by Lopez, Rob
The dawn sun edged up to the horizon, painting the stratosphere red. The French Broad River flowed black in the shadows. Rick raced after Connors, passing the rail yards and the derelict diesels. Through the vineyards and protected woods they rode, but as hard as he pushed his horse, Rick was unable to gain on Connors. The Biltmore chateau loomed ahead, dew glistening on the overgrown lawns. Connors rode straight into the courtyard. When Rick got there, Connors’ horse stood alone.
Rick dismounted, looking suspiciously around. He checked his rifle’s magazine and saw it was empty. Finding nothing else in his ammo pouches, he drew his Glock and approached the house’s main entrance. The door was ajar, and the entrance hall was dark. Rick didn’t know why Connors had come to the house, but he realized now how dumb it was to have chased him alone, with no backup. It would be even dumber to walk through that enticing doorway.
Rick retreated, taking both horses with him around the side of the grand building and tying them up. Testing the handle on another door, he opened it and slipped inside.
He found himself in the grand library, with books floor to ceiling, and a gallery. There were some empty glasses and a bottle on the table, but no sign of Connors. Moving through a room of hanging tapestries, he came to the octagonal Winter Garden, the light streaming in through the ceiling glass onto dead, dry plants. He expected Connors to be there if he intended to ambush Rick when he came through the main doors, but the room was empty.
In a house with 250 rooms, it was going to be hard to find one man unless he wanted to be found. Rick checked each of the four stone-arched doorways that led out of the garden, but again, he found himself alone. In the banquet hall, he found more signs of consumption, with empty bottles lined up around the chair at the head of the grand table, whose china and silver were in a state of disarray. Stone statues stood guard high up the wall, flanking the great windows. Moving cautiously in, his boots squeaked on the polished wooden floor. At the end of the hall, halfway up the wall, was the musical organ gallery, its pipes arranged in a high arch that matched the vaulted ceiling. Connors appeared suddenly on the gallery, armed with an M16 assault rifle with an underslung grenade launcher attached.
Rick didn’t hesitate. He was too far away from the doors to get out. Faced with superior firepower, he dived under the thick dining table.
From above, Connor let rip, automatic fire taking chunks out of the table and sending pieces of china into the air. Rick crawled forward as fast as he could, using the table to get closer, and Connors unleashed the grenade launcher, the heavy table jumping with each blast, cutlery and candle holders being flung outward. Rick gritted his teeth, his ears ringing, as he ground his way forward. By the time he made it to the end of the table, Connors had expended his ammunition.
There was a door in the corner of the hall that Rick surmised would lead up to the organ gallery. Sprinting out from under the table, he barged through the door and up the steps, his Glock ready in a two-handed grip as he scanned the gallery.
But Connors wasn’t there.
Confused, Rick searched the small space, but there was simply no sign of his assailant, and no clue to where he might have gone. There was nowhere to hide, and a glance down into the hall, where the floor was now covered in debris and broken glass, revealed that Connors hadn’t jumped down either. He’d simply disappeared, and only the spent cartridges showed he’d been there at all.
Rick checked inside the organ again, then began banging at the panels on the side walls. One of them sounded different from the others.
Rick felt around the edge of the panel, trying to find something that might open a hidden door, but nothing worked. In frustration, he began kicking savagely at the panel, cracking it and caving it in. Ripping out the pieces, he saw a narrow stairway going up through the wall-space. Rick squeezed in and ascended, opening a small door at the top.
He found himself in another long hall, this one with paintings on the wall, little tea tables, high-backed chairs and mannequins in period costume standing around, some with their heads missing. Thick drapes hung in front of alcove windows, leaving the hall dark.
“You wouldn’t leave it alone, would you, Nolan?” came Connors’ voice.
Rick spun around, trying to see where it came from, but the echoes, and the ringing in his ears, confused him.
“I offered you a cut,” continued Connors. “Do you remember, all those years ago? I gave you a chance, but no. You had to play the boy scout. And for what?”
Rick focused hard, trying to think where Connors might be. He tensed as he heard the distinctive sound of a grenade being loaded into the launcher.
“You blew it, but you don’t have to blow it now. I’ve got four cases of gold hidden in this house. We can split it.”
There was a mannequin of a woman standing next to her daughter. Both wore wide, regal, floor-length dresses.
“You’re going to be in charge now,” said Connors. “This city’s going to crown you. You’re the hero. But you won’t find that gold without me.”
The hem of the woman’s dress moved, slowly lifted by a rifle barrel.
“What do you say?” called Connors.
Rick took aim between the woman’s legs and fired four rapid shots. The rifle clattered to the floor and the mannequin toppled over. Connors lay on the floor, hyperventilating, spasms jerking his legs. Rick walked over to him.
“The answer’s still no,” he said. “But you’ll never understand why.”
“You fool,” breathed Connors.
Rick fired another round into him, and the spent cartridge clinked as it bounced on the floor.
“I don’t think so,” said Rick.
Checking Connors’ pulse to make sure he was really dead, he picked up the M16 and walked out of the chateau. Mounting his horse and taking the other in tow, he rode back into town.
31
The fallen were buried in Pack Square Park, in front of City Hall. Sheriff Eagleburger’s grave was just another raised mound of earth, but they’d placed his badge on the top. Lauren stood at the grave, paying her last respects.
“I hear his wife’s buried in the city too,” she said. “They should put them both together.”
“We’ll mention it to them,” said Rick.
“I want a monument raised, as well. They deserve more than this.”
“Give it time.”
“I’ll be coming to check on them,” she said. “To make sure they do it right. They need to be remembered.”
“I know,” said Rick.
Lauren looked at her husband, brushing a tear from her eye. “He told me to make it all worth it,” she said, recalling Eagleburger’s last words. “But is it? What’s to say it couldn’t happen again?”
Rick looked across to where Old Fort and Marion residents mingled with Asheville citizens, dismantling the scaffold and sharing somber words.
“It’s different now,” he said.
“I hope so.” She turned to her son, standing silently next to her. “What do you think, Josh?”
Josh shrugged. “I don’t know. I just want to go home.”
“Amen to that,” said Rick.
Lauren wiped her face. “Well,” she said, “I suppose we ought to get back and start building. Have you all really been living in bunkers in the woods?”
“That was temporary,” said Rick. “We can do better than that now.”
A pickup truck rolled onto the site, and Jim Fairbanks got out of the passenger seat. His face was heavily bruised, and one arm was in a sling. His limp was a little more pronounced than before, and he had to use a walking stick as he approached Rick.
“I owe you an apology,” said Jim. “It’s my fault this mess happened at all. If I’d been able to keep my mouth shut, this might not have happened, and more folks would be alive.”
Rick gave him a studied look. “No one should have to apologize for the likes of Connors and Fick being what they were. I’m not judging you.”
Still unhappy, Jim
asked, “Is it true what they say? That they’re both dead?”
“Very,” said Rick. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore. Look, Fick was trained in interrogation techniques, okay? You’re an easy mark for someone like him. Especially him. We all did our best. How is Sonita?”
“Still a little shook up. She was spared the worst.”
“Only because you took the worst,” said Lauren. “Rick’s right. You can’t blame yourself. Connors had us figured out better than we knew.”
“Are you taking over Black Mountain now?” asked Rick.
“I don’t know,” replied Jim. “Emily Lucas is bringing together the committee now to decide on all that. Phelps has been kicked out of town, so I suppose they’ll pick the replacement, but I’m not sure it will be me. One thing I can promise you, though. If you want an alliance in the future, you come to me. If I’m not mayor, I can still raise hell. If you need help, you’ll get it.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. And I’ll spread the word to the community leaders. I think everyone can see what happens when you don’t go to each other’s aid now. No reason to make that mistake again.”
“About the only good thing to come out of this sorry mess,” agreed Jim. “Is Moresby about?”
“He’s in the courthouse. I’ll take you to him.”
The courthouse was busy, and a crowd of armed citizens blocked the way to Court 1. Rick pushed his way through, and people made way for him when they saw who it was. Inside the court, the former governor Jeffries and his senators sat in the front row. Moresby sat in the judge’s box.
“I’m not convinced by your plea,” said Moresby, addressing Jeffries.
Jeffries stood up. He had bruises on his face, and the rest of the senate sported similar evidence of rough handling. He stood up straight, however, maintaining his dignity.
“By the laws of our country,” he said, “I am still the governor, and this coup remains illegal. As to the charges leveled against my administration, I can say, with all sincerity, that we did what we did for the good of the people. I was not aware of any improprieties or corrupt behavior, and reject any such accusations.”
Moresby chuckled. “The good of the people? Your connection to the people was tenuous, at best. And if you really were unaware of everything Connors did in your name, then I gotta say you’re the most gullible, inept politician I ever met. But that ain’t saying much, is it? Still, as I can’t find any evidence to the contrary, I have to say you’re at least being sincere in your ignorance. Which begs the question of how useful you might be to the town, right now. The way I see it, you ain’t much use at all.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
Moresby raised a cautionary finger. “Now you be careful, because there’s a lot of people who want to string you up. So don’t get high and mighty, because your reputation don’t mean shit right now. One question: Would you say that, in your capacity as governor, it was your job to run things in an efficient way, the way a CEO might run a company?”
“I suppose that analogy could be drawn.”
“And would you say you were a servant of the people?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, Mr Jeffries, I’m afraid those two things just ain’t that compatible. You can’t treat the people like they’re just numbers on a spreadsheet, while serving them at the same time. Still, if you want to play the CEO, and I’m kinda fond of that analogy, then as CEO you have to take full responsibility for everything that happens in your company, even if you didn’t order it yourself. In summary: You’re fired.”
Cheers and applause erupted among the citizens crowded in the doorway.
“Seeing as you already cleared out your desk,” continued Moresby, “or at least had it cleared out for you, I see no reason for you to hang around. I’ll have some folks escort you and your people to the city limits, and you can be on your way”
Jeffries looked horrified. “And where will we go?”
“I don’t care, though I will caution against visiting any of the communities around here, because I can tell you now, they won’t take too kindly to you. In fact, they’ll shoot you. So I suggest you go very, very far away. Like Tennessee. If they’ll have you.”
“But how will we survive?” asked Jeffries. “It’s not like we can just check into a motel.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Moresby with undisguised glee. “You can try hunting. Fishing. Group therapy. I don’t mind. Get your hands dirty, Jeffries. You might learn something. Just don’t show your face here again.”
With that, the session ended, and Jeffries and the former senators were dragged out. When the tumult died down, Moresby approached Rick and Jim, shaking Jim’s hand.
“Good to see you made it,” said Moresby. “I got kinda worried when I heard what happened.”
“You and me both,” said Jim. “Listen, I appreciate you sending someone down to get me, but I probably won’t be mayor, so you might want to talk to our committee about future relations.”
“Rubbish,” said Moresby. “They’ll vote you mayor, you’ll see. Before we have our meeting, however, you’ll have to excuse me, as I need a private talk with Mr. Nolan here. Just give me a minute.”
Moresby led Rick into the judge’s chambers and shut the door behind him.
“Got a slight problem,” he said.
On the table, there were three wooden cases. Moresby opened one of them, revealing the gold bars within.
“Your man Scott went down to Biltmore House,” explained Moresby. “As well as coming back with a lot of wine, he found these and was good enough to bring them to me. I admire his honesty, but …” Moresby glanced around, as if checking there really was no one else to hear. “… I’m worried about word of this getting out. It’s kind of contentious, after what happened. I want people to get along, but news of gold might bring out the worst in them. I don’t need more fights to break out. There might even be folks out there looking for compensation, if you know what I mean. Or they might just think they’re entitled to it.”
“Yeah, this kind of stuff causes tension,” said Rick innocently.
“I had no idea Connors even had this amount,” said Moresby.
“Me neither.”
“So how do we handle this?”
Rick made a show of thinking about it for a while. “Are you still planning to maintain that Carolina Dollars thing?”
Moresby pulled a face. “After all the trouble it caused? I’m not sure. I mean, it was a smart idea, but it’s kind of left a sour taste. Which is all the more reason to keep quiet about this,” he said, pointing to the gold.
“Give all the jewelry back,” said Rick, “and let people keep their money. Put the gold in the bank as a kind of federal reserve. But not all of it. Distribute the rest to every community that’s been affected by this war. Give them their own sovereign bank. Share it equally and there’ll be less complaints. Every community has its own economy and gets to trade then.”
“How will that work?”
“I don’t know. I’m not an economist. But if you spread the wealth, maybe you’ll bond the communities together to face whatever else is out there. Think of it as a Marshall Plan. Connors’ last gift to the people.”
Moresby scratched his chin. “I guess so. We’ve still got the bankers with us. I’ll run it by them and see if I can make sense of what they tell me. If it’s feasible, I’ll put it to the other community leaders. I’m going to arrange a meeting with them all. Which reminds me: What should we do with the prisoners we took? They’re nearly all from out of town.”
“War’s over,” said Rick. “Disarm them and let them go home. Their communities can decide what to do with them.”
“Think they’ll be sore losers?”
“There’s always sore losers. Humiliate them, though, and they’ll be even more sore. Got to make a start somehow in easing relations. Just let them know in the future that you’re not an easy target.”
“I’m glad you
mentioned that. Look, I’d like to create a new militia, and I want to put you in charge.”
“No,” said Rick. “I’m done. I’ve got a family I’ve been neglecting, and I’ve been on operations for too long. Time to take a break.”
Moresby smiled. “You’re too famous to retire.”
“All the more reason to do it. Call me if you’ve got a problem, but otherwise, leave me be. I’m not a committee guy.”
“And Scott?”
“Even less.”
“Okay,” said Moresby reluctantly. “But if you change your mind, you know where I am.”
They shook hands and Rick walked out, rejoining his family. Together they made their way to the horses, tethered and waiting. Josh looked up uncertainly at the huge mount.
“Dad, I’ve never been on a horse.”
“We’ll lead him,” said Rick. “Just mount up, sit still and enjoy the view.”
The ride was pleasant and relaxed, and they talked as they rode, keeping the subject light. Halfway to Black Mountain, they came upon a pickup truck parked at the side of the road, with Scott and Red lounging in the cab.
“Howdy, cowboys,” drawled Scott. “Did Moresby pass the test?”
Rick halted and leaned on his saddle. “Yeah, he showed me the crates. I think he’ll be straight.”
“Wait,” said Lauren. “You didn’t trust Moresby?”
“I had to be sure,” said Rick. “If we’re going to stand down, I want to be certain Asheville will play ball. I needed to find out who exactly we were working with and what they’d be like.”
“He likely knew I’d tell you,” said Scott, “which is why he showed you the crates.”
“Well,” said Rick. “He made all the right moves, so that’s good with me. What else did you find at Biltmore?”
Scott climbed stiffly out of the truck. The night’s activities had taken their toll on him, and he delicately guarded his abdomen as he moved. He flipped over the tarp on the bed to reveal rifles, ammunition, mortar bombs and rocket launchers. “I think we’ve got ourselves enough insurance against anyone trying anything,” he said.