by Sam Clark
***
James let Czarina walk ahead of him as they made their way from the brig, which wasn’t hard given the pace she set. As soon as she was out of sight, James glanced around to see if he was alone. Seeing no one, he doubled over with his hands on his knees. His neck felt like it was holding up a bowling ball, and he could barely breathe. His stomach churned and acid began to creep up into his esophagus. The look on Czarina’s face when he had said those awful things had been terrible. Lips parting, eyes widening, then a few rapid blinks, a quick glance to the side, a slight shrug of the shoulders and it was gone. It had been that quick, but it was more than long enough for the image to sear itself in to his consciousness. He knew he would never forget that look. To have been the cause of such hurt was almost too much for him. Considering that he was hunched over in the hall, heaving for air, it may have actually been too much for him. To have said such things to his granddaughter… It repulsed him to have even suggested that anything that monster Steve had done had been in any way her fault. Of course, he hadn’t stopped there. He had gone so far as to imply that Steve might leave Isabella alone if Czarina would do them all a favor and leave, which was patently false. If anything, he was now more likely than ever to go after Isabella. Steve would be looking to reassert his authority, and with Czarina gone, Isabella would be the most likely target given that she publicly rebuffed him.
Get a hold of yourself. There will be time enough for regrets later. There is still work to be done. You will see this thing through. Just breathe.
James took several deep breaths to begin the process of calming his overwrought nerves. Now was the worst possible time for him to be having some sort of panic attack. He still had so much to do. His plan was so fragile. Every little thing had to go just right. But none of those thoughts were helpful, so James acknowledged them and let them pass. Gradually, his breathing started to feel more under control. When it did, he started confronting his guilt with the cold lens of logic to cope with it.
He had done it for the right reasons. To save Czarina from this place, from Steve, and hopefully from herself. To keep Steve away from Isabella. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for those two girls, to make them safe. If that meant having them hate him, then so be it. If it meant he would feel this wretched for the rest of his days, he would gladly make the sacrifice. To overcome Czarina’s unexpected recalcitrance to leave, to keep the plan on track, he had said what he had to. It had been necessary, and he would do what was necessary. Czarina would understand. He would make sure of it. He would make sure she knew the whole ugly truth eventually. The rationalizations comforted him, and he slowly let his breath return to its normal rhythm. His head began to feel a little lighter. A knot he hadn’t even been aware of between his shoulders released. His stomach still felt like it was stuck on the spin cycle, but it was a definite improvement. He was feeling more and more like himself with each breath.
At that moment, Private Bruster exited the nearby woman’s lavatory. “Are you okay, sir?”
James, who’d still been hunched over, straightened up and looked at the young girl. A smile came to his lips. He was definitely feeling better. “I’m just fine, Private Banana. Thank you for asking.” He really should have set a better example for the girl. Too late now. James took his leave from the polite private and went to do what was necessary to save his granddaughters.
TWENTY-SIX
Location: Maize City
Date: 9-10-61
Preston thought about what Austin had said regarding how the fight would play out, and tried to compare it to what he was seeing. The first few minutes went exactly as Austin predicted, but Preston had a hard time believing it would suddenly change. His brother looked like a man possessed. Preston had never seen Edison’s blade move so crisply, so quickly. Thoka’s clay-colored skin was crisscrossed with crimson, and he was backpedaling so frequently it seemed he had forgotten how to move forward.
As Thoka once again started to retreat, Edison pressed forward and closed the gap, preventing Thoka from resting. Edison feinted high, then slashed low. Thoka gave no reaction, but Preston could tell Edison had connected again, and he saw a small dark spot appear on Thoka’s deerskin pants at mid-thigh. The bloodstain grew at what seemed to Preston an alarming rate. In a just few moments it had reached the knee.
“I think you might be wrong, my friend. Thoka is a step too slow, and that wound will make him even slower,” Preston said to Austin, never taking his eyes from the spectacle before him.
“With all due respect for your battle eye, my lord, that cut looks worse than it is. A bleeder, sure, but nothing too serious. And I’m telling you true, my lord, your brother’s in trouble.”
Preston could not believe Austin was so blind. Even the children in the crowd who’d never picked up a sword could tell how this one was going to end. Thoka was heaving for breath, moving unsteadily on his feet, no doubt as a result of blood loss. His sword was too low to adequately protect his neck. Preston fully expected one of the next exchanges to result in Thoka being run through.
Another clash of swords led to another spray of Thoka’s blood, a nasty gash across his chest this time. By Preston’s count, it was his fifth such wound. As they came apart, Thoka turned and ran to create distance. The crowd roared with laughter and shouted their derision at their king.
Preston felt a wave of disgust roil through him—not at Thoka turning tail, but at the fact that this sea of human refuse thought it could laugh at its king. Once he was in control of the Free Counties, they wouldn’t dare to so much as tell a joke about their sovereign, even in the darkest tavern at the darkest hour of night—not that he would give them a reason to want to. He would be a good king, stern but fair.
When Thoka turned back toward Edison, he looked like a dead man. He was gasping for air like a fish out of water, and blood and sweat slicked his skin. He dug the tip of his sword into the ground in front of him and leaned on it like an old man on a cane.
Edison Rhodes was about to become the King of the Free Counties of South Dakota. All Preston’s hard work was about to be ruined. Even worse, his embezzlement would be discovered when no ‘victory’ car was forthcoming. I should have placed a bet. He’d have to beg his brother’s forgiveness. No, I’d rather drink foxglove tea.
As Edison began to stalk across the arena toward his wounded prey, Preston turned to Austin and said with a sigh, “This is it.”
“Yeah, but it won’t be the ending you’re expecting, my lord. The Dread’s not nearly so tired as he seems. He’s playing possum.”
Preston laughed nervously. “We’ll see,” he managed to say as his mind frantically looked for a way out of the predicament he was about to be in.
“We will, my lord.”
Once Edison had closed the distance, he lunged in. A lightning-quick flick of the wrist sent his sword darting through the air. The crowd collectively held its breath in anticipation of their king being skewered.
However, Edison’s sword missed its target. Somehow, Thoka had managed to sidestep it at the last possible instant while raising his own sword to a striking position.
Finding empty air where he had expected flesh, Edison tripped. He recovered his footing after only a few errant steps and whipped around to face the Dread, simultaneously bringing his sword up in an attempt to defend against the attack that was sure to follow in the wake of such a stumble.
Once again, Thoka did the unexpected. Rather than attacking with his sword, which Edison would have been well-positioned to block, Thoka lashed out with a foot. It connected with the outside of Edison’s knee.
Preston had an unobstructed view of his brother’s knee as it caved inward. The awful snapping sound he heard reminded him of the way his father used to break open chicken legs at the dinner table to slurp out the marrow, only this snap was much louder. Preston’s mind had barely begun to register what was happening when Edison’s screeching wail made his ears ring.
Through a tremendous
act of will, Edison managed not to collapse all the way to the ground. He only dropped to all fours, with almost none of his weight on his injured right leg. Preston watched a long strand of snot drip from his brother’s perfect nose to the ground as he barked another undignified scream. Preston knew he would never forget this moment. And there was none of the pleasure he’d have expected to accompany his brother’s public humiliation. He would remember this as the moment he knew he had failed. All his planning and sacrificing. The countless hours of study, learning what it meant to rule. The murders. The money spent. And he had just run out of time, all because he had failed to manage Edison’s ego. His most valuable piece off the board, for nothing. A screaming, blubbering mess. Likely lame. For nothing.
Thoka reared back with his sword arm and drove his handguard into the back of Edison’s head. The screaming stopped abruptly as Edison dropped flat to the ground.
Preston would have bet good money that Thoka’s punch could have felled a bull. Just seeing the immense power of the blow left Preston stunned; he could only imagine how it left his brother feeling. In the span of three heartbeats, Preston had gone from being sure Edison was about to be the new king to watching Thoka stand over his limp body.
It took the crowd a moment to process what it had just seen as well, but when it did, the cheer was deafening. All traces of the earlier derision toward Thoka were gone. He’d transformed into a god in the eyes of the gathered masses.
Preston had to raise his voice to be heard, which, with the emotion of the moment, proved difficult. “Is… is he dead, Austin?”
Austin leaned close to Preston’s ear. “I don’t think so, my lord. Not yet, anyway.”
It was true—even if Edison wasn’t dead yet, he was at the mercy of Thoka. Again. Just because he had shown mercy in the past didn’t mean he would today.
Preston stood by like the rest of the crowd, transfixed, waiting to see what Thoka would do. He was glad Kathy hadn’t attended, even though she might have turned to him for comfort in this most difficult time.
Thoka turned in a slow circle looking at the crowd. When his dark penetrating gaze reached Preston, he stopped momentarily. Preston noticed that Thoka’s handguard was severely dented from striking his brother’s head.
Preston had spent so much time debating whether it would be worse if his brother won or died that he’d failed to see the other possibility—which was perhaps the worst of both worlds.
Please, please don’t let him be an invalid. His plans would be wrecked, as would any chance he had at Kathy—at least so long as his brother hung on. Preston resolved right then and there that if his brother was addled, he’d suffocate him with a pillow the first chance he got. Unsure of what his eyes might reveal to Thoka, Preston looked down.
A few heartbeats later, Preston glanced back up and saw that Thoka had continued turning to survey the crowd. The explosion of noise that had burst forth in the wake of the knockout blow had died to a low murmur as people waited to see what would happen next.
The relative quiet of the moment was pierced by a woman’s scream: “Kill him!”
Match to tinder, the crowd erupted, and a chant of “Kill! Kill! Kill!” broke out. The rhythm of it coursed through Preston’s body.
He couldn’t be positive, but based on the fervor with which she was currently shouting, “Kill,” Preston thought the initial call might have come from Sunkist herself.
An impressive woman. She’ll have to be watched more closely. At least until her husband is removed from the equation.
Thoka turned in his wife’s direction. If he said anything, Preston would never know, as Thoka was facing away from him and the crowd’s frenzy made hearing impossible.
Thoka turned from his wife, looked down at Edison’s unmoving form for a moment, then tossed his sword down. He limped from the arena with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. The emotion of the crowd turned again in an instant, like a leaf in a swirling fall wind. But this time they didn’t boo—they cheered and cried out blessings for “Thoka the Merciful!”
As soon as her husband departed, Sunkist stalked away in the exact opposite direction, a look of disgust upon her face, as if she couldn’t stand to hear her husband called merciful. Her son and the old man hurried after her.
A very impressive woman, indeed. This is no place for the merciful. Preston sighed, then decided things could be worse. He now had something money couldn’t buy, something he’d thought he’d lost: time. Time to think. Time to plan. And that was all he ever needed.
“With a wife like that…” Austin began.
Preston didn’t hear the rest of what Austin said; he was too busy tallying the numbers. Checking and double-checking. It was so blatantly obvious, he almost couldn’t believe it was true. Yet, each time he got the same answer: thirty-eight.
How had he missed it? Not more than a half an hour ago he’d contemplated his six-year-old nephew’s marriage prospects, but in all his years of planning he’d never really considered his own. Then again, there had never been a woman he could have married who would have made him heir to eight counties. But that’s exactly what he’d get if he could arrange a marriage with Emily—Gunner’s newly widowed daughter.
He’d wait a month or two, let the worst of Emily’s grief pass, then pay a visit to Lord Gunner. He’d say he wanted to discuss a trade agreement or something similar. Perfectly plausible given that parts of their territories shared a border. He’d say what a tragedy it was for Emily to have lost her husband. How stressful it must be for Gunner in his twilight years to have to worry about his wife, daughter, and granddaughter being thrown out on the street now that he didn’t have a legal heir. Preston would express his sympathy for the plight of women in the Free Counties. How much he disagreed with his father, who’d been the one to insist women couldn’t inherit because it would make the Free Counties weak. Maybe together they could secure enough votes in the House of Lords to change it. Of course, that would take time. The next session wasn’t until June. And it would probably take a few years to get enough votes for such a monumental change. Then he’d say something to the effect of, ‘if only there were something you could do to protect your family in the meantime, in case, god forbid, the worst should happen.’
Preston felt almost giddy thinking about the possibilities. He wouldn’t need Gamma or her overpriced Thrivers anymore. He wouldn’t have to worry if Edison went and got his skull bashed in. Roger would serve just as well. Then it dawned on him why he’d never considered his own marriage prospects before—Kathy. Maize City might have been worth a mass, but was it worth his chance with Kathy? For a moment his good mood faded, but it quickly returned. After all, who knew what the future held? Perhaps in a few years they would both find themselves single again and in need of comfort. And who better to provide that than someone else who’d just lost their spouse?
“Austin, look after my brother while I go see about a doctor. Oh, and grab Thoka’s sword.” Preston made his way from the arena with a spring in his step. Things were finally starting to go his way.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Location: Underground
Date: 9-12-61
At 0730 the following day, Czarina found herself walking the exit tunnel alone, the pale glow of the fluorescent lights casting odd shadows on the wall. She wore an anti-radiation suit that covered her from head to toe and a fifty-pound rucksack on her back, which was made even more awkward by the bow and quiver of arrows attached to it. She felt like some sort of lumbering monster, and no doubt looked like one too. As she walked the tunnel she had run countless times before, she reflected on her last full day in the bunker.
Her final hours in the only home she’d ever known had somehow been both a whirlwind and uneventful. She’d received several shots and pills from Doc Jones. There were shots for tetanus as well as several diseases she wasn’t familiar with, and pills designed to protect her from radiation exposure. When she asked Doc Jones if they
worked, he simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Don’t touch anything that glows green.” For some reason, he’d thought this was exceptionally funny. That was the point when she stopped bothering to ask what she was taking and why.
James had insisted on going to the infirmary with her, and had acted bizarrely, even for him. He’d spent most of the time riffling through drawers and looking in cabinets, muttering about looking for his thesis notes. Doc Jones just let it go. In fact, he’d apologized to Czarina, mentioning how he’d had to go through the same thing with his mother. Then James lost it when Lily—Doc Jones’s nurse—had come in to get pain pills for Steve, who much to Czarina’s delight was still suffering from the beatdown she’d given him.
It had all started out innocently enough. Lily had told Doc Jones that Steve had finally started taking his pills but still seemed to be in a lot of pain. Doc Jones said the medication was likely less effective due to its age, so they had better increase the dose. He told her to just bring him two bottles. Once Lily had retrieved them, James had snatched them out of her hand and snarled, “How about zero bottles. That asshole deserves all the pain he’s feeling!”
Eventually, Czarina had been able to talk him into handing the bottles back over. The whole episode had made her wonder if James had lied to her about the state of his mental health. Ultimately, she’d decided he was probably just trying to cope with her leaving by making others miserable.
She knew that might’ve been wishful thinking on her part, but at this point she no longer cared. She just wanted out.
After that, she’d spent a long time trying to decide what to bring, which was made even more difficult because James had kept coming in and out with more advice on what she should do once she was out, and more stuff for her to take. James would repeatedly come into their room and complain about some item he thought was essential but which Colonel Mueller was withholding. He would then mutter to himself about how Mueller needed to ‘get his head out of his ass’ and disappear, only to return with the item in question, as well as some new item she just had to have.