Torch Song: A Kickass Heroine, A Post-Apocalyptic World: Book One Of The Blackjack Trilogy

by Shelley Singer

  I’d gotten up from my last nap feeling stronger, but by the end of the hour, I was ready to drop from my stool. The crowd wanted an encore, so I gave them one. When they called out for yet one more, I pointed sadly to my sling and begged off. They seemed to understand. No one threw a drink at me.

  After the show, Andy mentioned he had to relieve Quinn at Samm duty for a couple of hours. Despite my exhaustion, I stopped by with him. There was so much I needed to know about Samm and about his army if I was going to figure out how much of a threat they represented to Redwood. Was there more to it than I knew? I needed answers for Gran’s friends in Redwood, once I got them asking questions. Blackjack could be on the verge of recruiting hundreds of soldiers. They could be sending spies and maybe even recruiters into Redwood. Jo could be planning to send invaders into Rocky in a pre-emptive strike.

  Andy checked to see if Samm was awake. He was; I could go in. His color was better. He gave me a sweet smile.

  “How are you doing, Samm?”

  “Good. How’s your arm?”

  “Still attached.” We smiled at each other. I sat down. How to approach it? “I’ve been thinking a lot about that attack, Samm.”

  “Me too. What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know what the point was. Do you think there was one?” I hoped that question would lead directly to his “educating” me. I thought he might enjoy doing that. “Were they just out to kill people? Especially you?”

  “Could be. But I don’t delude myself that I’m indispensable, or that they think I am.” I wasn’t so sure. I thought he might be. “It’s possible that they were trying to take the army down completely. Kill enough of us, enough of the top people, the loyal people, the strong fighters, and we’d be crippled. That would give Newt time to build himself up.”

  “A massacre?” Newt might think that way. But I couldn’t get it out of my mind— that persistent vision of Hannah taking deliberate aim at Samm.

  “Sure. Why not? We don’t exactly have a reserve force.” He grinned ruefully. A perfect opening.

  “Well, what about that, Samm?” I stopped right there, open-ended. It wasn’t hard to act like I was puzzled, at a loss, needing explanation. I was all of those things.

  “What about what?” A little smile. He was pushing me to be more direct. Okay.

  “How do we get bigger? Big enough to get rid of the threat?”

  “We’re working on that, Rica. All our people are recruiting, all the time. I figure this time next year, we’ll have hundreds.” Hundreds? There probably weren’t that many able-bodies in Tahoe. Which meant that they were going to go outside the town.

  “And then what?”

  “Then we protect ourselves. From Scorsi. From Rocky. If we’re strong enough they won’t attack at all.”

  I thought about it. I supposed there must have been more than one time in history when a country built a big military just to protect itself. In the Twentieth Century, there was a Cold War, everybody posturing. But my knowledge of it was fuzzy. My memory was that one of the sides just collapsed after a while.

  I thought Samm’s story was unlikely. You spend that much time, effort, money building an army, you’re going to use it for more than parading back and forth at the border.

  “Why not just get bigger, attack, and end the thing— why sit around waiting to be attacked so you can defend yourself?” I wasn’t having any trouble asking that question as if I meant it. If I’d been able to kill the merc before he had a chance to get close enough to me to bash my arm as he fell… the damned thing throbbed harder at the thought.

  Samm shrugged. “Military aggression isn’t always the most effective way.” I wondered if he believed that. I thought the Colemans might.

  “But Newt’s building an army. And Rocky, what do they have? Do we know enough about them?”

  “We always need to know more.” An edge to his tone. He was looking tired, pale.

  “I’ve talked Newt into letting me take a look at his training tomorrow morning.”

  His eyes got sharper again. “Good! We’ve had some intelligence, of course, but it’s erratic, not sure how much we can trust—” He stopped and gave me a quick slider of a glance. He wasn’t sure how much he could trust me, either. “Let me know what you see.”

  “I will. I’ve promised to report to Jo, too.” I wanted everything to be open, straightforward, so I could look and maybe even feel somewhat honest.

  Samm closed his eyes and sighed. He was worn out or trying to get rid of me. Either way, staying was not the best idea. I was pretty much done in, myself, and I had a date to visit the other side’s war games the next morning.

  The day was already warm, threatening to be hot and windy. The dust was blowing across the parking lot, swirling around the trees at the far end of the paving. I was stronger and in less pain than I’d been the night before but my body still had a few things to say about getting up so early.

  There were new flyers on the fence this morning. Something about a political rally the next day.

  I followed Newt’s directions north and east until I came to a ruined log cabin flanked by tall firs, both of them blazed with an “S” about six feet up the trunk. For Scorsi, I guessed. Pulling behind the house, I parked near half a dozen other cars, none of them floaters, none of them Newt’s, tarped and covered with branches.

  No more than a couple of yards through the trees, I heard crashing, and a shout, and found myself wrapped in the painful hug of a huge merc. He was squeezing my wounded arm.

  “Caught’cha, bitch! Hey, got a fucking spy!” He started dragging me through the trees toward a large clearing where a few other men stood peering at us.

  “No! Newt knows I’m here. I work for him. Where is he?”

  The grip on my elbow didn’t loosen. It was all I could do to keep the tears back. He stank of stale sweat.

  “On his way, Coleman bitch. But let’s have some fun now.” He was pressed against my back, rubbing himself on my rump. I could only be glad he didn’t have a free hand.

  The others were laughing, hard barking sounds, an excited giggle or two. One of them yelled, “Go, Ham!” I couldn’t see the one who was holding me, but a few of the men looked familiar, faces I recalled from the raid on Blackjack and the attack on the Coleman training. Some mercs, some clearly bandits.

  Ham was rubbing faster and beginning to grunt when Newt swaggered into the clearing. He stopped, stared, and grinned at me.

  “Would you tell this toxbag to let go of me?” I screamed at him.

  “Let her go, Ham.” He sounded regretful.

  Ham indeed. Hot dog, more like it. He gave me a couple more bumps, grunted louder, exhaled a blast of stinking breath, and let go. I spun around and swung at him, connecting with his left ear. He yowled and grabbed for me again.

  “No, Ham.” Newt sounded like he was talking to a half-trained dog. “Let her go.” Ham stopped, glared at me, then turned and marched away to lean against a tree, sulking and petting his ear.

  Right about then another half dozen men arrived. More bandits. Ragged. Uncombed hair tied in various imaginative constructions. One of them was limping on a crooked leg. Several had visible scars that looked like the wounds had never seen a suture. I didn’t recall seeing any of them before. New recruits?

  Newt took me by the good arm and led me to a stump.

  “Here. You can sit here and watch.” He was still grinning.

  Within ten minutes, the clearing was alive with a mixed bag of “soldiers.” A few women, some of whom looked more like camp followers than fighters, soft, sullen, and slow-moving. None of them looked like they could win a fight with Hannah. Maybe they were glad she wouldn’t be there that day. A range of men from bandit-scum to hard, polished-looking mercs in leather and big boots, heads shaved or hair tied back neatly in pony tails. I had just counted three dozen when Newt ordered them into ranks, lined them up like he was going to march them all the way to Blackjack.

  “Okay, you
guys! Take a look at Rica over there on the stump.” Their heads turned. “No matter where you see her or who she’s with, leave her be. She’s ours.” Then he yelled over to me: “There, satisfied?” I nodded.

  From that point on, he simply ignored me.

  Samm’s war games had looked pretty casual at the start, but had resolved into a capture-the-flag exercise that seemed to be heading in a reasonably war-like direction. Nobody had looked or acted like a rapist or a thug. But Newt’s troops were just plain disorganized, and even more plainly a brutal bunch of dick-waving killers. Newt wouldn’t have to pay them much. If they actually got a chance to do battle, they’d take their wages in loot, living and inanimate. I could smell their meanness and feel their eyes crawling around on my body. The raid on Blackjack had involved only a few of the mercs. The attack on Samm’s war games had been sudden and over quickly. This was my first really good look at Newt’s troops, in large numbers.

  Once Newt cut them loose from their opening lineup, he strutted around looking thoughtful, occasionally yelling, posturing, while mercs clobbered bandits and bandits tripped over their own feet. A target-practice episode with old guns and a couple of laser pistols held together for a few minutes, and he had some impressive marksmen in the group, but when Newt strolled away to talk to a pair of mercs who were wrestling in the dirt, the target practice deteriorated into a wildly violent capture-the-pistol game. One bandit waded into the target practice waving a club and roaring, and effectively ended it. Nothing but hand to hand from then on.

  When the hour was over, Newt lined them up in their ranks again, a dusty crowd made up of equal numbers of bruised and bleeding bandits and chortling mercs.

  Their mindless violence, along with their sheer incompetence and blundering aggression made them an incomprehensible and terrifying force. They could and would do a lot of damage. If they grew in number, and if they ever got to Redwood, they’d overrun it like the barbarian horde they were.

  And I didn’t think Newt’s introduction would protect me even in the near future.

  As wary as I was of the Colemans, I would do everything I could to help them stop this bunch and worry about the next step later.

  * * *

  Jo heard two quick taps on her office door. Rica strode in.

  “I’ve been observing Newt’s army. I’m ready to report.”

  Good. Rica looked stronger than she had the day before, but her injured arm was still in a sling and her eyes showed pain. Vulnerable. Appealing. Jo leaned back in her chair.

  “Numbers?”

  “Somewhere around 40. But Newt’s not being fussy about his recruits. It could grow fast. You should stop them while you still can.”

  That didn’t sound good. But the Colemans were recruiting faster now, too. Newt wouldn’t get ahead of them. And once the elections were won, she’d have power enough to stop anyone.

  “I think we can keep up with them, Rica. We’re working on it. What do you mean by ‘not fussy’?”

  Rica barely suppressed a shudder. “I won’t insult animals by calling them brutes. A lot of them are just filthy bandits. I don’t think any of them would hesitate to use babies as human shields.”

  An army of criminals. That was good to know. They’d be impulsive, ignore strategic orders, stop to rape someone when they should be cutting through the enemy’s flank. She nodded, pleased. She was also pleased that a good look at Newt’s army might have solidified Rica’s loyalty to Blackjack.

  “Thank you, Rica. Was Newt there?”

  “Yes” She laughed. “He told them not to kill me, I was one of them. I don’t know if they even heard him.”

  “Hannah?”

  “No. She doesn’t seem to be around.”

  “Okay. By the way, we’ve got a rally planned for tomorrow at the Lucky Buck Motel. In the afternoon, around noon.”

  Rica nodded. “I saw some flyers this morning, but I didn’t take the time to read them.”

  “Political candidates. The ones we support. And Judith and I. We’re both going to be running for the Sierra Council.”

  Rica looked surprised. Jo laughed to herself. I’m surprised too, Rica.

  With only the slightest stab of guilt, Jo slid the Sierra Star across her desk.

  “Did you get a chance to read this yesterday?”

  “Yes,” Rica said. “Godders, military, and breeders— they’re all together now.”

  “Yes.” At least that part was true, or true of the one group, anyway.

  “Do you think Rocky really is planning to invade Sierra? They actually said that?”

  A blip of conscience. “Yes. And Redwood too.”

  Rica nodded, silent.

  “Will you come to the rally, Rica?” Jo wanted her to. She forced the lies to the back of her mind and looked into Rica’s eyes. “I’d like it if you would.”

  Rica gazed back for a moment, smiling slightly. “I’ll be there.”

  A few minutes later, someone knocked.

  “Come in.” Carla the cashier, one of the people Rica had identified as a Scorsi spy, walked hesitantly into the office, her eyes shifting above, below, and to both sides of Jo. She was holding a sack in her chubby hand.

  “What can I do for you, Carla?” Besides put you out of your misery.

  “Someone dropped this off and told me to deliver it to you.” She dropped the bag on Jo’s desk.

  “Thank you. You can go now.”

  Carla fled. Jo sniffed at the bag. No offensive odors. She examined it for signs of blood. None. Probably not full of severed fingers. She opened it, carefully, and looked inside. Shredded paper. She dumped it out and looked at the biggest piece: “agrees to return to negotiations about the Gold Bug.” She laughed out loud. The treaty. Newt had kept it a lot longer than she’d thought he would.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Some of my people, who were having a picnic

  The courtyard at the Lucky Buck was already crowded when I got there. Must have been a hundred or more. They’d erected a stage at the far end, with a dais at the front and several chairs at the back. Some candidates were already seated— Judith, Doc, Andy, Timmy. Jo and Zack were standing to one side, talking, Drew and Emmy at the other. I had no idea what any of them were running for, except for Judith and Jo, and that was just because Jo had told me the day before.

  I worked my way toward the stage, stopping next to Sheriff Frank, who nodded happily at me.

  “Look back there,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the entrance I’d just come through. I looked. In the time it had taken me to get up to Frank, the crowd had grown and was now spilling out into the street. “They’re all real pissed off about Samm being hurt and Monte getting killed. Monte was a good guy, and Samm, everybody loves him. He’s like a celebrity. He walks down the street—” Frank stopped, apparently overcome with the image of Samm’s stardom.

  Judith stood, walking slowly and majestically to the microphone at the dais. A solid burst of applause.

  “First of all,” she said, “I want to say a few words about Monte Accurso.” There were a lot of rumbling murmurs and head shakes. “He was a good man, a good friend. We’ll miss him. And everyone here knows why he died!” She chopped the top of the dais as if her hand were an ax. “He died because our neighbors, the Scorsis, ambushed a peaceful party of Blackjack employees and killed and wounded a dozen people.” Boos. Hisses. “Does anyone think we’ll let that stand?” She held up her arms, as if she were calling for her audience to rise and take revenge. The crowd began to yell, whistle, stamp their feet. The heat was building. Interesting that she called them neighbors, not rivals. And that she didn’t say anything about anyone’s army.

  “We’ll remember Monte. And my sister, Jo Coleman, will run for council in his place and in his name! Come up here, Jo.”

  Jo joined her sister at the dais. She got a lot of applause and cheers— overlap from the crowd’s feelings about the murdered Monte. Nicely done.

  “I’m going to let Jo tell you
about some of the other candidates the All-Sierra party is running this year. Thanks for listening to me.” The applause had dropped down a few notches toward enthusiasm and warmth now, as Judith strode back to her chair. The All-Sierra party, eh? Not a bad name.

  Jo waited for the applause to die completely before she spoke. She didn’t raise her hands or tell them to be quiet, she just stood, arms at her sides, looking out at them until they stopped. It worked really well.

  “Let’s start with what most of you already know. Zack Holmgren is running for Mayor of Tahoe— come on up, Zack!”

  The crowd erupted again, cheers, whistles, shouts. I didn’t know whether it was because they liked Zack, because they’d been so well warmed up, or because he was running for the big local office, but he was getting a great reception. He stood beside Jo.

  “For cabinet,” Jo said. “You all know Doc Mandell.” Doc stood and waved his arms, marched up and stood next to Jo and Zack. Lots of applause. Everyone knew the town doctor. “Andy Caruso, bartender and piano man!” Same routine. Stand, wave the arms, join those at the dais. “Drew Coleman!” Drew forgot to wave his arms. “And Tim Shea, everyone’s favorite waiter!” Tim trotted up, waving one hand, and took his place beside Drew, who clapped him on the shoulder.

  Zack took over. He introduced the council candidates— Judith, Jo, and Emmy. All of them waved at least one hand, and they all got a roar of approval. I noticed that Timmy moved over and gave Emmy the spot next to Drew.

  Just at that moment, before the crowd had stopped hooting and yelling names, there was a dustup of some kind just beyond the entrance; Newt pushed his way through the crowd, point man in a group that included several of his mercs, a dozen or so ordinary looking people, probably employees at Scorsi’s Luck, and a guy who looked a little like Newt.

  “Just a minute, there!” He was yelling. “I hear I’ve been accused of something and I want to set the record straight!” Oh, perfect. This was turning into quite a show. I had to stifle a smile.

  Jo spoke into the mike. Sincere, calm, friendly. “Come on up, Newt. Everyone— let them through.”