Free Frontier Justice - 01 by Arthur Bradley

Father, but if it’s the end of times, shouldn’t you have been called up into heaven? Revelations and all that?”
    The priest smiled and rubbed his chin.
    “I must confess that I’ve wondered about that myself. I can only assume that the Lord left a few of the faithful behind to do His will. I feel quite honored actually, as should you.”
    “Me?”
    “Of course. Nothing happens purely by chance. You are here for a reason no less important than my own.”
    “Fair enough. I suppose we’ll each do our part, whatever that may be.”
    The priest leaned in close like he was about to share a secret with an old friend.
    “My part will be to heal the sick, bless the dead, and help feed the hungry. What will yours be, Marshal?”
    Mason didn’t respond for a moment, but the priest stood patiently awaiting his answer.
    Finally, he said, “I suppose I’ll stand in the way of those who would do harm. It’s what I do.”
    Father Paul bowed his head slightly.
    “A peacekeeper. God surely has need of such men in these troubled times. May He bless you on your mission of justice as He does me on my mission of mercy.”
    “Amen to that,” Mason said, wondering what his “mission of justice” might ultimately require.

CHAPTER
    9
    R ay Foster didn’t get back up. Tanner tried to coax him to his feet from a safe distance, but the man just waived him on. “Go,” he breathed. “Just go.”
    There seemed no reason to argue the point, so he left Ray lying in the prison yard. How long he would live, Tanner couldn’t say. But he suspected it wouldn’t be long.
    He walked out the front gate of the prison, a slave who had suddenly awoke to discover that he had been emancipated. The weather was comfortable, and his orange jumpsuit was enough to keep away the chill. Not having anywhere else to go, Tanner walked east along Renfroe Road in the direction of a large plume of black and gray smoke. Whatever was on fire had plenty of gas and oil to keep it going.
    After walking about a half mile, he came upon a site more appropriate to the streets of Mogadishu than eastern Alabama. A UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter had crashed into the roof of a Church’s Chicken fast-food restaurant. Bright yellow flames licked out from the wreckage, although the blaze was clearly on the way to burning itself out. The building was in pretty good shape, from the outside at least. Soot-colored smoke billowed between the small row of restaurants and shops, as if an old Indian medicine man was enjoying his favorite pipe of kinnikinnick.
    The two intersecting roads were deserted save for a few cars that had either been abandoned or become the final resting places of their owners. The small community was as quiet as a graveyard, not a single soul standing around gawking at the most unusual sight.
    A young girl, perhaps ten or twelve years of age, stumbled to the edge of the roof, doubled over and coughing. She was standing dangerously close to the edge, obviously trying to escape the heat of the fire. Tanner watched to see if anyone else would appear on the roof. No one did.
    The girl looked up and saw him. She started motioning frantically for his help. He hurried across the street and stood next to the brick wall of the restaurant. She was about ten feet above him, teetering on the edge of the roof.
    “Help me,” she cried, coughing.
    He looked around but didn’t see anything that could easily be moved to lift him up. Seeing no other option, he said, “Hang off the edge and drop. I’ll try to catch you.”
    “I can’t. It’s too far.”
    “Suit yourself,” he said, turning to leave.
    “Wait! What are you doing?”
    He turned back.
    “If you want my help getting down, you’ll have to hang and drop.”
    “Are you sure you can catch me?”
    Tanner shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never caught a girl falling from a burning building. But I’d say the odds are better than fifty-fifty.”
    From the disappointed look on her face, she apparently