State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (15 page)

Callum forced a smile. “How’s it going, Micah?”

The other man ignored his greeting and glanced down at the shotgun. “Where you going, Cal? Your shift doesn’t end for another twenty minutes.”

Callum bit his tongue. He had to be careful. Despite his issues, Hill was still a superior. Callum waved the paper. “Orders.”

“Oh yeah?” Hill reached out and grabbed the piece of paper.

Callum didn’t resist or speak up as the other man read it. His eyes flicked back and forth rapidly, as a grin grew slowly on his face. When he finished reading, he resembled a wolf that had just been handed the key to the chicken coop. “You’ve checked it out? It’s legit? Damn.”

“Yep.” Callum shrugged. “It checks out.”

“Well I guess that little bitch is going to get what’s coming to her.” The grin turned cold. “I’ll take care of this one, Cal. You take it easy.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Hill’s tone was sharp. “You take the next one.”

Even though Callum doubted there would be a next one, and the other man made his skin crawl, he could hardly resist the order. In truth, Callum was glad to avoid the job. He needed, and wanted, to keep his hands clean – that was the deal with Bainbridge. If Callum could hand this over to someone else, he had to take the chance. Hill would handle the prep for the execution. If he fucked up, it was on him.

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Later, man.” Hill turned and stalked after his prey.

Callum shook his head as he closed the door. He placed the shotgun back on its rack and then walked back to the desk. Before he closed his eyes, he glanced at the clock. Another thirteen minutes and he was in the clear. He did all he could to avoid thinking about the unfortunate woman, whatever her crime. But no matter how hard he thought about other things, the order haunted him.

And she would haunt his dreams.

***

Mariposa winced as she watched Celeste struggle to shift her position in the bed slightly. Though she offered a brave smile, the woman was clearly in a lot of pain. It was hardly surprising. The guard’s nightstick had shattered her kneecap and she’d also done some damage to the ligaments in the knee when she’d fallen. It was a combination of injuries that would take a while to heal.

Mariposa looked around. There was only one other patient in the small detention center hospital. She’d heard that the guards were quite hesitant to permit a trip to the hospital for most people, but they could hardly argue a shattered kneecap. It was more surprising that she’d been allowed to keep Celeste company, though. They’d spent the time chatting, getting to know each other more.

“Can I get you anything?”

“A frozen Margarita?” Celeste’s smile was contagious.

“No, unfortunately.” Mariposa laughed softly. “But I could get you—”

“Seriously, I’m fine.” Celeste reached out and gripped Mariposa’s hand. “Stop worrying. I’m just glad I’ve got someone to talk to.”

Mariposa felt her face flush. She felt like she owed Celeste so much. Twice now she’d saved her, this time at great personal cost. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.” Celeste gave a tired looking frown. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. It’s complicated. Absurdly so.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a really long story.” She shook her head in near disbelief. “I hadn’t seen him for a long time, then our first night together was the night I was arrested.”

Mariposa didn’t know what to say. “What happens if you get out of here?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully a hug and a smile. But I’m not sure. This is the second time we’ve spent a lot of time apart in less than eighteen months. It might be too late.”

Mariposa nodded and Celeste went quiet. They sat in silence until she noticed Celeste blinking a few times, as if trying to ward off sleep. Mariposa reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. As if she’d pressed a button, Celeste’s eyes closed and before long she’d started to breathe heavily. Mariposa could have left, but she kept holding the other woman’s hand.

Mariposa woke when she heard a noise behind her, shocked by the noise as much as the by the fact she’d fallen asleep. She turned around and felt her heart jump into her throat as she saw him – the black man who’d assaulted them in the bathroom. There was no doubt who he was here for. Mariposa let go of Celeste’s hand and held her hands up slightly, showing him she was no threat.

He approached the bed, shotgun held casually. “On your feet.”

Mariposa kept her voice to a whisper. “Please be quiet. She’s only just gone to sleep.”

“Detainee, on your feet. I’ve got orders to take you to a different wing.”

“What wing? My friend—”

“I’m not asking.” He yanked her back, away from the bed.

She squealed but didn’t resist. She’d had her fill of fighting authority, it had done nothing but lead her here. She was going to be assaulted by the man, but she couldn’t ask Celeste for help this time, even if the other woman was capable of providing it. She would fight, for all that she was worth, but she’d do it away from Celeste Adams.

“Please let me say a few words?” Mariposa looked him straight in the eyes. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“You better.” His eyes narrowed and something in his voice seemed very final as he backed away. “You’ve got two minutes.”

Mariposa nodded and walked over to Celeste. She wasn’t thinking clearly, but she didn’t have time to fix that. She shook the woman’s arm. Celeste stirred and mumbled something. Mariposa shook her some more, and Celeste’s eyes flickered open. She looked up at Mariposa, confused. Celeste winced in pain as she tried to move.

“What’s up?” Celeste blinked a few more times. “I just need to sleep, Mari.”

“I know.” Mariposa smiled sadly as she squeezed Celeste’s hand. “I have to talk to you.”

“Okay.” Celeste’s eyes started to close again.

Mariposa pinched Celeste’s chin and shook her head slightly. “Celeste, you need to stay awake. Just a few more minutes.”

“Okay.”

“If you ever get out of here and something has happened to me, I want you to go to my home. Just look it up.”

“Okay. I’ll say hi to your son.”

“Good.” Mariposa smiled sadly. “There’s a spare key under the ceramic cat out the back. I want you to go inside and find my mother.”

Celeste fell silent and started to snore softly again. Mariposa cursed under her breath and tried to shake her. She was about to try harder when the guard grabbed her again and pulled her away from the bed. She’d clearly had all the time she was going to get. She let herself be led outside, hoping her final words to Celeste had registered.

As they walked along the path, surrounded on either side by a high chain-link fence, she started to get a sinking feeling. In an overcrowded camp where there was no privacy or free space, she was amazed by the lack of people around. The lack of witnesses. She walked for another dozen steps and then turned around.

She looked him straight in the eye. He stared back. There was nothing in his eyes, no spark, no warmth. She tried her luck. “Where are we going?”

He raised an eyebrow and gripped his weapon tighter. “I like that you think you have a right to question me, detainee.”

“Please.” Mariposa fought back tears. “I know you’re going to rape me, but please. I have a son. You don’t have to do this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He shrugged. “You’re not going to be raped. But you should start praying to whichever god is your thing.”

“No!” Her eyes widened. Ten minutes ago she’d been talking to her friend, now she was facing her end. She fell to her knees, prostrating herself before him as tears flowed down her face.

He sighed. “Get up.”

“I have son! I don’t want to die, you bastard! There’s no reason for this. I have a son!”

She’d lost it all. Her job, her freedom. Her son. The thought of Juan growing up without her was devastating. She collapsed into the dirt and couldn’t stop the sobs. She struggled to breathe. Her chest hurt. She wanted to talk, but no words came. She gripped the small crushed rocks on the pathway, grabbed a handful and threw it at him.

It didn’t help. She knew this was a one way trip.

Callum squinted and shook his head as he looked down from the guard tower with his binoculars. He could see Micah Hill walking alongside a detainee, down the same path he walked every day at about this time. This detainee looked young, a scrawny twenty-something with a shaved head. Hill gripped his shotgun casually by his side. He was headed for the motor pool, where the prisoner would be hauled into a van and off to his death.

Callum lowered the binoculars and ran a hand through his hair as he exhaled slowly. He’d watched the same thing dozens of times over the past few months, and knew there’d been about one per day. Mariposa Esposito had been the first, shot by Hill against protocol. Hill had claimed she’d resisted on the way to the motorpool. Since then orders had come in for more. The only thing that prevented the prisoners from rioting was secrecy. They were told they’d been transferred.

Callum had refused to participate, citing Bainbridge’s psychological report as sufficient reason why. When a guard officer had called Bainbridge to take issue, the psychologist had given the officer an earful. Though Callum had been spared the need to take part in the executions, he’d still had to stand and watch as more and more detainees were led to their death. He didn’t know if the same situation was taking place in other camps, but figured it must have.

But today the order had come in that he’d feared. It was the first time that there’d been two executions ordered on the one day and his name had been put down to transport one of them. Apparently not even Bainbridge had the pull to get Callum out of the duty, or else he’d changed his mind. Callum wasn’t sure. But whatever had happened, the order was clear and he had a job to do. He was posted in the guard tower until the time came to drive the young woman to her death.

As if on cue, the camp’s PA system gave a loud squeal and then Callum heard the words he dreaded. “Detainee Celeste Adams, please report to the B wing courtyard immediately.”

He sighed loudly, gripped the shotgun and patted his holster to make sure his pistol was in place. As ready as he could ever be, he descended the stairs from the guard tower. It was a short walk through the compound to where the motor pool was located. As he walked, he tried to deal with the conflicting thoughts racing around his head.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.” Celeste Adams was already waiting for him.

Callum jerked a thumb towards the nearby van. “I need to head into Effingham and I’m hung over. You’re going to drive.”

Her lips pursed and he thought she might mouth off, but after a moment she nodded and walked toward the van. He watched as she opened the door and climbed in. This all seemed so pointless, orders be damned. He’d read her file. She was the detainee he’d helped in the intake line. Her knee had only just recovered from being shattered by Hill’s baton months ago in the shower block. She’d certainly had an eventful stay. He climbed into the van.

She started the engine, keeping her eyes ahead. “There’s no need for this charade. If you’re going to do it, just do it.”

“Just drive the vehicle, detainee.”

She kept quiet as he entered the address of the town into the GPS and hit start. He cradled the shotgun between his legs and eased back into the chair. The van picked up pace, until they reached the guardhouse to the only gate out of the camp. Adams pulled the vehicle up next to it and wound the window down when prompted by a guard, who strolled out of the guardhouse and over to their vehicle with a clipboard in hand.

“Hey, Callum.” The gate guard leaned his head inside the van with a smile. “Where y’all heading?”

“Hi Andy. Just have to head to Effingham. Too hung over to drive, so thought I’d take fuck up over here.”

“Not a bad fuck up, if you’re going to take one, if you catch my drift.” Andy Ward gave a long laugh, as if Adams wasn’t even there. “Okay. Enjoy your drive.”

Callum forced a laugh as Adams wound up the window and they started to move again. They drove in silence for nearly an hour. He’d usually listen to the radio, but he needed time to think and process what he was about to do: drop a woman off for execution. It violated every inch of his moral code. He gripped the shotgun tighter and wished there was some other way. As they drove further, the sun disappeared behind a large, dark cloud. It seemed like fitting symbolism.

He looked over at her. “Pull over.”

She glanced at him, indicated and pulled over to the side of the road. He sat in silence as he thought hard. She wasn’t stupid. He could sense her looking at the shotgun in between his legs, probably weighing up whether she could grab for it, escape or do something else before the hammer came down. He let out a breath, lifted the gun and opened the door. He climbed out of the van.

She looked at him quizzically. “What are you doing?”

“Go.” He slammed the door shut and held the shotgun casually at his side.

The electric window on his side wound down and when he looked inside she was staring at him. “What the fuck?”

He took a step back from the vehicle. When she made no move to depart, he raised an eyebrow. “Go. That’s an order.”

“Um, no?” She took her hands off the wheel and crossed her arm. “You’re suggesting a sure-fire way to end up dead or in a real prison.”

Callum glared. “You may end up in prison, yes. But I’ve been ordered to drop you off to be executed. Even if you eventually end up dead, you break even. This is your chance. Go!”

She looked at him for a moment or two and then nodded. She started the van, wound up the window and glanced at him again. It was as if she expected him to change his mind, but he’d never been surer about anything in his whole life. She placed her hands on the wheel and inched the van forward. He laughed when she thought to indicate as she pulled away, kicking up a small plume of dust.

He hadn’t known which way his mind would take him, which choice he’d make. It was against every fiber of his being to help execute a civilian, despite whatever puffed-up crime they’d been accused of. On the other hand, carrying out those orders would have been easier than what faced him now his decision was made. He waited until the van was a speck in the distance. Whatever. He’d done the right thing. Damn Hill, Bainbridge or anyone else who tried to bust him for it.

He stretched his neck, rotating it left and right, and then sighed as he unsafed the shotgun. He raised it to his shoulder, pointed it in the air and squeezed the trigger. The gun roared and kicked into his shoulder. He lowered it, pumped it and then repeated the action. Done, he safed the weapon and threw it onto the ground. Now there were a couple of spent shells to prove he’d tried to stop her. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed and waited for an answer.

“This is Major Bainbridge.”

“Major? It’s Sergeant Callum Watkins. There’s been an incident. I need some help.”

***

Jack glanced up at the four-story heritage building with some pride. In the heart of Chicago’s Old Town, it was far enough from downtown to avoid FEMA saturation, but in a convenient enough location to suit his needs. It was discreet and low key – absolutely perfect. He’d been surprised when Elena had revealed that she’d arranged for the resistance to use the building as its headquarters.

It had been a busy couple of months. Since he’d met with the initial members of the resistance in New York, the movement had grown at great pace. They hadn’t commenced operations, but had been busy gathering information and readying themselves to agitate and resist when the time came. After his meetings with Morris and Hall, Jack had wanted to make sure they were ready before acting. The time was now.

He’d traveled to Chicago with Peter Weston the previous day. It was risky to move so far across the country, but Jack had seen no alternative. New York was too close to Washington, and there was a strong cell established there now. He had to trust others to maintain the operations there while he prepared to kick off their activity. Though he’d half expected to be detained a dozen times on the road, he’d made it.

“Just the trick, I’d say.” Peter patted him on the shoulder and looked up at the building. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does. Elena has done a great job.” Jack smiled and jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go in and check it out?”

They rode the elevator to the top floor. It opened with a chime and a pair of burly-looking men met them at the door. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Elena had organized some security to protect the inner sanctum of the resistance from prying eyes. She’d apparently thought of everything. One of the guards stepped forward, a clipboard in hand, while the other maintained a watchful distance.

Jack smiled. He was certain they’d know who he was, given he was the nominal leader of the resistance. “Good to see you, fellas.”

“Need to get your names, gentlemen.” There was no warmth from clipboard man. “Please also keep your movements slow and your hands where we can see them.”

“Not a problem.” Jack sighed and tapped his leg. “I’m Jack Emery and this is Peter Weston. Elena Winston is expecting both of us. Can we make this quick?”

“It’ll take as long as it takes, sir.” Clipboard man looked down at his list.

Jack crossed his arms and turned to Peter. He kept his voice low. “Can you believe this?”

Peter gave a pained look. “Bunch of little dictators, aren’t they?”

Clipboard man looked up at them. “Okay, you’re alright to head on through.”

Jack didn’t give them another second of his time. He walked down the corridor, which opened up into a large, open-plan space with some desks and meeting spaces, but only a single office at the back of the room. There was a handful of people scattered about, but for the most part the room was empty. Jack didn’t know any of them except for one – Elena. She was leaning against a doorframe, a broad smile on her face.

Jack smiled and crossed the distance quickly, as the others in the cubicle farm stared at him strangely. He didn’t care. Elena was one of the few people who understood what was happening, what he was going through and what he was trying to do. When he reached her, they hugged tightly. The friendship they shared still surprised him a little, but they’d become allies under fire.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Jack.” Her voice wavered slightly. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it. It’s really good to see you.”

He backed away from her. “I’ve kept my streak going. I think FEMA likes having me around.”

“Is that so?” She smirked. “Meeting the President, golf with Hall, months underground – shame you couldn’t get them to change their mind, with all that popularity.”

“It would make all this unnecessary.” Peter gestured around the office.

Elena jerked a thumb behind her. “Come inside.”

Jack nodded and the three of them stepped inside the office. He used the spare moment to gather his thoughts. Something felt wrong. It was odd that Elena had mentioned the meetings with Morris and Hall from months ago. They’d been the final straw for Jack, proof that the balance of power in America had shifted massively. It had been his last attempt to use reason and argument to free the country from FEMA’s web.

In the preceding months, a network of influential Americans had sprung up using the technology Hickens had provided to block electronic eavesdropping. Jack had been in hiding, along with most of the leadership, waiting patiently as their power grew. Though there had been setbacks, for the first time there were people in place across nearly the whole country. The resistance was ready to move.

“This is perfect, Elena.” Jack smiled as he closed the door, then walked over to sit on one of the chairs. “Your office, I presume?”

“No, nothing of the sort.” She shook her head. “It hasn’t been assigned yet. I want to know what comes next, Jack. The network is ready.”

“Guerrilla Radio was all about information.” Jack patted her shoulder. “Now we’ve spent months building something a little bit more potent than that.”

“And what’re we doing?” Elena stared at him, a strange look in her eyes. “I want to know, Jack. I’ve earned that.”

“We’re taking the country back. They have control of civilian government and a paramilitary force to back them up. We’ve gathered a bunch of influential people around us to speak out, act out, advocate, resist, provide finance and sustenance. Thousands. All we need to do is tip the scales and the people will follow. They have to.”

“But—”

Peter stepped forward. “I know you’re worried, but we’ve evolved, Elena. They think they’ve shut us down, Hall included, but there’ll be eyes on us waiting for us to do something wrong. We just have to be careful and hope Hickens’ technology keeps us off their radar for long enough to do what needs doing.”

“Don’t worry just yet, Elena.” Jack walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve got a role to play, just like everybody else.”

She sighed and squirmed away from his touch. “Jack, I really need to speak with you in private about something.”

He shook his head and smiled. “Can it wait? I’ve got to call Bill McGhinnist. He only has a small window. Catch you later?”

“No.” She was jittery. “It’s important. It really can’t—”

He was surprised by how on edge she seemed. He’d never seen her act like this before, not even at their most desperate, in Indianapolis. Perhaps she was just nervous that things were close to kicking off, given how poorly that had gone with Guerrilla Radio. But he couldn’t indulge her now. He thought about how much work he had to do – a dozen calls to make and so much to organize.

“Please, Elena. Peter. I just need a few minutes.” He didn’t wait for them to leave the room, but turned away and started to dial. He lifted the phone to his ear.