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After breakfast, she and Judge headed for the bleachers and sat on the back row all the way to one side. PJ liked to think she could make a quick escape if necessary. Not that it was likely when participation was mandatory for all.
Once everyone was seated, Wiley stepped out in front of everyone. “Good morning, recruits and staff. Let your day be blessed with purpose and the intention of making this country a better place.” He raised his hands as if directing an orchestra.
Everyone chanted as one, “I promise to make a difference.”
PJ chanted with everyone else, fully intending to keep that promise. Just not in the way the others were being led. Her promise would be fulfilled when Augustus and TCW were stopped for good. Not one more man, woman or child would be abducted to staff their army or be trained as assassins.
And who better to take down Augustus than one of his own assassins?
“Please listen and embrace knowledge from Tiberius.” Wiley swept his arm to the side in a theatrical movement, heralding the arrival of Tiberius.
Dressed all in black, their leader had traded his black leather jacket for a long black trench coat that opened down the front, giving the appearance of a stylish cape. He paced the length of the bleachers and back to the middle before stopping and opening his mouth.
“This country was founded on freedom from the oppression of a monarchy on the other side of a vast ocean. Well, I’m here to tell you…freedom is not free!” He shook his fist in the air. “Freedom was paid for by the blood of our men and women, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, grandparents and great-grandparents. Only to have our rights revoked by people we voted into office who aren’t listening to their constituents. They make unilateral decisions without considering democracy. Are we going to stand back and let the government dictate how we live our lives?”
The crowd in the stands shouted. “Hell no!”
Tiberius stopped pacing and faced the bleachers, his dark eyes intense. “We must rise up, take back our rights and eliminate those in the government who would strip them from us. Are you with us?”
As one, the audience shouted, “Hell, yeah!”
“And that means we train harder. We need to be the most physically and mentally fit. We must be expert marksmen, cunning tacticians and have the best team synergy and solidarity.” He stepped back and waved to a figure striding their way from behind him. “The Chosen Way would be nothing without the guidance and genius of Augustus.” He genuflected, backing to the side.
A man dressed entirely in black, wearing a flowing black cape, a black sack-cloth mask that covered the top half of his face and head and a flat-brimmed black hat, strode forward with an air of strength. PJ smothered a giggle. All Augustus needed was a silver sword, and he’d pass for Zorro.
The man’s hand reached across his torso into the folds of the cape. With the woosh of metal on leather, he raised a long, silver sword into the air. “We are The Chosen Way.”
The people in the bleachers raised their fists. “Here! Here!”
“We will not sit back, quietly subservient to the men running the government and our great country into the ground,” their leader called out in a voice that sounded uncannily similar to Tiberius’s.
“You are enlightened, aware and won’t be fooled by propaganda. You are my children, my family by choice, not by accident of birth. You belong with The Chosen Way, where we look out for each other, care for each other and love each other in our shared goals and beliefs.”
“You lie!” a shaky voice called out.
Augustus’s eyebrows descended, his dark eyes darkening even more. He swung around with a flourish of his cape and pinned the owner of the voice with a soul-shriveling stare.
The teenager called Mud because of the color of his hair staggered into the open, wearing a hospital gown, his face pale, his body shaking. “He’s lying.”
Augustus jerked his head toward Tiberius, sending a silent command. Then he addressed the teen. “What have I lied about?” he demanded.
“You say you care. You say we are your children, your family.” The young man stumbled and fell to his knees. “Lies.” His head sagged until his chin met his chest. “I’m sick,” he said, his voice wavering. “I need to be in a hospital, but this man who professes to love us refuses to allow any of us to seek medical attention.”
Tiberius snapped his fingers, and two men hurried forward, grabbed Mud beneath his arms and hurried him toward the camp infirmary.
“Our brother, Mud, is not himself,” Augustus’s lips formed a smile. “Yes, he is ill, but our medical staff is fully capable of meeting his needs and the needs of all the members of our family.”
“They can’t treat sepsis,” Mud called out over his shoulder.
PJ’s breath caught.
“Sepsis is deadly if not treated immediately,” Judge whispered.
“Our medical staff is handling the situation. We have all the supplies and skills necessary to help our friend Mud get well.”
Mud collapsed between the two men, and they had to carry him the rest of the way back to the infirmary.
Judge leaned forward as if to say something to Augustus.
