“Good,” Nestor replied, nodding. He forced himself to smile, then said, “You’ve done well, Ratbone. Remind me to give you a raise when money works again.”
“Will do, boss,” Ratbone replied, and bounced on the balls of his feet with a wide grin. “I did my best, I know we’re on a deadline.”
Nestor slapped the other man’s shoulder. “I know you did. I can count on you for the hard things, Ratbone, and I appreciate that.” Then he turned to his two dozen fighters and shouted, “Mount up! We got some hunting to do!”
As the men and women of the Night Ghosts whooped and hollered, swinging up into their horses’ saddles, Nestor wiped his hand on his jacket, as if his hand were soiled just from touching the Ratbone’s shoulder. Or maybe it was to wipe away the old man’s blood, which was surely on his own hands as much as Ratbone’s.
Climbing onto his horse, Nestor swung around to the northwest, and kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks, spurring his mount away from the grisly scene. Behind him, the old man’s home became engulfed in flames, but it couldn’t ever burn away his guilt.
* * *
Cassy stood before her Council and the assembled Confed envoys, looking at a map tacked to the wall behind her. With a laser pointer, she went through the accumulated changes they knew about in enemy dispositions. She pointed out areas where raiders were active, places where survivors might be at risk, and all the usual SitRep information she had on hand. She’d be glad when the envoys went home—they had been at Clanholme for three days now and she wanted nothing more than to wave goodbye in the morning so Clanholme life could get back to normal.
“…and as you can see, the cannibal activity has been within this twenty-mile area, covering much of the western Confederation. We’ve had cannibals before and we will have them again, I’m sure, but both our scouts and the Night Ghosts are chasing them hard.”
Brickerville’s envoy said, “I got twenty bucks says the Night Ghosts beat you to ’em,” and there were a few chuckles at the good-natured ribbing.
“You’re on,” Cassy said, grinning. “Next up, regarding the joint op on the invader encampment west of the Falconry—”
The door opened with a bang, propelled by heavy winds outside, and all heads turned as one of her guards stepped inside with a woman Cassy had never seen before. The guard looked confused and embarrassed, but didn’t act like this was a dangerous threat, which was good… Cassy banged her fist on the podium. “What is the meaning of this?”
The woman wore a woolen cowl over a sharp-looking black knee-length coat, and when she pulled the cowl off, it revealed she was in her early forties. That was unusual by itself since not many that age had survived unless they had been blessed with fantastic luck. This woman had clearly once been a classic beauty but a large scar, still healing, went from the center of her forehead at the hairline to just under her left ear, narrowly missing her eye. She stood tall, erect, proud.
As she pulled off her gloves, she reached into her inside jacket pocket, causing the guard to tense, ready to rush the woman, but she only pulled out an envelope with a bright red wax seal on the flap. “I’m aware that Confed envoys don’t use names. Therefore, if it pleases you, my name is Liz Town,” she told the assembled group.
There was a murmur. Then the Liz Town envoy—a man who had been there for the past several days—stood and glowered at the newcomer. “What do you mean by that? I am Liz Town. Explain yourself.” His jaw clenched tightly, and he held his hands in fists at his sides.
The woman said, “Sorry, but you were Liz Town. Things have changed in the last couple of days. In the interests of time and accuracy, our leadership sent me to relieve you. And Carl? Pamela said to tell you, ‘thank you for your service,’ and said you’d know what that meant.”
Cassy saw the original envoy’s face turn white. What in the hell was going on in Liz Town?
The woman walked up to Cassy and presented the wax-sealed envelope. Cassy broke the seal and unfolded it—the envelope doubled as the letter itself, in the pre-industrial style. She read it carefully, brief though it was, and grew increasingly confused. It was in the Liz Town leader’s usual handwriting and it had the right seal, but to remove a standing envoy? That made no sense. The letter said only that the current envoy was relieved of all duties and directed him to return to Liz Town as quickly as possible to report directly to his “band leader.” Liz Town was organized into bands, she knew, much like clans within a tribe. The letter named the bearer as the new Liz Town envoy, effective immediately.
Cassy looked at the newcomer, and paused. What could be done? Nothing. Not the Confederation’s responsibility. To challenge it would alienate Liz Town, and that was not an option. “Welcome to Clanholme, Liz Town. Please, be seated.” Cassy turned to the old envoy, and pursed one side of her mouth as she shrugged. “I’m sorry—Carl, was it?—but the directions from your leader are clear. Please feel free to stay the night before heading back to Liz Town, though. I’m happy to share a meal with you.”
In these dark new days, that was tantamount to calling him a friend, and she hoped it would take some of the sting out of his demotion. It was all she could offer.
He nodded, and gave her a wan smile. “Thank you, Cassy. Your hospitality is much appreciated. I would be delighted to take you up on your offer and, if you find yourself in Liz Town someday, I hope you will impose on me during your stay. You would honor me if you did.”
As he walked out of the meeting, the new envoy walked across the room to her predecessor’s seat, chin up, and sat. “So, where were we?”
Cassy said, “You couldn’t wait to do this until after this meeting? I mean no offense, but it was rather disruptive.”
The woman shrugged, and raised her eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but my orders were specific. I didn’t wish to disrupt your Confed meeting, but when given a clear, direct order, what is one to do?”
“Obey, of course,” Cassy replied. She let out a long breath and then said, “Very well. As I was saying, we will soon raid an invader encampment west of Falconry. They’ve been hampering trade with the Empire but since Falconry has proclaimed themselves a neutral free-trade zone—to all of our benefits—it’s their negative impact on Liz Town’s traders that makes Confed action necessary. The enemy is estimated to number only about fifty. The Clan is allocating eighteen people to this. Taj Mahal will send three. Ephrata, thirty. Brickerville, twenty. Lititz, twenty-five. Lebanon, forty. And Liz Town, thirty. That gives us—”
“Pardon me,” said Liz Town, raising her hand.
Cassy replied, “Go ahead. Here, we stand to speak, except for Clanholme—he is an amputee so he stays seated, of necessity.”
The woman nodded, stood, and said, “Liz Town offers its deepest regrets, but due to recent developments we will be unable to allocate any people to this mission. We have the utmost respect for the Confederation and acknowledge our duties within it. We ask that you please accept our apologies at face value; they are sincere.”
Cassy gripped the edges of the podium, knuckles turning white, but her face remained expressionless. “The Confederation acknowledges Liz Town’s respect for their duties to the Confed. Why, may I ask, is Liz Town unable to perform that duty and dedicate fighters for this operation, which we will fight specifically to help Liz Town itself?”
For the first time, Liz Town didn’t have her chin in the air; she looked down at her feet and said, “I wasn’t told why, only that our fighters were needed closer to home right now. I was told to say that Liz Town will send more than its share of fighters for future missions, but that for the time being we will be unable to participate in Confed missions. That will last ‘until further notice,’ ”
“And you have no idea why?” Cassy asked. Something was going on, that much was clear, but apparently they weren’t talking. What could make Liz Town, the most militaristic member of the Confederation, shirk duty on a mission aimed at helping them? Cassy was certain that the envoy knew more than she was telling
them.
“No ma’am, I have no reasons to give you. Only what I was instructed to say.” Liz Town shifted uneasily in her seat and looked at her shoes as she spoke, unable to meet Cassy’s gaze.
Cassy guessed the new envoy was not easy with her stonewalling, but the Confed had no choice but to accept it. She banged on the podium. “Very well. In light of Liz Town’s inability to contribute to this mission, I must ask the other envoys a question. Do any among you wish to decline to participate, now that the numbers have changed?”
Only Lebanon’s hand stayed down. Everyone else was backing away, and Cassy struggled against an urge to walk up and spit in Liz Town’s face. It probably wasn’t her fault. None of this crap made sense, and now the whole mission was a wash—the invaders would stay, unopposed and impeding trade to Falconry—trade that the rest of the Confederation needed. Maybe she could find an alternative way to drive them away, but she had no idea where to start looking for it. Maybe Michael could help.
She let out a long, ragged breath. “Very well. Given this new information, the mission in question is scrubbed. I’m sure no one is happy about it. And on that note, this meeting is adjourned. I’ll see you all in a bit over some of our famous hard apple cider.”
Cassy rapped the podium to make it official. And curse Liz Town for backing out now, rather than earlier. Now the whole Confed knew something was up with the Confed’s strongest west-border member. Liz Town damn well better figure out what they were doing before spring or it would stand alone against the Empire. She shuddered to think of what that could mean for the rest of them.
Damn if she didn’t need a good, stiff drink right now. She followed the others out to where they were serving the cider.
- 3 -
0700 HOURS - ZERO DAY +190
CONTACT WITH THE latest survivor group yesterday morning had gone really well, and Choony had been thrilled to get Strasburg’s agreement to send a rep to Clanholme. Since then, he and Jaz had scouted another enclave and now prepared to wander into the outskirts of Intercourse, Pennsylvania.
Every new meeting with unknown survivors was stressful because one never knew how the residents would react to newcomers. Choony kept it in mind that meeting strangers—especially strangers with a survival stake in protecting their holding—always carried the risk of a fight.
Choony, like Jaz, was a bit distracted of late. Not by the risk of new encounters—he did try to keep his mind on the mission at such times—but because part of him still mulled over his feelings about Jaz. They’d been growing closer for a while now, having been solidly in the “friends” category from the start. Choony decided early on that he wouldn’t push her. As a street kid of striking beauty, she had been through enough to make it hard to trust others. With her rough history, she didn’t need her best friend to start hitting on her. So, as much as he wanted to be with her as more than just a friend, things were as they were, not how he’d like them to be. If it grew into something more, it would do so on her timeline, not his. He was resolved on that.
Immersed in these thoughts, he finished packing their gear into the covered wagon and then gently shook Jaz awake. “Hey there, lazybones. Time to go meet the natives.” As she sat up and yawned, he handed her a cup of nettle tea. It was a somewhat bitter brew but healthful and good for warming up fast, first thing on a cold morning.
Jaz smiled at him sleepily, took the cup and sipped slowly as she came awake, her blanket draped about her shoulders. Soon her tea was finished and she rose to stretch, then turned. “What’s for breakfast?” She grinned at him.
It was a rhetorical question, of course. “Oatmeal and eggs,” he replied out of habit. Shifting his tone to sound like a snooty pre-EMP waiter, he added, “With hot muffins and butter, madam.”
Jaz giggled at his very phony British accent and smoothed an imaginary tablecloth, looking up at him with eyebrows arched expectantly like an impatient and over-privileged socialite. He did a poor job of hiding his urge to laugh and handed Jaz her metal camping cups and a spoon. She ate it all quickly and, glancing sidelong at Choony, straightened her back and dabbed daintily at her lips with an imaginary napkin because snooty restaurants required it, don’t you know. When all was done, she cleaned her cups with sandy dirt and a trickle of water, gathered and packed away her gear. “Ready when you are, Sir Choony.”
Climbing onto the wagon, the two then slowly made their way down the wooded hill toward the nearest cluster of smoke plumes on the outskirts of Intercourse, a small town with a name comedians had loved, back in the day. It took only twenty minutes or so to get within easy weapons range of the survivors, always a point of peak danger. It would only take a single nervous finger on a trigger to ruin his day. Choony grew tense, looking for signs of aggression. Next to him, Jaz’s left leg bounced and her hands gripped her rifle tightly enough to whiten her knuckles.
It was show time, folks…
Choony saw that the residents had somehow pulled a bunch of big-rigs into place to block off several suburban blocks. Two stacked cars at one end made a gate; the cars had been rolled aside to allow entry and exit to the community. As they approached, four men emerged, weapons at the ready but not directly aimed at Choony and Jaz. Choony nudged his companion. “That’s a good sign.”
Jaz nodded but didn’t say anything, as she kept her focus on the four men, and two more men prone on the roof of the largest trailer blocking the main entryway. The four on foot approached slowly, obviously sizing up the newcomers as they came.
When they got within about fifty feet, they stopped and one called out, “Stop your wagon, please.”
Choony drew the wagon to a halt. Then two of the men continued forward, while one flanked left and the other flanked right, forming a strong defensive position. Choony simply waited. If they were going to kill him, they’d do it soon, but so far his instincts said they didn’t intend to kill him and Jaz, not yet anyway. When the two approaching survivors got within conversation distance, Choony said calmly, “Well met, survivors. We come in peace, as envoys.”
“Please drop your weapon, miss,” one of the men replied.
Jaz slowly set the rifle down on the wooden runner in front of her, normally a foot rest. “You got it, mister,” she said, and smiled. “We’re not here to make trouble.”
The man who had done the talking replied, “So what are you here for? We got no food to trade or to spare. I think you had best find another town to trade in, if that’s your aim.”
Choony nodded. “Of course. No one has enough food these days, and we’re not here to beg or to offer trade for yours. We have enough to last until we get home and no more, but it’s enough. Pretty boring fare, but sufficient.” Best not to give them the false impression the wagon was loaded with fresh food and hard-to-find trade goods, or anything else of much value. “We’re here to make contact with your community leaders, nothing more.”
“Oh yeah? What do you want to talk about? I already said we don’t have anything worth trading right now.”
Choony put his hands up before him, palms together, and bowed slightly. It was a formal gesture that transformed him suddenly into an unthreatening Asian shopkeeper. Jaz, watching, blinked every time she saw him do this magic. Rising from his bow, Choony continued, “If it pleases you, we are from the Clan, north of you, and represent an alliance of independent survivor groups, and we’re traveling out here to make contact with whoever we find still alive and surviving on their own. Not all your neighbors are hungry for your bones. We had our share of raiding cannibals before, but we and our allies chased them out and now any still living stay away.” Choony hoped that the implied strength through numbers came through loud and clear.
In the Before times, such a statement might have caused shock or consternation, but in this dark new era assurances about rejecting cannibalism had become almost a standard greeting between strangers. The man nodded and seemed to relax a little, standing a bit easier, shoulders lowering. Choony could feel some of the tension fa
lling away.
“Very well,” the speaker said and turned to the man to his right—the one to Choony’s side—saying, “Go let the boss know we got two people visiting from another group. They want to talk to him.” The other man nodded and jogged away, and then there was nothing to do but wait.
Something about these people troubled Choony, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He put it down to nerves but also knew it was best to listen to instincts, and he kept alert while trying to look relaxed.
Shortly, the messenger jogged back out of the compound and stopped by the speaker. They spoke quietly for a moment. Then the speaker turned to Choony. “The boss will meet with you—he’s interested in news from other places in the region, as you can imagine. Hope you’re entertaining. We all want news. I’ll take your rifle, but you can have it back when you leave. Kosher?”
Choony nodded, and Jaz picked up her rifle to hand to the man butt-first. They then followed their escort toward the wall of trucks and on inside. Choony looked around with a practiced eye. Experience had taught him what to look for in a survivor enclave. Signs of starvation, people missing limbs, groups with more guns than needed to defend themselves. Stacks of salvaged household goods that could have been found abandoned, but might also have been stripped during warlord-type raids.
This enclave had everything he’d expect in a peaceful enclave except piles of salvage. Possibly they kept it elsewhere, out of sight and protected, but still it felt odd. Salvage at abandoned farms meant life, for most survivor groups. The Clan had been no exception. Well, it all looked more or less as he would expect from a stable group. He’d simply keep his eyes open.
They reached an open area near the gate, where the group drew to a halt. “The wagon stays here,” the speaker said, “but it’ll be safe. Our guards will watch your stuff. Follow me, please.”
Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection Page 4