MISS GOHRMAN'S TRIP

By Joshua Allen

An Apache attack cruiser boomed in low and swept dirt and

gravel from the rooftops, sending it flying directly into

Colleen Gohrman's face and into the deep recesses of her walking

jacket. Mrs. O'Baily was passing by and offered a hand to

Colleen, who had been blown clean over by the wind. The pulsing

boom of its jets faded out as the Apache thumped its way toward

the other side of town. It was gone for now, but it would be

back.
 "I honestly think they're blowing this whole thing way out

of proportion." Mrs. O'Baily. She had her opinions on

everything. She was from that old stock of mistrustful people.

She didn't trust the government, she didn't trust the military,

she didn't trust the media--but her real archenemy was the Food

and Drug Administration and what she called their evil twin, the

United States Department of Agriculture. To Mrs. O'Baily, these

two organizations (or one large organization, as she believed)

were trying to kill her.

"Mrs. O'Baily, I don't know how you can say such a thing. I

mean, honestly, we were directly threatened--and on National

Television."

Mrs. O'Baily scoffed. "Television is for those without

imagination. What can't they fake these days? More than likely,

they just wanted an excuse to do some training exercises and

orchestrated the whole thing."

"Mrs. O'Baily, really. Is that any way to talk at a time

like this?"

"Oh, now more than ever, Miss Gohrman--"

"'Mrs.,'" Colleen mumbled.

"--right now we're like sheep and we're willing to buy

whatever it is they want to sell. Glaciers and aliens and Cabals

everywhere. We're more vulnerable than ever."

 "Well, I refuse to be so cynical Mrs. O'Baily. I mean,

honestly, some people genuinely want to help."

"Sure they do. I'm sorry Miss Gohrman but that's the way

humans work. We want to impose our 'selves' into everything."

She paused as a big green carrier zoomed past them on the

street. She resumed, only quieter. "Governments are no

different."

"But there's accountability with the government. We can

vote out those in power. Honestly!"

"Not if we're too scared to do anything to upset the status

quo. Miss Gohrman, really. Don't be so naive."

Colleen shook her head and picked her bags of groceries off

the street, brushed the gravel off her jacket, and crossed the

street. Mrs. O'Baily stayed standing in front of the grocery

store, her groceries sitting upright on the ground in a linear

arrangement. Mrs. 0'Baily seemed to be staring distantly at the

sky, waiting for the Apache to return.

Colleen wondered what could have happened to a person to

make them so distrustful. She shuddered to think. A few blocks

down the road, she stopped to rest her hands. She rubbed them

together, trying to alleviate the pain from the plastic bags

cutting into her joints, flaring her arthritis. The Apache

roared back into view, swooping down over the buildings to her

right. She looked up at the wrong time and got a face full of
dust and gravel. She spit the dust from her mouth, expecting the

Apache to move right along. But it stayed there, hovering over

her. She had to shut her eyes and cover her mouth and nose with

her sleeve to keep from choking, which left no way to block the

deafening sound of its jets.

She tried looking up at the fully armed attack ship, but

when she opened her eyes, they were met with stinging dirt. What

was the Apache doing? Colleen felt uncomfortable. Not because

she had ever done anything wrong, but because it was just

looking at her. Checking her out. She felt dirty, like the ship

was violating her, like she was standing on the street naked.

She crouched down defensively, as though to hide her naked body.

The attack ship reared up and zoomed off.

"What the hell was that all about?" Colleen said aloud. She

looked at her groceries. Her milk was in the gutter, but, while

dirty, it thankfully hadn't spilled. She retrieved it, wiping

the dirt off with her sleeve. Putting it back in her bag, she

realized her napkins were gone. She saw no trace of the napkins

when she scanned the street. They were casualties, collateral

damage.

Colleen giggled and shook her head. She couldn't deny she

felt inconvenienced by the presence of the Apache and the troops

that were rolling up and down the streets and by the fact that

personal vehicles had been banned during the crisis, but she
refused to go as far as people like Mrs. O'Baily and think they

were out to get her.

Mrs. Gohrman picked up her groceries and started again

toward home. The Apache zoomed over twice more before she

reached her house, each time paying her no more mind than it

would any other non-criminal. Colleen entered her house and was

greeted by the mewling whines of her cats. The two of them, Mr.

Buttons and Miss Red, rubbed her legs and generally made

nuisances of themselves while she put away the groceries. They

were probably skittish because of the noise.

Colleen opened the bag with her milk and found a puddle in

the bottom. The milk had a slow leak she hadn't seen. "Poodle!

Oh poodle! Poodle! I'm sorry Miss Red, but the milk spilled.

You'll just have to eat Fancy Feast like everyone else until

tomorrow."

The tabby meowed and scampered away.

"Well, if you want to take that attitude, maybe you won't

get anything. Honestly!"

Colleen poured a bit of the milk in Miss Red's dish, which

the cat scampered back in to enjoy. She poured a little bit in

Mister Buttons's dish, but he didn't like milk and Miss Red

would probably eat that too. The rest of the milk she dumped

into the sink. Such a waste, but nothing smelled worse than old
rotten milk in the fridge and her pitcher was already full of

ice tea. A knock at the door interrupted Colleen's fussing.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel before opening the

front door. A man in military attire stood on her porch. He had

what looked like a camouflage ball cap pulled down over his

eyes. In his hands was a large clipboard with a few pieces of

white paper rubber-banded to it. Colleen's gaze fell on the

large pistol strapped to his thigh. Behind the man with the

clipboard stood another man with similar attire, except he wore

a helmet and held an automatic rifle instead of a pistol.

"Miss Gohrman?" The pistol-wielding soldier flipped a piece

of paper up.

"'Mrs.' Gohrman." Colleen said.

The soldier frowned, then he brought out a retinal scanner

and she submitted to his scan. "Sorry, ma'am, it's SOP. I'm

Sergeant-major Gould and this is Corporal Hile. We need to ask

you a few questions."

Apparently by "we" Gould meant "the military," because he

left Hile sitting on standing outside her door when she led him

into the living room. She offered him coffee and before he could

protest much, she put a fresh cup of coffee in his hand and

mumbled that instant was the best she could do and reassured him

that she took pride in the sacrifice. Meanwhile, Miss Red the

tabby was snuggling up to the new visitor. Miss Red had always
been a bit of a slut, so her behavior didn't surprise Colleen.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Oh, it's no trouble. I want you men to know how much I

appreciate what you're doing here."

Colleen sat down on her recliner, facing Gould, who had a

hard expression on his face, despite her hospitality. Colleen

couldn't deny to herself that she was nervous. The gun, the

official-looking documents...but she had nothing to hide. She'd

done nothing.

Gould looked around. "Is Mr. Gohrman going to be home soon?

This might concern him as well."

"Mr. Gohrman? Oh, he's..." she paused, during which time

Gould scribbled something on his clipboard, "he's dead."

Gould nodded, finishing whatever he had been writing. "Then

I'll cut to the chase." Gould picked up Miss Red, who

immediately began purring and pitched her over the couch.

Colleen thought it was rude, but Miss Red scampered away--the

little slut liked it dirty--so she figured there was no harm.

"Miss Gohrman, you've been selected to help us."

"I honestly don't know how I could be of help. I'm no one."

"What if I told you that this whole thing was no more than

a drill?"

"Why, that's just what Mrs. O'Baily said."

 Gould leaned back. He took out his pistol and laid it on

the couch cushion next to him. It seemed to glitter. It looked

like a rare jewel from Africa set against her old faded couch

cushion, except she could see it leaving behind its oily

residue. "Funny you should mention Mrs. Baily. How well do you

know her?"

"I've known the O'Bailys for years. She's always been

spiteful. Especially since her son was killed. Anyway, I can

help you with Mrs. O'Baily, Sergeant Gould."

"'Sergeant-major,' ma'am."

The Apache boomed overhead, drowning any potential chance

for conversation. Meanwhile, that feeling of nakedness returned

to Colleen. Gould inspected his gun while he waited for the

Apache to pass.

When the booming stopped, Gould placed the clipboard on her

coffee table with precise, measured movements. He squared the

bottom of the clipboard with the coffee table edge.

"She runs a newspaper," Gould said, "that you've probably

never even heard of."

"I'm certain I could find something else to sacrifice,

Sargent Gould." Colleen leaned in. She put a caring hand on

Gould's knee. Who was the slut now?

As though on cue, Miss Red popped up on the back of the

couch. Gould picked up his enormous gun. There was a bang that
made Colleen jump. What remained after was a puff of foul-

smelling smoke, barely visible, and a ruined Miss Red.

The cat, draped over the back of the couch, twitched as

though in a dream. Its eye bulged out of the socket, gleaming

white. The fur around its ear was singed black.

The room rang.

Colleen put her hand to her mouth and was surprised to find

it hanging wide open.

"Sorry ma'am. It is 'Sergeant-major,' though. I'll have to

insist on that." Gould set his gun back down. "The problem is

this. We can't arrest Mrs. O'Baily--fake operation or no."

Colleen turned her attention away from her dead cat to the

mean little man sitting next to her. Then she saw the map. A led

to B and from there to C. Gould's plan before her, a new plan

entered her mind.

"We can't have a trial, thanks to the legislation barring

military tribunals. She would say things. Things that no one

would have believed before we arrested her. But, since she was

in the limelight, under arrest, under scrutiny, suddenly these

formerly crazy things she's saying start reaching people. Start

making sense."

"Yes. I have read Mrs. O'Baily's paper." Colleen shook her

head. "But her theories are stupid. The FDA and USDA are not

trying to kill her."

 Gould laughed. "No, she's absolutely correct about that.

About all of it. So, our secondary mission, the sub-mission, the

mission only I know about, is to silence Mrs. O'Baily."

"I can show you how to get into her house. Her house is

just like mine. I can show you the secrets." Colleen leaned

back, satisfied with her performance.

Gould patted her hand. "That's not necessary. There's

nothing that you know that we couldn't easily figure out. No,

and we can't kill her--though you have to believe me, if we

could, Miss Gohrman," Gould pointed a slender finger at a spot

between her eyes. "I'd let you pull the trigger personally. If

we kill her, her subscribers will call her a martyr. Worse than

taking her to trial, even."

Gould undid the rubber band from the clipboard, pulled the

piece of paper from the top, and set it down in front of her. He

motioned to it and leaned back, casually brushing Miss Red onto

the floor. Colleen heard a thump as she picked up the paper and

read.

It was a letter addressed to Mrs. O'Baily, and it was

insane. It talked about poison and secret government agencies.

It ranted about her punishment, divine and complete, should she

insist on stirring trouble. The end of it warned her that the

death of Miss Gohrman had been her warning, her example.

 "Do you see, Miss Gohrman? If Mrs. O'Baily sees that we're

willing to kill you--a staunch supporter in our cause--she'll

cease and desist. And I don't want you to worry, Miss Gohrman;

it will look like an accident. The only person that will know it

was not an accident--besides us, of course--will be Mrs.

O'Baily."

Colleen smiled at the man, who wasn't really looking at her

anymore. He was scratching his nose with his gun, using the

triangular sight at the front for maximum effect. She looked

down at the letter again. Back at him.

Colleen took a breath. "It's 'Mrs.' Gohrman, Sergeant

Gould. 'Mrs.'" Colleen set the letter down. "This idea--did you

concoct it yourself?--is quite foolish. My husband was in public

relations for many years. He would tell you, had he been able to

lay off fatty foods, that all she'll do with this drivel is

publish it in her paper. Imagine her delight at finally having

hard evidence."

Gould stopped scratching. "I hadn't thought of that."

Colleen managed to bite back her laughter. Composed, she

put up a single finger. "It occurs to me that the best way to

fight one crazy old woman is with a nice, sympathetic old woman.

Give me your gun, Sergeant Gould."

Gould looked at his gun like he just remembered he had it.

"But that's against procedure."

 Colleen held out her hand. "Never mind procedure. Do you

want Mrs. O'Baily stopped or don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Gould handed her the gun, then leaned forward, eyes wide

and eager to hear her plan. "Of course, just an old widow won't

be enough. She'll have to be a hero of some sort. She'll have to

have done something quite brave. Then will come the parades, her

jaunt into the newspaper business--which she'll use to smear

Mrs. O'Baily--her eventual rise to the top--maybe even to the

presidency. The world loves a celebrity, don't they Sergeant

Gould?"

"'Sergeant-major,' ma'am. How do we get you to such hero

status?"

"My God, Sergeant Gould, I'm a poor widow. Could you

imagine how I would react if some rogue military man came into

my home and threatened to rape me? Killed my cat? I'd be blind

with panic. Only my brave courage in the face of such danger

would allow me to subdue such a foe."

"I see. We bring in a soldier. You defend yourself. You are

an instant hero. But sometimes heroes fade away, Mrs. Gohrman."

"Only those who let themselves. Now. Show me how to work

this monstrosity."

Gould stood up and came around to where she was standing,

leaning in close. He pointed at a small lever on the side, near

where her thumb had come to rest. "Flick that switch so you see

the red dot. Then just point that end--"

"Yes, point and shoot, I understand that part. It's ready

to go? Of course it is, you already fired once, right? You

surely did."

Gould laughed.

Colleen mocked laughter.

"I'll go get Hile."

"We won't need Hile, Sgt. Gould." She pointed the gun at

him, flicked off the safety. The rest was elementary at this

range. She couldn't miss. "It seems to me we have a perfectly

good soldier here to be the attacker. Less swapping, less mess."

She pointed the gun at him. "Now. Raise your hand like you're

coming at me.

"Are you sure this is the best way, Mrs. Gohrman. It seems

like my way had its advantages. How will you run a newspaper or

become president by yourself?"

"I'll find a way, Sergeant Gould. I have gotten this far."

A flicker went across Gould's face. He was trapped. His arm

raised high. He could attack her, probably knock the gun out of

her hand at this range. But if he did that, his plan was over.

Colleen smiled. Her plan, now.

 "And Sergeant Gould?" His eyebrows went up in a question.

"Miss Red may have been a slut. But you should not have killed

her. Honestly!"