“I think it’s something we both want,” Marshal said. “We seem to agree on that much, only not in so many words. It just seems to be a lot more complicated then it should be. Or maybe it’s that we just want it to be more complicated…”
He frowned and shook his head.
“Sometimes I think that we should just get drunk together, let it happen and wake up the next morning with the issue settled. It seems to be all we have time for.”
“It may not be my place to say,” Peter said, “but I would strongly advise against it. It is true, of course, that many relationships have begun in just such a fashion. However, almost as many have been poisoned the same way, and I think that, in your case, the complicated bits - the parts you cannot seem to find time to manifest - will be the parts most to be savored. Skip over them now, and they will forever elude you. I myself have tasted ash on enough occasions to learn this painful truth.”
Marshal didn’t answer.
“Why are you here?” Peter asked, removing his reading glasses.
“Just thought you might want some company,” Marshal answered, “and I wanted to see how you were holding up.”
Peter scowled at him.
“As it happens,” he said, “I am positively delighted to have company, though that need not be the case. If you would allow some of my people to visit me... and don’t think I’m unaware of the guard outside my door, turning people away.”
“I told you,” Marshal said again, “the door is for your own protection, and you don’t have any people. The Winter Bastards watch the door in shifts, with the promise of a case of beer at the end of the week if they keep you safe. Or a five-mile run if they don’t. Hardly anyone wants to see you, Peter, and those that do are not coming by to keep you company.”
“I find it hard to believe,” Peter said hotly, “that in the span of two weeks-”
“Peter,” Marshal interrupted. “Margaret cracked.”
That stopped Peter in his tracks.
“What do you mean, ‘she cracked’?”
“What do you think I mean?” Marshal asked sharply. “Apparently, she’s been miserable for years now, holding it all in. When she broke, it was like a dam bursting, and she spilled all your dirtiest secrets.”
Peter swallowed painfully. “Oh,” he said.
And suddenly, he felt old and tired.
“I guess you can understand now,” Marshal continued, “why everybody hates you. Or... everybody except Luca and a couple of the Bastards. Luca in particular thinks you’re a superstar. Says you’ve got a fucking pair on you, and that he’s known career criminals who didn’t have half the vision you had.”
“High praise,” Peter said faintly. “Sabbatini Incorporated was quite respectable.”
“Yes, but nothing compared to you,” Marshal countered. “The fact that your corporation was eight billion dollars in the red was only the tip of the iceberg. The only thing you had going for you was the good opinion of several banks...”
“I was on the Board of Directors to one of them,” Peter said.
“… and Margaret’s creative accounting practices. Yet somehow, you managed to employ a force of thirty-five thousand, maintain a sizable real estate empire, operate several factories and mining operations throughout the world...”
“Now those were productive, and could ultimately have produced the revenue-”
“… and all without an actual dime to your name,” Marshal marveled.
“A slight exaggeration,” Peter said. “Most of our assets were fungible.”
“Yes, but your collective debt wildly outweighed your net worth. Add in that any attempt to sell off assets would have looked like an act of desperation, causing your stock value to plummet, and that would have been the kiss of death. According to Margaret, you were turning it around, and you weren’t as bad as Enron, but technically, you really didn’t own anything… your creditors did. Only the fact that they didn’t know how bad things had gotten kept your credit solvent and the wolves at bay.”
“The economic collapse was hard for everyone,” Peter said defensively.
Marshal chuckled.
“Even so,” Peter added. “I hardly think that my personal-”
“Oh, but I’m not done,” Marshal continued. “Margaret also revealed how your original corporation – Hanson, Davis, and McClelland Financial – had divested itself of all Toronto-based, real estate holdings after the real estate bubble crashed. Oh, you still owned some real estate, just none of it here in Toronto. It turned out that you didn’t even own your own building, let alone the ninety percent of the downtown core you laid claim to. You had Margaret forge the documents using out dated paperwork, so that the whole foundation for your so-called wealth was spun out of thin air. And that’s what pushed you into the lead as the most hated man in New Toronto.”
“Would it make any difference,” Peter asked, “if I said that I was, quite honestly, motivated by the belief that I was doing what I thought was best for the survival of the human race?”
“It might have,” Marshal said grimly, “if it hadn’t cost the lives of two people and undermined the collective safety of all New Toronto. Worst of all, your gamesmanship delayed our preparations for winter, setting us back by weeks. Winter, Peter, when we’ll be sitting in a building without doors or windows in sub-zero temperatures. And that won’t even be our greatest fear. We don’t know what the cold will do to our security net. The ISUs will probably stop working at around minus six. The undead could move unopposed back within our security perimeter, and we could be helpless to stop or even see them.”
“So I am to take all the blame,” Peter sighed. “Appropriate, I suppose. I was the one who stood the most to gain, after all. What became of the people who supported me?”
“There were some consequences,” Marshal admitted. “We inducted Alicia and Martin into the Winter Bastards for about a week, mainly to help clear their heads. Doug, Cathy, Dave Mathews all made excellent, short-term Bastards. On they other hand, none of them are actually guilty of any real crimes, other than by association.”
He scowled as a thought occurred to him.
“Well... Cathy is maybe guilty of the crime of incompetence. She’s got real potential, but it took me several days to fix all the damage she did to my electrical systems. You might say that Deana and Margaret turned state’s evidence, and got off with slaps on the wrist.”
“I suppose,” Peter said, gazing at the floor, “that this explains why no one, other than you, has come to visit me. My reputation must be in shambles.”
“Not entirely,” Marshal said. “It’s been rough on everyone, but it’s not as if you didn’t have some good ideas.”
“And here I was,” Peter said dryly, “taking measurements of red cloth for a devil costume and pitchfork.”
“The newspaper, for one thing, is something I intend to keep around,” Marshal said, looking amused. “It’s a good way of keeping all our citizens informed of current events and of giving them a voice. It will also help to bring us all together as a community, while keeping the Administration honest. I made Deana a part of the Administration, with full resource support and two staff writers of her choice. So long as it’s the truth, and she doesn’t undermine public safety, she’s got carte blanche to write what she pleases.
“Then there was your idea to use the electric forklifts, or at least their motors. They’re not as good as the Teslas, but I can’t believe we didn’t think of them earlier. And there’s your whole idea of setting up some form of currency or credit. It’s still way too early, in my opinion, but somewhere down the line, people are going to want to start up their own private enterprises - restaurants, clothiers, bookstores, home renovations, vehicle repairs - above and beyond what the state will provide for free. When that happens, there will be a need for commercial exchange, and it’s a good idea to get ahead of that sort of thing.
“But the thing I liked the most was your General Store. I plan to keep it going, on
ly with state ownership. At the moment, so long as they aren’t too greedy, people will be allowed to take from it whatever they need. Our first priority will always be making sure that all our citizens are safe, fed, and well cared for. Beyond that, however, when luxuries start coming in down the line, I envision it as becoming a sort of central trading post, a place where people can buy or sell their manufactured goods or salvage, spend or receive currency, with very small profit margins. State gets first pick of all salvage, of course, but with three Camoucarts and two Camoutrucks operating now-”
“Excuse me,” Peter interrupted. “Camoucarts?”
“Those are the new names for Crapmobile and Shitbox,” Marshal explained. “Valerie and a few others – ahem, mostly women – felt that the old names lacked class, and well… the name was only ever supposed to have been a joke anyway…”
“I understand,” Peter said. “Please, carry on.”
“Anyway, that’s five scavenging operations, with two more likely to be finished by the end of the week. We’re sticking to the downtown area for the moment, but we’re setting up a mission to the Yorkdale area to educate a Swarm.”
Peter frowned. “What do you mean educate?”
“Glad you asked,” Marshal answered. “It has to be handled carefully, but… you understand the basic premise of the Camoucart, right?”
“As I understand it,” Peter said, “you exposed a downtown Swarm to several automated, mobile garbage heaps several weeks ago. The Swarm examined the phenomena, and determined that instances of moving garbage piles were free of humans and as such need not be investigated. The decision then becomes a programmed response in the minds of each, individual zombie, who lack the imagination or the intelligence to question the directive.”
“That’s more or less it,” Marshal said. “I mean, the individuals are always investigating as a part of their search parameters, and they’ll still poke around a Camoucart just like they do with everything else. But so long as they don’t find any evidence of a human presence that triggers Hunting mode, like the smells or the sounds of humans, then they don’t go ripping it apart any more than they go digging through piles of dirt or rubble.”
“I understand the principle,” Peter said.
“Unfortunately, the zone of programming only extends so far. We suspect, and Scratchard agrees, that the information passes between non-Swarming undead by a bumping exchange of genetic material. As such, if you go too far from our downtown area, like we did during the trip to the Tesla dealership, you start running into undead who haven’t heard the news about Camoucarts. Enter Albert and his team, who will incite Swarms in other parts of the city and start driving automated junkmobiles into them. Needless to say, given the raw intelligence of the Swarms, it has to be handled very carefully, but over time, the rewards will make it worth it.”
“City-wide travel and salvage recovery,” Peter said, nodding his approval.
“And further. We have several Costcos, Home Depots, Lowes and god knows how many distribution centers, factories, and warehouses in the outlying and industrial areas,” Marshal said. “Not to mention every Ma and Pa operation, convenience store, and residence in between. We currently have no milk cows, and only two egg-laying chickens, but we’re keeping an eye out for any that might come wandering through. The cattle we recovered from the slaughterhouse were mostly non-breeders - so that means no milk or cheese for now, but we’re getting the foundation for animal husbandry set down so that when we find more, we’ll be ready. Derrick and the others are moving them all into the Skydome, ripping up the floors and planting grass seed.”
For a second, Peter was taken aback by the man’s energy.
“You’ve cleared that much of the downtown area?”
“Not completely,” Marshal answered, “but we’re getting there. We have almost a hundred drones now, even with three assigned to every vehicle, and we’re finding more every day. I’ve asked Albert and Jackie to organize some of the people into performing drone sweeps, so that ,yes, most of downtown is free from undead.”
He grinned.
“Not that I would advise taking open strolls yet. Our perimeter still isn’t complete, so they’re wandering back in all the time. Even so, my guess is that it’s even money that you could walk from Parliament street to Dufferin, from Front street to Bloor, and not get eaten. Luca and Jerome are thinking of moving the car factory back to his wrecking yard. All in all, however, if things keep going like this, we could have the entire city of Toronto zombie-free in the next couple of years.”
“Astonishing,” Peter said, and he meant it.
“It is,” Marshal said. “We’ve found another sixty-three survivors still clinging to life in these last two weeks alone, including a bunch in High Park, and we’re hoping for more. Our population hit two hundred and eighty-three yesterday, and while a lot of us are still freaked out or injured, you’d be amazed at what kind of motivation the rest of us are showing. We now have a plumber, a city works inspector, a dentist, two or three nurses, a pharmacist, an optician, and several more people with construction and farming experience, including a civil engineer and a veterinarian. Every single one of them is comparable to finding a warehouse full of food.”
He got up and started to pace.
“But Winter will be here soon,” he said, “and once it does, it’ll be all over. The people we found trapped in their houses, in store basements, were all unable to venture out for fear of discovery. Each of them survived by finding some way to dispose of their personal waste, or conserve water, or find food. Winter will put a stop to all that. Scratchard and the other scientists estimate a ninety-eight percent attrition rate over winter for the ones we don’t find. If we can just manage to sweep the city once before first snowfall…”
“Tall order, Mr. Einarsson,” Peter said. “Christmas is… what, now? Twenty days away? There have been some years in my memory when the snow would be here already.”
“And we no longer have millions of cars, houses, and factories worldwide leaking heat into the atmosphere,” Marshal agreed bleakly. “In other words, it could be a very harsh winter. One idea we’re looking into is adapting some of the Camoucarts, maybe putting them onto skis like a snowmobile and decorating them with snow. Then we’d be a snow-covered, moving piles of garbage, just like everything else. If it works, then we could continue scavenging throughout the winter months.”
He paused to check his watch.
To his own surprise, Peter found that he’d been smiling. It had been fifteen days since he’d seen a soul and he found that he was enjoying the company immensely. A fiercely independent man, yet accustomed to being surrounded by admirers and supplicants, Peter had never really felt the lack of human contact before. Now, the sight of Marshal checking his watch, and the prospect that he was leaving, inspired a sudden flash of regret that he was not quite prepared for. He discovered, to his increasing surprise, that he liked talking with Marshal, enjoyed his passion, his vision, and his frank, earnest demeanor.
Nevertheless, a part him recoiled at Marshal’s next few words.
“I have an appointment to watch a demonstration at two o’clock,” Marshal said, standing up. “I’d like you to come with me, if it’s all right.”
Despite two weeks of being cooped up, Peter felt a deep discomfort in his core.
“I… I don’t know,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I imagine that people… that is, if people are as-”
“You’ll be fine,” Marshal said, his tone indicating that he would brook no argument. “Come on. I think you’ll find this interesting.”
Scowling, Peter hoisted himself out of his chair and reluctantly followed.
Outside the door, two of the Bastards stood at attention.
“Two guards?” Peter asked, gazing up at each of the two big men.
“There was only one when I arrived,” Marshal said, looking up with a sour expression. “Hello again, Brock. I see you called Vito for back-up. Is there a reason we need t
wo of the Bastards for a job this small?”
Brock grinned down at Marshal, as they headed for the elevator.
“You kidding? You’re the Son of Winter, Marshal. You’re the person our whole outfit is named for. It’s an honor guard. Don’t worry. We cleared it with the Captain.”
“Yeah,” Vito added, “And we got seniority.”
“Surely,” Peter said, eying the two big men, “you don’t intend for us to be alone in an elevator with these men. Are they not dangerous ex-criminals? They hardly strike me as trustworthy.”
To his credit, Peter remained unfazed under the oppressive weight of Brock and Vito’s malevolent glare.
Marshal looked up with curiosity.
“Do we need to be worried, Brock?”
The ex-biker considered the question.
“Can’t see the upside,” he answered, looking troubled. “I… I guess we could try to gank you in the elevator...”
“… and probably get our fucking heads blown off,” Vito pointed out.
“Yeah. Probably,” Brock agreed. “But... if we lived, or better yet, if we took you hostage...”
“Always good to have a bargaining chip,” Vito nodded.
“…then I guess we could take it to the ground floor, and hijack whatever shitmobile they got at the loading dock. There’s always at least one or two down there these days.”
“And then we’d be armed with Marshal’s gun,” Vito pointed out. “That would improve our odds of getting away. Otherwise, we could wind up bumping into Luca or the Captain...”
“… which would be bad,” Brock agreed. “Yeah, good thinking. We keep the gun.”
“This is starting to look do-able,” Vito said thoughtfully.
The elevator slid open, and three of the four men stepped aboard without hesitation. After a brief, incredulous pause, Peter followed.
“Anyway, so we got a gun, a hostage, and wheels,” Vito said. “What’s next?”
Brock shrugged.
“I guess that depends on whether or not we had to kill anybody on the way out. If we did, the Captain, Luca, and the others would hunt us down like dogs. Some of the Bastards might try to join up with us, but even then, we’d be outnumbered and outgunned.”
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 70