A (very) short story, set in the world of the currently-stalled graphic novel project of myself and my brother.
Filed under: writing
“In the case of Adam Byrd versus the State of Alaska…”
Adam Byrd allowed his lips to curl into a smug smile. It was a new place, a new time, but it was all the same. There just wasn’t enough evidence to put him away – he was sure of it. Of course, the lack of a jury was new…
The judge continued without stopping.
“I hearby find the defendant guilty of sexual assault and murder. These charges each carry a class six sentence, to be carried out immediately, per section three-three-two-five-one-seven-one-one of the Alaska Emergency Code. This session is adjourned.”
Adam’s mind flickered in confusion, his smug smile fading in an instant. He found himself yelling.
“What the fuck was that? This ‘trial’ didn’t even last a week! Give me a public defender! I want an appeal!”
Nobody seemed to hear him as he was dragged out.
—
The cops remained silent underneath their gas masks, as they loaded Adam into the rear of the squad car and took off. The driver turned off the police radio – for a while, all they heard was the hum of the engine, the grind of the tires underneath.
The prisoner couldn’t take it, after a half-hour. “Hey, pigs! You taking me to some other facility? Borough jail isn’t this way.”
A voice came from underneath the driver’s mask, though he didn’t turn to look. “Sure. We’re taking you to a different facility,” he said, with an edge of pained sarcasm.
“Good, because I want to meet with my lawyer. You guys sure handle shit fast and loose here, I’m entitled to legal council.”
The other cop turned, the windows of his mask reflecting Adam’s face. The name “LEWIS” was embroidered over his left pocket.
“You really never asked how the law works in this state?” asked Lewis.
Adam was incredulous. “What?”
“You never thought to, you know, look into the legal system? Given… current events and the like?”
“Hey, fuck you. I know my rights.”
Lewis tourned around, shaking his head. “Jeez-us. You’re one stupid ‘chako motherfucker.”
The prisoner wasn’t sure what the cop meant.
—
The squad car pulled over into the snowy clearing by a gravel pit, freshly thawed by the start of spring. The driver and Lewis stepped out, Lewis turning to open the back door.
“Are we stopped for a piss?” asked Adam.
“Get out.” was the only reply.
His legs and arms both cuffed, Adam shuffled out of the backseat. After a few bound steps toward the pit, he turned his head. Lewis, arms folded, was simply leaning against the car – his arms folded, mask expressionless.
The driver, whose nametag read “ROBERTS,” was screwing a black cylinder onto his sidearm.
“Woah, guys. I’m not going to try any shit. Is one of you going to help me with my pants though?”
“On your knees.” The voice came from Roberts.
“What?” Adam’s voice trembled, just slightly, enough to betray his belligerence.
Roberts tightened the cylinder, let his hand drop with the sidearm. “On your knees, prisoner. Now.”
His arms too bound to fight, his legs too constricted to run, Adam knelt. “What the fuck is this? Are you sick faggots going to mak-”
A bag came over his head, cutting his speech and vision short. He felt a boot land painfully on his ankles, heard Roberts’ voice behind him.
“By order of the state courts, per section three-three-two-five-one-seven-one-one of the Emergency Code, this class six sentence will be carried out.”
Lewis’s voice from further away. “We’d ask for your last words, but I don’t care enough to write them down.”
Adam flew into a panic. “Wait, you can’t do this! It’s illegal!” He began to scream for help.
Roberts pulled the trigger.
—
“Dibs on his shoes.”
Lewis began to pull the white rubber boots off of Adam’s remains, as Roberts kicked white snow over a quietly-growing red puddle. “Jesus Christ, Wes. Have some respect for the dead.”
“Given what he was charged with… no. Doesn’t seem right.” Lewis finished removing the boots before turning his mask to face Roberts. “Besides, these’ll trade well. Probably feed my kids for a week.” He began to root through the dead man’s pockets.
“Trading for food is illegal.” Roberts retrieved a length of rope and a pair of cinderblocks from the car.
“So report me if you care so much, Dave. Everyone does it.” Lewis pulled a couple of gold coins from the corpse’s pockets. “You want his money?”
Roberts was silent for a moment. “Yeah, alright. ‘Chako bastard doesn’t need it anymore.”
Flipping the coins to Roberts, Lewis removed the cuffs from the body, and the two wordlessly set about tying Adam’s body to the concrete blocks.
As they hefted what was left of Adam Byrd, and stepped toward the pit, Roberts glanced at Lewis. “You ever worry about the verdict?”
“You were there, man. This guy was a sick fuck. He couldn’t be any guiltier if he tried – bet he was that SoCal Strangler from a few years back.”
“Yeah, I know.” The two heaved the body, watched behind their expressionless masks as it splashed in the pit and quickly sank.
“But what about the others?”