by J. J. Holden
Frank shrugged. Their internal politics weren’t his concern. “The more the merrier.” He looked at the woman and said, “I’m Frank, speaking for the Confederation today.”
She turned her head and spat. “I don’t care who you are, as long as you give us what’s ours.”
The two men took a step away from her, physically distancing themselves, and looked at Frank for his reaction.
Frank chuckled, and smiled. “Very well. I give you all the territory you can claim within the Free Republic.” Then he turned to the two men and said, “So let’s—”
The woman interrupted. “Fuck you. I said what’s ours, not theirs. You promised us land and support in the Clan.” Her face was reddening.
Frank let out a sigh. Yes, it was definitely time to be direct with this one. “Nothing of ours is yours until it’s given to you, and I’ll back out of that deal so fast your damn head will spin if you don’t shut the hell up. I’m not your bitch.”
She inflated and opened her mouth. Frank figured a tantrum was about to happen. It was weird to be talking to someone like her, because most of her brand of self-entitled shits were dead already. It seemed natural selection had missed one, unfortunately.
“Now you listen here—”
Frank cut her off and said loudly to the two men, “Get her out of here or I’ll just walk away.”
The woman screamed at him and drew a large, fixed-blade knife. A shot rang out, and she flopped over backward, missing the top half of her head.
“Shit,” Frank said. He looked at the crowd, gathered a ways back on the bridge, and saw them surge forward. Frank stepped into the rope loop, but didn’t yank on it. “Back ’em off or we figure this out like we did last time.”
The taller one said, “I got this,” and ran toward the mob. Both he and the mob stopped mid-bridge, facing one another.
Frank turned back to the short man. “You tell them what happened. What the hell is wrong with you people?”
The short man held his hands up, palms toward Frank, and shook his head. “I’ll tell them. I should have mentioned that she’s new among us. She speaks for the cowards and leeches, though they don’t see it that way of course. But now that Felicia is out of the picture, let’s get down to business.”
Frank took a deep breath. He kept his gaze moving between the crowd and Mr. Short. “Okay then, let’s get back to business. Here’s our deal, and it’s non-negotiable. Your people will get land, support, friendship, and protection as part of the Clan, just as we promised. But you might recall that the deal was you’d get all that after the Mountain King’s troops were gone.”
Mr. Short nodded. “Yep. And they are gone, so let us through. Simple enough, I should think.”
Shaking his head, Frank said, “They aren’t defeated. Those were only the advance units they had scrounged up from among their remote forward bases. The main body is coming now.”
“My people will see this as a betrayal, and that fighting another round with the Mountain should be a separate deal. Is a second deal.”
Frank shrugged. “Well, we don’t. Defeated means defeated. The war, not the battle. Moreover, even if you fought your way in, then what? The whole of the Confederation would view you as invaders and respond appropriately. Forget about helping you with seeds and tools and food and land. Same problem as last time—you want to take what isn’t yours, and we don’t figure that’s the way we want to go with it.”
“I get that. I guess my people would want to just take those things, once they were into their promised territory.”
Frank felt a wave of disappointment. He had thought such short-sighted planning had died with the idiots of the old world. Maybe short-sightedness was human nature, he thought, but hopefully so was self-preservation. He said, “If that’s your final answer, I guess that puts us at war, and we had better kill off this mob now instead of fighting them later. Meanwhile, winter is coming and… good luck.”
Mr. Short grinned. That wasn’t what Frank had expected… “I see you aren’t much into renegotiating.”
“Old-school zero-sum politics died with politicians. And good riddance. You can’t have ‘renegotiation’ without ‘reneg,’ and if you do that, all bets are off. This is simple—fight against the Mountain King with us, or fight against him and us.”
Mr. Short nodded. “He’s coming, whether you and I go to war with each other or not. But these days, we’re not inclined to roll over to threats. If we must fight you and him both, we will. It would be a tragedy, but things are what they are.”
Frank shrugged. “The thing is, we’re not inclined to roll over, either. But you don’t have to fight us both. You could just fight on our side now until the Mountain retreats, as we all agreed, and then get the land and support we promised. We’ll meet our end, but only if you do.”
Just then, Mr. Tall came walking back and Frank saw that the crowd had backed off again. When Tall got close, he said, “I explained it. Her faction wanted to fight, but they weren’t with us the last time and they weren’t here to fight Houle, either. The rest of us told them to go ahead and attack, but without us. We didn’t like her anyway. She made a lot of enemies, as you can imagine. Not a recipe for long life these days.”
“Well,” Frank said, “we were just at the point where the cards are on the table and a choice must be made. I bear none of you ill will. Join us to fight the Mountain until the war is done, and we give you land, seeds, all of that. Or, you attack us, probably die, and even if you win, then you’d face the entire Confederation and still have to fight against the Mountain King when his vanguard arrives. Either way, you fight Houle. One choice gives you allies, the other gives you more enemies.”
“I remember how the last fight went. More important is the fact that you’re right. We can fight the Mountain with or without allies, but we are going to have to fight them. Frankly, we didn’t know more were coming. I thought the army we fought was his main force. So did everyone else.”
Frank shook his head. “I truly wish that were the case. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation, since you’d be on your way to your new homes. But it’s not the case, and we have completely reliable reports that his main force is coming. What we fought were just the units he could scrape up from his far-away bases. Basically, his colonies, if you’re familiar with Greek history. And like the Greeks did in the past, recall that we have most of your fighters’ families with us, safe and sound.”
The two men stiffened, and Frank continued speaking as though he didn’t notice. “We wouldn’t harm them even if you attack us today, you have my word. But you’ll see them much faster if we work this out together so we can all go home.”
Tall nodded. He held up one hand and, when he had Frank’s attention, said, “Your integrity with that helps make this an easy choice. So… what is our next step?”
* * *
Choony and Jaz made their way carefully through the crowd. Tensions were high, but so far there had been no violence. He hoped it stayed that way, as becoming violent would not change their situation, wouldn’t get them what they wanted. It would only make it impossible for them to get what they wanted later, after the fighting was truly finished.
Nonetheless, Choony wanted to be through the crowd as quickly as possible. If they did become violent, Nestor’s liberated vehicles had grenade launchers that apparently were like machine guns, and he didn’t want to be in the crowd when those landed. He shuddered at the thought, but Nestor and the Confederation would have no choice. There were hundreds and hundreds of people here, many armed with a few M4s taken from the Mountain and a horde of civilian rifles from the Empire. “Let’s hurry, Jaz.”
Jaz didn’t answer, only sped up her pace to keep up with Choony. They made their way through the crowd for several minutes, then saw its leading edge up ahead.
A man stepped in front of Choony and shoved him in the chest, hard. Choony staggered backward but didn’t lose his balance. He looked at the man passively.
The man growled, “Tattoo monkey. The Clan isn’t welcome here. Best turn around.”
Choony saw that he had a knife in his hand, held low by his side as though to hide it. He looked nervous. The people around them didn’t cheer or join in, instead stepping away from the man as if to say they weren’t involved with the guy.
Choony said, “Funny, then, that you are asking permission to join the Clan. Perhaps you and your friends should stay here, while everyone else enjoys a brighter future.”
“Fuck you,” the man said.
“How eloquent.”
“The Clan made a promise they aren’t keeping. I think we’d rather take what’s ours than beg for scraps.”
Jaz stepped between Choony and the man. Oh man! Choony prayed Jaz would play this one easy, but that was unlikely. He said, “Go easy, Jaz…”
Jaz ignored him. “It isn’t yours until the Mountain packs up and goes home, mister. But I’ll remember you, jerkwad. You and your family? I’ll make sure you don’t ever get in.”
The man snarled and charged toward Jaz, who crouched low to receive the attack, but he was grabbed from behind by the other refugees, who disarmed him roughly. One said, grunting with the effort of holding the angry man back, “Best get moving.”
Choony needed no encouragement. He stepped forward, grabbed Jaz’s sleeve in his fist, and strode through the parting crowd toward the bridge. They crossed the bridge together, and Choony felt safe enough to let her go when they were halfway across. On the far side, he saw Frank talking to two men, with a corpse lying nearby.
Once they got close, Frank saw them and his eyes went wide. “Hey, Frank. Buddha blesses you.”
Frank smiled, a warm and genuine expression, then looked up at the wall and waved. A ladder was lowered down to them. Frank said, “Glad you made it, Jazoony. You two need to get home, okay?”
Choony said, “We’ll meet you back home, then.”
Jaz climbed first, and Choony came up the ladder right behind her. Once they were up and over the wall, Jaz said, “Let’s go get a couple horses and skee-daddle, yo.”
Choony grinned. “Yes. Yo. Let us bounce.”
Jaz rolled her eyes and playfully tapped him in the shoulder with her fist. “You’re such an idiot.”
Choony was happy to see her in a good mood, but how could she not be? They had survived the chaos out there, and they’d soon be home again. Maybe they’d even get to stay home for a few days before being sent on another mission. Wouldn’t that be fantastic…
* * *
Carl stepped into his shower and pulled the chain with one hand, releasing a flow of piping hot water from the attic water tank. It was heated through black tubing that ran from the tank to the roof, where it was arranged in a large spiral, then back down into the tank. The sun heated the water in the spiral, sometimes to almost boiling, but the day had been overcast so it was merely “hot tub temperature.”
He hadn’t had a shower in days, and his whole body ached from rumbling around in his battlecar, so he indulged himself and let at least five whole gallons wash over him before he let go of the chain to stop the water. He lathered up from head to toe with strawberry VO-5, Sunshine’s favorite-smelling 3-in-1, then wasted at least another five gallons rinsing off and just unwinding. It was a privilege of rank, though not one that could be abused even by an Alpha.
He opened the frosted glass shower door and stepped out onto the bathmat. It was thick, foam-filled, and comfortable as hell. He liked to wiggle his toes into it while he dried off, even though he looked damn silly doing it. Who would see him, anyway? He smiled at the bathmat. Before the war, he had bought the cheap ones. Now, with most people dead or gone, there were more than enough luxury items for every survivor to live like a king or queen—so long as they didn’t need electricity.
Then he went to the sink and shaved, using cold water to make his disposable razor last longer and shave closer. It also gave him fewer razor bumps that way, and anything one could do to lower the chance of an infection was worth doing, these days. He looked into the mirror and decided he needed a haircut.
He sighed… Getting his hair cut sucked. Before the EMPs, he had worn his hair long and shaggy, and people said he looked like “The Dude” from The Big Lebowski, which he’d enjoyed hearing. Oh well. Easy come, easy go.
Towel wrapped around him, he stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Sunshine lay on his bed, half awake. He glanced to the nightstand and saw her water glass was full enough for her to take a couple more Percocet. Thankfully, she had agreed to let him keep her high as a kite until she healed a bit from having her leg sawed off. The bandage, he saw, had only a pink haze to it, rather than bleeding through. It was a good sign.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he said with a grin.
She frowned and looked away, avoiding eye contact. “Good morning, Carl. For you, anyway.” Her voice had a weird pitch to it, a side effect of being blasted out of her mind on painkillers. “I need more percs.”
Carl tucked his towel in so it would stay up without being held, walked to the nightstand and shook four tiny white, round pills out of a small bottle. These were the good ones, Percocets without any of that stupid acetaminophen in them. Whoever had thought of putting that liver-killer in with the otherwise harmless opiates should be shot. On the doses Sunshine needed, she’d have suffered permanent liver damage if he had traded for the ones with that garbage.
“You’re lucky I found these pills. Three of these should work until morning. They’re ten milligrams each.”
Sunshine tried to nod but could only barely move her head. She was pale and clammy, and Carl cursed himself for letting her sleep instead of waking her two hours ago for more painkillers. Now she was half in shock from pain. He’d get used to the routine and wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Sunshine didn’t whimper though, and Carl was impressed at how tough she was. After he gave her the pills and made sure she took them, he made her drink the rest of the water in her cup. She drifted to sleep again, and he got dressed.
His day was far from over, despite being well after dinner. Several envoys from the Free Republic, each representing different areas, had come to Harrisburg to meet with him to renew their agreements with Liz Town and the Confederation. Also, Carl had agreed to be their mediator as they negotiated reuniting their regions into the Free Republic again, in the aftermath of kicking the Mountain King’s dogs out of Pennsylvania. It was important to do so, and quickly, because Clanholme had passed word that General Houle had a new army coming together to make another try.
At that thought, Carl frowned. His eyebrows furrowed and he clenched his jaw, and for a moment, he zoned out into his own little world, one where he slaughtered an endless field of Houle’s vile soldiers in increasingly painful and creative ways. Sons-a-bitches deserved worse than he could think up. What the hell did they need more land for? They could barely control the land they already claimed.
Carl spent a moment thinking about whether they could exploit the Mountain King being spread so thin, and an idea struck him. He’d need the Free Republic’s help, though. He finished dressing in khaki pants and a black Polo shirt, sturdy black boots that he kept shined up for these dog-and-pony shows, and a light black windbreaker. Then he headed downstairs to await the envoy arrival.
At a quarter to ten, Carl heard a knock at the door. He stood in the living room off the foyer, and one of his guards showed them in. A man and two women came in together, and Carl noted that their body language was relaxed and they walked close together, smiling at each other. It was a good sign.
“Hello. My name is Carl, the Timber Wolf Alpha and right hand to the Speaker of Liz Town. Won’t you have a seat?” He motioned toward the two couches that were arrayed around a single table.
As they came in, Carl shook their hands. When they were seated, he sat in the recliner. It was a cozy, informal environment, and perfect for these discussions. The three introduced themselves as Heath, Marge, and Reba.
Carl’s briefing had said they led the three largest groups of former Free Republic people, and each spoke for a number of smaller groups that had given them their individual support, authorizing them to negotiate on their behalf.
Heath was short with close-trimmed brown hair, and looked to be in his late twenties. He said, “Thanks for meeting with us. I don’t expect any problems, but a neutral third-party mediator seemed like a good idea just in case.”
Marge nodded. She was the taller of the two women, a muscular brunette who wore a purple-and-brown dress. “I appreciate your time,” she said, her voice soft and soothing.
Carl sat in a relaxed position, hands on his recliner arms, leaning back slightly. He smiled at each in turn. “I’m happy to help friends of Liz Town, which you are despite some disagreements in the past. Let’s start with what each of you needs to get in order to make reuniting worthwhile.”
The next hour went by quickly. The envoys were mostly in agreement about the big things, with only a few minor territorial disagreements and a bit of conflict about their leaders’ roles in the restored government. In his head, Carl made a grid with each of their demands. On the few disagreements, he helped them trade out something they didn’t need for the thing they really wanted. It was, overall, an easy meeting. They’d walk away from this with the Free Republic restored, working together.
Then Carl said, “Now that I have all of you here, I do have something that the Confederation would like to discuss with the Free Republic. Do you have time to handle that now, or would you prefer to wait until tomorrow?”
Heath said, “Now is good. I want to leave in the morning. There’s a lot to do at home, as you can imagine.”
Marge and Reba nodded in agreement.
“Then it’s my turn to thank you all for your time. So, the situation is simple. Right now, the forces that the Mountain King used to keep control of unruly populations in the Midwest and the South were partly squandered fighting all of us. They still have control of those areas from their forts, but only barely. Reinforcements aren’t coming soon, but the reason is that Houle’s army is now gathering to our south. The real war has yet to come.”