FACING UNFAMILIAR GROUND _an EMP survival story Page 11

  Chantal asked to be left alone in the debating room, and both Xander and Arthur slipped away. She sat at the large table and looked at her reflection in its polished surface. This was the problematic part, balancing the punishment against the crime, and the effect of the crime on the populace.

  She didn’t want to appear emotional. All decisions must seem to be logical, and the crime must fit the punishment. So, here she had a man who’d taken the law into his own hands, who had murdered a man because he was associated with the man he was tracking. He had acted far beyond his authority, overstepping all bounds. The power of the position turned his head, and he had taken on the role of judge, jury and executioner.

  But he had done so at the Court’s behest. He had believed himself to be doing the right thing. But didn’t criminals always think they were doing the right thing? No. No, sometimes they knew they were doing the wrong thing, and they did it anyway. That was not the enforcer’s crime. This crime was to do his job with too much zeal.

  And what would happen if she killed this man? Would she have trouble finding new enforcers? Or would there still be plenty who would be willing to do her bidding for the reward of suitable housing and plentiful food? And power, there was always that as well. And the protection of the Court. Although, what good was the protection of the Court if you were executed for performing your duties?

  This last point convinced her. Stood and made her way back through the passage into the Court.

  Her enforcer still was kneeling, his head bowed so low she thought his forehead must be resting on the dirt. He had been a decent enforcer, if not strictly obedient. He used his initiative. Many enforcers had no ambition. A deep sadness fell over her, the judge’s mantle like a weight weighing her down. She took a deep breath.

  “Enforcer,” she proclaimed, “you have served the Koupe Tribinal well, and we are grateful for your service. However, you have made a grave mistake, and for this, you will lose your right hand as well as your position as an enforcer for this Court. Have you anything to say?”

  He lifted his head slowly. “Judge Stone,” he said, “I would beg that you take my life. There is no existence, no real life in this place, for a man with only one hand. I would die a slow and horrible death or be kicked to death in the street. Take my life now and spare me that fate.”

  “This is what you truly want?” Chantel asked.

  He looked her directly in the eyes. “Yes, judge, this is what I want. It is the fate I prefer.”

  “So be it.” She stood, nodded to her executioner, and left the room. Ordinarily, she might have stayed to witness the honor of his death, but she could not, for she could not risk her people seeing her weakness.

  She retired to her office, her sanctuary, where no one would disturb her, and wept for the first time in many years. Why this one man should affect her, she did not know. Perhaps it was that he had pleaded for death instead of life. He was the first to do so since she had created the Tribinal. Many had begged for their lives, would have accepted the loss of a hand as mercy. But not this man, this enforcer. She felt honored to have worked with him, and she did not even know his name.

  Later, when she had come to terms with her emotions, she made her way back to the judge's chamber and sat at the table with Arthur and Xander. When they questioned her with their eyes, she waved their concern away. “Let us speak of Melvin Foles,” she said. “I think we should take him from his home.”

  “Are you sure, Chantal?” Arthur asked. “We have yet to invade the sanctity of the home. We named the home inviolate. Are you sure you wish to change this over one man?”

  “I do,” she said. “A good man died today because of Melvin Foles, and I’m tired of chasing him. We will go to his home, and we will bring him here.”

  “Wait,” Arthur said. “You sentenced the enforcer to death?”

  “No,” she said, “I sentenced him to maiming, and he begged for death. I granted his wish. That’s all.”

  “Smart man,” Xander said, smiling.

  Arthur looked pained. “He asked for death rather than live with one hand,” he said under his breath, shaking his head. “That was an unnecessary loss of life.” His mouth pulled down at the corners.

  Chantel got up and walked to the door. “Send in our largest enforcer,” she called. And returned to her chair.

  A moment later a large man walked into the room. He was by far the most massive man she ever had seen, although he once had told her his brother was even larger. He stood well over six feet tall and was not one of those willowy basketball player types, but instead was built like a wrestler or a bodybuilder writ large. The offspring of a giant and a mortal. The thought made her smile, and she wondered when she began getting fanciful.

  “We have a job for you, enforcer, and it’s somewhat unusual,” she said. “Can you obey without question?”

  “Yes, judge,” he said. “What is it that I can do for you?”

  She pushed a folded piece of paper across the table. “Go to this address,” she said, “and bring the man who lives there back alive. Do you understand? I want him alive.”

  “Of course Judge Stone,” he replied, with military precision. “Go to his home, bring him here alive. Am I allowed to enter his home?”

  “Yes. This one time, and this one time only, you may enter a home. But be sure you bring him here unharmed.”

  “Yes, judge,” he said, and rose to go.

  “One more thing,” Xander said. “If there is anyone with him, they too must remain unharmed.”

  “Yes, judge,” the enforcer said and left the room.

  “Where have we gotten to?” Arthur asked. “We’ve reached the day where we have to remind our enforcers not to harm the innocent. That does not make me happy.”

  “But it was bound to happen,” Chantel said. “Power corrupts the mind.” And oh how she knew that to be true.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mia kept her worrying about Melvin to herself. Glenn saw no reason to be concerned, and she didn’t want to alarm the others, but her instincts told her he should’ve been back by now. She fretted as she led them out the back of the building, through a break in the chain link fence and down the alleyway out onto the street.

  Glen’s face lit up when he saw the number of people waiting to be treated at the library steps. The line wound around the block. Mia just felt tired. This would be another grueling day among a lifetime of grueling days. She knew she should not feel sorry for herself, she was alive and well and in good company, but she longed for laughter and fun. This business of struggling to stay alive day after day was not her idea of living.

  She helped Glen and Sally set up a temporary med station, laying out supplies on a clean linen cloth that Glen had pilfered from the apartment. Then she went to stand at the head of the line. Sally assisted Glen, Christian kept peace among the waiting people, and Mia said, “Next patient, please,” over and over again. After a while, she abandoned her post and went to stand in the shade under the elevated railway. She remembered it being called the people mover and wondered what it was called now. Obsolete, maybe, but that didn’t seem like the appropriate word for something more advanced.

  After what seemed forever, she caught Christian’s eye and beckoned him over. “Let’s go scouting for our new clinic,” she said. “These people can police themselves. We’re not really needed, and I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

  “Yeah,” Christian said, “sure. I’m in.”

  They told Glen and Sally where they were going and headed out. They decided on a ten-by-five block grid and meant to walk to the northwesterly most corner and start from there. Only they eventually realize the street they were on was on the diagonal, cutting through their grid, and it wasn’t clear where they were in relation to the northwestern point. So, they went back and started over, making sure they were walking on an east-west street.

  It was quieter on this edge of their grid. It seemed people gathered together into communities, settling in ar
eas where food and water were available. The river supplied both.

  They walked east five blocks without seeing anything promising. The windows were busted out of many of the ground floor spaces, probably during the looting that happened after the space storm hit the Earth. Or perhaps the planet had hit the space storm? Who knew? Some scientist somewhere knew, but with no communication, they’d never be able to tell anyone. She spent a few minutes of their walk wondering what it might be like to be stranded at an observatory on top of a mountain. Lonely, she thought.

  That first five blocks didn’t yield anything that she or Christian thought was viable. For one thing, it seemed like too long a distance from the majority of the people. The second five blocks held an inordinate number of parking lots. As they got closer to the center of town, they noticed more potential venues. One narrow but deep coffee shop still had its windows and doors, but on closer inspection seemed to be a bedroom for a host of men.

  She and Christian moved on.

  “They kind of reminded me of vampires,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Christian replied, nodding his head, “me too. Very creepy.”

  They didn’t bother looking at anything until they were well away from the area.

  Before they knew it, they’d scoured the northern half of the grid and were passing the library again. As they walked by Glen and Sally, Glen raised his eyebrows at them. They shook their heads, and Glen frowned, apparently surprised that they had come this far without finding something suitable, but Mia wasn’t surprised.

  How many years had it been since the power had gone out? Three? Four? She was puzzled by her inability to figure that out. How many years had it been? She’d ask Glen later. The point was that it had been long enough for every inch of this city to be scoured. There was little left that still was usable but remained unclaimed. How were they to find what the thousands that lived in the town center had not?

  They walked south of the library now, their mood somewhat dejected. By mid-afternoon, they’d walked the entire fifty-block grid and stood at the southwesterly most corner of their search area. Mia was tired, and her feet were sore. If she’d known she was going to be walking the entire city, she would have worn her hiking boots.

  They were headed back toward the library, where Mia was hoping they’d be finishing up for the day. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, and she’d love a nap. She spotted an empty bench in a small park and made a beeline for it, not even checking to see if Christian was following her. She just really needed to sit down. She ran across the road, not looking both ways – there was no need – and plunked herself on the bench, slipping off her shoes and wiggling her toes. When Christian sat beside her, she turned, using him to rest against, and put her feet up on the bench. It was heaven. Her socks breathed, and her feet felt the chill and liked it. It was almost like putting tired feet in a cold stream, she thought, letting the cold air revive them.

  She opened her eyes and took in the view. Across from them, on the other side of the street from the park, was a squat stone building, maybe four stories high. It wasn’t much to look at, bulky and square, too few windows that all were too small. But there, up near the roof, was a full balcony, and facing out onto that balcony – or maybe it was really a terrace – were a row of tall windows. Unbroken windows. She felt a spark of excitement.

  “I bet those rooms get plenty of light,” she said and pointed.

  Christian followed her finger with his eyes, and a contemplative look crossed his face. He nudged her off his shoulder and got up. “Put your shoes on,” he said. “I want to take a look.”

  So, she put the offending items back on her feet and followed him across the grass. They stood for a while on the sidewalk across from the building, looking up at the terrace and the windows beyond. There was no movement.

  They crossed the street and looked at the three doors into the building. They were solid oak and carved elaborately. Mia went to the leftmost door and tried the handle. It wasn’t just locked, it was tight and solid and moved about as much as a stone wall when she pulled on the handle. The other two doors were similarly impenetrable.

  They walked around the building to the back, where they found the building was built in a U-shape around a courtyard. At the end of each wing were two more doors, similarly impenetrable but not nearly as imposing. The main body of the building, the bottom of the U, had French doors opening onto the courtyard. But they had been boarded up from the outside. However, over one of the doors at the end of the side wing was a small portico. Over the porch was a small window, which happened to be cracked open.

  “Can you boost me up there?” she asked Christian.

  He looked at the porch. “I don’t know why not,” he said and linked his hands.

  She stepped into his hands, and he lifted her up until she could pull herself onto the roof. She used her hands and feet to work her way up to the ridgepole and then scooted to the wall where she very, very carefully stood up, using the wall as an anchor. The window was above her head, but she was able to reach the sill. She had a few nervous moments when she thought she was stuck, unable to go up and unable to go down, frozen against the wall until fatigue overtook her and she toppled to her death.

  Well, okay, it wasn’t that far down, so maybe not to her death. Still, it was bound to be painful, and potentially bone-breaking, so she’d better figure this thing out. She looked down at Christian, but he wasn’t there. Her eyes sought and found him breaking a branch from a tree. As she watched he stripped the limb of twigs and a few dried up leaves and carried it over.

  “Can you catch this?” he asked.

  “Doubtful,” she answered, afraid if she let go of the windowsill to grab for the branch her feet would slip, and she’d dangle one-handed until she fell. Likely impaling herself with the stick.

  “Hold on then,” Christian said and tossed the branch to the roof. Then he jumped, caught the gutter and swung his body up. He joined her on the ridgepole, standing close behind her, and used the stick to push up the sash.

  “I’m going to sit on the ridgepole,” he said in her ear, “and I want you to stand on my shoulders and see if you can pull yourself through the window. You should be small enough to make it. I couldn’t get my shoulders through. Okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, “but with my luck I’ll get in there, find myself in a locked closet and be stuck for life.”

  “Not for life,” he said. “Just until I can convince you to crawl out again. I’m sitting now.”

  He slid down and balanced on the ridgepole. “Okay, now put your left foot on my shoulder and push yourself up.”

  She did as he said, steadying herself with her fingers on the windowsill. Of course, the problem was that when she was facing the wall, she couldn’t get her foot up onto his shoulder. He slid his hand under her foot and lifted. As he pushed she levered her body through the window opening, pushed through and tumbled onto the floor.

  She could have cried with relief. The time she climbed that massive tree in the forest to see where the town lay was nothing compared to balancing on the ridge of a roof with hardly anything to hold onto. She hadn’t enjoyed it at all.

  She opened her eyes and discovered she was in a bathroom. The door was open, and she could see down a hall. She got up and dusted herself off, leaning out the window to see Christian still sitting on the roof looking up.

  “I’m in a bathroom,” she said. “I’m going to take a look around.”

  “Go right ahead,” he said, “but come back if you find anything interesting.

  Out in the hall, she realized she was on a floor below the one she was interested in. Glancing in rooms as she walked down the hall in search of the stairwell she realized this building must be a museum. There were display cases, wall plaques, and photos on the walls that seemed to depict the history of the city. The rooms hadn’t been looted, and she wondered why. Were the people of Detroit so respectful of its past that they wouldn’t rob a museum?

 
; She turned right, moving into the central wing of the building, and came upon the wide central stairs. They appeared to come up two flights to this floor, but no farther. However, a peek into the farther wing disclosed a narrower stairwell heading upward. She ran up the stairs two at a time and swung out onto the top floor. There was no hallway here, the stairs opening up into a large empty room with large arched windows lining the walls, and on one side, opening out onto the wide stone balcony.

  Or at least they would open once the boards nailed across the width of the windows had been pried off. She didn’t really know why this building had been left untouched, but she thought it might have something to do with how securely it had been made fast. Someone had cared a great deal about this place, so where were they now?

  She took a good look at the space around her. It spanned the breadth and width of the central wing of the building. Empty but for the dust covering the floor and chandeliers. She went to peer out through a gap in the boards at the rear, but she could not see the end of the wing, where Christian was presumably still perched on the roof. She turned and ran back down the stairs, her heart pounding with anticipation. Wait until he saw this place.

  When she reached the central staircase, she turned and ran down that too. When she reached the ground floor she went looking for the door under the porch roof. She padded down the hall, the floor of this wing seemingly was devoted to running the museum. There were offices, a dining room and finally a large kitchen before she discovered the short hallway off the kitchen that led to the back door.

  It took a few minutes to figure out how to open the door. Not only did it have the regular deadbolt and handle lock, but also bolts that secured the door into the floor and upper frame as well, and that was on top of a metal bar fitted into slats on either side of the frame, preventing the door from being forced open. Someone really knew how to make a place secure.

  But finally, she was through the door, which she propped open, and shouting at Christian to come down off the roof.