The Reset

by Powell, Daniel

  “Rebuild?”

  Talmidge nodded. “Oh, that’s right—rebuild. He needs women—healthy women—to give the world healthy children.”

  “You just—you mean you just send him your women? You turn your family and friends over to him—these people you claim to care about?” Alice said. She couldn’t hide the disdain in her voice.

  “Oh, gosh no! No, it’s quite to the contrary, Alice! I would never do that. But people stumble into Bickley from time to time. Some of them are like you. Some aren’t. I look after them and then, when the time is right, I send a load of girls up north. Thanks to your arrival in our fair village, tomorrow’s the big day! I was going to ask him for another week or so, maybe try to buy some extra time, but now...” He shrugged. He finished his drink, slid the empty glass across the bar.

  “Now you’re here, Alice. I’m sorry to say it, but you will be on that truck. It pains me—it surely does—to send a woman of your obvious…” his eyes shined as he measured his words, “quality to Mr. Roan. But a deal is a deal, and I have to do for my people here in Bickley. It’s nothing personal.”

  Alice shut her eyes in disbelief. She couldn’t help herself. “This…it isn’t right, Mr Talmidge. You should be helping these people. Not sacrificing them.”

  “Oh, I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. But it’s how things are. He’s calling the shots.”

  Alice looked away. There might have been twenty of them in the room. They were drinking, talking, their eyes often darting to the bar to watch the little drama unfolding there. Most of them were disfigured in some way, the great majority by burn scars, and there were more men than women. Still, she made an effort to link eyes with some of the ladies; they couldn’t hold her gaze.

  “Hard times,” Talmidge sighed. He picked up the apple and took another bite. “Hard times, indeed. Quade!” he bellowed.

  The henchman ambled across the room.

  “Show Alice to her quarters.” Quade snatched at her elbow. “Oh, and Alice? One other thing: if your boyfriend shows up around here, we’ll kill him. Let’s hope he has the good sense to hightail it back to Arkansas, if that’s really where ya’ll are from. Georgia’s just not apt to be so hospitable, sweetheart.”

  NINETEEN

  A kerosene lamp lit the room. Ben watched from the window, squinting through lacy curtains. The girl played with her toys on a rug in front of a fire. A gaunt man with glasses balanced on the tip of his long nose was reading a book in a rocking chair while an older woman worked at a bit of cross stitching.

  Ben swallowed thickly, his heart thudding in his chest. Decision time. Jesus—did he really have the stuff to burst in on a Norman Rockwell painting?

  What were his options? Alice was in trouble.

  He stole around to the back of the house and tried the door, surprised to find it unlocked. He crept through the kitchen and into the front hallway, where he could hear the little girl and her mother humming a familiar tune—harmonizing.

  It was the ABCs, and it was sweet.

  He flexed his fingers on the stock of the shotgun and stepped into the doorway.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said, aiming for authoritative and losing it instantly when his voice cracked. “I…I don’t mean you any harm. Don’t move, please—nobody move,” he said, flicking the barrel back and forth between the man and the woman.

  The man just stared at him; he wore a stern expression and he blinked his eyes rapidly behind thick lenses. “You don’t need that weapon in here, young man,” he said. His voice was low and calm. “Please. Please don’t point that thing at my girls.”

  “Who’s here, Papa?”

  “We have a visitor, Lucille. It’s no cause for concern, little one.”

  The woman put a hand to her chest, her brow furrowed. Ben could tell she was fighting the urge to snatch the little girl up from the floor.

  “Did you hear me, young man? I said that you don’t need that thing in our home.”

  “I,” Ben started. He suddenly felt very foolish, standing there with the gun. “I’m sorry. I need help. My friend—she’s being held in your town and I—”

  “Put it down,” the man interjected. His voice was even, the tone reassuring. “Just put it down and take a seat. Let’s talk about this.”

  Ben’s eyes darted about the room; the tables had been turned—if he’d ever really had the upper hand at all, he’d surely lost it now.

  “Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Okay, I will. Thank you. I’m sorry. I…I’m going to sit down now.” He found the closest chair and cautiously lowered himself, the shotgun resting on his knees.

  “Do you want to play?” Lucille asked. She had a charming smile, and he saw that she was missing some teeth. Nothing strange about that—it was a typical youngster’s gap-toothed grin.

  “Not now, Lucy,” the woman said. “Our guest is…he’s probably thirsty. Arthur—would you fetch us all some tea?”

  The man smiled and stood and Ben saw that he was very tall indeed—well over six feet. “I’m going into the kitchen now. You can accompany me if you wish, Mr…?”

  “My name is Ben. And I’m really sorry about…about coming in here like this.”

  “It’s okay, Ben. We understand,” the woman replied. “My name is Gwen, and this our granddaughter, Lucille.” She smiled at her husband. “The tea, Arthur.”

  “Be right back.” He loped past Ben and into the kitchen, where Ben heard tea-making sounds.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” Gwen said. She put her project aside. There was an intricate pattern there, a multi-colored landscape taking shape. “Mr. Talmidge does what he has to do to keep the town safe. It’s not easy, and those are hard choices he makes. He doesn’t like it and neither do we. But—well, our hands are tied in the matter.”

  “What will he do with her? Her name is Alice, and we only came to Bickley to look for seeds. Nothing more than that. We don’t want any trouble—we were just looking for supplies.”

  She frowned in confusion. “Seeds?”

  “What are seeds, Nana?” Lucille said.

  “Seeds become plants, Lucy. They become fruits and vegetables. Trees and flowers.”

  Confusion clouded the girl’s futures. Despite the disfigurement, she captured the expression perfectly.

  “Can you…can you really make things grow?” Gwen asked. “Fresh food?”

  “Maybe. At least, I think we can. We’ve been clearing space for a garden.”

  Now it was the woman’s turn to smile. “A garden. My word!”

  “What’s this about a garden?” Arthur said. He brought a silver tray into the room and set it down on the little coffee table. He poured steaming tea into cups and distributed them. There was even a small one for Lucy.

  “Ben says they were searching for seeds, Arthur,” Gwen said. “He says they’ve been clearing space for a garden.”

  The man grinned. “No! Really?”

  Ben shrugged. “We’re hopeful.”

  The tall man nodded. “Oh, so were we once. We’ve tried and tried to make the land useful again, but it’s amounted to nothing. The soil—it’s poisoned all the way through, I think. At least around here it is.”

  He cast a rueful glance at the little girl. “Nothing works out the way it used to. It’s been a lot of trial and error, and mostly only the latter, if you see my point.”

  “But we’re thankful for the blessings that we have,” Gwen interjected, an edge creeping into her tone. “Mr. Talmidge has worked very hard to keep the people here safe, hasn’t he Arthur?”

  “Aye, he has. And Gwen’s right; we are thankful for our blessings. We are indeed. Speaking of which, may I have a kiss, Lucy?”

  The girl flashed that gap-toothed grin and went to her papa and put a kiss right on his cheek. She threw her arms around his neck and patted the fabric of his thin cardigan sweater with her tiny hand.

  It was a beautiful thing, that simple exchange of affection. Arthur rubbed her back i
n return and whispered something in her ear, and she returned to her place on the floor, her hands flashing back and forth between a toy car and about a dozen wooden blocks she had fashioned into a wall.

  Ben sipped his tea. It was good—strong and hot—and it warmed him. He went into his pocket and removed a small apple. He held it up and Gwen’s mouth fell open in awe.

  “May I give it to her?” Ben said.

  Arthur put his tea down and stood in astonishment. “Is it safe?”

  Ben nodded.

  “What is it, Papa?”

  He ignored her. “What do you think, Gwen?”

  “I think it’s a miracle,” she whispered. “A genuine miracle.”

  Lucy stood, impatient. “What is it?” she repeated, arms crossed on her chest.

  “An apple,” Arthur said. He extended his hand and Ben gave it to him. The man looked at his wife and then at the apple; he looked at his grandbaby and then back at the apple.

  He bit into it; the sound it made was crisp.

  “What’s that?” Lucy said. “What’s an apple?”

  Arthur chewed and swallowed. “Oh,” he said. “Oh my, it’s very good, Gwendolyn. Very, very good!” Ben had a moment of déjà vu. Hadn’t he said that very thing to the old man that had shot him, all those months ago?

  “Go ahead then, Arthur. Don’t dilly dally—share it with her!”

  Lucy found her papa. She tugged on his pants leg. “What is it, Papa? Tell me!”

  “Here, sweetie. Here, try a bite of this.” He put it into her hands and she cupped it, letting her fingers caress the contours of the fruit. She sniffed it and hesitantly nibbled at it.

  “Wow!” she exclaimed after swallowing a small bite. “Oh, wow! That’s really good, Papa! Apples are amazing!”

  He loosed a deep, raspy laugh and the woman joined him and so did Ben, and soon they were all chortling like drunken teenagers while the little girl polished off the fruit.

  “Here. I have another one,” Ben said, pulling the last of his supply from his coat pocket. There were more in his pack, back in the brush, and baskets of them in the chilled root cellar at the farm. He gave it to Gwen. She took a dainty bite and an expression of bliss, of pure astonished happiness, graced her features. She took another before handing it to her husband, who just passed it straight on to Lucy.

  The girl made short work of it.

  “Apples!” Arthur said. “My Lord, but I was sure I’d seen my last. It’s been years, Ben. A decade, at least!”

  “Now you understand why I came here. The woman, my friend—she means,” he paused, measuring his words. What did she mean to him, exactly? “The woman they took is my life, Arthur. Just as you folks have each other, she’s all that I have. It’s just the two of us. Will you help me find her?”

  Arthur looked at Gwen. Gwen looked at Arthur. She nodded.

  The man sighed.

  “They’ve got her in the old post office. They’ve turned it into a jail. There’ll be at least a few guards—probably lots of guns. And it’s just you, isn’t it?”

  Ben nodded. “And I only want to have her back. We’ll leave right away, I promise. Please, Arthur. You have to help us. We just want to go home.”

  “And where is that, Ben? Where is home? Where did you get that food?” Gwen said.

  He swallowed. “Home is…well, I hope you won’t be disappointed if I don’t say anything about that just yet. It’s all the leverage I have.”

  Arthur nodded. “Aye. Smart move. And it’s good leverage at that, son. Good leverage at that. Perhaps we can help you. That is,” he pushed the glasses up on his nose and leaned forward in his chair, “if you can return the favor down the road. Our Lucy would really benefit from some fresh food. So would Gwen and I, truth to tell. We’re skin and bones is all, and we’re always sick. Can’t remember the last time we didn’t feel run down.”

  Ben nodded. “If I get Alice out of here safely, I promise you that we’ll come back, Arthur. I give you my word.”

  There was a long silence, and the old man nodded. “Very well, then. I’m inclined to trust you, Ben. Come on out with me to the barn. I’ve a few things that might help you on your way.”

  Ben stood and so did Gwen. “Come now, Lucy. Let’s get ready for bed.”

  “Good night, Lucy,” Ben said. The little girl grinned and crossed the room. She turned her head to him and he knelt. She put her arms around his neck and gave him a big smacking kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for visiting, Ben. If you come back, will you bring more apples?”

  “I’ll bring more apples,” he said. Her touch brought tears to his eyes. He hadn’t felt a child’s touch since he’d lost Lina, and the sensation was a blow. There was life here in Bickley. Just as the Winstons had, these people were trying. “I’ll come back, Lucy, and I’ll bring more apples.”

  She smiled and nodded and then the woman took her hand and they disappeared down the hallway.

  “She’s a good girl,” Arthur said. “I love both of my girls. I love them with everything that I have left inside me. It’s why helping you is so hard for me, Ben. I hope you understand the risk that I’m taking. I’ll do what I can to help you get Alice back, but if you succeed it’s going to be bad for our town. It’ll be bad for Bickley if those men in Atlanta hold us all accountable. You can’t tell another soul that I helped you. Swear it to me right now, Ben.”

  “I swear it, Arthur. I won’t say a word, no matter how this goes.”

  “And you can’t forget your promise to look after us if you make it out of here. I’m counting on it.”

  Ben nodded and they shook hands.

  “This way, then. Your Alice completes this year’s quota, so you don’t have much time. Talmidge will be trucking the girls up to Atlanta soon, now that he’s made Roan’s number.”

  TWENTY

  Quade marched her across the street and over to the old postal station. It took him some time to unclasp the padlocks on the heavy front door; apparently, there was a precious stock of prisoners inside. He finally cracked the door and a sour stench—sweat and feces and the acidic tang of stomach bile—came whistling through the opening.

  “Rank, eh?” he grunted. “Lucky for you, though. You just have a one-night stay here at Bickley’s little Waldorf. Shouldn’t offend your delicate senses too greatly, Miss Alice.”

  He shoved her into the dim room. A cluster of women huddled, chained together, on the far side of the room. The service counters had been demolished, leaving pieces of drywall dangling from the ceiling like broken teeth. A poster with the USPS icon hunk askew on the wall; it bore a large, reddish stain.

  Three men rounded a table, playing cards. “Quade! Quade, come sit in for a minute! Give us a fourth, willya!” one of them called across the room. His speech was slurred, and that’s when Alice noticed the jars on the table.

  “I’m busy,” Quade replied. “You know, we have preparations to make for the trip north tomorrow. Important preparations. Ye’d do well to remember that, Umber. Mr. Talmidge won’t look kindly on ye in the morning if yer hung over.”

  Umber, a portly mound of pale, freckled flesh with curly red hair, waived a hand in response. “I can handle my hooch, Quade. I’ll be fine, and these tarts’ll be prim and ready when it’s time to make our move. Might make a few deposits, actually, before that train leaves the station. Send Roan some fine southern Georgia stock just to get things started!”

  This brought laughter from the other two at the table. One was skinny—impossibly so—and Alice instantly associated his appearance with fetal alcohol syndrome. His elbows curved inward, like a praying mantis, and he had a greasy wedge of black hair and a little beard that looked like a spider waving goodbye on his chin.

  The third man at the table scared her. He stared right at her—those dark eyes filled with naked hunger. He was tall and muscular, with long dark hair and a square jaw. No mutations there, at least on the outside. A tongue of tattooed flesh licked up the side of his neck and clear around to behi
nd his right ear.

  Tough and mean—that was her first impression. She’d seen it plenty of times in Atlanta.

  “Cuffs?” Quade said, and the big guy stood and unclipped a pair from his belt. He tossed them across the room and Quade snapped one manacle tight onto her wrist. “Right this way, Miss Alice. Step lively.”

  They trudged through filth, puddles of rank liquid that pooled here and there on the concrete floor.

  The women warily appraised their new companion. There were four of them, all cuffed to a heavy chain that had been drilled into a pair of concrete blocks at the rear of the building.

  Alice’s heart sank as Quade pushed her to her knees before securing her to the chain. The finality of her capture was total, and she fought the sudden urge to weep.

  Just when she thought there might actually be a future…

  “There,” Quade grunted. “Snug as a bug in a rug.” He leaned in, his breath a mixture of nicotine and rot. “I finish with my preparations early, I’ll pay ye a visit later on, Miss Alice. That’s a promise. We can settle our accounts for that little jab ye gave me back there in the field.”

  She turned away. In that moment, death seemed perfectly preferable to what Quade was intimating.

  He straightened. “I’m off to tidy the wagon, gents. Be wary now, Chad. Her man’s still creeping around out there. It could get interesting if he comes for her in the night. I’d quit the game and set up a watch if I was you.”

  Chad. That was the tough one’s name. He nodded and gave Quade a mock salute that ended with an extended middle finger. “We got it under control, Captain Quade. You handle your business, I’ll handle mine.” The last part he said while staring directly at Alice, a sneer on his face.

  Quade left and the men returned to their game. Just like that, they were lost in it. Alice turned to the others.