by J. J. Holden
She smirked as Ethan stared at her. “I said, what’s ironic?”
Ha. Of course she would demolish him with a smirk. And he loved it. “It’s ironic that, on today of all days, I’m finishing this program. It’s a worm and trojan horse one-two punch to hack into Watcher One’s systems.”
Amber shrugged, then set her scraped-clean plate down. “What’s so important about today?”
“Are you kidding? The lights went out one year ago today. About eight hours ago, actually.” Ethan felt a weird mix of excitement and sadness. Although when he thought about it, he realized that his mixed feelings weren’t that odd. Many people had died, but he had not. Sad and happy.
She shrugged. “All that means to me is that sixty to seventy percent of Americans are now dead. Fewer in the country, more in the cities. What’s to celebrate?”
It was Ethan’s turn to shrug. “It means the Dying Time is nearly over and we beat the odds. We made it. The Clan, you, me, all of us.”
“For now,” she replied. Then Amber tucked her feet underneath herself on the loveseat, which served as a couch in the confined Bunker. “Still ten percent to go, according to the estimate.”
“As much as ten percent,” Ethan corrected her, “but it could be less. Whatever happens, we’re golden. We got our community.”
* * *
Taggart ate his sandwich—the bread people made these days blew the doors off the supermarket bread he had grown up on—and nodded at Eagan. “Yes, for the tenth time, we’re having a memorial and celebration. Quit nagging at me, shitbird.”
“If I was still King of New York, you wouldn’t talk to me like that,” Eagan replied, grinning. “Sir,” he added hastily, and with much emphasis.
“Kingly titles, eh? Easy come, easy go,” Taggart replied. He set the crust down and grabbed a pickle. He had already finished the chips, if they could be called chips. Homemade potato chips did not compare to supermarket chips. One of the many things he missed. “I’ve got a whole work detail set up to get things ready.”
“So we’re going to have a mass memorial for all the people who’ve died, probably close to two-hundred million. Then we’re going to get drunk and mingle with the local ladies. Right?”
“You are. I’m not getting drunk.”
“Such a party pooper, sir. Whatever shall I do with you.”
Taggart chuckled. “Salute, mostly. But with Ree’s people raiding heavily, we can’t get too comfortable.”
“Are you still going to have a third of our men and women on guard duty tonight?” Eagan didn’t look happy about that.
“Yes. Tonight would be a great time for Ree to raid deep. He has to know this is the anniversary of the invasion. It won’t have the same deep meaning to him that it has to Americans. If he celebrates, it won’t be because he’s alive, but because over half of all Americans are dead. Bastard.”
“Why do you have to talk about that,” Eagan replied glumly. “For one day, I want to forget there’s a war going on.”
“The war won’t forget us, numbnuts. Try not to get that little Italian girl pregnant tonight, okay?”
Eagan laughed, his face brightening again. “Forget that, sir. I’m going to do my best to get Sophia knocked up. Tonight’s the night to celebrate life. Maybe start a new one.”
Taggart nodded. He understood the feeling. Life goes on, even amidst a war and the end of civilization. “I’m surprised she’s not already pregnant. You two seem pretty serious.”
“Maybe we are. I think so. I haven’t asked, but I feel like it’s serious. She introduced me to her parents last week. And her three brothers… Scary-big, those guidos.”
“Yep. But they kept Sophia alive and got their entire family out of Brooklyn even before we broke out out the City ourselves. That’s a tough family. She’s gotta be tough, too, I imagine.”
“She must be, to put up with my ass.”
“You have no idea how right you are,” Taggart said, chuckling. “Gonna marry her?”
“I’m thinking about it. I don’t feel like that really matters anymore, but she and her family are the opposite. They think that social values and family bonds matter more now than ever. Maybe they’re right, I don’t know.”
Huh. Taggart pondered that for a moment. It was an interesting thought. People these days went one of two ways—wild out, or retreating into traditions and conservative values. Both reactions had their pros and cons from a survival-of-the-species point of view. “How do they feel about you being so… white? Painfully white. Like, salt cracker white. Whiter than White-out. SPF-nine-hundred white. More white than—”
“Sir!” Eagan interrupted. “You hurt my feelings. I’m Irish, not white. In Europe, that makes me black, like you.” He said it with a straight face.
Taggart burst into laughter. Leave it to Eagan to say something stupid like that just to be funny. “Half black. The good half, in my opinion.”
“Fair enough,” Eagan said, grinning. “They’re fine with my pasty complexion, though. My family’s from Catholic Ireland, not going-to-Hell Ireland. That’s how my mom always put it.” He paused. “Or, used to.”
Taggart nodded. Eagan’s family was lost in the City, and he had never been able to find them. Taggart knew it was a sore spot. “There’s still hope. And today’s a celebration of life, so celebrate yours, and the chance they are alive.”
Eagan nodded but remained silent.
Taggart put down the nub of pickle, having eaten the rest. “How is our strategy working out for dealing with Ree’s increased raiding? He was becoming a serious thorn in our side. Now I know how he felt when we were the thorn.”
“So far, so good. By moving extra troops into the areas just interior to our front lines, creating a defense in depth, they aren’t raiding as deep into our turf anymore—”
“Territory.”
“Into our territory anymore. And they’ve depleted the supplies in the area around the front lines, having scrounged it out already. That gives them less incentive to raid. It’s helped a lot.”
“Good. Things have hit some sort of point-of-stability, I can feel it.”
“Me too. I think this is going to be our new status quo hereabouts. To the west, our border is the Confederation, so we’re good there, too. Our front lines to the south with General Yi, between Allentown and Philly, are still mighty fluid—troop densities on both sides have become low.”
“The meat-grinder worked on them as much as on us, at least. Thank goodness.”
“Yes, sir. And the I-80 corridor between Scranton and State College has stabilized as the front lines against General Park’s invading forces, though Scranton has remained stubbornly out of our grasp. Fighting there has slowed, as well. We may just have to accept Scranton is enemy territory for the time being.”
Taggart said, “Thanks for the rough update. You’re off duty tonight, got it? After fourteen-hundred hours, you’re free to go play boyfriend.”
Eagan nodded. “I appreciate that. Sophia and I are going on a picnic with her parents and her brothers, before tonight’s real celebrating begins. Then me and her—”
“She and I.”
“—me and her are going off on our own to check out the displays, and that ‘Food From Around the World’ thing.”
Taggart grinned. “I don’t know how authentic it’ll be without fresh imported spices and so on, but I’m damn sure going to try it out myself. I hear there’s going to be some fantastic German cuisine.”
“There ought to be. Those Amish, or Mennonites, or whichever groups they’re from, they all speak German. So I’m hoping to have some honest-to-god fresh frankfurters.”
Taggart let out a sigh. Frankfurters… “Who would have thought that fresh hot dogs would become the special treat everyone’s talking about?”
“It’s a strange world we live in, sir. Your AgSec, Cassy, calls it a ‘dark new world,’ but I think it’s a lot brighter than the old world in a lot of ways. More dying, but a whole lot more really l
iving, too.”
“Maybe… But don’t go getting all philosophical on me, shitbird. Save those big words for Sophia—you don’t know enough of them to waste on me.”
“Sir, I appreciate your confidence.”
“No problem, Eagan. I’m always here for you,” Taggart replied with an impish smile. And the truth was, he always would be there for Eagan. The young man—he no longer thought of Eagan as a kid—had become as much his son as his right-hand-man. “By the way, and this is just a thought… Tonight would be a pretty damn good time to propose. If you want to look through the jewelry stockpiles, take your pick.”
Eagan’s jaw dropped. Taggart had never before given anyone permission to “requisition” personal items like jewelry, and probably wouldn’t ever again, so Taggart was glad Eagan recognized its significance.
“Thank you, sir. I… Perhaps I will. This is a good time to declare that life goes on. What better way to say it than with a ring? It’s a big step, though.”
“True, kid. But she’s pretty and kind, funny and smart. She won’t be on the market long. If she loves you, and you love her, this world no longer gives us the assurance that we can always decide later. Tomorrow isn’t promised us.”
Eagan nodded, pursing his lips. “No, it sure isn’t. I’m gonna go, sir. I have some thinking to do before I go meet up with Sophia and her family.”
Taggart waved him off and watched as the young man left. His advice to Eagan wasn’t bad advice, all around. Taggart thought about that and decided that he should make the time to at least consider finding a better half for himself. He had put that thought off for a year now, because of the war. Fighting and planning had taken all his time, and until a couple months ago, every day had been a crapshoot on survival. Now things were settling down. Perhaps he should, too? Life went on, after all.
* * *
2000 HOURS - ZERO DAY +365
Cassy lit the fuse, then watched as her firework shot into the air and exploded over the west fish pond. Cheering erupted at that official commencement of Blackout Night, the name that had just sort of stuck for this memorial and celebration.
All throughout the day, people had held ad-hoc memorials for lost loved ones and family. They had taken turns saying what they had been doing when it dawned on them that the lights were out for good. Many of the stories were sad or scary, and tears had flowed.
Tonight was for the flip side of that coin, the celebration of life for those who remained. No doubt similar events were going off all across America, Cassy mused. In nine months, there would likely be a slew of new babies in the Clan, judging by the raucous mood of the crowd. The existing children would be herded to bed in an hour or so, and Cassy would probably join them as they tried in vain to sleep amidst the noise of celebration.
She brushed her hands on her pants and then wandered around through the party, being seen and greeting everyone she could. She shared a short story here, listened to an anecdote there. It was fun to see the Clan so alive and happy. Everywhere, people drank freely of the hard apple cider for which the Clan was so rightly famous. A barrel of regular cider had been brought out for the kids, unless they snuck a cup of the hard cider. More than a few of the teens would likely be dragging ass in the morning, Cassy knew, and she grinned. Mostly, the adults turned a blind eye tonight, and she would too.
Along the way, she ran across Grandma Mandy and stopped to say hello. “How’s it going, Mom?”
Mandy looked cheerful, and replied, “It’s good, sweetie. This was a great idea. Not the hard cider, of course, but the celebration.”
Cassy tried not to roll her eyes. Her mom didn’t drink, didn’t approve of drinking in general, but she wasn’t a hardliner about it. Cassy replied, “They’re blowing off a year’s worth of steam, that’s all.”
“Indeed. They’re welcome to it. Old ladies like me do better with regular cider, though.”
“Especially with your diabetes? Water might be best.”
“True. Juice isn’t great for me either, but I have to have my little vices. They make life worth it.”
“Juice makes life worth living, huh?” Cassy grinned.
“Also, steaks.”
Cassy laughed out loud. They shares pleasantries for a moment, then Cassy continued her rounds.
With everyone drinking the lightly-alcoholic cider, and given that booze wasn’t readily available anymore otherwise, only a few adults were likely to get truly drunk. Thankfully, there was double security for the night, and people had been exchanging work chits frantically right up to the celebration’s very start. It had been fun to listen to some of the horse trading going on as people tried to offload their work chits on others.
Let them have their fun… Things had been going rather well lately, and she knew it couldn’t last forever, but for tonight, all was well in the world.
* * *
Jaz wandered among the crowds of people, cup in hand and feeling slightly off balance. It was a good feeling—not drunk, but not sober. Perfect, in other words. Her cares and concerns melted away, at least for now. But where was Choony? She had been looking for him for what felt like a half an hour, but she didn’t wear a watch.
Every time she wrapped up one brief, friendly conversation, someone else waved at her to come over. From one conversation to the next, she found herself slowly drifting away from the Complex and out into the Jungle’s maze of verdant overgrowth. Another conversation. And another. Hi, how are you? How’s Choony? When are you two leaving again? How did your last trip go… The usual catching up that people did during events such as this.
Jaz sat on a large, dark stone for a moment to rest her legs. She had been standing for quite a while. Finishing her cup, she set it on the mulch beside the stone, leaned back with her arms behind her for support, and looked up at the stars. With no ambient light, they shone brighter and more crisply than she had ever thought possible before the EMPs came. The silence washed over her as she found herself alone at last, and she let out a deep, contented sigh.
A noise to her left caught her attention, and she opened one eye. It was another reveler, one of the newer Clan members. John, maybe? She couldn’t remember his name for sure. He waved.
She didn’t feel like shifting position enough to wave back, so she just said, “How’s it going?”
“Good. I’m Jack. You’re Jaz, right? The envoy.” He smiled politely.
“Yeah. So how have you liked being in the Clan, Jack?” she asked, opening her other eye as well.
He stepped up beside her rock. There wasn’t room for two to sit on it, so he stayed standing. “It’s interesting, for sure. So much to learn about how things are done, but I dig the traditions you guys are building up, here.”
“Thanks.” It was good that he could appreciate the details and how things were done. Many people didn’t get it, at least not for a long while. She gave up leaning back and sat up, folding her hands in her lap. “Traditions build themselves, really. There’s not much reason to keep most of the old ones, so new ones take their place.”
“Yeah.” Jack nodded. “Did you know… the ISNA invaders have a tradition? If they find a woman out alone, they figure she’s a harlot. Their word, not mine. They have their own tradition, which is that women have to be with a male relative if they’re outside the house.”
“How barbaric,” Jaz replied. “I couldn’t live in a place like that.”
“No, probably not,” he grinned. “They also figure that if you’re wearing short shorts and a tank top, like yours, then you’re… available. You know, for rent.”
Pinpricks shot up her spine and her scalp tingled. This was a totally weird conversation to be having with a stranger late at night in the middle of the Jungle. She stood up. “Yeah, they’re weird,” Jaz said, “but I need a refill. Thanks for the chat, Jack. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
Jaz felt a hand on her arm, iron-hard like a vice, and Jack spun her around to face him. He wore a good-natured smile, but his grip didn’t f
eel so good-natured. He said, “Hey, don’t go just yet. I was hoping to ask you some questions about being an Envoy.”
“Sure, but not right now, Jack. It’s Blackout Night, and I totes need a refill. Gotta bounce. T.T.Y.L.,” Jaz said, spelling out the acronym for ‘talk to you later.’
His grip didn’t lessen. “Aw, c’mon. I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. Just hang out a bit more. I want to kick it with you for a while.”
Jaz’s alarms were going off full-bore even before he said that, and now she felt a rising panic. This had happened before. She knew the signs. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it, but in her experience, when dudes didn’t want to let her go, they had something else in mind. Something that would very quickly be completely out of her control.
Adrenaline surging, she said more loudly than she realized, “No, Jack, let me go. I need to get back to the party.”
Jack’s eyes changed, then. They narrowed, pupils wide. His breathing was suddenly shallow and fast. “The party could be right here, Jaz,” he said. His voice sounded husky.
Jaz glanced Jack up and down. He was probably twice her weight, all muscle. A fit young man. She decided she couldn’t overpower him. Old Jaz would have gone inside herself and waited until it was all over, but New Jaz didn’t like that idea. Maybe with one well-placed kick, she could escape…
Behind her, another voice. “Hi, Jaz. Hey, Jack. How you two doing? Say, Jaz, could you show me where the cider is being hidden? I’m parched.” It was Choony! He looked at Jack, gaze direct and unwavering. “You don’t mind, do you, Jack?”
Jaz felt Jack’s grip loosen and then fall away. Jack smiled at Choony, that good-natured smile he had worn earlier. “Hi, Choony. Sure, she’s all yours. I had some questions about being an Envoy, but they can wait. No rush…”
Jaz didn’t like his tone when he said that.
“I thank you,” Choony said. He stepped up and took Jaz’s hand in his own, shaking it. Then he turned to Jaz. “Shall we? The cider awaits, and the night is young.”