“Fuck.Well, your brother is broadcasting live right now. He’s about to execute sixteen innocent civilians, Cross! How do we stop this?”
He responds with two words that curdle my blood.
“We can’t,”he grits out.
There’s movement on the holoscreen. I shift my attention back to it just as they appear.
The firing squad.
Hatred burns my throat as the uniform-clad soldiers line up on the platform, their rifles gleaming in the morning light. I stood in that same crowd months ago, watching those same soldiers murder Uncle Jim. Now I’m watching them prepare to do it again.
The black gates behind the platform slide open. It’s the tunnel that connects the plaza to the Command base. I squeeze Tana’s hand tighter as two armed soldiers lead a group of people out of the tunnel. Men and women in civilian clothing, hands restrained behind their backs.
Their faces are drawn and pale, but their eyes are hard. Resentful.My throat tightens as the soldiers prod the Mod prisoners and a few of them stumble forward.
The first prisoner is hauled onto the wooden platform. He’s young, mid-twenties maybe. He keeps his shoulders straight and his chin high as he stares not at the firing squad, but at Travis and the other officers, as if daring them to break him. It’s a futile gesture. The Company knows they can’t break him. That’s why they’re here. They’re going to break his body instead.
The colonel steps forward, eyes emotionless, mouth set in a thin line. He addresses his squad, sounding bored.
“Rifles up.”
Eight rifles snap up.
“Fire,” the colonel orders.
A wave of gunfire rings out.
The prisoner is met by a hail of bullets, followed by a horrible, deafening silence. As the young man’s body crumples to the ground, shocked cries and furious hisses echo all around me.
I’m too numb to make a sound. I inhale deeply, but oxygen refuses to fill my lungs. My breathing grows weak, a cold wave of terror crashing over me.
This isn’t war.
This is just…murder.
I tremble as the next prisoner is thrust onto the platform.
“Fire,” booms the colonel.
Another round of shots, another body drops.
“Fire.”
The next prisoner is pushed forward.
“Fire.”
Another round of shots, another dead body.
Rage pools low in my stomach, boiling hotter and burning brighter as each prisoner faces the squad. As much as I want to look away, to deny what’s happening, I can’t. One by one, they drop, until the platform is a sea of bodies and blood. The dark, viscous substance drips over the wooden edge like long red icicles.
Travis observes each execution without expression. Roe, on theother hand, can’t disguise his pleasure. His satisfaction. He loathes us. He’s never made a secret of that.
I take another breath, trying to hold on to the last thread of my composure before it snaps in a violent rage.
All around me are grief-stricken faces. Enraged faces. Eyes burning with hatred as Travis and his officers oversee sixteen murders to the wild cheers of the civilian crowd. These people, the ones cheering for death and brutality, are as evil as their leader.
Finally, the firing squad lowers their rifles and marches off, leaving sixteen dead bodies in their wake.
