Free Divided We Fall by Trent Reedy Page A

She knew everything about me. The hell with the governor’s orders. If I didn’t tell my JoBell about something this big in my life, what kind of relationship did we have?
    I put the truck into gear and hit the gas hard. The tires spun out in the gravel at the side of the road.
    “Danny!” She giggled, leaning forward. “You know my dad hates it when you do that.”
    “Listen, JoBell, about Friday night —”
    She waved my words away. “It’s okay. I understand. Your mother needs help sometimes.” She slid her comm out of her bag. “Eleanor?”
    “Good morning, JoBell. With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.” JoBell had chosen the Eleanor Roosevelt digi-assistant.
    “Will you pull up my updated news feeds?”
    “It would be my sincere pleasure to do that for you.”
    JoBell squeezed my arm. “So it’s okay if you need to take some time to help her. You and your mom are two of the most important people in my life, and I love you both for the way you look out for each other.”
    “No, it’s not that.” I was picking at my dry lips before I realized what I was doing and forced my hand back to the steering wheel. “I mean, I really wanted to be with you at the lake.”
    “If you’re worried about TJ, you can relax. Ugh, I spent way too much of Friday night trying to stay away from him. You’d think he could keep his eyes off my chest for five seconds.”
    “TJ was there?” I hadn’t been thinking about that jackwad, but I was now.
    JoBell tapped at her comm without looking at me. “He showed up at Eric’s pontoon on his own Jet Ski with a whole case of beer. The guys couldn’t send him away after that.”
    I’d deal with TJ at football practice. “Actually, I have to tell you something else about —”
    “Geez, would you look at this? Can you believe it?”
    I almost crashed the Beast into a tree. Her comm showed CNN’s prime image, a photo of me in my gas mask, holding my M4, crouched over the dead redheaded girl as she lay bleeding in the street. The headline over it read MASSACRE!
    “This is disgusting,” JoBell said. “I wish more than that guy’s gas mask had been broken. All of these murderers should be in jail right now.” She flipped through news feeds until she settled on her favorite, the NPR site. “Not even one of the soldiers has been arrested!”
    My throat felt like it was closing up. “You know …” I swallowed and cleared my throat. “We don’t have the whole story and —”
    “Shhh, hang on, baby. I want to hear this. That scumbag governor is speaking live right now.” She tapped into the feed. I kept my eyes on the road, wishing I could avoid hearing the governor’s speech too.
    “Cynthia, you’ve got the first question,” Montaine said.
    “Governor Montaine, you’ve made it clear that you do not plan to prosecute any of the soldiers involved in the shootings regardless of the results of the investigations. What do you say to reports that President Rodriguez has asked for disclosure of all the shooters’ identities, and to widespread speculation that the federal Department of Justice may arrest the shooters on charges of civil rights violations?”
    “First,” the governor said, “the ‘shooters,’ as you call them, are American soldiers, Idaho National Guardsmen. And let me make one thing absolutely clear to you and to the rest of America, including the president. As governor of the state of Idaho, I was well within my rights to activate the National Guard soldiers under my command. I gave them a lawful order and they followed it. I will not, under any circumstances, allow my soldiers to be punished for following my orders. When I spoke with President Rodriguez on the telephone Saturday morning, I made it clear to him that I will absolutely not provide the identities of any soldiers involved in Friday night’s incident. I’m Governor James Montaine, and I never abandon the soldiers under my command.”
    I gripped the steering wheel