After It Happened (Book 7): Andorra [The Leah Chronicles]

by Ford, Devon C.

  The moron didn’t even have a round in the chamber, I thought to myself.

  “Oi, dickhead,” I called after him. He turned, and I tossed the gun into the air for him to catch which he did awkwardly and, I had to admit, did so in a way that was a little on the feminine side. “You might need that,” I added as I sent the magazine through the air after it.

  The atmosphere relaxed, and Carla stepped forward for me to introduce Dan. Her eyes met mine, an unspoken question in them as she sensed the strong bond between us. It was something we often got with differing degrees of judgement. I stemmed the flow of incorrect assumptions on her part by adding to the introduction that he was my dad. Her partly open mouth closed, and she hurriedly went on with the conversation.

  We filled her in on what had happened since I left, and she did the same from their perspective. Our story ended with the breaking of the blockade, and on finding out that there were injured people she asked for a car to go down and bring them back.

  “You’ll need to leave a few men here at least,” Dan said, “I’m sure they’ll have a relief or something coming here after we showed up. Probably reinforcements if they have any sense.

  Carla left five men there, keeping only herself and the two men driving the cars to ferry the injured and the captive back to her town.

  I went in the first car as Dan waited back with the others, and Mitch came with Alita to bring the unconscious prisoner, who failed to enjoy the scenic drive over the mountain roads on account of being unconscious and being shut into the boot of the car like meat luggage.

  Arriving back at the building which seemed to be their town hall only three days after leaving it, I stepped out of the oddly quiet car and looked up at the impossibly blue sky.

  “Welcome to Andorra,” someone told me.

  “Again,” I muttered to myself, hoping that this time I would leave in better shape than I had before.

  Late Night

  “Nooo!” Peter said, pleading and springing up on his knees as he always did being unable to sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. “Don’t stop there.”

  “It’s late,” Leah said firmly, and looking over at her daughter, Adalene, who waited patiently for a natural break in the retelling of her mother’s adventures.

  “Come on, boys,” she said insistently in her accented voice, “more tomorrow.”

  They left their aunt deep in thought, her mind racing back to the time after she had been so cocky, so full of herself to the point that she felt almost invulnerable just as Dan had done so many times before he got himself yet another blow to the head or shot or sliced up or found himself too close to an explosion only to sit there and complain as Kate berated him for needing stitches yet again.

  She thought back to a time when she first learned caution, fear even, and it had humbled her. She explored those feelings, rising pensively to pour herself a refill of the fruity liquor they brewed in the town, and gently placed another log on the fire before she sat again.

  She had people she loved, people she cared for and felt a sense of responsibility towards them, but she had never faced a sense of sudden and uncontrollable loss as she had back then, and that was why she didn’t want to tell the boys the remainder of the tale. She wasn’t ready to dive headlong down that rabbit hole that late in the night.

  She sat in silence, her thoughts running over an event more than two decades old but still as fresh in her mind as the day before had been to her. Still as fresh as the day she had fled from Dan and Neil in fear, thinking that they were drug dealers or worse, back when she had really been a kid before being reborn into the company of the strange men who had shaped her life beyond measure. Before she knew it, her glass had been drained in small sips and she considered the pros and cons of another. She knew that if she opted for another it could easily become another after that followed by another; such was how she got when she melted back into the feelings of her past.

  “Options,” she muttered to herself, earning a slight raise of Ares’ head as he opened one eye to be sure she wasn’t asking him to wake up and lope into battle at her side once again. Just like he had in the Territory Conflicts before she had manoeuvred for, well forced, a peace agreement that secured a period of non-hostility in the area where all could benefit in safety. That peace still lasted, and if she was honest her actions over that year in her early thirties were among her finest achievements, after Adalene of course, but carrying and giving birth to her daughter when she was about the same age as she is now had taken a terrible toll on her mind and body and she vowed that she had done her part for the population of the human race.

  “Options,” she mumbled again, having made up her mind already and rose for a refill, deciding to bring the bottle over to where she sat to save the inevitable and risky journey back after her next glass.

  She did this every so often, usually sparked by a story she retold of her past deeds and that of the others who the boys only knew by reputation, but it never bothered her husband as he preferred to go to sleep early and rise before the dawn to slip out and leave her to wake in peace. She called him husband, but there had never been a formal ceremony; just an announcement of their betrothal and commitment to one another. That was enough for the people of Sanctuary, but some still insisted on their old customs of a wedding. She had never been that way, had never dreamed as a girl of how her dress would look and what colour her bridesmaids would wear. Instead she had dreamed of her weapons and training as a teenager and had been sharpened over her formative years into an instrument of warfare to oversee the people under her protection with ruthless efficiency.

  She never felt robbed of a childhood, far from it in fact, and never lamented of how things could have been. They just… were, and she was okay with that.

  She stood, uncertainly, seeing that the fire had burned down to a point where another log would not revive it as she thought and drank. She couldn’t leave her dog there, not in good conscience, so she gently coaxed the ancient animal up from his spot and ushered him towards her bedchambers where she removed as much of her clothing as she could in her state and fell into bed.

  The Danger of Underestimation

  We were welcomed into the country as formally as I had been the first time, only without the air of happiness I’d felt before. Part of that, I knew despite the shame of it, was because I wasn’t in charge this time and felt embarrassed about my inflated sense of self-worth. I was back under the leadership of Dan; once again the backup. Mitch never felt, or at least never seemed to be bothered by it, but he had been given orders to follow for most of his life. I had been trained as a leader, and Dan made no secret of that, so I think I felt the lessons that came with adversity and failure to heart more than others.

  Either way, we were fed and embraced as friends for a meal and the niceties were observed. A glance at Dan made it clear that he felt as annoyed as I did to be exchanging inane pleasantries when there was a metaphorical wolf at the door and he hurried the conversation onto the more delicate matters until Carla invited us to speak in private.

  “How are your people?” I asked, shamelessly manipulating her into feeling an emotional response and break down any resistance she may have had to our suggestions.

  “They are better,” she said with a frown of concern, “you have our thanks for all you have done for them, and for us all.”

  The bags of fluids I had got into them went a long way to promoting a revival, and their own medical people had taken over and even treated Jean with painkillers to ease the pain of his fractured ribs. Other than treating the symptoms, there was absolutely nothing that could be done for him. Either way he was out of the fight which at least two of us knew was coming soon. They had their own hospital, a small one granted but it was unmolested and kept in decent repair. Those with any form of medical knowledge had studied and trained to pass on their skills to the point that they had a decent working health system. Kate would have been overjoyed at it, especially as their hydroelec
tric power supply granted them working X-ray machines.

  “You’ll need to either block that road completely,” Dan told her, “or else garrison it and keep it reinforced. Do the opposite of what they did to you.”

  Carla nodded, her politician’s face showing that she was happy to receive advice on such matters from trusted military advisors but not going so far as to accept Dan’s recommendations unquestioningly as she didn’t know him.

  “Much the same as the smaller mountain road is blocked,” she said, “only that was a rockfall in our first year.”

  “How did they take your people prisoner?” I asked her, changing the subject and seeing her face darken.

  “The two people you saved,” she said carefully, “were not happy here. Not since Tomau and his people came back. They wanted to leave but I said that they could not.”

  Dan’s eyebrows went up. He would never force anyone to remain inside the walls of Sanctuary if they didn’t want to and had even helped a group of people leave our old home years before by providing vehicles, weapons and equipment to see them on their way.

  “But they went anyway?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  “Yes, and those people obviously did not allow them to pass.”

  “Much the same as those people”—Dan pointed up the hill to where the tunnel entrance lay out of sight—“won’t let you leave either. There’s only one way to deal with them.”

  Her face settled into a mask so as not to betray her true thoughts on his opinion before she spoke.

  “But we are not soldiers,” she said, “we have weapons, yes, but we do not have the training or the knowledge to fight with them. What would you have us do?”

  Even I saw this coming, and I was sure that Dan did too. She was trying to make us volunteer, to suggest that we be the ones to lift the siege on their behalf, to present the problem to the very people that could provide the solution.

  “I’m aware that you are a…” Dan hesitated only briefly as he chose his words, but the pause was long enough to indicate a small hint of disapproval, “peaceful people, but that doesn’t change the harsh reality of the world outside. You have a totally unique place here, and if you want to keep it then you have to fight for it.”

  “Tell me,” she said, gaining control of her words before she spoke too fast or too harshly, “what you would have done in my position?” Dan looked to me, another test to see if I was on the right wavelength, so I answered her.

  “Fortify the southern road,” I said, “garrison it, just as you should the tunnel and the road over the top. Controlling who comes in and out is the only way to stay safe. When your borders are protected you can farm and scavenge everything you need from here,” I said as I waved a hand over the stunning views, “and reform everything so that your people are fed and cared for. You say you’re not fighters? Well neither was I, so I had to learn. You can too. There isn’t an option any more just to choose to avoid conflict because conflict will find you. Look at the facts,” I said, counting them off on my fingers, “you’ve got resources, some farmland, livestock, a position that can be defended, you’ve got an endless supply of power, and fresh water. People will want what you have and the only way to stop them is to be stronger than they are.”

  “Or at least seem stronger,” Dan cut in. “It’s like home security; if your house looks too difficult for a burglar to break in then they will go somewhere else that doesn’t pose a risk to them. You can’t stop people being people, especially not now, but you can out think them.”

  “But we are past that stage, are we not?” Carla asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “because the enemy is already here, right outside your gates, and they know everything about you already. There’s only one option left.”

  “And what is this option?” Carla asked. Dan and I exchanged a look.

  “The first time we were attacked,” he said softly, “back in England where we had an undefended place with resources, we killed every last one of them. Then we went to where they had set up camp and searched for any more. We left nobody who would go off and gather support and come back to overpower us.”

  “The second time we were attacked,” I said, “we did the same.”

  “And you would have us kill all these people? Without training as you have? Just march into their guns and die?

  “Just ask me,” Dan said, his tone dropping to one of intense resolve, “just ask me the question you want to ask.”

  Carla looked him straight in the eye, organ grinder to organ grinder, and spoke formally.

  “Will you kill these people for us, please?”

  “Yes,” he answered, “but it will come at a price.”

  Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared as her mouth opened ready to let fly a barrage of words before I cut her off.

  “We aren’t mercenaries,” I told her, “we’re not guns for hire, but we want an alliance.”

  She shut her mouth and seemed to deflate slightly, as though she took her finger off the trigger in her mind.

  “What are the terms of this alliance?”

  “Trade. Medicine. Use of your facilities when we need them,” Dan said, “in return we offer protection, trade from our own town and the others also under our protection. We would want to come and go, just as you and your people would be welcome to do so in Sanctuary. We can share knowledge, exchange people with specialist skills to pass them on, we can send apprentices to you and you to us. We can be friends.”

  Carla seemed taken aback, as though she expected to have more than a pound of flesh extracted from her in exchange for us risking our lives.

  “This…” she said uncertainly, “this is all you want?”

  “I’ll take one of your Teslas if there’s one going,” Dan said with a smirk, “but yes. This is all we want. It’s in our interest to stop this bloke anyway; what if he takes over here and decides that he wants to come for Sanctuary next year? Or the year after that?”

  “I understand,” Carla said, a small smile of relief washing over her face, “so what will you do?”

  “We go tonight,” he answered without providing any further explanation, “and you need to sort out the defences ready for when it’s done.”

  ~

  “They have taken the southern road,” the messenger said, breathless and travel stained from his long journey around the mountains. The man he reported to kept his head down at the book on the desk, ignoring the arrival of the messenger up to the point that he began to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Did any of our people survive?” Tomau asked eventually.

  “I,” the man stammered and swallowed, “I saw one still lived, he was their prisoner.”

  “And they are now in my country?”

  “Yes, they did not come back out of the blockade, but there are men with guns there.”

  “Just as there were men with guns there before,” Tomau said softly, almost conversationally, “our men, only they failed to hold their position.”

  The messenger didn’t know how to respond. He was starting to regret his choice to return to their leader to report the news, instead weighing up the benefits for simply pointing his motorcycle west and not stopping until he found somewhere safer to live out his life. Perhaps he could have found another group, one who wasn’t led by a man intent on capturing an entire country.

  “Go now,” Tomau said gently, the softness of his voice implying violence if he didn’t comply immediately. The man left, holding his nerve just long enough to not run. Tomau finished what he was reading, carefully placing a bookmark neatly against the inner spine of the book before closing it and placing it on the desk so that the edges aligned to that of the desk perfectly. This attention to detail, the fastidious observation of angles and neatness, was a new development for him and he found himself ready to fly into a rage if any of his possessions were disturbed. Now, if the barricade at the southern entrance to Andorra was counted as his possession, it had been disturbed in the worst possible way
.

  He opened a drawer, taking out a ledger which he kept in a neat hand, and wiped clean a small ruler before removing the cap from a pen. He placed the cap on the other end, aligning it perfectly with the writing running along the length, and scored a perfectly straight line through all of the names under the heading of the Spanish border, all except the messenger, adding a note to one side that one of them was assumed still alive and captive.

  He counted the other names, coming up with a total of forty-one which was the true strength of his group despite inflated claims he made to anyone he met from the outside, and knew that he could arm most of them. He planned to advance his people before they could be attacked, and the second wave would be unarmed to take weapons from the fallen defenders.

  He had wanted to hold out, to force them into submission and be welcomed home to take command after he had demonstrated his superiority and the weakness in the current leadership, the feeble democracy they all hid behind when times called for a more direct way, but his hand had now been forced and his timeline accelerated.

  He had known that the man would be trouble, not when he had first seen him but after he had booby-trapped one of their vehicles and taken two more of his men. He had underestimated his enemy, and between him and the girl who he knew must be with them, he had lost six men at this end and sixteen at the south side. Almost fifteen per cent losses in people and weapons in a few days. He had to put a stop to it before that bleed became fatal.

  “Caleb,” he called out, “bring me the prisoner. I would speak with him.”