by Clary, LeRoy
Coot called out again, “All of you leave. If I hear of any that stayed, you’ll face me personally and I’ll rip stripes off your sleeve.”
More that I hadn’t realized were there, emerged from hidden locations and pulled back. He placed the shotgun against the wall again and looked at me. “The beginning of trust.”
There were times when his demeanor changed from “Coot,” the uneducated bumpkin to “Mr. Wilson,” the negotiator. He had me squarely in his sights, with or without a shotgun pointed at me. Not because of the others, but because of his words.
He had listened to me all day. Made a few suggestions and comments, while hinting at an underlying purpose. His actions were at odds with what I’d have expected. He had also hinted there was far more than he had revealed.
I liked him. Despite killing everyone in the Three Hills Sanctuary, which he denied, if the beginning of his story was true and I worked with him in his army, I’d have ordered them killed in the same circumstances. The fact they did it to themselves was not as shocking to me as if might have been.
In my home, I could see a similar set of circumstances. I readily believed the four who ran Deep Hole were capable of sending out parties to kill the locals and slaughter the animals with the belief that such raids might keep people away from the entrance, therefore, everyone below would be safer. Yes, they would do it without a problem or regard for the unknown victims.
If they found people/animals/mutants were digging their way inside, ordering people killed was within their power and abilities.
It seemed to boil down to fear. The unknown fears of what might happen. In my experience, the fear of the unknown is often far more than actuality. Coot may have told the truth, and he seemed contrite and confused why they’d done it.
While I hadn’t been at Three Hills Sanctuary for the final battle, perhaps I understood better than Coot Wilson. One thing was for certain. I was learning while he spoke.
I said, “Okay, see if you can make it simple for me. What’s your endgame?”
He smiled infectiously. “My brother is keeping thousands of the local residents alive. His policies allow most to live without fear of attack from other cities. Oh, we take farm animals and crops to feed people, but we try to be fair and not take too many from any single one. In short, he is doing a pretty good job, overall.”
He’d said something similar earlier. I waited, then said, “People hate your brother because of what they do.”
Coot said, “Yup, funny thing about that. Think about it. Soldiers are often people who like to fight. Some too much.”
“Meaning?”
“They don’t take orders well, not even from him. We send them out to get the newborn cattle, but with orders to only take one in four. They go to the same farms and get one this week, one the next and so on. They want to fight. They pick fights. The truth is, we have recruited poorly. Our corporals and sergeants are often bullies. The privates are uneducated killers and malcontents. The rest are untrained.”
“Maybe you’re recruiting the wrong people.” My tone dripped sarcasm.
“Could be, but people tend to come in only one of two varieties. There’s those that will kill and those that won’t. Those that won’t are often good people. The others are often not.”
It was the same problem I had faced earlier when choosing people for the squad I’d led outside and the reason the first ten were rejected. I understood what he was telling me.
He waved an arm in my direction. “Let’s say your kind boils out of the ground and defeats my brother. You take over the navy base and are the new leader. Now, you have to do all that he is doing. You’ve admitted you’re not prepared and that will get a lot of innocent people killed until you get your laws and enforcement in place.”
I could see that.
“Then again, you may not have much time, because, after a battle like that, my brother’s army and yours will both be weakened. Within a few days, one of the city-states to the south will sweep in and crush the victor. If we do battle against each other, we both lose. Count on it. The only way to come out of this is preventing a war between our two peoples.”
Ouch. That also sounded like the truth. I said, “You have an answer?”
“I do. My brother does, I should say.”
“Tell me.”
He settled back with a smile on his face. He’d finally gotten me into the position he wanted. What came next was not only the truth but the core of the matter. Like the core of the apples I’d been eating, there were seeds and hard things to chew. The flesh of the apple was wonderful, but a person had to be aware of the seeds in the core and avoid eating it.
Coot had guided the conversation, after a half-day, to what was coming next. I scooted closer, ready to listen. But listening is not agreeing or believing. What would come next was what Coot believed was important, not necessarily me.
Important to him, probably to his brother, and maybe to us. Maybe not.
“Geography, first, he began, the smile still in place. “Think of a map of the area. North of here, all the way up to Vancouver, there are small towns, farms, and forests. A few well-armed troops secure it all and provide protection from raiders, thieves, and crazies. The mountains to the east are a natural barrier. To the west is the shoreline of Puget Sound, another barrier, of sorts.”
“Leaving only access from the south,” I finished for him.
“Things are changing. Two city-gangs to the south, but a few north of Seattle have joined forces. It is not large enough to attack Seattle, but Everett is a different story.”
It hit me. He didn’t want to fight us, he wanted us to join up with them.
He smiled wider, seeing that I was understanding.
Our people and weapons would give him power. A lot of it. But from studying the maps, his description of the area was accurate. A small, well-armed army could protect everything north of Everett against those from the south.
The distance from Everett to the beginning of the mountains to the east was only about fifteen miles, as I remembered. It wouldn’t take a huge army to set up watchtowers along a border and patrol between, especially if horses were used. Companies of soldiers could be stationed every couple of miles. The land was flat. An army advancing could be seen a long way off, in plenty of time for reinforcements from Everett to arrive.
Maybe a defensive line like that could not stand against the larger Seattle-armies, but definitely it could against others. Distance would protect the north from Seattle. It was too difficult to march and feed an army into enemy territory unless it was close.
As long as the border remained intact, enough food could be grown and cattle raised in the north to feed everyone, an ambitious project, but possible.
For any of the Seattle-armies to attack Everett, they would have to first defeat three, four, or even five smaller armies along the way. Coot was right, as far as his plan went. But I sensed there was more. “Go on.”
He sighed. “Your kind, your people, only intended to stay down there a few years until things cooled off up here. It’s been nine long years. Don’t you think it’s time you rejoined the rest of the human race?”
It felt like time to play a poker bluff. “If all you say is true, you do not want my two friends or me as your prisoners. You just want someone to carry a message to the sanctuaries and hopefully, they join forces with you, right?”
“You got it.”
“What if I agree? You bring my friends here, and I take your message to the nearest sanctuary and they can agree or not, but then the three of us head for Montana. You might even provide us with three horses and supplies for our troubles. You can also bring that other prisoner from another sanctuary with them.”
If he was bluffing, I never wanted to sit across from him at a poker table because he barely reacted. He simply nodded and his eyes shifted to the lip of the basement we sat in. He said, “At least one hard-head will still be up there with a gun pointed this way. I’ll go call out to him
and tell him to go get your friends and bring them here. Maybe that will provide a little trust.”
He stood and crawled up the rubble to the surface and called out, always staying in sight. There was still a major problem I didn’t know how to resolve, so I needed Tess’s input. Even if I agreed to all he had said, there was still the location of the Everett Sanctuary that he didn’t know—not yet. That one item might be the entire reason for our meeting. Everything else could be a ruse.
But I didn’t think so.
A pair of men appeared from under a bush and cautiously approached. He spoke and I heard much of what he said. Most of it was angry threats about what he’d do because they hadn’t obeyed his order to leave, and he promised to personally remove their rank and place them on latrine duty unless they did exactly what he told them. They departed at a run.
When he arrived back, I said, “What about how my people will be treated? I understand all of you hate us.”
He spat again, and I made a mental note to avoid stepping in that corner where he’d left four or five gobs of spit since I’d been there. He said, “Well, yeah, we don’t like what your people did. Most of us were pissed. But that was years ago. At first, there will be a few incidents, but given a month or two, your skins will darken, your hair will grow, you will dress like us, and if you pull your weight in the work that needs to be done, all will be forgiven.”
It was his turn to stop talking.
I went over each thing he had said and found no deception or weaknesses he needed to explain. If those from the Everett Sanctuary attacked his brother, another group would move in and pick up the pieces, for better or worse. That was a major point.
Another was that while people complained about Sir Wilson, the truth was that he did keep the peace and protect people. I’d seen very little fighting, theft, murder, or other lawlessness.
While the farmers complained about the loss of animals, they seemed to still have many more. They said they were not paid, but raiders didn’t swoop in, kill them, burn their homes, and drive off their cattle. That was payment of another kind.
In some ways, it was a matter of degree. Give up a little of your crops and newborn cattle and in return get security and safety. Or refuse, and stand to lose everything when the next dictator or army moved in.
I found the geography lesson Coot had given me most interesting. It was true, a small army could protect the entire area from Everett north, hundreds of square miles of farmland. That meant a local government could be stable, provide protection, and allow people to live well and without fear.
However, there were other problems. One in particular. How in hell was I going to convince those in the Everett Sanctuary to voluntarily come to the surface and join forces with a killer?
As I sat for an hour thinking, Tess and Bream arrived. Another man, one unknown to me trailed behind. His hair was short, his complexion pale.
I searched for injuries. There were none apparent. Not even bruises. His eyes remained on the ground in front of him. If he had been tortured, I couldn’t see any evidence.
Tess, Bream and I hugged and settled down with Coot. I had intentionally not introduced him because I wanted to clarify a few things first. I also didn’t introduce the man from the other sanctuary, wishing to hear his reactions without influence.
I said, “They locked the two of you up at the naval base?”
Tess said, “Yes. They fed us and asked questions.”
“How did that go? Torture?”
Bream said, “No. We talked. Asked questions but we didn’t know much.”
Tess added, “Not at all what I expected. I was prepared to hate Sir Wilson. Kill him if I got the chance, for what he did to our spouses.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked.
She paused as she thought of the words to use. “They seemed more interested in what our impression was of the surface. When I mentioned the men taking too many of the animals from that farm, our questioner looked angry and asked exactly where it happened. I didn’t want to tell him at first, but he said he would have more animals taken to them as replacements.”
Coot seemed pleased.
I said, “Did you have a chance to kill Sir Wilson?”
She shook her head. “We were in a room with soft beds, a washstand, and they brought food. When I heard his name, they told me that he had heard about what happened to us and was angry. The men involved in killing Cap and Mayfield were ordered executed. We did it before they could.”
“What else?” I swallowed hard.
“They said he felt it was his fault and had asked for my help to make sure nothing like that happened again. I was too confused to kill him if he had been there.”
She saw me look to one side and asked, “Who is your friend?”
“Coot,” then I said before he could answer. “Coot Wilson.”
She scowled.
“Yes,” I said. “Sir Wilson’s brother. He’s been telling a few interesting stories. I’d like your opinion.”
“If I had my gun, I’d probably shoot you,” she said to him.
Without a word, Coot reached out and took his shotgun from leaning on the wall beside himself and handed it to her.
Tess accepted it with more than a little doubt. She placed the butt on the concrete floor and put her thumb on the trigger. A massive boom had both Bream and me on our feet as orange flame spit out the barrel and tiny sparks erupted and fell in a fountain of burning gunpowder. Tess’s face was pale.
She said after our ringing ears recovered slightly, “You could have told me it was loaded.”
“Only one way for you to know for sure I wasn’t lying—and you took it.” Coot was the only one of the four of us who thought something funny had occurred.
She worked the pump, ejected the spent shell and another went into the chamber. She handed it back to Coot, who leaned it back against the wall.
I placed a finger to my lips when Bream was looking, telling him to be quiet. I did the same.
Tess and Coot were lost in a private conversation. I listened for anything contradictory he might say but expected to hear none, and that is exactly what happened. He explained. She asked questions, many of the same ones I had.
I kept an eye on the stranger, watching for his reactions. He caught me looking and closed down, refusing to make further eye contact. Not an unreasonable reaction. This meeting could be a ploy to get him to talk. I returned to listening to Tess and Coot.
In the beginning, she was completely against everything he said and argued against each point. Later, she cooled her belligerence slightly, and by late afternoon, they were talking as if they were old friends.
Some of the surprising things I learned were that Sir Wilson hadn’t named himself with that title, did not personally claim to be royalty or descended from the Wilson line. He hadn’t wanted to hold the position he had, and it hit home when Coot said in private, his brother was so disgusted he often threatened to take off in the middle of the night and head for Montana.
You can’t make stuff like that up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
We talked long after the sun had gone down. Tess and I asked questions. Coot answered. Bream napped. The stranger remained silent most of the afternoon.
At a pause in the conversation, he finally said, “I’m called Rey, from the Monroe Sanctuary.”
We introduced ourselves.
He said, “My people sent me up here to determine if the time was right for them to rejoin society. For the last three years, we’ve sent people up to the surface now and then and evaluated their input when they returned, if they returned. My mission was to attempt an alliance with a group, so we wouldn’t be mistreated or killed when we emerged. Our resources are running low.”
“How’s that goin’ fer you?” Coot asked, reverting into his country bumpkin method of talking.
Rey said, “Pretty well, right now. Until today, I thought they would kill me when they got tired of asking me questions that I r
efused to answer.”
“Never any torture?” Tess asked.
“They kept me in a cell with bars at night. During the day, I was allowed to move about, talk to people, including Sir Wilson, and eat when hungry.”
“Not what you expected?” Coot asked.
“You know it wasn’t,” Rey said.
I spoke up. “What will you tell your people, assuming you are allowed to contact them?”
He paused, looking for the right words. He said, “I will tell them our only chance is to combine forces with Sir Wilson. I was on the surface a few years ago and recommended everyone let their beards and hair grow to at least, four inches. Now, I’d recommend that anyone coming up spend part of several days in the sun before others see them. Not too much, but enough to take away the pallor of their skin.”
Tess said, “Make your clothes look old. Same with your weapons. You want to fit in as quickly as possible.”
Rey nodded. “Good advice. There is one other problem, that perhaps I should address to Coot. We cannot simply come up here and depend on you feeding and sheltering us.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Coot said. “I may have a partial solution. Those willing to serve in our army will be paid and while serving they will learn about other jobs they can do, meet people who might hire them, and so on. Others who are non-combatants can cook for the troops, sew uniforms, and other tasks. Then there are the farmlands up north. They are always looking for hands to help. Your people will make far better soldiers than what we have, and we need many more.”
Rey said, “We are a small sanctuary, only about three hundred of us.”
Coot said, “That should be no problem. We can help.”
It was a fairly pleasant conversation with only a touch of distrust on my part, as far as I could tell.
A pair of soldiers arrived, each with an armful of blankets and food. They said little and hurried away after telling Coot there would be guards posted all around to keep us safe during the night, but none would interfere.
Coot said, “We can sleep on this damned concrete slab that’s making my butt sore, or upon the soft ground. Let me just say, I ain’t sleeping down here.”