“Shit, do you want to wake the neighbors?”
“We need in.” Bannly answered tersely. His patience with Synon’s recruit was wearing thin.
Titus could tell that much with little more than a rudimentary understanding of the culture. Pushing the youngster aside, he pulled a small pouch from his back pocket.
“Picked this up in a game before leaving home—thought it would come in handy.” Bannly was about to say something when Synon took his arm. It seemed to Titus this was the way women here quieted men when they were being foolish. This worked for the moment, but the younger doubted it would last long. Leaning over the wooden doors covering the basement stairs, Titus flicked the lock-guard out of the way and slipped two thin prongs into the mechanism and twisted. After a moment, there was a snick and the lock fell open. Bannly gaped at this a longish moment then stared at Pym.
“You can do that every time?”
“So far.”
“You have a lot more than one use.” He smiled. “Get the basement door too.”
The elder joined Pym at the basement door, watching him carefully. “What,” Pym asked, “are you hoping to get from this place?”
“The usual.”
“What is the usual?”
“Gems, money, electronics, food, and anything else that could be turned into something edible.”
“Still won’t feed several hundred mouths.” An exasperated looked passed over the old man’s face again; then the lock gave way and Titus, smiling, pushed the door open.
“We’re also hoping for weapons.” Pym knew these would be, by far, the most valuable things they’d find—if they found them. Seeing as the owners had gone east to find safe harbor from the likes of them, it did not seem likely they’d leave anything behind. The chance, though, was worth the risk—if they could get the proper weaponry, the more likely it was that they’d be able to pick up someone like the politico that just passed by.
Pym stepped into the darkness and looked about. “How’s the power in these things?” Bannly flipped the switch beside the door and the incandescent popped on. They both stared at this as though it were some rare creature. Even Zampton’s had been lit by a network of reflective lamps that used something such as kerosene or whale oil for an energy source. Titus wasn’t sure which it was but the smell, besides the stink of bodies, suggested this. There had been sockets for lights, but these had been empty—probably for some time.
“Good, I suppose—but I’m not sure how much power each residence is permitted each day, so we’ll be wanting to be quick. Don’t,” continuing to those streaming by and into the house, “use any lights upstairs unless absolutely necessary.”
The basement stairs opened up on what should have been a cold kitchen, but that made no sense in the subtropics—he’d been told by Synon this was the proper designation for most of the islands excepting the most southerly, which said to Pym some Late-Imperial hausfrau had to have the kitchen she had at home. In function, this room looked to be no more than a storage room—even the cupboards where filled with nonperishables. “Need help in here.” An unrecognized voice from the main kitchen called. Titus entered to find a young man trying to pry a heavy lock and chain from an equally heavy door. The door almost looked to be the entrance to a large walk-in freezer—cold storage at the very least.
Titus pulled out the picklock again and had the door open in a moment. As he stepped into the locker, Pym discovered it was a walk-in freezer. “Fuck me.” The words came out as hardly a sound, but he could see his breath billowing out before him. Beside him was a rucksack. Taking this from its hook, he filled it with frozen meat and vegetables. Taking a carton from the shelf in front of him, he tossed it back to the young man behind him. “You’ll want to eat that right away.”
“What is it?” Tossing it from hand to hand against the cold.
“Ice cream.”
“What?”
“Try it. But it won’t keep, so you best eat it right away.”
After the first nibble, he tucked in. Soon he was sharing this with the youngsters that had come along. With the rucksack full, he stepped out. Bannly was waiting. “We’ll have to have a barbecue when we get back because nothing in there will keep.”
“After this hike we could all use a party.” Bannly answered, behind him stood Synon. He passed her a small carton of ice cream. As she was licking at the face of this, the man tossed her a spoon.
“If you have enough people, have them collect the utensils and crockery—they will have value. More, I think, than electronics—with no or spotty electricity, a DVD player or a computer won’t be of much value.” As Pym disappeared down the hallway, Bannly was having them gut the kitchen.
They were all making too much noise for this to last much longer. If the militia and police had any interest in maintaining control of these enclaves, they’d have to pay attention to what they were doing. They had to have been noticed by now—too many people and too much noise.
At the end of the hall, there was what Pym took to be an oak stairway. Twisting around this, he stopped a moment and watched as some young men were tearing up a family album and then turning on the sofas. True enough, they’d not be able to take the latter with them, but there was no reason to destroy these. Some of Bannly’s people were going to need a close watch. From up the stairs there were more sounds of breakage and bodies being thrown at heavy doors. They could hammer at them all they wished, but the oak doors were built to last; they’d already survived nearly a hundred years after the end of colonialism and were probably built fifty years before that.
“Step away from the door.” The young men did and watched as he picked it. As Titus held it for them, there was the sound of a violent disagreement coming from down the hallway—what he took to be the master bedroom.
“I found it—it’s mine.”
“It belongs to everyone.”
“Not bloody likely.” There followed a sound of wind being knocked from someone. Entering the room, Pym saw Bannly on the floor holding his head. Blood was leaking from between his fingers, and it appeared consciousness was fading. Above him, a young man—maybe mid to late teens—was holding an automatic. The weapon was pointed at the elder’s head. “It’s mine; I found it.”
“You,” Titus interrupted, “say that like it means something.” Stepping quickly around the bed and toward Bannly.
Not hesitating the kid raised the weapon toward Pym and pulled the trigger—nothing happened. Pym dropped the child with a blow as they charged him and took the weapon. Ejecting the clip, Titus smiled down at him. “Need to turn the safety off.” The kid lunged at him again. Whipping the child with the butt of the weapon, the latter crumpled unconscious at the foot of the bed. “Get him out of here,” he called to two others, who looked to be his friends, then picked Bannly up—pushing the weapon into his hand.
“No—think you should lead us now.” Titus wasn’t sure that was what he wanted. He wasn’t certain he wanted to be responsible for more than himself—was certain he didn’t care about anyone but himself.
“Hey,” Synon called from the door, “he okay?”
Pym nodded.
“We found a large garage out back with a truck in it—fuel too.”
“Guess we’re riding home.” Passing Bannly to Synon, he rounded up the others tearing the house down and pushed everyone out with whatever they had in hand. With the 9 mm, no one was much interested in debating Pym’s authority.
“You’re going to want to make certain he’s okay with that,” the woman said. She was about thirty and more saffron than brown, a little on the short side but attractive.
“Essie, he’ll only know if you say something.”
The woman looked at him as though he were too stupid to be born. “Lander, he’ll know—you are too foolish to keep it quiet.”
“Fuck you.” He threw a lazy backhand at the woman, but she easily sidestepped this.
“You’re not to hit us any longer.”
�
��He’s not here to protect you.”
“Will be soon enough—hear that?”
Lander did and straightened at the sound, un-pocketing the boxes of ammunition.
“Knew you could make a good decision.” The woman smiled. Amidst the bright white of her teeth, there were two missing on the left-hand corner of her mouth. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious these had been broken off near the gum line.
The woman’s tongue worried the gap as she watch Lander putting the boxes into the rucksack he carried. That was where he was supposed to put everything he found in the raid. But there was still some behavior that had carried over from the time of Bannly’s leadership, and it was slow in correcting itself. Even though Essie had seen the consequences of anyone attempting to steal from the Beluga Fay—the name itself was the first time they were thinking of themselves as a group—there were those that were still willing to give it a go. Older members, such as Lander, had trouble giving up on stealing, abusing, and even raping. When Bannly ran them, and refused to take responsibility, this sort of behavior was the norm because there was no one to stop it.
Occasionally this had been tried. Essie had tried once about a month before the raid north, and this was when she’d lost her teeth. She had been told she was a beautiful woman, but men no longer looked at her quite the way they had before the beating. It wasn’t just the teeth, but the broken nose never healed right, and it made a whistling noise when she unconsciously breathed through it. Now the others would not dare to openly move against her or other women, even children, unless they were preparing to disappear before he found out, or were planning a coup. That had already been tried, but the entire group had rallied to the new leadership, and these men and women were executed. Some argued against it, but they knew where all the gas, vehicles, and food were. Too dangerous, it was agreed at the trial, to let go.
Glaring at Essie, Lander backed away from the extra boxes of ammunition and weapons. As he did, several doors slammed outside and there followed a cacophony of voices. Essie smiled, while worrying the gap in her teeth. The woman was enjoying her newfound position of strength—if not strength, precisely, then safety to say and do what she wished without fear for her wellbeing and, on occasion, her life. Lander was one of the last dangerous elements left over from the Bannly tenure, but she doubted he’d last much longer. The only reason he’d not lost his life yet was that she and some of the other women, some children as well, enjoyed tormenting him. This did have its risks—all it would take would be for Lander to experience one lapse in judgment and whoever was having a go at him would be dead. He’d killed before; to hear him tell it, this had occurred many times. Still, his teeth had been pulled.
“What have you found?” Titus asked, stepping through the door. Behind him followed Bannly and Synon. They, since the raid on the house, had been functioning as his lieutenants.
“Small arms and ammunition.” Essie answered pointing to the boxes and Lander’s rucksack.
“All accounted for?” Titus asked Essie. He was well aware Essie and others had been enjoying playing with Lander, but was also aware this would, in all likelihood, end badly for the woman—or even the children that had been having a go at the sadist. Truth was, he was looking for any reason at all to kill Lander but had not yet discovered it. In the beginning, he might have banished him—to where he was not certain, but anywhere would have been preferable to living amidst them. One night Lander would have too much Lamban and he’d kill his tormentors—chief of which was Essie. One more reason Pym only ever armed the man on these raids. One of the few reasons he kept the psychopath around as well.
“Nothing worth pocketing, Lander?” Titus smiled, but it was a hollow thing.
Lander shook his head and grinned. “Haven’t found any fuel or cars either, boss.” There was an ugly, weighted twist on this last word.
“Well, we’ve only just got here.” There was the ubiquitous smile, but it felt, and probably looked, frozen and slightly maniacal. “What you say, Essie—wanna take a bit more of a look about?” The woman threw him a gapped smile and danced out of the room. “Synon, why don’t you help our thief here bag these?” Synon smiled bitterly at Lander as she threw him a couple of canvas bags.
“We shouldn’t be up here.” Lander said when Pym had stepped out.
“Bag the boxes and arms. You might be grateful, as well, that Titus is letting you live after what you’ve done to the Fay women.”
He smiled a sick, twisted masque of hate. “Children, too.”
Synon was about to rise to the bait, but he’d been open about all he’d done in the past—Bannly and the Committee, however, had needed him. That was no longer the case—unless Titus was saving the man for something. Difficult thing about the boss was, she’d not been able to figure out what his plans were—beyond getting the Fay strong and keeping them well fed. The food had been a cornucopia since he’d arrived—at least since after the raid. Strength was beginning to be felt as well, but what he wanted to do with this, no one was clear.
Titus was autocratic and unbending, but he had saved them and gave everyone a level of security they’d not known before, except for Lander and the crew he used to run with. “I mean,” Lander continued, interrupting the woman’s thoughts, “daylight—that’s a good way to get dead.” Synon with less concerned about what the man was saying than the fact that she’d allowed her attention to waver around him. In the past, that had got people seriously injured and even killed. There were other things that had happened in the past with him, but the woman preferred not to think about them.
“You know,” answering the observation for no other reason than Lander would not shut up until she did, “why we’re here.”
“No one knows why we do anything anymore.”
“Not true—we’re busy getting food and getting strong. Don’t see what’s so hard to understand about that.”
“The food, weapons, gas, and vehicles are great—to a point. But we’re coming to the attention of the Cartel, gangs, and even the Governor was briefed on us.”
“That last is a rumor.”
“But it makes sense after all the shit we’ve taken from the government—they have to be missing some of it by now.”
“Yes, but no one knows who’s taken it—unless you’ve been talking. New boyfriend in the militia?” The tweak at the man’s homophobia in the past would have been dangerous, but here it only reinforced his impotence—though still dangerous because Synon was uncertain of the man’s specific orientation. But sexual violence in men generally perplexed women, and the average woman reached for the lowest hanging fruit when it came to tormenting men—besides, they never appeared to get the manner in which sexuality and violence were married in the male psyche, Not that anyone else really understood that as well.
All that Lander offered the woman at this moment was a series of muttered epithets. Almost finished packing, the pair was interrupted when a runner ran into the room. Synon finished stuffing the last of the ammunition into the bag and looked at the boy, hardly ten, as they were bent over, hands on their knees, and attempting to catch their breath. “You okay?” Lander asked.
The kid nodded and straightened. “Police. A small convoy—looks to be supported by militia and private security.”
“Where?” Synon asked, throwing the rucksack over a shoulder.
“Main road, across from the eastern wall of Makati.”
“Probably a regular patrol.” Lander answered the frightened look on Synon’s face.
“Yes, but if they find us—or get wind of us—then it doesn’t matter what it is or isn’t. We’re not yet strong enough to hit them.”
Lander nodded. “What’s the boss want?”
“You’re to collect everyone you find and meet him back at the convenience store.”
“Tell him we’re on the way. You strong enough to run back?”
The kid nodded and disappeared.
“Titus may have killed us this time,” Lander sneered.
“He’ll have a plan—always has.” Though Synon sounded less certain than she had wanted to—the fear was beginning to wheedle itself into her, no matter what she did to keep it out. However, she didn’t let it stop her from moving, no matter how much she wanted to find a dark hole and crawl in.
With their rucksacks and two canvas bags, one over each shoulder, the pair jogged up to the store. Titus was standing outside smiling at them. “You’re here, good.”
Synon dropped her bags at his feet and leaned back against the wall, trying to catch her breath. The food and exercise had given her a lot of her strength back, but she was still working on stamina. The woman had never had much need of this before the Sweats and afterwards it was all about survival—but now the world was turning again.
“What,” gulping for air, Synon asked, “are we going to do?”
“Hide until they pass and then grab one or two stragglers.” A couple dozen Fay, who’d been chatting amongst themselves, surrounded the convenience store. As Titus spoke, nonetheless, the scene went completely quiet. After a moment, Lander spoke up—it had to have been Lander. Synon knew it would have to be him.
“No. I don’t care who you are and what you’ve done for us; I’m not being sacrificed for your arrogance.” Several voices, virtually everyone at the store, agreed.
Bannly had been a late arrival, but as Pym explained his idea, a look of dread and disbelief infiltrated the elder’s face. Synon had known the old man long enough to see this was the sort of foolishness he’d always been afraid of. No matter what, Synon was going to go with Pym, but even she was certain this would end badly. The militia, police, and security forces all had access to both small and heavy arms. Certainly, there would be a heavy caliber weapon, maybe even a canon, in the convoy. They had a few old trucks and cars that had seen better days—and they only had a few small arms, mostly pistols and automatics, with little by way of ammunition.
“Titus,” Bannly began, hesitantly, as Pym finished outlining the plan a second time, “sounds great, but we’re not trained for that sort of operation. We’re not trained for anything close to that kind of activity. Smash and grab is more our style.”
Beluga Fay (Dragon Bone Hill) Page 5