The Protectors (8 page)

Someone i
s shaking my shoulder. Awaking with a start I realize the music is much louder. There is also activity in the shop. Small groups of women are leaving together carrying their makeshift weapons.

"It's time," says
Mother her hand resting on my shoulder. Her hand moves from my shoulder to my cheek and she smiles so tenderly at me. Then she is gone.

"Where's
Mother going?" I ask.

"The women have
selected your mother to be in charge of the east section of the perimeter," Grandpa explains. "That's right behind the Shrieker House and the route they might try to escape."

"Where's my sector?"

"You'll stay with me."

"But I
want to fight too," I protest and search around for a weapon.

"Oh, we'll fight, but you're going to help me first."

"Help with what?"

Instead of answering he pulls
the blanket off his lap. I notice he is wearing the thick leather caps over his stumps that he uses whenever the wheelchair is impractical. I also see a strange contraption in his lap. He picks up a heavy round circular metal object that is somehow familiar.

"An al
ternator, only smaller," he says. "You'll remember I said it creates electricity and that's what we need to set it off."

I didn't have to ask what was
going to be set off. A chill runs down my back, but I take the proffered object from his hands. Two wires run from the alternator to the back of a small plastic device with an antenna sticking up that fits in Grandpa's hand.

"When I say, you stick that under
one arm and turn the hand crank on the end like your life depends on it."

We stare
out at the Shrieker House silently for long pregnant minutes. "I guess that's long enough," Grandpa sighs. "Start cranking, Teal."

It i
s awkward and difficult. The crank doesn't want to turn and I almost drop the alternator, but once it gets going it is easier to crank. Soon I can feel the wheel inside the metal casing spinning with a hiss.

Grandpa ho
lds up the device in his hand and closes his eyes. I can see his lips moving. He opens them again. "No one likes a coward," he says and presses the side of the plastic device. A light brightens the face of it and a small bell noise sounds. Grandpa lets go of the device and lays it in his lap.

For nearly a seco
nd nothing happened. Then we see the inside of the Shrieker House grow brighter before the front windows blow outwards spewing fire and glass. A deep roar soon follows along with a rumble in the ground.

"That's it," says
Grandpa. "No turning back now." He pulls thick leather gloves on his hands and hops down out of the wheelchair. He moves over to a corner of the shop and hands me a heavy cudgel.

"What about you?"

Grandpa shakes his head. "I need my hands free. Besides, once I get a hold of 'em, I won't need anything else. Come on, follow me."

As we exit
the front of the bridal shop, I hear screams from inside the Shrieker House. Smoke and flames billow up from the top of the house and incredibly the loud music is still playing on the remaining speakers.

A Chit Girl stum
bles down the front steps bleeding and on fire. She falls into the front lawn and thrashes. A dazed Shrieker named Talon follows after her dragging a bleeding left leg. I can see our women standing around with their weapons in their hands, uncertain what to do.

Grandpa races
forward on his fists and stumps and I have to run to keep up with him. He slams right into Talon and drags the stunned Shrieker to the ground. Once there he holds the man in place by locking his arm against his body and uses one of his powerful hands to choke the man.

The
Shrieker's eyes are wide and he looks up at me like he can't tell what's going on. Then he begins thrashing and nearly escapes Grandpa's grasp. Without thinking of what I'm doing, I step forward and swing my cudgel down on top of the man's chest with all my strength. His struggles cease immediately.

The women a
re now moving forward attacking the dazed Shriekers in groups. More screams of pain and surprise can be heard from the rear of the house. The sounds of the music mix with that of the fire and screams in a dizzying chaotic mixture so like a dream.

Jonesy
is there in front of me. He has Sarah by the hair and is punching her repeatedly in the face. Running forward I swing my heavy club as hard as I can at his lower back. He drops to the ground and then rolls over to look at me in amazement.

Sarah i
s gasping and bleeding and I stand over both of them uncertain what to do next.

"Kill him," Sarah
gasps.

"No,"
Jonesy holds his hands up towards me.

"Do it," she sa
ys. "He'll kill you if you let him go."

Jonsey
leans up and starts to speak again. I swing the cudgel from the hip and catch him in the side of the head. I feel a wet dull thump as if I've struck a melon. Jonesy falls back to the ground, his head broken open and his jawbone protruding grotesquely through the stretched skin of his cheek. I remember that he wasn't that much older than me and that we had sat together during the Remembering when I was younger.

Before I am aware of it
, I am vomiting on the frost covered ground. I heave for several seconds after my stomach is empty and then sink to my knees.

Sar
ah, her face already swollen, lifts me up. "Come on, we have to go help."

I look around and it appears to me the women don't need any help.
They are standing attentively, ready to attack any who emerge from the house. Just as I am starting to believe we are actually going to be able to do it, to win, I hear a horrifying sound.

A gunshot.

The pop is distinctly different from any other and I remember it well from the time they killed the black bear. The gunshot is followed by another and then another. Soon a cascade of pops echoes from the rear of the Shrieker House.

Through the smoke I can
see women running our way from the east. I spot Jonesy's mother fleeing the sound before she falls to the ground, blood soaking her shoulder. She tries to rise again, but Skull steps out of the darkness and shoots her in the back of the head with a pistol. He smiles maniacally through his orange face paint.

There a
re gunshots from all sides of the house and women are running frantically away. I look for Mother, but can't see her.

"Run," shouts
Grandpa suddenly beside me. "Take your mother and Victor and leave town. Do it now."

"We can't leave you," I say, but he i
s already gone, charging towards Skull who is preoccupied with reloading his ancient revolver.

The
Shrieker doesn't see Grandpa until he is almost upon him. Skull's eyes shoot wide and he drops precious cartridges onto the ground in his haste. Skull kicks at Grandpa who catches his foot and twists the man to the ground. I see Skull point the pistol in Grandpa's face and pull the trigger.

The
weapon made a small click sound.

Skull screams
in rage and then in pain as Grandpa smashes his large gloved fist into the smaller man's groin. The two struggle and roll on the ground. Skull keeps trying to point his pistol at my grandfather and pull the trigger. Soon Grandpa is astride Skull choking him. The Shrieker raises his pistol again and pulls the trigger.

With a blast Grandpa fa
lls back off of Skull, blood pouring from his head. The Shrieker rolls away from Grandpa and climbs slowly to his feet.

"No," I whisper. Part of me wants
to run to help my grandfather and another part wants to run away with the result that I am frozen. I see Clay striding towards me out of the billowing smoke, a pistol in each hand. He glares at me with pure hatred.

My paralysis
is suddenly broken, I turn to run away, ashamed at abandoning Grandpa, but also relieved to be leaving this place of death and horror. I run as fast as I can around the corner and slam into something immovable. Falling back on my rear, I see Reaper towering over me.

Before I can get up, he places
one giant boot on my chest and presses down. I swing the cudgel weakly in his direction, but he catches it and yanks the weapon from my hand. I look into his face and see no mercy or humanity.

He swin
gs the cudgel one handed at the side of my head which seems to explode with fire and pain. My mind closes down to sounds of screaming and music.

*******

When I awake I notice we are all crowded together into the Dormitory. The cots and makeshift dressers have all been rudely pushed against one wall. I feel dizzy and my mouth is dry.

"Don't try to move,"
Mother whispers from beside me. "It will only draw attention."

I slowly turned my head and see
Grandpa lying beside her, his head in a heavy bandage.

"I saw h
im get shot in the head."

"It didn't penetrate his skull," she explain
s. "The bullet traveled around his head tearing loose his scalp. I need to sew it back on."

"Getting shot in the skull by S
kull but the bullet doesn't go through the skull," I laugh hysterically at my own humor.

"Shut up!"
Mother hisses at me.

Looking around I see other huddled groups of friends and neighbors
and many of the children we'd put to bed safely the previous night. Lanterns posted at regular intervals cast menacing shadows around the room. Five dead Shriekers are laid out on the stage at the end of the Dormitory and many more dead women are piled unceremoniously below them. The smell of blood and burnt flesh is thick in the air.

Clay si
ts in a chair on the stage while several other Shriekers stand around him looking down at us hatefully. A dozen or so of the Prospects are posted along the walls. All seem to be waiting for something.

A door bangs open and in stri
des two Shriekers leading a group of children. I can see Victor is with them looking confused and frightened. He cradles his rainmaker in his arms and is forced to sit against the far wall near the stage. Two Prospects close the doors and stand guard.

I try to catch Victor's eyes, to reassure him, but he is too far away
in the dim and crowded Dormitory.

The last two
Shriekers walk up on stage. All nine of the remaining Protectors stand around Clay who sits looking at his feet while tapping a pistol against his leg.

He stan
ds suddenly kicking the chair violently behind him. "Who is responsible for this?"

No one answers
.

Clay nods as if he did
n't expect an answer. "We've lived in peace by the Treaty for decades and now you go and do this?" He points at the pile of bodies at his feet.

Unbidden, my eyes look where he indicates.
I think if I tried I could recognize each body. Instead I close my eyes and felt a single tear roll down my cheek.

"We've lived in harmony and peace," Clay
continues. "I have been merciful and kind. Given you your freedoms. Protected you from harm. Someone is responsible, I refuse to believe that you all did this on your own. Again I ask who is responsible?"

People a
re starting to look around them. Several eyes lingered on Broily and Grandpa. Even a few stare hard at mother.

"Gi
ve me the one responsible," says Clay. "This violation, this
rebellion
, cannot be tolerated. I do not want to punish you all, only the rabble rouser. The one who stirred up mistrust in your hearts. This person has led you astray. Give them to me. Who is responsible?"

A child starts
to cry. Then another. As if contagious, nearly all the small children are soon wailing loudly.

The sound clearly mak
es Clay angry. "The Old Bible says that the children shall suffer the sins of their parents. I don't want that and I know you don't, but if you force me I'll take it out on the little ones. Someone here has to answer for what happened. Someone has to pay in blood, that is the way to make things right again."

Who is responsible, I wonder
. Someone had put them in this position and gotten a lot of good people killed. Most would blame Grandpa, but that's not who's responsible.

"Okay then," says
Clay. "Bring me a baby. Any of them will do."

I stand suddenly and nearly faint. Steadying myself I look at the stage and say as calmly as I can
. "I'm responsible."

"Sit down,"
Mother is pulling at my hand.

"Bullshit," says
Clay. "You're just a little girl."

A wave of euphoria washes through me and I chuckl
e. "Yet we still almost beat you. A bunch of women and girls. Maybe we should switch places and you can let us protect you."