At first, the men tried to reach him through the interoffice phone, but when that failed, they gave him an ultimatum to open the door. When they heard no response, they took turns beating on the door trying to separate it from its hinges. By the time the door was starting to give way, the sound of several shotguns chambering rounds could be heard outside in the corridor. It was loud enough, and distinct enough, to get everyone’s attention.
Several security guards were standing in the doorway, and outside the window, pointing their guns at the men inside. The one in the doorway moved aside as Trent Gibbs stepped into the room.
“You can go now. We’ll take care of this,” Gibbs said to the men.
“He’s got to answer for himself. We were told to bring him back, and that’s what we’re gonna do,” one of the men said in reply.
“No. I said we’ll take care of it. He’ll be confined to custody, and whatever follows will be according to law and order, not a mob,” Gibbs said firmly.
“We’re going to…” the man started again before being cut off.
“You’re going to go into custody as well if you interfere with my men. If you think you have to insist, then your custody will be spent in the infirmary until the buck shot is removed from your body,” Gibbs said with his naturally cold demeanor void of any emotion. “I’ll not say it again. Either leave here immediately or suffer the consequences of your decision.”
The men looked at each other until their resolve started to melt when they realized their disadvantage. They filed out of the room until the last man, the one who had spoken to Gibbs, turned, kicked Lucas once more in his side, out of frustration, and then left. They were turned to one side of the corridor as they were escorted away from the office.
Back inside, Gibbs knocked on the door and called, “Mr. Bishop, Trent Gibbs. You’ll have to come with me sir.”
After a few moments there was the sound of the deadbolt being released, and the door opened as an unharmed Frank Bishop stood in its opening. Two of Gibbs’ men helped the injured Lucas off the floor, while he escorted Frank Bishop himself. Shouts could be heard from the group of men waiting in the corridor, “Murderer,” “Criminal,” “Scum.”
The mob kept their distance as the guards maintained their defensive posture with their weapons making it clear that they would not be interfered with. Others looked on as the escort detail passed by the various departments on their way to the security section. When they rode down the elevator to their floor, Gibbs instructed the men to set up two control points, one at each end of their corridor. “Anyone who is not one of us needs to call me before they can come here. No exceptions.”
He took the prisoners into the main office where the detention facility was. “Call for a medic to be sent down here,” he instructed the desk sergeant. He walked the two men to the first of the four cells. He led Lucas into the first one and helped him to the bed. He walked out and locked the door. He opened the next cell for Frank Bishop. After he did, Bishop walked in then turned to look at him.
“Is there anything I can get for you Mr. Bishop?”
“No. Not right now. But I will let you know,” Frank Bishop said with a voice of authority.
Gibbs looked him in the eyes and gave a barely perceptible nod just before securing his cell.
When Bishop and Moore returned to the valley, the soldiers were already in the process of helping the others. Later on their first day, their actions, and the words spoken by Weston, had weighed heavily upon them. Along with this was the realization that there was nothing to go back to. They were here to stay.
The final straw was when several women from the village brought the men baskets full of fresh fruit. They had not tasted fresh fruit in many years. It was sweeter then they remembered, and it was all they could do to control themselves. It was decided then that they would negotiate a truce with Weston and the village leaders. From there, everything else fell into place. The men were ashamed as they were warmly welcomed by the others, and were now determined to make things right by contributing what they could.
As a further sign that Weston had indeed prepared for what they had expected from the assault, wagon loads of building materials appeared on the main trail adjoining the villages of Gateway and Mezzo. As time passed by, the soldiers became adjusted to their new surroundings.
Bishop and Moore descended into the valley cautiously. They passed the vehicles on the rim but saw no signs of life there. As they drew closer to the valley floor, they heard the distinct sounds of construction. When the village came into view, Bishop saw his former soldiers working alongside the villagers. He smiled with relief as he continued. When they saw him, they stopped what they were doing and went to meet their former boss.
Wallace was the first one there, “Damn, I don’t know if it’s good to see you or not,” he said offering his hand, “You really put one over on us.”
Bishop smiled as he returned his grasp, “I had to do something. You guys just got caught in the middle,” he said. He turned to acknowledge Weston, “You should be safe for a while now. I gave them something to think about.”
“I’ll bet you did,” Weston said with a grin.
“I have some supplies we brought with us. They’re up on the rim; medicine, supplements, clothing, and some other things.”
“I’ll send some men up to get them,” Weston said as he turned away.
“Hey Chief,” Cam said as he walked up. “What in the hell is going on? What did you do back there anyway? Are we really stuck out here now?”
“I’ll tell you what, why don’t the three of us find someplace to talk, and I’ll fill you in,” Bishop said as he led them away from the others.
The work continued progressing over the next few weeks. The feelings synonymous with significant change were starting to fade as the soldiers slowly assimilated into their new society. The rules of the community were explained to them and they found their own places within it. Wallace and Weston were natural leaders and soon discovered that they shared many of the same viewpoints. Bishop was glad they were getting along, as he knew they would need each other as time passed.
After dinner one evening, Bishop sat alone with Weston. “Well, it turned out pretty much how you figured it,” Weston said.
“Yeah, I guess it did. I’m glad for you, and my men.”
“So what do you see in your crystal ball now?” Weston asked jokingly.
Bishop looked up at him. He knew it was said in jest, but not completely. “I think it will be some time before they make it this far again. They’ll come, but I’m thinking it will be with a different overture.”
“I hope so. But we’ll prepare for either,” Weston said evenly. “What about you. You’ve seemed a little distracted lately.”
“It shows, huh,” Bishop replied.
Weston just nodded.
“I guess it’s time I moved on. This life isn’t for me. I feel I have something to do out there,” he said nodding his head toward the outer rim, “I don’t know what yet, but I feel it all the same.”
“The only thing I know that’s out there for sure is death,” Weston said seriously.
“Death is just a part of life. It can be found anywhere. It’s just that this isn’t the life for me.”
“I can’t say that I understand, but I will say that you are always welcome here,” Weston offered.
“I appreciate that. And maybe, one day, I’ll be back. If not, keep on doing what you’ve been doing. Wallace and Cam are good men. I’ve known them for a long time. I think they’ll be a big help to you.”
Weston nodded in agreement, “When will you be leaving?”
“Before dawn; I already said my goodbyes. I’m not one for send offs, so I’ll just be on my way before the village awakes.”
Weston placed one hand on his shoulder and said, “Take care of yourself, Bishop. Don‘t let hate be the driving force in your life, it‘ll kill you quicker than anything else out there,” he said before walking away.
While Frank Bishop had received all of the attention as the malefactor, his long-time friend, Dr. Maddow escaped similar criticism. He was replaced as the head of his department but was still allowed to work under observation by others. He accepted these adjustments without complaint and went about his work. Over time, he
