Beluga Fay (Dragon Bone Hill)

by Wellhauser, David S.

  “What?” SaRah didn’t exactly scream this out, but Pym was grateful they were in an abandoned office in a derelict mall.

  “They may attempt to rob and kill you.” Chaos descended on the group. Glenna eventually calmed them, but it took several minutes. Once she had done so Pym continued. “You will have threatened them, through me, with exposure. This may trigger an overreaction.”

  “Then don’t threaten them,” Yuri returned.

  “If we do not make it plain the bribery is coming to an end, they will not take the final offer—they will simply continue to milk you, and then they may attempt to extort more from you by threatening to go to Salazar and the national government with the information.”

  “But...” Yuri didn’t know how to respond.

  “No,” this time Pym’s voice did go up and the group went silent, “you have chosen to play a dangerous game. Now you are beginning to understand how dangerous. Sure you wish to finish it?” He hoped they would, since it was the best way out of town for him, but there was no way this would end well for all of them. That much he was certain of.

  Of course, there was no way to be certain, but his major guesses, to date, had managed to keep Pym alive. This was no guarantee of the future, but if he were going to bet his life, Titus would have to continue calculating, or speculating about, the odds.

  “Yes.” Glenna’s voice was timid but strong as she signed on for the madness; the others nodded or whispered agreement.

  “Okay, I’ll take the last meeting as soon as I have the final pouch.” With that, the meeting broke up, and the cabal almost ran for the stairs.

  “You didn’t have to frighten them.”

  “I fear I have done half as much as I should have.”

  “But why?”

  “We need to make certain they understand what they are getting into and how, in all likelihood, it will play out.”

  “You believe we will all be killed?”

  “If you go, arm only some—none if you’re smart.” He didn’t want to dissuade the woman, but he also wanted her to understand what was coming.

  “We’re going.”

  “Good—now when can you get the stones?”

  Pym didn’t like it. Three blocks out he squinted through the lenses of the compact binoculars trying to see who’d come out with them. Tomás had promised to bring along the Wall Commander, Colonel Henry Torres, and only him. If there was one thing the man had learned not to trust, it was the Wall guards. Over the last weeks, the rumors of their behavior in the North had become very extreme; businesses that had relied upon their trade for survival were packing it in. So the Wall front street had no traffic, where even a month before it was nearly filled with customers and horse-drawn buses to deliver shoppers and day-trippers to the street.

  More and more, gasoline and diesel were becoming things of the past. There had been a shift to electric cars for a while, but even finding the energy to juice these had become difficult—now the rolling blackouts were beginning to have a real effect. The result was more animal based power and all the negative consequences of this—most notably the waste. Still, there were others. Feeding the animals was a problem, and then finding enough to be of use was also an issue. Of late, the national government had been supplying these free of charge. Even then the guards were trying to auction these off. That bit of entrepreneurial spirit did not last long when the Salazar government had communicated the practice to the Federals. Nothing more, it was rumored, than a stern warning followed, but then no one expected this much.

  Increasingly, the guards were demonstrating signs of wear and tear about the edges. Some seemed under-fed, while others’ uniforms were looking unkempt and worn. As Titus scanned the street and caught sight of Colonel Torres—he’d seen pictures—and Captain Tomás, they were both showing signs of these. If this was the case with the upper echelon of the Wall command staff, how would it go for the rank and file? Was their situation as bad as the city’s? Could it be worse? If it were worse, would it be worth Glenna’s group breaking out? He didn’t know, and he should care more than he did. As it was, Pym’s driving concern was getting himself out. Once out, he’d a plan for island hopping South and then skipping across the southern chain of islands and using a dugout to get to the unblocked island States to the South and West.

  From there he’d have the world to choose from, but the southeast, north of the great southern ocean, was looking good. Lots of places to hide in.

  Lowering the glasses, he put these back in their case and stood. Still staring down at the activity of the guards, Titus dusted himself off and walked down the hill to his car. Where others were finding trouble with fuel, he and the Fay’s command staff still had a steady supply—mostly based upon their raids on police and militia patrols. Even these were becoming less and less frequent. The columns were also becoming more desperate, so the fighting was almost fraught. Pym assumed failure was being met with stiffer penalties at the hands of command staff. He wondered what this meant. Were they attempting to discipline the rank and file and lower officer ranks, or was this a sign of desperation?

  Mopping his face before getting in the car, Titus shook off the questions as he drove down the hill toward the eastern gate. For the most part, the Colonel had met the terms of the meeting—that they come alone—and when he pulled up, there were only a handful of guards that had not been scripted. Though he may have been angry about this, there was more information in their presence than he would have taken from a meeting with Tomás and Torres. The privates’ uniforms were worn, wrinkled, and dirty. It seemed a week or more they’d needed a good washing and pressing. The men looked equally unkempt—though they were freshly shaved. Pym was of the opinion this had been forced on them, while the rest nothing could be done about.

  The whole affair spoke of a desperation which could only work in his favor—he hoped.

  Without being challenged or stopped, he drove by these two and to the arranged meeting. Torres and Tomás, with some embarrassment, were standing outside of a closed coffee shop as Pym approached.

  “When did this close?” the Colonel asked.

  “Can’t say,” Titus answered, “I’ve not been to the East for some time.”

  “Why is it closed?” Torres continued.

  “Your guards.” Pym answered, and Tomás looked anxiously at the ground.

  “Captain?” The Colonel seemed to have understood the latter’s discomfiture and, shaking his head, let it go.

  “You didn’t know?” Pym found the lack of communication interesting—as though their command structure were collapsing.

  “No.” An uncomfortable glance continuing in the Captain’s direction. “Nor any of this,” waving up and down the street. “But I now see why our resources have been dwindling.”

  The Captain seemed about ready to speak. But appearing to think better of this in front of Pym, he stared at Titus a moment before pushing forward. “I suppose out here will have to do.”

  “It is not as though we will be overheard,” the Colonel answered.

  Pretending not to have heard the comment, the Captain continued. “You have the stones?”

  Titus smiled. “When we’re on the other side of the Wall.”

  “Was this what you agreed to?” Torres asked, looking at Tomás.

  “No, it was not.”

  “This was why I wanted you here, Colonel. The guards have been losing control, and I need to know we will get to the other side in one piece.”

  “My people are under strict orders...”

  “That does not seem to mean much any longer.” Pointing up and down the road, Pym was smiling. The failure of control had given him one more bargaining chip, and it seemed decisive.

  The Captain did not look phased by the observation. “I’m not entirely certain you have or can get them.”

  The Colonel looked from the Captain to Pym. “Can you?”

  “I can—I can even get fuel.” Pointing to the car—this appeared to make the Ca
ptain nervous.

  “Yes,” Tomás continued, “but robbing the militia columns is not the same as stealing enough diamonds to get you through the Wall.”

  “If we do not have them, you can kill the lot of us.”

  “If,” the Colonel followed, “you do not have them—we will.” As the Colonel spoke, the Captain quickly stepped forward and grabbed Pym by his shirt collar—wrenching him forward.

  As Tomás did this, he’d failed to see the elbow; this caught him just below the chin. In consequence, he was driven back a couple of steps. Recovering from the blow, he grabbed for his holster, but the flap was snapped closed. Having released the snap on his before getting out of the car Pym had his weapon out. At this the guards stopped laughing at their officer and were bringing their rifles to bear. “Don’t!” Pym shouted over his shoulder. The Colonel raised a hand to the men; Pym could hear the weapons ease to a resting position.

  “You’ve made your point, Mr. Pym. We’ll take delivery of the stones on the other side of the gate, but right on the other side. There will be no further negotiations once there—is that clear?”

  Pym nodded. “There are to be no more than two security guards. I don’t want you taking delivery and then killing my people.”

  “We wouldn’t...” the Captain began, but Pym interrupted him.

  “You are letting out a fair number of the children of Salazar’s government—many children of Cabinet members. There will be significant blowback on this. It would be better for you and Salazar if they simply disappeared rather than have them pop up in the new capital or other places about the country. Killing them would be best for you. I’m just telling you, if you or your people attempt this, I will respond.”

  The Captain seemed about ready to answer this, but the Colonel held up a hand. “Mr. Pym, the world outside the gate is not what it once was—even a few months ago. There will be no blowback—there are hardly enough forces available to maintain control of the cities, and none for us. You’ve noticed our condition?”

  Titus nodded.

  “These are the best we have to present to you—some are in much worse shape.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thought you may. The world you will be entering will have very little to offer any of your people, but if you insist on getting out, I will not attempt to stop you—as long as you have another full pouch for us. Are we agreed?”

  “We are—I’ll be in contact when we are coming over. Which gate are we to use?”

  “This one—it will have to be late in the evening to make certain most of the guards are asleep. When you come across, it will have to be on foot.”

  “They will be armed.”

  “Of course, but be certain they are well-prepared. If your people demonstrate any behavior that could threaten security, or Captain Tomás, we will open fire.”

  “Yes, I’ve been prepping them, but I will be coming along. If any of my people get too anxious, that will be dealt with immediately by myself.”

  “Best that you are in the lead; it will make everyone more comfortable.” The Captain observed.

  Titus thought that might make him a more tempting target as well. “I’ll be with them, but I will be wherever I may control the group best.”

  The Colonel smiled, seeming to understand the anxiety. “Very well,” he answered and turned for his vehicle, followed by Tomás. Something about Tomás’s behavior had bothered Titus. In their last meetings, he had always been controlled and calm, but he’d also been in control of the situation—now he appeared on the very ragged edge of command and that of himself. Whatever was going on over the Wall had taken much of the man’s identity with it.

  “Don’t know—told you that several times already.” Lander was in a mood and had been since they discovered where it was Pym intended to take them. The evening was deepening, and the cloud cover meant they had virtually no light. Titus wouldn’t allow any headlights either for fear of militia, but they were also north of the Dead District surrounding the Hill. Light would attract anything in that district, and he didn’t want to deal with that. Everyone was so terrified of the Hill, and what lived there, that he could not expect them to put up much of a fight. Grabbing the radio again, he barked into it. “Are we there yet—my people are getting nervous?”

  “Keep off the radio, Lander, or I’ll take it from you.” Pym’s voice came back calm and quiet. “When we get there, you’ll know, because I’ll pull over.”

  Lander threw the radio on the dash and stared out the window. There was something wrong with this, and they all knew it. Pym and his people never worked together, and that had been agreed upon from the beginning. It had never been an open agreement, but there were no examples, until now, when this needed to be stated.

  “I don’t like this,” the driver said, after a block or two of silence. For a moment, Lander ignored the concern, then it dawned on him that he was supposed to be leading so he turned to the man.

  “It’ll be all right—we’re all armed and have vehicles. If they come out, we can fight them off and get away before they can mass.” Placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, he attempted to comfort him. It wasn’t a gesture that came naturally to Lander, and he seemed to recognize this because the driver didn’t appear comforted by the gesture. The worst part was that Lander had been trying to be sympathetic and understanding. He recognized that most needed this and he was required to share it, but he just didn’t have it in him to give. Most seemed to sense this on some level and felt more creeped out by any gesture of sympathy than comforted by it.

  Eventually he would have to do something about that. If he could not offer the warmth needed, he would have to find someone to stand in for him. Synon was excellent in this respect, but she would not work with him under any circumstances—nor would any of the women that remembered what he and the others had done before Titus. When Pym was displaced and disappeared, he’d have to do something about all of them. There would be little hope of controlling the Fay with their disruptive influence never more than a sound bite away. Yet, if not Synon, who? Bannly would only bring back memories of his leadership—no matter how pathetic that was—and he was not sympathetic to his bid for control of the Fay. Not Synon; not Bannly; not any of his new crew—they were all about as flat and angry as he.

  Privately, Lander acknowledged to himself how much anger he was carrying around and what this could do to them all. Of late, he was attempting to suppress or channel this. It hadn’t been working out. But since Pym was away most of the time, he had little trouble sweeping his failure under the carpet—eventually, though, this would begin to bulge. Was beginning to in several abandoned rooms, already. Whatever was going to happen between them was going to have to happen soon, if he was not to be brought down by the question of missing women. If he were lucky, tonight would be that moment that would turn the last of Pym’s support against him. After all, any work so close to the Hill was dangerous—especially in the mostly abandoned northern districts.

  After a few more blocks, the column, small but still worthy of the name, pulled over. As Bannly climbed out, he looked around and stretched. There was a ricochet of cracks that flew from his spine.

  “You,” Synon laughed, “are getting old.”

  The elder scowled and walked up to the lead vehicle as Pym climbed out.

  “We’re too close.” Bannly looked south as he spoke, his voice uneasy.

  “They don’t come out during the day,” Titus answered, as the pair was joined by Synon.

  “I’ve tried to tell him,” speaking to Bannly, “but he won’t listen.”

  “Our supplies are running low—food, fuel, and clothing—if we don’t top them up soon, we’re going to be in serious trouble.”

  “But we’ve taken the southern markets,” Bannly complained.

  “Certainly, but holding them may be difficult. Besides, there is still the issue of fuel and clothing.”

  “We’re not going to find any fuel here.” Lander said, join
ing the group.

  Pym looked at him a moment and thought about putting the man back in his vehicle but knew keeping him close was preferable to having him plotting behind his back.

  “There may be a few abandoned cars—in garages and such. Clothing should be ample.”

  “It appears,” Lander answered, “the Hill’s been over this place—thoroughly.”

  “What they were looking for and what we’re looking for may not be one and the same.” Titus answered.

  Lander flinched and turned back to his vehicle and crew.

  “Was foolish to bring him along,” Bannly observed, and Synon agreed.

  “More to leave him alone.”

  “But you’ve taken the markets—food is plentiful again.”

  “Not sure how long we can hold them—besides, we’re going to have to trade for the food and goods. If we just take them, there is no incentive for anyone to acquire goods to trade.”

  “So clothing and any canned goods we can find?” Synon asked.

  Titus nodded. “Any unique items wouldn’t go amiss I’m certain.”

  Bannly looked over the neighborhood. “We should stick together—in case there are any surprises waiting in there for us.”

  “Teams of four should be enough—we’re all armed.”

  “They’re crazy on the Hill.” Synon shared with no one in particular.

  “If we meet up with any, we’ll have to show them we’re just as crazy.” Bannly and Synon both looked at him, but Pym couldn’t quite make out what these looks meant. He supposed there was something of the incredulous in the glance, yet he wasn’t going to pursue the matter—the day was better than half gone, and they didn’t have the time to waste.

  “You should each take your own teams with you—to bolster their courage—and I’ll let Lander take his own team. You tell him that, Bannly. He’s to start with the odd numbers on the far side of the street. Bannly you take the evens on the same side. I’ll take the odds here and Synon the evens.”

  Sighing in resignation, Bannly disappeared.