by Alex Irvine
“In return for tribute,” Mike interjected.
An angry murmur rose in the room, but fell again as Junie raised both of her hands. “Please. We might not have known it until just now, but we’re in the middle of a battle that’s coming, and the stakes are what kind of country we’re going to live in from here on out. The virus took away the America we had. Now the question is what kind of America we’re going to have.
“Those men up in the Capitol—and they’re in the Smithsonian museums, too; they’re close to taking over everything to the east and south of us—they have a vision that I don’t agree with. But I also have a responsibility to every man, woman, and child here in the Castle. So I have a question to put to all of you. I’m going to lay out the stakes, and then we’re going to vote, and we’re going to live with the results of that vote no matter what. That’s democracy. That’s the ideal we all believe in, or at least I hope we do.”
Every man, woman, and child, Violet thought. Were the kids really going to get a vote? Would anyone care what they thought? Something about that man Sebastian scared Violet. She knew Amelia and Saeed felt the same way. There was something about the way he’d walked up to them on the carousel. She didn’t know the word for it. Something about his smile didn’t seem real. She didn’t trust him, and she was glad to see Junie didn’t seem to, either.
“So after they came to talk to us, I did what I thought was the responsible thing,” Junie went on. “I went and talked to the JTF. I told them what these men said, and asked the JTF what they really thought about what this city and this country were going to look like in the next year. The JTF people were courteous and caring, as they always are. But they’re also realists. They know the resources they have, and the things they can and cannot do.
“Here’s what the JTF told me: They are understaffed and overwhelmed. They’re trying as hard as they can to keep things safe for us and for the other settlements, at Ford’s Theatre and wherever else. But they know other groups are trying to take control of DC. They also know that the government can’t do anything about it. President Ellis is doing everything he can to keep things together, but . . . well, you see what it’s like out there.”
Someone broke in here. “Ellis? What happened to Mendez?” Eliezer Mendez had been vice president when the virus struck, and ascended to the Oval Office when President Waller had caught the Green Poison and died in January. At least that was the official story. None of them knew what had really happened.
“They wouldn’t tell me that, but he seems to have died,” Junie said. “So that made Andrew Ellis next in line.”
There was grumbling in the crowd here. Ellis had not been popular in DC. “I didn’t vote for him,” a man sitting near the children muttered.
“None of us did,” Junie answered. “I’m not even sure what state he’s from. But he’s the president now because that’s how the succession works, until we can have another election. We have to choose. Do we believe in the institutions we had before, or are we going to let those go and be part of this new reality going forward? Do we ally ourselves with those men who occupy the Capitol Building, or do we hang on to what we had before and what we might have again?”
“Wait,” a woman at the far end of Junie’s table said. “You didn’t tell us the rest about what the JTF said.”
“They said this. We need to fortify the Castle and be ready for a storm. They’ll try to help, but if that storm comes they can’t promise they’ll be ready to keep us from being blown away.” Junie sighed. “After talking to those men who are occupying the Capitol, I think the JTF is probably right. There’s a battle coming, and we want to stay out of it. The best way to do that is hunker down and try to protect ourselves until it’s over.”
“What if we do that and those people in the Capitol win?” a woman called out from the far side of the room. Violet recognized her. She had been a cop somewhere in Virginia. “They’re going to think we sided with the JTF.”
“And they would be right,” Junie said. “If you believe the United States of America still exists, you just about have to side with the JTF. If you don’t believe that . . . well, we all remember what Abe Lincoln said, right? A house divided against itself cannot stand. We’ve got a choice to make. Which future are we going to believe in? I know what I believe.”
“Believing isn’t going to save us if they decide to come kill us all,” the former cop said.
“No, it won’t,” Junie agreed. “But if we give up before the battle even happens, we’ve decided we don’t believe in the United States anymore. We don’t believe in the Constitution anymore. Are we ready to say that?”
People were uneasy, muttering to themselves and the people next to them. Junie looked over them, then glanced over at Mike. He nodded, in what Violet thought was an encouraging way. Then he stood up next to Junie.
“I get it,” he said. “You’re worried that when push comes to shove, the JTF won’t be able to protect us. We’re worried about that, too. But I don’t trust those people over in the Capitol to protect us, either. They see us as a foreign element in territory they believe is theirs. Is that what you want to be? Or do we want to be American citizens? I say we go with the JTF plan for now. If things change in the next month or so, we can reconsider, but we’re okay right now. If we invite an armed rebel group into the Castle, we’re putting ourselves right in the crosshairs when the fight comes.”
“Think on it,” Junie said. “Sleep on it. If we want to have a vote, we’ll do that, but we’ll do it tomorrow.”
She sat back down. Mike did, too. The only sounds in the room were people shuffling their feet and shifting their weight. Then people started to get up and go about the business of clearing the dishes and cleaning up. Nobody had much to say.
* * *
• • •
Later that night, when the kids were all in their room and just about to blow out the candles and go to sleep, Junie tapped at their door and came in. “We need to talk,” she said.
“We didn’t ask those people to come to the Castle,” Amelia said right away. “They came up to us, and . . .”
“And we were scared,” Violet said.
“Yeah. We wanted to get home, but they asked to come along, and we couldn’t say no.” Saeed was buried in blankets, only his head visible.
“I understand why you did that, but you should know you can’t trust those people.” Junie settled herself on an empty couch. “I’m not sure you can trust anyone except the JTF to do the right thing. There are groups all over this city, and every one of them thinks they can take it all. They’re like hungry dogs fighting over a scrap of meat.”
“That makes us the scrap of meat,” Wiley said.
“That’s what we’re trying to avoid,” Junie said. “As long as we stick together, it’ll be all right.”
“Will it?” Shelby’s voice was small, coming out of the corner under the window where she liked to sleep.
“It will. Keep believing. That’s how you make things happen, children.” Junie got up and blew out the last candle. “Now, you get some sleep. We’re going to have a lot of work to do these next few days.”
28
AURELIO
Aurelio had imagined a number of different possible ways to get across Pennsylvania and Ohio, but riding on an Amish version of the Pony Express had not been one of them. Yet here he was, on the fifth leg of the journey. He’d picked up the first ride back in Clearfield, then switched in Clarion, Slippery Rock, Salem, and Orrville. Before the last couple of days he’d never even heard of any of those towns. He’d never spoken to an Amish person. In fact, he’d considered the Amish semimythical, like cowboys or mountain men. Instead he found them—at least the men who drove their wagons over long distances—to be practical, taciturn, a bit standoffish, but generous in their way. The plague hadn’t affected them that much because they rejected most twentieth-century tec
hnologies anyway. Lucas, the man currently sitting in the driver’s seat of the wagon next to Aurelio, had a theory that their rejection of modern life had helped them survive the virus. “So you had how many dead there in New York? Seven of ten? Eight of ten?”
“Not quite that many, I don’t think,” Aurelio said. “But it might be close.”
“We had three of ten in our community,” Lucas informed him. “The Lord watches his own.”
Aurelio wasn’t a religious man, but he didn’t want to argue about it. “Could be,” he said.
“Is,” Lucas said.
They were coming into Willard, Ohio. It looked to Aurelio like a typical little town out in the middle of nowhere: a strip of stores on the main drag, some franchises and some local, surrounded by a few blocks of houses and then two-lane roads spoking off into the flat expanses of farmland in all directions. In the parking lot of a farm equipment dealership, the local Amish had set up a trading post. Lucas halted the wagon next to a row of similar-looking wagons and got out.
Aurelio followed, glad to be standing up again, even if it was only for a few minutes. A group of teenage boys started swapping bags and boxes from the back of Lucas’s wagon to an empty one nearby. Lucas approached the driver, who nodded a greeting.
“This English here, he’s going to Toledo,” Lucas said, indicating Aurelio, who even after a few days still found it strange that they referred to him as English. Apparently it was what they called anyone who wasn’t Amish.
“Well, I’m not going to Toledo,” the other man said. “Headed up to Sandusky to trade for some fish.”
Lucas looked at Aurelio. “Where’s Sandusky?” Aurelio asked.
The two Amish men looked at each other. “Forty, fifty miles from Toledo?” Lucas suggested.
“Closer to fifty, I think,” the other man said. To Aurelio he added, “Right on the lake.”
“Well,” Aurelio said, “that’s closer than I am now. I’d be grateful for the ride.”
The Amish took off his hat, swiped a sleeve across his brow, and put the hat back on. He stuck out a hand. “Frank Rentschler.” He was about fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, a sharp contrast between the white of his forehead and the sunbaked brown of his cheeks. When they shook hands, Aurelio could feel the strength of a man who spent his time outside.
He helped Frank finish loading the wagon and then they headed out, following a county road more or less due north. “How long do you think it’ll take to get there?”
“Six, seven hours,” Frank said, keeping his eyes on the horses. “Depends on if there’s trouble at the turnpike.”
“What kind of trouble would that be?”
“Bandits sometimes.” Frank nodded down at the seat between them, and Aurelio saw a sawed-off shotgun leaning against it, its muzzle next to Frank’s right foot.
* * *
• • •
When they got closer to the turnpike on Route 99, Aurelio saw that the road went straight ahead under the highway, but there was also a side approach to a turnpike interchange with Highway 4. “That’s the main road into Sandusky,” Frank said. “If you want to deal with the bandits.” He nodded straight ahead. “This way takes a little longer, but it’s usually less trouble.”
A few hundred yards from the turnpike underpass, Frank added, “Never been on the turnpike in my life. Just a big road, right?”
“I haven’t, either,” said Aurelio. “I grew up in Washington, DC. But, yeah, it’s just a big road. Six lanes.”
“Rode in a car a few times during my Rumspringa. Then I came back home, and now here we are thirty years later, and the rest of the world came back to us. Not too many people in cars now, are there?”
“Not too many, no,” Aurelio said. He saw heads pop up over the bridge railing on the turnpike. “Looks like someone’s watching us.”
“Huh,” Frank commented. “Best to get through quick.” He flicked the reins and the horses started to trot.
“Hey, Amish!” one of the men on the bridge shouted when they drew close enough to hear. He jabbed an arm off to their left, where the Highway 4 interchange was. “All traffic through there onto Route 4!”
Aurelio swung the G36 up and slipped the safety off, keeping it low enough that it would stay out of sight to anyone up on the bridge. “You don’t want to go through the interchange, right?”
Frank moved his head maybe an inch side to side. “Nope.” He kept the horses at a trot.
“What do you think they’re going to do about it?”
“Hard telling.”
In the shadows under the bridge, Aurelio saw motion. Then four men appeared. Two had handguns, one an AR-15. “It’s not going to go well if we stop, right?”
Another tiny shake of Frank’s head. The man under the bridge brought up the AR-15. Two of the other men held up their hands, palms out.
“When I shoot,” Aurelio said, “I need you to find out how fast these horses can go.”
Frank nodded. “Problem isn’t the horses. It’s the wagon.”
They were forty yards away. Thirty.
At twenty, Aurelio raised the G36 and fired.
Shooting a moving target was hard. Shooting a stationary target from a moving vehicle was also hard, especially when your field of fire was constrained by the heads of two horses right in front of you. Aurelio’s first burst missed. The bandit with the AR flinched away rather than returning fire, though, which not only told Aurelio they were dealing with amateurs but gave him time to shoot again.
This time he hit the target, somewhere in the legs. At the same time, Frank shouted, “Hyaahh!” and lashed the reins across the horses’ backs. They surged forward, scattering the men under the bridge.
Except one, who turned and ran away straight in front of them. Then, as the wagon passed, he leaped and caught hold of the right-hand horse’s tack. He swung a leg up onto the yoke holding them in harness and drew a gun.
Frank was shouting something, but Aurelio didn’t hear it. They were already under the bridge and out into the sunlight on the other side, but if this guy shot the horses they were going to have the whole gang of bandits on them in minutes. And if Aurelio tried to shoot him from that angle, he was pretty likely to take out one of the horses himself.
He dropped the G36 on the floor and vaulted over the front of the wagon onto the horse’s back. With one hand he grabbed onto its harness, and with the other he chopped down hard on the bandit’s forearm. The gun went off, but the bandit dropped it to clatter away under the wagon. Aurelio had never ridden a horse before, and it was all he could do to stay on its back. He threw a punch at the bandit, but couldn’t get much behind it.
The bandit drew a knife and slashed at Aurelio, who caught his arm and tried to twist it away. But he had no leverage without letting go of the horse’s harness, and if he did that he was going to end up down between the horses and then under the wagon. The bandit wasn’t much better off. They were in a stalemate. Behind them Aurelio heard gunshots, but the wagon kept barreling down the road.
The bandit whipped his arm in a tight circle, breaking Aurelio’s grasp. An old trick, but one that worked every time when your opponent didn’t have the leverage to move. Then he thrust the knife low, straight at Aurelio’s belly.
There was no choice. Aurelio swiveled to one side and clamped his elbow on the bandit’s arm, trapping it against his rib cage. Already losing his balance on the horse, he let go of the harness and grabbed onto the bandit’s shirt. If he was going, they both were going.
The horse bounced him off, and he pulled the bandit with him. Aurelio tried to turn in midair so he would land on the bandit instead of the pavement. He was half-successful. The bandit hit the road first, flat on his back. A split second later, Aurelio’s right shoulder came down on his sternum. A split second after that, carried forward by the horses’ momentum, the side of Aurel
io’s head hit the pavement. He sprawled away from the bandit, rolled, and came to a halt facedown on the gravel shoulder of the road. He heard sounds, but they sounded far away, and he wasn’t quite sure where his hands were. When he lifted his head, he had trouble focusing his eyes.
A few yards away, the bandit was curled up on his side, gasping for breath. Aurelio got slowly to his hands and knees, then tried to stand. He couldn’t quite do it. He sat there on the gravel, taking deep breaths.
A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Frank. “Got my bell rung when I hit the road,” he managed to say.
“I can tell,” Frank said. “You’re bleeding pretty good.”
Aurelio hadn’t noticed, but now that Frank mentioned it, he could feel the blood on the side of his face.
“Come on,” Frank said, and he helped Aurelio to his feet. “We can’t stop here.”
He got Aurelio back into the wagon and they kept going at a trot. Aurelio was starting to get his head together again. He felt the side of his face and found two cuts, one at the outer edge of his eyebrow and another on his cheekbone. That was what those bones were designed to do, he thought. At least I still have my eye.
“I thank you, Mr. Diaz,” Frank said. “Those men would have taken everything I own, and might have killed me. They’ve done it to others.”
“Happy to help,” Aurelio said. Then the motion of the wagon finally got to him and he threw up over the side.