The Reset

by Powell, Daniel

  Ben dropped his shirt. “I don’t know.” Alice squeezed his hand, watching her husband intently.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Marks said with a shrug. “We’re not interested in the device. We’re really not that interested in either of you—not even Ms. Coral, Ben. Sorry if that hurts, although it would appear that you’ve moved on as well. What we’re interested in,” he rummaged in a satchel on the seat next to him, “is this.” He took an enormous pistol out of the bag and placed it casually on his thigh. In his other hand, he held an apple.

  Ben nodded. “We brought that here to trade.”

  “Trade?”

  “We’d like an audience with Roan,” Alice said. “We’ll discuss our offer at that time.”

  “Your offer?” Marks said, eyebrows raised. He wore a bemused grin. “You’re making Roan an offer?” He laughed, shook his head.

  “We can help him. And we’re willing to do that, but he stole from us,” Ben said. “He took something very important from us.”

  Marks’s eyes narrowed. It was clear he was in the dark, and Ben thought maybe they had some leverage. It might be small, but it was something.

  The big man turned his gaze to the window, and just like that the conversation was over. Ben followed suit, and for the first time he took notice of what Roan had done to the city.

  The limousine picked its way slowly through the poorly lit streets. Most of the buildings looked deserted, but lights glowed in some of the houses they passed. A smattering of men, women and children walked along sidewalks that had been cleared of debris. They were bundled against the cold, and every block or so Ben noticed small collections of people warming themselves around fires glowing inside old metal trash barrels.

  “It’s amazing,” Alice whispered. “Devolution. This…my God, Ben, it looks like something straight out of the Great Depression.”

  Ben shot her a quizzical glance and she merely shook her head in response. “There’s so many more people here than I thought,” she said.

  Marks nodded. “We’ll do our first census when the weather turns in the spring. Isn’t that a novel idea, Alice? A census! Anyway, it’s hard to be precise but we think there might be between fifty and sixty thousand souls living in the various quadrants. And how many poor bastards are making a go of it outside of Roan’s walls?” he shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?”

  “Where are we going?” Ben said.

  “Roan’s house. He and Ms. Coral would like to ask you a few questions. In person.”

  Warden Merrick had kept quiet, but now he spoke as they approached a roadblock. There was a little kiosk. Merrick fished a card from his pocket and the window slid open.

  “Quad three,” he said, flashing his identification.

  “Thank you, sir,” the sentry replied. “Open the gate!”

  The arm lifted and the limousine passed through. “I’m in charge of quad two,” Merrick said. “Incarceration and punishment. The people you just saw on the streets are but a step away from Roan’s stockades.”

  Alice shook her head. “What do you mean? Are they…are they criminals?”

  “Not yet,” Merrick admitted, “but give them some time and they’ll commit an offense. Their kind always does. Even after the deck was reshuffled and they had a fresh start, it didn’t take them long to fall back into their old routines.”

  “What do you mean?” Ben said. He felt something swelling inside of him.

  “Quad two is where we relocated the marginalized. These were people scuffling through life before the Reset. Thugs and petty criminals, eking out lives for themselves in the black markets. They’ve shown us nothing to indicate quality or value. Quad two is home to almost three quarters of our population.”

  “And…and how about the other areas?” Alice said. “How do they work?”

  “Quad three is home to Roan’s scouts and administrators. There are teachers there. Individuals with special skills. Engineers and the like. I can assure you, our horticulture team has been very excited since they were given access to your wares.

  “Quad four is home to the wealthiest—the most…vital individuals that survived Calvin’s attacks.”

  “And quad one,” Marks chimed in, “is a no-man’s land. It technically exists inside Roan’s walls, but we don’t venture in there very often. It’s a hard place, populated by hard people. But it’s effective. It serves its purpose”

  Ben watched the scenery changing all around them. Here, the homes were brightly lit. They stood further back from the streets, and some even had iron fencing. When they drove through the occasional commerce district, he saw a few shops—a few restaurants where people were actually eating together. At one place, he saw musicians playing instruments on a stage.

  “Effective at what?” Alice said.

  Marks smiled. “It keeps our people in, and it keeps other people out.”

  Alice frowned. “Is Roan that paranoid? He doesn’t need to be. There’s nothing out there, Marks. Nothing.”

  “And yet here you are,” Merrick said. “Are you,” he grinned, “nothing?”

  Alice nodded. “I don’t mean anything to anyone but my husband and the little girl that was taken from us. I’m no threat to Roan. None at all. I’m no threat to what he’s trying to build here. I just want our Lucy back.”

  “This girl,” Marks said. “Is she a mutie?”

  “She has a disability,” Alice said. “And she’s ours. You people had no right to take her.”

  Marks addressed Merrick. “I know her. The little sightless one. I expected as much, when Crank told his story. That big bastard was telling the truth, Merrick. It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

  Merrick nodded. They were approaching another checkpoint.

  “What?” Ben said. “What’s a shame?”

  Marks smirked. “We just assumed he was lying. Crank’s never really been confused for being reliable, and Roan thought he was high. He had Crank executed. The big bastard was skinned, his carcass fed to the inmates. It was contaminated, I’m sure, but beggars can’t be choosers.” He shrugged. “Guess it turns out that he was telling the truth.”

  The sentries waved the limousine through the checkpoint and the driver nudged the vehicle onto an expressway. The road wasn’t lit and it was surreal to see the dark and deserted bowels of Atlanta as they traveled the boundary of the city’s core. Far below the expressway, Ben noticed occasional flurries of spark. He squinted. “Is that…?”

  Marks nodded. “They’re expanding the wall. When Roan’s scouts clear downtown, Atlanta will stand on its own two feet once again.”

  The driver departed the freeway. They’d passed only two other vehicles. They cleared another guarded checkpoint and turned onto a densely wooded residential street. There was a sign, illuminated by a pair of upturned lights.

  BROOKHAVEN

  Here, antique streetlights twinkled every few feet, and homes with sprawling, snow-covered yards and expansive porches sat evenly spaced on huge plots of land. “How on earth…?” Alice muttered.

  “Hard work,” Merrick replied with obvious pride.

  “But the job’s just starting,” Marks said. “Despite everything we’ve accomplished, we still haven’t had much success in agriculture. It’s been…well, it’s been one of our greatest failings, to be honest.”

  Ben pursed his lips, lost for a moment in the memory of that beautiful summer he and Alice had spent tending the garden together. He ached to be back home at the miracle farm (for that was how he thought of it now—as home), but he also thought of the Lawtons.

  He thought of Lucy.

  “We can help you with that,” Ben said at last.

  “Oh, we believe you,” Marks said as the limousine passed through an ornate wrought-iron gate. There were armed men, maybe dozens of them, positioned along the cobbled lane that led to the mansion glittering at the top of the hill. “In fact, we’re counting on it, Ben. You can be sure of that.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  They were sea
rched yet again inside the foyer of the mansion. Roan was a very careful man, it seemed. His home was a revelation. The ceilings stretched impossibly high and a pair of graceful staircases bordered the space, providing access to a veranda overlooking the enormous front room. Golden light filtered down through crystal chandeliers, lending the room an almost heavenly glow.

  It was beyond anything Ben had ever seen, either before or after the Reset.

  Marks noticed their admiration. “It once belonged to a wealthy communications magnate. It would have been a shame to let the place fall into disrepair, and Ms. Coral has given it her own personal touch. She’s quite the designer. This way, then. There’s much to discuss.”

  They followed Marks through a series of stunning rooms. There was a well-stocked library with gilded leather chairs and mahogany desks. There was a study with vibrant oil paintings on the paneled walls and an enormous hearth with a cheery fire ablaze in its belly.

  A long hallway with art on both walls terminated in a pair of French doors; Marks pushed them open and they walked into a cozy banquet hall.

  “This room is for more intimate meals. There’s a larger dining facility, but Roan’s found little use for it. It’s not like we’re hosting heads of state for dinner, of course.

  “Please, Alice. Have a seat,” Marks said, ushering them both around the table. “Here you are, Ben. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  The circular table was set for seven. Marks and Merrick sat across from the Stones. A pair of servants in formal wear entered the room with wine. They moved efficiently, filling their glasses.

  Ben picked up his glass just as the door at the far end of the room opened wide and a man that was instantly familiar, despite all the years that had passed, strode into the room. He wore a bright smile.

  “Good evening, everyone,” he said. He walked around the table and shook hands with Alice and Ben. “I’m Quentin Dunbar.”

  “We know who you are,” Alice said. Her smile showed her surprise.

  “Please—don’t be so shocked,” Dunbar said. He shook hands with Marks and Merrick and took his seat next to the head of security. “More than a few Human Accord officials survived the Reset, you know. I’m not the only one—just had the highest ranking when the shit hit the fan.”

  His wine glass was filled and he sipped it with relish. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. “Damn, that’s good.”

  He was charismatic and handsome, still (and strangely) deeply tanned. He had silver hair and white teeth and he looked every bit the politician he had been in 2038, when he had stood before the American people and lobbied, with a perfectly dour expression, for birthing restrictions on all citizens in the marginalized economies.

  Dunbar had worked tirelessly to enact policies that would shrink the marginalized population. His had always been a hardline approach—even going so far as to propose that poor expectant fathers survive a twenty-four-hour test of endurance in order to earn the right to raise a family.

  He’d made Alice’s skin crawl before the Reset, and now he was seated across from her. She shook her head in disgust. “Was it your idea to separate the people here in Atlanta? What am I saying—of course it was.”

  Dunbar grinned. “It’s always worked, Alice. Tell me, where did you live before you left Atlanta? We’ll find out in due time, so save me the hassle.”

  She turned away from him and Dunbar focused on Ben.

  “Hey, Ben! Quite the green thumb you’ve got there, son! We’ll find good work for you here. Good work for you both. In fact, I think you’ll…”

  Before he could finish the sentence, the door snapped open and a little man and a tall woman walked into the room.

  Ben swallowed hard. Damn, it was really her.

  Coraline.

  And she was stunning.

  Still tall, still slender, she wore a long ivory dress that displayed her shapely arms and shoulders and long, graceful neck. Her chest, and the scars Ben knew still stretched the length of her sternum, were concealed by the stylish garment.

  She looked just like the runner she’d been back on the ranch, when they’d taken so many jogs together through the Deschutes National Forest.

  She had trussed her blond hair with silver ribbons and her blue eyes shone from across the room.

  She looked just the same, all except for the ugly scar that snaked down from her forehead and across her left cheek. It terminated at the little dimple just to the left of her mouth. She smiled at them, and Ben’s heart went numb.

  It wasn’t her smile. It held nothing of the warmth, of the playful companionship and honest, open affection that had bound them to each other all those years ago on Oregon’s high desert. This smile was a rictus—a thin and pained expression that spoke to sadness and…and anger?

  And the eyes…they said the same thing. She studied Ben with contempt, as thinly veiled as the disdain a general might hold for his opponent on the night before battle.

  “Coraline,” Ben said.

  “Hi, Ben,” she replied. “I always knew you were still out there.”

  The little man (Ben assumed he had to be Roan) craned his neck upward to regard Coraline with amusement. “It’s a damned small world, isn’t it?” he said. His voice had a raspy quality to it, and it grated on Ben. “So…you two kids finally found each other. After all these years. Pity it’s under such rough circumstances. Come, Coral. Let’s not be ungracious hosts.”

  He might have topped out at 5’5”. Coraline easily had five inches on him. Ben guessed, based on Roan’s stilted gate, that the little tyrant might even be wearing lifts in his shoes.

  He sported a spiffy tuxedo with a pale green pocket square. His dark hair had been slicked back and a pair of tiny spectacles sat atop a nose just a hair too big for his face.

  This was Roan? This was the man Coraline had chosen to be with?

  “I’m Alice Stone,” Alice said. She smiled sweetly at Roan and Coraline. “Ben’s wife.”

  Marks and Dunbar were amused by Alice’s forward introduction, and it had the intended effect on Ben. He stopped staring at Coraline and turned to Alice; he took her hand.

  Roan and Coraline joined them. Seated just a few feet from her, Ben noticed that she’d tried to conceal the scar with powder. A sudden sadness for the girl he’d loved so completely filled him. How had she been disfigured? What pain and sadness had she been forced to live with, in the aftermath of the Reset?

  “I always knew you’d come to Atlanta,” Coraline said, staring intently at Ben. “I just didn’t think it would take you so long to get here.”

  “I…listen, I tried, Corr,” Ben stammered. “I looked everywhere for you. I came here a few times, I swear...”

  “Before we even met,” Alice interjected, “Ben had made plans to come looking for you again. Even though he’d almost been killed in the past—even though he’d ducked into the city multiple times, he was going to try again. I promise you, Coraline, Ben never gave up on you. Never.”

  Coraline sipped her wine, turning her attention to Alice. Her blue eyes narrowed over the rim of the glass. “You’re beautiful, Alice. I’m sorry about…about what happened to your husband.” Her voice was perfectly neutral. There was no anger there, no protest. Just one stranger expressing sincere sympathy to another, and Alice smiled and nodded in response.

  Roan just shook his head. He grinned at Dunbar. “Women, am I right? It’s like we’re not even here!”

  He leaned forward. “Hey, Ben? Alice? This is a business dinner, okay? Let’s keep our eyes on the ball tonight. Coraline and ol’ Benny here might have a history, but that doesn’t mean one fucking thing anymore. You two have something I want.” He locked eyes with Ben. “And I recently learned that I have something you want as well. Perhaps we can make a deal.” He chuckled. “Wow. I mean, who would have thought that a pathetic little mutie could be such a bargaining chip, am I right?”

  Roan took a long pull on his wine. “Oh, well. Such is life in these barbarous times. Now,”
he rubbed his palms together, “let’s eat, shall we?”

  The door to the galley snapped open and a cadre of servants delivered bowls of steaming soup. It smelled like potato chowder; Ben’s stomach pitched violently at the scent.

  “Dig in,” Marks said, and Ben and Alice had to check themselves to keep from scarfing the soup down in seconds. Despite the tension in the room, there was still an air of decorum. There was still a pretense of civility.

  “So tell me, Ben—what’s left of Jacksonville?” Roan asked after a bit of small talk. “My scouts pretty much stay clear of the city proper. They said there’s a bad fellow that’s set up shop there—some hopped-up warlord who fancies disembowelment as a punitive measure.”

  Ben shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you, Mr. Roan,” he replied. “I haven’t been there in years.”

  “So this,” Roan said, fishing a bit of potato from his bowl and displaying it to Ben, “didn’t come from Jacksonville?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Because it came from your stores, Benny m’boy. It came from your supplies. When you two were having your little lunch break back at the park and we hit you with the tranks, we took everything. We’ve been working around the clock since then. Around. The. Clock.”

  Marks put his spoon down. He cocked his head. “Is there more where this came from, Ben? Do you…do you have seeds? You can answer too, Alice, if you’d prefer.”

  They shared a glance. Ben nodded.

  “We can produce any kind of fruit or vegetable that you want, Mr. Roan,” Alice said. “Where is our Lucy?”

  “She’s fine,” Roan said. “The girl hasn’t been harmed.”

  “Can we see her? We’d like to verify that for ourselves.”

  “Not just yet, I’m afraid. Tell me, is this Lucy the only reason we caught you two trespassing in my city? The walls will be finished soon, by the way. You two were captured in the very last section that was still fairly open. Unlucky for you, of course, but more good fortune for me.”

  Alice sighed. “Look, we have no problem sharing with you, Mr. Roan.” God, how it hurt her to lie like that! An image of her murdered husband, of the horrible things they’d done to him, flashed in her mind and she bit the inside of her cheek to quell the sudden urge to cry. “There are people here that need fresh food. We know that, and we can help you feed them. We just want our girl back, and then we’ll be on our way.”