Years After Series | Book 1 | Nine Years After

by Clary, LeRoy

  That reassured me. I trusted the two of them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I didn’t move or get up, just watched the sky get a little lighter and then more. It was cold, felt damp, and the city was quiet, not that there were car noises and such that had been in the past. It was that nobody moved.

  The city was quiet in a morning sort of way. The birds were not yet singing, the people hadn’t awoke, and the air was still. It smelled fresh and clean.

  Tess asked, “Still morose?”

  “No. I’m looking forward to speaking with them and leaving. Do you know I have no idea of what Montana is like? Isn’t that silly? A stranger I knew for a day said it’s a good place to live, not many people there, and they make their laws.”

  “They ride horses, in Montana, I think,” she added.

  “Maybe I’ll learn.”

  “You were learning what you needed and did well for the first time.”

  I snorted with amusement. There was no way I’d done well. Hanging on and not falling off is not doing well and she knew it. My behind had hurt for a full day and was still a little tender. Instead of arguing a point I knew I couldn’t win, the warmth of the blankets held me motionless.

  Bream sat up straighter with a start.

  “Bad dream?” Tess asked him.

  “Men fight.”

  “That is just a bad dream,” she agreed. “Don’t worry, we’ll go where it’s safe today.”

  “Good.” Bream’s answer was short and direct but he tilted his head as if listening.

  In the distance, somewhere in the fog, I briefly heard men shouting and fighting. It probably came from the recruits down at the bottom of the hill. A trick of the fog carried the sounds Bream heard. I struggled in the morning chill, anxious to get started. Getting my clothing on was harder than expected, but I was in a good mood and joked with Tess and Bream. We ate the last of the jerky, saving the MREs for later.

  At the parapet, I roamed about all four sides, looking out into the thinning fog at the houses to the north, the mountains to the east, the taller buildings of the central part of the city to the south, and naturally, the bay to the west. I spent additional time looking down at what little of Sir Wilson’s naval base I could see from up there.

  He was down there somewhere. Hundreds of new men had joined his army, close to a thousand would be my guess. Many of them were raw recruits learning to become a soldier, some with only a few weeks experience, others with a month or two. Few had been tested in combat.

  They wore various clothing dyed blue. Some material took the dye better than others yet gave them a sense of uniformity if the variations were overlooked. I counted six elevated guard posts along the perimeter of the wall. Each held two men.

  What was not readily clear, was if the guard posts were there to keep recruits inside, or others out. Already, the recruits marched in small units, double-timed from location to location, and performed morning physical exercises.

  They all seemed to make it to one central building sooner or later, which I assumed was where they ate. That eliminated it as the one where Sir Wilson spent his time. I wondered how many believed the story of him being a descendent of Irish or Scottish royalty.

  Tess came up beside me. “Going to spend all day up here?”

  “Just getting a feel for that down there.”

  She perched on one hip on the parapet as she joined me in watching. “They are poorly trained. Their weapons are a disaster, and even the corporals and sergeants are not very military—they just yell a lot and think that’s enough.”

  “They are getting ready to attack the army from South Everett, right?”

  “Or Lynnwood. Maybe Edmonds. Sir Wilson wants to be a big dog, but so do they all.”

  I thought about that. “There are three armies of about the same size as his to the south if I understand you right. If his army manages to defeat one of them, he’ll try to merge the two armies and attack one of the remaining two and should easily defeat it because of the larger size. Right?”

  She nodded. “Then he will combine forces again and attack the third, maybe.”

  “Why, maybe?”

  “The holdout, the last to be defeated, will see what’s happening and turn south to the army down there, which will be one of those from North Seattle. Probably offer his men and territory to the larger one from Seattle so Sir Wilson can’t defeat him,” Tess explained as if I was seven again. I needed it explained in those terms to understand.

  “He wouldn’t be the leader anymore.”

  “No, but he would probably become a high-ranking lieutenant in the other, larger army, which would still be a nice job.”

  “Does it ever end?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  Well, that was a depressing answer. “I think it’s time I go to the basement and get the talk over with so we can get out of here.”

  “Be sure to take along your pink gun for protection.”

  She had tried to say that without a smile and failed. I said, “I can carry it under my shirt.”

  “No, carry it out in plain sight. Nobody will believe it’s new because nobody in their right mind would do that to a poor gun, let alone a new one.”

  Even Bream laughed. I suspected he wanted to paint his other one like mine. During the night, the paint had dried. I worked the slide and took a few dry-shots. The internal parts hadn’t gotten any paint on them, so it all worked fine. I stuffed it into my belt and ignored her grin.

  We headed for the iron stairs on the outside of the building, not caring who or how many saw us. Our bedrolls were rolled and tied into round bundles with small ropes. I took a last look around and followed the other two.

  At the bottom, Bream said, “I go.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  Tess glanced at the sky and said, “Be back by mid-day. Right here or we leave without you.”

  He considered that and gave a little nod. We had no idea where he went on his daily excursions, or what he did. Well, I knew he often stole things, but how do you tell a man like him who has lived on his own for a couple of years, he can’t do what’s kept him alive?

  I used the broken window for entry again. The water felt colder than it had yesterday, which was either my imagination or the result of the early morning chill. My imagination and brain needed to begin working together as one.

  There was no easing into the water. It was one step that brought it almost to mid-thigh. As I moved ahead, water splashed and soaked my pants higher up. At the elevator walls, I paused.

  The plink of water dripping in the distance was still there, steady as ever. However, I’d heard a minuscule scrape, like the toenails of a nearby rat climbing out of the water onto something dry. I hated rats, mice, roaches, snakes, spiders, bats, mosquitoes, ants, and other creatures never encountered in Deep Hole. Since walking in sunlight, with all the wonderful pleasures, there were a whole number of things to counter those good feelings.

  I reached underwater for the lever that served as a door and found it in the downward position. I was certain I’d left it closed, the handle up where the latch held the latch to keep the door in place.

  That puzzled me for a moment. No swimming rat could turn the lever—however, at the same time that my mind considered it, in my excitement to be done with the process, I pulled the half-door and sunk in the water to my chin and walked on my knees into the interior space, careful to keep my mouth out of the filthy water. I was concentrating on that.

  Instantly, I knew something was wrong as I entered the space. In the gloom of the elevator shaft area, I saw that an entire false wall had swung open. Behind it was the massive entrance to the sanctuary.

  In three corners of the room, also standing in water over their knees, were three men, all larger than me, all with semi-automatic weapons pointed at me.

  The door handle should have warned me. I should have paid attention. The tiny noise had probably been one of them shifting position
s, not a stray rat. I’d walked right into their trap.

  Their hair was a half-inch long everywhere, their clothing the same thin pants and shirt I’d worn for nine years. I’d bet their feet wore thin slippers that matched the pants, their complexions as white as mine had been weeks earlier.

  After ducking to enter, I’d stood up before noticing them. Now, we all stood quietly. I said a cheerful, “Good morning.”

  “Shut up.”

  It was not sounding like it would be my day. I thought of a dozen clever responses, none of which was clever—or funny. I even considered diving out back the door but would be shot before reaching it. I muttered, “Why?”

  The same man moved a step closer, which put him about four or five steps away. He leaned towards me and said, “So, I don’t shoot you, ass hole.”

  “Oh, I see what’s happening. You’re the village idiot to greet me.” I sort of liked that answer. It had come unbidden and there was more where that came from. I refused to display fear.

  He tilted his head an inch and peered at me before asking, “Village idiot?”

  “Dumb-ass works just as well in your case because you can’t shoot me and you know it.” It was my poker game in real-life. I was calling his bluff.

  He raised his gun for me to better see it—as a threat. It was the same issue as mine. An identical twin.

  I said, “Go ahead and pull the trigger. Guns won’t fire when they get water on them.” My intention was to get him focused on his gun while I slipped mine free.

  He turned his gun sideways to examine it, which made the barrel point to a corner with another man. I waved an arm at him and called for his attention, “Hey, Dumb-ass, you’re pointing that thing at your friend over there. It still might shoot.”

  The guy in the corner quickly moved to one side, and I’d like to think he was on my side now. Probably not, but I wasn’t done with the talker. “Don’t believe me? Point that thing up in the air and pull the trigger.”

  He did. In the confined space, we were all going to have ears ringing for a while. He shouted at me, “See? It works.”

  I gave it a few seconds to regain some of our hearing back before answering, “Yes, they do work when wet, I guess. Also, that shot just warned my friends waiting outside that something is wrong here. Thank you for your help. And that is why you are the village idiot.”

  It grew menacingly quiet.

  Several very long seconds rolled past before he snarled, “Cover him. Don’t hesitate to shoot.” He waded closer and shoved my shoulder to turn me in the direction of the vault-like door. I moved to face it.

  The village idiot moved to my side and used the butt of his nine-millimeter to hammer a series of taps on the metal. I thought about telling him that using a semiautomatic with a live round in the chamber for a hammer was not a good idea. But I didn’t.

  The door swung open, forcing me to swiftly move to one side or be smashed against the wall by it. Inside was a room much like that we’d slept in at Deep Hole before leaving. Another speaker with a green light was mounted on one wall. An identical door was across the room ten steps away.

  Entering required stepping over a high lip, to a floor elevated above the one in the shaft, like a high step. I placed a knee on it and crawled before standing. There were eight recessed LEDs in the ceiling, all on low power, but the change from the elevator shaft was enough that I wanted to throw an arm up to protect my eyes while they adjusted.

  Without being told, I walked directly to the other door and waited, the coldness of my pink gun in my belt making me aware of it with every move. With my hip turned away from them, and while they were helping each other up over the door lip, I could have pulled my gun and shot them all.

  A glance over my shoulder had them helping each other up, and to do that, they had placed their guns in their holsters. It made me wonder if they had even inserted bullets in the magazines before loading them.

  The one in charge was maybe twenty-years-old, the other two about the same. They were worried and nervous. When they were all inside, the door was pulled shut and the wheel locking it spun. One, not the leader, walked to the second door and said in the direction of the speaker, “Please open the second door. All is secure.”

  The second door opened.

  A gust of stench assaulted me, reminiscent of Deep Hole, only worse. Or, perhaps my nose blindness had been cured. I gagged but held back from puking. Barely.

  Inside were the familiar metal stairs, but they hugged the outer sides of a square hole that went down and down. I counted eight landings before we found the last door. Nobody had spoken while descending and I’d slowed as much as practical, but they lagged, even though we were descending.

  Their legs were as weak as mine had been. I felt I could have wrestled all three and won.

  The third door eased open a crack. An eye looked out and it closed again.

  I glanced at the other three and saw they were a little scared when that happened. Finally, it opened again, this time fully. The smell was worse. I swallowed and tried to breathe through my mouth. It didn’t help much.

  Two older men held the same type of weapons, but they did it with authority and familiarity. One was mostly gray, the other had wrinkles on his face. I pegged them both as ex-military from their posture and confidence.

  We were in a largish office with the usual desk, chairs, and such. An open door across from me revealed a much larger room. I didn’t wait for them to order me to go ahead. I knew where I was going and that there would be the leaders of the sanctuary waiting in there to talk with me.

  Shoulders squared, foul water dripping down from my legs to my feet and leaving a wet trail behind, I strode into the room and paused, partly to observe, and to control my gag reflex. The place reeked.

  It was much the same size as the one in Deep Hole. There were three tables placed to form a square U, and one chair in front. I counted nine people seated, their eyes watching me expectantly.

  The guards remained behind me in the smaller room.

  Just for the hell of it, I turned and gently closed the door on them, expecting a reaction—or at least, protests. It didn’t happen. I strode a few steps closer to the nine and decided the chair in the center reminded me too much of when Mayfield and I had been exiled. I wouldn’t be drinking any water they offered me.

  I pulled to a stop and eyed them. Four on one side, four on the other, and a man in the center where he would face me directly. He was their leader.

  No, he was sitting where the leader would, but something was off. Instead of figuring out what it was, I looked at him and said, “Before we begin, I had to swim through a sewer to get here and I see a few noses wrinkling at me already. It will get worse with time. Perhaps you will have someone escort me to a shower and provide suitable clothing?”

  Again, just for the hell of it, I walked closer, nearly touching the ones seated on his left, and they recoiled at the smell and the drips intentionally falling dangerously close to them. I ignored the nine of them as I pulled my pistol that had been overlooked by all and placed it squarely in the center of my intended seat. Astonished expressions greeted me.

  I was not going to win any friends by shooting them all. The gesture was to shift the balance my way and to let them know I could have used the gun.

  Then I turned to face them. “Your choice. I can stand it if you can.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” a middle-aged woman snapped, “Come with me.”

  She hadn’t asked permission. I like that. She stood quickly and took me out of the double-wide doors that lead into the warren and down a hallway. She opened the door. “In there. I’ll bring you clothing in a few moments.”

  A toilet, sink, and shower. I was in heaven. There had been a few showers in Deep Hole, but their use was severely restricted to once every several months. At other times, we cleaned ourselves with disposable wipes that were treated with cleaning chemicals and recycled. I’d often wondered how many other bodies the fibers had
touched.

  Which to use first? I let the clothing drop to the floor, wondering if my pink pistol would be there on the chair when I returned. I could see it happening either way. The two ex-military and those who had captured me were still in the office at the bottom of the stairs. They were armed.

  It would not be unusual for them to not be present at a high-level meeting. Still, it drew a smile as I turned on the hot water and sluiced myself off. Two applications of soap were needed before it formed bubbles. I scrubbed my hair, which had started twice their half-inch length, and my beard showed up in the mirror giving me a dark and angry appearance.

  I left it alone.

  The door opened and the woman placed a stack of clothing on the edge of the sink before leaving. As the door closed, she said in a friendly tone, “Please hurry. They are all waiting.”

  I took my time.

  It pleased me to be perverse with the people I’d come to rescue. That didn’t make sense. I toweled off and pulled on the bottoms and tied the string, the top with the vee-neck and pulled in the booties with elastic around the top to hold them on. It felt like home.

  The dirty stuff was abandoned. I walked out and found the woman patiently waiting. She said with a smile, “You almost look human. Didn’t see the depilatory cream for your face on the sink?”

  I jabbed a thumb upward. “They don’t use it and I don’t want to stand out when I go back.”

  Her face gave the answer away. She didn’t expect me to go back.

  Back inside the meeting room, I thanked her and walked to my chair while ignoring the sour stench that permeated everything. I’d never noticed it in Deep Hole, yet believed it had smelled just as bad, perhaps worse.

  To make a point, I lifted my pink/violet weapon. It felt lighter. I casually popped the magazine out and found it empty of bullets. No surprise. All eyes were on me, cocky, arrogant, and spiteful.

  When I worked the slide, a single shell ejected. Reflex caused me to grab it in midair as I noticed the shocked expressions from those around the table. They had believed the gun empty, which told me that one of them who had removed the shells while I showered, not one of the military men in the next room.