Wasteland Marshals

by Gail Z. Martin

  Shane’s dreams were restless. He heard a new voice and a different song. In the darkness of his dream, Shane couldn’t see the body that went with the voice, but he felt the same odd presence he had sensed before.

  Hello? he called into the void. I hear you singing. What are you? And where are you? Why can I hear you?

  The voice kept on singing, but Shane had the feeling the entity behind it had drawn closer, studying him. He didn’t feel afraid, just overwhelmingly curious. An image came to mind, of him riding his horse, seen from a distance. More images followed the first. No words, just images, and a song.

  Yes, that’s me. Can you show me what you look like?

  The song continued, but Shane could have sworn it sounded pensive, maybe even melancholy.

  Are you the song? You’re not showing me what you look like because I can’t see you?

  The song picked up tempo, sounding more cheerful.

  Are you the being from Moraine? Once again, the music slowed. You’re from somewhere close to here? An upbeat tempo was his answer.

  Why contact me if I can’t see you?

  The music took on a wistful note. Shane felt an overwhelming loneliness sweep over him, choking him up. You’re lonely? Again, the music shifted to a happier tempo. And I can sense you, is that it? Most people can’t, or they don’t sense you strongly enough to communicate? The music stayed happy.

  Thank you, Shane said, as the dream began to waver. He woke in the same position he’d fallen asleep, huddled against the wall. Moonlight streamed in through the deteriorating curtains, giving enough of a glow to see the room around him.

  “Bad dream?” Lucas sat in a chair on watch, and of course he’d noticed Shane twitching in his sleep.

  Shane shifted, aware that his leg had fallen asleep. If it wasn’t time for his watch, he might as well get up anyhow, since he wouldn’t be dozing again tonight. “Vision. There’s another…entity…nearby. Like at Moraine, and the other places. It didn’t talk to me, but it showed me pictures, and it changed its song to answer my questions.”

  “It responded to you?” Lucas looked up sharply. Shane nodded.

  “Yeah. And not just yes/no answers. It gave me the impression it was lonely.” He met Lucas’s gaze. “Whatever these entities are, I think they’re sentient, and they can understand emotions.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

  “Not from what I just saw,” Shane replied. “Now I really want to know what the witches have to say. Because there was also that weird feeling I got when the ghost girl showed up on the road, that we were in a bad place. So whatever these energies are, we need to know how to deal with the ones that aren’t friendly.”

  Lucas shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “You think they’re dangerous?”

  “I don’t think they have to be. The one in Moraine didn’t seem to be trying to hurt anyone, and neither did the one in my vision. But if they can be strong in good places, maybe they can be just as strong in bad places, and that could be a problem.”

  “Then let’s hope the witches know what the hell is going on,” Lucas said, getting up to change places with Shane so he could get some sleep. “Because I sure as fuck don’t want to find out the hard way.”

  7

  They reached Bedford just after lunch. Before they headed for the restored historic village, Shane convinced Lucas to let him try to sense the presence he had communicated with in his dreams.

  “What is this, some kind of supernatural game of Marco Polo?” Lucas asked after they had ridden almost to the other side of town.

  “You’re not wrong,” Shane replied, pulling out of his thoughts. “But I think we’re close.”

  “Wouldn’t it be likely to be in a park, or maybe at the restored village?”

  Shane shrugged. “I don’t know how they pick their places. Maybe those weren’t ‘sacred’ enough.”

  Lucas’s expression was skeptical, but he said nothing as Shane continued to follow a vague gut feeling that he was going in the right direction. He let the horse watch the road for obstacles, making a few course corrections as they went, focused on the song only he could hear. As it grew stronger, Shane felt certain they were headed in the right direction. Finally, when the song grew loud and he sensed the brush of a familiar presence against his mind, he stopped.

  “Here?” Lucas asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

  Shane pulled himself out of his thoughts and found that he was staring at a giant, silver-painted, three-story building at the edge of a fairgrounds. The building looked like a coffee pot. “Um, I guess so?”

  “I’ve never seen a sacred coffee pot before.”

  Shane consulted his inner sense, thinking he must have made a mistake, only to hear the song more strongly than ever. The song was loud near the roadside attraction, but even louder directly across the road.

  “I remember reading somewhere that the same thing that makes one person build a temple might make another build an amusement park,” Shane mused. “They’re both places where people transcend their usual, everyday lives.”

  Lucas laughed. “You mean I could have been on a roller coaster instead of going to Mass? Man, did I get the short end of the stick!”

  Shane felt a little chagrined, but he knew he was correct. “Think about it. Some places are supposed to be healthy or lucky, and some get the reputation for having ‘bad vibes.’ People travel hundreds of miles to go to tourist attractions that make them feel happy, or to see ‘natural wonders’ that give them a feeling of peace.”

  “Well, they used to,” Lucas replied. “Not so much anymore.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Lucas nudged his horse to ride up beside Shane. “Yeah, yeah. I think I do. And maybe it’s not that far-fetched. But dude, a giant coffee pot?”

  Shane grinned. “Could have been a giant ball of string. Or a huge cowboy boot. Or a big hollow elephant.” He had no idea how those famous attractions had fared after the Events, but part of him hoped they were still standing, a tribute to human whimsy in a world that desperately needed it.

  They headed back to the historic village, both deep in thought. The entity Shane had sensed did not try to reach out to him again.

  Old Bedford Village had been a historic collection of preserved and restored buildings before the Cataclysm gave it a new life. As a tourist attraction, reenactors dressed in period clothing demonstrated spinning, weaving, and candle making. After the Events, those skills and others like them were in high demand. It hadn’t taken much for the docents to move in and put their skills to use. Professors and students from nearby colleges sought refuge, as did townsfolk and a local coven, creating an eclectic mix.

  The Pendergrass Tavern was the social heart of the village. The handsome building had a first floor of stacked stone and a log-and-mortar second floor. When the museum had catered to tourists, the tavern had been a working restaurant. Now, it still served as a pub and gathering place.

  Lucas led the way. At this hour, just before dusk, the pub was fairly quiet. Shane felt sure it would get busier once full dark fell and people ended their chores. Candles in glass hurricane shades lit each table, and a fire in the fireplace at the end of the common room cast a welcoming glow.

  “Two of your ales, and two plowman’s meals,” Lucas ordered. The bartender returned with two pint glasses of dark, pub-brewed ale, and two wooden boards laden with bread, cheese, sliced ham, pickles, onions, and hard-boiled eggs.

  “What brings you two back to Bedford?” Jake, the proprietor of the Pendergrass, asked as he took their money and made change. “Something happen to bring the Marshals our way?”

  “Something’s always happening, nowadays,” Shane replied. “Can you put us up for the night? We got in just before the rain.”

  “Sure,” Jake replied. “Same room you had the last time, twin beds and a washstand. Just remodeled the outhouse behind the pub. Not exactly luxury, but you won’t get splinters in your ass.”
<
br />   “Always a good thing,” Lucas replied. “How’s it going?”

  Jake shrugged. “We’ve had some bad storms through, but I guess that’s probably true everywhere. We’ve gotten good at battening the hatches and hunkering down. This one didn’t do as much damage as some, so there’s that.”

  “Your ale is getting better,” Shane said, sipping his drink.

  Jake grinned. “Good to hear you say so. We’ve been tinkering with the recipe.” Before the Events, Jake had been a chemistry professor and a part-time docent. Now, he put his background to good use with the enclave’s brewing, distilling, and winery.

  “Generator still working?” Lucas asked.

  “Mostly,” Jake replied, and paused to pour another round for two customers farther down the bar. “It’s pretty much only running the big refrigerator/freezer in the back and the power for the medical center Doc Forrest put in over in the Victorian House,” he added. “Pete keeps the generator going on spit and salvaged parts. Of course, it helped that we cleaned out Home Depot after everyone else died off or left town.”

  “Have you seen Scott Findlay?” Shane asked. “We need to talk to him. Karen Becker, too, if she’s around.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “Two US Marshals walk into a bar. They ask to see the boss man and the head witch. Sounds like the start of a bad joke…or a big problem.”

  “Hopefully, neither,” Lucas replied. “Just looking for information right now.”

  “They’re not here,” Jake said. “But I can send my busboy, Jimmy, to go fetch them.”

  “I’d be much obliged.” Lucas leaned against the bar and began to pick at the food, and Jake went in the back to send Jimmy on his way.

  Shane looked around the pub as Lucas and Jake talked. The patrons looked like something out of a time-travel movie, with some who had worked at the museum preferring to keep their period garb, while others stuck to modern clothing. Shane wondered what their occupations had been prior to the Cataclysm, and what they found themselves doing now.

  “You two can go on into the back room with your food, and I’ll send Scott and Karen in when they get here,” Jake said. They picked up their things to go. “Oh, before I forget,” Jake added, “we have a couple of IT Priests who came in last night, asked if we’d seen you. Said they had a message.”

  Shane and Lucas exchanged a look. “Guess we know where we’re headed after this,” Lucas said. They thanked Jake and took their food to a small room off the main area, where they settled in at a hand-hewn wooden table.

  “Want to bet this has something to do with the IOT breakdown?” Shane asked once they polished off most of their meal.

  “Yeah, that’s what I think, too,” Lucas agreed. “Considering that the universities still have internet? I’m betting Gibbons up at Slippery Rock probably told Tony Brown over at Shippensburg that we were heading this way, and Tony found something out that was important enough to have the priests looking for us.”

  “I can’t say I’m looking forward to Gettysburg,” Lucas said, finishing off his last pickle. “Not with the sightings happening more and more.”

  “Shit,” Shane replied. “I hadn’t thought about that.” Gettysburg was one of the most haunted places in America. Lucas’s growing talent for seeing ghosts could make their visit very unpleasant.

  “Maybe I can wear some garlic, keep them at bay.”

  “That’s for vampires, not ghosts.”

  “Didn’t do squat with the last vamps we ran into,” Lucas replied. “Maybe ghosts are more sensitive to bad breath.”

  Before Shane could reply, they heard footsteps approaching. Shane looked up and saw Scott Findlay and Karen Becker come into the back room, both looking either worried or annoyed.

  “Marshals,” Findlay said with a nod, greeting them both with a handshake. Findlay had been the museum director Before and became the mayor of the enclave when the museum village came back to life as a working community. He looked like a museum director, Shane thought, with a slight pot belly, a trimmed white beard, and a penchant for mixing period garb and modern pieces that made him look like he’d raided a closet on the TARDIS.

  “Shane and Lucas. This is unexpected.” Karen Becker resembled a suburban soccer mom more than a powerful witch and head of the local coven. Her dark brown hair was trimmed in a neat bob cut, proving that even the apocalypse couldn’t separate some people from their grooming routines, and she wore an Aran wool sweater over jeans and hiking boots under a sensible parka.

  Findlay and Karen took seats at the table, and Jake showed up a few minutes later with a fresh round of pints for everyone. Findlay cleared his throat.

  “So, what’s going on? You weren’t just in the neighborhood.”

  “We’re heading south of Gettysburg, where apparently, a big enclave went dark,” Lucas said. “But most of all, we wanted to pick your brains about the…entities…that seem to be present in some of the state parks.”

  “Entities?” Karen asked, leaning forward. “You mean, like ghosts?”

  Shane shook his head. “More like an invisible, sentient, empathic presence that sings,” he said. What if she just tells me I’m crazy?

  “Sounds like a genius loci,” Findlay said, and Karen nodded. “You’ve sensed this…entity yourselves?”

  “Just me,” Shane confessed. “I’ve been having dreams for a while, on and off, where I heard strange singing. When we went to one of the state parks, I recognized the kind of song, and I’ve heard it since then—including at the big coffee pot here in Bedford.”

  Shane braced himself for their laughter. Instead, both Karen and Findlay looked at him like he had suddenly become fascinating.

  “You said it was sentient and empathic,” Karen pressed. “How do you know?”

  Shane recounted his dreams and the encounters with the “songs.” As he spoke, Karen worried at her lower lip, deep in thought. She exchanged another glance with Findlay. “It’s definitely a genius loci. The nature spirits are waking up.”

  “What, exactly, is a genius loci?” Lucas asked. “Is it really smart?”

  Findlay chuckled. “It’s sentient, which is the old meaning to the word. ‘Guardian spirit’ is probably a better translation, or ‘spirit of a place.’” He sounded like he was gearing up for a lecture until Karen laid a hand on his arm.

  “It’s a type of daemon,” Karen continued. “Very old. They were here before we evolved, and they’ll be here after we’re gone.”

  “You said these spirits were waking up,” Shane asked. “Why did they go to sleep? And why wake up now?”

  “The daemons never went away, but the noise and bustle of modern civilization didn’t seem to suit them,” Karen replied. “Some of them hung on at places like the Grand Canyon, or the biggest tourist attractions. The rest just went to sleep, until their time came again.”

  “So are they good or bad?” Shane pressed. “Because I’ve had both impressions, depending on where I was.”

  “I’m not sure that’s exactly the right question to ask,” Findlay replied. “Because for an ancient, primal being, our ideas of good and bad are a little simplistic. Think of them more as being in alignment with chaos or creation. So the daemons that people consider to be healing, peaceful, and restorative would be attuned to creation energy. And the ones that have attached themselves to places that make people uneasy or frightened are aligned with chaos.”

  “But I definitely picked up on emotions,” Shane insisted. “The song changed its tempo and whether it was in a major or minor key to answer my questions. It definitely seemed to be empathic.”

  “Interesting,” Karen mused. “Maybe they’re reverting to a more primal version of themselves since the Events.”

  “Or perhaps, with all the forces at work in the world right now, even the daemons are changing,” Findlay speculated. “After all, your people have reported shifts in their abilities.”

  Karen nodded. “Since the Events, even very seasoned witches are discovering that the
ir powers don’t work the way they did Before.”

  “Think of all the big forces at play,” Findlay said, after taking a drink of his ale. “A huge outburst of radiation when the bombs hit the world’s major capitals. And then the aftermath of the explosions. Volcanic eruptions and tsunamis—both of which, by the way, were once believed to be entities in their own right. Powerful hurricanes and earthquakes. Climate shifts. Reactor meltdowns. And that tectonic fissure out west that turned the Yellowstone Caldera into Centralia on steroids. That’s fucking with the bones of the world,” he said, his eyes alight with a scholar’s glee. “Why wouldn’t that kind of disruption affect the most primal energies of all?”

  Shane sat back, trying to process what they’d said. I didn’t imagine it. I’m not crazy. And what the hell does it mean that I can hear daemons and communicate with them?

  “So are these daemons friend or foe?” Lucas asked.

  Karen shrugged. “They do what they do for their own reasons, and if that helps or hinders an individual, it’s not intentional.”

  “Great,” Lucas replied, setting his empty pint glass down a little harder than necessary. “We don’t just have to worry about everything else—now we’ve got demons on the loose.”

  “Daemons,” Karen corrected. “Completely different. Demons are infernal. Daemons are natural spirits.”

  Shane opened his mouth to ask about demons, and shut it again without saying anything. He was still wrapping his mind around ghosts, shifters, and monsters being real. He wasn’t ready to think about demons, too.

  “So, why are these daemons stalking Shane?” Lucas asked. Shane had to smile at the protective tone, something that had always been there since they were kids. Lucas trounced bullies on the playground. Shane beat the pants off them in the classroom.