Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

Jake shook his head. “Just enter your plea of not guilty and waive your right to a trial.”

Hmm. Trent would like it better if he could talk to the judge. He was good at talking. “Is the judge male or female?”

“Male.”

Ah, well. Men required more time to bring around. Time he might not have if the others were scheduled to join them soon. “Okay. We’ll do it your way.”

“Great.” Jake rubbed his hands together before knocking on the door.

It opened a crack.

“Tell the judge and prosecutor, we’re ready to enter our plea.”

Trent frowned as the door shut. “Wait. Don’t I get to get out of here?”

Proclaim his innocence to the world, to his faithful followers.

“Best not.” Jake flashed his palms. “Some of the folks had kin on those trucks. They’re very angry. You’re safer in here.”

Typical government bullshit. “The military is supposed to protect me. Of course, they would slack off.”

It was a conspiracy and that doctor bitch was at the heart of it.

He would let everyone know when he was released. That might work to his favor, gain him some worthy followers when he left the convoy again. Those outside had to be better than the slag he’d been stuck with.

The door opened and a man in a three piece suit stepped through. Gold glinted on his lapel and pinky finger. “You wanted to see me?”

Ah, perfect a good ol’ boy network kind of guy. This was going to be better than he thought.

Behind him stood the ugly bitch in charge and a scrawny sallow-skinned man in Dockers and a Polo shirt.

If this was the loser gang facing him even Jake couldn’t lose.

Jake cleared his throat. “My client wishes to enter his plea now, Judge Anderson.”

The bitch raised an eyebrow.

Surprised was she? Just wait until he got his revenge.

The judge smiled. “That will move things along nicely. How do you plead?”

Trent glared at Mavis and enunciated each word. “Not guilty.”

She rolled her eyes.

Fuck you! he mentally cursed.

“Of course. Of course. I don’t blame you.” Judge Anderson nodded then turned for the door. “If counsel will get started on jury selection, we can begin at oh-six hundred.”

“Wait.” Jake raised his hand. “My client wishes to waive his right to a trial by jury.”

“No!” The bitch’s shout bounced off the walls.

Trent flashed his eye teeth. What do you know? If she wanted a trial, then Jake had done well to suggest he avoid one. “That is my wish.”

Judge Anderson frowned at Mavis. “I’ll review the evidence tonight and render my verdict in the morning.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Trent offered his hand. By breakfast tomorrow, he should be sitting down to a hot meal and recruiting for his new civilization.

Day Nine

Manny yawned and rubbed the grit in his eye. He’d sleep. Later. When Trent Powers was dead. He hunched down in his hoodie and stuck his hands in his pocket. His fingers caressed the warm metal. He hoped he could get off two shots before…

He swallowed hard.

It didn’t matter what happened to him.

All that mattered was Wheelchair Henry be avenged.

Trent Powers had to die.

He shifted on the hard plastic seat. His butt had fallen asleep early this morning. His legs were numb. But his mind was clear. He checked the clock. Five o’clock. One more hour until opportunity sashayed through the door. Those soldiers wouldn’t be able to protect that bastard Trent when he came in the cafeteria to hear the judge speak.

Boots squeaked on the floor behind Manny.

He didn’t turn. People were filing in for the big show. Their beloved preacher was being railroaded by the military. Religion was on trial because the Doc was an atheistic scientist.

How they didn’t see Trent Powers as the douchebag, he’d never know. And he didn’t care.

Wheelchair Henry deserved justice.

Someone walked in front of him and he leaned back.

With a sigh, Sergeant-Major Dawson sank onto the molded plastic chair. “You’re up early.”

“I didn’t sleep.” All Manny saw on his eyelids was Wheelchair Henry and another soldier wrapped in plastic like shirts then slowly lowered into a pit and buried with rocks.

“No. I expect not.” The sergeant-major stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I was sorry to hear about the Colonel. He was a good man.”

Manny’s throat tightened and tears pricked his nose. But they wouldn’t fall. He wouldn’t be able to cry until he’d completed his mission. “The best.”

He didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. Not by someone like Trent.

“You fired in the salute, didn’t you?” David’s fingers traced the flap over his pants pocket. “At his and Singleton’s funeral.”

For a moment, Manny’s heart stopped. The soldier knew about the gun. Would he take it away? Would his plan be over already? “Sorry about your soldier.”

“He died for these people.” David sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And many of them resent us. Can you believe that?”

Manny relaxed slightly. This wasn’t about the gun. “They’re idiots.”

“That’s my opinion but the truth is we need them. Conspiracy nuts and all.”

“Why?” They should just get rid of them. Once they were out there, on their own, they’d learn the lesson Manny had months ago.

“Do you know how to build a house, wire it, plumb a line, grow food, sew clothes or teach science?”

“No.” But nobody knew all of that. How could they?

“Neither do I.” David sat up. “That’s why we need them. We don’t want to survive this crap, we want to live again. Build a society that isn’t as fucked up as the one we left behind. Those comforts we took for granted are part of that.”

“And so we have to put up with the stupid people?”

“Pretty much.” David slipped his hand in his pocket. “Of course, they have the easier task of putting up with us.”

Manny laughed then caught himself. He shouldn’t laugh. Wheelchair Henry lay in an unmarked grave back in Flagstaff.

The soldier looked him in the eye. “If I asked you not to shoot Trent Powers, would you do as I asked?”

“No.” Manny’s fingers tightened on the gun.

“I understand.” David’s mouth tightened. “But I’m gonna have to ask you to change your pants.” He nodded to the camo pants Manny still wore. “I can’t have my men implicated. We’re going to look foolish enough having let you slip passed our perimeter.”

Manny blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“I wish I didn’t either then I’d take the bastard out myself. But the Doc was right.” David pushed to his feet. He opened his palm revealing a slim black rectangle inside. “Fresh clip. Twelve rounds, plus the one that’s in the chamber. You’ll be able to fire all thirteen.”

Manny reached for the ammunition.

David clasped his hand, sandwiching the ammunition between their palms, and shook it. “Make them count.”

“I will.” Manny stared at the clip. Thirteen rounds. Seven for Trent and six for the buddy that helped him.

“Now go change. I’ll make sure your seat is waiting for you when you get back.”

Manny stuffed the clip in his hoodie and pushed to his feet. The soldiers weren’t going to stop him. He staggered down the aisle. Pins and needles stung the feeling back into his legs. The door stretched far away then snapped back.

Robertson jogged across the back of the room, intercepting him by the exit. “Here. You should eat something.”

Without thinking, Manny reached for the tan MRE pouch. Heat pulsed under his fingers. “Thanks.”

“Sausage. My favorite.” Robertson pushed open the door. Generators hummed in the darkness. Stadium lights lit up the park across the street. People moved in the pearly gray light. Two men shoveled snow into piles. “Of course, I heard your crew is making flapjacks and biscuits for breakfast, so save room.”