Free The Survivalist - 02 by Arthur Bradley

him out onto Liberty Street, the main thoroughfare that passed directly in front of the courthouse. Coveralls and the other two guards followed closely behind.
    “Two weeks ago,” she said, “people were literally decomposing on these very sidewalks. No one would move them for fear of contracting the virus. Now look at it.” She spread her arms like the ringleader at a circus.
    Mason looked around. The street was peaceful, and, while it still had some signs of damage and neglect, it was free of bodies. An elderly couple walked down the sidewalk picking up debris. A woman and several young boys were on the opposite side of the street, washing store windows. Other than the men pointing rifles at him, Mason didn’t have any particular objection to what she had done. York was certainly in better shape than the other towns he had passed through.
    “It looks like you’re keeping people busy.”
    “Everyone does their part. It’s one of our rules.”
    “What happens to those who don’t go along with your master plan?”
    “A fair question,” she said. “Let me show you.”
    She led him east on Liberty Street, past a small cemetery. In front of the graveyard stood a tall metal arch with the words “Rose Hill” stamped across the top. A white cloth banner had been hung below the arch, which read: Punishment Yard . At the center of the cemetery was a small wooden stage, on which several four-by-six beams had been used to erect a primitive gallows. A man hung from the noose, swaying from side to side like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.
    “Does that answer your question?” she asked, waiting for his reaction.
    He nodded, not at all surprised by what he was seeing.
    “Our laws are kept very simple,” she said. “And we post all decrees so that no one can hide behind the excuse that they didn’t know what was allowed.”
    “Why the noose?”
    “I know that it must seem a bit barbaric, but public hangings are very symbolic of justice.”
    “And does it work to keep order?”
    She smiled. “You’d be surprised.”
    “What was his crime?” Mason asked, pointing to the dead man.
    “I don’t remember.” She looked to Coveralls, who shrugged. “Whatever it was,” she said, “he had it coming.”
    They walked down the street another quarter mile to a large outdoor strip mall. The buildings remained closed, with many of them boarded up, but an open-air market had been set up in the parking lot. A hundred or more people milled about under large revival tents, bartering for food and other supplies.
    “You see?” she said. “We’ve even set up our own free market. While the town provides the bare necessities, the townspeople are encouraged to trade amongst themselves. Most of it is stuff they stole from other people’s homes before we took over, but I don’t hold that against them.”
    “Impressive.” Mason thought that in many ways, York was Boone’s twin sister—the vain one who insisted that you tell her how beautiful she was.
    They turned and started back in the direction of the courthouse. As they did, a man suddenly broke away from the crowd and sprinted into the street. Several people shouted for him to stop.
    Alexus swung around and motioned for Coveralls to take action. To Mason’s surprise, her lieutenant was surprisingly fast. He broke into a full run, catching the man before he had even reached the far side of the street. He swept the thief’s legs out from under him, causing him to go down hard on the pavement. The man rolled to his back, staring up at Coveralls, and, more important, the rifle in his hands.
    Alexus led Mason and the two remaining guards through the crowd. As they pushed into the makeshift market, everyone retreated to clear a path. The woman who seemed to be the center of attention looked around nervously, trying to decide what was expected of her.
    “What did he take?” asked Alexus.
    “My late husband’s gold watch,” the woman said softly, lowering her head.