Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (58 page)

Townsen addressed the crowd, arms flung wide.
 
"He owes us all!"
 
He waited for the loyalists to quiet again.
 
"Kept supplies from us, helped traitors conceal hordes of food—"

"My little girl starved to death, you bastard!"

Townsen calmed the crowd with his upturned hands.
 
"I am not an unreasonable man.
 
All you people who sided with Denny will no longer be under suspicion—as soon as he admits his guilt.
 
I aim to bring peace to this town, with help from President Barron—"

"Barron's dead!" echoed behind Denny.

Townsen jerked his head at a guard.
 
The man turned and forced his way through the crowd.
 
After a few muffled words and what sounded like a heavy impact of something hard against flesh, Townsen continued.

"It's cold out here and I don't see no need to drag this out any longer.
 
Denoyan Tecumseh, you have been charged with treason, sedition, and criminal hoarding—along with a host of other violations.
 
Have you anything to say in your defense?"

Denny glared at Townsen.
 
Still too far away.
 
"Has the Constitution been completely abandoned," he asked in a loud voice, "that you have become judge, jury, and executioner?"

Townsen laughed.
 
"Of course not!
 
The mayor—as was his right, appointed me acting police chief."
 
Townsen puffed his chest out.
 
A few people clapped in the crowd.

"Acting?" asked Denny as he half turned to the crowd to gauge their mood.
 
"And you're qualified?
 
You went to the police academy?
 
You served as an officer?"

Townsen frowned.
 
"The mayor can appoint anyone he wants—it's a temporary—"

"Where
is
the mayor, anyway?" someone called out.

"I heard he took sick with the flu three days ago…" a voice responded.

"That's right," someone else replied, "I haven't seen him since."

Denny smirked.
 
He had his opening.
 
"Convenient, don't you think?"
 
he asked the crowd.
 
More than one head nodded in agreement.

"Wherever the mayor is, it doesn't change the fact you're charged with treason—and that means—”

"Treason is a
federal
crime, John," interrupted Denny.
 
He turned to the crowd.
 
"I did not know Salmon Falls had a
federal
courthouse.
 
I did not know the police chief in Salmon Falls had authority to prosecute federal offenses.
 
Did you?"

A low murmur rippled through the crowd—they had expected more action and less legal wrangling.

"Well, that's what
he's
here for!" said Townsen as he shoved the U.S. Marshal from McDonnell's house forward.
 

"What's
he
got to say?
 
Son of a bitch served the paperwork that kicked me out of my house!" a voice called.

"That paperwork didn't kick you out—Jimmy Moreland did," shouted another.
 
A shared chuckle worked its way through the loyalists.

"Anyway you look at it, it's bullshit!" cried the first voice.
 
"You had no right to throw my family on the street, just because I didn't swear some stupid oath!"

"Yeah!"
 

Townsen raised his hands.
 
"Calm down, folks," he pleaded.
 
"This here's a U.S. Marshal, sent from Washington to enforce the rule of law—"

"Sounds like he was sent to use the law to enforce
your
rule," said Denny, seizing the moment.
 
The crowd laughed.
 
Townsen flushed red.

"You shut the hell up and let the marshal speak.
 
You're already in a lot of trouble."

The marshal stepped forward.
 
He looked around and cleared his throat.
 
"Look everyone, I'm not in a position to say what this man should be charged with—all right?
 
I was just sent here to help implement President Barron's directive—"

Denny squared his shoulders.
 
"Did you not swear an oath to defend the Constitution?"

The lawman glanced around before nodding.
 
"I did.
 
I also swore to obey my superiors.
 
I'm not violating the Constitution by being here.
 
Who's President is not my concern—I go where I'm told, right?"

Denny ignored Townsen's smirk.
 
"Were you told to stand by while innocent people are robbed and kicked out of their homes?"

"Hey, as far as I know, they never took the oath—"

"Oath?"
 
Denny looked around.
 
"Are you
serious?
 
Are we in medieval Europe?" he shouted.

The marshal shrugged as he frowned.
 
Color crept up his neck.
 
"I'm sorry, I'm just doing my job."

Denny looked at the assembled crowd.
 
"You know, Nazi prison guards said the same thing.
 
It didn't justify what they did in the Holocaust, and it doesn't justify what we've been through here."

A few nods and a ripple of reluctant agreement from Townsen's loyalists met his statement.
 
Thus encouraged, Denny continued.
 

"It's bad enough we barely survived the Russians—now we've got to deal with the Korean Flu!"
 
He turned to face Townsen.
 
"This town does not need any more trouble.
 
We need to heal."

Townsen laughed.
 
"I suppose looting and hoarding—keeping the starving folks in Salmon Falls from getting any food…that's what you'd call healing?"

"He gave my family more deer meat than we can eat in a week," said a quiet voice hidden in the crowd.

"Mr. Tecumseh helped bring water to my wife when she was sick…"

"…showed us how to start a fire without matches…"

"…led us to an abandoned house after the Russians burned us out…"

"Now just a minute—" began Townsen.
 
The crowd grew louder in support of Denny—Townsen grew redder.

"…his friends brought us half a deer…"

"Anse helped just as much…"

Townsen tried calling for order that never came.
 
Denny held his breath and waited.
 
The spark had been fanned—there was nothing to do but wait for the kindling to catch.
 
The voices grew louder, more confident.
 
The guards looked nervous.
 
Townsen looked furious.

"Stop it!" he yelled.

"
You
stop it!" someone shouted back.
 
The crowd cheered and laughed at the same time.

"We want our town back!"

"Yeah!"

"You—all of you—you're getting dangerously close to treason!"
 
Townsen shrieked.
 
"
All
of you!"
 
He raised a hand, and the guards stepped back—weapons not leveled, but ready.
 

"You're wrong," Denny called out.
 
"They're dangerous—but only to you and your thugs!"

The crowd roared, echoing off the surrounding buildings.

Now is my chance.
 
Denny stared at Townsen.
 
Just a few quick steps and he could wrap his hands around that scrawny neck and squeeze.

No, Little Spear.
 
That is not your path…

Denny's heart slowed, his vision sharpened, and the noise of the crowd faded into a haze of background noise.
 
He listened to Red Eagle.

It is not our way…

He clenched his fists.
 
A bottle sailed past his head, exploding at Townsen's feet, the glass sparkling like a thousand suns in the weak afternoon light.
 
His eyes bulged and sweat trickled down the side of Townsen's face.

Denny smiled.
 
It's already over—you've lost control.
 
He raised his arms and spun back to the crowd, now barely contained by the armed men.

"Stop!" he called out.
 
"Everyone, listen to me!"
 
The crowd gradually quieted, despite a few desultory shouts directed Townsen.
 
"We're better than this," he said.
 
He pointed at Townsen.
 
"We're better than
him
."

The crowd voiced its approval.
 

"There doesn't need to be any more violence…"

He smiled as two men wrestled away the rifle from the closest guard.
 
Another allowed his to be taken and stepped back, hands up.
 
In seconds, the rest followed suit as the crowd surged outward.

"This is your town," Denny said, turning his back to Townsen.
 
He spread his hands wide and faced the crowd.
 
"Take it back."

They bellowed and howled, swarming around Denny and flowing up the steps of City Hall like a flooding river.
 
Townsen disappeared behind a wall of bodies and fists and shouts.
 

"Don't hurt him!" Denny pleaded.
 
The sea of faces parted and the marshal stepped forward, Townsen before him.
 
His hands had been secured in zip ties, his face flushed.

"I'll see you dead, you son of a bitch!"

A large fist struck Townsen's jaw.
 
He recoiled and blinked in surprise.

"No!"
 
Denny shouted.
 
"Don't turn us into the monsters he wanted us to be!
 
We are a nation of laws."

"We
used
to be, you ignorant savage!
 
It's every man for himself, now!" hissed Townsen, struggling against his restraints.

Denny's hand flicked toward his tomahawk and clenched air.
 
He'd come unarmed, per Townsen's ultimatum.

Townsen jerked his hands back and with a plastic
snap
, they were free.
 
He lunged at Denny with a speed that took even the marshal off guard.

Denny found himself on his back, Townsen's hands around his throat.
 
"Don't—" he choked.

"Fuck you!
 
You killed my boy—you turned them against me," Townsen growled.
 
He smashed Denny's head against the rough pavement.
 
"I'm better than you, Indian!"

Angry shouts accompanied strong hands grasping at Townsen, but he only tightened his grip on Denny's throat in the confused scrum.

Spots floated across Denny's vision.
 
"Don't…" he whispered, tying to pry the vice-like fingers from his throat.
 
He needed air.
 
He used a hand to punch at Townsen and brushed something under the man's jacket.
 
One last chance.

"You think you're so smart, Mister History Teacher…" sneered Townsen, spittle filling the corners of his mouth.
 
"My boy was twice the man you are! And you killed him!"

Denny pulled the knife from Townsen's belt.
 
"I am Shawnee!" he hissed and plunged the knife into Townsen's belly, once and again just under the ribcage.
 

The grip on his throat finally slackened and
Townsen's snarling face changed into a wide grimace as his lips pulled back in pain.
 
His hands released Denny's throat and fumbled at the blade sunk deep in his chest.
 
He teetered over Denny as the crowd step back.
 

John Townsen, dictator, one of President Barron's small-town enforcers, rolled his eyes, gurgled on his own blood, and collapsed to the ground.

Denny gasped for air and turned his head to stare into Townsen's eyes as the light faded and his body convulsed.
 
"I'm sorry, John," he whispered.

C
HAPTER
46

Skye, Scotland.

Dunkeith Castle.

C
OOPER
SHIFTED
HIS
GAZE
from the taser-wielding servant to the woman with the pistol.
 
Options raced through his mind—take the taser, take the gun…go for Reginald…go for the gun and hope the taser misses.…
 

Every way he looked at it, his odds didn't look good.

Reginald smiled.
 
"I see you thinking.
 
Don't try anything—you are finished, so be a good boy, now.
 
Drop your weapon and Fergus here will tie you up…"