He goes to rip one of the pages down, and the next thing he knows, hands are pulling on him. Other hands push Matías out of the way. It seems he is of no concern to them. Uneasiness flows in Jack’s veins. Pulling and pushing the grips and restraints away, he tries to run away. But suddenly, there’s a hood over his head, and he gets a punch to the gut. Wrists are crossed and zip-tied, and he is being pushed into a vehicle.

ANNE

ANNE

Actions play and replay like a movie reel in Anne’s mind, moving forward, then rewinding. The look on Dredd’s face. Stepping forward. Stepping backward. Forward, back. Knowing he had lost. She should have warned him. She felt guilt as some part of her emotionally reflected on right and wrong. Call it moral judgment. In the end, he was fucked. Beaten. Watching his quarter second of free fall. It came quick, the impact of his body meeting the trees. The thud. Smacking the wind right out of him. It was only sounds. Afterward, it was as if he had never existed.

Cinnamon’s arms wrap around Anne, warming her ribs. They lie on their sides, Cinnamon’s chest expanding behind her, pressing into her back. Feeling the constant rattle of steel wheels over joints in the rails, she looks out at the landscape of flat pastureland with a train of clouds floating above. Three strands of rusted barbed wire.

Cinnamon whispers into Anne’s ear. “It’s a relief. He’s really gone.”

“We’ve been freed,” Canary says. She’s sitting cross-legged with the kids lying off to the side. “All the things we had imagined, daydreamed about but never spoke aloud, like maybe he’d OD, get hit by a car, beat by someone who’s fed up with him, someone stronger than any of us. And it’s a girl with some grit who comes to lift off the burden.”

Anne lies silent, appreciating the moment. Lost in her thoughts as she reviews her actions. She dealt with her anger. Cheeks burning, she felt it rise and immediately released it. Let go of it. Searched and found her inner quiet. But her violence rattled her. Violence she had inflicted on a member of her own family. She has her own demons, but what she isn’t, is a pushover. A person can take only so much abuse before they either go under or rise above the abuse. Or they stand their ground and create change. She realizes that now.

And Cinnamon squeezes her, tells her, “You stood up to oppression. You realize that, right?”

“Violence begets violence,” Anne replies. “There will no longer be a division of people. We’re a family.” Reaching for Cinnamon’s hand, squeezing it, she says, “I need this.” Lifting her head, looking at Canary, she says, “We need this. We need one another.”