Assuming Lorna kicked him out, that was his new plan. Six or twelve months from now, when she'd had time and space, he could send her a letter and see if she'd sorted herself out. And if he didn't like the hills, he could always go somewhere else. That continued to be one of the unseen joys of the apocalypse: these days, no life was permanent if you didn't want it to be.
On a personal level, coming back to L.A. had probably been a mistake. He'd walked all that way, put his life on the line a half dozen times, spent weeks assembling their ridiculous attack, and delved into a ship of horrors to do battle, and all he had to show for it was a broken heart and a baby. He still didn't know what to think of that last part, but it certainly hadn't been part of the plan.
On a less selfish level, he'd been a key part of eliminating or at least vastly reducing the local alien population. That was always cool. He supposed that, should Lorna give him the boot, he'd at least leave his unborn son or daughter with the legacy of an alien-free home.
He just wished he could make things work with Lorna. There had been a time when things were good, but he'd let that slip away. If he'd said or done one little thing different it might never have reached this point. Maybe he should have spent more time talking with her about what happened on the beach, but after he'd fallen into the cenote, she'd been doing so well. He'd figured that after she'd spent a while making decisions and laughing at her mistakes and seeing that life went on, she'd be perfectly all right.
Even now, he knew there must be something he could say to get her to stay with him, but there was something unreachable about her. Something broken. Words couldn't get to that place. Maybe nothing could.
It was marvelous, in its way, that it was easier to fight with the aliens than to try to understand another human.
He killed several days exploring the island, poking around the coves and overturning rocks to see what turned up. It gave him a good view of the ship, too. In the summer haze, it looked as dead as ever.
He returned to Avalon one afternoon to discover armed troops jumping in and out of several boats tied off at the piers. Karslaw stood at the foot of the partially reconstructed main dock, regarding his people with folded arms.
"What's this?" Walt said. "Trying to tire them out before naptime?"
"We sail to the mainland tomorrow," Karslaw said. "I am hoping a clockwork display of discipline will help convince the O.C.'s to accept my terms."
"A treaty? Think they'll go for it?"
"Then and there? Perhaps not. They are prideful. But they are cunning enough to conclude that I mean what I say."
"Well, good luck."
"I would like for you to come with me." He raised a furry brow. "Lorna has already agreed to join me."
Walt laughed. "Then I'll be staying here. I'm trying to give her some space. Don't know what else I can do."
"If that's how you feel. But she told me she'd like to see you there."
"Why?"
The big man shrugged. "She's a good woman, but she doesn't tell me anything more than she tells you."
He said yes. Of course he said yes. They launched the next morning with six boats, more than a hundred armed men between them. A warm wind traveled with them across the deep blue waters. The O.C.'s were already waiting for them at Long Beach, standing in a loose cluster a hundred feet up the road from the docks. Walt counted about seventy of them, all armed.
Karslaw's people ticked out from the ships and arranged themselves in tidy rows along the marina, spaced sparsely enough to make anyone with a machine gun work hard to hit more than a couple of them at once. Karslaw stood on a wooden box at the front of his people. Someone among the O.C.'s started to speak, but Karslaw cut him off.
"You will withdraw from Long Beach," he declared. "You will return to Orange County. That is your home. This land is mine."
Among the gaggle of O.C.'s, a man no younger than Walt jutted his jaw, wandering a couple steps closer to the islanders. "Says who? We were here first."
"Even if that were true, you have forfeited your claim. You are thugs. You prey on travelers seeking safety. You do not deserve this place or its people."
Walt chuckled to himself as Karslaw amped up the rhetoric like an Athenian despot. He was going to miss the big guy.
The O.C. leader laughed. "Considering how you treat the place, you're talking some bold shit, man. You said you had an offer I couldn't refuse."
"I do." Karslaw widened his stance. "You leave Long Beach, and I let you keep your lives."
"I got a counteroffer for you. You go run your little island however you see fit, and I do the same with my city."
"Unacceptable."
"Okay, I'll sweeten the deal: go get fucked." He grinned at the man next to him. Most of his comrades laughed.
Karslaw smiled wearily, stepped down from the box, and drew the edge of his hand across his neck. His troops raised blunt black pistols. Lines of blue heat sizzled into the O.C.'s. Their front lines collapsed, mutilated and burned. Men screamed. A third of the gangsters turned their backs and ran. Others went for their guns.
Walt threw himself flat. A bullet whined past Karslaw's head. His people shouted and charged, cutting their lasers into the enemy, who fell away from severed arms and legs.
"What are you doing?" Walt yelled.
Karslaw looked down at him, puzzled. "Protecting my people."
"By slaughtering these ones?"
A shadow fell over the man's face. "I tried to negotiate, Walt. These people are savages. They struck us first. Murdered three of my men and left them on the beach to be picked at by gulls. Do you suggest I turn the other cheek? Let the bad guys win because I don't have the balls to fight back?"
Behind him, blue light pulsed through the streets. Men in Raiders jerseys screamed, scrambling down the pavement, falling as lasers burned holes through their backs.
Walt stood, stomach churning. "So it's time for another slaughter. Just like the aliens."
"Do you think this is how I want it to happen?" Karslaw said. "If given all possible worlds, do you think this one would be my choice?"
In an intersection, an O.C. tried to vault the hood of a crashed car and sprawled on the pavement. A Catalinan strode up to him. The downed man shielded his face with his hands. Light seared. Fingers scattered across the asphalt.
"This world sure as shit isn't the one I'd choose," Karslaw continued. "That's why I'm reshaping it. You're watching a paradox. This is a necessary step to ensure that nothing like it ever happens here again."
"I've killed people before," Walt said. "Shot them down for no better reason than they were making a bad world worse. But this isn't justice. It's genocide, driven by fear and greed. You're just grabbing hold of everything you can take." His jaw dropped. "We didn't go to the ship to wipe out the aliens. We went there to take their guns."
"We were there for many reasons, all of which converged on the same goal: the security of my brothers and sisters." Karslaw closed his eyes. "I thought you had the vision to see as deeply as myself. But you don't understand that the first gains must always be made at the point of a knife."
"That sounds pretty Hitler-y."
"You're hopeless." Karslaw spread his broad hand. "He's all yours, Lorna."
Someone grabbed Walt from behind. He kicked out, but multiple sets of hands dragged him to the ground. Lorna loomed above him. The pain and rage in her eyes was so bright Walt froze in his captors' arms.
27
"You're sure that's her?" Mauser whispered.
Raina's binoculars shook in her hands. "I know my mother's face."
"We could climb the fence," Martin said.
"Might have to knife a guard or two," Mauser said. "Then again, Raina might see that as a plus."
Raina closed her eyes. "We can't."
"Says who? I don't know if it's a good idea. But it's not impossible."
"Because I have to kill the man who killed my dad first."
"He's probably in there, too. Stab him, grab Mo
m, skedaddle off and find a boat."
"Their boat's gone," Martin said. "He's always on that thing. We don't even know if this is his house."
"Of course it is," Mauser scoffed. "He's the king. This is a castle."
"Because if I get her out, she won't let me go after Karslaw," Raina said. "She'll take us far away to stop me. And if I die here before I kill Karslaw, my spirit and my father's will always be his slaves."
"What are you talking about? Spirits? You're leaving your mother here because you believe in ghosts?"
Her face burned, but her embarrassment quickly became anger and then resolve. "I'm going to Jill. I'll tell her Karslaw and his troops are away from the island. Catalina is ripe for the smashing."
"But she's right there."
Raina put away the binoculars. "She's safe. Much safer than I was after the plague. I survived. She will, too."
"Whatever," Mauser said. "I just wanted to present you with the option. I'd rather not charge in with only the three of us."
They retreated along the road. Raina forced herself not to look back. A deep part of her wanted to run to the castle, leap over the high wooden wall, and fight her way inside, but one way or another, that would put an end to her quest. Karslaw had taken her father's life. That meant her father belonged to the man. The only way to free his spirit was to take Karslaw's life for herself.
They cut overland to their boat, bypassing the town. There was nothing more to see. This land wasn't a place of goblins and monsters. They were simply men, like everyone else, and most of their warriors were gone. If they could find Karslaw on the mainland, perhaps she could convince Jill to ambush him. Or assassinate him herself. If she brought his head to the woman, Jill would have to attack Catalina. Strike its soldiers before they knew their leader was dead. Force the town and the castle to surrender. If they refused, a slaughter.
The winds weren't cooperating on the way back. She tacked back and forth, making slow headway, wondering if she'd done wrong after all.
She made landfall at her old house shortly after dawn. There was so much to do, but she was tired to the bone, and when Martin suggested they sleep there in the house, she agreed with little fuss.
When they got back to the Dunemarket, Jill was off somewhere in the city. Her heavyset husband expected her back that night. Raina asked around the market for any sightings of Karslaw. Someone thought they'd seen his people at an airfield in Gardena, but the news was days old. Raina visited the city anyway, but saw nothing.
Jill wandered in at twilight. She saw Raina approaching, Martin and Mauser in tow, and sighed. "Whatever kooky scheme you've cooked up this time, I don't want to hear it."
"The Catalinans have pulled their warriors from the island," Raina said.
"Maybe," Mauser revised. "Their yacht's away from home, at least. And the town was quiet enough to suggest some troops went with it."
"We can attack the island while they're gone," Raina said. "Or find them here and ambush them."
Jill shook her head. "You won't leave me in peace until we hash this out, will you?"
"We can put an end to everything. Right now."
The woman motioned at the merchants trying to wheedle last sales from the handful of people left in the market. "We can't discuss this here."
She turned and hiked up the hills bordering the Dunemarket, stopping at the top. A warm seaborne breeze tousled the palm trees.
"It doesn't matter if some of them have left the island," she said. "They leave the island all the time. What matters is that we have the strength to guarantee victory."
"It's been months," Raina said. "How much longer do you need?"
"Two months more." Jill pointed downhill. "You notice any new faces down there?"
"Sure," Mauser said. "Place has doubled in size. Dunemarket's booming since the bridge trolls got run out of town."
"The next time the Catalinans come here, we'll offer terms. No more taxes. No more threats and kidnappings. If they're willing to continue policing the roads to keep travelers safe, we'll compensate them fairly for their service, but the extortion and the violence must stop."
Mauser frowned. "People are rarely inclined to accept a worse deal out of the goodness of their hearts. Not unless your offer is accompanied by the waving of clubs."
"Then the next time they come to take their taxes, all those new faces down there will be up here instead. Positioned behind the scopes of rifles."
"And if we kill them?" Raina said. "Then what?"
Jill laughed. "Are you ever not scheming?"
"Possibly when she sleeps," Mauser said.
"If we defeat them, then we take more aggressive terms to the island. Your mom's there, isn't she?"
Heat touched Raina's cheeks. "Yeah."
Jill nodded glumly. "She's not the only one. If it comes to a fight, we'll take all the prisoners we can. Trade ours for theirs. And if we crush them, well, the people left on Catalina won't have much leverage to argue with us, will they?"
"They missed taxes this month," Martin said. "What if they don't come back?"
Jill raised her eyebrows. "Then we've won, haven't we? All we'd need to do is negotiate the release of anyone they've got captive."
That ended the conversation. The three of them returned to their home. Inside, Mauser lit candles and got a fire going for dinner.
He stood up from the hearth, brushing ash from his shirt. "Still happy you left your mom behind?"
"Why would that make me happy?" Raina said.
Martin gave Mauser a doubting look. "You didn't want to break in, either."
Mauser laughed. "She's not my mother."
Martin rolled his eyes. "You act like you don't care about anything but taking cool stuff. Well, you went with us to the island. You're here with us now. And if the Catalinans don't take Jill's terms, I bet you a thousand dollars that you'll be there to fight next to us, too."
"That's not my fault. You two get into the most interesting trouble."
Raina smiled at Martin. He was normally so quiet. So unwilling to stand up. He was angry now. She liked it.
She slept and dreamed of her mother's face in the window. In the dream, there was another face behind her mom, and it was too dark to see clearly, but Raina knew it was a man. She couldn't tell if it was her father's or Karslaw's. She didn't feel good when she woke up. Was the dream a portent? Of what? She went to the ruins to search for more signs among the ghosts, but they gave her no answers.
As soon as the sun peaked overhead, she headed to Carl's. As she walked up the concrete path to his door, the drapes twitched. The door opened before she knocked.
"You lived," Carl said. "Should I ask where you went?"
"Do you care?"
"Depends. If you went to the moon, or 1996, I might care very much."
She rested her hand on the lacquered handle of her knife. "I went to Catalina."
He narrowed his eyes. "Am I teaching you something that's going to get killed?"
"Do you like what they're doing?"
"Do I like being bullied?"
"Why don't you want to fight? You could kill so many of them. If you wanted, you could kill Karslaw yourself."
Carl laughed, then tipped back his head and watched her. "How long were you in school?"
She tapped her knife. "Three years."
"I went to school for twelve. Then four more years of college. Then twenty years of a full-time job. Paid taxes on every cent I made. Maybe I'm just used to being owned."
"I'm not," she said. "I never will be."
"Part of me wants to admire you."
"What about the other part?"
"It wants to tell you to run far, far away." He smiled his smile. "Want to learn how to use a knife?"
She grinned. He went and got his sticks. For a moment her heart sank, thinking he was toying with her, but the things he showed her with the sticks were new. Savage. Moves meant to stab and to slash. But much of it was the same, too, both in technique—short, hard
, quick—and in philosophy—attacking whatever was put in front of you with such a relentless tide of blows that the enemy drowned in your fury. By the time she left, bruises darkened her arms and ribs.
She and the others went their separate ways for a time. While she trained with Carl, Mauser spent most of his nights down at the tavern in the Dunemarket trolling the patrons for news from the road. One man told him he'd seen the Goodyear Blimp soar across the moon, but Mauser admitted his source on that had been very, very drunk.
As for Martin, she didn't know where he was off to, but it was away from the house. He had grease under his nails at all times. He was as quiet as ever, but it was a different kind of silence from his usual timid watchfulness. Moody. Thoughtful. Perhaps even angry. One morning he walked out after breakfast without a word and she thought about following him, but she wanted to put in some more time on the dummy before going to see Carl. Besides, if Martin caught her tracking him, she wouldn't know what to say.
Between training, foraging for food, delivering messages for Jill, and the daily drudgework of keeping herself, her clothes, and the home mended and clean, she didn't have much time to worry about them. Not when she had less than two months until the showdown in the Dunemarket. Two months to hone herself to the point where Karslaw's life would be hers, whether she took it in his sleep or face to face in the street.
As it turned out, she barely got two weeks to prepare.
She was in the Dunemarket bartering salt and a few packets of freeze dried food for a second knife—she had a couple dozen others, but this one had a bone handle she liked very much—when Mauser called out her name. He was running uphill from the tavern waving one hand above his head. She picked up her bag of salt, excused herself from the merchant, and went to meet him.
"I'm in the middle of something," she said.
"So is Long Beach," he said. "Like an invasion."
The Breakers Series: Books 1-3 Page 98