Tomorrow's Gone Season 1

by Sean Platt

  It felt genuine, but Slum Lord was an Alt and he might be good at deceiving even a person as gifted as Pascal at divining the truth.

  This could also be something else, a show of force to stem an insurgency within his own ranks, or somewhere else in the city. His playing to the crowd like a politician made that last reason the most logical.

  Still, Pascal was relieved that the situation hadn’t gone entirely to shit and that he might be able to leave the city with Charlotte and no war.

  Slum Lord turned to them. “Follow me.”

  Charlotte looked up at Pascal, her eyes wide.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he promised.

  Slum Lord looked back at them with an odd expression, as if considering correcting Pascal but opting to not further frighten the girl.

  They walked down the street, towards the city gates, with a woman and two men behind them. Their gazes raked his back. So did their wrath. Slum Lord might have spared him, so far, but his followers were not as magnanimous.

  They reached The Baxter and Slum Lord invited them to follow him inside the hotel.

  Charlotte’s fingernails dug into Pascal’s arm. He met her eyes. “It’ll be okay.”

  This time Slum Lord didn’t turn around.

  They followed him into an elevator. The woman and two men stayed on the ground floor. Silence on their way to the penthouse as Pascal fought a rising anxiety.

  He felt they were safe, but he didn’t trust Slum Lord. Or anyone in this filthy city. Slum Lord had spared them for a price. The only question was what that cost would be. And would it be something that doomed him back home? Would it cost Pascal his job as a Ranger?

  They got off the elevator and followed Slum Lord into a large lobby, opulently furnished and handsomely decorated, even if a few of the fixtures and paintings and pieces of furniture appeared garish to his simple tastes.

  Slum Lord asked Charlotte to have a seat on the couch, then went to his bar and poured ice into a cup and asked her if she’d ever had a cola.

  She shook her head, looking at Pascal, still so uncertain.

  “You’re in for a treat, young lady.” He retrieved a large bottle of soda from a fridge beneath the bar, then filled the glass and set it down.

  “Please, have a seat. I need to speak with … Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Pascal.”

  “I need to speak with Pascal. Would you like a beer or anything, Pascal?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Charlotte let go of his arm and looked at Pascal yet again.

  This time he nodded.

  She went to the bar and sat, raising the glass tentatively to her lips. She sipped, then lit the room with the slightest of smiles.

  “We make it ourselves in the hotel bar. One of the things I miss from the old world, a good soda.” Slum Lord looked at Pascal, then turned back to Charlotte. “We’ll be right back.”

  He headed back to the elevator. Pascal followed behind him.

  As the doors closed, he prepared himself for an attack, as unlikely as one might have been. A short ride to the roof, then they both stepped out.

  He’s come to throw me off and make an example of me.

  Pascal considered his hidden blade, and that Slum Lord surely had the same thing, or worse on his person, and wondered which of them would be faster.

  Slum Lord walked to the ledge and looked out at his city, hands on his hips.

  Yep, he’s going to throw me off for sure.

  Pascal approached, readying himself for an attack.

  “Relax. I’m not going to throw you off,” Slum Lord said, without so much as turning to look at him.

  Pascal didn’t respond.

  “There’s a fine line between order and chaos.”

  Pascal nodded, standing next to Slum Lord and looking down on the busy street. The buildings that had loomed over him and felt so claustrophobic seemed less so from up here. The place was still filthy, with knots of wire running everywhere, smog hanging thick in the air, carrying the reek of smoke and burning coal. Yet, there was a beauty from up here. The place might even be gorgeous at night.

  Pascal saw two men hoisting Willie’s corpse to join the others already in Town Square.

  “What did the others do?”

  “They tried to attack me.”

  “So that’s what this was all about? You proving that you’re still in charge?”

  “Would you prefer that I had let them tear you to shreds, and do Gods only know what to that poor girl?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you just come to me?”

  “Forgive my cynicism, but I don’t trust you or anybody in this city. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you don’t know these men are trafficking children.”

  “This is the first evidence I’ve seen,” Slum Lord said, sounding indifferent. “Have you proof of more?”

  “I hear things.”

  “I bet you hear lots of things about this place. How we’re all dirty, thieving rats that would shiv you sooner than shake your hand.”

  “Among other things.”

  Slum Lord nodded. “That was true, before I took over. But I changed that. What I did down there was a message, yes, and a way to save the child.”

  Pascal nodded. “So, what now?”

  “You are both free to go.”

  “There’s no bad blood between our cities? You won’t retaliate?”

  “No.” Then after a long moment, Slum Lord said, “Do you think we’re at war?”

  Pascal sighed. “All I know is that bandits have been attacking Coalition City merchants and I’ve heard threats against Hope Springs. People are saying it’s coming from here.”

  “People always talk. But the bandits aren’t ours.”

  “Bandits do live here. So how can you be sure these aren’t yours?”

  “I suppose I can’t. But they aren’t sanctioned by me. I run an efficient organization that makes this place operate smoothly. A gang that is loyal to me and to our city. Bandits are chaos. They have no loyalty. You know my feelings on that.”

  Pascal nodded.

  “Travel safely. But know this, Ranger: if you come to The Slums again without approaching me first, I will not be as forgiving as you found me today.”

  Nineteen

  Richmond Freeman

  Richmond arrived at The Slums with Corporal Palmer and four other Rangers riding with him.

  Along the way, Palmer and the men were talking about what a vile shithole the city was. But Richmond knew damned well that for all their talk, they would be visiting the bars and brothels just the same as any other visitor condemning this place while using its services.

  He hated hypocrisy in anyone, especially his men. But he kept his mouth shut. If things went south, he needed the Rangers at his back. They were warriors, and he a politician. His most vicious weapon had always been his tongue. Even then he was a constellation away from his father, a commander of men willing to die for his cause. Richmond often felt as if these Rangers merely tolerated him out of respect for his father’s legacy or fear that Olivia might make their lives hell.

  They passed through the city gates. Stabled their horses, then approached the hotel. The streets were packed, acrid smog mingling with the aroma of food from vendors on the street and restaurants lining the Slum entrance.

  As they passed Town Square, Palmer glanced up at the dead men dangling from ropes. Richmond half-expected to see Pascal among them. Instead he saw the mangled bodies of two teenage boys. He doubled over and barfed in the street.

  Someone snickered. It could have been anyone passing by on the busy street. It better not have been one of his men.

  “Savages,” scoffed Corporal Palmer. “The lot of ‘em.”

  His men grumbled in agreement.

  “I’m going in for my meeting,” Richmond said. “Feel free to avail yourselves of the offerings.”

  Two of his men smiled.

  “Sir, I think it’s best
I come up with you. What with … that” — Palmer pointed at the bodies “—and with Pascal coming in here doing God only knows what. Maybe he’s next to be strung up.”

  “I can handle Slum Lord on my own. Go enjoy a drink, or a woman.”

  “No, sir. I cannot do that. If you will not let me go up with you, then I will wait downstairs in the lobby until you return.”

  “Suit yourself,” Richmond said, annoyed by the babysitting. He could pull rank, but that would only get the general whining to Olivia about how Richmond was failing to respect the Rangers and their protocols, yet again.

  He entered the hotel with Corporal Palmer behind him.

  Then he went to the front desk where the receptionist, a young woman named Nadine who he usually saw working the desk, greeted him with a smile. “Hello, Mayor Freeman. Sebastian is waiting.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Richmond tipped his head.

  Inside the elevator he was greeted by one of Sebastian’s well-dressed bodyguards, a man named Gordon. In his forties, built like a lumberjack, with red hair and a full beard.

  “Good afternoon, Mayor. Headed up to see Slum Lord?”

  “Good afternoon, Gordon. And, yes.”

  As the elevator ascended, Richmond felt anxious as he wondered what happened with Pascal. They’d not seen him on their way to The Slums. He could have taken a less direct route back to Hope Springs, but that felt unlikely.

  He couldn’t shake the sense that something had gone horribly wrong, something he would need to fix before there could be peace between their cities.

  It wasn’t just that Richmond liked Pascal, who was a great mentor for Elijah, but his murder in this city could trigger the war he’d been working to avoid at all costs.

  The Slums weren’t the cesspool of evil that the general and his ilk made them out to be. The place was populated by the marginalized, people that fit in nowhere else. Sure, there were criminals, but even then, this was a new world with new rules. Sometimes crime was the way for a family to survive. Besides, didn’t most legit business dynasties before The Event begin with criminal origins?

  Many of Hope Springs’ citizens had grown complacent in their comfort, forgetting just how difficult it had been after The Event. How close to the brink of dying they all were before Richmond Freeman Sr. managed to drive off the worst of the bandit hordes and forge alliances that protected everybody from the lawlessness that had risen in government’s void.

  People in Hope Springs, and the other cities, had no idea how close they had come to extinction. Or the sorts of things people in The Slums, and to an even worse extent in the shanties, had to do to keep breathing.

  It was a luxury he knew all too well. And Richmond refused to let people like the general kill many innocents for the crimes of a few.

  The elevator doors dinged open and Richmond entered the well-furnished lobby outside Sebastian’s office.

  Sitting at a table were Slum Lord’s girlfriend, Sasha, and Axl, both looking over a pile of papers.

  Sasha nodded as Richmond greeted them. “Good afternoon.”

  Axl barely moved.

  Richmond knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” said Sebastian from the other side.

  Richmond entered and saw Slum Lord sitting behind his desk, legs propped up, drinking a bottle of wine. A second glass was already poured and waiting on the desk.

  He closed the door as Sebastian stood to greet him.

  Richmond wanted to ask about Pascal, but wasn’t willing to spoil the moment he’d been anticipating since their last meeting.

  He approached Sebastian, anxiety and anticipation melting as he closed the distance between them.

  They kissed, deep and long, Sebastian already tugging at his pants. “Hurry,” he whispered. “We don’t have long.”

  Richmond dreaded the thought of getting caught as much as he loved it. That Sebastian’s girlfriend, and his right-hand man, were right on the other side of the door as Palmer waited in the lobby, only aroused him more.

  Discovery would spell his downfall for so many reasons, but that risk only made their stolen moments all the more thrilling.

  The only problem with secret sex on the down-low was that, by nature and necessity, it ended too fast.

  The men buttoned their pants and shirts as the sobriety of their situation settled over Richmond, falling like snow alongside the usual shame.

  He took a seat opposite Sebastian. “I need to ask you about one of my Rangers. A man who goes by Pascal.”

  “He came here earlier. Nearly got himself killed.” Sebastian lit a cigar, then offered one to Richmond. He refused with a pleasant shake of the head, same as always.

  “What happened?”

  Sebastian delivered the details, explaining that he’d let both Pascal and the girl go. He assumed they were back in Hope Springs by now, or at least close to it.

  Richmond sighed with relief.

  Sebastian eyed him. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “He ignored Captain Stewart’s direct order — I didn’t know he was coming.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “You need to keep your men in line, Richmond. Before they try to take the crown.”

  “Is that what I saw in Town Square: you keeping your men in line?”

  “They weren’t my men. They were bad men. Men who would see all the good work I’ve done here destroyed, and ensure that more bad men appear on your doorstep if given the chance.”

  ”Looked like kids, not men. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Sebastian said, setting the cigar into an ashtray and folding his arms across his massive chest. “So, what brings you here? Your business reason.”

  “We need to do something about the bandits.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The bandits have been stepping up their attacks on Coalition City merchants. There were rumors of a planned attack on Hope Springs. People are scared, our city’s on lockdown, and the general is looking for someone to hold accountable.”

  “Someone?” Sebastian unfolded his arms and took a drag from the cigar, blowing smoke rings slowly as his brown eyes burned into Richmond. “You mean me.”

  “I know you’re not responsible, that you’re not behind the attacks, but I need you to meet me halfway, Sebastian. Help me find the people who are responsible so we can end this.”

  “What do you want me to do? These aren’t my men.”

  “But you know everything that happens in your city. These men live here. They sell their stolen products in your black market. You can’t expect me to believe you can’t get any information if you want to. Are you not the exalted Slum Lord?”

  Sebastian wrinkled his nose.

  “I’m sorry,” Richmond said, steering the conversation into calmer seas. “I’m truly trying to prevent a war here.”

  “A war that your general wants to start. The Coalition wants this city. To purge the undesirables and turn it into a shiny metropolis.”

  “Nobody’s said anything of the sort.”

  “Perhaps not to you, Richmond. But we both know it’s true. Hell, your own wife wants this city. She worked here, back when it was nice. She wants to see The Slums restored to their former glory.”

  Richmond shifted in his seat. “And how would you know what my wife wants?”

  “People talk.”

  Richmond uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “What are you saying about my wife?”

  “I’m not saying anything,” Sebastian said with a sly smile that Richmond once loved, but now found frustrating, and perhaps even threatening.

  “I think you are.”

  “Think what you want,” said Sebastian, his eyebrows arched.

  That was enough. This wasn’t the first time Sebastian had needled him about Olivia, or used a too familiar tone.

  “You don’t mention her name again,” Richmond said.

  “You’re talking like you love her.”

  Sebastian stood and approached him, th
en he looked down at Richmond in that way that usually owned him, putting a warm hand to his hot cheek, and tracing a finger down his neck.

  “Do you?”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “And yet, here you are with me.”

  “This is different.”

  “Ashamed of me? Afraid of your archaic Code?”

  Richmond stood and met his eyes. “Does Sasha know?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “Nobody knows. I think it’s safest for both of us.”

  It was confusing to try and figure out what Sebastian actually wanted. Why he was trying to drive a wedge between him and Olivia. For the first time since their affair started a year ago, Richmond wondered if Sebastian had been playing him all along.

  “I want names and locations of the bandits doing this,” Richmond said. “If you can’t get me names, then find me someone who can.”

  He didn’t hug or kiss Sebastian goodbye as he usually did. He just left, hearing the shattering of a wine glass as the door closed behind him.

  Twenty

  Emory Gray

  Branches scraped and clawed at Emory’s flesh as she ran deeper and deeper into woods that had thickened exponentially in the years without human intervention.

  She tamped the pain as the sounds of men, some still on horse and others on foot, continued to chase her.

  The men taunted her with yelps and screaming.

  “Give up, girl! We ain’t gonna hurt ya!”

  Then, eventually, “The more you run, the more we’ll hurt you!”

  She kept running, blindly, praying they wouldn’t catch up. Clearly they were among the people looking for her. Whether they wanted her for themselves or to turn in for a big Stratum payday didn’t matter.

  Her mom’s warnings over the years rang through her mind.

  They’ll kill you. Or worse, make you wish you were dead.

  They’ll make you do things — terrible, terrible things.

  They will destroy every bit of you to get to what’s inside.

  Kill them or kill yourself. Anything is better than letting them catch you.