Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10), A. American [interesting books to read in english .TXT] 📗

was Michelle that settled it. “Caning,” she said. “Remember years ago, the story of the kid in Singapore that was caught vandalizing cars or something. They did it to him.”

“Yeah,” Mitch said as he recalled the incident. “It’s not permanent and will certainly get the point across.”

“But, who’s going to do it?” Michelle asked.

“I have the man,” I replied.

Once we got back to the market, I got out and checked on Mel. She and Shelly were sitting in the shade talking when we pulled up. I told her I had to run back to the house and I’d be back. She said she’d stay there and asked why I was going back.

“To get Dalton,” I said.

I found Dalton with Mike and Ted and some of the Guardsmen. They were hanging out in the shade of a tree, trying to avoid the heat. When I got out of the Hummer, Mike looked at me and asked, “How bad is it?”

“What?” I asked.

“Whatever happened to have you driving the old man’s Hummer around.”

“I need Dalton,” I said.

He was sitting on a bucket sharpening his kukri and looked up. “What’s up?”

“We have a situation. We’ve got some guys that were caught stealing. There is no jail now. But there have to be consequences. We can’t let people think they can do whatever they want.”

Dalton nodded, “Going old school? What’s it to be?”

“Caning,” I replied.

He nodded again. “And you want me to do it?”

“If you will.”

“I’ll do it!” Mike shouted as he jumped up.

“No, you can’t.”

“Why the hell not?” He asked.

“First, you’re still part of the Army. So, we can’t have you going around beating people. Second, you want to.”

“Thank you,” Ted said with a nod.

“Oh, that’s bullshit. Did the old man say that?” Mike asked.

“No, I did. This is my job. But as the Sheriff, I shouldn’t do it either. It needs to be a third party to keep it right.”

Dalton rose to his feet. “I’ll do it. Give me a minute.”

“Well, can we at least come watch?” Mike asked.

“I don’t care. Maybe you should take notes,” I said.

Ted laughed, “Yeah, so when it’s your turn to be caned, you’ll know what to expect.”

“Shit, ain’t nobody beating me with a cane.”

“Tell that to Dalton,” I said with a laugh.

“You’d just have to shoot that big bastard,” Mike replied. “You ain’t got to shoot every bastard, but you would have to shoot him.”

Dalton returned with a long cane pole. He studied it for a minute then cut the really flexible thin end off several feet from the tip. Then he held it up and swung it a couple of times. He then took about a foot off the other end and tested it again. After one more modification, he judged it suitable.

“The point here isn’t to break the skin,” Dalton said. “Though, depending on the number of licks, it could happen. This is just to get the point across to them.”

“We’ve done it before. It looks about right to me,” I said.

“How many licks they getting?” Ted asked.

“I don’t know. Mitch is there now holding court. Let’s get over there and get this done. You guys drive this and I’ll take the Suburban. We’ve got a few people to bring back.”

By the time we made it back to town, the issue was settled. The two men were surely guilty, and many people had testified against them. While it wasn’t the crime of the century, the men had been stealing from their neighbors. And the stealing of food was one of the highest crimes you could commit in our current situation.

“So, what’s the word?” I asked.

“Guilty, both of them,” Mitch replied. There were plenty of witnesses to testify. They’ve been doing it for a long time.

“Sentence?”

Mitch hesitated for a moment. Letting out a loud breath, he replied, “Five lashes; that’s five each.”

Looking at the two men, I announced for all to hear, “You’ve been tried and found guilty of stealing food from your neighbors. Your sentence is five lashes each from a cane. To be carried out immediately.” Neither of them protested. They were either in disbelief or shock.

The men were moved over to the gas island. As we were preparing to cuff their hands around one of the supports for the canopy, Dalton said to remove their shirts. “It’ll probably cut their shirts. No sense ruining them.”

He was right, clothing, good clothing, was hard to come by. So, the shirts the men were wearing were removed. They naturally complained during all this.

“You can’t do this! This is cruel and unusual punishment! We have rights!” One of them shouted.

As his hands were forced around the column, I said, “Your neighbors have rights too. You violated those rights. You did this to yourself. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

Once both men were secured, I turned to face the crowd. “Let this be a lesson to you all! This is how crime will be dealt with now. Our jail is destroyed, justice will be administered on the street, at the time and place of the crime. No long appeals. No courtroom shenanigans. If you’re found guilty, you will be punished.” I looked at Dalton and gave him a nod.

Dalton squared up to the first man and checked the distance by holding out the cane. He brought it back and delivered what I thought a forceful, yet measured strike to the man’s back, just below his shoulder blades. The man’s knees went weak and he cried out in a shriek of pain. But it didn’t deter Dalton and he delivered four more. By the last strike, the man no longer complained. He was slumped on his knees, his back covered in thick red welts with blood running from a couple of the deeper impacts.

The crowd, which up to this point was jeering and cat calling, had fallen silent when the punishment began. Not a sound could be heard, save the cane cutting through the air, then cutting into the flesh. These people wanted retribution. They wanted vengeance,