Wonkette Presents THE SPLIT: Chapter Forty-Six

In which our heroine is set free, then captured again.

Janelle Stark was in an expansive mood as she steered Lorinda around the side of the Zotel toward the rear parking lot. “I’m happy to see you graduated up to a real weapon,” Stark said. “That little pink thing you had …” She trailed off into a mirthless chuckle.

“Your bandage looks good,” Lorinda said. Stark ignored that as she pushed her captive in the direction of the nearer of the two black Gelandewagens that were parked on the far side of the Chartreuse Xiaomi Lumberjax. “That’s a nice truck you have, Moon,” Stark said, giving the plastic cuffs securing Lorinda’s wrists behind her back a nasty little shake. “Too bad for you our satellite found it in about ten seconds.”

“Fuck you,” Lorinda spat.

“Oh, my, my, my,” Stark said. “You’re a lucky girl. If you weren’t with child I’d be slapping you silly.”

If I weren’t with child, Lorinda thought, I’d be behind the bar at PumpJack's and not out here in the middle of godforsaken nowhere. Just then Stimpy, his hands also cuffed behind his back, half ran, half stumbled past her, barely managing to avoid falling on his face. She turned to see that big ghoul Skippy grinning with sadistic satisfaction. “Of course,” said Stark, ”there’s no reason Skippy can’t have his way with your little friend here, whoever the hell he is.” The big guy mimed dusting off the lapels of his dark suit, caught up to Stimpy, and yanked up on the plastic cuffs, causing Stimpy to yip in pain. “You take him in the other truck,” Stark said. “She’ll come with me in this one.”

Lorinda, nearly in tears, locked eyes with Stimpy and mouthed “I’m sorry” just as Brad opened the rear door of the first G-Wagen, popped his still-bandaged head out, and shouted, “Who is he, Lorinda?”

“Oh, Jesus,” Lorinda said. Stimpy laughed. Skippy gave him another yank.

“Move over,” said Stark to Brad, pushing down on Lorinda’s head and easing her into the back seat. “And don’t touch her.”

“But I love her,” Brad whined.

“Shut up, Brad,” Lorinda and Stark said in unison.

“I’m bringing you and your friend to the local jail for a day or two,” Stark said, turning to face Lorinda from the front seat as the two unmarked but unmistakably obvious CCSA vehicles burbled slowly toward the sheriff’s office. “Of course I could extract you right now. I have a chopper waiting just outside of this stupid enclave. But I want to do it right. I want to have a big procession, a parade, if you will, all the way from here to the breeding center in Baton Rouge. The BRBC. It’s probably even nicer than the one in Austin. You’ll love it there. Here’s the thing, Moon. You’re getting famous. Your picture’s on billboards all over the country.”

“Some of them are calling you a hero,” Brad said. He frowned and looked at Stark. “I guess those were hacked, huh?”

“Shut up, Brad,” Stark said through gritted teeth. She turned back to Lorinda. “But yes, some of them think you’re heroic for endangering innocent life and breaking the law, and I want to correct that misunderstanding. I want everybody in the country to see what happens when wicked young women get out of line. So I need a little time to advertise this. I want thousands — millions — of people looking at you along the parade route.” Then, almost to herself, “Maybe I’ll have to leave you in jail here for a week to get it organized.” She gave Lorinda a cold smile. “You might find it interesting here. These people are insane. I wonder what they’ll make of you …”

The trucks stopped in front of the sheriff’s office. Out the window Lorinda could see that a crowd of sixty people, maybe even eighty or a hundred, had gathered around the gallows across the street. So that’s where everyone is, she thought. A man of around thirty, in torn black pants and a black tee-shirt, his hands, like hers, secured behind his back, stood straight and still in the center of the platform. Lorinda’s driver stepped out, opened her door, and gestured — surprisingly politely, she thought — for her to get out. As she stood up, she saw a man in a tan law-enforcement uniform mount the platform, approach the prisoner, grab the dangling rope, and fit the noose at the end of the rope around the young man’s neck. “Y’all know I’m innocent,” the young man yelled, his voice easily carrying to Lorinda and beyond. “Just remember this when they come for you.” He said more but Lorinda couldn’t hear him as he was drowned out by the crowd hissing and booing and yelling “Shut up!” Finally, he nodded at the other man, who stepped down from the platform, pulled the rope taut, and reached for a big lever attached to the side of the platform.

“That could be you,” said Stark, who had come around the truck. She grabbed Lorinda’s shoulder and guided her toward the sheriff’s office. But her curiosity got the better of her: She stopped and turned to face the gallows. Lorinda studied her captor’s face, which lit up with joy at the sound of a wooden thud followed by a softer thud. A moment later came the collective gasp of the crowd, followed instantly by cheers. Still grinning, Stark stepped behind Lorinda, grabbed the plastic cuffs, and frog-marched her forward.

“By what authority are y’all here?” The sheriff had emerged from his office. A lanky man with a big white mustache, he wore a tan uniform, a big, shiny, five-pointed star on his chest, a tan cowboy hat, and a pair of gleaming six-shooters in the holsters on his hips. Whoever designed the Wild West building had apparently designed him as well. He came to a halt in front of Lorinda and addressed Stark, making it obvious that, in the unfolding scenario, his was the only authority that mattered.

“By the authority vested in me as a Senior Domestic Security Officer of the Confederation of Conservative States of America,” Janelle Stark said contemptuously. “I and my team have full overriding authority to be here.”

The sheriff theatrically spat on the ground before speaking. “Full overriding authority?” He smiled. “Full overriding authority. Enforced by what? How many are you, four? Five?” He noticed the towering Skippy. “Or is it three and a circus freak? Don’t really matter, does it?” He looked past the black trucks and nodded approvingly. Stark followed his gaze. Behind her, the gallows crowd was scuttling across the street. They were all waving guns. As if they’d rehearsed it, they spread out until they formed a dense semicircle around the trucks, the CCSA security crew, Lorinda and Stimpy, and the sheriff. Many of them aimed their guns at Janelle Stark, quickly figuring out that she was their target.

“Now,” said the sheriff to Janelle, “I suggest you explain what the hell you’re doing in our precious enclave. The only enclave, I ought to remind you, that don’t take no shit from the CCSA government or any other government.”

“I’m here to arrest this woman for …” Stark was having trouble putting her words together in this unaccustomed situation. “To arrest this woman for seeking to terminate her pregnancy. To bring her to one of our breeding centers. And likewise to arrest her accomplice.”

“I see. Well, that’s very interesting because that’s not the way the law works here in Zone Z.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Stark said, realizing that there was no point arguing with a crazy person, or a whole enclave of crazy people.

“I’m going to keep them here in protective custody, in my jailhouse, while we figure out what this is all about. Now remove their cuffs and get the hell out of my enclave.” Stark was frozen in indecision. “Or,” said the sheriff, “we can walk you across the street …” he paused for effect “… and hang the whole lot of you. Although” — here he rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly in thought — “we only got one noose up there right now. So it might take a while.” Then he brightened, grinned at his townspeople, and said, “But we got plenty of time.”

The crowd of armed Zone Z citizens cheered wildly. “And I’ll tell you what,” the sheriff continued, clearly enjoying this, “just set down those nice new military weapons you got, right down in front of you. Real gentle-like. We could always use a few more weapons around here. ‘Specially when folks like y’all come nosing around.”

The townspeople cheered again and crowded in a little closer. Stark signaled to her people that they should do as the sheriff said. She placed her gun on the ground, patted it goodbye, stood up, and gave Lorinda’s handcuffs a painful little twist that caused her to yelp in pain. In retribution, Lorinda fiercely clapped  her wrists together, mashing Stark’s fingers between the two sides of the sturdy plastic cuffs. Now it was Stark’s turn to yelp, jump back, and gape at blood oozing out of her left index finger. “You little bitch!” she snapped. The same sweaty agent with whom she’d video-conferenced this operation to life stepped forward with a pair of small hedge shears and cut off first Lorinda’s plastic handcuffs, then Stimpy’s. “I’ll be back. And with a lot more firepower,” Janelle growled. “Maybe tomorrow,” she added as she skulked off toward the shiny black G-Wagens. Her people fell in line behind her.

The crowd stepped aside, just a tiny bit, to let them pass. “And fuck you!” someone yelled. Fifteen or twenty more townsfolk joined in the “Fuck you!” chorus, along with the odd “Fuck the CCSA.”

As Lorinda watched them leave, she noticed a tearful Brad taking it all in from the back seat of one of the official vehicles. Across the street, the limp body of the hanged man lazily spun one way, then the other on the thick rope.

“I let you down.” Stimpy, looking physically deflated, had slouched over to Lorinda’s side as she watched the G-Wagens drive away and the mob lower their guns and start to disperse.

“What are you talking about? You’re a hero.” She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be okay.”

Lorinda felt a strong hand grip her arm. "Let's go, missy," the sheriff said harshly. He looked at Stimpy. "You, too, bub. I’m Sheriff Jesse Flint, and you’re in my custody now."

As the sheriff guided them toward his office, Lorinda said, "Thanks."

The sheriff stopped and looked at her deadpan. "For what?"

"For ... I don't know ... getting rid of those people."

"They'll be back, with more of 'em next time. And I bet it’s all your fault. They followed you. You lured 'em here."

"I didn't ... we didn't mean to—"

"So now we gotta deal with them and with you. And your boyfriend."

"You could just let us go," Stimpy said. "You'd never see us again."

"Yeah? And get caught up in their aiding-and-abetting-a-fugitive bullshit? Have them send in the army and tear the enclave apart looking for you? Not happening." The sheriff drew a deep breath and looked off into the distance. “Course, I could just throw up another noose and hang the both of you, leave you dangling till they come back.”

He stroked his mustache and his eyes went dreamy as he said, “What would Z do?”

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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.

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