Palmer stared at the man, keeping his face carefully neutral. Certainly, he was dealing with an idiot. They didn’t just transport nuclear waste randomly across railroad networks that went right near towns and cities. But radiation warnings were only one kind of hazard symbol, so it might have been something else. Possibly something just as toxic.
Then, the thought occurred to him that there were certainly people who did not want to see Palmer, or “Black,” succeed in leading the town. Some of them probably felt like they should be in charge. Ha! As if they could do what he did. If they could have led these people out of a wet paper bag, they would already have been in charge. But jealousy and stupidity were no strangers to each other. Which was a solid reason why it might be smart to have some sort of card up his sleeve, a backup plan for if and when someone tried to oust him. He would certainly rather kill everyone than to walk away from this fancy new office and this delightful little town, not now that it was his town. He had it in his hands, and only had to keep it—or destroy it, if he could not.
For that matter, though, he didn’t have to kill everyone…Some toxic waste, well, that might be a handy way to kill off just a bunch of people, and blame it on whoever was coming for him. Maybe he could even arrange for those chosen victims to be the poor bastard’s followers. Something the townspeople didn’t know about, something that couldn’t be traced back to him. At least, it couldn’t be traced back to him if the man sitting before him could be trusted not to blab his idiot mouth. That was a chance Palmer simply couldn’t take.
Well, at least he’ll die for a good cause. Me.
Palmer smiled reassuringly, making sure his teeth showed to make it look more spontaneous. “Well done. That was damn good thinking on your part. You know, I might have room on my team for someone with your initiative.” He paused to let that sink in, and waited until the implications dawned on the man’s expression before continuing, “Who else have you told about this?”
The man shook his head vigorously. “No one, I swear. I came to you first.”
Palmer smiled. Excellent. “Okay, be sure that you don’t. This needs to stay a secret between me and you. In fact, let’s go grab a truck, and you and I can go out together now so you can show me where you found this thing, and we can take a look-see at just what we’re dealing with. We sure don’t want something that could threaten our town to be just sitting out there unattended, right?”
What an idiot. Something to threaten the town was exactly what Palmer did want. And if this man was stupid enough to go with him out to some remote location, alone, without telling anyone where he was going…Well, then, Palmer would just be thinning the herd.
As they walked out to a pickup Palmer had previously “requisitioned” for performing his new duties, he made sure to leave out the back door, where no one on the street would see them leave together through the lesser-used rear parking lot exit.
After all, he would be coming back alone.
22
At about ten o’clock, Gary nudged the door to Black’s new office shut as he scanned the room. Black, leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, arm draped over the back. That Danny fellow, in one of the wooden chairs opposite Black, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“…and I think it’s time we set our sights on a new supply requisition,” Black said, his smiling eyes locked on Danny. Then he looked up and saw Gary, and his smile widened. “Gary, there you are. Thank you for coming so quickly. I know we all have a lot to do right now, getting things better organized, and I do hate to tear you away from that. And from your lunch. But we have a problem that needs addressing, and I won’t have time to meet later.” His smile faded.
He means I have a problem to fix for him. Black had been right about everything they’d done so far, though…Maybe we get to lose this jackass, Danny.
Gary padded across the carpet and flipped the remaining chair around, then straddled it. “There’s always a problem. What are we up to now?”
Whatever it was, it would be something above-board, else Black wouldn’t have Danny present to overhear it. Although these monkeys sometimes needed a wolf-in-monkey’s-clothes in order to get things done, Gary was still relieved this one wouldn’t likely involve breaking anyone’s legs. This time. As they said, gotta break eggs to make omelets, and these people were all eggs.
Worth it, though.
Black sat up, putting both feet on the floor, and looked Gary in the eyes. “We’re low on bottle openers. Not just those, of course, but all sorts of creature comforts our fine people are used to.”
He glanced at Danny with the use of the word “our.”
A glimmer of hope struck Gary. Maybe this was about his compound! Well, the forces he’d asked for to get it, at least—he hadn’t mentioned the actual place itself, and wouldn’t get specific until he had to. But, were they finally going to do something about giving him back what was rightfully his? The compound had lots of stockpiled supplies. Including stupid bottle openers. He’d gladly give Black a few of those if it got his compound back where it truly belonged.
Danny said, “You aren’t really suggesting we form a raiding party over bottle openers, are you?” His voice sounded indignant at first, but the last couple words were almost pleading.
Gary glanced over. What did Black see in this guy? He clearly wasn’t one hundred percent onboard with the new program. Sooner rather than later, Gary suspected, Black would let him put this weak-livered snot out of all their misery. He looked back at Black, studying his reaction.
Black’s expression didn’t change at all. Still the wan smile, the furrowed brows—the fatherly mix of pleasantly worried for his favored children.
Bah. Black was going maybe too far in walking softly among their new sheep flock.
Black replied, “Over bottle openers? Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous—that was an expression only. But it seems to me that our people do work hard, and although we are strong enough that we get to enjoy the fruits of our labors, the people here weren’t blessed with a strip mall full of things that make life easier. Things that perhaps weren’t needed to survive those first chaotic times after the CME hit, but are important nonetheless for, how do we say it, ‘their quality of life’ here.”
Gary blinked. This wasn’t about getting back his compound, clearly. He leaned forward slightly. His time would come, and soon. It’d better. But Black had vision, a vision Gary found he himself lacked, so he would listen, and he’d follow Black’s ideas. In the end, working with Black was going to get Gary what he deserved, and then they’d part ways—with blood, if necessary. Screw this town, screw Black’s ideas of empire.
Black continued, “But my predecessor was smart enough to send out scouts disguised like refugees, or even merchants, though there’s not a lot of wandering merchants yet. It’s not the Middle Ages. Maybe we’ll get back to that, someday.”
“Maybe,” Danny agreed, his tone wary. “I know all this, though. I was there when he sent out those scouts.”
Black shrugged. “I guess it’s a good thing you weren’t among them, or you’d still be out there in the storm of chaos swirling around just outside our gates. In any case, the reason I mentioned that is simple. Before those Nettletown bastards killed him, Wyatt’s scouts found a place that has a cache of these kinds of everyday goodies. They aren’t using them, of course, since the town lacks power, but they’re there, begging to get used.”
Danny leaned forward, Gary noted, probably without even realizing it.
Gary studied the man’s reactions carefully.
“Okay,” Danny replied. “We could…use that stuff, I guess. But it’s one thing to raid for food, for things we need to survive. It’s another to do it for bottle openers. I’m not sure you can sell the people on that idea, and—”
Black cut him off with a breezy wave of his hand. “Oh please, be realistic. I’m not a monster. Killing is necessary, at times, but this isn’t one of them. I have a different idea—
one that has a lot of promise for less violent dealings with other survivor groups, too. Less violence, less danger for us.”
Danny cocked his head, and Gary caught the slight widening of his eyes. “Oh?”
“Yes. We will raid if we must, but unless we lose no people at all, those raids are wasteful and tragic for everyone involved. But what if we could get what we need without firing a shot? Or if we must, then just firing a few shots? You know, just to prove our point.”
Danny leaned back. Gary’s roving eyes caught a tell, a dead giveaway of the man’s inner thoughts—Danny was intrigued. Whether it was the idea of avoiding the risk of getting shot or the idea of easy loot to make lives easier here—or both—didn’t matter. He could be reasoned with. That was good. Maybe Black had been right to leave this little pansy alive. “What do you have in mind?”
Black’s face lit up in that easy smile of his, the one that disarmed sheeple so easily from what Gary had seen, and replied, “I’m so glad you asked. The short version is this—we walk up to the front gates, with a show of force in the background, and tell them civilization is coming whether they want it or not, and we’re it. They’ll pay a tax—maybe half, maybe a quarter, of everything they have and everything they get in the future—and in return, they get to be with us, not against us. And we’ll work with them to protect them from those dastardly raiders roving the countryside. Lots of hungry refugees with guns out there, you know, and we’ll be at the town’s disposal to help with such matters.”
Danny’s eyes went wide. “Protection money? You want to run a protection racket. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Gary grinned. Danny was sharper than he’d given the man credit for.
Black shrugged. “Tomay-to, tomah-to, whatever. It’s no different than what the government did, before. You paid taxes or they responded with violence, by throwing you in jail. Where, ironically, you could no longer make enough to pay much of those taxes, which covered the same police who both protected you and came and got you if you didn’t pay up, making an example of you to keep the other little people in line. It’s a proven method, a real tried-and-true classic racket. And it’ll work, because paying some is more palatable to those soft people than the consequences they’ll suffer if they don’t, losing both their lives and all their stuff. And, of course, those supplies will make us stronger in the long run so we can afford to support more people—people who will help us offer the same protection to the next group.”
When Danny paused, seeming to be at a loss for words, Gary coughed into his hand and then said, “Brilliant, as always. You said you had a place in mind to test out this new idea. Where?”
Really, Gary mused, any idea that kept him from being shot at was a good one. Violence was best used when it was absolutely necessary—or when there was little risk of getting killed doing it.
Black put his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers in front of his face, fingertips touching his chin. “I propose we go knock on the front doors of a town pretty near to Nettletown, actually. It’s a small place, but it’s the biggest town in Orange County, Vermont—and the county’s trade center. Have you heard of a little town called Burnsville?”
Gary had most definitely heard of that place, as it was only ten miles from Fenton, a day’s march at most—and Abram’s compound was only a mile beyond that. If they cowed Burnsville into being their good little puppets, it’d be the perfect place from which to organize his takeover at the compound. His long-term goal seemed almost within reach, at last. Gary felt a grin spreading, and he didn’t bother to hold it back. “Great. I sure have. So, when do we leave?”
“In a few weeks. There’s no rush,” Black replied, “and that will give us time to plan it effectively. We’ll want only the right sort of people to go with us, too. People we can trust to pull the trigger if they must, and to hold their fire unless ordered. No trigger-happy morons, and no pot-smoking hippies, so to speak. Danny, you’ll be a monumental help with that, since you know our people a lot better than I do, yet.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Danny replied. He didn’t seem happy about it, exactly, but Gary hadn’t expected him to be. Still, he seemed passive. No signs he was going to do something stupid, like sow dissent.
Gary smiled at him. “Good, that’s what we wanted to hear. You don’t have a problem with this, do you? If there’s something you want to get off your chest, now’s the time.”
Danny shook his head, the corners of his mouth ticking upward a little. “Nope. Black and you run this show. I’m just happy to be able to help produce it.”
Gary nodded. That was just the right answer. Good thing, too, because Gary had far too many tasks on his to-do list to have to follow this chump around, babysitting him. Speaking of which, he was going to be late for his inspection of a dis-used rail spur in town. What Black had in mind for it, Gary didn’t know, but since the answer would no doubt have been boring, he hadn’t asked. “Anything else, Black? I’m running late.”
Black dismissed him, and Gary closed the door behind him on his way out. Already, his head was in the game, as the saying went. Maybe they were going to salvage the rails for iron… He made a mental note to see how hard it would be to get those rail spikes out, and whether he could lift a chunk of rails on his own.
23
As the truck’s engine purred, cooling restored with the new T-stat, and whisked them briskly along a segment of Lower Stockfarm Road that was both relatively straight and open to either side, Abram allowed his thoughts to wander again, free from the need to remain vigilant against ambushes. This was not the sort of place anyone would set up an ambush, and if they had, Frank or Owen would see it a long way off.
“Maybe ten more minutes,” Frank was telling Owen up front, though Abram hadn’t caught the question. He assumed Owen had asked yet again about how much longer the trip would take.
That caught Abram’s attention, pulling him away from his worries about his wife, wounded in a sloppy, desperate raid by random refugees. He’d been working over in his mind how best to shore up defenses on the compound’s north end. A couple of refugees shouldn’t have found it so easy to waltz in. But he could do nothing about that at the moment, and they were apparently almost to Burnsville. He’d been zoned out inside his own head for longer than he’d thought…
Good timing, too. Through the front windshield, a forest’s sharp edge loomed. Nature abhorred such laser-straight, knife-sharp edges—in the back of his mind, he imagined the clearcutting that must have occurred to cause such terrain. And recently, too—no more than a year or two past, if that, or the edge would have been dulled with new growth, or set in stone when a farm arose where trees had once ruled.
Abram said, “Be alert for any ambushes, guys. I think the area just beyond that tree line would be a perfect spot to lay out some barbed wire, or to fell a tree across the road.”
“You aren’t kidding,” Frank said over his shoulder.
After that, the conversation up front died as all eyes focused on looking for signs of impending ambush, traps, or other hazards lurking in the shorter sight-distance offered within the forest.
The forest lasted only a minute, though, before they burst through a tree line and into the open. Forest behind them, forest to the left, or west, and up ahead, something glinted. Abram narrowed his eyes to peer better, then raised his binoculars. As he adjusted the strength downward to focus closer, the gleam’s source crystalized into view—a bridge. It wasn’t empty, either; a large yellow school bus was parked across both lanes at the bridge’s farthest edge. People moved around it, and someone was sitting in the bus’s driver seat.
“Crap,” Owen said, shifting nervously in his seat. “Bandits?”
Frank shook his head. “No. The streams south and west of Burnsville guard most approaches, except right there at the bridge. That no-good SOB, Kent, was smart enough to set up a checkpoint there. Either that, or bandits already took over and felt like staying a while. Guess we’ll find out.”
<
br /> Abram frowned. New meetings were always a time of great danger. This one would be more so than most—there would be nowhere to run if the guards turned out to be bandits and decided to kill them to take their stuff. “Any other way through?”
Frank shook his head. “Even if we shoot over to I-85 North to come at this place from the other end, going around it, there’s another stream and bridge up there, too. I’d bet money it’s defended, at least by an outpost, with snipers and mines the whole distance. It’s a lot like Nettletown was, in one way—only the east approach doesn’t have a barrier guarding it, and that’s just one big ol’ forest. Probably mined.”
“Okay.” Abram shook his head. They had no choice, then, but to roll the dice. “Slow down when we’re a hundred yards out, and just crawl forward until they tell us to stop. Owen, keep that shotty handy, but don’t point it at anyone. Keep it down where it’s not so visible.”
“You got it,” Owen replied.
A few seconds later, Abram felt his weight shift forward as Frank applied the brakes. The speedometer needle crashed to the left, until it settled down at the big “5” mark; the truck inched forward onto the bridge itself. A swarm of people on the far side gathered, both at wooden roadblocks in front Abram had missed before, and at rifle barrels that now protruded from every window along the bus’s length. They’d welded sheet metal to the side of the bus, as well; its rear double-doors stood open, hanging off the road so that anyone inside could have evacuated the position and dropped down into a gulley running alongside the road, to escape. Not bad, Abram mused—it was simple, effective, and flexible.
And, it had the effect of stopping any visitors while they were on the bridge, unable to flee left or right or ahead.
The bright yellow arm mounted to the school bus’s front end swung out, bringing into view a huge, hand-made “STOP” sign.
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 15