Wilson had heard this kind of stuff before. These were the kinds of words that Grant used so successfully to speak to the crowds. They ate this kind of stuff up.
For some reason, Wilson felt that he could speak up about it. Maybe it was because he was tired. Maybe he was just feeling a little impatient for whatever reason.
“Come on, Grant,” said Wilson, interrupt him. “I’ve heard this all before. It’s good stuff, but save it for the crowds, won’t you? Just spit it out. What’d you drag me out here in the dark for?”
“I wanted to show you something,” said Grant.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Wilson.
“Well, if you’re that impatient, I can tell you it’s only a minute away.”
“A minute away?” said Wilson, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his voice. “What’s a minute away from here?”
“The stockade,” said Grant simply. He turned around and began marching off, his large frame almost disappearing into the darkness.
The man digging the trench suddenly looked up. His headlamp shone directly onto Wilson, who shielded his eyes from the bright light.
What did Grant want to show Wilson at the stockade?
His curiosity piqued, and still just as annoyed as before, Wilson started off. He picked up his pace, trying not to let Grant get out of view.
Grant was either wrong or lying. It took about ten more minutes of rapid walking to reach the stockade.
When they got there, Grant stood there, staring at the fence, with his hands on his hips. His legs were spread more than shoulder-width apart, but he still looked as tall and as imposing as ever.
Wilson was panting, and he doubled over, his hands on his knees, as he gasped for breath.
“Everything all right, sir?” said a guard, approaching Grant somewhat timidly.
Having Grant show up at the stockade, or anywhere for that matter, was unusual. And it was often an anxiety-provoking event for whoever was on duty. Wilson had no doubt that this guard would be telling everyone he knew that Grant himself had shown up on his overnight shift.
Grant didn’t answer, he just gave the guard a stiff nod. “How’s he doing?”
“Sorry, sir? Who?”
“The new one. The one who came in today.”
Grant pointed into the dimness of the stockade. The darkness hid most everything, but there were three figures there, huddled against the fencing.
Wilson couldn’t tell that new prisoner, Max, from the others. Not in the darkness.
So how could Grant?
And how did Grant know about the new prisoners? How had he even heard about Max, about some nobody impudent upstart?
“He’s… fine, I guess…” said the guard, not really knowing what to say.
“He’s not going to be fine pretty soon,” growled Grant, his tone of voice changing from its normal low and rumbly tones to downright sinister and vicious.
“Sir?” said the guard.
“Bring him here,” growled Grant. “I’m going to personally make sure that this… person… understands the power of my authority.”
“This is why you brought me here? So you can torture some nobody prisoner? How do you even know about this?”
“I have ears all over. And I wouldn’t exactly call it torture.”
Wilson should have remembered the spies. After all, Grant confided in no one, but plenty confided in him. Told him everything.
Wilson didn’t know what to make of all this. After all, it wasn’t like there were any laws on the books about torture. Shit, they tortured people all the time at the militia camp. After all, if nothing else, it got the job done. And they typically didn’t have time to waste at the camp. If information was needed, it was needed sooner rather than later.
But the real question was why was Grant bothering to do any of this himself?
And why did he want Wilson to see it?
It didn’t make sense.
Suddenly, a dull thud. A grunt of pain.
Wilson looked up into the darkness to see the guard roughly dragging the man who had been in his tent only earlier today.
It was the same man. But he was bound and gagged. He didn’t struggle as he was dumped roughly at Grant’s feet, and he barely reacted as the guard kicked him hard in the stomach.
“That’s enough,” growled Grant. “I’ll take him from here.”
9
Terry still couldn’t believe his luck. It was almost as if the stars had all aligned to give him just exactly what he’d wanted.
It hadn’t been that long after he’d come up with his plan that this girl had delivered herself right to him.
She hadn’t been the least bit suspicious. Not after the initial meeting. She’d marched right alongside him all the way to his house.
It was almost sad, hearing her talk for so long about all the kinds of games she wanted to play with his daughter.
Oh, he listened. He lent her a good ear. And he even chimed in with stories of his daughter. Real stories. Telling this girl Sadie all about the types of games she liked to play, and all the fun they’d have together.
Now, Terry was a quick thinker. But not as quick as he would have liked. After all, he did have to come up with his plan more or less on the spot.
He’d never kidnapped anyone before, so he carefully ran through the plan in his head as this girl, Sadie, jabbered on happily about all kinds of things.
It was nice that Sadie was also happy, now that she seemed to trust him so much, to tell him all about the camp where she lived.
Now, Terry knew all about Georgia, Sadie’s mother. About Max. About John, and Cynthia, everyone else.
He knew about it all.
And he was boiling inside when he heard about it all. He didn’t let on to Sadie. Not in the least bit. But he knew that her mother and the other adults were the people who were responsible for stealing all the supplies in the area. They were the ones who were completely responsible for the downfall of Terry and his family. They were the ones who had kept Terry on a starvation-level diet.
And meanwhile, while the girl talked, Terry concocted his plan.
One option was to bring Sadie into the house with his wife and daughter, with Olivia and Lilly. There’d really be no need to actually “kidnap” her in the traditional sense. He could just let her play with Lilly. Then when Sadie wanted to go home, he could make up some lie about why she couldn’t return.
That probably wasn’t the best idea. Sooner or later, Sadie would insist on returning home. And then what? He’d have to tie her up? In front of his daughter?
He didn’t want to expose Lilly to that kind of stuff. Not if he could help it.
And Terry doubted that his wife would approve. She had always been a gentle soul. Much like himself.
But now he was willing to do what it took. He’d do anything to keep his family alive.
He’d stoop to new lows. It was fine. He was OK with the morality of it.
But he didn’t want his wife to see him like that. Doing these things.
Better to keep Sadie somewhere else. He’d make sure she couldn’t get away.
He’d keep her alive. Visit her once a day. Give her food and water. Treat her like a pet or a plant.
It’d work out. It had to.
Surely Sadie’s mother cared too much about her to lose her. Surely she’d do anything to get her daughter back. Surely Sadie’s mother would be willing to pay any price.
And if Sadie’s mother was anything like Terry’s wife, she wouldn’t think to stoop to violence. Terry would be safe from the mother’s wrath, because that’s just now how modern mothers were.
Stories of mothers doing anything for their children were from older times. Modern mothers were different. More willing to weep in quiet than to take action. At least’s that’s how Terry’s mother had been. And how Terry’s wife currently was.