Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series)

by Peter R Stone

  “That’s the thanks I get?” he said, his voice coming out as a whisper.

  “Chelsea, dear, are you hurt too?” Mrs. Hill asked, studying me in alarm.

  “I’ll be okay,” I said.

  “Surely you shouldn’t be up and about – you’re as white as a sheet,” his father said.

  “I had to see Ryan. How is he?”

  Mr. Hill glanced at his son hesitantly.

  “Just tell her, Father. She has a right to know,” Ryan said, looking away.

  “It will be at least three months for his injuries to heal before he can begin rehabilitation.” Mr. Hill studied me carefully as he spoke.

  “He’ll make a full recovery, right?” I asked.

  “His right hamstring and left calf muscles were almost completely severed, not to mention the other lacerations to his legs.” His voice trailed off forlornly. He was making a mammoth effort to fight back tears. “At best, he will have a pronounced limp.”

  “At worst?”

  “He will need some form of mobility aid for the rest of his life – a walking stick, crutches, or a wheelchair.”

  “Oh.” I stared at Ryan wide-eyed. I couldn’t picture him, the epitome of physical fitness, having to spend the rest of his life on crutches. My vision for the future, where he and I would serve the liberated Newhome as reformed Custodians protecting the town from Skel and raiders evaporated like smoke. Even if his father dropped his refusal to allow us to marry, we would either have to pursue separate careers or find another that didn’t require mobility.

  Ryan grabbed my hand weakly. “Don’t worry, Chelsea. The words ‘give up’ aren’t in my vocabulary. I’ll stick at rehab until I can walk unaided, regardless of how long it takes.”

  “You got that right, mister – and I’ll be right there beside you, every step of the way.” I glanced at Mr. Hill, daring him to contradict me in front of Ryan and his mother.

  “What will you do if Ryan is wheelchair-bound for the remainder of his life?” his father said. He met my gaze unflinchingly, his question clear. Would I still want him if he were crippled?

  “Then I guess I’ll get strong arms from pushing him around everywhere.”

  His father scrutinised me. “May I have a word in private?”

  “Of course.”

  “Father!” Ryan protested weakly. “Whatever you have to discuss, say it in front of me.”

  I gave his hand a firm squeeze. “It’s okay. The grownups need to talk. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Bhagya pushed me, once I was back in my wheelchair, out of the cubicle, and then relinquished control to Mr. Hill. He wheeled me to the other side of the intensive care unit.

  “Your feelings for my son haven’t changed?” he asked.

  “Of course not, sir.”

  “In spite of his wounds?”

  I just looked at him.

  “I’m not just talking about his physical injuries. Ryan is a proud young man – he will suffer greatly if he ends up crippled. He will question his self-worth and will have to rebuild his identity. He will probably go through shock, denial, anger and possibly depression before he can begin to adjust and come to accept his new life.”

  “I will not leave him, regardless of long and difficult it may be. And don’t worry, sir. Your son is an upstanding, courageous young man. He will rise up to the task and overcome this trial.”

  Mr. Hill nodded and rewarded me with a heartfelt smile. “Chelsea, I’m sorry for the harsh words I said to you in the HQ. I was wrong and spoke out of turn.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “I do. You’re an outstanding young woman. My wife and I would be delighted to accept you as our daughter-in-law.”

  “Sir, I don’t know what to say.”

  Our conversation was cut short at that point by the arrival of a young man and woman, both a head shorter than I was.

  “Shorty, Aika?” I asked, surprised. Both were covered in dirt and grime, but appeared otherwise unhurt.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but Jones wants to see you and Bhagya,” Shorty said.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Downstairs.”

  “Downstairs?”

  “The morgue. Duh.”

  “Why?”

  “You knew about Madison, right?” Aika asked.

  I nodded, crestfallen.

  “Well, Jones didn’t.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s with her now, and he’s not taking it too well. He heard you were with her at the end, and he wants some answers.”

  I turned to Ryan’s father. “I’m sorry – I have to duck out for a moment. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “You shouldn’t be gallivanting about in your condition, Chelsea,” he said, glaring at Shorty.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  Bhagya magically appeared behind me, ready to push the wheelchair. No doubt she had heard the entire conversation between Ryan’s father and me.

  I looked to Shorty. “Lead away.”

  “Let me push her,” Aika said.

  “Hey, how’d you get inside the town?” I asked as the petite but surprisingly strong Japanese girl pushed me down the corridor with the others in tow.

  “Knocked on the gate as soon as the fighting was over,” she said.

  “And they let you in just like that?”

  “I rang ahead.”

  “Ah-ha.”

  * * *

  As I expected, the morgue was cold, only a couple degrees Celsius above zero. Shorty and Aika led us to a viewing room off to one side of the foyer.

  The room had no furniture except for a central table on which lay a body covered by a white sheet. I didn’t need anyone to tell me it was Madison.

  Ethan stood at the far side of the table, his face a picture of utter anguish. Nanako stood beside him, her dirt and smoke covered cheeks stained by tears. David and Leigh leaned against the far wall, so downcast that they didn’t even bother looking up when we entered.

  Bhagya wheeled me over to the table and helped me stand. I slowly peeled back the sheet so I could see Madison’s face. My eyes brimmed with tears as I took in her forever-closed eyes, the ugly gash on her forehead, her bloody, grime-streaked face, and dirty blonde hair. Somehow, she seemed at peace, and for a split second, I almost envied her that. From here on, whenever I thought of her, I knew I would feel this profound emptiness at her untimely passing.

  “Do her parents know?” I asked.

  “Her father came earlier,” David said. “Never seen someone so disheartened before. Poor blighter.”

  “What about her mother?”

  “She apparently took her own life a few months after the Custodians abducted Madison.”

  I was so glad we wouldn’t be seeing any more cases of children being forcibly removed from their parents. How many mothers had lost the will to live when Custodians seized children with defects or abnormalities?

  “I heard you were with Madison when she died,” Ethan said softly as he stared at her.

  “Yes, along with Bhagya and Ryan,” I said.

  “Did she go quickly?”

  “Yes.” I held my breath to hold back the tears.

  “Did she–” Ethan stopped, too choked up by emotion to continue.

  “Did she say anything? You know, at the end?” Nanako asked, finishing her husband’s question.

  “She said that the baton was Chelsea’s now,” Bhagya said.

  Ethan looked at me in a new light. “A baton you carried over the finish line. If you hadn’t made that video call…”

  I heard his words, but couldn’t think of a reply. Instead, I recalled the first time I met Madison. Under the influence of brainwashing, she was so stiff and formal, and looked down at me as though I was some kind of misguided miscreant. However, her attitude softened after I came out of the Round Room, and from there she consistently stood up for me when Romy or any of the other girls mistreated me. I remembered the loss I felt when she disappeared the n
ight the Rangers and Skel attacked Newhome, and my subsequent delight at meeting her at the water purification plant. Free of Cho’s brainwashing, I was glad I had the chance to spend time with the real Madison Taylor at last, even if only for a few days. She had been so much warmer and more considerate than previously. And now she was gone.

  “Madison didn’t give the baton to Chelsea to inspire her to stop the virus,” Bhagya said so softly that Ethan and I were the only ones who heard her.

  “What do you mean?” Ethan whispered back.

  “She was asking Chelsea to be responsible for the last of us girls – Romy, me, even Anna and Claire.”

  I looked at my friend, surprised. “You can’t be serious – I was the last to join the group and I’m the least of us in ability. You should take her place, Bhagya.”

  “I was there when Madison gave the baton to you, Chelsea. She knew what she was doing. Your pursuit of fairness and justice, tempered by your commitment to personal integrity, makes you the perfect leader.”

  The sound of many pairs of boots in the corridor outside interrupted our conversation. I heard the door to the morgue open and several men stomped in our direction.

  “Something’s up,” Ethan said, head cocked slightly to one side.

  His team members remained where they were, but moved hands closer to weapons.

  The door to the viewing room swung open, and we found ourselves face to face with Pat Tori and ten other men, all wearing Custodian uniforms and holding assault rifles at the ready.

  And they didn’t look too pleased to see us.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ~ Ethan Jones ~

  Striding into the morgue, his face contorted by barely contained fury, Pat Tori headed straight for me. Close on his heals came his entourage – two older men I hadn’t seen before, and eight bodyguards taken from the Armband Custodians and Underground Resistance Movement, including Hong and Badger. I found it rather unsettling to see the latter in uniform and holding Austeyr assault rifles. Pat was replenishing Custodian losses with Undergrounders?

  Spaced unevenly around the fringes of the chilly room, my companions – true professionals – did little more than move their hands closer to their weapons and turn their heads to take in the arrival of the newcomers.

  However, should Pat attempt to sic his bullyboys on me, they’d take them down before they could walk two steps.

  “Did you know about this quarantine, Jones?” Pat’s words were short and clipped, the menace in his voice unmistakable. Despite being a head shorter than I was, he still managed to radiate an air of authority and superiority.

  “Quarantine?” I asked.

  “The town’s been surrounded by Japanese Militia from Hamamachi and men and uniformed police officers from other towns. I sent an envoy outside to query their intentions, but he was informed by megaphone that Newhome has been placed under quarantine for a minimum of three years. No one is permitted in or out for any reason on pain of death. No warnings will be given – anyone attempting to leave will be shot on sight.”

  “It’s a precautionary measure,” I said.

  “So you knew about this?” Pat seemed aghast.

  “Of course. I suggested it.”

  “You suggested it? What are you talking about, Jones? How can you betray your own people like this?”

  “Would you prefer the alternative, Pat? They wanted to nuke Newhome to guarantee the virus’ destruction.”

  “Upon what conditions will they lift the quarantine?” one of the older men said. His greying hair was thinning out, but he had an impressive build for his age.

  “And you are?” I asked.

  “Councillor Rossi,” he said.

  “Well, Councillor Rossi, if the townsfolk keep popping out babies throughout the next three years, the quarantine will be lifted,” I said.

  “Three years?” Rossi said. “You want us to tell the people that they’ve been set free from the chancellor’s regime but are now imprisoned by the Japanese Militia?”

  “That’s right.”

  Chelsea wheeled herself closer. “Ethan, can’t you convince the Militia that the quarantine isn’t necessary because the virus wasn’t released?”

  “Are you sure about that?” I said.

  “I watched Cho and Jeong return the canisters to the biohazard unit. Captain Smithson can confirm it – he was there too.”

  “How do you know they didn’t release some of them before you got to the lab?”

  “The slots in the biohazard unit were full when they returned the canisters.”

  I held up my hands. “Look, Chelsea, you’re probably right, but until we are absolutely that sure it wasn’t released, we cannot let anyone out of the town.”

  “So Newhome remains a prison.”

  “It’s only for three years.”

  “I am very disappointed in you, Jones. You had no authority to make such an arrangement with the Japanese. That should have been made by the town’s interim council, not by some foreigners and outsiders,” Pat said.

  “Wake up, Pat; it was the quarantine or the nuke. Which would you have preferred?”

  Pat Tori stared at me, a fire smouldering in his eyes. He looked set to say something more, but summoned Hong forward instead.

  “Lieutenant Hong?” he said.

  The bullnecked ex-Undergrounder nodded and turned to me. “Ethan Jones, you and the members of your Hamamachi Special Forces Unit are under arrest for committing an act of terrorism by bringing a weapon of mass destruction into Newhome and threatening to destroy the town with it.”

  “Come again?” I said, eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “You will lay down your weapons and accompany us to Custodian HQ. Refusal to follow this order will be met with lethal force.”

  I shifted nervously, aware my companions were watching me. They would fight should I give the order and I had no doubt that we’d win. However, these people were not our enemies, and I refused to kill or wound them because of a difference of opinion, however great it was.

  “Patrick Tori,” Chelsea said suddenly. “Are you out of your mind? In case you were not informed, it took the threat of a nuclear bomb to stop Cho from releasing the virus. You should be thanking Jones, not trying to arrest him!”

  “Don’t be so absurd, Chelsea Thomas. Do you think the town’s inhabitants will clap and pat Jones and his team on the back when they find out that they were thirty-seconds away from being incinerated by a nuclear weapon he brought here with him?”

  “If the townsfolk knew the big picture, that a virus was about to be released that would render all non-Korean men sterile, surely they would understand.”

  “Huh! You will have an opportunity to protest this arrest if you so desire, Chelsea,” Pat said. “In the next few days, Ethan and his team will be called before a specially formed tribunal to answer for their part in endangering the town and its ten thousand inhabitants.”

  “Who will choose who sits on this tribunal, Pat – you?” Chelsea asked.

  “Watch your tone, young woman,” Councillor Rossi said. “You are speaking to the town’s acting mayor.”

  “Oh yes, about that. Tell me, Pat, by whose authority were you appointed acting mayor?”

  “The members of the interim voted unanimously for Pat to hold that office,” Rossi said. “Note the word ‘interim.’ After the council has drawn up a new constitution and the people have been educated regarding its content, free elections will be held to elect a new council. Once elected, that council will vote to choose a new mayor.”

  “This interim council, how were its members chosen? Did Pat choose them?” I asked, understanding where Chelsea was coming from. If we could invalidate the council and acting mayor, that would make this an unlawful arrest.

  “He did.”

  “So Pat chose the interim council’s members, and they in turn elected him as acting mayor?” Chelsea said, wheeling closer. “Also, from what I’ve heard, the majority of the interim council is comp
rised of members of the Underground Resistance Movement and Armband Custodians. I’m sorry, Rossi, but I refuse to recognise the authority of this council. The interim council must include members from all areas of the town’s work-force and population, including women.”

  “Your opinion is irrelevant, Miss Thomas. You have also misunderstood the situation. As I pointed out, the council and Pat’s election as mayor are temporary measures only.”

  “How long is ‘temporary,’ Rossi? A week, a month, three years?” Chelsea asked.

  “As long as is required to draw up the new constitution and ensure that law and order are maintained in the town for the duration of this unfairly-enforced quarantine.”

  “Unacceptable, Rossi. And sorry, Pat, but I’m going to see Mal Li and request that the interim council be invalidated,” Chelsea said. “After that, we can contact a broad selection of potential candidates for the council and bring them together. They can include members from both resistance movements, businesses, the Custodians and women. This pool of potential candidates can vote to elect the interim councillors. Once elected, those councillors can vote to choose the acting mayor.”

  Pat laughed. “You won’t be doing any such thing, Chelsea Thomas. As you and the rest of the genetically engineered girls were subjected to General Cho’s Round Room brainwashing program, I hereby inform you that you will all undergo mandatory counselling with council appointed psychologists. As you could be sleeper agents programmed by General Cho to work against and destroy the town’s newfound freedom, you will be detained in the hospital until you have been deprogrammed and given a clean bill of mental health.”

  “In other words, you are imprisoning anyone who could be an obstacle–”

  “Enough,” Pat barked. “Lieutenant Hong, escort Ethan Jones’ team to Custodian HQ and Thomas and Singhe back to the hospital.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hong replied. “Jones, tell your team to put their weapons on the floor and come with us.”

  Patrick Tori’s Custodian bullyboys lifted their weapons menacingly. I could feel my comrades watching me intently, looking for the go ahead to take them out.