The Directives (10 page)

Bishop returned to the courthouse with just enough light left to identify Major Baxter standing on the front steps, talking with the sheriff. “Where the hell have you been?” the officer snapped.

“I helped an old man back to his house,” Bishop answered honestly. “He invited me in for some tea, and time just got away from me.”

“Old man?” the sheriff inquired, his tone thick with doubt. “I’m not aware of very many old timers around town. Where does he live?”

“I’m not sure,” Bishop answered. “I got a little lost on the way back. His house was out in the countryside, just beyond the edge of town.”

“We’ve had people out looking for you,” Baxter stated. “Don’t wander off again.”

“Yes, sir,” Bishop responded, acting as if he were worthy of the scolding. “I’m exhausted, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hit the rack before it’s my turn at sentry duty.”

Bishop started to pass between the two men when the sheriff reached out and grabbed him by the arm. “I wasn’t finished with my questions,” the lawman hissed.

After learning the truth about Brighton, Bishop was already disgusted just by being in proximity to the man. Something about the hand squeezing his arm ignited a firestorm of wrath inside the Texan. In a blur of motion, he found the lawman’s thumb, bending it backwards until the grip on his bicep was released. A simple twist, side step and push sent the sheriff to his knees, his arm helplessly pinned high against his back.

Bishop’s pistol was pressing hard against the man’s ear. “Don’t you ever lay a fucking hand on me again, you piece of shit. I know your kind. Say your prayers, little law-bitch.”

A slight whimper sounded from the sheriff’s throat when Bishop cocked the hammer of his pistol.

Baxter was momentarily stunned by the speed and violence of the action. “Bishop. Bishop, stop! What are you doing?”

But the Texan’s only response was to pull his victim’s arm higher, a loud pop signaling he’d dislocated the sheriff’s shoulder. The man howled in pain, the outburst followed by a low whine of misery.

“Are you finished praying yet? I don’t hear you asking for forgiveness,
Sheriff.
”

“Bishop!” Baxter shouted again. “Stop this! Are you fucking crazy?”

Baxter bent lower, getting his face in close to Bishop’s, in hopes of driving his message through. What he saw in the Texan’s eyes made the soldier recoil.

The major would never forget those coal-black pools, the dark stare of an emotionless predator about to terminate his prey. There wasn’t rage… or anger… or any sentiment at all. It was as if Bishop was a machine, a cold, mechanical killing device without humanity or conscience. In all the wars and campaigns of his military career, he’d never seen anything like it.

“Bishop. Stop. Please,” Baxter tried again, his voice now a hushed plea.

Something changed in Bishop’s posture. Like someone snapping out of a trance, his head briefly tilted, and then he exhaled audibly.

Bishop lessened the pressure on the lawman’s limb, sending a signal that he was about to free his captive. Baxter recognized movement, realizing too late that the sheriff was reaching for his sidearm.

Before Baxter could say anything, the Texan’s boot whizzed through the air, a vicious kick landing square against the sobbing lawman’s head. The blow sent the crippled man reeling down the courthouse steps
where he landed with a thud. His pistol bounced a bit further, clambering another few feet on the concrete.

Baxter stood with his mouth open, temporarily flabbergasted. Before he could recover, Bishop made eye contact with two soldiers who had been observing the encounter. “Get him over to the medic,” the Texan ordered. “And then I want him arrested and detained. If anyone from Brighton comes around looking for him, we have no idea of his whereabouts. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” both of them snapped as they hustled to help the disabled lawman.

Bishop watched as the two privates reached for the sheriff, and then turned to address Baxter. “Major, I need to have a word with you, in private. Right. Fucking. Now.”

Baxter started to protest, but then thought better of it. Had the Texan gone insane? Somehow, the major sensed that wasn’t the case. Curiosity replaced the fear he’d experienced while looking into the predator’s eyes. “This had better be good,” he mumbled as he followed Bishop inside.

On a rooftop two blocks away from the courthouse, a stunned deputy jerked his face away from the binoculars. “Holy shit! Did you just see that?” whispered the observer. “He just kicked the sheriff’s ass.”

“Yes, I saw it,” responded the other, pulling his eyes away from his own optic. “You’d better hightail it downstairs and let the mayor know. Something’s going on.”

“You’re right. Do you think he’s still at City Hall?”

“Now how the fuck would I know where he is? Go find him.”

Standing quickly, the recently deputized young man made for the service hatch on the roof. Five minutes later, he was dashing toward City Hall.

Bursting into the reception area, he discovered Amy Sue tidying her desk, preparing to head home. “Where’s Lew?” the excited man barked. “One of the newcomers just kicked the sheriff’s ass right on the courthouse steps. I think they’re holding him prisoner.”

Lew was also ending his day. Recognizing the frantic deputy at his office threshold, the mayor was immediately concerned. “Slow down, damn it. Just slow down, and tell me exactly what you saw.”

Within minutes, the deputy blurted out what he had witnessed from the rooftop. The mayor was clearly disturbed about the development. With a sigh of apprehension, he instructed, “Bring Mr. Winfrey to join me here immediately. On the way back, share with him what you observed.”

As soon as the deputy had rushed out, Lew approached Amy Sue’s desk. “Send out the word. Gather the men,” he ordered. “Gather them all. I’m afraid we’re going to have a long night.”

It took Bishop 45 minutes to recount his journey and what he’d learned. When he had finished, Major Baxter shook his head in disbelief. “I knew something was wrong here. It just felt off. Are you 100% certain?”

“Yes,” Bishop responded. “I’m as sure about this as I can be of anything in this crazy world. What I didn’t see with my own eyes, I had multiple witness accounts. We’re dealing with a bunch of evil sons-ah-bitches. A group of murdering, out of control bastards.”

“Well, at least I understand why you lost your temper with the sheriff. What you just told me about the inhumane treatment of these ranchers is about the best justification I’ve ever heard.”

Bishop frowned, “I didn’t lose my temper, Major. I wasn’t mad at all. The sheriff’s still breathing isn’t he?”

For a moment, Baxter wondered if all of the stories he’d heard about the Texan were actually true. After the mini-drama he’d just watched, the tall tales were suddenly more believable. Clearing those thoughts from his head, he looked up and asked, “What’s the next move?”

“Evan thought the plant could produce product with a few weeks of work, some spare parts, and electricity. Depending on how many of his key employees were still alive, he thought it was doable.”

“And the mayor and his crew?”

Bishop rubbed his chin, the dilemma obvious. “We’re not invaders, Major. On one hand, we’re nothing to these people. We have no authority or right to stick our noses in. It would be easy enough to arrest the mayor and his lackeys… take them out of circulation. But then what? What if the people side with their leadership? We can’t kill the entire town.”

“And on the other hand?”

Bishop chose his words carefully, “On the other hand, I feel a moral authority. There’s right and wrong. We’re Americans, and that sets a precedent for freedom and liberty. What Lew and the banker are doing is wrong.”

Baxter processed those words for a few moments before responding. “Seems straightforward enough. We have to take down the local leadership. Like you said, it’s doable.”

Bishop stood and began pacing the room, something still troubling the Texan. “Before we go acting all high and mighty, are we sure? You don’t know how many times I’ve thought things were black and white, only to find several shades of grey in reality. Surviving in a post-apocalyptic world seems to blur the distinction between good and evil even more.”

“I don’t understand. It all seems pretty cut and dried to me. I just asked if you were sure, and you said ‘Yes.’ Are you changing your mind?”

Bishop stopped and grinned at his poor choice of words. “Sorry to confuse you, sir. I’m absolutely sure of what Lew and his henchmen have done. What I’m not so certain about is the true depth of the mayor’s crimes. He did feed his people. You could argue that he utilized the available resources to provide greatest benefit to the most needy. Is that really so bad? Would you or I have done anything differently?”

“So what are you saying, Bishop?”

“It would be easy for me and a couple of your best shooters to walk over to City Hall, spray down the security and then give Lew and his boys an injection of high velocity lead. A simple enough solution to the problem. But that would make us judge, jury, and executioner. Would we really be any better than the men we are eliminating? From what I’ve heard and seen, we would be acting in the exact same manner, killing off the few so we can help the many. It just doesn’t sit right with me.”

Baxter was impressed. He’d originally thought Bishop nothing more than a hyped-up country boy. The man’s depth was raising the major’s level of respect.

“I’ve got it!” Bishop declared. “Instead of killing them outright, we’ll arrest them and hold a trial. A jury of their peers. We’ll even let them have representation like the constitution allows.”

The major brightened at the concept, relief replacing the ill feelings he was having over the thoughts of ordering his men to kill non-combatant civilians. He then had an even better idea. “A military tribunal! We can have officers from the Judge Advocate General’s office come up from Hood. They will get a fair shake, and
then
we’ll march them all in front of a firing squad.”

Bishop liked the idea. “We’ve got a plan then, Major. Let’s start working out the details of tomorrow morning’s take down.”

But before Baxter could react, the sergeant came busting through the door. “Major! You’d better get out here. Something’s going on. Something big.”

“I’ve got movement,” one of the Army sentries reported, his voice barely carrying over the rush of scrambling men. Peering again through his night vision, the specialist focused on the gable of a nearby building. “I’ve got two men with rifles taking up a position on top.”