Power and Lies

Thirteen

"Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose."
-Lyndon B. Johnson

Something was wrong. Freya could feel it in her gut as she walked down the road towards her home, her emotions swirling between paranoia and hurt. She glanced over her shoulder, confirming she was alone before sliding a cigarette out of the tin holder she had fastened to her thigh. She rarely smoked, but it seemed a good moment to allow the calm of nicotine into her lungs. She was unsure if it was just residual fear, but she felt like men were sliding through the shadows, armed and waiting. The shadows shifted around her eyes, and she sucked in the smoke faster, quickening her pace.

Go back. Another shadow slid out of a corner, slinking from building to building. This was not her eyes playing tricks, she realized. This was real, and this was bad. They were not here for her, that much was obvious, they were moving closer and closer to the end of the street, doing their best to stick to the dark crevices of the building, only allowing themselves to be seen as the evening sun glinted off handles of weapons. The sun was dipping below buildings, giving them a larger advantage and her heart began to race. The pub she realized, they were heading to the pub. The Shelby's were there, sitting in their usual spots for the evening, all except Tommy and John, and they had no idea what was happening. They were going to be blindsided.

"Bloody fucking hell," She groaned before turning herself around, trying her best to not act suspicious. She was not that far away yet, and she suspected the men were moving slower for the advantage. She could only hope she would get there in time. Fuck, fuck, fuck she mentally whispered to herself with every step. Her feet were cramping in her shoes, her heels rubbing raw with the quickened pace. She stopped for a second, yanking them off with a grunt and left them, thankful that the stones were soft from years of use below her feet. The silence without the heels was an advantage and she began to run, grateful the men were taking alleyways so she was largely unnoticed. She had no weapons if she were caught, and she was not good at fighting. If any of the shadow men were to catch her she would be at their mercy and the whole situation would be moot- The Shelby's would die.

By the time she reached the door her lungs screamed at her and pain radiated through her overly exerted muscles. Her breath was gasping and she looked at Arthur with feral eyes. "Get the fuck out," She gasped to him. Polly looked up at her from her corner, giving her mild attention that she did not spare earlier.

"What did you just say to me?" Arthur spoke, anger rising in his tone.

"Get the fuck out," She screeched again, this time more desperate. "There are men coming. In the shadows, armed." Her words were fragmented but effective. There were more people this time, having filtered in in the last half hour after factory jobs let off. All of these innocent people would be caught in the crossfire she realized and her mind raced erratically. There had to be a way, a way to get them to really listen to her.

"Are you drunk?" Polly said and Freya shook her head, standing up to her full height, trying her best to look commanding.

"There are men coming and you're sitting here drinking. They're coming for you. Moving in the alleys. It won't be long."

"Shit," Polly whispered before casting her eyes through the pub. "How far away are they?"

Freya shook her head trying to count the alleys separating them and the one she saw last. "Not far, maybe six alleyways. They're moving slow, trying not to be seen I think." Everything moved quickly after that. Polly stood up, shouting at people to leave immediately and Arthur grabbing a shotgun from below the counter and tossing it to her. Freya had never held a shotgun before, it was long and heavy, but she was not afraid to shoot any man that came between that barrel and the Shelby family. Arthur grabbed himself a pistol and Polly grabbed her own from her bag. It had been stupid to think they were unarmed, Freya knew that, but it had still not stopped the fear from overtaking her. She had brought this on them, all because of her foolish desires to exact revenge for a name. All because a rude man had been rude. Being a brute had been in Finnigan's nature, and she had killed him for it, she brought about this war. No, the voice in her head reminded her, this would happen anyway. Finnigan was going to die. This was not happening only because of Finnigan, her mind traced the difficult web of the situation. For them to come to this they had to have been planning for a while. This was not impulsive, this was not revenge, this was a battlefield to be made bloody.

The back door slammed open and Freya whipped her body around, the shotgun pointed and her finger on the trigger. Her heart beat against her ribcage, only relaxing as John's frame appeared, armed with his own weapon. "Get down," He yelled to her. She ignored him, turning once more to the front door, her sight trained on it, willing the people to come in. John wrapped his fingers around her collar and dragged her away from the others. Anger was written all over his features, but she kicked at him anyway, doing her best to get away. They did not have time for this.

"Get down Freya, this is not your fight," He snapped at her. She ripped herself away from him with some effort and glared at him.

"You have no right, John Shelby. I've come here to fight them, and fight I shall, even if I have to shoot you first." He shrugged his shoulders in defeat and moved past her to join his family. She did not want to die with him angry at her, but if it was to be, it would have to be. She would not back down. She was so tired of being a coward, she had been one all her life. No more, she decided as she hoisted the shotgun further up on her shoulder. She had let Lee dictate her life, instill fear in her, treat her like nothing. She had let her parents teach her she was nothing unless he willed it, and she had let Tommy just take from her what she had come to love the most. She would not do it again.

When she was young she remembered the calmness of the sky before storms, when almost everything was silent, almost as though warning her there was going to be a spell of bad weather before it came. It had sent shivers down her spine, and caused her to quake miserably as she thought of the thunder and lightning to come. This was much like that. All was silent save for the breathing of the people who remained in the pub. It was not many, but better than just the three Shelby's and herself. She wondered where Tommy was, it was unlike him to be away in times of conflict, and she wondered for a second if it coincided with Grace's absence. She tried to keep jealousy from invading her focus. Each person took in a breath and looked around at one another, as if asking are you ready? They already knew the answer.

It was Arthur who fired first, his round striking a man emerging from the shadows, pistol raised and aimed through the window of the pub. She could see his look of surprise as he fell, she had been successful in her attempts to beat them, to warn the others. After that it was nothing but glass and bullets flying out from both sides and she crouched behind an overturned table resting the barrel on the side and firing a shot as a man entered through the remnants of the Garrison door. The round struck him in the chest and he fell with a sickening thud. He was immediately replaced with another.

"Here," Arthur yelled at her, tossing her another weapon he had grabbed off a fallen man. It was a pistol, and she gratefully accepted it. It was chaos unlike she had ever experienced. There were so many sounds, and the smell of blood rested in the air, thick and pungent. She left her cover and fired at several more men who were clamoring through the broken windows, encroaching on their territory, a step closer to them every time. She took them down one by one.

"We are outnumbered," She spoke to nobody. They were going to lose. Her eyes sought out the others and they all looked at her with the same resignation. They were going to die.

Freya took a deep breath, assessing the fate which had befallen them, a casual sense of acceptance coming through her like a tidal wave. It had not been the moment she thought it would be. She envisioned being old in a bed surrounded by loved ones, and a man she loved holding her hands. This was a violent end, and all she wanted was peace. But she had no time to think of that now.

She stepped forward, everyone was banding together, standing in a line. They would take their final stand together. She looked towards John, who's eyes were burning into her, a silent apology conveyed through them. She stuck her hand out, wrapping her pinky around his, and squeezed lightly. In another life, she silently promised him, I will find you all.