Cassy fumed, but knew that most of it was just adrenaline. She wanted to be angry at the guard, but she couldn’t fault him. Brianna was right about that. And she knew quite well how devious her son, now eight, could be when he wanted to. “I’ll talk to the kids later about this, and about some damn common sense. Now about this newcomer—your timing sure was convenient, mister.”
Brianna averted her eyes from her mother’s anger, and muttered, “We just got lucky, Mom. He was in the right place at the right time.”
“Or he could be a spy,” Cassy stated flatly. “Ethan, take the girls inside, now that the rest of the Clan is here.” She then stood by and waited for them to get out of the danger zone, though Ethan had to half-drag the girls to get them to move. Without aiming her pistol directly at the stranger, Cassy ordered him to drop his rifle.
“Sure, happy to. It’s just a pellet gun anyway. Wouldn’t do me any good against a pistol.” The rifle clattered to the ground, and the stranger took two steps back away from it. “There you go. See? No reason to kill me. I swear I was just helping some kids get out of danger. Was I supposed to leave them there?”
Cassy had heard a tremor in his voice, though, and felt reassured. The snow began to fall faster, but Cassy still didn’t take her eyes off the man. Average height and build, and brown eyes peered out from under his shaggy dark brown hair. She saw no scars on him. “Alright, we’re not going to shoot you in cold blood. Calm down. Now tell me why they needed help, what you did, and how you came to be in these parts. You a looter?”
“No, ma’am. Just a refugee passing through. Your girls were in a little stand of trees about an hour from here, but got themselves attacked by a pack of dogs. They’d gone feral. The dogs, not the girls. They looked starving, those dogs.”
Over the next few minutes, the man revealed that he’d killed a couple of dogs that were getting ready to rush the kids and had put another out of its misery after Brianna clubbed it half to death. “Getting as far away from Scranton as these legs will take me,” he concluded.
Cassy blinked. Scranton? That was over a hundred miles away. Then another thought hit her. “Someone go get Choony. This might interest him, his family’s there.” She turned back to the stranger. “What’s your name, mister?”
“My name’s Nestor Lostracco, ma’am. Pleased to meet you. I know you could have just killed me, and I’ve seen quite a few people lately who would have. But I just wanted to make sure those kids got home safely. It’s rough all over out there, I’m sure you know. I swear I’ll leave without a problem.”
Michael’s voice burst out from behind her, carrying clearly to everyone there despite the fact that he wasn’t yelling. That military training of his. “My advice is to bury this guy in the woods, Cassy. If he’s a scout then we can’t release him. He might as well nourish next autumn’s fruit harvest.”
Cassy frowned. Michael was a good man, a Marine, but ever since they’d fought their way free from Peter’s ruthless grasp the man saw everyone new as a threat that should be eliminated, just in case. “Thank you for the advice, Michael. But instead, we’re going to give him a roof over his head, for the night at least, and talk tomorrow about what to do with him. He saved Bri and Kaity.”
“Still could be a scout, boss. I’ll go make arrangements for him for tonight.” Michael’s tone was crisply professional—which meant he hated the idea. Well, as her security director it was his job to be paranoid. Michael didn’t like the role, but he was the best man for the job and he knew it as well as she did.
“Okay, mister. You’ve earned a place for the night—it’s not charity. If you want, you can eat a meal with us and stay the night, warm and safe. Or we’ll give you some provisions and let you get moving to wherever you’re going. And thank you for saving those girls, Nestor.”
For a moment, Nestor’s jaw clenched but then he smiled warmly and extended his hand toward her. “I’d love a place to stay, ma’am. It’s kind of you to offer. I didn’t do anything special, though. Anyone would have done the same for those kids.”
Cassy smiled back and hoped Nestor didn’t see how plastic hers was. If he’d wanted to leave, she’d have had Michael make sure he didn’t come back later. Maybe he knew it, too, because she couldn’t shake the feeling that Nestor’s smile hadn’t reached his eyes. And she hadn’t missed that little jaw clench of his, either. He was hiding something, she was sure of it. Best to keep him alive and close by.
She could be wrong about him, after all. And if she were right, then this gave the Clan a chance to find out what was coming before it surprised them like Peter and his White Stag army had. Intel was a priority, she now knew. She’d learned that lesson the very hard way.
“Alright then, Nestor,” Cassy said. “Thanks again about the girls. There’s a big storm coming—I feel it in my bones. Let’s get you some hot food and a warm bed before it hits.”
- 2 -
1900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +142
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Cassy shook hands goodbye with Joe Ellings, who had brought her his concerns about blanket stores disappearing as cold weather set in. Although Joe had come with the White Stag people during the invasion, he had helped the Clan during their period of slavery and, with his core group of White Stag co-conspirators, had been instrumental in helping the Clan eventually overthrow Peter Ixin’s malign dictatorship. As a leader of the few White Stag people who hadn’t been executed or exiled after the Clan regained its freedom, Joe had even been invited into the Clan Council, a group of key advisors and administrators who helped Cassy keep the Clan ship afloat.
Joe grinned, pushed her hand aside, and gave her a brief hug. “I reckon we’re beyond handshakes, ain’t we?” he remarked in his laconic, almost cowboy-esque speaking style. Cassy had heard some of the older boys copying Joe’s style among themselves. He was much admired by Clanholme’s younger set because of his revolt against Peter, despite his White Stag roots. “Thanks for jawin’ with me. I know you’re busy, and I appreciate you.”
“No problem,” Cassy replied. “Thanks for letting me know. I thought we had more blankets than that. Someone must be hoarding them. Go ahead and put blankets on the Scrounge List—I know we have some listed on our recon maps. And talk to Michael about doing a sweep for the missing ones. We’re in this together so if someone is hoarding, we need to know about it.”
After another round of goodbyes, Cassy went into the kitchen, finished her cup of cider—fantastic stuff made right there in Clanholme under her own tutelage—and put on her shoes and coat. Time to make the rounds, kiss hands and shake babies, all that. Cassy smiled at the old joke, then headed out toward the new earthbag housing cluster, braving the increasingly heavy snow.
As she approached, she saw that many families still lingered outside in the little courtyard formed by the protective wall that surrounded the homes, though soon they’d have to go inside when the storm struck in earnest. Her people squatted by small fires, mingled, told stories, traded ideas. The community was coming together nicely now, despite some early difficulties integrating the White Stag people they’d invited to join the Clan. Most had earned their invitations by joining Ellings in his plot to protect Clan members and take Peter down, while others had eagerly jumped in on Joe’s side in the crunch.
There were still occasional ruffled feathers among the Clanners, but nothing like in the days after the uprising, when the Clan as a whole went mad with vengeful witch hunts to “out” White Staggers who had actively joined in the violence and looting and enslavement of the Clan. Cassy felt they’d executed or exiled more people than they’d needed to, but her entire council—including her mother, “Grandma Mandy,” the voice of mercy and Cassy’s personal moral compass—had been adamant that the Clan needed it. Like lancing a festering boil or cleaning a fresh wound by letting it bleed for a while, the process was messy but it healed.
Cassy spotted her mother sitting on a log by one of the small fires, chatting with Choony. Her devout Christian mother and the
devout Buddhist Choony got along surprisingly well, Cassy mused. But then, they were both good, brave people with kind hearts, and selfless. Everything Cassy no longer felt that she herself was, not anymore. In this dark new world, those weren’t the qualities her people needed from their leader. Having those two on her council ensured that she would at least hear a moral counter-argument to her own instincts, which now ran toward decisions that were decisive and proactive, to put it mildly.
Cassy sat on the log next to Choony, where there was a bit of space, and greeted the two warmly. She smiled at Choony a bit longer than she’d intended and shifted her gaze to the fire self-consciously. Choony was a Buddhist and a complete pacifist, but he was one of the bravest men she’d met. In the Clan’s battles he always ran fearlessly through the gunfire, delivering ammo or retrieving and treating wounded. He also had a way of seeing past the self-justifying lies Cassy told herself and getting her to see things more clearly. They’d become very good friends.
Choony replied, “Hello back at you, fearless leader. Grandma Mandy was just filling me in on what our visitor has been up to since his arrival.”
Mandy tossed a small branch on the fire, though it didn’t really need it yet. “Nestor is interesting. He helped with the dinner cleanup without being asked, and Amber’s daughter has been following him around like a puppy.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Cassy. “He saved her and Brianna from a bad situation. Has he done something to raise concern?”
Mandy peered at her daughter, no doubt trying to read Cassy’s expression. “Is there something you want to get off your chest, honey? Something you know that we don’t?”
Cassy turned to look into the fire, gathering her thoughts. She shook her head slowly. “No… Nothing specific. But we’re not just going to open our arms and welcome him in. We’ve all learned that’s a bad idea. And I have this bad feeling about him. I don’t trust him, even if I can’t put my finger on just why that is.”
“He’s done nothing but good for us so far, Cassy. Kaitlyn and my granddaughter both like him, especially Kaitlyn. Maybe you’re reading too much into this, sweetie. He could just be a wandering survivor who risked himself to help kids in danger, like he said.”
Cassy furrowed her brow, irritated but also weighing Mandy’s words. “That may be. But you know what, Mom? Since the EMPs destroyed whatever veneer of civilization we had, people keep proving they aren’t all that nice when their back is against the wall. There’s no police now, no consequences except the risk of death, and people lost that veneer pretty damn quickly. It seems like every time I ignore my gut, bad things happen to me and the people I care about. I won’t risk our safety just because I can’t see a reason for my gut instincts.”
Choony spoke up. “That’s your role now, Cassy, being our leader and protector. You have more to worry about than just being nice to strangers, whatever your Christ might have said. He was wise, but impractical.”
Mandy huffed. “God’s wisdom is beyond the understanding of the natural man,” she paraphrased. “But there’s a reason for His instructions to us, which is that He loves us and knows that His way is best for us, even when we don’t realize it ourselves. Don’t mock the Lord, Choony,” she said with a grin to soften her words.
This was ongoing banter bordering on a friendly argument between the two, and Cassy paid it no mind. “Be that as it may, Mom, God helps those who help themselves. The Clan are our neighbors and our family. Do we love our neighbors as ourselves if we endanger them?”
“Villains love those who love them, Cassy. Even IRS auditors love their families.”
Cassy chuckled. “You mean, ‘do not even tax collectors do the same’? Yeah, I know. But worrying about God is your job, Mom. Mine is to worry about keeping us all alive so that the Christians among us have the chance to keep praying to Him with you. And I do, too.”
Choony smiled, and glanced to Mandy. “Christ was a wise man, indeed. He lived up to so many Buddhist precepts. I imagine he got reincarnated as something cool, like an eagle.”
Cassy looked to her mom, concerned, but Mandy only grinned and replied, “The Son of God could be an eagle if He wanted. You’ll probably come back as a hornet, just so you can keep pestering me.”
Cassy listened to the two go back and forth for a while, but her thoughts soon wandered back to the stranger among them, and she gazed without seeing into the fire. What was it she didn’t like about him? The timing was a tad too convenient, but she wouldn’t say that aloud. Her mom would rightly say that their survival up to this point had been a series of coincidences that were “a tad too convenient.” Maybe she was right. Maybe God really was watching over them. But Cassy couldn’t sit back and rely on that to keep the Clan safe and sound.
“…Cassy? What do you think?” It was her mother, intruding on her thoughts.
“What?”
Mandy pursed her lips. “I said, I think we shouldn’t have Nestor leave first thing in the morning. I know you were probably planning on that, but it’ll be Christmas Day. At least let him stay for the celebration. After all, we wouldn’t have much to celebrate if Kaitlyn and Brianna had been eaten alive. What do you think?”
“I think that I’ll be having him move along, like you said. We’ll have given him a warm night’s sleep and two hot meals, and that’s as much risk as I’m willing to take on a stranger.”
Mandy leaned closer to Cassy with pursed lips. Almost under her breath, she said, “Don’t you dare kick him out on Christmas. You may be concerned about safety, but there are dozens of us here. Enough that he can’t hurt us, and enough to keep people with him constantly. Safety isn’t an issue, and you know it.”
“He could be a spy, Mom. Working for some other gang of looters.”
“So? He already saw Clanholme. He saved your daughter. Unless you plan to murder him in cold blood, then seeing Clanholme is a ship that already sailed. But nothing says the man is a spy, Cassy.”
“We don’t know him, and I—”
“You listen to me, Cassandra Elenore Shores. We didn’t know anyone here six months ago, except our own family. He’s proven his worth already, and you should have more gratitude for what he did. I raised you better than that, and I’m not asking. I’m telling you that he can stay until the day after Christmas.”
Cassy felt her face grow hot and her anger surged. She was about to start yelling at her mom when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Angry, she whipped her head toward the interloper only to find Choony standing beside her. She hadn’t seen him get up, much less come to her. In her anger, adrenaline had given her tunnel vision—and she knew she’d been foolish to let anyone make her so angry. Mistakes like that cost lives in this new world.
“Be calm, dear friend,” Choony said. “We all know you wish only to make sure we’re all safe. But I assure you, we can keep him under guard. Your Karma and your inner harmony will be harmed if you kick that man out in the morning. Give him a day of safety and food. Your daughter’s life is worth that much, and so is your Karma.”
Cassy took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted to ten. Choony was right, of course, and he’d defused the situation and got her to see reason in just a few well-spoken words. He always did have that effect on her, she mused. Once, in a moment of hot blood, she had almost kicked him out, and it would have been a terrible loss for the Clan. That recollection let the rest of the air out of her sail. She shook her head at herself, her role as leader, the fears that still haunted her after Peter’s brutality, and her own jumpy nerves. And relented.
“Very well. For tonight and tomorrow, he will be our guest. Choony, please notify Michael that Nestor will require discreet guarding until he leaves.”
* * *
1600 HOURS - ZERO DAY +143
Frank sat at the edges of the happy crowd gathering for Christmas Day dinner. There were fewer people at the edges and so less opportunity for someone drunk on hard apple cider to bump against the stump of his leg. He silently curs
ed Peter for maiming him, but of course their former dictator was dead now. It did no good to curse him, but it sure made Frank feel better. He scratched the nearly-healed stump with the tip of one crutch.
Next to him, Mary tisked at him. “Knock that off or it’ll never heal.”
“It’s already healing,” Frank replied, and grinned.
Mary just rolled her eyes, but cut off any snappy reply when Michael approached with two plates of food. Good food, too, all either raised here on the farm or hunted. None of that store-bought crap. That was one good thing about the end of the world—if you had food, it was healthier now than in the last hundred years, or something like that. Not corporate crap, anyway. Since the ’70s, up to 90% of the supermarket produce had become GMO and, while it grew faster and stronger, it also had less nutritional value than crops raised the natural way. Or maybe it was because they didn’t use dinosaur-based fertilizers. There was something unnatural about pumping petroleum-based “fertilizer” into the ground year after year.
“Greetings, bro,” Michael said and handed Frank his plate. “After dinner we should run off all those extra calories so you don’t get any fatter.”
“Har har har. Don’t make me kick your ass, jarhead.”
“I’m not sure kicking is your best bet, Frank.”
“Fine. I’ll beat you with a crutch for Christmas. How’s that?”
“That works. So what do you think Cassy’s going to give a speech about? I’m guessing it’s about getting the last of the new houses squared away.”
“We’ll find out soon enough, man. Here she comes.”
Frank watched as Cassy took her place at the head of the dining area—mostly still logs for people to sit on, but a few chairs salvaged from nearby abandoned homes—and coughed to get people’s attention. The spot was quickly becoming ceremonial, Frank decided, and wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.
Dark New World (Book 4): EMP Backdraft Page 2