Chapter Forty-Seven

In which our heroine has a brush with Zone Z justice and makes a shocking announcement.

As they stepped onto the little boardwalk, Lorinda asked, “What did he do?” It was more to establish some kind of conversational rapport with the sheriff than to have her question answered.

“What did who do?” said the sheriff, temporarily halting the march into his office.

“Him. Back there,” Lorinda said, jerking her head toward the gallows.

“Oh, him,” said the sheriff. “That one was a sad case. He coulda gone far here. But he committed a capital heresy and paid the price. As you can see.”

“A capital heresy?” Stimpy asked. That was a new one on him.

“Yep, a capital heresy,” said the sheriff. “Class A, the worst kind. He denied the existence of Z, orally, verbally, in writing, and in the so-called media. We gave him the opportunity to retract his statements. Many times. But he refused. Gave us no choice but to string him up. Stubborn, stupid bastard.”

“Have you ever met Z?” Lorinda asked.

“You don’t want to meet Z,” he snorted cryptically. Resuming his forward motion, he firmly guided her and Stimpy into the building.

The interior perfectly matched the exterior. The “office” part, on the right-hand side of the room, consisted of two wooden desks, a wooden chair behind each of the desks, two chairs in front of the near desk, and several wooden file cabinets. In bold red letters on a white background, a poster on the wall behind the desks said:

INDEPENDENZ FOR ZONE Z

Z SAYS

IT’S TIME TO ZECEDE FROM THE CCSA

Past the office were some rooms, presumably washrooms, closets, and the like. On the left side, facing the office, was a line of four small jail cells that extended to the rear wall. More accurately, it was one large cell divided into four smaller cells by floor-to-ceiling vertical bars, with each of the small cells having its own barred door facing the office side of the room. Sturdy, beat-up wooden benches were bolted to the floor around the three doorless sides of each cell. 

Only the first cell, the one directly across from the office, was inhabited. The prisoners, seven men and four women, were a scraggly bunch. As the sheriff and his two new charges entered, most of the prisoners in the crowded cell — those who weren’t nodding-out on a bench — scrambled up to the front of the cell to have a better look at the fresh meat. “Calm down and back off y’all,” barked the sheriff. The prisoners eased away from the cell bars while keeping their eyes on the action.

“Now,” said Sheriff Flint, “first I gotta read you your Sacred Rights Warning.” Just then the deputy sheriff — the man Lorinda and Stimpy had seen stringing up the noose and who later pulled the lever — came through the front door. “Did the clean-up squad come, Lukas?”

“Nah,” said the deputy, “the dude’s still hanging out there. Just twisting in the breeze.”

“Damn. Why are they always so slow? We may need that gallows tonight for our new prisoners here.” Then, to Lorinda and Stimpy, “This here’s my deputy, Deputy Lukas.”

Lorinda turned to the deputy, flashed her eyes, and said, “I’m … I’m Randi Howland. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Edward Chapman,” Stimpy muttered reluctantly.

“Search ‘em, Lukas,” the sheriff said, sitting down behind the desk, opening a drawer, and grabbing a rumpled sheet of paper, a pencil, and a small, brightly colored packet.

“You got anything in your pockets, sir?” Deputy Lukas asked Stimpy, who took out his wallet and his com device. As he passed the com to the deputy, he stole a glance at the sheriff who, after removing a small square patch from the packet, peeled off the backing and slapped the patch on the side of his neck. “Lordy,” said the deputy, fondling and staring at Stimpy’s com. “I never seen one like this before. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s just, like, a music player,” Stimpy lied, as he deftly slipped his Citizen Card out of his wallet and into his pocket.

“You ain’t carrying some kind of communicator on you?”

“The CCSA security people took it. They also took our Citizen Cards.” He held out his wallet while sneaking a glance at Lorinda, who instantly caught what he was telling her: Our Citizen Cards say we’re old fogies, so we’d better try not to show them.

“We don’t use CCSA credentials here,” said the deputy, ignoring the wallet and handing the com back to Stimpy. “And you, ma’am? What’s in there?” Lorinda held her bag open for him. He went right for the pink Lady SIG Sauer .22 and held it up in front of his face. “Hey, sheriff, check it out.”

The sheriff, now writing on the sheet of paper, looked up. “What the hell?”

A woman in the cell shouted, “I want that little toy!”

“And I guess them CCSA folks took your communicator too?” the deputy said.

“That’s right,” said Lorinda.

“Okay,” the deputy said, dropping the pink gun back into Lorinda’s bag. “Can’t see you doing any harm with that thing.”

“Sit down,” Sheriff Flint said. Lorinda and Stimpy sat on the chairs in front of his desk. The sheriff opened the drawer again, found a length of heavy white string and two pairs of handcuffs, and slid the handcuffs across the desk. Lukas cuffed Lorinda’s left wrist to her chair and Stimpy’s right wrist to his. “Fix up cell two for them,” the sheriff said. “I think they’ll be here for a while if I don’t hang ‘em first.” Deputy Lukas moseyed off to a closet. Closing his eyes, the sheriff said, “This stuff is the best.”

The woman who’d shouted about the gun now shouted, “Give me a patch!” Everyone ignored her.

The sheriff opened his eyes and held up the little packet so Lorinda and Stimpy could read its swirly logo: ZTONED THC PATCHES XTRA ZTRONG. “We just started a new manufacturing operation here. Closed down the tee-shirt factory and put everyone to work on this fine product. Pretty soon we hope to be shipping all over the CCSA.” He closed his eyes again. “It’s the strongest and the quickest anyone’s ever seen. And I’m proud to say that I helped with the formulation.”

“He owns the company!” the deputy chimed in.

“Well, I’m a part-owner. It’s only right, since I thought of it. Also, I’m the top law-enforcement and legal authority here in this enclave, so I’m owed a piece of the action. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” Lorinda said. Stimpy nodded and tried to smile.

“He’s like the CEO of  Zone Z,” the deputy said proudly.

The sheriff nodded to Lukas, then addressed Lorinda and Stimpy. “Down to business. You should know that this is just a little jailhouse, not a real prison. It’s more what you call a drunk tank.”

This was instantly met by catcalls from the cell and one deep voice grumbling, “I ain’t drunk no more.”

“Zip it, Howie,” the sheriff shot back. Then, to Lorinda and Stimpy: “We don’t believe in long-term incarceration here in Zone Z.” He paused for effect. “That gallows out there gets a lot of use.”

“Don’t forget the firing squad,” one of the women interjected.

“Yeah, well we don’t do that so much anymore,” said Sheriff Flint. “Ammunition ain’t cheap.”

“Also, we had that accident,” called the deputy from behind the closet door.

“So what I’m saying,” said the sheriff, “is that one way or the other you won’t be here long. I’ll either send you back to the CCSA, hang you by the neck, or …” He thought about it for a moment, then, surprisingly, giggled. “I don’t know what I might do. Maybe I’ll give you a loyalty oath and make you my deputies.” He cracked up, as did some of the prisoners. “But,” he said, pulling himself together, “I’ll probably just hang you. Anyway, I need to read you your Sacred Rights Warning.” To Deputy Lukas, he called, “I put some new stuff in the Sacred Rights, Lukas. You should listen.”

Turning his eyes to the sheet of paper on his desk, he read aloud: “‘You have the right to an attorney if you can afford one and if you can find one who will work for you. You have the right to remain silent. I have the right and obligation to do whatever is necessary to make you talk. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law or right here in my jailhouse. Irregardless of your guilt or innocence, any blasphemy against Z will incur the death penalty.’ That’s why we had today’s hanging. Did I tell you that already? ‘And aside from everything else, I, Sheriff Jesse Flint, am sovereign in my jailhouse and throughout this Zone Z, and, under the auspices of our leader Z, have the right to do whatever I deem necessary to preserve our freedom and our way of life here in our precious enclave, up to and including doing whatever I deem necessary to prisoner’s name here’ — you know your names, I don’t need to say ‘em ‘—including, as heretofore mentioned or suggested, hanging you with a noose until you are legally dead. Z is here, there is nothing to fear, live the dream, believe in the Scheme. Amen.’ Now put your right hands over your hearts and repeat after me.”

Stimpy and Lorinda glanced dubiously at each other, then covered their hearts with their right hands.

“I swear to Z and Jesus Christ that I agree,” the sheriff intoned.

“I swear to Z and Jesus Christ that I agree,” Lorinda and Stimpy repeated, struggling to keep from laughing.

Several of the prisoners clapped and cheered. “That was a good one, sheriff,” the deputy said as he opened the door to cell number two. “I like your new material. It gets better every time.” He tossed two rubber pads and some sheets onto a bench in the cell.

“So,” said the sheriff, “tell me what you did to get the CCSA so pissed off at y’all?”

Stimpy cleared his throat, cast a glimpse at Lorinda, and nervously began, “Randi and I, we … she got pregnant, you see, and she had just gotten a job promotion, she was about to get very busy, and she really wasn’t ready to have a baby. So then the CCSA Domestic Security Force grabbed her because … they were worried that she wanted to have a reset. An abortion.” He paused, not sure which way to take the story.

The prisoners who were standing were now pressed against the bars staring at the back of Stimpy’s head. Those who were sitting were getting up and migrating toward the bars; those still on a bench were rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and trying to focus. Lorinda looked over her shoulder at the prisoners. They were obviously sympathetic, and a few gave her big grins, affirmative nods, or thumbs-up.

She gave them a wan smile.

“We don’t even know how they knew,” Stimpy said.

“Oh they know!” one of the women prisoners said. The crowd mumbled its agreement.

Lorinda’s gaze had slid off the prisoners and was now aimed at the floor. Her expression went blank. She was contemplating an idea that — like all her best ideas — had come of its own accord, out of nowhere, seeming both superficially crazy and absolutely brilliant.

“They caught her,” Stimpy continued. Then he paused to swallow hard as he noticed the sheriff absentmindedly fashioning the piece of string into a noose. Stimpy resumed, “but … but she’s an incredibly strong person, and she escaped. Which isn’t easy to do. And that’s when I decided to help her get out of the CCSA —”

“Hold on, Johnny,” Lorinda interrupted. Stimpy looked at her. There was a touch of panic in his eyes.

“Johnny?” The sheriff looked up, suddenly alert. “What happened to whatsisname, Edward Chap-thingy?”

 Lorinda turned back to the sheriff and said, “Can I be honest with you, Sheriff Flint?”

“You better be.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Only if it don’t involve breaking one of Z’s rules,” he said with a smile.

She turned to the cell and addressed the prisoners: “Can you guys keep our secret?” They roared in affirmation. She turned back to the sheriff. “We’ve been lying for so long. I’m just tired of lying. I need to be honest. To finally be honest. My real name …” She turned to look at the prisoners, then looked back at the sheriff.

“What’s your real name?” another voice called out.

“My real name,” Lorinda said, “is Lorinda. Lorinda Moon.” Stimpy gasped. “It’s all right, honey. I know that these people are our friends.” She gave the sheriff her biggest “Welcome to PumpJack's” smile, then turned and flashed it at the prisoners. “Yes,” she said, leaning her head in Stimpy’s direction. “He’s right. I’m pregnant. It’s his baby. This man, this beautiful man, is my husband. His name is …” She looked at Stimpy, whose eyes were wide. She looked back at the prisoners, who were rapt. “No,” she said, letting her head sag. “I’m sorry,” she stage-whispered. “This is all a mistake. I really … I can’t say any more.”

The prisoners exploded in “Say more”s and “Please”s and “Tell us”s and “Don’t stop”s and, from Howie, the man with the basso profundo voice, “You can trust us, dear.”

“Can you really really keep a secret?” Lorinda asked. They nodded and cheered. “Do you really mean it.” They cheered much louder. Deputy Lukas was now standing in front of the prisoners, cheering along with them. “All right,” she said, turning back to Sheriff Flint. “My husband’s name is …” She turned to Stimpy, saying, “Don’t worry, Johnny. I know we can trust the people of Zone Z.”

Then, loud and clear, she said: “My husband’s name is … John Fitzgerald Kennedy Junior!”

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NEXT: Chapter Forty-Eight. In which our heroine continues her journey in a Cadillac limousine.

PREVIOUSLY in THE SPLIT!

Chapter One. In which we meet our heroine and her dainty little gun.

Chapter Two. In which Lorinda demonstrates her bartending virtuosity.

Chapter Three. In which our heroine receives a promotion and prepares to celebrate.

Chapter Four. In which our heroine proves herself an immoral citizen of the CCSA.

Chapter Five. In which our heroine goes to church.

Chapter Six. In which Lorinda contemplates her future, ignores Pastor Doug, and gets something unexpected from Emmie.

Chapter Seven. In which Lorinda learns something that threatens her big dream.

Chapter Eight. In which our heroine freaks out.

Chapter Nine. In which our heroine says the forbidden word as an unwelcome visitor arrives.

Chapter Ten. In which two unpleasant men perturb our heroine.

Chapter Eleven. In which our heroine seems to have found a solution to her problem.

Chapter Twelve. In which that black truck follows our heroine all the way to Austin.

Chapter Thirteen. In which Lorinda lashes out.

Chapter Fourteen. In which our heroine gets a taste of life in the big city.

Chapter Fifteen. In which our heroine meets a fellow bartender and has a drink.

Chapter Sixteen. In which Lorinda once again takes a swing with her little pink gun.

Chapter Seventeen. In which our heroine prepares to escape.

Chapter Eighteen. In which our heroine gets in a truck with a couple of slightly scary strangers.

Chapter Nineteen. In which our heroine learns that she’s got a long way to go.

Chapter Twenty. In which our heroine spends a night in a gas station.

Chapter Twenty-One. In which our heroine learns about the enclaves of the CCSA.

Chapter Twenty-Two. In which our heroine learns way too much about the enclaves of the CCSA.

Chapter Twenty-Three. In which our heroine experiences liberty run amok.

Chapter Twenty-Four. In which our heroine’s escape is disastrously derailed.

Chapter Twenty-Five. In which our heroine finds herself back at the gas station.

Chapter Twenty-Six. In which Stimpy, on the road to Revelation, reveals Ren’s real name.

Chapter Twenty-Seven. In which our heroine manages not to crash the car as she learns more about CCSA enclaves.

Chapter Twenty-Eight. In which Lorinda and Stimpy enter Revelation.

Chapter Twenty-Nine. In which our heroine has pizza for the first time and readies herself to be an old fogie.

Chapter Thirty. In which our heroine finally gets to experience the Rapture Ride.

Chapter Thirty-One. In which our heroine’s long-awaited Rapture Ride experience is interrupted by some unwelcome visitors.

Chapter Thirty-Two. In which our heroine triggers the Rapture…or something.

Chapter Thirty-Three. In which Lorinda and Stimpy slip out of Revelation under cover of pandemonium.

Chapter Thirty-Four. In which our heroine trades arms for freedom.

Chapter Thirty-Five. In which our heroine does a bit of tactical shooting.

Chapter Thirty-Six. In which our heroine heads for the greens in a chartreuse truck.

Chapter Thirty-Seven. In which our heroine hears a ghastly story on the way to the enclave of golf.

Chapter Thirty-Eight. In which our heroine begins a crash course in the plutocratic lifestyle.

Chapter Thirty-Nine. In which our heroine continues her crash course in the plutocratic lifestyle, then crashes.

Chapter Forty. In which Lorinda and Stimpy tour the President Donald J. Trump Memorial Christian Golf Resort and Beautiful Residences.

Chapter Forty-One. In which our heroine has to leave the Donald J. Trump Memorial Christian Golf Resort and Beautiful Residences right quick.

Chapter Forty-Two. In which our heroine hurtles toward another scary place.

Chapter Forty-Three. In which our heroine remains under a bedspread as her fame grows.

Chapter Forty-Four. In which our heroine finally emerges from under the golden bedspread.

Chapter Forty-Five. In which our heroine unexpectedly encounters her nemesis.

Chapter Forty-Six. In which our heroine is set free, then captured again.

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