’s the plan. I won’t do it right away, but it’s Ricin, so the only side effects will be a bad flu shared between two brothers. Since I’ll still be working in the quarantine hospital, it’ll make sense that I caught it and passed it to them, but they won’t survive. After they’re gone, no one will suspect it wasn’t just flu. I’ll be free to remarry, and I won’t let the Colonel decide for me next time. He’ll owe me that, and if he doesn’t, I’ll simply take Josh and leave.”

  Linda said nothing, just stared at the satchel with wide-eyed wonder.

  James broke the awkward silence. “I don’t like it, but they do deserve death. I say do it. Kill the sons of bitches and come back to me. I just hate you have to go to his bed tonight.”

  “Linda, will you watch Josh? I don’t want him around the first time his mommy has to sleep in a man’s bed.”

  “I can’t. I’m working the kitchens tonight.”

  “Then you, James?”

  He shifted uncomfortably.

  “Please?” she pleaded. “Just tonight. Sleep here on the bed beside him and make sure he thinks I’m just working or something. God knows he’s used to his mom working late by now. Plus, he really likes you and you’re great with him.”

  “I will,” the corporal promised. “But only tonight. Then you get your ass back here where you belong as soon as you can. Do it quickly because I think your plan’s brilliant. They’ll both be gone, and no one would ever suspect you had anything to do with it. It’ll be a case of good luck for a newlywed wife.”

  “He’s right,” Linda insisted. “You should do it sooner than later. But just so you know, I’m not staying here. I’m talking to Max as soon as he returns in the morning, and I’ve got my own plan to get us all away from here. I’d rather take my chances on the road with him and you two, than to stay around here and get raped by one of the Colonel’s officers. Max will take us away if we ask him, I’m certain he will.”

  Laughter in the hallway caused all three to jump, but the voices were still quite a-ways away.

  “Where’s my wife-to-be?” Hank’s voice called. “Here, Kitty Cat! Come to daddy!”

  “Don’t worry,” Cathy said, “I’ll be fine. Just take care of Josh.” She clutched the satchel tightly and stood, just as the lieutenant stepped inside the flap.

  Hank scanned the room and settled a frown on James sitting so close to his wife-to-be. To Linda he said, “Be a dear and carry her bag up to my quarters, will you?”

  “I don’t know which ones are yours,” she replied truthfully.

  “I do,” James said through clenched teeth, “and I can show you.”

  “That’s a good lad,” Hank said with a laugh. Grabbing Cathy’s hand, the officer led Cathy away. Their ceremony waited, and his excitement clearly overshadowed his bride’s.