We got engaged three days ago, as we were on our way out of the prison." She giggled. "It's quite a story, actually. But it's way too long to tell it now. I really reallywant to stop playing mummy dearest." "Well, hell," said one of the guards. "What do we do?"
Casey Fisher asked, that evening. She and several of the guards had gathered around Frank at the campfire, along with Barbara Ray and Lylah Caldwell. For his part, Frank really really wanted Joe Schuler to come out of his state of near-unconscious. So much so that he'd had to restrain himself mightily from asking the nurses to wake the lieutenant up. But they would have refused anyway. So. That left Frank in charge. Whether he wanted to be or not. "I don't know," was his sterling contribution to leadership principles. One of the older guards glanced dubiously at the area where Boomer's gang had set up for the night. Elaine Brown was with them. She'd insisted. And now, she was lying under a blanket with James Cook. With nothing but a small bandage in place of the wrappings she'd had on. Even that bandage, according to the nurses, was more of a formality than anything else. They were quite sure that Elaine had recovered fully from her injury. "Sexual relations between guards and convicts are strictly forbidden," he said. "They'll fire you for that in a heartbeat." "That is possibly the most asinine statement I've ever heard," Lylah snapped. "Josh Edwards, use your head. First, youcan't fire Elaine Brown. She doesn't work for the Illinois Department of Corrections any more, for the good and simple reason that it doesn't exist. Second-" Lylah Caldwell interrupted her. "Just drop it, Josh.
Leave aside everything else. That wonderful young man has kept me from having nightmares for the rest of my life." Her eyes gleamed wetly in the firelight, and her next words came in a whisper. "I thought I'd never be able to forgive myself. For the way we left her behind." That caused a moment's silence. "Me neither," said Casey quietly. "Or me," added Barbara Ray. "Yeah, I agree," said Frank. "It's a moot point.
Period. It just is." He looked over at the couple under the blanket, then looked away when he saw the blanket was moving in… interesting ways. The funny thing was, he was pretty sure that if anyone under there was putting up any resistance, it was Cook and not Brown. He'd been her guardian for so long he was probably struggling to let go of it-and she was gleeful that she was finally free of her wraps. Edwards wasn't going to give up that easily.
"Fine," he said, almost snarling the word. "What do we do about the rest of the cons? Dammit, those men aredangerous. Kidd's an out-and-out cold-blooded killer." "Kidd…" said Lylah, as if she were musing over a strange word. "Isn't he the one with the three kids wrapped around his neck?" Edwards glared at her. One of the other guards spoke up. That was Renfrew Smith, who'd been working at the prison longer than any of them. He was related to Frank, although the relationship was distant. Some sort of second cousin. Maybe even third cousin. Frank never had been able to figure out the difference. "Just let it go, Edwards. They're not threatening anybody. And I never had any trouble with Boomer's people anyway." Renfrew gave the other guard a sharp glance. "Neither did you, for that matter." "Frankly," said Casey, "I'm a little relieved to have them here. Between Kidd's gun and those matchlocks they've got, I figure we don't have to worry as much about predators." Edwards looked mulish. Frank was coming to the conclusion he didn't much like the man. And he was remembering something Captain Blacklock had said to him, shortly after he was hired. Frank, we are guards. Our job is to protect society from these men, and protect them from each other. We are not juries. We are not judges. Just prison guards. And, believe me, that's a hard enough job as it is, without trying to play God in the bargain. He'd thought it was good advice at the time. Now, he was sure of it. "Drop it, Edwards," he commanded. "When Captain Blacklock gets back-or if Joe Schuler's in good enough shape-they can make any final decisions. For now, we're just going to accept the situation as it stands. They're here, and at least for the moment we're on the same side." *** A little later that evening, Frank decided he'd better follow his own instructions. He went over to Kidd and squatted next to him. "I'm only asking because I need to know what we've got in case predators come around. What I mean is-" "Two rounds," said Kidd. He put an arm around one of the Indian girls, who was cuddled against his chest and half-asleep. "I had to use the rest to take care of the Spaniards who had 'em." The fact that the news Kidd only had two rounds left worried Frank instead of relieving him was as good a sign as any that the world had definitely changed. Again. He eased himself out of the squat into a comfortable sitting position. "Tell me what happened. It sounds like one hell of story." Sure enough, it was.
Frank got the whole story, too, starting from the prison rebellion where Boomer got killed. Finding Elaine in the basement, the confrontation with Bostic, the escape, the whole works. After Kidd finished, they didn't talk for a while. Then Frank asked, "What are you going to do with the kids?" "Adopt 'em, I guess. Don't think I got much choice. It's either that or shoot 'em-and, like I said, I only got two rounds left. Count 'em. Three kids. I might have the heart to shoot all of them, but I couldn't possibly pick which ones." After another silent moment, he added, "That was a joke, Nickerson." Frank nodded sagely. He'd been pretty sure it was a joke. Kidd's scary grin flashed in the campfire light. "And I'd have to pick two to keep alive, anyway. Seeing as how I always double-tap my targets." There was another silent moment. "That was a joke, Nickerson." "I knew that."
Chapter 45 The first person Marie saw when she came upon the Cherokee village was the prison's newest nurse, Jenny Radford. Marie caught her breath at the familiar sight of the woman. Jenny was sitting outside a big, very long log cabin checking a dressing wrapped around an old man's forearm. Marie Keehn looked around for the others, for Rod Hulbert and Andy Blacklock. They were the ones she needed to talk to. But after a moment, she realized the village seemed half-deserted. All she could see were women, children and old men.
There being nothing else to do, she start trudging toward Jenny. The nurse saw her coming and her jaw dropped, then, hastily finishing with the old man's dressing, she rose and hurried to meet Marie. "Dear God, Marie, you look awful. What happened?" "Long story. Where's Rod?
Where's Andy?" "They left two days ago. With Chief Watkins and his men. They went to find the Spaniards and… Well. Deal with them."
"Oh… hell." Marie felt suddenly dizzy. Only a quick grasp by Jenny kept her from falling down. "You need to get some rest, girl.
Right now." "No." Marie tried to push her away, but she felt as weak as kitten. "Got to tell somebody…" That was as far as she got.
The dizziness just seemed to suck her down. Rod Hulbert woke her up the next morning. Once she realized who was hugging her tightly, she hugged back. Some small part of her brain, gauging the light coming in through the open door of a log cabin, realized that it must be close to noon. She'd slept almost around the clock. "Lemme up, Rod," she mumbled. "Need some water." "What are youdoing here?" he asked, getting up and moving toward a table in the corner. There was some kind of tall, narrow basket there. Cherokee-made, she assumed. But when Rod picked it up and brought it back, she realized it was a water container. She was too thirsty at the moment to try to figure out how somebody could make what looked like a reed basket waterproof. But that same small part of her brain made a note to find out. However it was done, it'd be a handy thing to know. After she got her fill and handed back the water pitcher, she wiped her mouth. "Get Andy. I need to talk to both of you." "I'm here," came Andy's voice. Marie turned her head and saw the captain standing in the doorway. Where Rod's expression was a mix of happiness to see her and confusion, Blacklock's face was simply tight with concern. "There's all hell to pay, guys." She glanced at Rod. "You were right, thinking that Terry Collins was up to no good. But it was way worse than anyone could have imagined. He cut some kind of deal with Adrian Luff. Between the two of them, they engineered a mass breakout of the cells." "Oh, shit, " snarled Hulbert. Blacklock, as usual, kept his self-control. From the expression on his face, you might think he was just considering a serious problem with his car engine. "How bad?" he asked. "As bad as it gets. A complete takeover of the prison." "Complete?" She nodded.
"Fuck!" Rod rose and started pacing, his face bright red. "Fuck!" He ran his left hand through his hair; his right hand was balled into a fist. "How many are dead?" Andy asked, his tone still level and even.
"Well, that's the good news. Nobody got killed that I know of-except Collins. I blew that shithead's brains out myself. I caught him trying to rape Casey Fisher in the infirmary. Then I was able to get his keys and let the rest of the guards out of C-block, where Luff was holding them." Rod stopped pacing. "You did? That's my girl!" His momentary glee almost made Marie laugh. But she didn't, because she had to pass on the next bit of news. "That Iknow of, guys." She took a deep breath. "Elaine Brown's probably dead. We had to leave her behind when the rest of us got out. Her injury was too bad for her to move. She was going to try to find a hiding place somewhere in the prison." "A hiding place. With over two thousand convicts running loose."
Blacklock took his own deep breath. "There's something else you haven't said. Something bad. I can tell by the look on your face."
"Joe Schuler's in bad shape. Real bad. He got attacked by some kind of bear after we made it into the woods. Mauled him before we could shoot it." Blacklock nodded. There was still no expression on his face beyond that general look of concern. Marie thought that same expression would probably be on Andy's face if he found himself plunging down into a pit full of sharpened stakes. The man really was a little eerie, the way he could keep his cool when nobody else could.
Like Rod, for instance. Who, once again, was up and pacing about. This time, slamming his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Those fucking sonsabitches!" Andy turned his head toward him. "Rod, please calm down a little. We need to think." "Calmdown? Andy, those fucking-" "Calm. Down. Now." Rod shut up. Marie almost giggled. Andy Blacklock was about the only person she could think of who could have squelched Hulbert that way. The captain was normally such an easygoing boss that you tended to forget how iron-willed he could be in a crunch. Another voice came from the door. Jenny Radford's. "How bad is Joe?" She must have come in just in time to hear Marie's last words.
"Pretty bad, Jenny. To be honest, I don't think he's going to make it.
He might even have a rib flail. For sure, he's got at least one rib broken loose and internal injuries. And…" She made a little shrug. "We managed to get some supplies out of the infirmary before we ran, but it's not really that much. Not for something like that."
Jenny turned to Blacklock. "Andy, Ihave to get back to the cave. As fast as possible." "We all do. Rod, please see to getting everybody organized. We need to be out of here as soon as possible." Hulbert went out the door. Andy came to one knee next to Marie, who was still lying on the narrow bed she'd woken in. It was the lower of two bunk beds. There were three other bunk beds in the room, two on each side.
"Okay, Marie. Now tell me everything that happened. Don't leave anything out." Marie started talking. By the time she was done, Jenny was crying softly onto Andy's shoulder. But Blacklock's expression never changed at all. That was a little disconcerting, in a way. But Marie didn't mind. She knew that the person who'd eventually get really disconcerted was a certain Adrian Luff. After Marie finished, Andy rubbed his temples. The headache he'd had in the first period after the Quiver had blessedly gone away. But he sensed it waiting, ready to return. "How sure are you the prisoners didn't follow you and the others to the cave?" "I'm not. They weren't there when I left.
That's all I can guarantee." Geoffrey Watkins came into the cabin. "I just got the news from your lieutenant Hulbert. "These prisoners, they are a danger?" Andy nodded. "Yes, they are. Potentially, a much worse danger than de Soto and his men. For one thing, there are a lot more of them-almost two and half thousand. For another, they're armed with modern rifles and they have access to the prison's machine shop." "So, my people are still at risk." "I'm afraid so, Chief." "Hulbert tells me you're prepared to fight them. Two hundred against two thousand."
"We don't have any choice. If they get out of the prison, they'll rampage over everybody. Us, you, every Indian village out there. The Spaniards too, most likely, not that I care about that. Most of those men were put in prison for a very good reason. And those in charge will be the worst of the bunch." "It seems our alliance remains, then.
We will go with you." Jenny hissed in a breath. "Geoffrey, youcan't.
The Spaniards are still out there. You told me yourself that at least two hundred of them survived the battle. If you leave the town unprotected, there'll be nothing to stop them from taking it. And kill or capture everybody here." The Cherokee chief chuckled. "Susan Fisher told me of an expression you explained to her. 'Don't teach your grandmother how to suck eggs.' It's a nice saying. I will add, 'don't teach your grandfather how to run a town.' I have no intention of leaving anyone behind. We'll all go with you to this cave you talked about, and set up a new town there." Jenny looked out the door.
"But…" "It's just work, girl," Watkins said gently. "That's all a town is. There was nothing here when we started. If the Spaniards come and burn it, so what? We'll build it again. It will hardly be the first time a Cherokee town was destroyed. I'm much more concerned about the corn. But I don't think the Spaniards will destroy the corn, because they'll want it themselves. And Susan says she can uproot some of it and maybe replant it near the cave. Who knows? It might even work. She has a way with plants." "We could certainly use the help,"
Andy said softly. "My thanks, Chief." Jenny Radford was gone within an hour. She wanted to get to the cave as soon as possible, to look after Joe Schuler, and it was obvious that if the Cherokees planned to move as a group, there'd be no way to leave until the following morning. Rod Hulbert went with her, along with Brian Carmichael and Jerry Bailey. The only other men he took were Sergeant Kershner and his squad of U.S. soldiers. Marie was dubious. "For Pete's sake, Rod, all they've got are those antique muskets." "Antique or not, they're. 69 caliber, Marie." He held up his own semiautomatic rifle. "These things are great for taking down men. But you want to try taking down a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a. 223 round? I sure as hell don't." He gave her a big smile. "Besides, I know 'em and you don't. I like those boys, especially Kershner. The guy's solid as a rock. If a dinosaur shows up, he'll just form a line and give it a volley. Cool as that.
I'm not kidding." "Well…" "I'm telling you. They'regood. Enough so's I'm even thinking about trying that salt pork sauced with hog lard they keep raving about, whenever they can put together the makings." Marie puffed out her cheeks, mimicking someone trying not to barf. Rod laughed. "It does sound horrible, doesn't it? But I swear I'm gonna try it, when the time comes." Mostly, though, Marie was just sorry that Rod was leaving. She'd been looking forward to sharing a bed with him that night. To hell with fooling around any more. Life was too short-something which the Cretaceous never let you forget.
After Jenny and Rod left, Marie went back to sleep. She was still feeling exhausted, and since the rest of them wouldn't be leaving until dawn, she figured she'd take advantage of the time to get some more rest. She was awakened at dawn. The sun hadn't even come fully over the horizon yet. A tiny Cherokee woman was busily removing the door to the cabin. When Jenny sat up and stared at her bleary-eyed, the woman just nodded and kept about her work. "Cabins are easy to build," she said. "Even the longhouse isn't too bad. But good doors are a lot of work and they're not too hard to carry. Go back to sleep, woman." Marie tried, but a stray thought just wouldn't go away. "How in the world do you make a basket that'll hold water?" The little woman stopped her work at the door and peered down at her. "Do you want me to adopt you?" "Huh?" "Adopt you. Only way you'll find out.
Basket-making is a woman's secret, and every family has its own methods. Passed down from mother to daughter." Marie thought about it.
"Sure. Why not? And what's your name, while we're at it? I should probably know, if I'm going to become your daughter." "Susan Fisher.
We'll do the ceremony later, when there's time. Now listen to your mother and go back to sleep." Marie was asleep in seconds. She might have thought it was all a dream, when she woke up, except that Fisher came into the cabin and started ordering her around. Marie didn't mind. It was kind of nice, actually. Reminded her of her own mother.
Whom she missed a lot. "You didwhat?" asked Blacklock, an hour later. That was worth it, all by itself. The only time Marie had ever seen Andy look completely surprised. "You heard me. Is there some law against it? If so, it's null and void. That stuff's regulated by the states, and Illinois is sayonara. In case you hadn't noticed." She pointed a finger at the guards, who were all lined up by now and ready to go. "And aren't you supposed to be doing something besides worrying about my family affairs? You know. Take off your hat and wave it around and holler 'head 'em up! move 'em out!' "
Chapter 46 Alexander Cohen finished presenting his offer. "So, Major Brisebois. Does that seem acceptable to you?" Nick smiled. The financier wasn't usually given to formalities, he'd learned. The sudden introduction of titles was probably his way of adding a little edge to his negotiations. He didn't need it, though. Nick had spent his whole life working either for the military or the Defense Department, leaving aside odd jobs he'd had as a teenager. So his yardstick for measuring pay and benefits was a world removed from the pay and perks that seemed to be taken for granted in Cohen's very different circles. Leaving aside the fact that he'd come to feel strongly about the matter involved himself, he'd have to be crazy to turn down the offer. The pay was three times what he'd been making, the benefits were gold-plated-hell, even the pension Cohen was offering was way better than what he'd get from the DoD. And he'd still be able to collect his military retirement pay. That left one possible sticking point. "The terms are fine, Mr. Cohen. But I can't start right away. The job I have is not something a responsible man can just walk away from. I'd need to give them notice, and it might take a few weeks. I'm coordinating a lot of things that-" Cohen waved his hand. "Yes, yes, of course. I wouldn't want you to do otherwise, in any event." He smiled thinly. "Despite my reputation in certain quarters, Nick, Iam a patriotic citizen. I simply have an American conception of the term 'patriotism,' instead of the Tsarist one that seems to inhabit official circles in Washington these days." He gathered up the papers he'd spread out on the desk and stuffed them back into the manila folder. "I'll have one of my assistants prepare a proper contract. How about we officially start your employment with the Foundation on the first day of the coming month? That'll give you three weeks to get your affairs in order"-again, he waved his hand-"and if it winds up taking you more time than that, that's not a problem. If nothing else, you'll need more time to sell your house and relocate. But your salary will still date from the beginning of the next month." He gave Nick a keen-eyed look. "One question, though. Do you foresee a problem with your security clearance?" Nick shrugged.
"I'll lose my current clearance as soon as I quit, of course. I'll still be obligated by the usual keep-your-mouth-shut provisions, but I can't see where that's an issue. Of course, down the road a ways, somebody in officialdom might try tomake it an issue." He gave Cohen a smile that was even thinner than the one Cohen had given him. "But I'm quite sure there's never been a word said, in any oath I ever took, that forbade me from investigating something that happened over a hundred million years ago." "Indeed." Cohen put the folder back in his briefcase. "And now, if I can ask, how do you plan to proceed?" Nick had given that matter quite a bit of thought over the past few days, naturally. "Well, I figure the physicists and mathematicians here can pretty much run their own show. I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to direct them, anyway. And the same's pretty much true with the paleontologists. Especially given that you've decided to leave Esther Hu here in place." Cohen chuckled. "The decision wasn't exactly mine.
I'm quite sure Esther would have simply quit if I'd told her otherwise. At least, that's the not-so-veiled threat she gave her university if they didn't allow her to take an immediate sabbatical."
"What I really plan to focus on is organizing what you might call the popular input into the project." "Meaning?" "You saw it yourself, Alex. Tim Harshbarger and Bruce Boyle left here steaming mad. You think they're the only ones who feel that way, down in those southern Illinois counties? Not on your life. I've already talked it over with them. Give us a few months-a few weeks, even-and we'll have a network organized down there that'll start running circles around the siblings. Theycan't keep everything hidden. Not if there's a well-organized effort to dig up the truth, right there on the spot by local people." He leaned back in his chair. "Then, I plan to do the same in and around Marion County, West Virginia. That'll take more time and be a lot harder, since the Grantville disaster happened years ago. But we'll turn up some people, you watch and see if we don't.
Somebody down there will know something." The financier frowned. "You think so? I'd have imagined they'd have spoken up by now, if they did." Nick studied him for a moment. Alexander Cohen was a wizard in the stock market, by all accounts. But he'd started off wealthy to begin with. He'd been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. Nick's father, on the other hand, had been a steel worker in a mill in southern Ohio. Nick's life in the Air Force had broadened his horizons a lot, of course, but he still knew and understood how working class people looked at the world, especially those born and raised in the nation's smaller towns. "No, they wouldn't. Alex, meaning no offense, but you've take for granted your entire life the fact that you had influence. As you grew older, a lot of influence. I don't think you really understand how differently things look, when you grow up assuming you have no influence at all. The 'guv'mint' is just something way over there, powerful and immense and unyielding to any personal leverage you might have. Sure, once every two or four years you get to vote, but that's just so you can pick which big shot sits on top of the pile. You still don't have any leverage yourself."
He leaned forward and planted his hands on the table. Stubby-fingered, thick-palmed hands, the sort you'd expect to come attached to the son of a steel-worker. "No, trust me on this. Anybody who knew anything, once the lid came down and it was made clear that lid was lead-plated and wasn't budging, would have just kept their mouths shut. If the press had kept digging, things might have been different. But they didn't. We'll turn something up. See if we don't." Cohen nodded and stood up. "I leave it all to you, then. I'll appreciate periodic reports from you. And, at least on occasion, reports you give to me personally in New York. But I'll keep my nose out of the daily affairs of the project. I am not in the least bit inclined to be a micromanager." After Cohen left the iron mine, Nick took stock of his immediate situation. He'd have to leave himself in two or three days. Silly to waste them. Two or three days could last a long time, if fortune smiled. He found Margo Glenn-Lewis in her usual laboratory. At least, "laboratory" was the word Nick used, even though he suspected it was probably technically inaccurate. "Is there a good place to eat anywhere around here?" he asked. "If so, can I buy you dinner?" She looked up and gave him the smile that-he'd be a damn liar to deny it-had partly influenced his decision. "Three, actually. At least, if a radius of forty kilometers falls within your definition of 'around here.' " "I'm a former pilot, Ms. Glenn-Lewis. I sneer at paltry klicks." "Ha! You forget that I'm driving. We'll see how long that sneer lasts, once we get there. I learned to drive on Manhattan, dealing with cabbies. I sneer at the paltry laws of motion and inertia. Are you in the mood for steaks?" "Sounds good." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Fine. We'll leave at five o'clock." When they arrived at Freddy's Steak House, at her insistence, he showed her the sneer. It was pretty pitiful, actually. But the steaks were good, and the rest of the evening kept getting better.
Chapter 47 Andy didn't let any of it show on his face, but he was furious. His guards had been driven halfway across the country barefoot. Without food or water. They had been attacked by animals.
And now he had a good friend dying inside a cave. Jenny, Lylah and Barbara were in the cave with Joe. They were working on him, but Jenny hadn't held out much hope. Her biggest concern was making him comfortable. Without narcotics that was almost impossible. Kevin Griffin had handed over a flask of whiskey when he heard about the need. It wasn't a lot, but the whiskey would help. Joe had even managed to make a joke about it. The label on the bottle was no brand of whiskey any of them knew, but it was dated 1836. "This ought to be aged well," he'd said. Afterward, when Andy asked about Joe's chances of surviving, all three of the nurses had looked away. Finally it was Barbara who answered him. "Sometimes," she said, "all you can do is hope for a miracle and pray." "Hulbert and Edelman have a plan they believe will work?" asked Watkins. Andy nodded. It wasn't really a plan. Just part one, with part two to be decided on at a later date. A half dozen guards and the K-9 unit would get as close to the prison as they could under cover of darkness. Their goal was espionage. They would find out how the prison was being guarded. Once they returned, they'd figure out what to do next. In the meantime, the rest of the Cherokees and the guards should have arrived. Andy and Watkins and a handful of others had come ahead. "Who are you sending?" the chief asked. "Hulbert, Marie, and the entire K-9 unit." Watkins sat watching the flames, chewing on the end of a thin twig. "You're letting your anger guide you. That's stupid when so many are depending on you."
"Explain." "First, you should take at least one Cherokee. Kevin Griffin would be the best. Hulbert thinks he's very good in the woods, and… well, he's not bad." Watkins smiled around the twig. "But he's no Cherokee." The chief took the twig out of his mouth and used it to point to a group of men-and one woman, and three children-camped a small distance to the side. "Then, you need to settle with them. If you can do that, you should send a couple of them also. They know the situation better than you do." Andy's jaws tightened. He still hadn't figured out how to handlethat problem. All he needed, on top of everything else! But… He thought about it, for a while. On the minus side, about half of the convicts in Boomer's gang were hardened and habitual criminals. Geoffrey Kidd was an out-and-out contract killer. Dino Morelli had committed his first armed robbery at the age of fifteen. Their leader, on the other hand-both of them, actually, since you had to include Boyne in this category-weren't really criminals. Just men who'd let their temper slip once, and let it slip too badly. That was assuming that Cook was even guilty in the first place, about which Andy had his doubts. After he and Joe Schuler had taken Jenny's advice and started reading the convicts' files, James Cook's had been one of the first Andy had read. His curiosity had been aroused by Cook's deft handling of the Luff problem he'd developed.
Cook might have committed the murder he was convicted of. But what Andy knew for sure-anybody with half a brain could figure this out-was that Cook's trial had been a travesty. If he'd had a competent lawyer he'd have been acquitted. The case against him was the shoddiest kind of connect-the-dots sloppy logic. There'd been no eyewitnesses, no fingerprints, no physical or material evidence, nothing. Just so-called "it stands to reason" that he must have done it. And a gullible or lazy jury. Andy had always known-all the guards did, except a few thickheaded ones-that at least some of the men they guarded were perfectly innocent of the crimes they'd been convicted of. Not most of them, of course. But there were some. Andy had seen over a dozen men exonerated and released in the time he'd worked at the prison-two of whom had been on Death Row. Cook might be another one. Then again, maybe not. And, in any event, there was no question about Kidd's guilt, or Morelli's-or Boyne's, for that matter. All three of them had pleaded guilty to get a reduced sentence. Which, in Kidd's case, saved him from the death penalty. On the plus side…
Well, for starters, there was Elaine Brown. The one time an officious guard had taken it upon himself to lecture Brown on her duty to associate with the other guards instead of the convicts, her response had been short, blunt-and, when they heard about it, had reduced the nurses and Casey Fisher to tears. "Let me see if I've got this straight, Edwards. You think I should leave the men who rescued me from that prison in order to hang out with the people who left me there? Fuck you." Leaving aside the mix of powerful emotions involved, and trying to be as cold-blooded as possible about it, Andy had to admit-even that hardass Rod Hulbert had to admit-that the Boomers' rescue of Brown gave them genuine bona fides. For that matter, so did their rescue of the three Indian kids. And if the principal agent of that rescue had been a contract killer, well… Andy rose to his feet. "You're right, Geoffrey. I'll see if we can work out a deal." He headed toward the Boomers. Seeing him come, Cook made a little gesture and several of the other convicts move aside a bit, giving Blacklock room to sit down by their campfire. Andy didn't see any reason to beat around the bush. "All right, Cook. You tell me what you want and I'll tell you what I want, and we'll see if we can meet somewhere in the middle." "Full and complete parole for everybody in my group. No exceptions. And you might as well call it a 'pardon' instead of a 'parole,' because there's not going to be any bullshit about reporting to parole officers. We're free and clear of all past crimes committed.
Each and every one of us." He shrugged. "I'm not asking for a free pass, Blacklock. Any crimes committed from this day forward will be a different story." "Uh-huh. And who, exactly, will see to that? In case you hadn't noticed, we don't have a police force. No judges and juries, either." "For the time being, I will. Eventually, we'll need to set up our own justice system. But that'll take a while." He gave Andy a somewhat eerie smile, that was impossible to interpret exactly.
"Don't worry about it, Captain. You'll probably have more trouble keeping the peace than I will. My boys are right law-abiding, these days. That's because if any of them cross the line, I already told them I'd just have Geoffrey shoot 'em." Geoffrey Kidd. Now employed in law-enforcement, no less. "Strange world, isn't it?" Cook's smile got some actual humor in it. "But I'll keep my end of the deal. Now, what is it you want?" "We need to take back the prison. Until that's accomplished, you and your men have to be under my authority or the authority of anyone I delegate. And no bullshit about it. I can order men shot too. And I will, if I have to, in a combat situation." "And what else?" "For the time being, that's it. Afterward… To be honest, I don't know. But I don't know about what we'll do with regard to anything, in the future a ways." He nodded toward Watkins, still sitting and chewing on his twig. "The Cherokees, for instance. Will they decide to set up with us, or will they want to keep their own town? I'm figuring the latter, but who knows? And assuming they do keep their own setup, what relationship will they have with us? I have no idea. And I'm not losing any sleep over it, either. First, we've got to get the prison back from Luff and his thugs." "Luff and his crazies, better way to put it," chimed in John Boyne. He looked at Cook. "Sounds like a deal to me, boss." "Yeah, me too. But we'll put this one to a vote." He stood up and motioned for the other Boomers to gather around. Once they'd done so, he said: "Captain Blacklock is offering us a deal. He'll agree to-" He cocked an eye at Andy. "Pick the term." Andy shrugged. "You may as well use 'pardon,' I guess. I'm short of parole officers anyway. Haven't gone a one." "Right. Okay, boys. Here's the deal. The captain gives us-all of us, each and every one-a full and complete pardon. No strings attached. In return, we put ourselves under his military authority until such time as the prison is taken back from Luff." He waited for a few seconds. "Any discussion?" Kidd spoke up. "Yeah. Can I shoot Luff myself?" That brought a low laugh from everybody, including Andy. Cook shook his head. "Whatever Blacklock says, is the answer. But I imagine there's already a long line for that assignment. Any other discussion?" He waited for a few more seconds. "Okay, then. We'll take a vote. All in favor, raise your hands." He and Boyne started to count hands, and then stopped. "Let's do it the other way," said Cook. "Anybody opposed?" Not a single hand went up. Cook nodded and sat back down.
"Okay, Captain. You've got your deal. On our side"-here he actually grinned; a no-fooling, nothing-hidden grin-"it was unanimous. Don't know how well it'll go on your side, though." Andy grinned back. "I don't need to take a vote. For the time being, anyway, I'm still the boss." "Figures. Leave it to convicts to have to introduce democracy into the Age of the Dinosaurs." "I'll take Kidd and Cook himself," said Rob Hulbert. "They're the two cons in that group I can trust to stay level-headed." Andy scratched his jaw. "Cook, yeah.
But… Kidd?" "Sure, he's a cold-blooded killer. But that's the whole point, Andy. In this situation, the operative term is 'cold-blooded.' Look at it this way. Kidd was in our custody for a little over eight years. How many times did we have to take him down, in that stretch?" "Not once. The two times he got into it with another con, it was over before we even knew about it." "Right. How many times did he get in a confrontation with a guard?" "Not once. Okay, I see your point. I just…" Rod smiled. "Relax, Andy. The truth is, I'm more comfortable with this deal you cut with the Boomers than you are.
Look, we both knew-so did Joe Schuler, because we talked about it once-that sooner or later we were going to have to start freeing some of the inmates." "Yeah, fine, but I was thinking in terms of the ones convicted of nonviolent crimes. Or something like manslaughter. Not murderers in the first degree, for Pete's sake." "There's first degree murder and there's first degree murder. The law may not make that distinction, but I do-and so do you. You know perfectly well that the reason the prosecutor went for a plea bargain with Kidd is because the only people he ever killed were thugs themselves. We're living in a world that has dinosaurs in it, not to mention saber-toothed tigers and God knows what else." Hulbert shrugged. "I can live with it. What I can't live with are the likes of Adrian Luff-who wasnot convicted of murder, remember-and his stooge Phil Haggerty. Now there's a piece of work. Who, I remind you, was convicted of a nonviolent offense." Andy made a face. Haggerty had been convicted on charges of state-tax evasion. That was the only way the police could get him behind bars.