The Dry Earth (Book 1): The Phone

by Orion, W. J.

  Maybe I’ll come say hi.

  Trey didn’t respond to that, and she put the phone away before the doors opened. When they did, a burly guard that could’ve been Brent’s older, bigger, and more dangerous looking brother stood in the tiled lobby beyond, and he greeted her with a smile. He seemed less dangerous after that.

  “You must be Michael.”

  He nodded. “I am. You can call me Mikey. Welcome to the Baron’s sanctum.”

  “Any chance you have a brother named Brent?”

  “No, I did have a brother named Antoine though. You know another black man?”

  “A few. I’m friends with a family back in Shant. You could be the dad’s brother.”

  “That’s kinda racist,” he said. “We don’t all look alike.”

  “It’s not, no. Not like that. I didn’t mean that at all. He’s big. You really do-“

  “Relax,” he broke into another smile. “I’m just messing with you.”

  “Seriously?” She exhaled. “I thought I had just really messed up.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that the Baron and I bust each other’s ba— We uh, give each crap all the time. Was hoping you’d be up for it.”

  “I am, for sure. I’m just a bit nervous. I feel like I’m pulling the curtain on the wizard.”

  “Don’t be. You’re welcome in Oz. Come in. I got a soda out for you. It’s on the table over there. Choices are slim, so I hope you like cola.”

  “Thank you. He doesn’t have a throne up here, does he? If he does, can I sit in it before he gets back?”

  Mikey broke out into laughter, and then shook his head. “No, no thrones, not unless you count the toilets up here.”

  She laughed. “I hoped he had a golden throne. Oh well, thank you for the soda,” she said, and turned and walked away from the elevator and into a bright room, full of windows that soared to the sky.

  A smaller version of the wide, open main floor lobby, this executive floor had been dedicated to the office and personal home-away-from-home for someone of particular importance before the invasion. A granite bar flanked a desk made of wood that certainly didn’t grow anywhere near here (even when there was water) and the open, two story ceiling revealed a dining table large enough to seat ten, beneath a lit electric chandelier that glistened and sparkled in the tiny beams of light that slipped between the canvas the Baron hung from the steel frames on the wall.

  Plush couches flanked the center themselves flanked by more exotic tables, and fancy artwork (some with scorch marks, or bullet holes) adorned all the walls above them. Halls and doors opened up into other rooms, but she didn’t dare explore. Michael (not the brother of Brent) was the gatekeeper here.

  Sitting on the large table at the center of the room was a can of soda. The faded red of the printing told her it was probably a Coca-Cola, but to be frank; she didn’t care. She picked the can up—paused to admire that it was cold—pried the tab off the top and took a dainty sip.

  It burned. The bubbles made her eyes water as they fizzed up her nose but… the drink was fresh, as delicious and sugary as the day it was canned, more than thirteen years ago. She pulled out one of the high-backed chairs, and had a seat beneath the chandelier, canned miracle in hand.

  She sat in silence, sipping her fizzy drink, looking at a series of subdued landscape paintings on the walls. She ignored a tiny buzz in her cargo pocket that had to be Trey messaging her, asking a question. She focused instead on the painting of willow trees nestled in the nook of a river that by now was dead and gone (if it ever existed in the first place).

  Her laser focus was broken when the elevator dinged, and the doors powered open.

  “Mikey,” the Baron said.

  “Cal,” Michael said back to him.

  Cal? The Baron’s name is Cal? Like Caliber? Why does that sound familiar?

  “Hey kid,” the Baron said as he strode towards her.

  The hulk of a man wore a simple pair of jeans, and a different version of the same faded blue shirt he wore before. This one was different. It had dark stains on it. Stains that were still wet…

  He had a spatter of blood on his cheek.

  She didn’t notice it until he sat the halligan down on the granite counter with a metallic ring. The spiked tip was covered in red blood straight to the base. He’d just….

  She put the can down with a shaking hand. Her mom’s phone buzzed in her pocket again.

  “Don’t be nervous. We had an issue down at the market.”

  “An issue? What happened?”

  “Theft of goods isn’t tolerated here at the tower. If proven, the punishment is swift and harsh,” he said, then sat down at the head of the table near the curtains covering the windows.

  “Did you kill them?” her shock wore through on her face.

  “No, I just put the spike through their calf and locked them up until they’re done healing. Jesus, I’m not a monster, Yasmine. Gimme some credit.”

  “I haven’t made my decision on that.”

  He smiled—slow, like he was realizing something about her—and nodded. “Smart women take their time on that. What can I help you with?”

  She went pale. “I um… have a really tough question to ask you. Something that might change how you feel about me. I need you to keep an open mind about the question, and me.”

  “I’ve made just about all my decisions about you. Say what you will. I think I already know what you want to ask anyway. Hey, did Mikey get you a drink? Oh you’re holding it. My bad, go on,” he said to her.

  She swallowed the rising tide of bile in her throat, and asked the first question.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A Question Not Asked, but Answered Anyway

  “Wait, you already know what I want to ask you?”

  “I think so,” the Baron said with a smile. “I’d already be going crazy if I were you.”

  “I am feeling a little out of my mind. And you don’t want to kill me?” Yasmine asked him. “Or lock me up?”

  He laughed. “Not in the least. I mean, maybe after Thanksgiving, but that’s months away.”

  She shook her head, relieved and confused at the same time. She sipped her cola and chuckled.

  “What?” he asked her.

  “I was so nervous to talk to you. I was so afraid of how you’d be in private, or after you figured out what I wanted to talk about.”

  “I told you; I’m not who the people think I am. Go ahead. Ask me what you came here to ask me. Let’s do this.”

  “Okay, cool. Do you have a teenager that helped crabs locked up here?”

  The Baron’s happy demeanor drained off and left a new one; a skeptical, worried expression. Yasmine’s gut gurgled, and the bile shot back up into her nasal passages.

  “That wasn’t the question I expected,” he said.

  “I see that. What question did you think I was going to ask you?”

  He shook his head. “Nuh uh. I don’t bet until I check. Finish what you’re talking about.”

  She tried to start at least ten times, but couldn’t find the courage and the words at the same time. She sipped her soda twice in the interim, keeping her drying mouth from swelling shut, and as she stammered, the Baron sat there, patient, and calm. Not happy, but patient and calm at least.

  “I heard you hit a patrol of crabs awhile back.”

  “We did. Not our first, nor our last.”

  “And the rumor has it, you took a teenager hostage that was helping them,” she said, and her mom’s phone in her pocket beneath the table buzzed again.

  “How’d you hear this rumor?”

  “News made its way out to Shant. I heard it at the marketplace.”

  “Right. Okay. What’s your investment in this supposed teenager I supposedly have in captivity?”

  “He’s a friend.”

  “A friend? Are you shitting me?”

  “No. I wouldn’t… I mean. I don’t know what to say right now. I thought I was doing the righ
t thing coming here and talking to you but the further along I go the less faith I have in everything I know.”

  “Oooooh. You sound like a jaded adult. Coming back to the city to investigate a supposed traitor of the human race? And then to call him a friend? How’d you meet this friend?”

  “I’d rather not say,” Yasmine said.

  “I’d rather you did say,” the Baron said. “It could be life or death for someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Your friend, for one. Or those charged with keeping your ‘friend’ locked up, assuming he’s even real, and I assure you, your friend is not real, Yasmine.”

  “I’m so confused. You’re worried that I found out about someone that you say doesn’t exist. If you’re worried, then they exist.”

  The Baron mulled words over, and clasped his large, worn hands together. “They exist. This friend you talk about. I have a prisoner from that ambush, sure do. But he ain’t no teenager, Yasmine.”

  “He’s older?”

  “He… it ain’t human.”

  The feeling in her stomach had to be worse than getting shot. Nothing could be worse than the… despair she felt. Her mom’s phone buzzed again. Without thinking, she reached under the table, and pulled it out. She rested the poisonous device she’d loved for so long on the table in front of her. The Baron looked at it. The vibrate triggered again. Trey—whoever he was—was messaging her over and over.

  “Whoever you have captive, has been messaging me on my mom’s phone.”

  Something happened in the Baron just then. He looked down at the phone in front of her and his eyes filled with water. His big, strong hands came apart, and she watched as his meaty fingers trembled.

  “That’s… your mom’s phone? You kept it working all this time?” he asked in a whisper, and reached out slightly towards it.

  “Yes,” she answered, putting a protective hand out over it.

  This time it was the Baron’s turn to lose words. His chin trembled, his eyes filled with tears and ran over and he licked his lips just like she did when she felt lost.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your mom is… she’s gone, right? She died?” he managed. “Your dad too?”

  “Dad died when I was really young. Five, I think. I barely remember him. Mom died just three years ago.”

  “How?”

  “Dad died from wounds we got when he fought raiders off. Mom got sick. Really sick over a winter. Took her a few months to pass. The worst thing. You can’t imagine. Why are they so important all of a sudden?”

  “Lord, girl I am so sorry you were alone so long,” he said, and let slip a sharp sob. “She never should’ve left. I shouldn’t have….”

  The feeling of dread, betrayal and sadness in her stomach faded, and was replaced by curiosity. Could he know her? His mom? And maybe her dad?

  “Do you know my parents?”

  He sobbed and laughed again. “Of course I do, your mom is my sister. You’re my niece. That’s what I thought you came here to talk about with me.”

  Her mom’s phone buzzed on the table again.

  “Not possible. There are no pictures of you in her gallery. There would be pictures.”

  “Maybe she deleted them. We didn’t part on the best of circumstances after the invasion started. I was why your father and mother left the city.”

  “I’m not from the city. My mother told me-“

  “A lie to keep you safe,” the Baron finished.

  Yasmine’s face grew hot. “My mother would never lie to me.”

  “Your mother was a great woman. I could never have asked for a better sister, but you need to know that if it meant lying to keep you safe, she’d tell you grass was blue and the sky was green. She’d do anything to keep you safe. Your father too.”

  “Did you know my father?” Hope surged up in her. If he was really telling the truth….

  “Your father was my fireman brother. We worked at the same station for years. It was his first job. I introduced him to your mom. I loved him. He was family to me before he slipped a ring on my sister’s finger.”

  “You’re lying. My mom told me they met at an electronic concert.”

  He smiled. “That’s sort of true. I bought them tickets to a festival for their first date.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Wanna play twenty questions? I tell you things about your parents no one else could know until you believe me?”

  “…Sure.”

  “Your mother’s name is Olivia Ring, which makes me a Ring too. Your father’s name is Bill. William, technically.”

  “Anyone could’ve guessed that.”

  “Right, anyone. Let’s go further down the rabbit hole then, eh? Your Dad’s last name is Whitten, which makes your full name Yasmine Whitten.”

  “I mean, yeah, but I don’t think you….” She felt sick. Exposed. Her mom’s phone buzzed again.

  “You lived right here in Milwaukee, a mile from the 12 Oklahoma station before the war. Your father and I started to rescue people, and set up what is now the Monoliths, but they cut and ran before we got too big. Before we became what we are now.”

  “My mother told me we were from a small town,” Yasmine said, arguing.

  “I get it. Your father and I… we differed on… strategies. I was harsh and… shit, I guess you could say violent. I gave very little mercy the first few years. I was angry. Needed to destroy. Made a lot of enemies. Enemies that put you, my sister and your dad in danger.”

  “And they left to keep me safe?”

  “Yeah. Probably for the better. We had very rough times. I might’ve gotten you hurt. Not that the wasteland is any safer than the city, really.”

  “I can’t even imagine this. My entire life is… not right?”

  “Don’t say that. Your mom did exactly what she had to do to keep you safe, and it worked. Look at you. You’re what? Sixteen years old and a successful scavenger who has already taken out a crab on her own? I only wish I’d thought to do things differently. Anything to keep them, and you safe. Keep you closer. I’ve missed so much.”

  “Are you really my uncle?”

  “Do you still have pictures of your mom on there?” he pointed at the phone. “Look at her, then look at me.”

  Yasmine snatched the phone up and unlocked it. She discarded the fourteen notifications from Trey and opened the gallery of images. She scrolled back until she saw the most recent photo of her mother; a selfie they took just before she died. Yasmine held the phone up to the Baron and looked back and forth between the two of them.

  The nose, the dark eyes, the chin… All the same as her mom’s. Sure, other parts were different, but they were obviously related. There could be no other conclusion.

  “Now look at me, and look at you,” he urged with gentleness.

  She did so. Yasmine snapped a selfie and compared the picture to him as he sat there. Her nose to his, her chin to his…

  “You’re Caleb. Caleb, not Caliber. I knew Cal sounded familiar. There are a few old text messages about a man named Cal and Caleb. I thought it was a friend’s name. Turns out…”

  “Creepy Uncle Caleb,” the Baron said, and stood. “Welcome home, Baroness. Can I hug you? Please?”

  She stood, and went to the only family she had left on Earth.

  Her mom’s phone buzzed in protest on the table.

  Her heart buzzed in contentment when she felt arms wrap around her that felt as big, as warm, and as familiar as her dad’s. They stood like that, each crying while the phone continued to buzz like a bee hive.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Time for a Confession

  They separated.

  “So who do I believe?” she asked him. “I mean, you’re my family, I believe you, but who do I believe about the person messaging me? I don’t know what to do.”

  “I would side with family, but you don’t know me from a hole in the wall. Do you want to meet your pen pal before you decide?
I have him locked up in-“

  “A cell tower control room.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. And I now see that was a huge mistake. Do you know how he’s doing this?”

  “What exactly is going on with Trey?” she asked as her phone buzzed again.

  “He’s… Trey? I wonder why that name? Okay, let me explain from the start. Sit, keep drinking. Hey Mikey! Get me something stiff to drink with my niece please, come join us. I want you in on this.”

  Mikey nodded, and disappeared behind the bar. He returned with a half drank bottle of bourbon and two more cold sodas. Her uncle Caleb grabbed some tumbler glasses and when all the pieces were assembled, they each had a cocktail.

  He continued. “Three crabs were skulking within a mile of here, grabbing hard to get supplies out the rubble. Stuff we don’t have the equipment to dig down to or lift easy. They were moving it about, being shady, and while they had their tentacles busy, a small group of my best ex-military guys used some of our last anti-tank weapons to take them out. Mikey and I were two of the eight fighters there that day.”

  “Not news to me,” she said, sipping her own drink.

  “When you kill a crab, they melt, or blow up, kinda. All they leave behind is a melted shell of armor. Rarely anything usable, and no bodies to examine. To this day, we have no idea what they look like. We’ve thought they were unarmored versions of what the outer shell looks like. That, or maybe the crabs, shrimps, and crab tanks are all robots, right?”

  “I’m with ya.”

  “But these three crabs… They didn’t blow up. Well, two of them did from the rockets we shot at them, but the third one was disabled, and didn’t hit the hari-kari button. When we approached, a small hatch-“

  “On its belly opened,” she finished for him.

  “Yeah, exactly. We removed a… a fish tank with all these connector sockets. One big one on the top. And you’ll never guess what was inside it.”

  “A bunch of little squids.”

  “It was a bunch of little squi— wait. How’d you know that?”

  “Trey told me.”

  “So you know he is or it, or Trey as it seems to call itself is, it’s a crab… fish tank? Good bourbon. I can’t even talk straight.”