Frontier Justice - 01 (14 page)

“Then I’ll start with him. My experience is that, if you cut the head off the snake, it dies rather quickly.”

“True, but these are hard men,” warned Father Paul. “None are going to cower at the sight of a single lawman.”

“I’ve dealt with hard men most of my life.”

Father Paul smiled a sad smile.

“I believe you. And I also believe that you are exactly what this town needs. Why else would God have brought you to us?”

“And here I thought it was my idea.”

The priest patted him affectionately.

“He works through each of us in different ways, but always with gentle nudges. The choices are ours to make.”

“Fair enough.”

“How do you plan to deal with these criminals?”

“I’ll start by kicking the hornet’s nest and see what happens. In the end, blood will almost certainly be spilled. I want you to understand that going in.”

“The hand of righteousness must sometimes be called to strike down evil. I have no illusions about that.”

“I’ve found that violence is never far behind me. The same has always been true for my father as well.”

“Oh, is he a lawman too?”

Mason thought a moment before shaking his head.

“No, but I suppose he could have been. He’s as tough as nails to be sure. Unfortunately, he’s also an angry man, and that ultimately landed him behind bars. Given the president’s initiative, I’m not sure if he managed to find his way out of prison, or…if he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I pray that he finds his way to peace, wherever he might be.”

“I’m sure he would appreciate that.”

Father Paul clapped his hands together.

“There’s much work to be done. Are you willing to lend a hand?”

“I am. I wondered if we might start by calling the townspeople together. Perhaps even bring them here?”

“That’s an excellent idea. The Lord’s house is always an appropriate venue to bring hope to those who are suffering.”

“Do you have any idea how we can get the word out?”

Father Paul thought for a moment, and then a big smile came over his face.

“Follow me.”

The sound of church bells rang out over the town of Boone like the song of angels over a bloody battlefield. At first, people merely stared in the direction of the church, uncertain of what it could mean. Then, a few at a time, they came. Christians and atheists alike gathered their loved ones and sought solace in their community’s oldest establishment. Some were motivated by simple curiosity, most by faith and hope.

After three hours of incessant ringing, the entire church was filled to capacity. There were easily three hundred people in the building and another hundred outside leaning in to listen through doors and opened windows. Those who gathered spanned every demographic element: old and young, mothers and fathers, wealthy and poor, black and white. They looked tired, dirty, and afraid, but they also shared an excitement, like miners who’d been freed from an underground grave.

Even before Father Paul got up to speak, the huge room was buzzing with activity. People hugged, talked, and cried. When he finally walked up on the dais and raised his hands in the air, the priest looked like the ringmaster at a traveling circus.

“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “may I have your attention, please?”

The room slowly fell silent.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Father Paul.”

Several people clapped and shouted words of encouragement.

He smiled and gestured to them.

“Let me begin by saying thank you for coming. Whether you are a Catholic, Protestant, Jew, or atheist, no one can doubt that we are living in a time unlike any before. If ever there was a moment to gather in fellowship, it is now.”

One man shouted, “Christ is coming!”

Father Paul smiled. “He is indeed. Whether that is now or later, no man knows. What I do know is that the town of Boone, and indeed the rest of the world, is suffering.”

Several people said, “Amen.”

“You are probably wondering why I have called you here. The truth is that I need your help.” He held his hands out before him as he had done countless times before when asking people fill the church baskets with their tithing.

The huge mass of people fell silent, waiting for his request. Waiting to see if any of this even mattered.

“Our town is filled with unspeakable horrors—bodies lying in the streets, cars and homes filled with death and decay. Violence at every turn.”

A woman started to sob loudly, mumbling something about her late husband.

“But we are still here,” continued Father Paul. “Many have died, but we did not. God chose us to be here.”

More amens filled the room.

“Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know why. All I know is that we are being called upon for a nearly impossible task—to rebuild our families, to rebuild our town, to rebuild our nation!”

A long round of applause sounded.

When it quieted, he continued.

“God wouldn’t have left us here without the tools and resources that we need to survive. We must, therefore, set aside our fears and rise to His challenge. Indeed, there will be sacrifice and suffering. But there will also be joy and victory.”

A man stood up near the front of the church.

“Father, will the government help us rebuild? We can’t do it on our own.”

“Perhaps one day, but, for now, we are most assuredly on our own. We must work together to establish our infrastructures: food, water, and electricity. Even more important, we must regain the trust of our neighbors and learn once again to depend on one another. God is reminding us that we are all brothers and sisters. It’s time we listened.”

People clapped for nearly a full minute.

“We can do this!” one man yelled.

A beautiful woman with thick, black hair and naturally tan skin stood up from the middle of the church. She was wearing medical scrubs.

“We must also provide at least some basic level of medical care. People are suffering from dehydration and infection. We can’t afford to lose any more. Each life is more precious than ever.”

“I couldn’t have said it better,” said Father Paul. “Miss, are you a medical doctor?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m Avany Moura. I worked at the ER center.”

“Dr. Moura, we are delighted to have you here,” Father Paul said, nodding his head to her.

“Please, call me Ava. The time for titles and other formalities has long passed.”

“Indeed.” He turned back to the audience. “Do we have any other doctors here?”

An old man near the back of the room stood.

“I specialize in cardiac care.”

Another man pushed in through the door.

“I’m an obstetrician.”

Ava said, “I know of two other doctors and several nurses who also survived. We’ve been treating the sick and injured at the hospital. It’s not much, but we’re doing what we can.”

“God bless you for that,” said Father Paul.

“What about the gangs?” a woman shouted from the back of the church. “We’ll never be safe with them roaming the streets. They killed a young man in front of my children yesterday.”

Several people shouted their agreement, and the room became chaotic as everyone started talking among themselves.

Father Paul raised his arms again.

“Your attention, please.”

The talking continued but in more hushed tones.

“Yes, we must deal with the violence,” he continued.

“How?” the same woman shouted. “No offense, Father, but sharing God’s word isn’t going to work with these thugs.”

“No,” said Father Paul, “such men are not easily convinced to change their ways. That is why I have asked Marshal Raines to help us.” He motioned for Mason to come up on stage.

When Mason and Bowie moved up beside Father Paul, the entire room came alive. Everyone seemed more concerned by the giant dog than comforted by the marshal’s presence.

Mason leaned over to Bowie and said, “Announce yourself.”

Bowie looked at him, and then back at the large audience. When Mason continued to stare at him, the dog finally let out a loud
woof!

A few people in the front row shifted in their seats, looking around anxiously for a way out of the packed church. Nearly everyone fell silent.

Mason grinned. “That’s Bowie, and I’m Deputy Marshal Raines. We’re here to help you take back your town.”

A heavyset man shouted, “How you gonna do that, Marshal? One man and a dog ain’t near enough.”

“We don’t want no trouble!” yelled a black woman from the back of the church.

“If you make them angry, they’ll kill us all for sure,” said an older lady sitting, in the front row.

Ava stood up again, and Mason found his gaze drawn to her. She met his eyes and spoke.

“Marshal, people are afraid that you will somehow make things worse.”

“I understand,” he replied. “There’s no question that there’s a choice to be made. The townspeople of Boone can hide in the shadows and hope that these thugs will eventually tire of raping and killing—”

Several people started to grumble at his words. Ava grinned, never breaking eye contact.

“Or,” he said, raising his voice, “they can push back and tell these men that nothing will come easy. That, for every life they take, the town will demand two.”

“An eye for an eye,” said the old woman in the front row, nodding. “That’s God’s way.”

“Call it what you want,” said Mason, “an enemy does not become more of an enemy when you fight him.”

“Will you help us to fight them?” Ava asked, her voice soft, as if it were just the two of them sharing a private conversation.

“Yes, I will fight them.”

“And you’re good at that?”

“I am.”

She nodded and sat back down.

A man with his arm in a sling struggled to his feet.

“Marshal, no disrespect, but there are dozens of criminals. Even you and that beast can’t possibly stand up to all of them.”

“That’s true,” Mason said, reaching down and petting Bowie. “Even with a friend like Bowie, I can’t triumph over forty men. Are there others here with experience in law enforcement who would be willing to stand with me?”

Mason stood quietly, looking at the townspeople, wondering if anyone would find their courage. After nearly a minute of silence, a man in his sixties stood up in the front row. His wife was tugging at him to sit back down.

“I’m Max Blue. I was the police chief here in Boone until I retired a few years back. I’m not as fleet of foot anymore, but I can help.”

A man wearing a sidearm got to his feet.

“I’m Vince Tripp. I was a Watauga County Deputy Sheriff, and I’ll stand with you, Marshal.”

A third man, fit and muscular but balancing on a prosthetic leg, rose.

“Don Potts. I spent four years as an MP in the army. And, if you don’t mind this,” he said, patting his leg, “I’ll fight at your side.”

Finally, a wiry man wearing an old plaid shirt, dirty blue jeans, and a straw hat stood.

“My friends call me Coon on account of I’ve been known to eat one on occasion.”

Several people snickered.

“I don’t have any law enforcement experience to speak of, but I can hit a squirrel in the nuts at a hundred yards. If you need shootin’ done, I’m your man.”

Mason nodded. These brave misfits would be his deputies.

CHAPTER

13

Executive Order 16661

Establishment of the Viral Defense Corps

By virtue of the authority vested in me by the Congress, and as the elected President of the United States, the following is hereby ordered:

Section 1. Establishment of the Viral Defense Corps. An agency shall be established in the Department of Defense that shall be known as the Viral, Defense Corps (VDC). The VDC shall be headed by the vice president until, a permanent director can be appointed.

Section 2. Functions of the Viral Defense Corps. (a) The VDC shall be responsible for testing the inhabitants of the United States for the Superpox-99 virus. (b) The VDC shall be responsible for categorizing citizens as either infected or virus free. (c) The VDC shall be responsible for protecting virus-free citizens from those infected with the Superpox-99 virus.

Section 3. Authority of the Viral Defense Corps. (a) The VDC shall have the authority to perform blood-sample testing on any inhabitant of the United States. (b) Beyond enforcing mandatory testing, the VDC shall have no additional authority over those who are found to be virus free. (c) The VDC shall have the authority to detain, imprison, segregate, or take any other actions deemed necessary to prevent those who test as infected from posing a danger to the population of the United States.

President Glass stared at the paper with the same horror that a frightened man might study a contract he had just signed in blood with a Crossroads Demon. And, like that man who had traded his soul for profit, she understood that her signature on the order could only lead to eternal damnation.

She felt sick to her stomach. This was the kind of action that dictators took to tighten their grip over citizens too frightened to rebel. She had no misconceptions about what she was signing. Lincoln had carefully worded the document to give him the legal authority to enforce his brutal agenda of population cleansing. In her heart, she knew that such an action was indefensible.