Hearts and Minds

The crackle of a radio awoke the mayor from his light slumber.

“Supply wagon on its way. Designated arrival time, ten-twenty a.m. For the prospering of your Hearts and Minds.”

As the wagon trundled its way into the small village, the villagers began to gather in the square. They watched with empty eyes and emptier stomachs the wooden vehicle ground to a halt, its horses pawing at the dirt restlessly, and those on top dismount. The wagon’s riders wore black cloaks that covered every inch of their bodies, and metal masks with round, glass eyeholes that burned in the amber morning light. They were silent, except for the faintest sound of their breathing beneath their masks; without addressing the onlookers, they began to lower crates from the wagon onto the floor.

“Harry, Collins, those will be the medicinal supplies. Carry them to the pharmacy,” the mayor ordered from where he stood at the head of the crowd. “James, Edwards, Jordan, start moving the food crates into the town hall.”

While the cloaked riders moved, the heavy, heart-shaped lockets around their necks swayed rhythmically, like pendulums on a clock. Most of the villagers stared at these swinging adornments, whose silver sheen bore a striking contrast against the riders' otherwise drab attire.

It was when almost all the boxes had been unloaded, that a rough voice from the crowd disturbed the dutiful hush.

“Once more, you haven’t brought nearly enough for us to live on,” the voice yelled. “This is an insult. You’re letting us starve out here!”

“Silence, Jude,” the mayor snapped.

A tall, burly man shouldered his way through the crowd.

“We all know you lot aren’t going hungry,” he went on. Jude was beside the wagon now, trying to get in one of the riders’ way. “Why haven’t you cured us, like you have yourselves? Our sick bay is full, and those not ill are wasting away from hunger. You want us to die, don’t you?”

“Jude, you will stop this instant,” the mayor demanded. But the old man’s bones ached, and he could only watch the brawny interloper as he ranted.

“How about you take us back with you?” Jude shouted as the riders climbed back onto the wagon. “We can’t go into the countryside, for the animals will attack us. We can’t move into the cities, as the disease is even more widespread there. But staying in this village is a slow death.” He spat on the ground. “I’d be willing to wager it’s safe where you live. Take us with you!”

The driver of the wagon cracked their whip and the crowd parted to let it pass. Jude released a cry of defiance and grabbed hold of the side of the vehicle; he jogged, then ran to keep abreast of it, trying to pull himself up. He got his other hand over, then a few of the hooded riders leant over the side and, with batons in their gloved hands, began to beat at his fingers. Their lockets swayed wildly with each motion, until Jude let go and stumbled into the dust. The wagon clattered down the road and out of sight.

The mayor shook his head, then hobbled back into the town hall. The crowd also dispersed, leaving Jude to pick himself up off the ground.

“Damned Minders,” he seethed into empty air.

Sat in his high-backed chair, the mayor watched the small fireplace send shifting shadows across the town hall’s anteroom. It had been a long day of medicine and food distribution, and he could feel his eyelids beginning to droop. He glanced blearily at the radio on the side-table, now undisturbed by crackling voices, and thought ahead to next week’s delivery, when they’d have to do it all again.

Suddenly, the doors to the main chamber crashed open, startling him out of his chair.

“What is the meaning of this?” he cried, marching out of the anteroom and into the high-roofed hall. Looming in the entryway was Jude, his muscled arms folded, and a group of villagers behind him.

“We’ve taken a vote, and we want decisive action against the Minders,” Jude replied. “They’re taking advantage of us.”

The mayor baulked. “They deliver us food and medicine every week. Why on earth would you see them as anything other than a blessing?”

“If they really wanted to help, they’d give us enough food, or help us care for our dying, or move us out of this accursed village.”

Jude advanced into the hall. As his voice grew, more villagers began to trickle inside to watch the commotion.

“The Minders are not the enemy,” the mayor said. “Have you all forgotten? The Hearts and Minds Alliance was established when all other leadership failed, to combat the plague— the real source of our plight. They took power to restore order and protect the lives of us survivors. Without them, there’d be nobody left!”

“Protect the lives of…” Jude scowled. “This doesn’t seem to me like a life worth living, does it? If we don’t do something now, all our sick are going to die, and those meagre crates of medicine aren’t going to change that. Then what? Us next?”

“Wha’ we supposed to do about it?” somebody shouted before the mayor could reply.

Jude grinned. “You’ve all heard the rumours. It’s the lockets, isn’t it? It’s why they wear them all the time, keeping them close to their chests. Whatever’s inside them, it’s keeping them safe from the disease.”

A low murmur rippled around the hall.

“That’s a myth,” the mayor insisted, “designed to encourage undue hatred towards them.”

“Well, maybe if they did a better job at looking after us, there wouldn’t need to be any hatred,” Jude retorted. “How hard would it be, with a whole week’s work, to prepare enough of you men to overpower the Minders and steal the lockets? You all saw me out there— I almost got onto their wagon by myself.”

“Then what?” the mayor asked. “Attack every supply delivery we receive?”

“We’ll have the lockets for a start,” Jude replied. “Once we’re immune to the disease, we’ll figure out our next course of action.”

A faint nausea arose in the mayor as he saw the crowd beginning to nod their heads.

When the following week’s radio transmission came, the mayor was filled with dread. He dragged himself through the town hall and into the square, in time to see the wagon wheeling through the village. The hooded Minders dismounted; the second their backs were turned, they vanished beneath a mass of makeshift weapons and fists. Their cries were stifled by their masks. Rather than fight back, however, they seemed to submit to the hail of blows; one by one they fell, leaving their attackers flushed and bemused. One tried to flee but was seized by the hulking figure of Jude. He ripped off the Minder’s mask and flung it away, but all he found was a man’s terrified countenance within, pale and streaked with red. Jude threw him into the wagon and he stopped screaming.

When he turned, he found that his group of mutineers were looking at him with embarrassment and regret.

“Why didn’t they fight back?” one asked.

“They didn’t even use their batons,” said another.

Jude waved a hand and swaggered over to one of the bodies. “Because we surprised them! Chin up, you lot, we got what we wanted.”

He bent down and removed one of the heavy, silver lockets from a Minders’ neck. He studied it for a moment; the adornment itself was shaped like a heart, with an outline of a brain inscribed on its surface, as was the emblem of the Hearts and Minds.

“Inside this is the start of a better life. With this, we can—”

He prised open the locket, and his voice cut off as if snatched away by a gust of wind. His face, ashen, could barely return the stares of the crowd.

“Well? What’s inside?”

Another man grabbed a different locket and clicked it open.

“Oh no…”

“Oh god,” came mutterings as more lockets were opened. “There’s nothing in them…”

“What have we done…”

With a sigh, the mayor stepped forward.

“We’ll have to unload the wagon ourselves, now. Come on. Let’s get this done as we always do.”

Their hands trembling, the men began to unload the wagon. As they worked, Jude stood hunched, his arm outstretched, the empty locket on his palm stained by the blood on his skin.

The next morning, the mayor was woken by somebody yelling. He frowned blearily, then a sharp snap rang through the air, echoing through the village like a thunderclap. Still in his nightgown, he staggered into the morning light, and recoiled at another booming crack. Men were marching through the streets, but none that he recognised; they wore masks like the Minders, but instead of black cloaks, they were garbed in grey, tight-fitting bodysuits. They too wore silver, heart shaped lockets, but rather than heavy and swinging, they were small and looped closely around the neck like dog tags. Guns were slung around their bodies.

As he watched, one of the men raised their weapons and mowed down Collins, the village tailor.

“Mayor Craigson,” a voice barked. From a daze, the mayor noticed one of the men approaching him, his chest littered with medals.

“I am Major Broderick of the 17th division of the Hearts and Minds Alliance. I have been sent to convict your people of breaching the terms of the alliance, through the murder of nine innocent Messengers. The sentencing of such a heinous crime should be well known to you, as someone who I presume is knowledgeable in the law.”

“Indeed,” the mayor nodded. He knelt down in the doorway, using the frame for support. Then, he gave a small chuckle. “Though, I wonder what you’ll aim for— my heart, or my mind?”

The last thing the mayor saw before he fell backwards was the barrel of Major Broderick’s gun, then one of the soldiers setting Mr Edwards’ house ablaze.

As he stumbled through the bracken, Jude threw a glance over his shoulder, at where an orange light was slowly consuming the village on the horizon. Plumes of black smoke were billowing into the sky, its shadow turning the new day back into night. His great chest heaving, he glanced at the silver locket in his hand, and made for the trees.

Two of the soldiers were stood in the village square, surveying the burning wreckage.

“This is the third village to attack a convoy of Messengers in a month,” one said.

“Why attack the people trying to help you?” the other replied. “Were they provoked?”

The first shook his head. “Messengers don’t get any combat training. They wouldn’t have put up much of a fight.”

The two of them jerked to attention as Major Broderick approached.

“Good work, boys,” the older man said. “We’ll be back at the Capital by evening.”

“Sir, one thing, if I may,” one of the soldiers said before he went away. “Why do the Messengers keep getting attacked?”

Major Broderick’s brow furrowed, and he waved his weapon dismissively. “These villagers seem to have gotten it into their heads that our lockets have some kind of treasure in them— a cure for the plague, or the like.”

“But that’s ridiculous! Where would they get such an idea?”

The Major pondered for a moment, then the sides of his mouth curled upwards.

“Well, I suppose a few rumours may have floated down from above. Besides, what’s one less disease-ridden village to you? If anything, it’s one step closer to something resembling normality. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir.”

As the Major’s heavy footsteps crunched against the ash-covered ground, the two soldiers watched a trail of flame spit over from the town hall and onto the abandoned wagon in the middle of the square. The vehicle creaked for a moment, then collapsed beneath a wreath of crimson fire.