Threat Ascendant

by Brian M. Switzer

  Everyone in the community agreed the invaders were a strain on their resources. Tara reminded Will every time she saw him how fast they depleted the medical supplies, and even limiting them to half-rations had made a major dent in their food stores. A faction of the tunnel-dwellers advocated shooting them and being done with it; Will and the rest of the Council wouldn't hear of it.

  But the prisoners didn't know that, and they gawked at him with wary expressions when he climbed atop a scaffold and addressed them. "Look at yourselves. You may not know it, and it may not feel like it right now, but this tunnel is chock-full of lucky people. 210 of you are still drawing air, out of the one thousand souls that took part in the attack. Let me ask you this; during your march across town, say someone came along and put you in groups of four. Suppose he told you, ‘look at the people in your group- only one of you will be alive at the end of the upcoming battle.’, Would you have still made the trip?" Will paused, but nobody answered him.

  He continued. "I've heard an abundance of excuses over the last three days. ‘I didn't have a choice’, ‘somebody made me do it’, ‘I was trying to stay alive’, ‘they said the tunnels were abandoned’, and everybody's favorite Nuremberg defense, ‘I just followed orders’. But that's a bunch of crap. And for what? So you could take something that wasn't yours to benefit a crazy lady who doesn't give a warm spit about any of you.

  “And now I'm left with what to do with you. Some of my folks said ‘dig a big hole, shoot ‘em in the head, and dump their bodies in the hole’. But fortunately for you, this community’s doesn’t operate that way.

  “I have no illusions that if the shoe were on the other foot and you had a couple hundred of my people jailed in your church, your little blond psycho wouldn't hesitate to have them shot. But I won’t do it.” A collective sigh rose from the prisoners; they relaxed en masse, and a handful broke out in tears.

  "You can’t stay here, even if you wanted to. My people don't want you here, and if you stayed it would lead to unending strife; you’d never be completely safe, nor would you be accepted.

  "After after talking to some of you, I understand you left hundreds of women and children back at your place, with almost no able-bodied men to provide for them and keep them safe." He listened to his own words and became angry. "What kind of person, what kind of man, walks away from his wife and kids to attack people who have done nothing to merit it? All we did was try to carve out a safe place in the middle of the insanity out there, and that offends you people to such a degree that you leave your family to fend for themselves? What do you call that? What sort of behavior is it?" He glared at them; they averted their eyes and wore embarrassed expressions. Off to the side, Becky cleared her throat. When he looked at her, she gave him a lopsided smile and mimed pushing down toward the floor with her hands. Calm down, she was telling him.

  He took several deep breaths and smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. He looked at his feet for a moment, then back up at the crowd. "If I won’t kill you and you can’t stay here, the only option left is to send you home. But we need to discuss the ground rules.

  "Before you leave, you’ll all talk to one of our Council members. You will swear you’ll never take up arms against us again. You will swear Carthage belongs to us in totality and your territory will never extend north of the old Baker Boulevard. To install a governing board and not put an individual in charge. You’ll understand we can and will drop in to make sure nothing is going on over there that makes us nervous. And finally, you will agree Kayla, her guard, and any other individuals we deem to be leaders will remain here to answer for their actions.

  "There was disagreement on our Council over whether to let you return with your weapons. We decided we will. But it's important that you, as a group and as individuals, understand what will happen if you ever engage in hostile activities against this quarry or anyone who calls it home.

  "A bit ago, I said if the roles were reversed, Kayla and her advisers would have us shot down like dogs. Some of you may agree with that thinking. You might think sending you home armed is a sign of weakness. It is not. It’s an act of mercy granted to you by a vastly superior fighting force. We possess weapons we didn't even bother using, weapons that make the ones we used seem like children's toys.

  "Here's what can't happen. You can not go home and sit around licking your wounds and feeling sorry for yourself. After a few months your pride kicks in and you change history. You tell yourselves ‘if one or two things had been just a little different we would have succeeded’. You remember your dad or friend or brother who died here and you think you should avenge their death. And you work yourself up until you march back over and we do the whole thing again.

  "If you ever march on us again, we will show no mercy. We won’t hold anything back- we will use every weapon at our disposal to slaughter every one of you. We will give no quarter to those who put their weapons down. We’ll gather up the wounded and the dying and drive them back to your church. We'll line them up and make them watch while we defile your women. We’ll pull your children out from underneath their beds and make you watch us rip them from stem to stern. We’ll torture you to death and draw it out as long as we can. And when your sidewalks run red with blood and we can't find anyone else to kill, we'll burn every building standing. When the ashes cool, we’ll come back and salt the ground so nothing will grow there for 100 years.

  "Those are promises. Do not doubt me and don't you ever test me." He stepped off the scaffolding and strode over to the little cluster of tunnel-dwellers standing together near the south tunnel wall. Except for his footfalls, the shaft was silent. Jiri arched an eyebrow as Will reached them.

  "That was rather harsh."

  "Not as harsh as having them all shot."

  "Very true."

  "Are you ready to go break the news to the Queen?"

  "That she's not going home with her subjects?"

  "That's the one."

  "Radio Coy to meet us there. He'll want to be in on this."

  67

  * * *

  They decided Terrence's interview rooms were too small for the number of people involved in the next conversation, so the peace officer led Kayla to the meeting room at the cheese plant three tunnels to the north. Jiri, Tara, Will, and Coy sat waiting on the far side of the table.

  Kayla noticed Coy as Terrence let her into the room. Her eyes grew wide with surprise, then she lit up in a dazzling smile. "Dear boy! It's wonderful to see you again, even in a situation as distressing as this. Although I must say I'm a tad upset with you. After our time together, I was certain you would do your duty and clear this place out for me."

  Coy’s cheeks turned scarlet as every head around the table turned toward him in unison. He pointed at an empty chair across from him. "Take a seat, ma'am. We had a meal together is all, and I told you my dad would never give up the quarry."

  She trained her mega-watt smile on Will. "Well. It seems I focused my attention on the wrong Crandall. I should have had my men grab you, William. Done the convincing in person rather than leaving it in the hands of your adorable son." She batted her long eyelashes and puckered her lips. "I can be quite persuasive when need be."

  Tara rested her elbow on the table top and her head in her palm. She regarded Kayla with a blank face. "Sit down and quit running your yap," she said in a bored tone.

  Kayla took a chair and pulled herself up. She sat with her shoulders square and her head held high. Her bright eyes took in Tara and she leaned in the other woman's direction. "You must be Tara. I've heard so much about you. Look at you, dear- that beautiful blonde hair just hanging over your shoulders and that fantastic figure, hidden behind bulky clothes. Tell me- are you a lesbian?"

  Tara chortled. "Yeah, that won't work. I spent the last fifteen years in Hollywood with the mos
t beautiful lesbians and bisexuals in the world. As an insult that word has no connotation for me. You'll have to find another way to get under my skin."

  "So you like men?" Kayla asked in a surprised tone.

  "I do. Just because you've had fifty dicks for every one of mine doesn't mean I like them any less than you. It just means I'm more discerning and don't use my pussy as a tool. The same my choosing not to live my day-to-day dressed like a whore doesn't make me a lesbian."

  Will grinned and danced an imaginary victory jig as a look of anger passed over Kayla's face. It was only there for a moment, but it was there.

  He knew this would be difficult. The Council had argued over how to proceed with the Queen. One side felt the community couldn't get closure without a public hearing. Those who had spent time with her knew allowing her to speak to the entire community was a dangerous idea. "You haven't been exposed to this woman, so you wouldn't understand," Terrence said. He spoke with an imploring voice. "By the time she's done, she'll have half the audience arguing on her behalf and the other half bowing and calling her Queen. And if you don't believe me, go visit her. She's in my first jail cell; hell, I'll take you there myself."

  Over the course of the rest of the day, each of the dissenters made the trek to his office and visited with the woman in question. When they gathered together again the next morning, they voted against a public trial 8 to 0.

  Almost as if she could sense Will’s mind, Kayla turned her gaze to him. "What about you, William? Where do you stand on whores and lesbianism?" She favored him with a coquettish grin.

  Will's answer brought down the house. "I reckon I'm in favor of both."

  They locked eyes while waiting for the laughter to die down. When it had, she tilted her head a few degrees. "So… I understand we are going home."

  Will shot a glance at Terrence, standing behind Kayla next to the door. The peace officer raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. How the hell does she know about that? Will wondered. He returned his attention to Kayla. "Not you. You will stay on with us for a while. Here's the deal. How much longer you live is up to you. Jiri and Tara will come to see you every day. We want you to tell them everything. How you thought this up, why you did it, who helped with the planning, who the other leaders were. We want to know everything you can tell us about your operation and day-to-day life at your church. How you placed a spy here, how you communicated with him, and if you have any more.

  "As long as you keep talking, we'll keep feeding you and letting you live. If you decide to quit answering questions, or if you blather about royalty, or if you spend your time jibing at Tara, you are no longer useful to us. Your execution will take place the day we determine your usefulness has ended."

  She focused on Will with rapt attention during his little speech. The corners of her mouth turned up and her eyes sparkled as if what she heard delighted her. When he finished, she gave him a forced smile and turned to Coy in the seat next to him. "Coy, darling… would you explain to these men and to the delightful young lady this is unnecessary? Explain to them I regret my impulsive actions and your fine people who lost their lives as a result of those actions. Tell them you’ve whipped my army and given me a good scare, and now it's time to send me home with the assurance I'll never again do anything untoward to your community. Would you relay that in a way they understand, please, dear?"

  Coy rose to his feet and cleared his throat. His cheeks were bright red; he tapped a knuckle on the tabletop, appearing lost in thought. Will eyed him with concern, prepared to fire back with full force if the teen argued against what the Council had decided. Coy let out a heaving sigh and squeezed the bridge of his nose before he spoke.

  68

  * * *

  “The easiest way to explain it is to say Kayla cares about one person in the entire world, and that's Kayla. No one else matters and everyone else is a tool for her to use to get what she wants. The number of people she’s had killed is in the hundreds, maybe thousands. Innocent people, like the folks trying to eke out a living in a subdivision by her church. She decided she wanted the housing for her followers, so she had her goons force out the families already living there. They murdered any who resisted, on her order.

  “There is a big, beautiful, mahogany and cherry wood desk in her office. She sent a team of six men to fetch it from an attorney's office. Once they off-loaded it, she had them killed so that none of her people would know how ostentatious her office furniture was."

  Kayla focused on at the table top as Coy spoke, her cheeks pale and her eyes blazing with anger. Everyone else in the room stared at Coy with rapt attention. He seemed relaxed and spoke in a calm and easy manner.

  "She had a shipment of expensive tile trucked in, and when they unloaded them they found a portion of them were damaged. The men on that detail were tortured and killed as punishment. She's a narcissistic psychopath and the most dangerous I've ever met. To let her walk free would be a monumental mistake. She may never move against us again, but she will cause pain, misery, and death somewhere.

  "Every minute she draws air, she's dangerous. We don't need to get the information you want from her; we can find that out other ways. The smartest thing to do is shoot her in the head where she sits."

  Kayla stared across the table at him and Will knew he was getting a look at the real woman with all her glamours stripped away. Sparks of hate danced in her eyes and she had drawn her lips back in an ugly sneer. Her face was pale as parchment except for a red blotch on each cheek. She breathed in shallow, rapid breaths that were almost a pant, and her nostrils flared each time she drew in air.

  Will rapped the tabletop with his knuckle to get her attention. "Ma'am, you may not be aware, but you're not helping your cause longevity-wise by sitting over there and staring at my boy like you want to pop his head off and eat his liver for breakfast."

  She tore her gaze away from Coy and glowered at Will.

  "Do you have any questions about your situation or what's expected of you?"

  "Yes," she snapped. "In whose name do you sentence me?"

  Will wanted to grin, but kept straight face. "You call yourself a queen, correct?"

  "I call myself nothing. I am Queen of my territory, which includes the ground upon which you stand."

  Before the outbreak, Will's favorite TV show was the HBO series Game of Thrones. "I sentence you in the name of King William of House Crandall, first of his name, King of the Tunnels, Lord of the Quarry and Protector of the Marble." During the long, loud bout of laughter, he blinked at Kayla in innocence; in return, she shot him a derisive sneer.

  As laughter died the down, she looked over her shoulder at Terrence, who stood at the door and chuckled. "I'd like to go back to my cell now."

  "Of course," Terrence said. He moved to help her out of her chair.

  As she rose, Kayla asked a question. "You removed my Queen’s guard from their cell this morning and I've been alone all day. When will they return?"

  Befuddles, Will squinted at Terrence. "Queen’s guard?"

  The peace officer took a firm hold of Kayla’s bicep. "The four men in pretty blue jumpsuits I kept in cell three."

  "Oh, them guys." He fixed her with a level gaze. "We executed those four gentlemen for crimes against the community at nine o'clock this morning."

  She gaped at him, then closed her mouth with a snap. Without a word, she spun on her heel and let Terrence lead her to the door.

  69

  * * *

  For two weeks after the invasion, the adults in the quarry put in fourteen to sixteen-hour days, the teens a few hours less; even the children worked at jobs that fit their ages. The mood in the community was muted satisfaction mixed with determined resolve. Satisfaction because they had routed an overwhelming force with little loss on their side, but muted because they did suffer those losses.

  The final death toll was ten- two more residents succumbed to their injuries in the days after the
lopsided battle. In addition, three people with debilitating injuries. Jarvis Mueller lost an arm when an innocuous bullet wound in the fleshy part of his bicep turned gangrenous. And twelve-year-old Austin Lebatard lost a leg when a .50 caliber shell took a one-in-a-million ricochet deep into the tunnel where the children were thought to be out of harm's way and decimated his leg from the knee down. Doc Joseph amputated their limbs and fourteen days later, he seemed confident the patients would live. But surviving the zombie apocalypse was difficult in the best of circumstances; surviving it with only one arm or leg was a hundred times harder.

  The third injury was a punch to Will’s gut. Sylvia Whitlock and her pre-teen daughter Tempest fell in with his group south of Belton, back when it numbered twelve people. They crisscrossed Missouri and found the quarry together. During the battle, Sylvia was shot in the back.

  Will waited outside Doc Joseph's surgery room as the old vet operated. He knew Sylvia’s prognosis was poor; the people that carried her off the battlefield and Tara both reported she couldn’t move her legs or feel anything below her waist.

  The Doc exited the operating room looking haggard and old. His skin was splotchy and he had dark circles under his eyes; he was slump-shouldered and his eyes had a vacant, far-away gaze. He looked at Will and shook his head. "It severed her spinal cord between L1 and L2. She'll never walk or be aware she’s taking a shit again."

  Will pushed back against the familiar surge of helpless anger that grasped him whenever he lost good people. He blew out a big breath of air and spoke in an even tone. "Is there any treatment, Doc, or anything we can scavenge that might help?"