Muster

by Christoff Orr

  At one time, before the lights went out, it was the hub of a highly profitable financial firm. Still, on the wall in the entryway of the office space, brass lettering, spelling out, B & G Investments. The small but lucrative firm dealt with the buying, selling and trading of crop commodities, corn and wheat being their bread and butter as it wears. After the lights went out, the office became a staging area, then a storage space for FEMA and other emergency response organizations. Finally in the end though, it became just like everything else, dead and empty.

  A lot of the office equipment still remained, such as the desks, the chairs, phones and even most of the silk plants. They had all been pushed aside, to make room for larger, more important equipment. There they stayed, useless and unwanted. The desks, huddled together along the far wall, while the rolling chairs still seemed to be wondering as they dotted the office floor in a random pattern. The silk plants had been pilled up along one of the walls, most of the plants ending up on their side. Once cared for, and cleaned weekly, they now laid disheveled and covered a think layer of dirt and dust. The echoes of the once busy trading floor now weakly clung to the discarded instruments of its success.

  Tommy slowly got up and walked over to the windows that lined the outer wall. Night had completed engulfed the landscape, which was now pop marked with street lights along the roadways. The electrical nocturnal display was minimal compared to how the area would have looked prior to the blackout, but still, it was impressive. Not bothering to turn around, Tommy spoke up, “I wonder where they all went, what happened to them?”

  Cherry, used the spoon to scrap the emptied carcass of the tin can in hopes of getting a few more flavors for her taste buds, only half hearing Tommy. After a moment of silence, she realized that he had asked a question, and wasn’t just making a random observation. She placed the emptied can on the carpeted floor, the used spoon rattled around for a moment before settling in. “I’m sorry dear, I couldn’t completely hear you. Who were you talking about?”

  “The people who use to work here, I wonder what happened to them. Did they die during the blackout, did they fighting in the Fox Wars, or are the survivors, now taking a new life, to ensure their continued existence?” Tommy called out, throwing his question towards the pains of glass and allowing it to bounce back towards Cherry.

  “Are you afraid to kill again?” Cherry asked. The question leaped out past her lips, uncontrolled, harsh and almost accusingly. She instantly threw her right hand up to cover up her mouth, but it was too late. They had already sprung to life, they had already raced across the slumbering office and attached themselves to Tommy. To her surprise though he didn’t even acknowledge their presence, at least not at first.

  “It's easy to kill, just a few pounds of pressure on a trigger, and that’s that. It’s not the act of killing that has me thinking, it the residue that's left behind.” Tommy said, his voice sounding distance and hollow. It was like his words were on a recording which was being played in a room down the hall. “Every time you take another mans life, he takes part of yours with him. There's always a trade, a give and take. I take his life, and he takes a part of my soul.” Tommy paused, allowing his final word to float in the vacant space between him and Cherry.

  “Hey,” Cherry called out, as she fully unzipped the sleeping bag, allowing the chilled air to greedily rush and embrace her exposed legs. “I’m sorry I said anything. It came out wrong. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.” She now repositioned herself, to allow a bit more space in the silk-lined cocoon. “Come over here dear, come and keep me warm. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, you need your rest.”

  Tommy turned towards Cherry, her face and body draped in the glow of the lanterns light. “It’s okay, no need to apologize. The voices have been dancing in the dark for some time now. I guess with everything that’s going to be going down tomorrow, I guess they figured it was time to come into the light.” He let a trace of a smile to crawl upon his lips before he slowly started to walk over towards Cherry and her warm embrace.

  Tommy had just about cleared the distance between him and Cherry when the sounds of the lock on the office door being opened could be heard. There were a few obligatory sounds, of doors opening, and luggage being rolled on the worn carpeting. A few seconds later, Mr. Edict came around the corner, stopping almost immediately when he saw a half-naked Cherry, her sleeping bag opened invitingly.

  “Well, looks like I came at the wrong time,” Mr. Edict said. He walked to the center of the once lavish office, where he placed a very large duffle bag. He was also rolling a thin but large, hard case, container, which he slowly lowered onto the floor next to the duffle bag. He first unzipped the bag, before reaching over and releasing the latches on the hard case container. “I just got done visiting with the Vice President, it took a little hand-holding and a lot of Scotch, but he’s on board and understands what is at stake.” He paused a moment to look up at Tommy, ensuring that he had the young mans attention. “Now,” he started as he slowly stood up, arching his back a little. “That bag is a lot heavier than it looks.”

  Tommy slowly strolled over, cautiously, like a child the first time they see a snake. He knew he wanted to go over there and look in the case and in the bag, yet a bit of fear still encased him. With a sense of foreboding, he willed his feet to proceed forward. As expected the large, solid case, housed the Dragunov sniper rifle. It sat comfortably in the custom cut foam, which was housed inside the hardened case. He next tossed his eyes towards the bag, it, unlike the hardened case, was a mashup of supplies. “What’s all of that?” He asked as he nodded towards the canvas container.

  Mr. Edict nudged the bag with his left foot as if he was trying to wake up a sleeping dog. “Tomorrow, first thing, I need both of you to get dressed in the clothes in this bag. There is also some food, money, map and other supplies to help you two get back to the cabin. Once there, I want you two to stay quiet and out of sight. As soon as I can I’ll join you up there.” He said, his hands planted triumphantly upon his hips.

  “My parents?” Tommy asked plainly, more of a matter of fact that an actual question.

  “They will be taken care of immediately.” Mr. Edict replied, with a smile of any top used car salesman. “Just imagine the trigger on that rifle as a deposit button. As soon as you pull that trigger, your parents are taken care of for the rest of their lives. You have my word, they will never have to work in the fields ever again, and they will be waited on daily.” He bent back down to zip up the bag, and as almost an afterthought, he quickly snapped his fingers and looked back up. “Your clothing, both of you, and sleeping bag and such, burn it. Burn it all, before you shoot.”

  “You want us to burn our clothes?” Cherry asked, still sitting on the ground, but now nearly fully covered by the sleeping bag.

  “Yes,” Mr. Edict forcefully said, as he nearly threw his words at Cherry. Then looking over at Tommy, he followed up in a more benevolent manner, “Tomorrow is going to be hectic and stressful. I would highly suggest you get right to bed. No,” he paused as he turned his gaze back to Cherry, “No extracurricular activities.”

  Tommy gave a quick nod and a curt, “Yes sir.”

  “Good boy Tommy,” Mr. Edict said with a smile as he patted Tommy on the shoulder. He then extended his hand and said, “I won't see you again till it’s over. I’ll meet up with you at the cabin. But of luck to you Tommy.”

  Tommy shook Mr. Edicts hand and softly said, “Yes sir.” The words crawled out of his mouth and mournfully fell onto the floor before him. He knew this was coming, he knew it ever since he met with the King, seemingly so long ago. But now, to be standing here, tools at his feet, instructions in mind. He had to keep reminding himself why he was doing it. There was a boisterous talk by the King about the good on the Nation, the safety of the people. But for him, it was a lot simpler. For him, it just came down to family, his family. He looked over towards Cherry, who still held the sides of the sleeping bag up high up around her n
eck. He smiled as he looked at her. His family, him, his mom and dad, and, Cherry.

  28 High Noon

  Double R Ranch

  Just about everything in Stonewalls life changed when the lights went out, and it didn’t really improve when the resumed. There was one thing though, that he fought for tirelessly, that was having breakfast. You would think that something so benign, something so trifle as setting aside five or ten minutes every morning to eat something, anything, would have been abandoned a long tie ago. Especially during those dark days when there was nearly nothing to eat. Even then, Stonewall found time to sit down, even if it was just to drink some freshly boiled water. But today, today was his special breakfast day.

  Once a month he allowed himself a little extra treat and partook in a proper breakfast. It consisted of a freshly pan seared steak, three sunny sides up eggs, and some piping hot coffee. The steak came from the cattle that was still roamed freely upon fields of the Double R Ranch, and the eggs were from the free-range chickens. The coffee that filled his cup this morning had just been recently acquired from a Regional transport the day before. It was a different brand then what they usually carried, a bit more aristocratic then what Stonewall would normally drink. He liked his coffee dark as night and thick as the Dakota hills. He would rather chew his coffee than drink it, but in today’s world, you took what you could and said thank you.

  Stonewall took another sip of the coffee, allowing the flavored fluid to swirl around in his mouth a second before sending it down his throat. With a satisfying smile, he looked down at his plate. The piece of cooked meet sizzled, as it continued to allow the heat trapped within to escape. The three eggs jelled into one big egg. The whites of the eggs had seeped together during cooking, though the three suns remained independent and full. He cut off a large portion of the steak before thrusting it upon the one of the rising suns. The impact shattered the sun and allowing the bright yellow yolk to run freely. He pulled his fork upward, the sizzling meat clung on tight to the fork as yoke dripping from its edges.

  “Stonewall!” Cole called out as he entered the saloon. His words brutishly stumbled in, knocking over anything and anyone in their path.

  Stonewall sat frozen, mouth open, as his breath reached out towards the tasty breakfast treat. Holding his fork steady, he hooked a glance back towards the door. He was hoping that his gaze would be left wanting, to his much dismay, it landed on Cole, who was rushing right towards him. “This better be good, I’m talking life or death type.”

  “Trust me, it just might be,” Cole quickly replied, as he now stood next to Stonewall.

  Stonewall let out a disappointing sigh, as he dared one more glance at the bite in front of him. He thought momentarily about just shoving it and chewing quickly, but he figured that a special meal like this should be savored, not hurried. He placed the fork, still in possession of the delectable chunk of meat back down onto the plate. He pushed himself back from the table and stood, as he picked up his worn gray hat that had been sitting, patiently waiting for him. “This better be good,” he mumbled out as he turned and followed Cole out of the Silver Tongue.

  The two men walked briskly past the swinging doors of the Silver Tongue and out to the middle of the dirt covered Main St. There waiting, still mounted on his painted mustang, sat one of Stonewalls men. The riders Christen name had been forgotten a long time ago and was just known now as Tex. He was one of the more gifted riders that were apart of Stonewalls group and considering some of the riders that were attached to Stonewall and the Double R, that was saying a lot.

  “Boss,” Tex said as he saw Stonewall approach. His accent was that of a Tex-Mex vernacular, heavy on the Mex part.

  “What is all of this about Tex? It better be good too, because I got a five-star breakfast waiting in there for me,” Stonewall said as he threw a sharp index finger back towards the way he had just come.

  “Trouble boss. Regionals, five trucks coming this way.” Tex quickly answered as he sat tall in his saddle.

  Genuinely confused Stonewall turned towards Cole, “Regionals? I thought we took care of the payment already this month.”

  Cole just shrugged, looking as confounded as Stonewall. “We did, I was there at the drop myself.”

  “I don’t think they are coming here for tribute boss,” Tex said, as he now turned slightly in his saddle. His eyes kept darting from Stonewall back out towards the main road into the ranch.

  “Tex, get the men ready. Cole, you’re with me,” Stonewall said as he pulled down on his hat. As natural as breathing, he lowered his right hand down onto the smooth grip of his pistol. His fingers gently gave the grip a fond embrace, like two old friends who had just reunited after a long hiatus. His right index finger tapped methodically upon the blue steel cylinder, where six .45 Long Colt rounds anxiously waited to be released.

  The dust from the five vehicles could now be seen. It raised skyward like a warning of an impending storm. There were a dozen buildings that lined Main St., with the Silver Tongue at the end of one row, the Bank at the end of the other. Each building had a flat facial facade and was lined with a second-floor balcony, resembling any stereotypical old west town. Each store front had a differing paint job, with uniquely emblazoned names upon them. It always reminded Stonewall as a picturesque image which had been pulled from the pages of a Louis L'Amour paperback.

  Stonewall momentarily pulled his gaze from the growing dust cloud as he eyed the tops of the buildings. First looking down his left side, then his right. He only saw about a dozen men, but he knew that by now, nearly a hundred well-armed men would be in position. As he calculated the situation, he knew that they had the high ground, along with familiarity of the battleground. What he wasn’t sure of was the timetable and the size of the force coming to bear. To be honest with himself, this was neither the time nor the place that he wanted to do this, but such was the way of war.

  It didn’t take long for the source of the dust to reach the far edge of Main St. on the Double R. The five trucks rolled in, staying inline, they approached like an arrow, straight for Stonewall. The tip of the arrow rolled up and stopped about ten yards short of where Stonewall and Cole still stood. The dust, which had been signaling their arrival for the past little bit, quickly hurried past the stagnant trucks, and momentarily engulfed all along Main St. Soon enough the veil of dirt exhausted its momentum and silently collapsed upon the road and the surrounding buildings.

  For a moment, nobody moved. There was a light sampling of sounds that danced about, from the idling trucks, as the shop signs that hung in front of the faux emporiums squeaked while they swung back and forth. Boots moving about, ever so slightly, could be heard from some of the men who lined the rooftops, their rifles locked and loaded. If this was Hollywood, you would expect a tumbleweed or a saddled horse to come randomly passing through. But this wasn’t Hollywood, and there was no guaranteed happy fortunes for the hero of this story.

  It was when the sound of the passenger side door opening on the lead LMTV, was finally added to the scene, that everyone had cause to get on edge. There, standing in his Regional uniform, the villainous flag of the new America, blazoned upon his shoulder of his uniform. He fidgeted with his cover for a second before securing it on his closely shaved head.

  Capt. Doogen didn’t create a threatening profile by any means. He had an oval shaped head, which was topped by thinning brown hair, which was already reseeding, exaggerating widow peek. He possessed the odd body type, which perpetually caused him to look ten to twenty pounds overweight. It didn’t make him look obese or anything like that, but it would never be able to pull off a six-pack that’s for sure. To make it worse, he insisted that he did posses a fit frame, and tried to prove it by ordering uniforms a size too small. So now, as he stood there, the biggest threat that Stonewall or Cole might face would be one of the buttons on his uniform busting loose and be violently launched in their direction.

  “Capt. Doogen, what do we owe the please of your company
today,” Stonewall said in his most diplomatic voice.

  Capt. Doogen slowly walked towards Stonewall and Cole, ensuring to keep his movements calm and peaceful. He knew who Stonewall was, and knew that the men who followed Stonewall would stop at nothing to protect what they felt was theirs. “Stonewall, Cole,” the Captain started, his words lobbed out softly towards the two men, where it harmlessly fell at their feet. “We’ve known each other for some time now, and I would beg to say that we have formed,” He paused for a moment, wanting to choose the most factual word. He scratched his cheek then continued, “We’ve formed a symbiotic relationship I believe. You have allowed me to do my job, at least to the minimal requirements,” He quickly threw up his hands in defense, “Which I’m more than happy with, and I have looked the other way to allow you and your group to sustain some semblance of normality.” He now attempted to stand up straight, though the restrictive buttons on his uniformed limited him in movement. Not wanting to literately bust out of his shirt, he halted his stretch midway. “I’m here today in a gesture of friendship.”