And the Snow Fell

"I'm not a combatant," he said, before I could say a word, and he was sitting there, totally confident. Entitled. "I demand to be released from this illegal custody. What you're doing is totally illegal and I'm going to go see my lawyer as soon as you release me to file charges and..."

"Stop right there," I said, voice cold as glacial ice because I didn't give a damn and I was weary already, because how could you reason with people like this and they'd proved that with the last elections, when the last vestiges of pretending to abide by the rules had dropped away. They'd stolen the elections and assassinated the President-elect and her family, her husband and those five beautiful kids of hers, bomb in their aircraft.

What a way to go and we'd all hoped she could change things where that last guy had failed, back when I was a kid. He'd tried. God knows he'd tried, tried for two terms but even his own party 'd stabbed him in the back and the backlash had sent them into oblivion for a coupla terms but they'd come back some in the last elections, not that it made any difference now.

Bumped off her Vice-Presidential running mate and his family two days later despite all the extra security and the Speaker of the House had been a Ratdog and they'd appointed the crazy old bat about thirty seconds after the hit because the Speaker was next in line and that's when the shit hit the fan.

Oh yeah, the shit really hit the fan.

Goddamn Ratdogs did not anticipate the amount of shit that'd kick up and they found out they'd bitten of a sight more than they could chew with that coup attempt of theirs. And it was a coup, behind that thin veneer of ostensible legality and enough of us recognized that and it all kicked off. Kicked of big time, and here we were. Here I was, anyhow, by myself now and it sure wasn't anywhere I'd have expected to have been if you'd asked me a year ago and really, it wasn't somewhere I wanted to be either.

And there Fullerton was, handcuffed to that chair and I betcha he didn't want to be in that chair either. It could just as easily have been the other way around. Him sitting here and me sitting there and through the ice in my head I could pretty much tell how this was gonna go down. After a while, you get a feeling for it. Even through the ice, it's not a good feeling, let me tell you, because I didn't enjoy my work. Not anymore.

"I know my rights," Fullerton just didn't know when to stop. "My lawyer's going to sue your asses..."

"Fullerton. Shuddup! You're here. You are now under the jurisdiction of the Second Republic. The Second Republic does not recognize lawyers." I'd said the same thing so many times I didn't have to search for the words and that was good because now, when I searched for words, sometimes they just didn't come and I'd sit there, my mind blank, frozen, until Maddock said something that snapped me out of it.

We didn't recognize lawyers. 'We' being the Second Republic. Well, we did but we executed most of those assholes on sight as soon as we recognized them for what they were. They were on the proscribed list and there weren't that many exceptions if you were on that list, believe me. There were a few other occupations on that proscribed list too, not hard and fast, but general guidelines because they said they expected us to use our heads but I didn't really want to use mine too much, because these days if I did I'd just shoot everyone and I kinda knew that wasn't what they meant so I reined it in.

Mostly.

"You have no rights to sue. You have no rights, period, Fullerton," and my voice was totally calm, because I'd said this so many times before and it was like reading a script. Parroting the words, that was what I was doing and sometimes I'd say the words and have no idea what the sounds were that were coming out of my mouth but they came out anyway and everyone seemed to understand.

"You have one choice here, and one only, Fullerton. Are you willing to swear allegiance to the Second Republic and accept such assignment within the Second Republic's military and labor units that I decide you are suitable for, and I'll tell you right now it'll be a labor camp for you. I've got your record right here and you aren't one of us and you got no redeeming features, but you chose to stay and you didn't resist and you weren't caught with a gun, so you got one decision to make. Just answer yes or no. That's your only choice here, Fullerton. Labor camp. Yes. Or no."

It came out in a monotone and I didn't care either way. I couldn't be bothered giving this one much time. He'd see the light or, well, he wouldn't. Who knows, labor camp might change his mind. Bit of honest work and some re-education and someone else could decide in the end. Not me. But the one hard rule was, it was their decision.

Yes. Or no.

Well, for them there was that one decision. Me, I could make my own decision regardless of theirs, but no need for them to know that. No need at all and if I did make it it'd be fast enough they'd barely know.

"You're nothing but a bunch of fascist criminals and I demand you release me. You'll all pay for this, you fascist scum. I refuse to give you the satisfaction of answering your questions, you nazi bitch. You can throw me in prison, but you'll all pay for this when my lawyers sue your sorry asses..." and he wasn't quite grinning but you could tell that smirk was on the verge of breaking through because he thought he was onto a winner. And in the old days, yeah, probably he woulda been.

Today? Didn't this asshole listen to the news? Theirs or ours? Jesus. I couldn't believe that after all the shit that'd been going down this terminal retard actually said something like that and sat there thinking he was gonna make millions from a wrongful arrest the way some assholes used to and for a moment I felt a flicker of real emotion through the ice and it was almost good to feel anything at all.

Almost.

"You Nazis 're going to pay for this bigtime. Wrongful arrest. Kidnapping. Assault and battery..." Because yeah, he did have a few bruises and yep, this one was on a roll. I mean, Jesus, this guy really had shit for brains and I'd be doing the gene pool a service here. He didn't even try to pretend when the chips were down and I put my head in my hands for a moment before looking up.

"Fullerton," I said, and I knew I sounded just the same. Flat. Dead. Because that's what I was. Dead. Nothing but ice. "The only judicial system here is that of the Second Republic, whose jurisdiction you are now under. I am the sole judge who will decide on you. My decision is final and there is no appeal. The so-called laws of the Rebels are irrelevant. We are as far from being Nazi's as you can possibly imagine and we do not have prisons..." And the rest of that I'd leave to the labor camp and re-education teams and they were doing a good job reintegrating a lot of the misguided and misled into society.

Our society. Our culture. Not theirs.

It would never be theirs again.

"Listen to me you racist white supremacist bitch..."

I held up my hand and he stopped for a moment, but it wasn't him. I was halting Warner in his tracks because he was a second away from butt-stroking the retard's head and I'd give the idiot that chance because the regs said you should give then every chance and he was the first of the day so I wasn't totally pushed for time and for him it was the labor camps or nothing. Nothing sat in its holster with a point four five hollowpoint round chambered.

"Fullerton. We are not racist or sexist or white supremacist as you can see merely by opening your eyes and looking at me and actually seeing me. You have one decision to make here, Fullerton. Labor Camps. Yes, or..."

"I deny your right to imprison me. I deny..."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I said, and I was already tired. Tired of this. Tired of him. Of people like him. "Fullerton..." Because my job was not to exterminate. My job was Salvage. Pass the good ones through. Decide whether the questionable ones were salvageable. And yes, terminate the irrecoverable ones. Me, I preferred salvage because I didn't have to think as much. Put them in the labor camps and or the re-education camps and let the camp teams do their work and I didn't have to make the big decision.

I looked at Fullerton and I made the big decision.

This one was irrecoverable.

"Deny this," I said, not bothering with any more formalities because I'd wasted more than enough time here and I had two hundred more to get through today and if I worked a twelve hour day that was about four minutes per person and Fullerton 'd had his whack of that. Minus a coupla dozen Ratdog militia and from the sounds of it, Roskill was almost done there and that was my lunch break if I felt like eating lunch and Fullerton's time was plain up.

All his remaining time in this world was up.

My 1911 came up, Fullerton's eyes widened, his mouth opened and maybe he wanted to change his mind but tough shit. Too late for that, comrade. My finger eased back on the trigger, my 1911 cracked and jumped in my hand, the point four five hollowpoint round took him right between the eyes and his head exploded like a ripe melon.

There was a reason the guys stood well to each side and yeah, there was a reason I was the one sitting here making the calls and he really did remind me of that teacher and for a moment I felt almost alive. Just for a moment and I wished that asshole teacher would find himself sitting in front of me. Just for a moment, as I eased back on the trigger and the blood and brains sprayed outwards, I forgot about Brad.

"Praise the Lord. Never could stand shit for brains assholes like that," Maddock said, delicately wiping the grey splatter from her mug and flicking it onto the floor before she resumed sipping her coffee.

"Amen," Wilson said, and I could never work out of he was serious or joking. Didn't matter.

"Take the fresh meat away, guys," Maddock said. "Mendoza, get the next one in will ya."

She eyed me. "Want me to get one of the kids in to clean the floor, ma'am?" Because there was puddle of red there now, and not all of it was blood and we always had a couple of the kids on standby with a mop and bucket because they did bleed out quick when you blew half their head off. Always used to amaze me how much blood there was in the human body. Didn't anymore. Now I just looked at the blood and it was red stuff. That was all it was, and I kinda liked red because my Chinese wedding dress'd been red and red was a happy color... or, well, it had been a happy color once.

"No," I said, breathing in, slowly, breathing out, slowly. "Might positively influence the next one and I kinda like the red. Who's next?" Not that I really cared.

"Stuart Cameron and Mrs. Penny Cameron," Mendoza said, reading from the file. "Married. Church wedding. Episcopalian." Church wedding, that was good. Meant I could probably just wave them through unless they were the wide-eyed Jesus loves everyone and welcome sort and those were easy no brainers too. Send them to the re-education camps, and they usually got enough real world experience to change their minds real quick.

"Two kids. Teenagers. One boy. One girl." Mendoza droned on. "No recorded political affiliations. He's worked as an assembly line worker, trade certificate, machinist, currently unemployed. She was a supermarket checker. Terminated without any package last year, no benefits, no package, replaced by an illegal on less than minimum. Says she's got a degree, doesn't say what in. Ratdogs beat the boy up and assaulted the girl."

"Serious?" I asked, voice flat. Broken bones. Rape. That kinda serious. We'd seen a lot of that. More than a few survivors of that sort of ratdog crap in my unit. Gave 'em a good reason to do what we did.

"No," Mendoza said. "Intimidation."

"Bring them in," I said, and after one look at them and they were looking at the blood and brains and little chips of bone on the floor like they were gonna toss their cookies. "Take the cuffs off 'em."

Because I could pretty much tell at a glance these days and the boy, he looked like Brad'd looked when we first met, way back when I was in Elementary School and he'd been about to go into the Army and my mind just froze and went blank and ice shivered through my veins and I closed my eyes.

"Siddown. Keep quiet. Give the Lieutenant a minute," I heard Maddock say and I could hear myself whimpering and I was shaking in the chair and all I could think of was....

...Brad.

My last year in High School and I was keeping my head down because of all the shit from that asshole pervert teacher and mostly hanging out with my bestie, Karen. Her house or mine or dating any guy that came along and looked good, and I still remembered, and memories were all that was left. Almost all.

"This's my brother, Brad, he's back from the 'Stan," Karen'd said, and I kind of vaguely remembered him from way back when I was about ten or something and he'd enlisted. Tall, awkward, kinda gawky older guy and I wasn't interested in guys back then at all, he'd been background noise, but now? Wow, he sure wasn't gawky anymore.

I'd just kind of stood there with my mouth hanging open and I'd just looked at him and he'd looked at me and our eyes 'd met and it was like my heart 'd been stopped and restarted with a jolt and suddenly I was alive in a way I'd never been before and the entire world was just brighter and more vivid around me.

"Brad, you remember Jenny Wong..." Karen started to say but Brad interrupted her.

"Yeah, I remember Jenny Wong," he said, and his eyes never left mine and somehow both my hands were in his and we just looked at each other and looked at each other and everything else just faded away and his eyes were this gorgeous blue and I was sort of vaguely aware of Karen making noises but I wasn't listening to her.

"Hi, Jenny," he said, and my name was like music when he said it.

"Hi, Brad," I said, kind of breathlessly and I knew, I just knew he was the guy and I forgot all about Karen. I forgot about everything except Brad and we went out on our first date that night.

"Not sure I like you dating another gweilo boy, Jenny" my Dad'd said, because I was running around having a panic attack over what to wear and I'd finally settled on something that didn't exactly say "fuck me" because most dates that was all I was in it for but Brad was just something else and I didn't want to look easy but I did want to say "go for it."

My Dad wasn't too excited about my choices but he wasn't going to come right out and say that to me because, back in those days, even Chinese parents were getting the idea that the thought police were listening and after that little lgbtq episode at High School my Mom and Dad were a bit cautious and I had a bit of a free rein and I'd been using it.

"He's not a boy, Dad," I said. Because he wasn't. He was, like, ten years older than me and he was totally perfect however I looked at it.

"So shameless, Jenny. Wear something more modest. And why another gweilo boy. That nice Sidney Chow wants to date you. His mom told me." My Mom was way more upfront and she really didn't like me dating those gweilo boys and I was pretty sure she knew her daughter's precious pearl was long gone but she didn't say anything and neither did I.

"Mom! I wouldn't date Sidney Chow if he was the last guy on, like, earth," I said. I wouldn't have either. Fat little toad, and I wasn't gonna mention it to my Mom but I was sure he was gay anyhow, so he was probably spinning one to his Mom but he'd never dissed me so I wasn't going to drop him in it with his Mom and Dad. Besides, he was a kid. Eighteen. My age, I wasn't gonna date some eighteen year old. Wouldn't know where to start, to start with and if he did, it'd be over before I blinked. No fun.

"He's here," I squealed, because the doorbell had rung and I ran, I really did and when I opened the door, dressed to slay him dead, oh yeah, it was him and he was in jeans and a big warm army jacket thing and the first thing I wanted to do was just fling myself into his arms but I kinda held back outa respect for my Dad and Mom. I'd fling myself into his arms later.

"Hi Jenny," he said, towering over me and he was looking down at me and I was looking up at him and we were just standing there and looking at each other and holding hands and my Dad burst out laughing and I giggled and Brad grinned and I guess that broke the ice because my parents didn't give him the third degree the gweilo guys I dated always got, and it wasn't like Brad was exactly the first gweilo guy I'd dated either.

They asked him inside and gave him a cup of tea instead and that was a first.

"Where're you taking me?" I'd asked, a while later, because I'd been thinking, you know, clubbing or bar or dinner date or movie or something kind of romantic before he got to score and that was what I'd dressed for but he sure wasn't dressed for anything like that at all.

"Got some jeans and a warm old jacket?" he'd asked, looking me up and down and smiling. "Something windproof and outdoorsy."

"Yeah," I said, more or less thinking oh fuck, cheap date, but I didn't care because as soon as I'd seen him at the door, I knew he could take me down to the corner of Washington and Jefferson and sit on the sidewalk with all the druggies and it'd still be perfect because it'd be with him and that was all that mattered.

"Get changed," he said, grinning. "I like it, but tonight you're gonna meet some buddies of mine and you're gonna want some jeans. Preferably old jeans and we're gonna be inside but it's not heated."

"Okay," I said, and I went upstairs and I changed and him and my Dad were talking away and seemed like my Dad actually liked him. 'Specially when I came back downstairs in a pair of old jeans and an even older jacket but yeah, real warm.

"Much better," my Dad grunted. In Cantonese.

Even my Mom nodded. "Not shameless," she said. In Cantonese. "I like this boy."

"Back by midnight," my Dad said. In English. He always said that. Sometimes happened, sometimes didn't. But he always said it.

"Sure thing, Mr. Wong," Brad said. And he did, he had me back before midnight.

"Where 'r we going?" I'd asked, sitting real close to him in the old F150 he'd come home from the Army in and I'd kind of thought about that because bench seat, and it was a bit blatant, but I'd totally made up my mind about him so after about a second of thinking that maybe I didn't want to be too easy, not for him, I just slid right across to sit in the middle, next to him, and if that gave him ideas for later, well, good, because maybe I wouldn't be easy but if he wanted too and he went for it, well, I wasn't going to stop him either.

"Ever been shooting?" he asked, smiling at me.

"No," I said, kind of doubtfully, because you know, guns were baaaaaaad. All the teachers said so. The news said so. Half the kids at school said so and the other half said nothing and I knew my parents didn't like guns. I sort of half liked guns myself but I didn't think I should and I sure wasn't saying so. Not even to my friends. Actually, thinking about it, especially not to my friends.

"Well, you're gonna go shooting tonight," Brad said. "Meet my buddies and I'm going to teach you to shoot." He grinned. "Every girl should know how to shoot."

"Okay," I said, because it sure didn't change what I thought about him and hey, why not. Might be fun.

It was. I'd never shot a handgun or a rifle before. By the end of the evening I had and oh wow, did I love my instructor. Because Brad was real hands on with his instruction and his hands were perfect and no kidding, he taught me to shoot in one evening and I actually really liked it. Like, totally, and his buddies were real fun to. Bunch of guys who'd been in the Army or the Marines and even a couple of air force pukes and when I asked why the guys called them that they just grinned.