Shadow Sun Expansion

by Dave Willmarth

  And through all of that, he found time to visit his other properties and people via the teleport system. One of the things he purchased early was a pair of heavy-duty hover pads. They used some sort of magnetic force to lift themselves off the ground and remain there, where they could be moved horizontally quite easily. Allistor had purchased several smaller ones on a whim, and his people began using them to move butchered buffalo parts and other heavy loads weighing up to one ton. They worked so well that he purchased the industrial versions and took them straight to George at Luther’s Landing. The things were the size of flatbed rail cars, and that’s exactly how they used them. Taking them out to the train wreck, they were able to slide the flat pads under the overturned railroad cars and lift them. Then, by moving the pads over to the sloped gravel on either side of the track and setting them down, gravity did the work of tilting the heavy cars back upright. Not only did it give them access to more of the loot inside the wrecked cars, but it had the added advantage of clearing the wreck and potentially making the tracks usable again in the future.

  Allistor also brought George one of the matter converters, which they fed all the scrap metal from the train into. The scrap was loaded onto a pad, the pad activated, and towed back to the Stronghold by one of the trucks. George. being who he was, went into the munitions business, converting the scrap into tens of thousands of bullets which they sold or traded to the other Strongholds in Denver. And others Allistor and his people discovered along the way.

  He built up the wealth of his tiny empire by selling off gold bars in small lots, from a single bar to a stack of ten at a time. He assigned Chris to the task, finding the man had a surprising facility for numbers, and a keen sense of the market demand. After just a month, Chris had manipulated the market so that they were receiving thirteen hundred klax per ounce for the single bars, and fifteen hundred for the bigger lots. He’d called the extra two hundred klax a ‘convenience fee’ for saving the buyers the trouble of bidding on individual bars over and over again.

  Allistor began using the gold and silver coins to pay salaries to his support people, as promised. The teachers, gardeners, hunters, the guards, the folks who cooked and cleaned for the others. And he set up a system where the crafters could sell their ‘practice’ items of less than top quality to him at a slight discount. This gave them an option other than to break the items back down into component materials or throw them away. He in turn used them as gifts or trade items with other survivor groups.

  Bjurstrom and his three team members became training officers, taking the lower level survivors outside the walls on hunting trips. They even located a few ‘dungeons’ while exploring caves and tunnels, or the city sewers and storm drains. Slowly but surely his people became stronger. Their crafting skills improved to the point where, after Allistor showed them the better quality samples, the folks in the other Denver Strongholds began to compete for the right to purchase them. Allistor was happy to oblige, hoping regular trade might be the road to successful recruitment or establishing alliances.

  Through this whole period, Allistor awoke every morning and checked the countdown on his interface. Each day he did his best to help his people get stronger, feeling the pressure of the pending alien invasion. Each week he pushed himself harder, getting less sleep, trying harder to convince the other Stronghold leaders to join him.

  His relationship with Amanda strengthened during those months as well. With him so often in or near one of their Strongholds, he was a short teleport away from spending evenings with her. It was almost as if he’d taken a nine to five office job that allowed him to be home for dinner most nights. For longer trips, she sometimes accompanied him, Helen, and Fuzzy.

  By the time winter began to fade into spring, every single one of Allistor’s people (except the children) were at least level ten and had chosen a class. Each of them had leveled up some sort of useful skill that contributed to the community, some of them more than one. Lilly, for example, had discovered during some long conversations with Michael that she could enchant the thread and other components of her leather goods to make them stronger, or add buffs. So, she spent a week or so sitting next to him every day, learning to do just that. Which was how she’d been able to create Allistor’s awesome armor, and many other items just like it. He’d arranged to pay her a salary plus bonuses to experiment and create armor for as many of his people as she could, beginning with the fighters, hunters, and cowboys.

  Allistor now had nearly four thousand people living in his various safeholds. Even his Outposts like the Gun Shop, Ranger Station, and the one north of Denver had regular patrols manning them as his people spread farther and farther out for hunting and foraging.

  Some of his citizens had come from the other Strongholds in Denver, others had been found individually or in small groups out in the wild. Allistor had recruited a hundred people at once when they’d come across a Stronghold, run by a man named Hays, not far from one of Bjurstrom’s dungeons. The group was doing well enough, but the snows had just started falling, and they were concerned about their food supply lasting the winter. It turned out Hays and many of his people had been part of a musical troupe, and they happily put on shows for people at the theater that had been attached to the mall in Cheyenne.

  Nancy and Chloe had been busy as well. They claimed large spaces in every Stronghold, the Citadel, and the Bastion, and demanded that Allistor erect expansive greenhouses. Each one covered an acre at least, and featured stepped scaffolding that allowed two or three levels of planters to be growing vegetables and medicinal herbs at the same time. There was a mob of volunteers who wanted to learn to grow the crops in return for a salary from Allistor. Nancy interviewed and selected five or six for each greenhouse and trained them. Foraging trips were made to big supply stores to bring back seeds as well as mountains of bagged soil and fertilizer. In this way, each of the facilities became self-sustaining by the time the snows outside began to get deep. Most produced enough surplus to feed the nearby Outposts as well, and to gift or trade to other survivor groups.

  *****

  There were, of course, some setbacks. Not long after returning to Luther’s Landing, George and his people tracked down what remained of Evan’s settlement. After the losses the group had suffered, including George’s son Luther, they’d sworn vengeance. And they went to get it. Allistor had been out with a hunting party at the time, and didn’t hear about it until after it was done. Which he supposed was George’s intent. He and his fighters had surrounded the encampment during the night. After their losses at Luther’s Landing and the Warren, Evan’s group had been reduced to a dozen or so armed men and women, and about twice that many civilians, mostly elderly and children. They didn’t look well fed, and barely kept a watch during the night.

  Their condition didn’t matter to George. He waited till morning, when most of the survivors in the camp gathered for breakfast. As each one of the fighters emerged from a house, one of George’s people was assigned to them. The group had pretty much settled down for their meal when George fired the first shot into the head of a man wearing a rifle. In seconds, ten of the fighters were dead or dying, and the rest were screaming and crying, flat on the ground or running for cover.

  The remaining few fighters threw down their weapons and raised their hands, shouting, “Don’t shoot!” or, “We surrender!” The others began to pick up the cry, and soon the whole group was begging to surrender.

  George was the first to rise from cover and step into sight. The others followed suit, thirty of them with grim faces and raised weapons. On his orders, his people separated out the children and the infirm, any that obviously could not have participated in the attacks on George’s people, and herded them into a nearby building. That left him eight fighting-age and physically capable adults to deal with.

  He pointed to the three he’d seen holding weapons. “Those three, move them into that house.” He pointed behind him, and the three men were dragged away, begging for their liv
es. George looked at the remaining survivors sitting in front of him.

  “Who among you participated in the raids on our community?” he growled at them. The four women and one man looked at each other, then up at him. All of them shook their heads.

  “Any of you kin to Evan or his dumbass cousin? What was his name?”

  “Justin.” one of the women answered. “My husband. I’m guessin’ it was you and your lot what killed him?”

  George nodded. “After he and his people attacked us. Killed my son.”

  He watched as a sneer appeared on her face. “Good! Least he got a little payback for Evan.” The others in line next to her nodded their agreement.

  One of the men behind George, one who’d lost family in the raids on Luther’s Landing, roared in frustrated rage. “Are you kidding me? You assholes came and stole from us, murdered our families, starved us very nearly to death!” He stepped toward the woman, but George held him back.

  She spat on the ground at his feet. “You were cattle. The weak serve the strong, or die. If y’all were too weak to give us our due and still feed yerselves, then you deserved-”

  Her thought went unfinished as a slug from George’s shotgun entered her head between the eyes and sent her brain matter spraying out the back. There were screams from the children inside the building, who couldn’t see what happened but had heard the shot.

  Before the woman’s dead body hit the ground, more shots rang out from George’s people. The other four sitting next to her, and the three in the house behind them all perished in seconds. George blinked several times in surprise. He hadn’t given the order to shoot, and hadn’t expected it. He’d let his anger get the better of him. Now it was too late to do anything about it.

  “Bring the others out here.”

  When the others had been brought to stand next to the bodies, the children whimpering and the adults not faring much better, George addressed them.

  “These people attacked and killed our friends and family. For no other reason than they were too lazy to hunt, fish, or forage for themselves.”

  “You killed my mom and pop!” a boy of about twelve screamed at him. His eyes moved to two of the corpses and remained glued there.

  The accusation stung George’s heart, but he kept his face hard. “I’m sorry you had to see this. But they supported Evan and Justin in their efforts to kill our people. Had I let them live, they likely would have picked up weapons and tried again.”

  “Damn right they would!” one of the old men shouted. He pointed a bony finger at George. “You’ll get yours, you’ll see!”

  Just as all eyes went to the old man, the boy raised a hand holding a compact 9mm and fired three rounds point-blank into George’s gut. Two more shots echoed between the buildings, and both the old man and the boy dropped dead as George’s legs buckled and he fell to his knees.

  “Stop!” he managed to call out, placing a hand on the ground to keep from falling on his face. “Stop firing, dammit!”

  He felt a couple of heals wash over him, but the lead in his gut was still burning. He watched as his healing organs and skin pushed the flattened rounds out of his gut to fall with a clink to the pavement.

  “What do you want to do with the rest of them?” the same man who had spoken before asked. From the tone of his voice, he was in favor of finishing them.

  George grunted, then panted more than a little as he sat up and accepted help getting to his feet. He looked at the remaining adults. There were ten of them, most in their sixties or older. Three were young women, one pregnant. The rest of the survivors were kids ranging from about three to twelve years old.

  “Any of the rest of you feel the same?” his voice came out hoarse, and he kept one hand on his gut, where there was still some significant pain.

  All the heads in front of him, young and old, shook in unison. George looked around, a realization dawning on him. “This isn’t a Stronghold. You folks been out here all this time?”

  The eldest of the men, who looked to be George’s age if not older, nodded his head. “Evan said if we wasn’t strong enough to survive out here, then we didn’t deserve to.”

  George shook his head. “And after he was gone?” The old man just shrugged.

  George looked around. There was a police station half a block down the street. He walked down there, pulling the old man along with a wave of his hand. Stepping inside, he said, “Allistor left me in control of Luther’s Landing. So I can use some of our resources to create a safe space for you. I’ll do that, if you swear that none of you will raise a hand against my people, or any others, except in self-defense.”

  The old man raised his right hand. “I swear we’ll leave ya be. I’m old, and tired, and I just want a decent night’s sleep.”

  George pulled up his interface, and claimed the building. He quickly designated it as an Outpost. He turned the offices and holding cells into sleeping quarters. There was already a kitchen, and bathrooms with showers. After creating the wall, gate, power and water, he added the sensors.

  “Nothing will spawn inside the wall. You can sleep safe in here. We’ll leave you all your food and water.” He paused, feeling a surge of regret. “With fewer of you now, it should last you longer. If you come by our Stronghold once a week, we’ll give you some fruit and vegetables, but you’ll need to hunt for meat. We’ll leave your guns just outside the gate. Don’t retrieve them until we’re out of sight.”

  The old man offered his hand. “I’m sorry. For what Evan and them did to you and yours. He was a disturbed man, but he took care of us in his own way. Brainwashed some of these folks into doin’ stuff they’d never have done, you know, before.”

  George nodded his head and walked out, not looking back. He called out for his people to gather up all the guns, and they left them outside the gate as promised, closing the doors behind the children as they were herded inside. George kept walking away, never once looking back.

  When they reached Luther’s Landing, he found Allistor there, waiting for him. As Earl, he’d received a notification about the creation of a new Outpost, one that George hadn’t discussed with him ahead of time.

  “Hey old man, did you just make yourself a fishing cabin or something?” Allistor greeted George as he sat down in the dining area across the table from him. Seeing the look on the old man’s face, Allistor’s smile instantly disappeared. “What happened? Did you get attacked?”

  George sat there, his face expressionless as he told Allistor what they’d done. He expected his friend to explode, to preach about the value of every human life. He expected to be reprimanded, maybe even banished.

  What he didn’t expect was for Allistor to produce a .45 revolver and set it on the table between them. Initially alarmed, he reflexively moved a hand toward his own sidearm. But then he paused. His guilt had mounted as they’d traveled the few miles back. If Allistor felt he needed to die as punishment for his actions, he’d accept that.

  Allistor spun the gun around atop the table. “I know how you’re feeling right now. Taking the lives of other people, even murdering assholes, isn’t easy. You’re second-guessing yourself. Feeling guilty. Wondering if the ones you killed might have been redeemed somehow. Am I getting close?”

  George just nodded, a lump in his throat preventing him from speaking.

  “Let me be clear, George. I’m not happy you felt the need to do this without telling me. You are my representative here, my advisor. My friend. Did you keep it from me because you thought I’d prevent you from going after them?”

  Again, George just nodded. His eyes fell from the gun on the table to his hands in his lap. His fingers absently picked at the bloody holes in his shirt.

  “Do you remember when I first came here?” Allistor asked.

  “I do.” George’s voice was still rough.

  “I put a round through Evan’s head the moment he refused my order to walk away.”

  “You did.” George nodded, lifting his hands to set them flat
on the table.

  “I’ve killed a lot of humans since this all started, my friend. Some I knew for sure were murderers and rapists. But I couldn’t always stop and check the level of guilt or innocence of everyone once the fighting started.”

  George looked up from his hands to find Allistor gazing at him. “Your people have been holding a lot of pain and loss inside them. What happened is not your fault. It sounds to me like the ones who died probably deserved it. But neither of us will ever know for sure. I can accept that. Can you?”

  George didn’t answer for a while, staring off into the distance as he replayed the morning in his head. He blinked and refocused when Allistor said, “Hey, listen.” He shoved the revolver from the center of the table over to within an inch or two of George’s hands. “I need to know that you can get past this. That you can handle things here. I need to know you’re the tough old bastard who raised Luther to be a leader, and took his place when we lost him.” Allistor paused, looking George in the eye. “Because if you’re not, then maybe you’re better off eating a bullet here and now. Save yourself and your people all the anguish of a slow decline.”

  “What? What did you just say to me, boy?” George was on his feet, his hands gripping the table so hard they turned white.

  “There he is!” Allistor put out a hand to calm him, offering a regretful smile. “I’m sorry, my friend. I needed to snap you out of it. I’ve been where you were heading more than once, and I wanted to derail you here and now.” He scowled at George. “And don’t look at me like that. Like you need my forgiveness for something. You did what needed to be done. You showed the survivors some charity, maybe more than I might have myself. Remember when we first found the Howitzers? I was ready to drop shells on those people that day. If we had, Luther might still be alive today, and there wouldn’t have been a need for your actions this morning. You see, you’re not the only one carrying around guilt. The secret is to accept the burden and then set it aside so you can deal with the day to day bullshit this place throws at you.”