group is to hurt another, and that’s the situation we’re facing. In order to help my girlfriend and the innocent people on this island, we might have to hurt some of the guards. We’ll do everything in our power not to, but if it’s us against them, they’re the group that has to lose. I won’t settle for anything less.”
“Okay,” he whined. “I guess you’s right. Just try not to hurt me.”
“You got it, Bennie.” Payne smiled at Blount, then settled into his seat for the next portion of the plan.
BECAUSE of his frequent trips to the Plantation, Blount knew the appropriate channel through the cypress swamp. He carefully navigated the boat toward the moss-covered poles of the wooden dock until he could see the two guards.
“Is that you, Gump?” asked one of the guards as he stared at the captain of the boat. “We were expecting you a while ago.”
“Yeah,” said the other. “Did the fireworks run late or something?”
Before Blount could answer, Greene moved to the front of the boat and spoke for him. “It wasn’t the damn fireworks!” he growled. “There’s been a security breach! Now quit your small talk and take our damn line before there’s trouble. I have two prisoners on board.”
The guards glanced at the large figure in the black cloak and jumped to attention. After dropping their guns to the ground, they ran to the dock, offering their assistance in any way possible. Greene nodded at them, tossing them the boat’s rope. The two guards snared the line and carefully pulled the craft against the side of the dock.
“It looks like they’re buying it,” Jones whispered. “We might pull this off.”
Payne nodded slightly, but for some reason, he wasn’t nearly as confident. His gut told him there was something fishy, and it wasn’t just the stench from the murky water of the swamp. “I hate to say this, D.J., but-”
The confidence drained from Jones’s eyes. “Don’t tell me! Your gut?”
Payne nodded. But before he could explain, Greene approached the duo and ordered them to be quiet. “Things are going well. Don’t blow it by talking.”
Greene followed his command by forcing Payne off of the boat and onto the shore while one of the guards did the same with Jones. Once both of them were on the ground, Greene turned to the workers and spoke. “Bennie and I will watch them while you get me a truck. There are a lot of supplies out there, so start moving.”
“Yes, sir!” they blurted, running to complete their tasks.
Greene smiled at Blount, then glanced at the two captives at his feet. “How was that? Was I authoritative enough for you?”
Jones tried rolling onto his back, but his bound hands hindered his effort. In a strange way, he looked like an upside-down turtle that had trouble flipping over. “You sounded good to me, but I’m not the one you need to worry about. Ask Jon what he thinks. He’s worried about something.”
Greene turned his attention to Payne. “Is there something we need to talk about before the guards get back?”
“Not really,” he groaned. “I can wait until they return, if you’d like.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, you’re just going to tell them anyway.”
The smile faded from Greene’s lips as his bewilderment grew. In order to sort things out, he lowered his black hood and knelt on the ground next to Payne. As he did, his bad knee cracked several times. “What are you talking about?”
“Yeah,” Jones demanded. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Payne wanted to look Jones in the eyes, but the position of their bodies made it impossible. “D.J., I’m sorry to tell you this, but if my guess is correct, Levon is one of them.”
CHAPTER 32
HOLMES
and Jackson had planned on speaking to the prisoners, but since Webster was doing such an eloquent job, they allowed him to continue his lecture.
“Independence Day is a holiday that is supposed to symbolize freedom in this country. Freedom? In America? What a joke! A country that turned its back on my people, black people, for decade after decade believes in freedom? My black brothers and sisters were smuggled into America in the hulls of slave ships in the most unsanitary of conditions, brought here like cattle, then purchased by white men for their own personal use. And you call that freedom?”
The prisoners listened, trembling.
“Take a look around you! This plantation was built several decades before the Civil War. Nice, isn’t it? It’s probably hard to imagine, but the people who worked this soil were my ancestors. My
ancestors! That’s right! Through painstaking research, I have traced my family tree back to this plantation. Isn’t that amazing? My forefathers worked this land! They slept here, ate here, and raised families in the tiny cabins that surround us!”
Webster shook his head at the thought, rage boiling inside of him.
“And because of you, my family was forced to die here, too!”
A slight murmur rippled through the crowd. What did Webster mean by
?
“For the past few days, you have been subjected to un pleasantries. Long hours in the hot sun, a scarcity of food and water, nothing to sleep on but the hard ground itself. But guess what? That pales in comparison to the hardships that my relatives had to endure. Back in the eighteen hundreds, slaves were forced to live in these tiny cabins year-round. Ten, twelve, sometimes as many as fifteen people were thrown together into one cabin and forced to make do, huddling in the center of the dirt floor for warmth. And if they bitched, they were beaten!
“During the rainy season, the ground became so saturated with water that the moisture would rise up into their cabins, forcing them to sleep in the mud. Like animals! These were my ancestors, for God’s sake, and they were treated like beasts! Meanwhile, the Delacroix family, the white bastards that owned this property, slept in the comfort of the plantation house. They didn’t work, but they lived like kings! Do you know what my relatives got to eat? At the beginning of every week, each person was given three and a half pounds of bacon from the smokehouse and enough corn to make a peck of cornmeal. That’s it! For the entire week! Just bacon, cornmeal, and water for every meal, for a lifetime!”
Webster paused to catch his breath.
“And what about punishment? Do you actually think we’ve been rough on you? The punishment that occurred in the nineteenth century was far more brutal than anything we’ve implemented here. Back in the old days, slave drivers used to whip their niggers until they could see
. The gashes on their backs were so wide and deep you could see their lungs! Have we done anything like that to you? Anything that brutal? Tell me, have we?”
Despite his point-blank questions, the crowd remained silent. They were way too frightened to talk. But that didn’t matter to Webster. He viewed the slaves’ silence as insubordination, which needed to be dealt with. Turning toward Master Holmes, he said, “Can you believe that? They don’t respect me enough to answer. Maybe you better show them what I mean about discipline.”
Holmes grinned savagely under his black hood. He’d been on his best behavior since the finger-chopping incident, but now that Webster was encouraging him, he figured he could slide back to his sadistic ways.
He stepped forward, searching for a target, staring at the scared faces in the moonlight. Who should he choose? Which person would be the most beneficial to their cause? Then he saw him, the perfect victim. He was the finest specimen in Group One. A middle-aged male, father of Susan and two other brats. What was his name? Ross. Jimmy Ross. Yes, he would do nicely. An impeccable sacrifice.
Devastate the strong and the weak will crumble!
With unblinking eyes, Holmes focused on him, quietly selecting him as his prey. And Ross knew it. Holmes
