Slow Burn | Book 10 | Firestorm

by Bobby Adair

  Intelligence, Bill realized, as humans had understood since they first climbed down from the trees to chase zebra across the savannah, was a weapon more powerful than any animal’s brute strength. He gathered a band of compliant Whites and set about protecting a handful of normals who were trying to survive on the outskirts of Taylor. The details in the middle of Bill’s story were fuzzy and legendary at the same time. At least as Murphy understood it. Bottom line, Bill succeeded, and Taylor thrived. Bill grew his band of Whites into a loyal militia, and then an army, as he encouraged more and more normals to join his colony out in the farmlands where he could protect them.

  Now, Bill commanded more than twenty thousand expendable Whites and yellows, mostly dimwits, through a command structure of Slow Burns like Pluta, and even Murphy, running his own platoon. Bill’s army protected and enforced his will on the ten thousand or so normals who lived in Taylor, a dozen hamlets spread across the vast farmlands New Tejas controlled around Taylor, and now a colony in Balmorhea. Bill governed his kingdom of normals like a benevolent authoritarian, but life in the army was barbaric, with discipline brutally and enthusiastically enforced.

  Murphy went on to explain that after we arrived from Balmorhea and I was dumped at the prison, he, Jazz, and Grace were taken to an evaluation facility where they were run through a series of cognitive and physical tests before being separated and shipped out. Murphy wound up in Camp 17. He didn’t know where Jazz and Grace were, but assumed they were stationed in one of the female military units, guarding some section of the New Tejas border.

  I asked. “Did they tell you what they did with everyone else?”

  “Dalhover’s dead.”

  That hurt a lot more than I’d have ever guessed it would. I felt like I needed to say something, fly into a rage, or cry, but just didn’t have it. For now, I was numb, only I knew that wouldn’t last. Eventually, the emotional Novocain would wear off, and I’d explode.

  “At the hospital,” getting back to the question, Murphy told me, “they told us everybody else got onboarded.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Pretty much what you’d expect. They interviewed them on and off for three or four days, gathered all the intel they could about Bal, and figured out what each was qualified to do.”

  “You mean like jobs?” I asked.

  “Exactly like jobs,” Murphy told me. “Gave them all a place to stay, spread out all over Taylor Town and the ag villages, all pretty close to where they were going to work.”

  “Just like what you said with Steph.”

  “Double exactly. I didn’t believe it. Not at first. But I seen it myself. I seen people in town.”

  “They let you go there, all by yourself?”

  “Perks of being ‘The Bull.’ I get a pass to go into town two or three times a week.”

  “And you’ve seen people from Bal there?”

  “Every time I go, I run into someone.”

  “Not locked up? Not forced labor or anything?”

  “Like I said, just normal people going about their business. Nobody’s dirty, starved, or cold.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “Are they planning an escape? A revolt or something?”

  Murphy shook his head. “Not one of ‘em said anything about none of that. They’re cautious. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, but mostly they like it here.”

  “After all of our people who were killed? I—” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “That’s just it,” Murphy told me. “Not that many of us were killed, and most folks blame the deaths on Preacher Dick and his bunch.”

  “You know that’s not true,” I told him. “How many of us died fighting that night?” Murphy knew I was talking about the other Slow Burns, and the normals who burned to death in the Humvees.

  “You don’t need to sell me, Zed. I know we lost people, but the number going around is twenty-eight. Most of the bodies we saw that morning were Bill’s Whites and Preacher Dick’s dumbasses.”

  “One is too many.”

  “I’m with you, but you and me and everybody else has been livin’ in this broke-down world for a long time now. A life isn’t worth what it once was. Principles ain’t what they used to be.”

  “Sounds like cowardly rationalizations to me.”

  “Really, Mr. Go-Fuck-Yourself off your high horse?” Murphy looked like he wanted to punch me. “How many people have we killed in the name of happily-ever-after? Now, these people have that. Or they think they do. I mean from where they’re sittin’, I’m sure it looks like it. And all it cost ‘em was a handful of folks who mostly looked different.” Murphy held up his hand to remind me how white his skin was. How white our skin was. “And in case you forgot, those same people were willing to throw us under the bus for a lot less happiness and security out in Bal when Preacher Dick showed up. So, don’t go off pretending now you’re all surprised that they’re willing to forget about twenty-eight dead for what they got here.”

  Murphy was right, and it galled me to believe it. I knew those people, all of them, to one degree or another. We’d been through so much, built Balmorhea, fought on the walls, laughed and cried. It felt like textbook betrayal.

  “I haven’t talked to everybody,” Murphy told me. “Not by far. But the ones I’ve talked to, they aren’t going to revolt, or make a break for freedom, or even show up late for work. They think they got it good, and they’re stayin’.”

  62

  I stewed while we walked. Even as I rolled it over and over in my head, I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was too upset about everything. “Did Steph ask about me?”

  “Don’t be a dumbass. Of course, she asked about you. She asks about you every time I see her. I told her the same thing I always tell her. You’ll turn up. You always do. You’re like a cockroach that way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Sarcasm.” Murphy let that rest for a moment before he asked, “So what happened to you? Where have you been?”

  I told him about my time in jail, and how they’d finally gotten tired of me. Or this Bill character passed word down from on high that they should try something else. “Just like that,” I told him, “here I am.”

  “So, there is an upside to throwing toddler tantrums.”

  “I wouldn’t say I—”

  Murphy punched me. “Man, I’m just twisting your dick a little bit. You need to lighten up, bro.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for anything, but it’s nice sometimes when you do.”

  “Now you sound like Steph.”

  “That’s because she and I are both emotionally healthy adults. You know, normal people, who like to—”

  “Can we skip to fuck-off, and maybe you just tell me what the deal is here at Stalag 17? I feel like I’m stuck in one more mess I don’t understand.”

  Murphy laughed. He really could always make the best of any situation. “Competition. Survival of the fittest. Bill wants the cream to rise to the top. That’s the story in the barracks. I’m the top dog. That’s why I got the bunk by the window. Low man gets the sleeps by the shitter.”

  “How’d you get to be top dog so quick?”

  “Pluta told me I was the man when I got here. Blabbered all that high yellow bullshit at me, because apparently being able to tie your own shoes is a big deal when you’re with this bunch of inbred ass potatoes.”

  “So, it’s an IQ thing,” I brilliantly deduced. “That’s why they ran those cognitive tests on you.”

  Murphy laughed again. “Like I said, the place is brutal, because even though I aced my moron quiz, and the powers-that-be decided I needed to run my own platoon, Pluta didn’t bother telling the current Bull there was a new sheriff in town.”

  I couldn’t believe this excuse for an army had defeated us. “Are they that poorly organized?”

  “That’s not it. Like I said, this place is brutal. The platoon was mine, but I still had to take it.”
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  I didn’t know whether to be appalled or impressed.

  Murphy told me, “They started talking shit as soon as I stepped through the door. I figured Mort for the big pointy prick so I walked right over and popped him. Dropped like a bitch, spitting blood and curses like he could turn me into a newt if he shouted loud enough. Well, he shoulda stuck with that, because he made the mistake of getting up off the floor, promising to do this and that and gangbang me like they had planned for you. Instead of that, I put a beatin’ on him. Then, one of his homies tried to help, telling me all the ways he was gonna fuck me up my ass while he reached way back to punch me all John Wayne like. You know, like it never occurred to him I was gonna bust him in the mouth while he was cocking back his roundhouse. Knocked him out cold. Dumb as a bunch of two-headed ants, these motherfuckers.”

  “And that made you the boss?”

  “Yep. Now, they look at me like I’m Conan the Barbarian or something, all jumped out of the silver screen just to punk their asses. That’s what you gotta do, beat some asses. Or outsmart ‘em. However you get to the top, it don’t matter. For me, beating asses worked, and it’s quicker. I expect you’d go with boring them to sleep with a lecture.” Murphy laughed at his joke.

  I didn’t find it funny.

  “Stay at the top long enough, at least what I’ve been able to figure, and you move up. They make you one of Pluta’s stooges, an officer, and then you’re the bomb. Cush beds. Private masturbation stalls. Gourmet chef.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “You didn’t used to be this gullible. I think your electroshock puck is making you stupid.”

  While I was ignoring Murphy’s latest round of smartassedness, something suddenly made sense to me. “That’s why they put me in your barracks.”

  Murphy groaned. “That’s your epiphany tone I’m hearin’.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s not supposed to mean anything. Why don’t you just enlighten me with your brilliant insight. I’ll rub your little ego boner by pretending I’m impressed, and I can get back to telling you how it really is.”

  I silently reminded myself it was best to ignore Murphy’s teasing. “Assigning me to your barracks is Bill’s way of pitting us against one another.”

  “Look, if you think you’d have any sort of chance against—” Then Murphy got it. “Because he thinks our loyalty to each other will get in the way of our loyalty to New Tejas.”

  “Forcing his pet monkeys to fight over a banana is the best way to make them hate each other.”

  Murphy stopped walking and looked at me. “You really think he wants us at each other’s throats?”

  I nodded.

  Murphy’s cheer seeped away as he turned and started walking again. “Why would Bill care one way or the other about you and me?”

  “Maybe loyalty to Bill is the glue that holds this whole place together. He runs this place like he’s a king. You said so yourself. Maybe Bill’s ego boner gets off on holding power over everybody.”

  “If you’re right,” sighed Murphy, “then Bill is a manipulative bastard.”

  “That’s why we need to get the hell out of here.”

  “There’s the dumbass we all know and love.”

  Miffed by Murphy’s response, I snapped, “Why does wanting to escape make me a dumbass?”

  “Oh, let me count the ways.”

  63

  We walked in silence for a while, me ruminating, and Murphy, thankfully, silent.

  “So, you want to stay here?” I finally asked.

  “Setting aside the fact that things aren’t so bad, I wouldn’t—”

  “So bad?” I shouted. “Did you forget what just happened?”

  “I stopped those guys before—”

  “Murphy, listen to yourself.”

  “I can’t. You keep interrupting me.”

  “We lost what, half our guys in that idiotic fight?”

  “That was unusual.”

  “How would you know? You’ve been here for like a month.”

  “It’s called communication, Zed. You ask questions. People tell you stuff. You don’t have to guess. You should try it some time.”

  “Fine. I’m asking you now. Why should we stay? Why are we better off here than back in Balmorhea? Communicate with me, please.”

  “We shouldn’t stay, and I never said we were going to stay. But listen to me, Zed. For starters,” Murphy told me, angered, but doing his best to speak calmly, “Bal is four-hundred miles west, with nothing between here and there but Whites and bandits. No gas stations. No mini-marts. No shade tree hillbillies ready to replace your leaky radiator hose for a hundred bucks too much. For seconds, even if we could swipe one of Bill’s trucks, Balmorhea has a couple of hundred new residents, not to mention the thousand trained Whites and yellows they have living in tents outside the main gate. That’s some serious military power for that part of Texas, bro. We lived there for fourteen years. If we’d had a thousand hairless monkeys armed with firebombs and flamethrowers, nobody, not even that Mexican gang out of Chihuahua, would have messed with us.”

  “Maybe we don’t have to go back to Bal.”

  “Where then?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Anywhere? Just go anywhere, right? Look, the thing I’m trying to tell you here, the thing that’s not sinking into that little bald head of yours, is you’re not thinking this through. You know as well as I do, all the good places are either full of Whites or some prickly bunch of well-armed somebodies. What do you want to do, just drive up, and say ‘Hey, Bill sent me. By the way, me and my four hundred friends are staying’? And what makes you think anybody would even come with you?”

  “You wouldn’t come with?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Murphy heaved a big sigh. “Tell me this isn’t all about you and your bullshit authority thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You know as well as I do, that the thing you hate more than just about anything in the whole wide world is somebody tellin’ you what to do.”

  “What? You think I want to be like Bill and be in charge of everything?”

  “No. I’m not saying that at all. Worse? You don’t care if you’re the boss. You don’t even want to be the boss, not of anybody but yourself. That’s your thing. You were born to be the Lone Ranger. You’re hard-wired for it. And you know what?”

  “I guess I’m supposed to ask, what?”

  “The Lone Ranger doesn’t have anybody but Tonto and his damn horse. Is that what you want, a swayback nag to warm your dick in, and me to be your token minority tagalong while you roam the high plains doin’ good deeds for the yokels?”

  “You know it was never like that,”

  Murphy didn’t slow down long enough to hear my retort. “You know the Lone Ranger never had a girlfriend, let alone a wife. What’s your plan? You gonna leave Steph here to die alone in the hospital while you ride off into the sunset of your spaghetti Western tragedy?”

  “Die?” I shouted, totally losing my temper. “You think I want to leave Steph here alone with Billdo’s fascist fucktards so she can die? Fuck! And fuck you Murphy!” I turned and stomped away.

  64

  I stomped around all that day, not looking at Murphy, and certainly not talking to him. I got into two fights, brief scuffles, really. Dumbass yellows in my barracks just did something that pissed me off. Things so insignificant they weren’t even worth remembering.

  Lunch came and went. Dinner arrived early with one of Pluta’s stooges in tow. We had a mission very suddenly on the schedule. So, we wolfed down our onion-stink stew, geared up, loaded onto the livestock haulers, and were told to settle in for a long ride. Hours long.

  I found my spot near the front of the trailer where I’d ridden the time before. With only half our number onboard, the yellows and Whites gave me plenty of room. Nobody, it seemed, wanted any of
what I was serving up that day. Murphy took up a spot at the far end of the trailer, right by the doors. Once the truck started rolling, I shrugged off my flamethrower gear, figuring I’d have plenty of time to strap it on later when we got close.

  We headed north into a cold wind, a convoy of four semis, following an old two-lane state highway. It was full dark when we passed through the New Tejas barbed-wire perimeter. That meant we wouldn’t be defending our home turf from white-skinned monsters, but attacking some bunch of someones somewhere, for some reason I had no clue about. That only served to make me more angry.

  I felt a clash of contradictory feelings over what had gone down between Murphy and me. He and I almost never argued. When we did, we always settled it, right then and there. This thing, though. It was different. Maybe because he’d brought Steph into it. More precisely, he’d disparaged my commitment to her. At least it seemed that way to me when I was spinning it all through my head, justifying my anger, and telling myself how damn right I was. Or maybe, it was the possibility that Steph might actually die. Murphy was the one who’d seen her. He’d been privy to the cancer thing all along. I felt like an outsider, guessing at the clues he dropped, and the clues were scaring the flaming shit out of me.

  For me, she was it. My love. My happiness. My everything. More than I’d ever hoped to get out of a life that had been circling the drain a long time before the virus reaved the world. The news of her cancer had been a punch in the nuts, but I knew, I just knew we’d find a way past it. We’d beaten too many odds, come too far to lose to mela-fuckin’-noma.

  I got angry at myself. I blamed myself. Steph with her green eyes and flaming red hair, she never had the skin for the harsh West Texas sun. On all those scavenging runs to Roswell, Juarez, San Angelo, and even Lubbock, sunscreen never made it to the top of my shopping list. That made Steph’s condition my fault, as ridiculous as it was to think such a fault could be laid at anyone’s feet. Still, that toxic thought burned a path through my brain, giving me a raging headache, putting me in a dark black mood, but making the time in the truck pass like it was running on a different kind of clock.