by Mark Tufo
“He’ll have all that weaponry. Mike, we can’t let that happen.”
“Wee bit late.” Mike had gone to the window to see the approach of headlights. “Our chariot awaits.”
“We can run,” Tynes said doubtfully.
“Where we gonna go? He’ll unleash hell on this neighborhood you so valiantly want to defend.”
“They have nothing to do with it.”
“Yeah, that matters.” Mike said sarcastically.
“What do we do?”
“We do what we said we were going to do.”
“If we’re not going to do anything to stop his plan, then why in the hell did you bother telling me about it?”
“Why should I be the only one in on the fun?” Mike asked.
“And what do you think our friend is going to do with all this power should he come out on top?”
“What all megalomaniacs do. Seek more power.”
“What if we tipped the Guard?” Tynes wondered aloud.
“Well, their justice would be more swift, I suppose, but dead is dead. You ready to cash in your chips right now?”
“What have you got me involved in?”
“Hey man, I don’t have a crystal ball, and the Guard was your idea. We still need food. I’m about sick of foil packets, and I don’t think many of those folks out there are faring too much better. Can’t imagine too many of them are used to a Top Ramen and Pop-Tart diet.”
“One problem at a time.”
“That’s the spirit. Gear up, our ride is here.” Mike headed for the door.
Pembroke was not in the car, and the driver said nothing as Mike and Tynes got in.
“I’m new to the city. Do you know where we can get a good pastrami sandwich?” Mike asked. The driver grunted and pulled away. Thirty minutes later, they found themselves at Pembroke’s headquarters; he’d moved from his more humble surroundings to the Trump Tower.
“Holy shit,” Mike said when he stepped out and looked up the face of the skyscraper. Trucks of all kinds lined the streets in both directions.
“He’s waiting for you inside,” the driver motioned.
The lobby had some lights on and was full of men dressed in all manner of combat gear, most pieced together from personal collections; some was theirs, some had belonged to people they’d been liberated from.
“Guess you were right,” Tynes mumbled. “I was hoping you weren’t.”
“Me too. What floor is Pembroke on?” Mike asked the closest man, who seemed to be a mercenary. He had on a green cut-off t-shirt that exposed well-defined muscles, camouflage pants, and a red bandanna around his head, and he was chewing on a thick yellow straw. The man pulled out a knife nearly as long as his forearm. He had an Army wings tattoo that signified him as Airborne.
The man grunted.
“What’s the matter, man, they already have enough extras on the Full Metal Jacket 2 set?”
“Don’t do it, Chester. It ain’t worth it. The Man will string you up by the balls and make you cut them off to get down,” Juicy said from across the room.
“You’re lucky,” Chester snorted as he put his small sword away.
“Lucky? Have you seen my bodyguard?” Mike asked, flipping a thumb to Tynes. Chester’s eyes momentarily grew wide as he saw the man for the first time. “Juicy, my dear, lifelong friend, seems the apocalypse has been good to you. Did you get your hair cut?”
“I wish Pembroke would let me kill you.”
“Why is there so much hostility? I already told you I didn’t know that was your mom. How was I supposed to know you had a thing for her?”
Juicy flipped Mike off. “Top floor. Get your ass up there.”
“What is wrong with you, man?” Tynes asked as they stepped onto the elevator.
“Nerves.”
“So, a case of the jitters makes you want to get a bullet in the face?”
“At least I wouldn’t be so nervous anymore.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. Must have a hell of a generator going to power this building.” Tynes noted.
When they reached the sixty-eighth floor, they were met by a trio of guards pointing fully automatic weapons at them. Mike instinctually raised his hands; Tynes looked like he was going to rush them.
“Whoa there, man.” Mike grabbed Tynes arm. “Who has the death wish now?”
“Security...one can never be too careful,” they heard from inside the elevator. Mike poked his head out, seeing the camera and speaker. He waved. “Please, hand over your guns.”
Mike did so; Tynes did, but reluctantly.
“Relax, man, if he wanted us dead we would have never made it out of our house this morning.”
“My house.”
“That’s what I said. Lead on, Jeeves,” Mike told the guard now holding their guns.
They were led through the elevator foyer and onto the floor, which had been converted into the world’s largest office space and living quarters. The floor offered a three hundred sixty-degree view of the entire city.
“Wow.” Mike was genuinely awed as he took in the spectacular view. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Central Park like this.”
“I’m pleased you’re enjoying yourself.” Pembroke stood from a desk that must have taken a team of men to get into the building.
“What happened to the occupants of the building?” Tynes asked with a scowl.
“They were asked to leave...nicely, I might add.” Pembroke smiled.
“And those that didn’t?”
“They were asked to leave not so nicely. Relax, Officer Tynes, no one was harmed in the making of my dynasty.”
“Gotta say, I’m impressed. Much better than your old setup.” Mike walked around.
“I’m glad you like it. There’s still room for you up near the top, Mike.” Pembroke turned away from Tynes.
“I would, but me and the big guy have this thing, and I’d hate to disappoint him.”
“I could fix that.”
“I’m good, Pembroke, I’m good. You know I don’t play well with others. I’d end up being a thorn in your side, and I’d hate to have to clock my hang-time from this high.”
Pembroke laughed. “I have to admit, I was concerned with whether or not you two would show.”
“What’s with the mercs downstairs?” Tynes asked.
Pembroke did not beat around the bush. “I have decided to change the terms of our agreement. I don’t want some of the food, I want all of it.”
“The Guard isn’t just going to let you have it.”
Pembroke looked at Tynes. “I am well aware of that, officer. But the National Guard has proved themselves to be nothing but a plague upon the citizens of New York.”
“And you’re taking it upon yourself to rid us of this scourge?”
“See, now we understand each other.”
“What gives you the right?” Tynes asked, leaning on Pembroke’s enormous desk.
“The right? I’m merely a concerned citizen watching as a governmental force delivers justice without impunity, hoards resources meant for a suffering populace, then sits upon a throne, dictating its will upon those of us trying to lead as normal a life as possible given the circumstances.”
“Seems you’re doing all right.”
“I’m doing all right because I have the necessary resources to succeed, and with those very resources, I am going to improve the lives of hundreds, thousands, maybe more.”
“At what cost? Are you to become King of New York?”
“I was thinking more of a Lordship, but King Pembroke does have a certain “je ne sais quois”.
“The feds will send in the Armed Forces.”
“Perhaps they might have at one time, but I do not believe they will bother much with the coup of a city as far gone as this one. They’re about to have bigger problems. I can see by both of your expressions that you have no idea what I’m talking about. All their attention was diverted by the Yellowstone detonation, the cowardly attacks in B
oston, California, and just today, Chicago, God rest their souls.” Mike noted that Pembroke did not look up as was traditional when uttering this phrase. The man continued. “However, these attacks are just the beginning. They were merely meant to soften this country up. As we sit here discussing the morality of ridding the city of the Guard rats, there is a multi-national force planning an invasion of what is left of the United States. They mean to carve up what remains to call their own.”
“Bullshit,” Tynes spat.
Pembroke went back to his desk and sat. “You naively think those bombs were isolated events? It’s been a month, Officer Tynes. Do you have any explanation as to why we have not seen any federal organization? Not FEMA, not even the Red Cross, nothing, not so much as one soldier. Besides the fact that men and women are deserting the Armed Forces in record numbers, even under the threat of death by firing squad, the federal government—what’s left of it, anyway—is attempting to pool all of her resources in a desperate, and ultimately destined to fail, attempt to thwart her enemies.”
“Is this true?” Mike looked from Tynes to Pembroke. “How can this be happening?”
“And what do you hope to gain, Mr. Pembroke, if we are indeed about to be invaded?”
“Simple enough. I want my piece of the pie. When I am in a position of power, I can negotiate.”
“And you just think the Russians are going to give you whatever you want?”
“North Koreans and Chinese, actually. They are, at least, the front-runners. The Chinese are taking a backseat, using their more volatile neighbor to the east as their spearhead. I believe they are waiting to see how the international community reacts. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Nobody likes a winner, and the United States has been winning for over two hundred years. There will be protests, but in the end, new borders will be drawn all over our land.”
Mike sat down heavily. “I’ve been talking doom and gloom, but I always had hope in the back of my head that somehow, someway, things would return to normal. That’s all for shit, isn’t it?”
“It would appear that way, Michael,” Pembroke said almost tenderly.
“You falling for this shit, Mike?”
Mike had tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Why would he lie? What’s the point?”
“He wants those barracks, dumbass. He wants those weapons.”
“And he concocted this whole story to ensure our help getting in? What, man? The threat of having your skull smashed in with a ball peen hammer not enough incentive?”
“Please, Michael, I would never do anything so crude. You’ve earned at least a quick and merciful death. Bullet to the back of the head perhaps.”
“I guess thanks for that.”
“I can assure you, Officer Tynes, with or without your help, I can gain access to and take that Guard barracks. More men will die on both sides if we do it my way, however, and your community will get none of the food. The choice is yours.”
“Plus, we die, Tynes.”
“Plus, you die,” Pembroke reiterated.
“You really think you can negotiate with an invading force?” Tynes asked, seeing the losing argument he was fighting.
“You let me worry about that.”
“We do this, we get the food, and we get the hell out of the city. Maybe even the country.” Mike intoned.
“The borders are closed.”
“I have no desire to go to Mexico.”
“Canada as well.”
“Fucking Canada is closed? The world is ending.” Mike tossed his head back. “Tynes, I don’t want to die in the penthouse suite of the Trump Tower.”
“It’s Pembroke Pavilion now,” Pembroke clarified. “And don’t be silly, I wouldn’t have you killed up here. That’s a priceless Persian you’re standing on.”
“Tynes?” Mike saw his friend’s arms flex and relax as he weighed the odds of rushing the three men and disarming them before getting either of them wounded or killed.
“When this is over, are we free to leave?” Tynes asked.
“Certainly, I’m not running a dictatorship.”
Tynes thought he’d seen more sincere faces on used-car salesmen, but pointing that out could get him a bullet in the kneecap...or worse. He wisely chose to keep it to himself.
“Looks like we have a raid to lead.”
“Splendid, I was concerned for your wellbeing.”
“Don’t even start with me,” Mike said as they got in the elevator. “You know we need that food. The grocery stores are cleaned out, and unless you want to try and grow some turnips down in the park, this is the best way.”
The elevator doors opened. Mike almost stepped back; Tynes moved forward. “Murkediem,” they said at the same time. The leader of the D Street Demons strode toward them. He was nearly as tall as Tynes though half the width. He wore a leather vest emblazoned with the signature “D” embellished with horns. He had so many tears tattooed on his face that it looked like he’d been caught in a particularly nasty acid rain storm. Each tattoo signified a kill he had chalked up. It was rumored that the first tear was for his mother after she’d tried to keep him from joining the gang long ago.
He had much shorter hair than Mike remembered, but he still had that scowl on his face with his eyebrows pulled tight into a perpetual signal of anger. A protruding forehead hid dark, blazing, merciless eyes. Mike scooted around to the side to get out of his way, taking great note of the man’s snakeskin boots as he looked down. If Murkediem recognized them, he said nothing as he got on the elevator.
“Fuck,” Mike said as he stepped out of the building. “Well, now we know how Pembroke got them off our backs.”
“They’re in collusion.”
“You’re pretty quick for a cop.” Mike hugged himself. “Did you feel that? That fucking guy has evil radiating off him; wouldn’t doubt if he really was a demon.”
“He’s no devil, he’s human—maybe even less so, the scum bag. I tossed him in jail once. He was so high on meth and heroin he shit all over himself in lock up. I left him that way the entire weekend. Said he was going to kill me at least a dozen times. We’re in over our heads, Mike.”
Mike said nothing. He bummed a cigarette off Juicy. “Didn’t think you’d give me one.”
“I can’t kill you outright. I figure these will catch up to you some day.”
“Good to have a long-term plan.” Mike leaned in to get the smoke lit. “You knew about Murkediem?”
“I like him less than you.”
“Well, that’s something I suppose.”
Forty-five minutes later, Tynes, Mike, and nearly seventy-five heavily armed men made their way down into the subway station at Thirty-First and Woodside. The darkness was only held slightly at bay by a smattering of candles from the people who called this place their home. Helmet lights lit up the entire area. Tynes led the way, hopping down off the platform and onto the railway.
The homeless living there scrambled away as the force came down. It was best in this new world to avoid others; certainly those that looked even remotely organized and this was no exception. Mike was affected by what he saw. They’d been in the tunnels for over fifteen minutes and they still kept coming across people in couples and small groups, sometimes whole families, and the thing they all had in common was the haunted look of the hopeless. Dirt covered their faces, starvation had begun to hollow out their cheeks, giving them a gaunt, devastated expression.
“How much farther?” Juicy asked when Tynes led them down a disused passage. Heavy dust coated every surface and hung in the air—a lung-choking sheer curtain.
“Another mile,” Tynes said.
A few of the men were getting fidgety. Mike noticed this because he was one of them.
“Not a fan, man. Being this far underground sucks. What if the flashlights go out?”
“All seventy-five of them?” Tynes retorted.
“It could happen; then it would be just like that cave story. We wouldn’t be able to see anythi
ng, and these sub-human creatures that live underground would come after us and try to eat us.”
“Like zombies?” Tynes asked.
“Zombies? No man, I’m talking things that can actually happen. Zombies don’t exist.”
“Oh, but apparently mole-people who feed on other humans do?”
“Right.”
They walked a little farther, Mike lost in his thoughts of cannibalistic cave dwellers, every shadow a potential enemy.
“How much do you trust Pembroke?”
“In what way?” Mike pulled his gaze from the nooks and crannies where threats could lie in wait.
“We give him entry and then he gets rid of us. Nobody would know. Have you thought about that?”
“I hadn’t until now, but thanks for the distraction.”
“I’m serious, Mike.”
“I gathered that. When someone talks about someone else killing them, it generally stems from a serious conversation. I think he’s mostly trustworthy.”
“Mostly. Wow, that just sends tingly fingers of goodness traveling throughout my entire body.”
“There’s a visual that’ll haunt me.” Mike shook his head rapidly back and forth, hoping to shake the imagery free. “To be fair, he could off us at any time.”
“Mike.”
“Fine. It doesn’t make any sense, him killing us.”
“Sure it does, he doesn’t have to share.”
“Well, okay, that makes sense. I don’t appreciate you making me think, Tynes.”
“It’s our lives on the line here. I think you can take a moment and make the effort.”
“Pembroke might be a criminal.”
Tynes frowned at him.
“Okay, we know he’s a criminal, and he deals in the black market. But to be successful and stay alive, you have to be honest in your dealings. You don’t get to his position by screwing people over.”
“This is a little different, Mike. He’s no longer fencing stolen goods or moving smuggled items, he’s shooting for King of New York, and one of the ways he’s going to be able to pull that off is with the promise of food, and lots of it. Kings have notoriously been known to be selfish types.”
“So now we have to worry about being killed by the National Guard, mole men, and Pembroke’s people? This is turning out to be an entirely shitty day.”