Fight for Power (29 page)

“Am I a police officer?” he questioned. “I'm out there in a war zone trying to steal things we need to—”

“You're not stealing, you're scavenging,” she said.

Brett laughed. I hadn't expected that. “Call it anything you want. Write it down in some little book. It doesn't change anything. We're out there taking things, and other people are out there to either stop us from taking what they already have or are trying to get the same things we're after. We came back to the neighborhood with a truck, ammunition, and a number of weapons tonight. I think we did pretty well.”

“Two of our people were killed!”

“And, like I explained, more than twenty of their men were killed. I think that's a pretty high kill ratio in our favor.”

“What does that even mean?” my mother demanded. “This is not a war.”

Brett laughed again. “Yes it is, and you'd know that if you were out there instead of staying here inside the walls.”

“Maybe if I had been out there leading, nobody would have died—”

“If it wasn't for
me
being there, it would have been more,” Brett yelled. “If they hadn't frozen, none of them would have died.”

My mother looked shocked. “You're actually blaming the people who died for their own deaths?”

“Well, it's better than blaming me. I'm not responsible.”

“You were leading, so of course you're responsible,” she yelled.

“By that logic I guess
you're
responsible since you're the
leader
of all of us, our
commanding
officer,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Look, you have no idea what a war zone it is out there.”

“We know how bad it is out there,” my mother said.

“Do you?” he demanded. “When was the last time that you were out there at night?”

“That's not my job,” my mother said. “And perhaps it shouldn't be yours either, if you can't provide us with a plausible report of what went on tonight.”

“Nobody ever seems to complain when I bring back the items this community needs to survive. Nobody complains when I wipe out the bad guys so they can't come in and kill other people. It's easy for you ‘leaders' to sit here sipping coffee while you decide what should have been done,” Brett snarled. “I was
there
. I did what needed to be done! I always do what needs to be done!”

“I think we all have an appreciation for the dangers, the potential for casualties, and the necessity of having a squad out there,” Herb said.

“Thank you!” Brett said.

“But you have to remember that while you're leading that squad you're also still under the direct command of the committee and your captain,” Herb continued.

The smug look on Brett's face vanished.

“As the leader of the away team you
are
responsible for their lives,” Herb continued, “as well as responsible for following the directives of your commanders.”

“I don't ask the men with me to do anything I wouldn't do,” Brett said. “And believe me, I'm always the one in front, doing whatever is most dangerous.”

“That isn't the issue,” my mother said. “As you yourself said, I am responsible for all of those lives and ultimately the lives of the members of this entire community. We're going to have to review what happens out there. When you go out, where you go, and what you do when you do get out.”

“It sounds like you're trying to put me on a leash.”

“And that leash is going to be a lot shorter if you don't follow orders!” my mother snapped.

“If you think that somebody else should be leading the away team, then you have my permission to replace me.”

“Nobody
needs
your permission to replace you,” my mother said. “There is a chain of command. You will follow it or you will be eliminated from that chain. Do you understand?”

His answer was too quiet for me to hear.

“Brett, we know you're just trying to do your best,” Herb said. “All of us are. For now the first thing we have to do is inform the families of the deaths as well as check on the wounded man.”

“Doc Morgan said it was a serious wound but he thought he'd be able to stitch him back together,” Brett said. “If I'm dismissed, I'd like to go up to the clinic and be there when he comes out of surgery.”

“That shows leadership,” my mother said.

“I think all of my men are happy with
my
leadership,” Brett said. That was a shot aimed right at my mother. “Am I dismissed?”

“Yes.”

He pushed his chair back and stomped to the doorway, smirking at me as he passed, and then headed out the front door, closing it noisily behind him. He didn't slam it, but he made sure we all knew that he wasn't completely happy about what had just transpired.

It was time to go back to bed.

 

29

As on most mornings, I got up before anyone else and headed straight over to the Petersons' house. I knew they'd be up for sure, taking care of the livestock. Lori was my morning meditation. Being around her meant I could try to start the day with my head in a good space.

After a quick breakfast with her mother, Lori and I went out to the fields.

We walked hand in hand alongside rows of potato plants. The crops were getting closer to harvest by the day. It was so hard to believe that a few short months ago this was nothing more than a strip of scrub grass and weeds that acted as a buffer between the houses and the highway. Now the highway was silent and this strip offered survival.

Walking along with Lori, it was sometimes hard for me to think beyond the fields, beyond the walls, beyond the world we were living in. She made me happy, and happy was in even shorter supply than food.

“There's my father,” Lori said.

“What?”

For a split second I thought she said “your father” and my heart soared and then crashed back to reality when I realized my mistake.

Mr. Peterson was standing between the rows talking to some of the people working the field. We started toward him.

“Hello, Adam,” a man called out. He wore a floppy hat that half covered his face and was holding a hoe in his hands.

“Hi.” I recognized his voice and he certainly looked familiar but I couldn't completely place him.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Privately.”

That surprised me a little, but I nodded. I let go of Lori's hand. “Why don't you go on and talk to your dad. I'll be with you in a minute,” I told her.

She started off toward the hill and the man shuffled out of the field. His movement was very awkward. I wondered if he'd been injured or something, but when he came out from behind the row of plants I saw that his feet were shackled together and instantly I knew who it was.

“I wasn't sure if you recognized me,” Quinn said.

“I didn't, at least not at first,” I stammered. Seeing him out of context had thrown me. “But I guess the shackles sort of gave it away. Sorry about you having to wear them.”

“Don't be. It's strange to have to be shackled like this, but I understand people not trusting me. I guess they figure between the shackles and the armed guard I'm not going anywhere.”

It was then that I noticed an elderly woman standing just up the slope of the field, a shotgun in hand. She gave me a little wave. I waved back.

“I'm not even sure she could hit me if she tried,” he said, “but really there's nothing to worry about. I'm just grateful for the fact that my life was saved, that I'm treated okay, and even being out working is better than being locked up all the time.”

“Where do they keep you?”

“Still up at the hospital. There's a place in the back—I think it was a storage room for the pharmacy—and they lock me in there every night.”

“I'm sorry about that, too.”

“Don't be. What I did, what I was part of, makes me understand why they shouldn't trust me.”

“Trust takes time. It's important,” I said.

“Trust is important, and so is gratitude. I never really had a chance to thank you for what you did,” he said. “That woman would have killed me.”

Herb, my mother, and I were the only people to know the truth about that episode weeks ago—that it was staged by Herb to get Quinn to talk. Quinn had been in no danger, and instead of being grateful he should have been angry. We were talking trust, and I didn't deserve his. I'd wanted to go back at some point to tell him, but Herb had talked me out of it. Besides, he said, I had thought the threat was real, and I did try to save his life, so it wasn't all fake.

“That's okay. I'm sure you would have done the same thing for me,” I said.

He shook his head. “I'm not sure I know anybody else who would have done what you did. You're a good kid.”

“Our neighborhood is full of good people,” I said.

“Yeah, there are lots of good people here. Almost all of them.”

“Almost?” I asked.

“Look, I'm not complaining … I'm just grateful … and maybe he's your brother, so I'm gonna shut up now.”

“I only have one brother. He's ten and everybody likes him, except maybe his twin sister sometimes.”

He smiled. “Then maybe he's a friend of yours. Just forget I said anything.”

Even without Quinn saying anything more, I was pretty sure I knew who he was talking about. Brett had been spending time at the clinic hospital every day visiting with the wounded member of his squad. I wanted to hear more.

“Look, I have lots of friends, but there are some people here I don't consider friends. How's the wounded man doing up there?” I decided I'd do a little fishing around.

“All right I guess. He certainly has a lot of visitors.”

“And is it some of those visitors you're wondering about?” I asked.

He suddenly looked sheepish.

“There's one of them I don't like or trust either,” I said.

“Yeah, one of them is, well, he's a real head case.”

“Brett,” I said involuntarily.

“None of them introduced themselves, but he's always swaggering about.”

“That's Brett. The wounded man is one of his squad. He leads a small team that goes out at night to patrol the area,” I explained.

“Patrol?” He laughed, in a way that was unnerving. “That's what we used to call it, too. He came over that first day and talked to me. He acted friendly—at least at first. He had lots of questions about how we did things, about how our leadership worked, and where he thought they fled to. I told them I didn't even know if the colonel was still alive.”

“Was the colonel really a military man?” I asked.

“I don't think he was still in the military when this all happened—I figured he'd had some sort of dishonorable discharge and I doubt he had that high a rank, but he still insisted that we all address him as the colonel.”

“And he called you the division.”

“Yes, he liked to think of us as an army,” Quinn explained. “His army.”

“Brett would probably like to have a chance to finish off what we started,” I said.

“Funny, I almost got the feeling he admired what we had done.”

Somehow that didn't surprise me.

“Strangest thing, the two of them even remind me of each other,” Quinn said.

“I figured the colonel would have been a lot older.”

“I'm talking about the look in their eyes. It's like there's no life, like there's nothing there.”

“Nothing?”

“Deadness. No feelings, no emotions.”

I'd seen that look in Brett and, if I was being honest, in Herb, too. Herb had learned to hide it, but Brett hadn't.

“When I didn't have the answers he wanted, he came over to the bars and told me that if it was up to him he would just slit my throat and he'd enjoy it. And, you know what, I knew he was telling the truth. Not just that he'd do it, but that he would have
enjoyed
it … getting up close.”

He looked scared.

“Just like with the colonel. Thank goodness he was on one side of the bars and I was on the other.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Brett doesn't make the decisions.”

“You've got to make sure it stays that way. He can never be in charge,” he said.

“Nobody is going to let him harm you.”

“It's not just for me, but for everybody. I've seen what happens when somebody like that is the leader. Somebody like him can force people into doing things they don't believe in doing. Not that I'm looking for an excuse—I chose to follow the colonel. All I can do is try to make up for it.”

That sounded so much like what Herb had said—he was trying to make up for things he'd done, too.

“And maybe if I do enough right, someday I can even earn the trust of people here,” Quinn said.

“I trust you,” I said. “I believe you.”

“That means a lot. Especially because I'm going to tell you something else.” He stopped and looked around. Only his grandmotherly guard was close, but not close enough to eavesdrop. “Ever since that first time Brett threatened to kill me, I've tried to pretend to be asleep when they come in. It's amazing what you can find out when people don't think you're listening.”

“And what did you learn?” I asked.

“Something they did out there—well, it was something bad.”

“What exactly?”

He shook his head. “That I don't know, but I know it's bad enough that they threatened to kill the wounded man if he talked.”

“Are you sure you didn't hear wrong?”

“I could have, but I don't think so. That guy, his name is Jack. He's scared of that Brett guy, too … and I don't blame him.