Fight for Power (10 page)

I got the feeling that he wasn't hoping for the same thing as everybody else. He just wanted a chance to fire that portable cannon—no matter how many people could die because of it.

Herb brought his binoculars up and scanned the building. I didn't know what he hoped to see, but I was curious. I carefully peeked over the back of the truck at the building. It was no different from the rest of the buildings that filled the compound—dark, peeling paint, solid walls with a big sliding door at the front. There could have been other doors on other sides, but if a vehicle was going to come out, this was the place it was going to emerge.

“Maybe it would be better if we did something before the five minutes are up,” Brett said. “You know, catch them by surprise.”

“We wait,” my mother said.

“It's just that if—”

“We wait,” my mother barked.

He looked like he was going to argue.

“Stand down—
now
, officer.”

He gave a disapproving scowl. “Yes, ma'am.” Slowly, he took the grenade launcher from his shoulder. “I was just suggesting an alternative.”

“Duly noted,” my mother said. “Herb, do you see anything?”

“Nothing. No movement. No response.”

“Could I borrow the binoculars?” I asked.

“Another pair of eyes, especially younger ones, can only help,” he said. He removed them from around his neck and handed them to me. I brought them up to my eyes and adjusted the lenses as I tried to focus on the building. The binoculars were so powerful that it felt like I was seeing less and not more. All I could view was a small area of peeling paint. I slowly scanned along the front of the building, although I had no idea what I was hoping to see other than more peeling paint. Reaching one end of the building I started scanning back along, slightly higher up, still not sure what I expected to see, but what else was there to do to fill the seconds?

“That's four minutes,” Brett said. “I don't think they're going to surrender.”

I didn't think so either.

“I wonder if there's anybody even there to hear,” Herb said. “Maybe our people simply heard somebody on the other side of the building.”

“I guess that's a possibility. I might be making an ultimatum to an empty building,” my mother said.

“That wouldn't be the worst thing,” Herb said.

“Brett, I want you to get into position to take a shot,” my mom ordered. “I want one round fired to take down the door.”

“But not until you receive the order to fire from your captain,” Herb added.

Mom was looking directly at Brett with her laser stare. I knew what it was like to be caught in those beams.

He looked slightly away.

“We're going to give them every chance … assuming I'm not talking to myself,” she said.

Brett went to the back of the truck and steadied the RPG on the bed of the vehicle. He'd be ready to fire the second he was given the order.

“That's five minutes,” Herb said.

My mother brought the bullhorn up again. “This is your final warning! If you don't come out immediately, you will be fired upon! You have one minute!”

“Do you hear something?” I questioned.

Herb shook his head. “Not me, but that doesn't mean much.”

“I don't hear anything either,” my mother said. “What do you think you hear?”

“It sounds like, I don't know, a rumbling noise … I'm just not sure.”

“It could be the fire burning or the wind,” Herb offered.

I turned my head to try to hear better. There was a sound, but I couldn't tell what it was or even if it was coming from the direction of the building.

“Brett, get ready to take the shot on my command,” my mom said.

“Ready and waiting.”

I put the binoculars back up. I just wished I could see through those walls. If only there was a window and somebody could get closer and have a look inside. Instead there was nothing but blocks, cement, and that one large sliding door—held shut by a rusty-looking little padlock!

“Wait!” I screamed. “There's a lock on the door! There's a padlock on the outside of the door!”

“Stand down!” my mother ordered.

Brett lowered the weapon.

“Everybody stand down,” Herb said into the radio.

“It's right there.” I handed him the binoculars. “Lower right—it's the same color as the building, so it's hard to see, but it's there.”

It didn't take him long to focus. “I see it. This is a complication. If there are people in there, they can't get out.”

“But why would people be locked in?” I questioned.

“I can only think of one reason and there's only one way to find out,” Herb said. “We have to cut open the lock and have a look inside.”

“Nobody can get closer without being in the open,” my mother said. “Maybe we could drive a car closer and use it for cover or—”

“I got this,” Brett said. He had already placed the RPG launcher on the ground and picked up a tool from the bed of the truck. Before anybody could say anything he got up and sprinted toward the building, looking the part of an action hero again. He covered the open ground in just a few seconds and took cover against the solid blocks of the wall. He was right beside the big sliding door, close to the padlock. He pulled the tool up—bolt cutters.

“Have everybody lower their weapons,” Herb said. “We can't afford anybody getting nervous.”

My mother gave the orders over the radio.

Brett wielded the bolt cutters and then stood up, holding the broken lock in his hands. Then he motioned to let us know that he was going to slide open the door. Herb swung the rifle off his shoulder and took aim at the building to give Brett cover. Brett was now holding a pistol in one hand. He shoved the door, and it rolled wide open with a loud groan before coming to a stop. Complete silence as everybody watched and waited. There was nothing.

“Come out now with your hands up!” my mother called through the bullhorn.

I strained to see into the building, to peer through the darkness. Anybody was free to come out now. They had better come out now. But there was only the stillness. Had the whole thing just been a mistake?

Then there was a dull flash of movement, gray against the black, and a woman stepped into the light, her hands up. Then there was a second and a third, all in rumpled clothing. More women followed, and then there were children, clinging to the women, hiding behind them. They kept coming into view and walking into the open. They looked faded, like ghosts drifting out of the darkness—terrified ghosts—with hands up and eyes wide open in shock and fear.

 

9

They sat in the shade of the building. There were forty-seven of them—thirty-one women and sixteen small children. They managed to explain that they had been locked in the building for what they thought was about thirty-six hours.

They had been kidnapped, abused, beaten, and practically starved to death. Now they just sat, almost motionless. I stared at them, sharing their silence. To kidnap and abuse them was despicable, but to lock them in to die of thirst and starvation was more evil than I could even imagine.

Herb walked over to me. “How are you doing?”

I shrugged. “I guess it's more important how they're doing.”

“Dr. Morgan has examined them all. They're dehydrated and weak. It was pretty hot in there, and they'd been surviving on almost no food for weeks before being locked in.”

“How could anybody do this? I just can't … can't…”

“The men who did this are—were—without any shred of humanity. They somehow knew we were coming and simply fled, taking with them everything of value.”

“And the lives of these women and children didn't have any value to them?”

“They would have taken up space in the trucks that they probably used for more valuable merchandise.”

“If they didn't want them, then why didn't they just let them go?” I asked.

“They didn't want to leave witnesses behind. They wanted them dead but didn't want to waste the bullets. If we had been two days later, there wouldn't have been any of them left alive. The building would have done the job of the bullets.”

“I just keep thinking, What if we had fired the grenade gun?”

“Most of them would have been killed. Either in the initial explosion or in what would have happened next as the survivors came running out of the building. Our shooters would have cut them down. Thank goodness you saw the lock. They owe you their lives, and we owe you for preventing us from perpetrating a massacre.”

“That was just luck, dumb luck.”

“It was more than that. Do you recognize any of them?” Herb asked.

I shook my head. “Why would I?”

“Half a dozen of those women are from Olde Burnham, kidnapped when their neighborhood was overrun and their homes destroyed.”

I felt ill. “Do they know about what happened? Do they know about their families?”

“They lived through it. Even if they don't know, well, they
know
. I guess the big question is what happens to them now.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It's almost noon. We can't stay here much longer to protect them. We have to get back to the neighborhood.”

“But they're coming with us, aren't they?”

“Adam, you know we don't have the authority to bring them back into the neighborhood, or the supplies to feed them if they did come back with us. You know we can't just bring people in.”

“But we took in the survivors from Olde Burnham. Aren't some of these women and kids just survivors?”

“I guess they are.”

“Maybe they even have family members who survived and are waiting for them back in our neighborhood. Do you want to tell those people that we turned away people who could be their families? We have to take them.”

Herb thought for a moment. “I suppose you're right. We should take any of those survivors who are from Olde Burham with us. It's not many—six or seven.”

“And what about the rest?” I asked.

“We can leave them some extra food, some water containers, and—”

“And nobody to protect them, no weapons, or shelter. They don't have anything here!”

“They probably won't want to stay here, but they're alive and free to go where they want,” Herb said.

“Leaving them behind is just leaving them to die a slow death,” I said. “We're no better than the people who locked them in the building. Now
we'd
be the ones leaving them to die. The only difference is that we can pretend we're good people.”

“We are good people.”

“Not if we leave them here,” I said.

“That doesn't change the fact that the committee has to make the decision to let in more people. It's not for us to decide.”

“I never thought you'd hide behind the committee,” I snapped. “Besides, almost half the committee is here already. If that half agreed, we could take these people back and then let the whole committee decide.”

“And if they decided not to let them in, what then?” Herb asked.

“Then they'd be no worse off than they are now. At least they'd be away from here.”

“It's not that simple. You can walk by a piece of garbage on the ground, but once you pick it up you have a responsibility.”

“These people aren't just pieces of garbage. We already have a responsibility,” I argued.

“We have a bigger responsibility to the people who live in our neighborhood already, not to those who might need or want to live there.”

“People will understand. Besides, we did find some food.”

“Not enough to get that many people through any more than a few weeks. Do you think that the folks in our neighborhood will understand why we're not going to have enough food, why they are going to go hungrier, get weaker, why their children are going to be malnourished? Bringing this whole group along will potentially risk the lives of our people.”

“If we bring them, then potentially people will die. Leave them behind and definitely these people will die. We'll do something, we'll get more food. We'll survive. Let's go and talk to my mother. She'll listen to us, she'll listen to
you
.” I paused. “Besides, you couldn't really walk away from them, could you?”

“Adam, you know my history. You know some of what I've done. I have walked away before. I could do it again. We're doing that every day when we don't let the people walking by our walls into our neighborhood. We're all going to need to do it again before this is over. Time and time again. You know that.”

“You're right. There will be times we have to walk away … but not this time. Not now. They're coming with us. We're going to convince the committee.”

Herb smiled. “Let's go and talk to your mother. It might be right, but that doesn't mean it's the wise thing.”

“Wise or not, I know my mother will agree and I hope the committee will come around as well.”

“I'm sure you can convince them. The harder part will be having everybody else in the neighborhood believe that bringing in extra people was the right decision.”

“People will understand.”

“Forty-seven extra mouths is a lot of food. I guess we'll have to work on it. But right now, after we talk to your mother, I want you to fly back to the neighborhood in your ultralight. There are a lot of people anxiously waiting for the news you're going to bring them. Let them know we're all alive, that we won.”

 

10

It had taken all of the day of the attack and most of the night, but the Cessna had been pushed back to the neighborhood. I'd heard them finally arrive with the plane, parking it at Herb's just before four in the morning. I had wanted to go out right then but knew it would be better to wait until first light.