Dystopian Girls 4

by Rodzil LaBraun

  "Who is in charge of the house, then?" Bianka asked. "Jamila?"

  "What?" the ex-stripper was startled by the suggestion. "Please, no! Don't do that to me."

  "Well, when it comes to who is the next wife in line it would be you or Jada," Bianka replied. "And there is no fucking way that Jada will be anywhere but the front lines while Mason and I are gone. You can be sure of that."

  "Why would I be..." Jamila started.

  "Do you really want to have this conversation right now?" Jada jumped into the argument. "Out in the open for everyone to hear?"

  Jamila was silent. That was good. I took the opportunity to regain control of the discussion. "No one needs to be assigned to the house. It's not like it is going to be ransacked by skanks, right? Those days are over. If anyone needs to make a decision that previously would have been handled by Alexa or Riley, then Ling can deal with it."

  "Me?" Ling blurted out, sounding shocked while somehow looking happy. "Am I the next wife?"

  Some of the girls were laughing, but the whole humorous situation was poorly timed in my opinion. "Stop please!" I shouted. I regained everyone's attention immediately. "Jada's in charge of our security, of course. I don't expect to be gone long, but I want to leave soon. Riley, Bianka and I need to gather our supplies. While we do that, please start organizing the women to display a formidable defense. Armed reborn moving around, any skanks that can handle instructions should look like they have a purpose. Troublemakers need to be kept under control. Jamila, you'll need to assist Jada in that regard. Can I count on you?"

  "Of course," Jamila replied. "I understand."

  Jada then started barking out orders. By the time that my three-member team was ready to go, the compound was a bustle with organized activity. I was impressed.

  It wasn't until I was about to lead my team past the western perimeter that I heard Jada's voice crackle over the walk-talkie. With the growing size of our community, we decided start using the devices. The major problem with that was being overheard. Bianka suggested code words, but that would take some time to establish. I decided that only Jada and I carry the radios at that point, and limit conversation to the absolutely necessary, like calling for help. I would need to put mine at a very low volume while doing recon.

  "We have a problem," Jada announced through the speaker.

  "Already?" I asked. "What can possibly..."

  "There are three representatives of the New Hampshire Avenue Militia at the gate. They want to talk."

  What the fuck? Now? At this precise moment? I began to panic. "Make sure the perimeter is secure!" I shouted into the walkie-talkie. "This could be a distraction."

  "I'm already on it," Jada replied calmly. "Everything looks good so far. Should I tell them that you will meet them here?"

  It was a lot to process. All the possible scenarios of what was actually happening raced through my brain, threatening to overload my logic circuits. I couldn’t get past the timing issue. Why approach at this juncture? Was it due to the increased activity inside our camp?

  "Don't let them into our compound, Mason," Bianka told me.

  "I know."

  "But I think that you should meet with them, right? Information is power, you keep telling me. The more we know, blah blah blah."

  "Yes," I replied to the badass blonde. Then to Jada, "Grab six of the fold-up chairs and set them up just inside the gate. I'll be there in a couple minutes."

  "Bianka," I said as I handed her my radio. "You stay here and watch for trouble. Communicate with Jada only as necessary. Riley comes with me."

  "Who is the third seat for?" Riley asked as she hustled to keep up with me naturally while I hurried toward the other end of our fenced-in neighborhood.

  "Nobody," I replied. "We'll leave it empty. Everyone else will be too busy keeping watch to sit down with us. Let them wonder why we have an empty chair."

  The three seated visitors were visible from a distance as I strolled down the center of skank row with Riley at my side. I slowed my pace when they came into view, not wanting to look rushed.

  All three were dressed in army green. Not typical officer's uniforms by any means. Those would be torturous in this heat. They did have collared tops and matching shorts. Pleated like they had just been ironed. Who the hell was ironing clothes these days? Green socks were barely visible above the combat boots. These were not new recruits. They sent legitimate envoys, or at least dressed them as such.

  Jada had wisely positioned the chairs to have three facing the gate, their backs toward the rest of the compound. Those were the ones occupied by the visitors. There was no reason to let them analyze our structure or activity. Three empty chairs sat facing away from the gate and toward the New-HAM representatives. It wasn't until I was almost upon them that I could see that the chairs were not completely empty. Each held a pistol.

  Jada had disarmed them but kept their weapons within view as she herself had an automatic assault rifle in her hands, currently aimed at their feet. Jada did so many things well, things that our community desperately needed. It wasn't until moments like these that her talents were obvious to all.

  I was not surprised that the visitors were armed. It was a dangerous world out there, after all. It also was not overly shocking that they were willing to part with their weapons inside our compound. That would be expected. Everything looked legitimate, so far. Still, I was wary.

  I didn't say, sorry to keep you waiting, or anything else cordial from the old world. Niceties had no place in these types of meeting in the new world. I would imagine that such an occasion was actually quite rare. The closest thing that we had seen recently was when John and Corinne's group wanted to move in next to us and become our allies. Surely this was not the same type of situation.

  I silently circled around the delegates on the way to the center seat. As I approached, Jada removed the pistol from my chair and sat it underneath. She then did so for the seat to my right where Riley parked her tight little butt. With no one to take the third chair, the pistol remained. Jada did not assume that to be her place, like so many women would. No. In fact, she left us there. I heard her footsteps as she stepped back to join a half dozen of armed women that split their attention between us and the gate.

  The visitor in the middle was a man in his thirties or early forties. Based on his seat selection and his gender, I assumed that he was the leader. In the previous world that would have been considered sexist. But those days were long gone. If there were a battle between the sexes, women these days would outnumber men at least forty to one. Instead of taking advantage of that ratio, though, healthy men were revered. The zombie apocalypse could have gone much worse for me. I was lucky. Apparently, so was this guy.

  He had short black hair, neatly parted on the side. A tattoo on his right forearm was so bad it was unrecognizable. A mermaid? His mother? A vacuum cleaner? I couldn't tell. He sat with his legs crossed at the knee. That said two things to me. Confidence being the first. He was not uncomfortable in this situation. Maybe this was not his first meeting of this kind. The second thought was, he might be gay or European. No offense intended, just a meaningless observation.

  On his left, my right, was an attractive woman. She could have been the poster girl for naughty librarians. Beautiful business-like face, long brown hair pulled back into a bun, and old lady glasses. She was not petite, but shapely. The top three buttons on her blouse were open leaving a considerable amount of cleavage. As if to complete the ensemble for the masquerade party, she held a clipboard with a note pad and ink pen.

  The third member was also attractive. Blonde, paler skin than even Riley. If she were lying on her back with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed, I would definitely assume that she was dead. There were no veins or blemishes visible on her skin. If she hadn't already moved, I might have wondered if she was a porcelain doll covered in bady powder. Her hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail. She was of slender build with considerable cleavage showing as w
ell, though her tits were only half the size of the librarian.

  If this meeting happened a couple months before, I would be caught gawking at these ladies. I assumed that was why they were sent here and dressed so. Eye candy. A distraction. So, I focused all my attention on the man in the middle.

  "Names?" I asked without bothering to introduce myself.

  "Ah," the man replied as if I had just revealed something of importance. "This is Brianna," he said as he gestured toward the naughty librarian. I didn't bother to look at her again. "And this is Celeste," he pointed at the blonde. I could easily see that he was surprised that my eyes never left his. In addition to not being distracted by his beautiful accomplices, I was stunned that he had a thick Russian accent. I was trying to figure out if it was fake. Did he think that he was in a James Bond movie? When he told me his name, I had to fight hard not to bust out laughing. "My name is Pedro."

  "Pedro?" I responded with the slightest smile, unable to completely control myself.

  "No," he replied. "Is joke," in that thick Rusky voice.

  "Are you a traveling comedy routine?" I asked.

  "No," he answered quickly. "And yes. I mean, is ice breaker. We are here to talk business, but no need to be unpleasant. Huh, Mason?"

  "Oh, have we been unpleasant?" I asked. "Should I return your weapons?" I made like I was going to grab the pistol on the empty seat beside me.

  "No," he said, his accent and expression straight out of an eighties spy movie. "You keep for now. But we can be friendly, yes?"

  "No," I answered, determined to keep control of this conversation. His approach was almost laughable, but somehow effective. I had to keep things simple. "I have things to do. You are here to say something. Say it."

  "Yes," he replied, his facial expressions exaggerated, like a struggling actor. "You have girl to rescue, and zombies to heal, and then train them, yes?"

  I fought the muscles in my face. I was not trained for this. This guy obviously was. I gave him the blankest stare that I could muster as I wondered how much they knew about us.

  "Okay," he said then. "Let me back up. I am Mikhail. Name is real, and the accent. I know you question, but it is. I know that you are good man. Everyone say so. And, you are powerful man. And getting stronger." He gestured toward the reborn guards nearby.

  "And this is," he pointed to my wife at my side. "Riley, no? She is strong, too. She no look it, I know. But she is. You have many strong women, Mason. We know this."

  "And what is it that you want?" I asked. I was quickly growing tired of this spy monologue shit.

  "We make mistake," he then said. "We take your zombies. We did not know. We come back for more, but you say no, as you should. It is mistake. We know now. No more we come here. That is why we sit here now. Treaty."

  I noticed that several times during his speech he glanced over at the blonde on his right. Never to his left. Neither woman spoke, but I could see that there was something about that woman. Her rigid posture. Her chin was up, her eyes calm. She was reading the situation, and not out of curiosity.

  "Mikhail," I addressed him by the name that he gave me. I didn't care whether or not it was real, or his accent. "I am tired of hearing you talk." The blonde, Celeste, busted out laughing, but quickly recovered. "I'd like to hear from Celeste now. Do you have anything to say to me?"

  "It is truly nice to meet you Mason," she said. "And you, too, Riley. We have heard a lot about you, but that is not the purpose of our coming here. No, Mikhail is being honest with you. We are here for a treaty. We would like to begin negotiations for a peaceful resolution to our differences. If my research is correct, this is something that you would be interested in hearing."

  "Why would you assume that?" I asked.

  "Because in heart you are a peaceful man, Mason. You are valiantly leading your people with only one goal in mind. Survival. You have no aspirations of power and glory. You simply want to be left alone with your lovely women and your infected, which I'm told that you call skanks. That is hilarious by the way. I have tried to adopt the term among our troops, but militia groups are so rigid, you know. Plus, we have quite a few actual skanks among us, so it is a little confusing."

  "Anyway," she continued, possibly disappointed that I didn’t laugh at her skank joke. "We would like to be amicable neighbors. Don't send any of your people into our territory, and we'll do the same. And, oh yes, we'll help you get Alexa back."

  I spent the last couple minutes swaying between believing that what she was saying could possibly be true to a degree, and just waiting for her spiel to be over. It would be nice to not have to worry about invasion from them, but could we trust their word? I had no idea. They had never given it to me before.

  When she mentioned that they were interested in helping get Alexa back, I couldn't help but react. I was caught off guard. So was Riley, apparently, as I saw her stiffen in her seat beside me.

  "I thought I'd get a rise out of you with the mention of Alexa. Yes, we know where she is and can confirm that she is still alive. The people that hold her are a common enemy. Unlike you, they plan to overthrow the Transition Coalition military-based governments that have reestablished order in the urban areas of this country. They are a threat to civilization. You, however, are not. I think that you can see the logic in my argument."

  "I do," I replied. Then I glanced at Mikhail and Brianna. They did not appear to be along for the ride. Nor were they itching to jump into the conversation. I decided to change the subject in order to balance out the conversation. The key would be to do so without revealing anything additional about ourselves.

  "Why did he talk first?" I asked. "You appear to be the leader."

  "Actually," Celeste replied, adjusting her position in the uncomfortable metal chair. Hers appeared to have one bent leg that kept it teetering as she shifted her weight. "None of us are the leader. We are simply Ambassadors. We were all prepared to convey the same information. Mikhail would have omitted a few words due to his language barrier."

  "Fuck you," Mikhail said to Celeste, barely a playful tone involved. I was nearly convinced that he was an actor. "Is that the right number of words to convey my message?"

  "That would depend on your intended message," Brianna spoke for the first time. She had the slightest English accent. "Adding certain words to your statement could dramatically change the message. Such as I want to..."

  "Very funny," Mikhail replied to the brunette. "Bitch. That is a word, no?"

  "Let's not get off track please," Celeste attempted to regain control. "The point is that we did not know which of us would encourage the proper dialogue for our mission. Some men in charge refuse to speak to women. Others love looking at heavier brunettes like Brianna."

  "Excuse me?" Brianna genuinely showed offense taken.

  "Many, like you Mason, prefer to relate with sexy blondes like me." She flashed me a seductive smile that would have worked wonders just a few months ago.

  "I need time to think about it," I interrupted, completely ignoring her dialog that was intended to loosen me up. "Come back tomorrow at twelve noon."

  "What is there to think about?" Brianna asked, recovering from her cohort's insult.

  "I want the same three people back tomorrow," I told them. "Make that clear to whoever you report to back at your headquarters. I won't meet with anyone else. Do we understand?"

  "Yes, Mason," Celeste replied before the others could. She was obviously thrown off guard by me cutting the meeting so short. "We will convey the message."

  Jada returned their weapons and escorted them back through the gate. A dozen newly trained reborn soldiers assisted. I watched them leave and tried to assess how they felt about their mission results based on their body language. I saw no disappointment in their stride or backward glances signaling regret.

  A twenty-four-hour delay seemed like the most reasonable amount of time to demand. But, like Brianna said, what was there to think about? They could easily deduce that I was just stalli
ng. My requirement that only the three of them return for the next meeting was meant to distract them from my maneuver. I hoped that it worked.

  I did not particularly want their help in rescuing Alexa. They had their own agenda, and it sounded like they were intent on squashing Tamika's insurgence. I figured that they were offering to help get Alexa back in order to gain our battle skills and possibly reduce their casualties in the confrontation. That suggested two things. The first, they were afraid of Tamika's group. Second, they did not know that we had already located Alexa. Bianka's recon had successfully gone unnoticed by the New-HAM scouts.

  "What do we do now?" Riley asked.

  "We continue with the plan," I told her.