I help Kathleen get into the protective suit. The prisoners who are awake watch us as they try to understand what’s going on.
“Please, try,” I say to Kathleen. I get under her left arm and grab her back with my right arm. She leans her weight against me while she could hardly take steps forward.
“What about us!” the guy sitting on the other side of the cell yells. He stands up and walks after us.
“Go back!” One of the militia men pulls his baton out.
The prisoner lifts his hands in the air, but he doesn’t step back. I turn to him and try to look as friendly as possible.
“We will come back for you…for everybody,” I whisper. He glances at me for a moment. Then he turns to the militia.
“Okay… Okay, dickhead.” He sits back on the floor.
They take us to the second floor. We walk through a series of desks with other militias working behind. It looks like a police station except for the annoying new state flag with a roaring bear in front of crossed shotguns.
Other militias give Kathleen weird looks. This is probably their safe zone. Seeing people in protective gear might be unusual to them.
We stop in front of a wooden door. I hear people yelling inside.
“…. and you couldn’t stop them there? With all the weapons you had?” a man yells.
“Sir… There is mo…” Another man can’t finish his sentence.
“Shut up! It’d be a lot easier if they were wiped up in the desert! I can’t believe this!” the man yells. Then we hear silence for a few seconds. A third man says something, but I can’t figure out what. For some reason, his voice sounds familiar. Is it Crypto’s voice? Or maybe he is someone I heard at the protest.
We continue to wait in front of the door.
“Mr. Highland is here?” one of the militias waiting with us asks another one. He nervously shakes his hands. Another militia impatiently moves his eyes from left to right while stretching his ear lobe. “We should come back later,” he says while turning his back to the door. They grab our arms to drag us with them through the hallway.
I hear the door opening behind us. We all turn our heads back to see who is coming out of the room.
Three men appear from the room. The one in front of them tilts his head up slowly after opening the door. He freezes as soon as he sees me.
Others glance at him and me to determine why he stopped.
For a split second, everything and everybody becomes dead silent. Time slows down. The air circulation pauses. I can hear my heart beating.
The man in a darker uniform, who looks flossier than others, with stars on his shoulders and a bright roaring bear pin on his chest…
The man who rules the West that is now called the Highland Republic…
The man who is famous for his cruel punishments and tortures…
The man who is hated by millions and referred to as a monster…is my brother.
Chapter 42
“Father is alive. He is at UC Davis Hospital,” my brother says. He takes another breath from his cigar behind his executive desk. He briefly looks at the capital’s skyline through the window of his penthouse office.
I lean forward in my chair and take my head between my hands. This is the only good news I’ve had in months.
“Fighting with the virus?” I raise my head and glance at him.
“Yes… He is going through a special treatment with a mix of drugs. Kathleen will have the same care,” he says. It sounds like he is trying to prove that he still has a good side.
“And mom?” I ask nervously. I am afraid of the answer I may hear.
He puts his cigar on the ashtray and lets a deep breath out before locking his grieving eyes at me.
“She couldn’t make it… It was when the second wave hit. She went to the grocery store and never came back…” He shakes his head while I continue to stare at him. My brain ignores what my ears heard.
His eyes fill with tears as he repetitiously combs his hair back with his fingers—a habit he does when he is having an emotional moment.
“I couldn’t convince her to stay home… We ran out of food. She left home very early and left a note for us…”
That must be the time she left that envelope for me. She must have felt that she won’t be able to come back.
I let myself shed tears. My heart feels heavy. The grief pulsates through my veins and forces me to dive into unfathomable darkness.
I would have expected nothing less from my mom. She always put the family before herself.
We sit in silence as we are both out of words.
Somebody knocks on the door.
“Later!” My brother yells.
“Sir, code six!” The man behind the door says.
My brother wipes his tears and takes a few sips from his water. “Come in,” he says while fixing his hair. Two militias enter the room with documents and a map in their hands. With the flags and signs on their chests, they look like high-level commanders of the militia force.
They pause as soon as they see me. Then they look at my brother Barry.
“You can talk,” Barry says. The militia commanders nod their heads and walk to each side of his desk. One of them lays the map in front of him.
“They have overrun our Nevada checkpoints. We are preparing a new frontline in Tahoe,” one of the commanders says with a slight trembling in his voice.
“Who?” I ask.
He glances at my brother who nods. “Ricas,” the commander says, turning to me.
I roll my eyes to the floor. They must have run from Salt Lake City all night long. With their endless energy, they are practically unstoppable. A few militias at checkpoints probably had no chance against them.
Barry huffs as he leans
