"What the?" her prisoner exclaims, turning around to face her, glancing at the two soldiers who are out cold. He has his hands in the air as a gesture of surrender. "You're Matheson's niece, aren't you?"
Charlie nods, taking the safety off the gun with a loud click. Fear shines in the man's eyes, and he steps back. "You tried to murder my uncle," she accuses, stepping back into the bomber's personal space. The girl enjoys the way he tries to back away again, only to find his toes pinned to the ground by the child's steel-toed boot.
"You have to understand," the man pleads, his cowardice showing. Bombs can make any man or woman feel brave and powerful, only ever facing their enemies from a mile away, watching death and destruction from a distance. They feel safe, untouchable. Charlie is making it clear to this one that he isn't. "Monroe and Matheson are dictators, cold-blooded killers. They keep taking everything and they give nothing back."
Charlie looks at him coldly, not bothering to contradict him when half of it is true and the other is hypocritical. She kicks his leg at the joint, and the man cries out, falling to his knees. She checks the abandoned road for people, but nobody is there, and they are hidden by the shadows and the twilight of the late hour.
His eyes water, his voice breaking as he keeps begging. "Please believe me, my sister and her husband had to give up all their crops until they had nothing left to eat. When they couldn't pay more, Militia took their sixteen-year-old daughter. My niece." He starts sobbing, tears rolling down his cheeks as he asks for mercy from a little girl with a gun.
Charlie grits her teeth. She knows these stories, hates them with passion. Ever since the Rebels started growing to numbers worthy of an army, there have been raids on the supply transport, taking away the Republic's food and clothes and weapons. Soldiers are getting restless, grabbing what they need and want, taking out their hunger and anger on defenseless citizens.
It's gotten better now both Miles and Bass are working on it together, but it is not enough. They can't keep an eye on every soldier, and there are a lot of bad apples, most of them among the higher ranked, allowing their men to ignore the law as they please.
"And you think life will be better without the generals? You think that the Republic will fall with their death? That there is no successor, no contingency plan? Don't be ridiculous," she snorts, and her prisoner snarls, not courage but foolishness spurring him on.
"Yes! Without them the rebels will rise, we'll bring back the United States of America, revolutionize this wasteland of a world." His speech is a repeat of every single one a captured rebel has given.
"The United States government fell for a reason. The system didn't work," Charlie retaliates. She's had this conversation before with Miles and Bass, a simple but useful practice in defending an opinion. The generals seem to delight in playing the Devil's advocate, and she feels challenged when arguing with two of the most strategic minds in the world.
However, she's not going to get into a discussion with her prisoner, that's not what she wants. "How does your wife feel about what you did?" she asks, despite not knowing for sure if he has a spouse or not.
"How did you know I have a wife?" he shouts in fear, trying to struggle to his feet and failing. He betrays himself, confirming her suspicion, and goes in for the kill.
"Listen to me very closely. The moment Monroe gets even a whiff of your name, he is going to kill you, your wife, any kids you have, and probably find your sister, your brother-in-law and your niece and execute them just to make an example."
The man shuts up and freezes, mouthing a single, inaudible "No." His eyes are wide open.
"You don't stand a chance," Charlie informs him, compassion fighting its way into her eyes, and she looks at him with pity. "He'll torture you and find out who you are and where you live. He will destroy so much more than just your family." Monroe will destroy his own in the process, and his while Republic with it.
She can see the wheels turn in his head as he tries to think of a plan. She already has one.
Hope conquers the fear in his eyes, and he looks up excitedly. "You could let me go," he suggests, "I'll get my wife and kids and we'll leave the city. You'll never see me again."
Charlie's face is blank. "Where do you live?" she asks him, and sees him smile.
"House number 24, right next to the butcher on the main street," he says relieved, finally getting back to his feet and turning away from her to lead the way.
He doesn't even see it coming.
The bullet shoots out of the barrel and races at the bomber's skull, impacting with a sickening crunch. Her prisoner drops like a sack of potatoes, the ghost of a smile still on his face.
Charlie lowers the gun and lets it drop to the ground, her hands shaking as she struggles to breath. She tries to inhale slowly, but her lungs protest and her throat refuses to cooperate. The lack of oxygen makes her light-headed, and soon she is swaying dangerously, her knees giving out and hitting the unyielding stone of the road.
She can barely control her movements as her trembling fingers cart through her hair. Her stomach is cramping badly, her oesophagus burning as she tries to keep herself from throwing up.
The girl crawls toward the body and pats it down, removing the man's possessions so he can't be identified, and then gets an old-school lighter from her pocket. She swallows back her nausea and flips it on. A small flame dances on the device. Charlie closes her eyes and lowers her arm, fire connecting with the fabric of the dead soldier's uniform.
She opens the container of lighter fluid and pours it on the man's face, making sure nobody will ever recognize him. The smell of burning flesh drifts over to her and with one last look, she takes off as fast as she can in the direction of Independence Hall, not allowing herself to think.
Nobody dares to stop her, so without any problem she gets through the secret passageway and doesn't stop moving until she is outside once again. She sags down against the nearest tree and curls her arms around her knees, trying to keep out the darkness forming at the edge of her soul. She fails.