It was time to get up and go. While Thomas hadn’t reassigned her duties since taking charge of Portsmouth, he hadn’t relieved her of them either. Most days she went through the motions of maintaining security, pretending to safeguard Thomas, while actually plotting his death. For today, she would take a break and make herself useful around Portsmouth. If she pursued her agenda too often, she would give herself away. Now and then, she had to carry out her duties and nothing more. It allowed her to remain invisible – a knife Thomas would never see coming.
She put on clothes, shivering while briefly naked, then drank from the gallon jug she topped up with water every night before sleeping. Several of the larger boats had desalination facilities on board, and they kept a regular flow of processed seawater coming onto the docks. People had to fetch their own supply, but there was enough to go around. They also caught as much rainwater as possible on days when it was wet, and you couldn’t go ten feet without passing some sort of catcher or butt.
She left the customs office five minutes later and entered the muggy atmosphere of the civilian docks. The air was thick with a fishy stench. A majority of the daily catch came from the several dozen fishing boats along the coast, but some preferred to catch their own supper from the civilian docks. Diane had been learning the ropes from a couple of the older guys, but she rarely found time to cast a line.
Along with the odour pollution was noise pollution. It came from the military wharf – the busiest part of the docks. This morning the noise was particularly loud. She heard shouting and jeering, like a protest was happening. Too many buildings stood in the way to see what was happening, so she decided to ask a fisherman named Mitch. The old man was working nearby, cutting up some mackerel to use as bait for something larger. He noticed her and smiled through a gap in his fuzzy white beard. “Morning, Diane. You look fresh as a daisy.”
She smirked, struggling to hide her naughtiness at having had sex. “Hi, Mitch. Hey, um, what’s going on over at the military wharf?”
“I would’ve thought you’d have known all about it. General Thomas has found the rotten apples what plotted to kill Wickstaff. Maybe he’s caught that murderous wench, Maddy.”
Diane’s fists clenched, but she willed them back open. Mitch was a good guy at heart, but not a thinker. He would happily eat up whatever news was spoon-fed to him by those with larger intellects. If people whispered that Maddy had killed Wickstaff, Mitch’s simple mind would accept it as fact.
“Maddy wasn’t involved in Wickstaff’s death, Mitch. Trust me, okay?”
“Then why’d she scarper?”
Diane sighed. There would be little point in explaining. “I don’t know. Anyway, what are you talking about? Who are they saying plotted to kill Wickstaff?”
“Don’t know. Keep to myself, don’t I? Hope they string the bastards up, whoever they are. I liked Wickstaff. Everyone did.”
At least they could agree on that. “I’ll see you later, Mitch. Good luck fishing.”
“I’ll share my catch. You look like you could use a good meal, lass.”
“You’re probably right.” She left Mitch with his mackerel guts and headed for the commotion. Ten minutes later, she was close enough to hear the hatred in each individual voice. Something bad was happening, and sure enough, when she rounded the final corner, she saw what it was. Half of Portsmouth had assembled in an area known as the ‘parade square’. General Thomas stood on the wooden stage he’d had erected soon after Wickstaff’s death.
His little propaganda platform. What is the sonofabitch up to now?
Diane picked up speed, walking fast enough that her shins ached. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She didn’t like not knowing what was happening. For nearly a year she’d been in Wickstaff’s inner circle, privy to everything going on in Portsmouth. Now she was on the outside looking in – another clueless spectator.
It took her another ten minutes to reach the military wharf. A concrete wall had once stood between the civilian and military areas, but it’d been knocked through and a gate added. The gate was currently open, as it usually was, but guards stood on either side of it. Fortunately, they recognised Diane and nodded. Both were Thomas’s men, and it seemed that lately more and more of every security position was being filled with people who had crossed the channel with the general. Wickstaff’s forces had been redeployed to scouting missions or menial tasks. Many had been sent out to protect the small farms set up in the surrounding countryside. Bit by bit, there were more and more foxes in the henhouse.
“Shoot ’em!” she heard a woman yell in an American accent. To Diane’s horror, she recognised her as a survivor brought in by The Hatchet long before General Thomas had arrived in Portsmouth. Diane was certain the woman had been a ‘kindergarten’ teacher before. Now she was part of a baying mob.
Diane shoved by the woman and passed several other jeering individuals. A line of people slumped on stage with Thomas and several guards stood behind them. They were half-conscious, their beaten faces bloodied. Despite the damage, Diane recognised every one of them; all original citizens of Portsmouth. People she knew. People she had recruited.
Thomas moved behind the lectern on stage and spoke into a microphone. “Citizens of Portsmouth, today I bring you justice. I bring you closure for the death of Amanda Wickstaff. These
