The Redeemers Read online

  “Whatever.”

  At his bed, Tom unpacked what little he had taken out of his Mustang. Fortunately, it had contained a lot of emergency supplies that served him. Norton’s men had assured them they would be provided with everything they would need.

  “Still glad you did this?” Carl asked Tom.

  “Would it make a difference?”

  “I guess not.”

  “What made you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Decide to come here and check it out?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just glad I did it.”

  Tom nodded, then rested on his bed. Someone turned out the last on the other side of the room, leaving the bathroom light on so they could navigate their way in the dark. Though many continued speaking to one another, Tom and Carl were content to listen.

  Shifting in his bed, hoping the sheets weren’t infested with bed bugs and fleas, Carl struggled to close his eyes and let his body relax so he could fall asleep. Too much excitement, too much anticipation to allow for that.

  Now he didn’t care what happened to him next. Just as long as he was free.

  ***

  Carl awoke in morning’s darkness to see the three men banging on garbage can lids with hammers and playing loud music on their cell phone. The recruits groaned and moaned and whined and complained as they got up and stumbled out of their beds.

  Except for Fred. At the sound of the first bang he jumped from his sheets and flung himself onto the floor, curling up into a fetal position. He remained there until one of Norton’s men noticed his behavior and ordered his two colleagues to stop the music and banging.

  “You alright?” he asked Fred.

  Fred rose deliberately and eyed them coldly. “Don’t ever goddamn do that again. You’re lucky I didn’t have my .45 with me.”

  “Sorry. We thought it might be fun the first day.”

  “What the hell did you get us up so early for?” Carl asked, still rubbing his eyes.

  “Got to start you early. We don’t have much time before the first issue, so we need to get you ready.”

  “We already know how to write. At least I do.”

  “No shit. That’s not why you’re here. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

  “Thanks for the reminder. What gives?”

  “First, get dressed.”

  As the recruits threw on their clothes the three men set up a large square folding table in the center of the room, pushing folding chairs around it for each recruit. They then came in with a rolled-up map and unfolded it on top of the table. First to finish dressing, Carl approached the table and studied the map. It was a collection of satellite photos of Seattle pieced together to form a complete layout of the city. The roads were marked with red and green ink, while the SoDo area was covered with blue dots and bordered by blue ink.

  Once the recruits had all gathered around, one of Norton’s men took out a laser pen, turned it on, and pointed at the map.

  “As you might know, the earthquake torn the city apart,” he said. “Entire neighborhoods were left inaccessible. There’s good news, though. Many of the streets have been repaved or repaired enough to make them drivable.”

  “I thought you said the government here doesn’t work?” a recruit asked meekly.

  “Yeah? And?”

  “Well, who builds the roads, then?”

  “The same people who built it before, construction crews. They just don’t get paid by the city or whoever. Norton is paying for some of it, but not a lot. Just critical roads that we have control of. The problem is you’re going to need to know where you have access. Except there hasn’t been a new map made of the city since the earthquake. So, we made our own.”

  He pointed the laser at the SoDo industrial area. “This is our territory, for now. Norton’s securing several buildings we need to operate the newspaper and the printing presses, in addition to repairing a few. He’s also had the road crews working to restore the amenities. This is also where you’re going to operate out of. Doesn’t matter which building it is.”

  The laser dot moved northward. “We sent one of our boys out to every single road to see how a normal vehicle handles them. The ones with green ink are cleared for driving. The ones in red don’t work, and for God’s sake, don’t try using them. I don’t care if you’re wrecking your own cars. We don’t need the drama or the problems. The only thing you should be concerned about is getting the story and getting it back in time.”

  “Can’t we just operate on our own?” Fred asked. “Sounds better than trying to centralize everything. We can just send all of our material in through the Internet and then you can lay it out in an undisclosed location.”

  “It would be,” one of the other men said. “Except you won’t be using the Internet to do your work.”

  “What?”

  The man seemed amused. “Did Norton forget to mention that? Yes, there’ll be no online stuff. You’ll still use laptops and computers as usual, but we can’t afford to be comprised by giving the feds access to our equipment. They have the online activity closely monitored. We have a handful of security defense programmers who will be connected, but none of you. It’s a pain in the ass, I’m sure, but a necessary precaution.”

  “Shit,” Tom remarked under his breath to Carl. “What else haven’t they told us?”

  “So, what do you want from us?” Ian asked Norton’s men.

  “We need you to memorize these maps,” he replied as he turned the laser pen off and. “Memorize them to the point where you can maneuver around the city without requiring any kind of navigational device.”

  “Hell, we can’t even use our phones for that?” Fred asked.

  “No phones at all. They’ve got GPS trackers in them.”

  “When are we getting our phones back?”

  “After we’ve disabled them. You will be able to retrieve the numbers inside them if you need to contact someone, but not from a traceable phone. We have burner phones for you once you start the job.”

  Tapping the map repeatedly, the man grinned amusedly and left the room, shortly returning with several boxes of donuts. The other two did the same, but they brought large containers full of food, followed by a box of clothes and hygienic supplies.

  “How long are we going to be in here?” Carl asked.

  “As long as it takes.”

  “And how long is that?”

  “Longer, if you don’t start memorizing that map.”

  After setting down the supplies down in the kitchenette in the upper left-hand corner of the room, the men returned to the door.

  “We’ll come back tomorrow,” one of them said. “Ideally, you will be able to use markers to recreate the whole map.”

  Fred approached them with an open hand. “Better if we have a way out if we need to. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure nobody leaves.”

  The two exchanged looks, nodded, and then handed him the key. Fred closed the door behind them as they left and locked it.

  The recruits gawked at the door, at each other, and then at the map. Without any prompting or words spoken, they instinctively gathered around the table. One of them grabbed the donut boxes and began consuming them. Carl tried to ignore his hunger as he refused a donut offered to him.

  Snatching a donut from one of the boxes, Fred ate it as he examined the map.

  “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said. “I’ve drawn more complicated maps when I was a corporal.”

  “Good for you,” a recruit jabbed.

  “Don’t know why they’re making us memorize it like this, though. That’s what technology is for.”

  “Maybe they don’t want us relying on it too much,” Carl said. “There’s a danger to that.”

  “What kind of danger?”

  “Didn’t you read about the riots after the earthquake?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “I remember reading how it killed a lot of people. But what amazed me was the article I that most pe
ople died because they didn’t have food or water in their homes. Worse, when the electricity went out and the pluming shut down nobody knew what to do. Once their phones died out and they couldn’t recharge them, they were helpless. They had no way to communicate with anybody.”

  He looked up at Fred solemnly. “I wasn’t very old when it happened, but Norton was. I don’t know if he was living here or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was and decided he wasn’t going to make that mistake.”

  Rummaging through the supply boxes, Tom took out sheets of paper and markers, tossing them out to everyone. He then sat down at the table on an uncovered spot and began redrawing the map, starting with the SoDo section. Others mimicked him, and when there wasn’t enough room at the table they found a small used lamp stand and dragged it over for two of them to use.

  Carl looked at the dozens of marked lines representing roads and streets, the untouched avenues where the entire city block was cut off from all but foot traffic. He couldn’t understand why they were being cooped up and left alone to care for themselves in an old motel. What was to stop them from leaving?

  Observing the other recruits at the table, he laughed to himself. The whole scene could not have been more different than the newsroom at the Yarrow Bay Record. He could not recall one time where he had been left alone in such a manner. There was always someone, somewhere, making sure he was doing his job. He had accepted it as best he could, and had it not been for that insufferable ISA agent, he probably would have put up with it.

  As the hours passed, crumbled papers gathered on the floor, failed reproductions of the map tossed along with muttered curses. Fred was the only one who didn’t participate. He just stared at the map. He didn’t speak until someone offered him the last remains of the coffee, and then it was but a mere grunt of acknowledgement.

  More time transpired. The recruits grew tired of copying the same lines again and again. Carl took his time, determined to get it right.

  “What brought you all here?” one of the recruits said, breaking the quiet mood. A smaller man of about thirty, he introduced himself as Nathan, saying he had come because he couldn’t find work anywhere else and had no kids to leave behind.

  The rest joined in, giving their personal tales. The group eventually turned to one of them who hadn’t spoken yet. His dark, distinct Asian features and thin moustache made him seem ominous.

  “Got a name?” Carl said, taking a break to give his wrist some respite.

  The man replied with a friendly, but thick, Midwestern drawl.

  “Duong Vaj.”

  “Vaj?” Fred remarked, on the verge of laughing. “You serious?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Where you from, Duong?” Carl asked.

  “Minnesota.”

  “That’s a bit of a ways. What made you decide to give up the Midwest and leave everyone you knew?”

  Duong scratched his moustache habitually. He seemed nervous. “My step-brother had me join his gang when I was a teenager. When Hmong gangs want you to join, they don’t ask. They wanted me to kill some guy in another gang who had slept with the same girl as our leader. The night before they were going to have me do it, I packed up all my things into a bag, got onto a charter bus, and came out here. Didn’t tell anyone where I was going.”

  “Not even your folks?” Carl asked.

  “No. They needed to be able to say they didn’t know. If they lied, my step-brother would know. He’d kill them.”

  “Sounds like your typical American family,” Tom laughed.

  “You ever thought of going back?” someone asked Duong. “Ever think about your family?”

  “No,” he said right away. “My parents would understand.”

  “Too bad your dad didn’t just put a bullet in your step-brother’s ass and do you a favor,” Fred declared, adjusting his eye patch. He then looked down, sighing. “But I guess that wouldn’t have solved much. I’ve put a lot of bullets in people’s asses, and I still got problems.”

  He took a sip of coffee, then lightly punched Carl in the shoulder.

  “You walk around here like you own the place, so why don’t you tell us your biography?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “The same bullshit we’ve heard from everyone. Who are you really, and what were you before?”

  He shrugged. “I had nothing to live for back home.”

  The vague answer somehow placated them. They resumed their work but continued the discussion as it turned toward what they had left behind; retirement funds, friends, lucrative jobs. Not everything they had given up was positive, though. One man had had $120,000 in student debt he knew he’d never pay off. Another man had left a house $200,000 underwater.

  “The bank can have it,” the man chuckled, rubbing his ink-stained hands. “I never liked it, anyway.”

  “Anybody leave a sweetheart?” Fred inquired.

  “I did,” Ian said.

  “Well, the lovebird himself.”

  “She was my high school sweetheart, but we changed too much. I knew it wouldn’t last, so I broke up with her last weekend.”

  “Sounds like it didn’t hurt too much.”

  “You can’t love someone to the point where you must give up everything else you love for them. Then you cease to be yourself. No one is worth it.”

  “Preachin’ to the choir, my friend.”.

  Carl had a wordless exchange with Tom. For him, there had never been just one girl, but many, many girls. It was one part of life that hadn’t frustrated him.

  He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but for reason unknown to him, women had always seemed drawn toward him. Tom hadn’t met the same success, but he was fine with that.

  The strange thing was that Carl loved being with them, but never loved any of them. He saw no need to limit himself to one when there the world was full of them.

  He wondered if the women in Seattle would be same.

  ***

  They continued their work on the map for a few more hours, then broke off to eat. Fred took cans of the same broccoli cheese cream soup and poured it into a saucepan and heated on the one stovetop to make a giant meal to all, adding a few additional vegetables.

  “What’s your take on our boss?” Fred asked them. “He’s as strange as a six-fingered whore – not that I’d know about that from personal experience.”

  “He’s unusual,” someone said. “But he seems to know what he’s doing.”

  “And what is he doing, exactly?”

  “Starting up a newspaper. He seems to have a clear plan.”

  “Doesn’t anybody actually know what they’re doing?” Fred asked. “I don’t. I’m just here for the ride.”

  “What were you thinking he would be like?” Ian asked.

  “I don’t know. Not like he’s dressed for the prom.”

  “He’s a professional.”

  “Whatever that means. I’ve known a lot of professionals in my lifetime. Most of them had their heads up their asses.”

  “What makes you not like him?” Carl asked.

  “He don’t look like he’s had a hard life, that’s all. A tough life gives you some perspective. I’m working for him because I got nothing better to do with my life. If he’s an idiot and gets me kill, that’s great. If not, swell.”

  He laughed. “I just can’t believe they got away with this 95 percent tax bullshit. The Supreme Court said they couldn’t censor newspapers like they could the Internet. So, they taxed ‘em to death. How’s that any different from a ban?”

  “You have to wonder what will happen to us if we are caught,” Duong said. “Or is there a law against interviewing people and writing stories? Maybe we can get away with it that way.”

  “Come on, buddy. Never underestimate the evil cleverness of a government bureaucrat. If you find a loophole, they’ll find a way to close it. I promise you they have some clause somewhere someplace that says if you’re connected in any way with an illegal business like a newspaper
you get sent to the hurt locker.”

  “Either way, they’ll arrest you,” Carl told Duong. “The National Defense Reauthorization Act allows them to indefinitely detain anyone they want. They’ll just use that against you.”

  “I can see why they are teaching us to know the streets well,” Ian concluded somberly. “We cannot afford to be caught, because if we are, I doubt we will get a phone call or be able to post bail.”

  “Good assumption.”

  Their meals finished, they cleared the table. One of them volunteered to clean while Carl and Fred retrieved the map from the corner and put it back on the table. While they were doing that, Carl caught a recruit out of the corner of his eye moving toward the door.

  Reaching into his pant pocket, the man took out a small metal object and pushed it around the lock. Moments later, a tiny clack sound that would have reverberated through the room had he not suppressed it with both hands.

  “What are you doing?” Carl demanded.

  The recruit stood still, looking over his shoulder. He was as young as Carl, but frailer. His bony legs and arms trembled.

  “I can’t do this,” the recruit confessed. “I can’t.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Fred asked, walking over to the front of the room as the other recruits gathered behind him. Resting his hands on his belt buckle, he studied the small, scrawnier boy and smirked.

  “Best put that thing away and step away from the door,” he said.

  “I’m not forcing any of you to come with me,” the man said. “I just can’t…”

  “You ain’t leaving. Now get back over here and work on the map. You better have it memorized by tomorrow, like the rest of us. Or did you memorize it already? Were you here for other reasons?”

  Still gripping the door knob, the recruit’s chest heaved up and down rapidly. Carl was alarmed, but Fred kept smirking.

  “You ain’t fooling me,” he said. “I know a coward when I see one. You ain’t it scared.”

  The recruit tried to open the door. He got it half open before Carl rushed over to him and tried to slam it shut, hoping they could collectively calm his nerves.

  “You’ll be fine!” Carl said. “Sit down!”

  As they fought for control of the door knob, the recruit looked at up Carl and pushed him away. As Carl recovered from the shove, he snapped up a switchblade from his shirt sleeve and took a wide slash at his chest.