The Price of Freedom

by Chris Kennedy

  “She has chores to do,” he replied. “Now, let’s talk about you.”

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “Let’s start with a name.”

  “Sure. My name’s Rinardi. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Pop. I run this farm.”

  “Can you tell me where I am?”

  “Yeah, you’re on my farm. You ran into an old telephone pole. I’m afraid your truck wasn’t salvageable.”

  I sighed, thinking about how far The Dell was. On foot, it would take a long time. Even for me.

  “Doc pulled a couple of bullets from your arm,” Pop said.

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  “After that, though, you healed up on your own.”

  “I’ve always been good at that.”

  “Really?” Pop asked, looking at me askance. He sighed. “I’m too old to waste time on bullshit, Mr. Rinardi, and that’s what you’re giving me. A great big load of bullshit. I’m a farmer, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s bullshit. How about you tell me what you were doing driving a truck with bullet holes all through both it and you?”

  I paused, trying to think about what I could and couldn’t tell him.

  “While you’re doing all that thinking,” he said, “remember, I said, ‘No bullshit.’”

  I nodded. “Fair enough. The short story is, I went to Philadelphia, looking for someone. Unfortunately, I ran into a bunch of Clowns and had to flee for my life. I um…borrowed…a car to get out of there, but the owner took exception to my using it.”

  “Uh huh. Well, that’s a pretty short story, and there are lots of holes all through it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How about the fact that it took four of us to lift you out of the truck and into this bed?”

  “I’ve been meaning to start that diet…”

  He frowned. “You’re not the first person I’ve seen that’s been augmented. In fact, you’re not even the first Agent we’ve rescued who was fleeing after an encounter with the Clowns of Philadelphia.” The emphasis he put on “Agent” let me know he was aware of the program, but how he knew—or even what he knew—could save or damn me. Still, if he thought I was Obsidian, that was something I could work with.

  I nodded. “Guilty as charged. I’m an Agent—although I’m actually a scout—from down south. We’re trying to keep civilization from going under. The person I work for sent me out to see what towns and services still existed, so we could try to trade and work together.”

  “Where are you from, exactly?” he asked. I could tell he didn’t quite buy all of the story.

  “Just outside of New Orleans, actually.”

  “I thought that was Teledyne territory. What’s an Agent doing coming from there?”

  “It was Teledyne territory,” I said, nodding. “I happened to be there on a mission when the bombs fell, and I was just able to get out of New Orleans alive. When I found out how bad things were, I decided to offer my services to the person that’s picking up the pieces. Teledyne is gone; now it’s just a bunch of people trying to hold on and not let the light go out on civilization.”

  “Must have been a big op in New Orleans,” Pop replied.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The other Agent we found was there when the bombs fell too. He was in the imprinter when they did, and he woke up without either of his personalities. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. How you Agents do that stuff…well, it ain’t for me; that’s for sure.”

  “Wait, this other guy—this other Agent—he was in the imprinter in New Orleans when the bombs fell?”

  “Yeah, some secret facility outside of New Orleans. When he came to, he didn’t know who he was, and he had to fight his way out of town.”

  “Wow, I’ll have to try to catch up with him. He’s in New Orleans now?”

  “No, he was going to go see some folks in…Pensacola, I think it was.”

  I mentally vowed to stay away from Pensacola. Whoever this Agent was, he could totally undermine my whole story…although…if he had access to an imprinter, that would make my life considerably easier. “Maybe I’ll swing on down there.”

  Pop chuckled. “I’m sure you have lots to talk about, not that you’d ever share it with the likes of us common folk.”

  “I’m sure we do,” I said with an answering chuckle, “and I’m sure we couldn’t.”

  “So, you’re farmers, huh?” I asked, looking for a safer subject.

  “Yeah, doing the best we can. Going to have to breed more horses to do it more efficiently, though. We’re back to the old ways without our combines and such.”

  “Because you need gas?”

  “Yep. Although you Agents seem to have plenty as you drive all over the place, us common folk don’t have any. Certainly not enough to run our farm equipment.”

  “But if you had it, you could?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I smiled. I liked where this was going. I needed to feed an army, and he needed gas. I knew where there was gas. “Maybe I can help you,” I said. “I know folks who are in the fuel supply business.”

  “Really? So did the other Agent. Some place in the bayous, I think.”

  “Bayou La Batre?” I asked, and he nodded. “Well, I might get you an even better deal; I know the people they get their gas from—the original suppliers.”

  “We would be happy to work out some sort of deal with you,” Pop said. “There are a lot of hungry people in this world that we could feed if we could get our equipment going again.”

  “I’d be happy to talk to my boss,” I said. “But…”

  “But?”

  “But it’s a long walk to New Orleans,” I said. “You said my truck was totalled. You wouldn’t happen to have a car I could use or trade for, would you?”

  Pop smiled. “You know, as it turns out, I just might. Especially if you can get us a better deal on fuel.”

  Sometimes things just fall into your lap in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Apparently, running into light poles was something I needed to do more of. You meet the most interesting people that way. Unfortunately, I never got the brunette’s name or saw her again. Since my body had pretty much healed itself after the doctor removed the bullets, there was no reason to hang around and look for her, especially since I knew I would be back. If I were to amass an army, I would need to have good relations with the Farmers, as feeding them on the road would be a necessity, and the Farmers were the people with food. Similarly, the people in Puerto Colombia and Bayou La Batre had fuel, which the Farmers needed to make that food, and I could provide it.

  It was like the old slavery-era Triangle Trade, I decided as I drove south. But now, instead of slaves to sugar to rum, it was Slidell people to the Farmers’ food to Bayou La Batre gas. All it needed was an enterprising businessman to make it work; happily, I just happened to be that sort of person. To begin greasing the wheels, I had decided to go back to Slidell via I-65, with a quick jog through Bayou La Batre to take them some food. It would give me an idea of the route I’d need to follow to get the gas from the coast to the Farmers. My goal, however, was to stay away from Pensacola; I had enough issues at the moment, and I didn’t need to add to them by running into an Obsidian Agent, even one who didn’t remember his name.

  I hit the roadblock just prior to the first exit for Clanton, Alabama. Unlike the other ones I’d gone by, through, and around on my trip, this one appeared professionally run. There were signs that warned it was coming, and that the rule of law applied in Clanton, Alabama. Of all the places for the “rule of law” to apply, I never would have guessed that the heartland of Alabama would be where civilization tried to reestablish itself.

  More out of curiosity than anything else, I slowed down for the roadblock. I was passingly happy I did—a sentry position held what I recognized as an M2. While I might have made it through or around the roadblock, my car would probably have
been a loss. And if they had a roadblock at the other end of town, too…it might have been challenging.

  Not that I couldn’t have kicked their asses, but I’d seen a .50 caliber take down an Obsidian Agent, and I had no particular desire to see what it could do to a Specialist. I rolled down the window as I reached the barricade. The position had been well-chosen; trees lined both sides of the road, making escape or evasion difficult. The two people at the roadblock appeared well-trained. One approached the car while the other backed him up.

  And the .50 cal never wavered from my forehead.

  “Hi,” I said as the man approached.

  “Hi, yourself,” the man replied. “We don’t see cars much anymore. Where you headed?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m headed south.”

  The man frowned. “Obviously. If you were headed north, you’d be on the other side of the road and someone else’s problem.”

  “How is my travel a problem to you?”

  “Your travel isn’t a problem, in and of itself, except for when you’re in my jurisdiction. I’m a deputy of the Clanton, Alabama, police department, and it’s our job to keep the peace. We have found that some people, these days, are prone to things that are disruptive of that peace.”

  I chuckled. “You want disruptive, you should see the Clowns up in Philadelphia.”

  “I’ve heard,” he said. “Wait, you’ve come all the way from Philadelphia? What were you doing there?”

  That was not the reaction I expected—or wanted—and I realized for about the 800th time that I needed to keep my stupid mouth shut. “Same thing I’m doing here—conducting my business. Can I go now?”

  “In a couple minutes. I think the chief will want to talk to you first.” He turned to his partner. “Call the chief and ask him to come here. Quickly.”

  “How long is this going to take?” I asked when he turned back to me. I had already worked out how I was going to get free from the roadblock; unfortunately, I couldn’t see any way of doing it that didn’t include stealing another car and avoiding .50 cal gun fire in the meantime. I could probably get to the machine gun without getting hit, but I figured the car would be a loss. I was willing to give them a few minutes…but not much more.

  The man chuckled. “Not long. Our sheriff is pretty fast.” He looked to the south. “There he comes now.”

  I followed his gaze and sighed as I saw the Agent running toward us. I guess he could have been a Specialist, but the man had definitely been modified, as he ran faster than anyone I’d seen in a long time. He might even have topped my personal best. Although the day had started out well, it had taken a decided downturn.

  “What seems to be the problem?” the man asked as he drew up alongside us, barely breathing hard. With that kind of boost? Definitely an Agent or Specialist, although he’d not only given himself away, he’d also burned his boost and would take a while to recharge. I could probably take him—in addition to the rest of the people at the checkpoint—but I would have to do it soon.

  I smiled. “There’s no problem, Chief…”

  “Chief Collins,” the man replied. “I understand you’re coming from Philly?”

  I didn’t remember an Agent named Collins. That didn’t mean he wasn’t an Agent, only that we hadn’t identified him as such. He was definitely Obsidian, though, as I knew he wasn’t one of ours.

  “I was in Philly, yeah,” I said. “Is there a problem with that? Look, I don’t want any issues here. I can turn around and go back the way I came…”

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” Collins said, giving my car a once over. All my gear was in the trunk, though, so there was no chance he could see anything, unless he had X-ray vision. I didn’t think any company had been able to pull that off yet; Teledyne certainly hadn’t.

  “Pretty bold to be traveling through the country unarmed,” Collins added, his inspection complete.

  I fought the urge to facepalm. Of course it looked strange to travel without a pistol or rifle at hand. I hadn’t thought about it—I was confident in my abilities, and I knew I didn’t need a weapon. Of course, I hadn’t planned on running into an Obsidian Agent driving through rural Alabama.

  “I’m not unarmed!” I exclaimed, trying to cover it up. “I have weapons in the trunk. I just didn’t want people to see them and try to steal them from me. I hadn’t expected to run into—” I waved my hand at the barricade, “—into this.”

  Collins didn’t look convinced. “Surely you must have run into other barricades along the way here?”

  “No. I saw some, but they were all unmanned. I don’t know if someone took them out or they got tired of doing it, but there wasn’t anyone at any of them.”

  “So, how do you know the Farmers?”

  “Uh…what?” My brain had been augmented with additional processing power; however, his question came from so far out of left field it caught me completely unaware. “What farmers?” I asked, trying to cover up the pause.

  “The Farmers I left this car with.” He tapped the side of the car just below the driver’s window with one hand while the other went to his holster. “Took a .50 cal round right here that broke the window mechanism. The only reason the driver’s window goes up and down now is because they replaced everything, but they didn’t have bulletproof glass for it. I’ll bet none of the other windows go up and down, because they’re all bulletproof.” He pointed to the bullet holes in the front and back windows. “I remember picking these up, too, sort of.”

  My eyes twitched toward the windows, then toward the switches that raised and lowered the windows, but my hands stayed where they were. If nothing else, it was good to know the car was bulletproof, aside from the window where the Agent was standing with his hand on his pistol.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to prove it to me. I recognized the license plate on the front of the car when I ran up. Perhaps you should tell us who you really are.”

  I allowed my shoulders to sag while my mind raced frantically. He obviously knew I had been to the Farmers, and the whole thing had started with me stupidly mentioning the Clowns; I needed a cover for both of them. Then I realized Chief Collins must have been the Agent the Farmers mentioned talking with, so Bayou La Batre—my original alibi—was out, as well. It also meant that he had come from New Orleans—but there were no Obsidian facilities in New Orleans, just Teledyne. Curiouser and curiouser. And shit, this was complicated. Why hadn’t he just gone home to Pensacola?

  “Well?” he asked.

  “You got me,” I said with a chuckle, coming to a decision. “I did meet up with the Farmers, and they allowed me to take this car. I’m from down south, just outside of Pascagoula.” No sense saying New Orleans; that had been solidly in Teledyne’s hands. Pascagoula had been no-man’s land.

  “And why did they do that?” he asked when the pause went on overlong.

  “Because I am trying to set up a trade route from Pascagoula to them. We have fish we can send, and fertilizer, and if we can get some cleaning supplies, we may be able to get the refinery there going again. They need gas so they can bring more of their fields under cultivation.” I smiled as if I’d just bared my soul. “They mentioned someone else bringing it up from Bayou La Batre; I’m guessing that’s you, so I’m probably your competition.”

  Collins smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a project we’re working on.” The smile faded. “So, why were you dealing with the Clowns?”

  “Dealing with them?” I asked. “I wasn’t dealing with them—I was running from them. Those guys are crazy! I don’t want any part of them! The world would be a better place if they were all dead!” As all of that was true, it didn’t take any acting on my part to put some conviction in my words. If anything, I had to pull back a little not to oversell the part.

  “That’s certainly true,” Collins replied, his eyes becoming distant. They returned to focus as he asked, “But what were you doing there in the first place?”


  I smiled, warming to my part. “That’s easy. I’m a scout. My Mom always said curiosity would be my undoing. I wanted to know what was still out there—what was still functioning—so when the president of Pascagoula asked for volunteers to scout out any potential trading partners, I volunteered. I just got lucky that some of the first people I met were the Farmers.”

  “So where are you headed now?”

  “Back to Pascagoula.”

  “With no stops along the way?”

  “I’m not planning any.”

  Collins nodded. “Okay, boys, let him through.” He turned back to me. “I am, however, going to radio our other checkpoint to the south. It’s seven miles south, and the roads are clear between here and there. Make sure you don’t take any longer than eight minutes to get to the checkpoint, or we’re going to have issues.” He gave me a hard look. “Watch yourself. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

  A small shudder went down my back as I nodded to him. He seemed as confident in his abilities as I was in mine. We might meet again…but I would bring friends. There was no sense taking him on by myself.

  Taking on an Agent solo is a good way to die in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  I decided to skip Bayou La Batre on this trip, after all. After my run-in with Collins, perhaps I was feeling my mortality, but I decided that removing Chamberlain was more of a necessity than negotiating a fuel-for-food contract I might not be around to implement. There was no doubt that Chamberlain would be my toughest fight…until the one with the Clowns, anyway.

  As I neared The Dell, I realized that by coming down I-65, I would have to take I-10 back into Slidell, which meant going through the blockade at the far end of the Old Pearl River, if they had re-established it.

  Sure enough, now that I knew to look for it, there was a new semi-truck waiting at the close right end of the bridge. I really didn’t have time for this shit. Like the previous incarnation, a plow blade had been added to the front of the truck, and I could see a plume of smoke belch from it as its driver fired it up when I came into view.