The Price of Freedom

by Chris Kennedy

  I was able to crack one eye open, and I saw an arm going past me. I grabbed it and was rewarded with a scream. The woman began clawing me with her other hand, and I had to grab it to get her to stop. She didn’t stop screaming, though, and the boy began screaming, too. The piercing shrieks of mother and son were enough to make me want to pass out again. But I knew I couldn’t; it wasn’t safe.

  “Stop,” I said, although it came out as a whisper. “Please.”

  She stopped screaming, and I let go of her. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting, though, and I could hear her fall out of the doorway and down the side of the truck.

  With my hands free, I could rub some of the caked blood from my eyelids, and then I was able to see. The woman was right to think I was dead; there was blood everywhere. I forced myself to a sitting position.

  “You,” the woman gasped. “You’re alive?”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to figure out where I was. All I could see out of the front of the semi were scrub trees covered in vines.

  “How?” the woman asked. “So much blood…”

  “Most of it isn’t mine,” I replied. “Some of it must be, though,” I added. “I’m starving.”

  “What are you? Some kind of vampire? I’m warning you! I have a cross!” She pulled a chain from under her blouse and, sure enough, there was a cross on it.

  I gave her a weak smile as my strength returned. “I am not a vampire, ma’am. Just someone the powers-that-be didn’t like very much. It took some fighting to get free of them.”

  She looked at me askance. “And just which powers would these be?”

  “Don’t know what they’re calling themselves, exactly,” I said. “They all have blue ribbons around their arms, though.”

  Her hand went to her mouth with a sharp intake of breath. “The Blues? Oh, no!” She turned and located her child, who was pulling on a vine. “Billy, we must be leaving.”

  “Ma’am,” I called. “I know this will sound strange, but would you happen to have any food you can share? I would be happy to trade you—” I looked across the seat, “—a rifle and some ammunition for it.”

  The woman looked back and forth, as if deciding which option was more dangerous. “Stay here,” she said, making up her mind. “I will be right back.”

  I tried to clean up as best I could. I found a bottle of water in the back of the cab and was able to wash my face and hands a little. Although I couldn’t get the blood off my clothes—and there was a lot of it—at least I didn’t look like a vampire anymore. I hoped.

  The woman must have known some secret paths through the trees, because she just appeared with an armload of food. “Here,” she said. “Will this be enough for a rifle?”

  It looked like she had two cooked chickens and some vegetables. “Did you save enough for yourself?” I asked.

  The woman looked down. “We will have…enough,” she said.

  “Here,” I said, handing her back one of the chickens.

  “Oh, but sir,” she replied, “we really could use—”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m giving you the rifle, too. I don’t want your boy to go underfed.” Her eyes brightened, and I realized I’d been right; she’d been about to give me at least one family’s dinner, and probably several. I handed her two of the rifles and a couple of magazines for them.

  “This is too much,” she said. “These are far too valuable.”

  “It’s fine,” I replied. “I appreciate your sharing with me.”

  She took the rifles, stepped into the forest, and disappeared again.

  I didn’t have any idea where I was, but I had a chicken and some vegetables, which I ate raw and loved every bite.

  It’s great when you have food in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-One

  I fought off the inevitable sleepiness that followed the big meal, as I wanted to get away from the woman and her son. I backed the truck out of the small clearing in the woods I had driven it into, did a three-point turn, and drove off down the small lane. The road angled into a bigger road, so I continued on in that direction, hoping it was the right way. The road got a little bigger, went around a corner, then turned to parallel an interstate highway. A chain link fence separated the two roads, but it was knocked over in one spot—probably by me during my flight, whenever that had been—so I cut across it, got onto the highway, and drove.

  After half a mile, I saw the exit for Pearl River, Louisiana. As there hadn’t been an exit for Pearl River on my way into Slidell, I hoped I was heading north—out of town—and not south, into New Orleans. I breathed a sigh of relief a short time later when I saw the sign—I-59 North. I was headed in the right direction. I had very little food left, only about a quarter tank of gas, and no help beyond the weapons I had with me, but I was free and armed. Knowing my capabilities, that was a good start—I could accomplish an awful lot.

  I quickly realized, though, that a quarter tank of gas was a lot more than I figured, as a quick inspection revealed the semi had dual 120-gallon fuel tanks for 240 total gallons. That 60 gallons would give me a range of almost 500 miles. While that was great, it would get me less than halfway to Philadelphia, so I began looking for a place to top it off so it wouldn’t be a distraction.

  I had gone almost 100 miles, and I was starting to get a little antsy, when I finally saw what I was looking for—an exit with a gas station and a couple of small stores. I figured it would be easier to get gas if there weren’t crowds of people nearby, trying to kill me for whatever meager possessions I had.

  The gas station had an island for trucks, so I pulled up to it, only to discover there was no power and the pumps wouldn’t work. However, I saw fuel in the station’s tanks when I pulled the covers off; it was just a matter of getting it out. I saw a small hardware store a couple of buildings over, so I grabbed one of the rifles and went in search of a hose. Of course, the store didn’t have a hose, so refueling ultimately involved a rope, a bucket, and a funnel, and way more time than I would have expected. By the time I had filled the tanks, I smelled like diesel fuel and I could taste it. The one consolation was that I didn’t have to suck-start it, so I at least had that going for me.

  I never saw anyone in any of the buildings, and the convenience store had been well-looted by the time I got there. Everything edible was gone, as well as many things that weren’t strictly edible. All of the food items had been stolen from the hardware store, as well, along with a good portion of its other inventory. I’d been lucky to find the small bucket I acquired; all of the big ones were long gone.

  Several hours later, I was back on the road again, just as it started to get dark. Although I could easily have continued to drive using my night vision—without the lights of the truck—it would have cut down on how far I could see, and would have made it much easier to run into a trap. I pulled over in an area far away from exits, locked up the truck, and went into the back to get some sleep.

  * * *

  I was on the road again early in the morning—early enough to see two deer grazing on the side of the road. Although they were a little skittish after not having seen a vehicle in a while, they let me get close enough to take one of them with a well-placed rifle shot. That fulfilled my need to find food, and I filled all of my water containers at a river I crossed, but it did take some time to gather enough firewood to cook the meat.

  Thus, it was well after I intended that I got back on the road, although I was considerably better provisioned. I had hoped to make it to the outskirts of Philly, but ended up stopping outside Gettysburg, PA. Some of the larger cities along the way were a mess of abandoned cars and deserted roadblocks, and I had to pick my way through them in case any of them were ambushes. I also had to detour to the west when I got to Chattanooga as one of the bridges was out. The city had been nuked; a crater sat right about where the City Café had been, which was too bad—in my one time there, I discovered they had really great cakes.

>   Expecting something similar in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania—nonexistent bridges across a major river—I had diverted onto Highway 30 at Chambersburg and was going cross country. It took a little longer, but it was a safer route.

  * * *

  By noon the following day, I was approaching Philadelphia, but I had a problem; I didn’t know exactly where to find the Obsidian headquarters. I knew it was sort of in the center of town, somewhere between the rivers, but I hadn’t had a lot of time to get the exact details—my mission orders weren’t much more than, “Go there, find them, kill them.” That seemed easy when I was in Portland—finding them would be a lot easier than traversing the 3,000 miles required to get there—but now that I was here, how would I actually do it?

  I drove through the suburbs, pushing cars out of the way when needed. A lot of them looked suspiciously like they were meant to impede my progress so people could ambush me, but when I pushed the semi through the abandoned vehicles, no one came out to challenge me. A few people fired at me, but by this point, ammunition was too precious to waste on something you weren’t actively trying to take down. I had enough ammo not to worry about it, though, so when some moron put a hole in my front window while highlighting himself on the roof of one of the houses lining the road, I threw the truck into park, grabbed a rifle, and shot him, just so I wouldn’t have to worry about him on the way back.

  Dumbass.

  I took some additional fire from a high school that was built like a fortress, but the road next to it was clear, and I could see a number of people on the roof and in the windows; trading rifle fire with them seemed a bad proposition and a waste of time. I gunned the motor, and they let me go. We were all happier that way.

  The outskirts of Philadelphia reminded me of Slidell—dirty and run down, although not to the same extreme as Slidell. I’d never been a fan of row houses, but that seemed to be Philadelphia’s “thing.” Obsidian could have the place; it was a dump. I couldn’t wait to kill the Obsidian leaders and put the town in my rearview mirror.

  The outskirts of the city seemed to go on forever, but I knew I was heading in the right direction—the skyscrapers in the distance kept getting closer. I began to see people again, too, on the streets, going about their business and doing whatever it was they were doing. There wasn’t any vehicular traffic on the road, and the people generally scattered as I approached.

  Soon after, I started passing the high-rise apartments of the “nearly inner city,” and then through Drexel University in what was closer to “downtown.” Some young tough stepped out in front of me and tried to flag me down as I passed a steel and glass high rise; he jumped out of the way when I revved the motor, which was wise. I hadn’t intended on stopping. He stood and looked at me in exasperation as I drove off, and I had to laugh. Short of some kind of anti-tank grenade launcher, I wasn’t stopping the truck and getting bogged down in downtown Philly.

  After a quick jog over to Market Street, I crossed over the Schuylkill River. Several people brandishing pistols stepped out in front of me as I got to the far end of the bridge; they all fled out of the way as I stepped on the gas.

  And then I was in and among the high-rise buildings of true “downtown,” and I knew I needed to ditch the truck. Unfortunately, I had no idea where to do so. Prying eyes followed me everywhere I went, and I knew that as soon as I left the truck it would be mobbed by people looking to steal what was inside.

  I also knew I couldn’t accomplish my mission from the interior of the semi, so it was a chance I was going to have to take.

  With a sigh, I pulled over to the side of the street next to a man who was leaning on a light pole in front of a large skyscraper. Pocketing two pistols and as much ammo as I could carry, I threw two rifles over my shoulder, got out of the vehicle, and locked it.

  The man’s eyes got as big as saucers, and he looked at me as if I were an alien. Perhaps, to him, I was.

  “Hi,” I said. “This a good place to leave the truck?”

  “Huh huh, sure,” he said with a giggle. “If you aren’t planning on seeing it again, I guess.”

  “Actually, I do intend to drive it again,” I said with a smile, “and I would like your assistance with that. I want you to guard it while I’m gone, please.”

  “Sure,” the man said, looking at the truck. “I’ll tell everyone who wants to fuck with it not to. Just because you asked me so nicely.”

  “How about I give you a rifle to guard it with, and when I leave, I let you keep the rifle?”

  The man’s eyes snapped back to me, as if considering me for the first time. “That would help…” the man said. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he considered something else.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’ll do it if you take me with you when you go,” the man said.

  “What?”

  “This place is a hellhole. I don’t care where you’re going, it’s better than here. You got through all the zones to get here; I’m sure you can get back out through them, too. Take me with you when you go, and you’ve got a deal.”

  An extra set of eyes negotiating my way through the city was probably a good thing, I decided quickly. “Fine,” I replied. “What’s your name?”

  “Jefferson Moon.”

  “Well, Jefferson, my name’s Joe. Make sure this truck is here when I get back, and we’ve got a deal.”

  “Cool,” he said. I turned to walk off.

  “I’ll need that gun, though,” the man added. “If you actually expect me to be able to guard it.”

  “Right,” I said, turning back to him. I handed him one of the rifles. “Know how to use this?”

  “Yeah, man; no problem.” He looked around furtively. “Don’t tell no one, but I was in JalCom for a while. Got out after Obsidian kicked our asses. I know how to use a rifle.”

  “Good.” I started to leave again, then realized I didn’t know where I was going. “Hey,” I said, “who’s in charge here?”

  “In this zone?” the man asked. “This here’s Stevie’s Zone, on down to the corner.” He nodded to the east.

  “No,” I said. “Not just locally. Who’s in charge of Philadelphia? Who runs everything in the city?”

  The man laughed. “You ain’t from around here at all. There ain’t no ‘Philadelphia’ anymore. There’s just Zones, with warlords who control them. Nobody runs the whole city.”

  “Well, who owns the biggest piece of it? Who’s the biggest, baddest warlord around?”

  “Well, the Blues are definitely the strongest around here, although I hear there’s another group that’s even tougher a little further out to the east. Then again, no one goes into the convention center anymore, either. Well, those that do, don’t come back out again. After that, who knows? They’re lots of warlords, and they all have some power, or they wouldn’t be warlords, would they?”

  “So the Blues are the strongest?”

  “Around here, anyway,” he confirmed with a shrug.

  “Where do I find them?”

  “The Blue Zone? Straight down the street,” he said, pointing. “About five blocks. You can’t miss them.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “See you soon.”

  Good directions were a big help in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Although people had been fairly common on my way through town, they became markedly less so as I approached the Blue Zone. I didn’t see how the Blues here could be related to the Blues in Slidell, but in this new world, I guessed anything was possible. Still…a connection to what was formerly a Teledyne operation in Slidell? It seemed far-fetched.

  Which turned out to be the case, I saw as I got my first look at the Blue Zone. It was the former city hall, and all the people I could see on the grounds were wearing blue police uniforms. They were also heavily armed.

  “Don’t stare at them,” a woman muttered as she passed by. “They will come and take you away.”

  I
turned to look at her but she kept going with her head down, walking quickly away from the Blue Zone. I realized several of the people in the zone were watching me, so I put my head down, too, and began quickly walking away from it. I glanced quickly behind me and saw that one of the cops had taken a few steps toward me but had stopped. I walked up another block and turned to the right while I considered.

  Something about the Blue Zone didn’t seem right for it to be an Obsidian stronghold, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I took the next right, turning back toward the Blue Zone, but this time, I wasn’t as obvious as I studied it. After a couple of minutes, I finally figured out what was wrong. It wasn’t what they were doing, so much as what they weren’t.

  First, their patrol patterns were all symmetrical. Everyone did the same thing at the same time. Nothing varied; it would have been easy to time it out so you could exploit gaps. Although they were my enemies, I had to give Obsidian credit for being professional; they never would have made a rookie mistake like that. Their patrols would have been random and overlapping.

  The other thing was that all the Blue soldiers looked like…well, like people. None of them gave any indication of having been modified for speed, strength, or better vision. I could easily see that one of them—a heavyset one—had a button on his shirt that had come undone, yet he couldn’t see me looking at him from around the corner. Definitely not augmented. Also, none of them acted the same. If they were Obsidian, and they had an imprinter, I would have thought they’d have a number of Agents protecting the place. Maybe they were inside, acting as a quick response unit, but I would have used at least a couple in the exterior defense of the building where their training and abilities could be maximized. Fighting inside the building would limit their speed greatly. Once again, I didn’t see Obsidian doing that.