They allowed themselves a few hours of sleep, and waking before dawn, the convoy packed up camp and split into two groups; those with legal passports travelled north to collect the Jeep they had stashed near the sun temple, while Alister and his men (including Tom) headed west towards the Royalist garrison stationed in the pass. Tom received July’s final instructions before they parted ways.
The Jeep was imperative for getting through the Royalist checkpoint – traveling in a stolen Royalist supply truck obviously wouldn’t. Fortunately, the Jeep remained where they had left it under the tarp at the hidden cache. They cut and gutted the seats to fit three cases of weapons inside, ready to be smuggled though.
When they finally reached the checkpoint, driving along the straight dirt road as the walls of the canyon gradually towered high on either side of them, the garrison stationed there was indifferent to their presence. The Royalists had been here for months and their attitude was beginning to show by the crude routine manner in which they checked the Jeep and passports before waving July through. There was no sign of Tom’s presence.
As July neared the township and cruised between the flourishing patches of crops bordering home he had the feeling like he was winning a game of chess; so far, all the pieces were moving exactly the way he intended, and despite the dangers of optimism in war, the outcome to the game was clear. But that was before they noticed the pillar of smoke growing over the horizon.
When they arrived they quickly learned that Sal, the Royalist officer, recently burned down a civilian’s home as punishment for disorderly behaviour. July could smell the tension of revolt that fumed from the charred remains of the house. Surely a small fire was just the beginning; wounding the harbingers of revolution only strengthens their resolve, the only way to stop it is to murder the source. Someone was going to die. July wondered if the chaos that was about to happen was inspired by his actions alone, or had this been brewing for a while now? Either way the people were beginning to act. This is what he wanted.
This town created July and also cast him away, and yet these silent streets were miraculously now his responsibility no matter what anyone said. The street outside July’s new home was filled by a great deal of commotion and a crowd of people.
Granny approached them as the Jeep pulled up. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she cried. “They’re killing him.”
“What’s going on?”
Granny scanned the Jeep and became more panicked than before. “Where is Alister? We need him now.”
“He stayed behind to deal with the garrison. Tell me what is happening.”
“I tried to get the people to wait until Alister’s return but the Royalists have decreased our food rations to the point of starving us out. A fight broke out. One of the officers is beating a civilian to death in the middle of the street.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Wade. “We have to do something.”
Granny lowered her eyes in submission. “The people are terrified. We don’t have much hope without Alister.”
In that moment as July’s hands curled into fists and his body became so tense that his leg ached, his knuckles whitened and his heart pounded, he finally understood why Charlie was the apparent killer she seemed to be. There was no foreseeable end to the buried rage that just now found its way to the surface; for Sophia’s death, for the way these people vandalised his home and murdered his comrades. The only way to stay sane was to take it out on the ones responsible.
“July can do it,” Charlie confidently suggested. “July, Alister is free because of you. We need you now, again. What’s the plan?”
July opened up his hands and breathed deeply. Whatever it was he felt could not be allowed to cloud his mind, not yet. “The plan is the same. We make them pay.” He stepped out of the Jeep and walked towards the crowd, and without turning he said, “You guys know what to do.”
The crowd formed a circle on the inside of which were nineteen Royalist soldiers keeping the people back. In the centre, a bruised and bleeding man on his hands and knees fell victim to a merciless assault of punches from Sal, the leading Royalist officer. The man cried while his friends and family begged Sal to stop, and others yelled insults and accusations at the Royalists.
Sal ignored them. He was engrossed in his own words that he shouted to both the bleeding man and the crowd. “We offer you protection and you repay us with violence?! You people are animals who don’t deserve what you have.” He kicked the man once again. “It’s time someone put you back in your place.”
“Stop!”
July shouted so loudly that the crowd was reduced to silence, he pushed through and came face-to-face with an assault rifle, but he ignored the Royalist soldier and faced Sal directly.
“Let him through,” Sal barked.
The soldier took July by the arm and pushed him forwards, he noticed Leonard for the first time standing idle in the doorway of his home, arms crossed and staring at the floor.
The eyes of the officer ran July up and down, focusing on his metal leg. “So, you’re the cripple,” he said.
“My name is July Mundane.” A murmur went up within the crowd as July announced himself. “I’m here to tell you to stop hurting that man.” He knelt and helped the man to his feet, and gestured for another woman to get him to safety. The officer allowed it. July went on. “We aren’t afraid of you anymore. This town belongs to us; the food you’re stealing belongs to us, and you’re not welcome to it.”
Sal glared at July with an awful grin. He was a man who held his head back slightly and looked at others down the length of his nose. “I’m sorry you feel that way. As I was just demonstrating to these lovely people, we can do whatever the hell we please and there is nothing you can do about it. But I wasn’t finished with him yet. Someone has to take a beating, to show you idiots what I mean. Will it be you then?”
Before July could move Sal hit him in the jaw and he stumbled to the ground. Amidst the metallic taste of blood and dirt the world suddenly started to spin. The crowd remained deathly silent. As July wiped his mouth and tried to stand a searing pain shot up his thigh as Sal delivered a brutal kick to his knee, dismantling the prosthetic leg, and July grasped at it but refused to scream. He received another kick to the torso that knocked him on his back, then Sal took him by the collar and punched him again in the face, and the pain rushed straight through his skull.
No doubt Sal expected July to stay down as he began to gloat to his petrified audience. “Not afraid? Look at you. You can’t even fight back. It’s pathetic.” His eyes widened slightly as July rolled over and once again tried to stand. “What’s the point?” said Sal. “You’re nobody. Worthless. Why bother?” Sal looked down at him, as though July were a dying animal crawling through the mud.
“You killed the only person I ever loved.” July coughed. “I have nothing left to lose… but I have everything to take!”
Sal took a step back and impatiently drew his M1911, making sure it was heard when he snapped a round into the chamber. July was on his knees with his eyes to the ground. Sal raised the pistol to July’s head. “I’ve had enough of this. You are a rat, and you’ll die…”
July looked up and stared into Sal’s eyes with an expression of pure hatred coupled with the fiery confidence of a man who was prepared to die and who had abandoned every shred of fear. His rage was infectious and overpowering. Suddenly he was no longer a broken man, kneeling before an executioner who couldn’t understand why he was so afraid to shoot. Sal turned to his men for confirmation but only noticed the change inflicted upon the people of Haven. They didn’t whimper or hide behind each other like they did a moment ago. Their expressions were the same as July’s. That look tore through every fibre of Sal’s body. It stripped the flesh from his bones and exposed the coward that lived within. July placed his forehead to nozzle of the gun but did not break his stare. His lips curled into a smile and he whispered. “Go on. Pull the trigger. See what happens next.”
Sal’s hands trembled. He lowered the gun. Silence permeated the entire town until he finally spoke. “Go back to your homes,” he demanded. No one moved until he waved the gun at them. “Didn’t you hear me? Get out of here.” One by one the crowd dispersed. Sal took July by the arm and hoisted him to his feet. “You’re under arrest.”
“Do you really have the authority to make that call?” said July.
Sal shoved July forward. “Of course I do. Now move.”
July’s mind was a little foggy on account of the beating he just received however there was no mistaking Charlie’s presence as she slipped through the crowd towards him. A booming orchestra of two-dozen firearms was suddenly released from all directions and as victims of the ambush each of the Royalist soldiers were cut down by a storm of bullets. The attack was sudden and brutal; nineteen armed men killed within seconds.
Charlie had Sal at gunpoint before he could move. There were drops of blood on her face. “Let’s try that again,” she told him. “Do you really have the authority here?”
“Do you realise what you have done?” he retorted in a frantic voice. “There are a hundred more men stationed at the garrison on the pass. You have doomed yourselves.”
Whether or not that statement was true depended on Thomas and Alister now, but July had faith in both of them. Furthermore, he was tired of hearing this man talk. “Charlie.”
She knew what he wanted. “Right.” She struck Sal over the back of the head with her pistol and he fell unconscious to the ground.
ns 172.70.130.170da2