by Wade Ebeling
It went without saying that anyone messing with Bob, messed with Troy. It was also often said that messing with Troy Campbell was tantamount to a death sentence. This subject was usually brought up right after a person fitting that very description had just disappeared from the face of the Earth. The rumors around town, never more than whispered, often spoke of an old house filled with instruments of torture, and a back yard filled with the bones of the lost. If he was ever questioned about where someone had gotten off to, Troy would say, in the vaguest of ways, something about escorting them out of town for some unremembered infraction.
Marisa Donner was not what Corinne would consider to be pretty, but why she had ever married a short, zit-faced weasel, especially one as universally disliked as Bob Donner, was completely beyond her. Bob was always wearing the biggest boots he could find, his attempt to look taller than five foot five, and had long, stringy black hair. Corrine had often guessed at why the two had gotten together, and the only answer was that Marisa had only wed Bob for the power that came along with him. This had always made Corrine a little leery about the power couple; the truth behind this answer was no prettier than Marisa.
Pushing these persistent thoughts away, Corinne centered herself between the sinks. She loved the modern look of the room, and had even tried to get Daniel to remodel their bathroom using the brushed nickel accoutrements of the otherwise stark white room as a template. Replacement parts, however consisted of whatever could be found inside the empty homes and businesses, and Daniel never could find suitable replicas for Corinne, despite making several attempts. Sighing deeply at her gross reflection, which stared back from inside the mirror just big enough to enclose the two shallow sinks, Corinne started pulling her beauty from the pack.
Nearly an hour later, Corinne was finished getting ready and was just killing time by tucking away errant hairs. She finished her packing with the straightening iron, which had finally cooled enough as to not melt anything that it came into contact with. Daniel had to search for a new one, apparently paying way too much for it, after tying to use her old straightening iron to seal bags of food with, leaving bits of melted plastic behind. She still missed the old one more than she should.
Pausing to give herself one more glance, Corrine was startled by Marisa bursting in through the door. Marisa looked absolutely horrible. Her hair had dried into an off-kilter, curly brown mess and she really needed some make-up to lessen the hue of her pale white skin. Her face was flushed, and her shiny face was covered with red splotches that were centered over her pimples.
“Corinne,” Marisa started to say. Winded, she paused, putting one finger up as she caught her breath before trying again, “Corinne, Bob is freaking out!”
Corinne did not know what to say to the disheveled monster that stood before her. Remaining mute, but putting on a mask of concern she decided to just wait for Marisa to continue.
“They are talking about stopping the patrols! Can you believe that? Someone said the Council was gonna try and pull people off the blockades, too…I mean, what good are all those people in the camp if we can’t use ‘em? They’ve already cancelled work! Shut down the whole office…!” Marisa rattled off, still gulping for air. “I just came to see…if anyone was still up here. I have to pee so bad…” She then dashed into the closest stall and forgot all pretenses by letting out a loud sigh of pleasure.
After a slight pause, Corinne realized that she was going to have to pry it out of her. “What’s going on?” she asked a little too curtly.
“The Chief said the fuel shipment didn’t never show!”
“So what? That’s happened plenty of times before…”
“I know. I said the same thing when Bob told me. But this is…different.” The toilet flushed, followed by the rustle of clothing. The stall burst open. Marisa made straight for the door, picking up where she left off. “It was like…like they was told it wasn’t ever comin’. We’re all supposed to go down to a meeting in the lobby. C’mon, we have to go!”
Marisa was almost shouting at this point, narrowing Corinne’s eyes down into painful squints. Not waiting for a reply, she let the door swing closed, leaving a stunned-looking Corinne in her wake, alone in the bathroom once again.
After grabbing the stuffed pink and lime green backpack and swinging it onto her left shoulder, Corinne made her way out into the hallway. She made it just in time to hear the stairwell door click shut. Looking up at the elevator display, the orange light told her that the car was back on the first floor.
“Fine,” Corinne grumbled, making her way to the stairs.
She stomped her way down, not going nearly as quick as she could have. The clash between the beige wall paint and bright blue railings hurt her eyes the entire way. She then opened the door to a very loud and hectic first floor.
This floor had several small offices ringed around the main area of the open lobby. Most of the available space across the lobby, not being occupied by the long reception desk, was currently being used as storage. Little clusters of mismatched chairs and sofas were spaced around amongst the boxes and racks, creating semi-private seating and meeting areas. Plastering her best fake smile on, Corinne stepped a little ways into the crowd to let the insistent door close behind her.
Seeing that Marisa was already having the same abbreviated conversation with a woman who looked like she had a willing ear, Corinne started looking for someone that she wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable to stand beside. She soon spotted Tony Jenison standing just a few paces from the front door. Tony sat on the Council as the head of the Maintenance Department. This made him both Daniel’s boss and one of Corinne’s. He was really the only member of the Council that had been truly nice to the Moore’s over the years. Being the only person to join the Council since Susan Locke’s departure, Tony never had the same pre-conceived notions that the others did. Sure, the other members were all cordial enough, but it always seemed like something dark swam just below the surface when she talked about her husband.
Corinne’s singular skill with computers had permanently grandfathered her into the clerical position that took care of the Council’s paperwork. This they could do nothing about, nobody left in Michigan understood the blinking screens better than her. Unfortunately for the members of the Council, who were less than pleased with her snarky attitude, Corinne knew that if she passed this skill along to anyone else, she would be passed along shortly afterward. Their one attempt at introducing a “trainee” had failed so miserably that the Council would not dare to try again, so the members had to endure. After all, they could not propagate their own existence without the wordy reports that they so boisterously passed back and forth.
Corinne started pushing her way across the crowded room, trying to get to Tony’s side before the spot next to him was taken. He was not hard to keep track of as she swam her way through the swirling current of bodies. He had to be at least a head taller than anyone else in the room, standing at six and a half feet tall. The navy-blue suit coat that he wore was clean but it was not tailored to fit, so it sagged from his thin shoulders as if it were soaking wet.
Twice Corinne had to swing around large convergences of people caught up in a hushed, darting-eyed conversations. As she closed the distance with Tony, she caught the despondent look in his eyes, which were fixed in the direction of the main entryway. This was the first time that Corinne had ever seen him without a smile on his face.
Marisa was always up in arms about something, so Corrine had taken little notice of this latest episode, but just seeing Tony standing stooped-over like this, a scowl firmly entrenched on his horse-like face and his arms crossed in a frigid pose, was enough to scare Corinne. Tony could always be counted on for his grin and up-beat tempo. Something must have really gone awry for him to look like he did now.
Tony had not registered Corinne’s approach. She faked clearing her throat to get his attention.
Turning to look for the source of the sudden sound, recognition quickly fl
ashed across his face back to resignation. “Where have you been?” he accused.
Feeling her face heat up with anger, she had obviously been one of the last people to be called down to this impromptu meeting. Corinne spat, “On the fourth floor.” It was very hard for her to resist saying the “Where the hell else would I be?” that so desperately wanted to come out.
“Do you know what is happening around here? Do you know what’s about to go on?” Tony asked, his voice matching the concern showing on his pot-marked face. He continued speaking without leaving enough of a pause for Corinne to form a reply. “Pat Fouts is coming over here to say that we need to shut the whole place down and send everyone home…”
Pat was the generally absent Mayor who had annexed the position from the former mayor, who just happened to have been his father.
“Why do we need to go home? Marisa said something about a late gas shipment. Is that what all of ‘this’ is about?” Corinne asked, waving her arms around at the milling crowd.
“Not gas, fuel oil. Diesel. What our generators and city trucks run on. Without it…,” Tony said distraughtly. Vocalizing this to her made it feel all too real. Tony had Corinne’s full attention as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth in a subconscious effort to put the words back. Tony’s hand then moved down to rub the stubble on his chin, lost in frantic thought.
“Mr. Bubbles…wants us to shut everything non-essential down!” he suddenly blurted. Tony made his verbal point even sharper by using wild gesticulations that ended in air quotes at the “non-essential” part.
Mr. Bubbles was everybody’s pet name for Mayor Fouts. His complete lack of humor and inability to show the slightest hint of people skills had garnered him this moniker. Hearing Tony say it so loudly, and in such a public place, made Corinne cringe and sheepishly look around to see if anyone was going to associate her with the faux-pas just by proxy. Everyone within earshot was either too preoccupied by their own conversations to care, or they were thinking something very similar.
Corinne usually thought that most of the people inside the Offices were really not needed. She did not feel this way today though. Not now that she too had been lumped in with the lot of them. Corinne suddenly viewed the people around her as bailers trying to keep a listing ship afloat. ‘Without the bailers, what will happen to the ship?’ she thought gloomily, mind now fully analyzing the process.
“What about the Bank? Tony? Are they going to shut the school down too?” Corinne’s thoughts had begun to stream out of her mouth.
The truth was rushing its way forward, fighting to dawn within her. She had nothing to do with the ration cards now used to organize the distribution of food to the elderly, infirm and families with too many mouths to feed. She had nothing to do with the Bank either. The Bank was where all of the city employees and residents received their pay in the form of municipal stipends. Short of making up the flyers posted on the bulletin boards and now-dark light poles, Corinne had little to do with the daily operations of the other programs housed within City Hall.
When the “Great Pain” occurred ten years ago the President began dissolving the numerous tendrils of the government. Then he effectively relinquished control measures over to FEMA, DHS and the Pentagon. It did not take long from there before the individual branches of the military and FEMA started to be forced under the all-encompassing umbrella of the newly-created Department of Continuance. Five like-minded generals, who knew that sometimes compassion was attrition, ended all the growing squabbles over who had control over what. The D.o.C. now controlled it all.
After New Warren formed on its own accord under the leadership of Allen Moore, the D.o.C. helped restore establishment-style order by supplying fuel and food to the city. The Bank was formed to convert this fuel into stipends of various values that New Warren issued out to keep control over its citizens and to satisfy the D.o.C.’s fuel conservation orders. If anyone sold or traded goods or services to New Warren stipends were what they received as payment. The amount of stipends that could be issued out per month always directly depended upon the quantity of fuel the city received from the D.o.C. It was a good system at least to those who mattered.
Worrying thoughts crept up Corinne’s spine. She looked around without seeing faces, realizing for the first time that her job of preparing Council reports and presentations for the Department of Continuance was needed, but it was far from essential.
“Oh, well…what…err…when do they think we can come back? How long until this truck actually shows up?” Corinne asked Tony quietly, like it was safe for him to tell any secrets that he might have. She was really hoping he could somehow find a way to shield her from the worst of the possibilities forming in her mind.
“Tsst…hold on. Here comes the Chief and Pat.” Tony replied, adding a dismissive wave of his hand.
Corinne bit her tongue and turned to listen alongside the rest of the quieting room, most people just now taking notice of the two men walking in through the vestibule. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts over the past few minutes that she didn’t even notice that several rows of people had moved in front of her and Tony. Most of her view of the front door was now blocked. Even so she could not miss the two huge hands thrusting up above the crowd to signal quiet.
“Can I have your attention, please? Please?” a booming voice ordered more than asked. The voice and hands belonged to the enormous Troy Campbell, who even in the crisp-looking uniform looked like he would be more at home tending to a farm. As his weathered bear claws for hands went down, one chubby stump of an arm replaced it, the fingers like crowded plump sausages. It was the hand of Mayor Fouts giving a flippant, half-hearted wave.
“Thank you, Chief,” Pat Fouts said, not really acknowledging the mountain of a man standing next to him. “I have received some…disturbing news.” He paused for effect. “The Department of Continuance is undergoing another…consolidation phase.” Undoubtedly, he was using the same term given to him. “As of last Friday, the D.o.C. issued orders to cease all deliveries of food stuffs and fuel. What this means is that the City must act in its own best interest, saving only what can be saved as it were…” The Mayor scanned the crowd, forming what should be said next in his mind. These people didn’t need to know everything; at least, not yet.
Corinne looked at the starkly silent crowd becoming acutely conscious of the fact that it could very well be the last time these people might have to stand under the flickering florescent lights. She knew that the Mayor’s words meant the Department of Continuance was abandoning New Warren. But why?
“The D.o.C. gave no notice to any of the various county or city governances most impacted,” Pat spewed. He was obviously irked by this, as if the whole thing had been set up just to slight him. “Just now, I personally received this communiqué from Coronel Baxter over at Selfridge,” he held up a piece of paper for all to see, searching for a particular line of text, “in it, he advises us to form…some…let’s see. Ah, yes…here it is…local means of feeding and housing those without the ability to do so for themselves,” Pat could not help the chuckle from bubbling out as he said this.
The room gave a collective shiver at his callousness. There was only one answer to what was happening. After eight years clean up and construction of the concrete sarcophagus around the nuclear plant had been completed. The D.o.C. was pulling out and the entire economy that had grown to support their efforts was no longer going to be kept propped up.
With a quirky smile and sloppy, mock salute made with a flopping, fat hand, Pat announced in the most matter-of-fact way, “You…are all on your own. Consider the Warehouse and City Hall permanently closed. What little resources we have left will be…well, they will go towards keeping these buildings secure.” The pompous little ball of jelly, testing the limits of a grey, flannel suit then unceremoniously turned around and waddled out the front door without bothering to say another word.
Bob Donner was a typical ten year-old when he lost his mother
and sisters, oblivious to the dangers surrounding him. Despite Troy’s huge stature and intimidating demeanor, in some rare cases he showed a kind heart. He tucked Bob protectively under his colossal wing, even with his duties as head of Security, and then later as Chief of Police. The giant man now hesitated, trying to decide whether he should follow the Mayor out or not. The choice looked as if it infuriated him.
The crowd stood frozen in place. Their mouths sagged agape at the audacity of the Mayor’s quick address and sudden exit; their eyes all fixed on the door still closing.
Nodding to no one in particular, Chief Campbell turned to fully face the crowd and offered, “Go get the last of the pay owed to you and then go home. We are not on our own as Mayor Bubb…Fouts has said. We have each other and our neighbors to look out for us. I’m requesting that all of my police personnel and for that matter, any other willing city employee or resident get with either me or Lt. Donner.” His voice was stern, near reproachful.
“We need to keep the barricades functioning with or without the D.o.C.’s support. All of those people at the work camp are gonna wanna come right through here when they leave. So, this is obviously for all of our safety! We need people spaced along fence line…um…to keep ‘em from getting any dumb ideas about climbing over and helping themselves to what we have left. Am I right? You know those people. And I know I don’t have to remind you how many there are…We will no longer be able to go on patrols soon and we will need a lot more bodies on hand to close up the gaps in our defenses. Mainly around the Warehouse…for obvious reasons…If you want to volunteer or if you know anyone that will, tell them to just come down to town. We will move you into position from there.” Obviously having other things vying for his attention, Chief Campbell put an apologetic hand up, then turned to follow the Mayor’s cowardly trail out the door.
As if on cue the packed room erupted in unison. Some cried out for Troy to stay, while others tried to shout unheeded advice over one another. Corinne looked over to Tony, needing some type of reassurance and realized the tall man was already long gone. A great push began towards the northern hallway. The line for the Bank was going to be very deep indeed.