At the end of the day, Henry proceeded to the payment office at the end of the Union Steel docks to collect his pay. He entered a cramped space where a mousy man with thick black glasses sat at a desk buried under time cards, papers, and a green metal cash register. The mouse took Henry's card, gave it a quick look, and scribbled his signature at the bottom. Then he tapped the keys on the cash register until the drawer dinged open.

The day had been long and hot. Moving boxes across the plant. Cleaning up messy spills. Broom this. Mop that. Thank goodness the pay was decent. Not great, but at least it allowed him to provide for Sarah and the baby.

Henry collected five dollars and sixty-four cents for twelve hours of work. He pocketed the money and headed out to the main road, beginning his trek home.

Ten minutes into his walk, Henry was crossing Jim Crow Bridge, his boots clopping against the wooden planks. He'd reached the middle of the bridge when he heard the stomping of footsteps from behind. He whirled around just in time.

Hans and Karl were marching towards him, dressed in overalls as if they'd just come from the mill. Hans' eyes looked as fierce as a lion's before the attack. Karl scowled like he was carrying a fifty-pound chip on his broad shoulder. They didn't have any weapons. But then again, they didn't need any. Their hands were already balled into fists.

Henry's heart skipped a beat. He turned around, determined to make a break for it.

But Clayton, Garvey, and Bracken appeared at the other end of the bridge. They looked like ghouls lumbering forward, their faces covered by soot. Garvey carried a billy club in his hand.

"Come on, guys," Henry said, his tone full of angst. Stepping back, he felt a mallet of a fist pummel the back of his neck, and he tumbled to his hands and knees.

"I hear you jumped my boys the other night!" Clayton said. He launched a kick into Henry's ribs, and Henry collapsed onto his back.

"What?" Henry said, debating whether to get up or not. "They were vandalizing the black bunkhouses, and you know it." He couldn't believe he was arguing the point. Clayton wasn't about to admit the truth.

Hans and Karl yanked Henry to his feet and secured his arms.

"You calling my boys liars?" Clayton asked.

Henry thought about how he was going to respond. "Yeah, I am."

"Nobody calls me a liar, boy," Bracken said, before he sucker-punched Henry in the chest. "Especially a jungle bunny like you."

Henry groaned. "Don't you think you're taking this a little too far?" he said with a trace of sarcasm, trying to pull away. Garvey rammed his billy club into Henry's gut, and he doubled over.

Then Hans and Karl shoved Henry forward. Clayton clocked him with a right cross, and Henry toppled backward to the ground like a felled tree.

Before Henry could get up, Clayton was standing over him, his lips curled into a vicious grin. "Sweet dreams!" he said, and he drove the sole of his boot into Henry's forehead.

The back of Henry's head thudded against the hard wooden plank of the bridge.

Pain exploded inside Henry's head.

And everything went black.

* * * * * * *

The very next thing Henry remembered was the murmuring of distant voices as his brain started to awaken. Peeling his eyes open, everything looked like a murky blur. It was nighttime, that much he knew. A warm breeze drifted past, carrying with it the tangled smells of burnt wood, human sweat, and moonshine.

Henry blinked a few times.

Above, a myriad of stars sparkled into focus against a coal black sky.

How long had he been lying on the grass?

Still lying down, Henry raised his hands to a clinking sound. His wrists had been bound in iron shackles, connected by a short chain. A rope had been tied to the center link, and it trailed up and over the branch of a mighty oak.

The kind used for a lynching.

Henry sat up, adrenaline overtaking the lingering pain in his ribs and the pounding in his forehead. He ran his fingers around his neck, feeling for a noose. But there wasn't any rope there. No, his captors had something else planned for him.

Henry pushed himself to his feet, not such an easy task with shackled wrists. The other end of the rope was tied to the frame of an old farm tractor, red paint peeling from the rusted body.

Just beyond the tree, a campfire blazed, lighting up the grassy area around the oak.

Henry looked away from the bright flames and squinted into the darkness. He could make out a horde of shadowy figures a hundred feet away. Talking in hushed tones, they milled about like they were waiting for something.

A moment later, a far-off voice called out, "Hi-yo!"

Henry's heart rate started to quicken.

What began as a faint patter swelled into a thunderous rumble as a throng of figures marched toward Henry from every direction. Silently, they emerged into the glow of the light, surrounding Henry in a large circle, two and three bodies deep.

Henry's jaw fell open.

The Vigilantes of the White!

There were a couple dozen of them. They looked like maniacal fiends. Every one of them dressed in the same haunting manner: a dark gray trench coat, black pants and shoes, black fedora, and a black gangster mask. The mask covered each Vigilante from nose to neck, imprinted with a white skeletal mouth, jaw, and neck bones.

Despite the hellish masks, Henry recognized Shane, Hans, Karl, and Garvey – their figures giving them away. They stood across from him between the fire and the tree.

"Bracken!" Henry cried out. "What's going on?"

Bracken didn't respond. He just glared at Henry like the other Vigilantes.

Henry screamed, "Why'd you bring me here?"

The only response was the whistling of the wind, and it sent a chill across Henry's shoulders.

"What do you want from me?" Henry rushed forward, but the rope snapped taut, pulling his arms around. He stepped back, allowing the rope to go slack. He glared at Clayton's men. He knew it was them despite their concealed faces. "Why won't you say anything? Bracken. Garvey. I know you're behind those masks!"

Neither man responded.

Beyond the circle of Vigilantes, a bell clanged three times. Then there was a loud snort ... a horse!

The Vigilantes furthest from the tree started to move around. They parted, creating an opening into the darkness.

Something was about to happen!

Henry heard the rumble of hooves drawing closer ... fast.

A heartbeat later, a Vigilante garbed in a flowing charcoal trench coat rode through the opening on a black stallion. The horse reared up and whinnied, and Henry raised his forearms as a shield.

The rider settled the stallion and brought a leg over the animal's back, dismounting in one smooth movement. On his upper sleeve, he wore a red-white-red armband with four hexagrams across the white stripe.

A commander!

Henry had heard rumors about the commanders. About their ability to keep their identities secret. About their influential power over widespread numbers of Vigilantes. And about the fear they bred in the communities they targeted. But he'd always assumed they were a myth ... that the Vigilantes were only a bunch of hapless thugs.

That couldn't have been further from the truth.

In unison, all of the Vigilantes held their hands out at an upward angle, palms down.

A feeling of dread crawled under Henry's skin. The more he thought about it, the Vigilantes seemed like an organized cult, and this was one of their dictators.

"Why're you holding me hostage?" Henry demanded.

The Commander looked at Henry, a reflection of flames dancing in his demonic brown eyes.

Under the man's mask, Henry imagined the face of a resolute man. A hard-nosed militant with military training and war experience. A man who feared no one and with little regard for mercy.

"Henry Louis, you have been brought before this tribunal to be punished for your crime."

"Crime?" Henry said, "What crime? I didn't do anything!"

The Commander shook his head. "Your kind was brought to this country to serve whites. Not to share in our freedoms. The constitution begins with 'We the people of the United States.' Negroes are nothing more than primal beasts. This country has grown weak by allowing blacks to prosper."

"We deserve a chance too!" Henry cried.

"No!" the Commander shouted, his eyes brimming with rage. He thrust an index finger at Henry. "Our races are not equal, and they will never be equal. The Vigilantes were born to right the weaknesses of this nation. You will be punished ... for the good of humanity."

"You're crazy!" Henry shouted. He swiveled around, glaring at the crowd. "You're all crazy! And you're not going to get away with it!"

A grin blazed in the Commander's eyes behind his ghoulish mask. "Oh, but we will get away with it. Who's going to stop us? There's not a person in Hester with the guts to stand up to the Vigilantes. That's why we've established a colony here."

Shock overtook Henry's expression. "A colony?"

The Commander nodded. "While America fights a war abroad, The Vigilantes have been quietly spreading across the Midwest, establishing secret colonies in small towns like Hester. Soon our dominance will extend from coast to coast. Once that happens, no force will be able to stop us."

"I take it back," Henry said. "You're not crazy. You're deranged!"

The skeletal mouth on the Commander's mask smirked at Henry. He gave a wave of his hand.

Immediately, two Vigilantes strode forward. They assumed positions beside the Commander, each bearing an armband with three hexagrams and a four-foot rattan cane.

Henry couldn't breathe. He remembered his father, Eli, telling him about his days as a slave on a plantation. One of his daily chores was to set the dinner table for six. For each person, he'd lay down left to right a fork, plate, napkin on top of the plate, knife, and a spoon. One time, he slipped and placed a spoon before the knife. When his master noticed the error, he took Eli out back lashed and him with a rattan cane until his back was raw with welts.

"Henry, I'd like you to meet our two newest captains," the Commander boasted. "They're going to serve your punishment tonight. Then they'll lead the colony in Hester."

Captain One gazed at Henry through icy blue eyes ... eyes that Henry recognized.

"Clayton!" Henry said in disgust. "I know that's you."

"There is no Clayton here," Captain One said, devoid of emotion. "I am Vigilante. We are all Vigilante."

Henry huffed. This man was Clayton, albeit a brainwashed version. Or maybe it was all an elaborate hoax. It just didn't make any sense. Everything Henry had seen tonight ... everything he'd heard ... seemed so far from reality. And yet it was a reality of horror unfolding.

Henry's gaze drifted over Captain Two's face, and he blinked in surprise.

The man had light brown skin ... a mulatto.

"Do I know you?" Henry asked.

"I am Vigilante," Captain Two said, an eerie calm in his expression.

Henry met the Commander's eyes. "How can a colored man be a Vigilante?"

Amusement set into the Commander's expression. "Henry, misguided individuals like yourself assume the Vigilantes hate blacks. The truth is, we despise the weak. The vision of the Vigilantes is simple: The weak must perish to make room for the strong. So while this Vigilante bears a colored past, his white heritage has become his salvation. Time after time, this one has proven himself by doing the bidding of the Vigilante Order and for selflessly donating all of his worldly possessions to our cause."

Henry stared at Captain Two. He looked familiar, but Henry couldn't place who he was.

The Commander continued. "For your punishment, you will be whipped thirteen times ... by each Vigilante. But don't worry. I expect you to make it out alive."

"What?" Henry said, sarcastically. "You mean you're not going to kill me?"

The Commander snickered. "You're worth far more alive than dead. We want to send a message to your feeble race. To weaken your compatriots even more. Best of all, you're going to be the message, beaten senseless and torn down to nothing. And if you try to sniff us out to the authorities, let me remind you that we know where you live, and we know who lives with you."

Rage consumed Henry's body. "If you lay a hand on Sarah, I'll kill you! Do you hear me?! I'll kill you."

The Commander winked, before he turned and started to walk away. "Let the punishment begin!"

Henry's eyes widened as he felt the rope pull his arms up. Vigilantes Hans and Karl were pulling the other end of the rope, hoisting him up, until he was suspended just above the ground.

Clayton gave Henry a bemused grin behind his skeletal mask.

He wasn't brainwashed! It was all an elaborate act.

"Don't do this, Clayton!" Henry shouted.

Clayton remained silent as he moved behind Henry.

Captain Two stood before Henry, the rattan cane raised. There was something written in his expression. Contempt?

Henry didn't get a chance to continue that thought.

Clayton struck first, lashing the cane against Henry's back.

Henry grunted as a tidal wave of pain swept through his entire body.

As the two Vigilantes struck him with their canes, one after the other, Henry's grunts turned into screams, piercing through the night air.

Each strike felt like a hundred hornet stings. Or like a knife slicing into him. Blood started to trickle down Henry's chest and back.

Captain Two kept mumbling something.

At first, Henry couldn't make out what he was saying.

But he kept repeating it, until finally, Henry picked up on the words.

"You stole Sarah from me."

Henry continued to cry out, fighting back tears. He began to mutter the Our Father like his mother had taught him, a prayer to take his mind away from the pain. But before he finished, a shockwave took over Henry's thoughts. He knew who Captain Two was.

Krack!

In his mind, he could see his face.

Smack!

From the Diamond Club.

Whack!

Henry started to weep.

It was Edward Benedict.