She ran across the street, holding the bag against her chest, when the corner of the man’s mouth bent into a sly smile. Jem Clayton tipped his hat at her, “Well, look at you, all grown up and beautiful. Good evening, Miss Anna. Been awhile.”
Anna was frozen as he came down the steps, holding his hand out like it would be enough to just take her bag. She threw herself into his arms and yelled, “Jem!”
He embraced her awkwardly at first, but soon held her tight and patted her back. He ran his fingers through her hair and said, “It’s all right. I missed you too, Miss Anna.”
She pushed him back and wiped a tear from her eye. “Stop calling me that. I’m only four years older than you. Look at you.”
“Where’s the doctor? Are you his assistant?”
“I am the doctor, thank you very much.”
“Well, that’s good. I got a whole mess of people in there that need you to take a look at them.”
Anna followed Jem up the stairs toward the sound of shouting voices, to see Walt Junger leaning over his desk and pounding it with his fist. “I don’t give a goddamn who you are or what you represent, you son of a bitch! This is my office, and my town, and you can’t just waltz in here and lay claim to it!”
McParlan leaned across the desk until the tip of his large red nose was only inches from Junger’s. “This entire planet operates under a trade agreement with the PNDA, which makes every colony my territory. You can either clear out and let me house my prisoner, or you can share a cell with him until I’m finished.”
“I will be filing a complaint with the authorities,” Walt Junger said.
Jem whistled as he looked at the numerous plaques and certificates decorating walls. All bore Sheriff Walt Junger’s name. A framed medal hung in a shadow box over the desk chair citing Junger’s bravery for breaking up a bar fight seven years ago. There was a large plaque near the desk celebrating the bravery of Deputy Tilt Junger with the date of the Beothuk raid etched in fancy script across the center.
The old desk where Sam Clayton had painstakingly typed out his warrants with just his index fingers and a litany of curses for every mistake was gone. In its place, an expensive, hand-crafted one emblazoned with the words PRESENTED TO SHERIFF WALTER JUNGER, PROTECTOR OF SENECA 6 across the side closest to the door so it was the first thing visitors saw upon entering. Jem said, “Where’d you earn all these, Sheriff? I hadn’t heard of any other invasions.”
“Some people are able to run such a tight ship that no one would dare invade with them in charge, Jem,” Junger said. “I told you to wait outside while I discussed this matter with the Marshal.”
“Sounds to me like it’s been discussed, and you lost.”
Anna let out a gasp at the sight of Elijah Harpe spread out on the floor of the jail cell. The white bone of his thigh protruded into the air like the flagstaff of a ship, its wound covered with bugs that hungrily sucked on the blood and meat. Anna went to open the cell door, but Jem grabbed her arm. “Let go of me. That man needs treatment before he dies!”
“We’ve got other wounded that need to be seen first, Anna.”
She looked at the old man sitting on the bench with his arm around his son, who was contentedly rocking back and forth, flicking his fingers together. “Them?” she said. “I will decide what patients receive priority in this town, thank you very much.”
Jem tightened his grip. “That man is a prisoner, and those two are innocent civilians. These two go first, then the Marshal. When they’re all cleared, you can come back.”
“How long has that tourniquet been on his leg?” Anna demanded.
“Not too long,” Jem said. “He’ll be fine.”
“This is ridiculous.” Anna ripped her arm away from Jem and said, “Sheriff, do something!”
Junger held up his hands and leaned back in his seat, “Apparently this ain’t my office anymore, Dr. Willow.”
Jem put his back against the jail cell and propped one foot against it. Anna ordered Adam and Harlan to get to their feet and remove their shirts. As Harlan stood to his feet he gasped, grabbing his side and had to reach out for Anna to stay upright. In a moment, he had regained his composure and said, “Ma’am, my son has a special condition, and he might not be able to get undressed in front of all these people. I’m afraid if we try to force him, he might have another fit.”
Anna sighed and waved her arm toward the door, “Let’s go then. My office isn’t very far.” Harlan thanked her and touched Adam on the shoulder, telling the boy to come along. He winced as Adam grabbed him by the arm to pull himself to his feet. Anna pointed at McParlan and said, “You too. Let’s go, so I can get back before this man dies.”
Sheriff Junger’s head shot up, “You better be taking your prisoner with you if you intend on leaving these premises, Marshal. I surely will not be taking responsibility for him.”
McParlan patted Jem as he passed, “Deputy Marshal Clayton will watch him.”
“Fine,” Junger said, collecting his hat to leave. He looked back at Jem and said, “Don’t touch nothing in here. This isn’t your daddy’s office anymore, boy. We do real law enforcement now.”
Jem watched him leave and then turned toward McParlan, “Since when do field agents have the authority to deputize somebody?”
“Since tonight,” McParlan said.
Anna put her hand in Jem’s and leaned close to him, “Listen, I understand this has all got to be a bit much for you, and I know you have no love for Walt Junger. But please, don’t play the tough guy role with me. I’ve known you since you were just a little boy, and I know in my heart you are not going to let me leave while there is a man laying inside that cell about to die. Now please, for me, let me at least look him over.”
Jem looked over his shoulder at Harpe, seeing that his face had turned marble white and his breathing grown so shallow that it took him a second to decide whether it even continued at all. He turned back to meet Anna’s expectant gaze and said, “Right after you get finished with the others.”
Anna threw the door open and left, and McParlan shook his head. “I see you got quite a way with womenfolk too.”
Jem sat on top of Junger’s desk and looked over the Marshal. “How is it you’re up and walking around so much, while Harpe is ready to give up the ghost?”
“There’s more metal and plastic inside of me than this whole complex. You think that was my first crash? Listen, we’ve got more pressing issues. If I don’t make contact with the Agency to let them know where we are and who we have, we’re sitting ducks.”
“How do you figure?” Jem said.
“Little Willy Harpe makes his brother look like a Sunday school teacher, and I will lay you money he is out there hunting for Elijah right now. If he finds us, he’ll burn this whole town to the ground. I need to send a signal to PNDA Control. Is there a long-range antenna nearby?”
Jem shook his head, “No. Seneca 6 never had much need for communication with the outside worlds. The closest one was at Fort Bane, but they abandoned it when I was just a kid.”
“If it’s still standing, we can use it. Those things were designed to withstand a fusion bomb. How hard is it to get to?”
“It’s probably four days ride from here, just past the mountains. But that territory was overtaken by the Beothuk before I was born. The mining colonies let them have it.”
“What the hell is a Beothuk?” McParlan said.
“It means ‘Original Man of Seneca.’ At least, to them it does.”
“Well, if we can’t send that distress signal, everything between Little Willy Harpe and his brother is going to be razed to the ground. If you give a damn about this place, you better figure out a way to get to Fort Bane.”