my
friend. We are all dead.”
“Shut
your beak!”
“Do
you think you are alive? You are just Brandon Ward’s zombies. You died the day
you joined the CIB.”
“In
the name of―”
“In
the name of who? Brandon Ward?”
One
of the agents punched Freddie, breaking his nose. “If you say one more word, I
swear I will kill you,” the agent shouted, pointing his rifle at Freddie’s
head.
“Come
on shoot me,” Freddie taunted. “When you go home go and tell your wife and
children that…” He broke off in mid sentence when the agent kicked him. “…today
daddy shot an unarmed man in the name of Patriot Brandon Ward?” Freddie
finished his sentence, wincing with pain.
The
agent was about to shoot Freddie when his superior stopped him. “Don’t kill
him,” he ordered. “I want to kill him too but the supreme leader said he has a
special elimination plan in store for all rebels.
*
* * * *
Although
Christopher Ward owned six houses and a ranch, he spent most of his time at the
First Building. Christopher Ward was one of the few people Brandon Ward truly
loved. There was nothing the president would not do for his brother. Christopher
was the only person Brandon allowed to criticize him. The supreme leader
enjoyed his brother’s company so much that he had given him a whole wing of the
First Building with five floors. Brandon enjoyed chatting with Christopher in
private. Although he enjoyed the titles that came with his position as the President
of the Ten Districts of America, Brandon Ward sometimes missed being called by
his first name. Apart from his wife Cassandra, Christopher was the only person
on first name basis with the supreme leader. In fact, Christopher was the only
one who called him Brandon. His wife called him darling Brandon, dear Brandon
or sweet Brandon but never a simple Brandon.
Today
the two brothers smoked cigars as they played cards.
“Let’s
discuss the logistics of the tournament to eliminate the rebels in our
prisons,” Brandon said.
“Tournament,”
Christopher laughed. “What an interesting choice of words. Yes, let’s discuss
the tournament. I think we must release two pairs of prisoners at a time. We
give the prisoners a two-hour head start before we set the police after them
with orders to kill. If my prisoners last longer than yours, I win the game and
vice versa.”
“Every
game needs rules, Christopher,” the supreme leader said.
“That’s
when you come in, Brandon. You are better than anyone else when it comes to
making rules.”
“Rule
number one… stay alive,” Ward said. “Rule number two… the cops we set after the
prisoners cannot call for reinforcements.”
“Are
we going to allow the fugitives to kill cops?”
“Yes,”
said Brandon Ward. “The fugitives will be fighting for their lives. If the cops
are foolish enough to be killed by unarmed fugitives wearing trackers let them
get killed.”
“How
shall we select the players?” Christopher Ward asked.
“Prisoners
have prison numbers, don’t they? We put the prison numbers in a hat and you
pick your pair and I pick mine. We have more than fifty rebels and that means
at least twelve games for us.”
“That
will be plenty of betting,” Christopher said. “Get ready for some walloping,
big brother.”
“I’m
going to put an end to your winning streak, Christopher. You will see.”
“Time
will tell,” Christopher said cockily. “But I have a feeling that the tournament
will make me rich.”
“Just
because you won two consecutive football bets on Cassandra’s birthday you now
think you are invincible.”
*
* * * *
The
prisoners in cell 13 held their breaths when a guard unlocked the door and
shoved in a protesting Freddie.
“You
killed my friends you sons of bitches!” Freddie shouted. “You and your
president are just a gang of murderers.”
At
first, Michael was happy to see Freddie. His friend hadn’t betrayed him! The
joy vanished when he realized that Freddie had
friend. We are all dead.”
“Shut
your beak!”
“Do
you think you are alive? You are just Brandon Ward’s zombies. You died the day
you joined the CIB.”
“In
the name of―”
“In
the name of who? Brandon Ward?”
One
of the agents punched Freddie, breaking his nose. “If you say one more word, I
swear I will kill you,” the agent shouted, pointing his rifle at Freddie’s
head.
“Come
on shoot me,” Freddie taunted. “When you go home go and tell your wife and
children that…” He broke off in mid sentence when the agent kicked him. “…today
daddy shot an unarmed man in the name of Patriot Brandon Ward?” Freddie
finished his sentence, wincing with pain.
The
agent was about to shoot Freddie when his superior stopped him. “Don’t kill
him,” he ordered. “I want to kill him too but the supreme leader said he has a
special elimination plan in store for all rebels.
*
* * * *
Although
Christopher Ward owned six houses and a ranch, he spent most of his time at the
First Building. Christopher Ward was one of the few people Brandon Ward truly
loved. There was nothing the president would not do for his brother. Christopher
was the only person Brandon allowed to criticize him. The supreme leader
enjoyed his brother’s company so much that he had given him a whole wing of the
First Building with five floors. Brandon enjoyed chatting with Christopher in
private. Although he enjoyed the titles that came with his position as the President
of the Ten Districts of America, Brandon Ward sometimes missed being called by
his first name. Apart from his wife Cassandra, Christopher was the only person
on first name basis with the supreme leader. In fact, Christopher was the only
one who called him Brandon. His wife called him darling Brandon, dear Brandon
or sweet Brandon but never a simple Brandon.
Today
the two brothers smoked cigars as they played cards.
“Let’s
discuss the logistics of the tournament to eliminate the rebels in our
prisons,” Brandon said.
“Tournament,”
Christopher laughed. “What an interesting choice of words. Yes, let’s discuss
the tournament. I think we must release two pairs of prisoners at a time. We
give the prisoners a two-hour head start before we set the police after them
with orders to kill. If my prisoners last longer than yours, I win the game and
vice versa.”
“Every
game needs rules, Christopher,” the supreme leader said.
“That’s
when you come in, Brandon. You are better than anyone else when it comes to
making rules.”
“Rule
number one… stay alive,” Ward said. “Rule number two… the cops we set after the
prisoners cannot call for reinforcements.”
“Are
we going to allow the fugitives to kill cops?”
“Yes,”
said Brandon Ward. “The fugitives will be fighting for their lives. If the cops
are foolish enough to be killed by unarmed fugitives wearing trackers let them
get killed.”
“How
shall we select the players?” Christopher Ward asked.
“Prisoners
have prison numbers, don’t they? We put the prison numbers in a hat and you
pick your pair and I pick mine. We have more than fifty rebels and that means
at least twelve games for us.”
“That
will be plenty of betting,” Christopher said. “Get ready for some walloping,
big brother.”
“I’m
going to put an end to your winning streak, Christopher. You will see.”
“Time
will tell,” Christopher said cockily. “But I have a feeling that the tournament
will make me rich.”
“Just
because you won two consecutive football bets on Cassandra’s birthday you now
think you are invincible.”
*
* * * *
The
prisoners in cell 13 held their breaths when a guard unlocked the door and
shoved in a protesting Freddie.
“You
killed my friends you sons of bitches!” Freddie shouted. “You and your
president are just a gang of murderers.”
At
first, Michael was happy to see Freddie. His friend hadn’t betrayed him! The
joy vanished when he realized that Freddie had
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