Fight for Power by Eric Walters

need to hurry. We’re not going anywhere for quite a while,” Herb said.
    I didn’t like the sound of that.
    Stewart gave another little salute and went off for his break.
    We entered the room. The prisoner was handcuffed to the bed.
    â€œGood afternoon, Quinn,” Herb said.
    Quinn. So he had a name—I’d always just thought of him as the prisoner. I guess that wasn’t so bad. There were other names I could have called him.
    â€œAfternoon.”
    â€œYou don’t mind me calling you by your first name, do you?” Herb asked.
    â€œYou can call me anything you want. You have the guns and the key to the handcuffs.”
    â€œI guess we do. Please call me Herb. And you remember my young friend, Adam?”
    â€œI remember you both. I just didn’t expect to see both the good cop and the bad cop at one time.”
    â€œAnd which one am I?” Herb asked.
    The man laughed, which seemed to surprise even Herb.
    â€œI’ve been told you’re doing better. Are you pleased with your care?” Herb asked.
    â€œAs pleased as a turkey before Thanksgiving,” he said.
    â€œI’m not sure what you mean by that,” Herb replied.
    â€œThe turkey that is being fattened up before the kill. Isn’t that what you’re doing with me?”
    â€œWhy would we be helping you to recover if we were simply going to kill you?” Herb asked.
    â€œProbably because I still have some use. I don’t assume you’re here today to inquire about my health.”
    â€œWell, we are looking for some information that would be helpful,” Herb said.
    â€œAnd why should I help you?” Quinn asked.
    â€œI guess the real question is why should you help us again ?” Herb asked.
    â€œI didn’t tell you much of anything that would be useful, and I’m not going to be tricked again into giving anything more.”
    â€œNobody is trying to trick you. I’m confused why you would be so loyal to people who abandoned you for dead, but even more I am wondering why you’d be loyal to people who no longer exist.”
    â€œYeah, that’s right, you killed them all.”
    â€œThey say seeing is believing—I have something to show you.” From his coat pocket Herb pulled out a stack of Polaroid snapshots and handed the photos to him. I moved around so I could see them. Almost instantly I regretted it. They were images taken of the carnage at the bridge. I wanted to avert my eyes, but I couldn’t. The prisoner flipped through the pictures: the rubble at the bottom of the gully, the ripped-apart bodies, the crushed and shattered vehicles tossed about like toys.
    â€œThis could all just be fake,” he said. His words didn’t match the tremble in his voice or the look on his face. It was like all the blood had drained away. He knew it was real; he just didn’t want to admit it.
    â€œI guess I’m getting old,” Herb said. “In my day that would have been proof enough. I guess what I’m going to ask will convince you that you should talk.” Herb opened his jacket, revealing his pistol, then pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. “Does this look familiar?”
    â€œSo you know how our base is laid out.”
    Herb was holding a hand-drawn map showing a dozen or more buildings, the landing strip, and the perimeter fence. I recognized it but was surprised by the detail. Had somebody gone and scouted it out, or had Herb just remembered it from our flights over top?
    â€œIt would be helpful for us to know what is in each of these buildings,” Herb said.
    â€œIf you’ve destroyed everybody, why don’t you just walk in and find out yourself?” he asked.
    â€œWe haven’t killed everybody. We counted close to five hundred bodies. As you are well aware, when they came out to attack us, they would have left behind a force to protect the base. Subtracting the bodies accounted for,