He turned to Marshal, with a gleam in his eye.
“One more thing to take care of,” he said, straightening to attention. “I’m a career soldier, Marshal. I did three tours in Afghanistan as a member of JTF2, but left it in order to become a husband and father. I wrangled a posting as a Master-Corporal at the Toronto Armory, where I trained raw recruits and reservists. It was supposed to be my reward for service.
“My wife and four year old son are gone now. The men and women I trained are all dead. The country I fought for has ceased to exist. I’m a soldier without a country, and a man without a home. I’ve got nothing to offer anyone but my loyalty, my honor, and my life, and so...”
His gaze flickered around the room, before returning to Marshal.
He stood at attention, and saluted.
“I, Eric Vandermeer, formerly a master-corporal in the Canadian Armed Forces, do hereby pledge my allegiance to the newly minted nation of New Toronto…”
His eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement.
“… its dictator, and its citizens. I’ve been hearing a lot of tongue-in-cheek talk about the dictatorship of New Toronto. Now, I don’t know about dictatorships, but I’ve gotten to know this so-called dictator just a little. He may be a piss-poor example of a tyrant, but so far, he’s been a hell of a leader. In light of this, I hereby recognize Marshal Einarsson as the rightful dictator of New Toronto and my commanding officer, until such time as he makes a complete ass of himself, or we kick him out of the position on general principle. Master Corporal Eric Vandermeer, reporting for duty. Sir!”
Trying to keep a straight face, Marshal returned the salute.
Paul smiled along with the general sense of levity, trying not to look out of place but feeling more confused than ever. One thing was for certain. The soldier was the most dangerous man in the room. In a chronically underfunded Canadian military, the Joint Task Force was the exception, a well-maintained, highly versatile elite unit that was always training and could go toe-to-toe with the SAS, the Seals, Spetsnaz, or any special forces the world might have to offer. If Corporal Vandermeer truly was JTF, then he was the sort of person other people made action movies about.
It was just another reason for Paul to change his ways and play it straight. There was no reason for him to lock horns with Marshal or the corporal. Let the past stay buried and embrace the new reality that they were all on the same side.
He looked down at the old man.
“So let me get this straight. You’re God?”
Next stop was the hospital, where they dropped off Dr. Burke and Gladys. The good doctor, while not completely healed, was still mobile enough to make the move. Upon hearing that a hospital had been built, he insisted on being transferred to the new location, where he could begin the process of outfitting and organizing his new kingdom. He was a very thin, spindly man in his late fifties, with a barb-like beard and kindly, dark blue eyes. He was also unusually tall, at six foot eight, and laughingly admitted that his nickname around St. Michaels Hospital had been Jack Skellington, after the celebrated character from the movie Nightmare Before Christmas. The white hair on the top of his head was thinning, and although still looked weak as a kitten, he held himself up with stubborn purpose.
“I thank you, Marshal,” he said, looking down at the younger man, “for your offer to let me stay a little longer in the apartment, but from what I’ve heard, I’ve laid around enough. People have risked their lives on my behalf, and it’s time I start paying my debt forward.”
“You don’t have to,” Marshal said. “You’re only a half a day out of the woods, Doctor. No one expects-”
“I expect it of me,” Dr. Burke interrupted, still smiling. “Besides. I can recover here just as fast as there, while making sure this place is a functioning space for sick people to get better. I’ll have Gladys to look after me, and between the two of us, we’ll have this place prepared for the next half-dead, reclamation project you dig out of the ground.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Marshal said. “Let us know if you need anything, and we’ll bring it to you. I’ll have people stop by on a daily basis, but you can reach Valerie at any time through the computer link. And I mean anything, even if it’s just another batch of toilet paper, let us know.”
“You may regret making that promise, Marshal,” Dr. Burke said, “but for now, I’m sure we’ll be fine. Send Eric, when he gets a chance. I’ll want to keep an eye on those legs. As for the rest, we’ll have a list for you by tomorrow.”
And then it was on to First Canadian Place.
Jackie drove Crapmobile, with her newly-minted co-pilot Albert seated proudly in the second chair. Paul had been forced to squeeze into the storage area with Marshal, Corporal Vandermeer, Mike, Tom, and a scowling but otherwise attractive, middle-aged woman named Elizabeth. Angie tucked herself in with the rest of the group, taking up a small space in a bottom corner.
Paul’s day of amazement continued as the whole group stepped on board a working elevator, which closed and whisked them up to the top floor. The sheer scope of their accomplishments was beginning to dawn on him, and he found himself growing eager to see what they would do next. That they had done so much in so short a time seemed incredible.
The corporal was greeted by a great, crushing hug from Torstein, the construction manager. A whiskery, Hispanic man with reasonable height and muscle called Cesar was next, embracing the corporal with thumping slaps on his back. Another man named Brian, tall and well-muscled with an infectious grin and dusky skin, seemed happy as well, though he was content to just shake hands. The last new face was a stunningly attractive woman who swept in to hug the corporal, who was starting to look a bit awkward from all this unexpected affection.
“I wish I was a soldier,” the little man to his left called Mike muttered to his brother. “He is going to get soooo laid for the rest of his life. Look at how Krissy is with him! I wish it was my body she was pushing up against.”
“Shut up, Mike,” Tom said. “Poor guy just lost his wife and kid. The last thing he’s thinking about is getting into another woman’s pants.”
“I would,” Mike said. “They all go for that ‘my wife just died’ line. They’d be jumping on and off his dick like cowgirls at a rodeo, is what I think. What do you think Paul? Paul? Why are you staring at her like that? I know she’s hot and all, but Krissy isn’t gonna want to sleep with guys like us, not when she’s got guys like Marshal and Eric to choose from.”
Paul ignored him. A chill like ice water on a hot day had trickled up and down his spine at seeing the woman called Krissy.
And just like that, everything changed.
He knew her. Oh yes, he knew detective Richardson. It was hard to forget a woman who looked like that. He recognized her from her days of pretending to be a prostitute on Jarvis Street. He’d even stalked her for a couple of nights, planning to make her one of his bottled ladies, before his surveillance revealed her police affiliations and the sting operation she was involved in. It turned into a moment of keen exposure for him, worse than at any time in his career. Detective Richardson was the one who had put one and two and then five missing prostitutes together, and resolved that there was a serial killer hunting the streets of Toronto.
Paul had gone to extreme lengths to acquire ears inside law enforcement. Even with every profiler on every cop show going on and on about how the ‘unsub’ would always try to involve themselves in police matters, Paul couldn’t resist the advantages it gave him. He hadn’t even been on the police radar before Kristine had raised the possibility. On her own time, she’d collected interviews from various prostitutes and street people, churning out weeks of research into missing persons, dating back for a decade. It impressed the brass enough to earn her an early promotion to the drug squad, while the case she’d unearthed got kicked up to Homicide. The fallout had made Paul’s life very difficult indeed.
He didn’t hold it against her, of course. The police department’s complete lack of awar
eness of his existence had grown rather boring. Kristine’s discovery had satiated a growing need for Paul. Like an artist painting masterpieces in secrecy, he’d begun to develop the desire to be appreciated for his work. Not too appreciated, of course. Just enough to make his visions and dreams more real.
They had met a couple of times, before he realized her true identity, back when he was still playing the game of the hunt. On both occasions, the encounter had been arranged to appear accidental. There was the chance meeting in the convenience store, smiling and looking directly into her eyes for the flash of a second. Then, there was that time in the street when her lighter wasn’t working. He’d swooped in to light it for her, she propositioned him, he declined, moved on, and delightfully, the dance continued.
Then he learned her true identity. It had been like a cold shower. In a flash, she’d gone from prey to predator, and the meat was not so sweet. No hard feelings, darling. You’re just not my type.
But would she remember him?
“… point is,” Torstein was saying, “remember we talked about closing up the windows, without making them look like we were closing them up. You pointed out how, from the ground, black, painted boards would look like open windows, so…”
He glanced over at Cesar, who nodded, reached down to the floor and lifted up a four foot by eight foot plywood that had been lined with solar panels.
“Presto!” he said. “Solar panels look the same as if we’d painted them black, don’t they? We line the top floor windows with these, and there we have it: the illusion of empty windows and a bottomless power source. Two birds with one stone. Then, we set up battery banks, like what you have at the apartment, line the insides with insulation and sealant, and we’ll be ready for winter. It’s going to require a ton of plywood panels per floor, but we’ll never run out of viable solar sites.”
“What if something scales the wall and knocks out the plywood?” Paul asked, forgetting his initial urge to keep silent.
Torstein hesitated, looking him up and down
“This is Paul,” Marshal said. “He just joined us yesterday. The idea, Paul, is that we don’t let the undead make it up this high. But if they do, we’ll have plenty of warning to hide in hidden rooms that we’re planning to build. Who’s idea was it to put solar panels on the plywood like that?”
“That was Cesar’s,” Torstein said. “He was pointing out that it was a shame to waste the rooftop on solar panels, and-”
“We could use it for vegetable-growing,” Cesar broke in, “or build a swimming pool, or anything. It’s the safest place in the city to just go outside and breathe fresh air, you know? Anyway, I thought ‘why bother giving up all that space, when we got all these windows?’ It’s okay, right?”
“I think it’s brilliant,” Marshal said. “Even with the efficiency shifting as the sun goes across the sky, it should provide us all the electricity we’ll ever need. And we’ll probably need a lot if we’re to make it through winter.”
“It means that closing up those windows is our number one priority right now,” Torstein said. “Once we get the insulated window panels up, we can spend all winter renovating the place.”
“Smart,” Marshal said. “Get me an inventory on the materials you’ll need and we’ll hit every lumber supplier, hardware store, and solar panel distributor in the downtown area. I’m giving you four new people. Paul and Tom each have some experience. Elizabeth doesn’t, but she’s smart and willing to help out. Mike is… well, I’m sure you can find something for him to do. Luca and I are going to the Tesla dealership soon, so we’ll transfer Brad and Steve back to your crew, and when we get back, you’ll get Luca and me as well. What do you think about us getting the top twenty floors ready for winter?”
“It’s do-able,” Torstein said, “if I’ve got you to do my electrical. Wiring and plumbing is going to be the hard part.”
Marshal nodded. “I’ve just started the process of training new scavenger teams, which is why you don’t have Jackie and Albert. And you heard about Krissy?”
Torstein and Cesar exchanged an uneasy look. Standing nearby, Brian’s face went neutral, and he turned and left the room. Krissy, looking troubled and a bit angry, hesitated for only a few seconds. Then, without another word, she took off in hot pursuit.
“Um... yeah,” Torstein said. “We overheard her and Brian... uh, ‘talking’ about it. Personally, I was glad when I found out, and a bit surprised also. It’s good to have a cop in our community, and even better that you made her our new chief of police. I know you’re the leader and above the law and all that shit, but putting an actual detective in charge of maintaining law and order makes you a hell of a lot more credible. You know I don’t have a problem with you, Marshal. At this point, I’d follow you even if you hadn’t set yourself up as dictator. But… there’s Luca.”
“You seemed to get along with him well enough at the gymnasium,” Marshal pointed out.
Torstein smiled. “Yeah. Well, he’s a likeable guy. Doesn’t mean I trust him.”
“Anyway,” Cesar said, shaking his head. “We support Krissy. But she and Brian, they’ve stopped talking. They’re both unhappy. He spends most of his time sulking by himself, now, and I thought she was going to blow up at him.”
“It’s the same with Kumar,” Marshal said. “When she was done telling him, he wouldn’t even look at her. Well, if I’m going to be spending my weeks here setting up the wiring, then I’ll need Krissy to take the wheel of Crapmobile Mark Two. She’ll need her own police car eventually, so the practice will be good for her, and it’ll give her, Brian, and Kumar some space.”
“That’ll be a relief,” Torstein snorted. “Those two are driving me crazy.”
“It’ll mean pulling someone away to partner with her,” Marshal warned. “And it would have to be someone competent.”
“I’m short-staffed as it is,” Torstein complained.
“Could be worth it,” Cesar said, looking on the bright side. “We get more scavengers out there, we rescue more people, and we get more help. Plus, we get more materials.”
Torstein sighed, and then raised his hands in surrender. “Who do you have in mind?”
Angie slipped through the abandoned city streets, creeping around car wrecks, peeking around corners, and moving stealthily through the remains of civilization. Her garbage dress swept the ground around her feet and completely obscured her body from head to toe. The chemically designed stench that drenched the dress could have made a rhino’s eyes water.
Angie didn’t mind. She’d gotten used to it, and it kept her safe.
She loved the freedom of the wasteland. No one, not even Marshal, could match her ability to fool the zombies. So long as she was careful, she was as safe out here as in the apartment. And the people she was finding! It seemed like every day, new people were arriving, making Marshal’s dreams come true.
That made Angie happy too. She got mad, sometimes, at how often Marshal had to explain himself to all the new people. That Elizabeth woman, who wanted to make Angie stay back at the apartment, made her maddest of all. How dare she question Marshal that way? He’d saved all their lives, and Uncle Luca’s life, and her life, when all he had to do is hide inside his wonderful apartment. What had Elizabeth done?
Angie sighed. Marshal had stood up to Elizabeth, but he didn’t stay angry at her for some reason. She didn’t understand why, but Elizabeth had stopped being mad too. She even agreed to work with him. Somehow, Marshal had convinced the angriest woman alive to stop being angry. It was kind of amazing, actually.
Angie froze, and with the slowness of glacial drift, she shrunk down behind a battered mailbox. A zombie staggered out from behind the twisted wreckage of a delivery truck. She wasn’t even remotely afraid. Zombies didn’t see her any more, if she didn’t want them to. Once, a zombie had even poked at her, when she shrunk down into her garbage pile, but when she didn’t move, the creature had simply moved on.
She hadn’t told Marshal abou
t that time. He wouldn’t understand, and if she told him, neither he nor Luca would ever feel safe letting her out on her own again. Marshal and Luca loved her, and she loved them. She didn’t want to start fighting with them again. She’d do anything for them, but she was much happier with them willing to do anything for her.
Hidden from the zombie, Angie was able to slip away without dislodging so much as a pebble, and move away from the danger zone. It was easy. They were so stupid.
“How’s it going out there, Angie?”
Angie sighed. She liked Jackie a lot, and Albert too, though she got a creepy vibe from him. Not… icky ‘creepy’. More like… nervous ‘creepy’, like he was afraid of her. But then, Albert was afraid of everything.
“I’m good,” she whispered into the microphone. She sniffed the air. “There’s… a funny smell.” She raised her nose and turned her head. “It’s coming from the building across the street.”
“Hold on,” Jackie answered. “Albert is doing a search in Kumar’s database. I know we’re in the old Distillery District, down near the rail yards… what? Albert says that your building adjoins a slaughterhouse. It was closed, then reopened, then closed and reopened again. There was a lot of protest from PETA and other similar organizations.”
But Angie only fixated on one idea.
“Animals?” she asked excitedly. “Could there be animals there?”
There was a pause.
“Could be,” the response came at last. “Albert wants to launch a drone to investigate.”
“Okay,” Angie said, visions of baby animals dancing in her head. “But I’m going in, too. If there’s animals, I want to be the first to see them.”
“Be careful.”
Angie rolled her eyes. Didn’t they understand? She was good at this, and no zombie would catch her. Of course, she’d be careful. But Albert could launch all the drones he liked, he’d never be able to investigate as effectively as she could.
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 37