But with two thousand madmen dying of starvation, the killing would only become greater.
Fuck it, they deserve to die.
That answer didn’t satisfy him.
They’re your people now. The Lord granted them to you.
David gave the sky a withering glance and then looked around again. Not far off to the south he could see the vast, multicolored stretch of the Old Times landfill. It was huge, the biggest he’d ever seen. To the west lay the sea. He spotted a few tiny figures on the beach. Probably some of his scouts. Interestingly, none of these had deserted even though they had ample opportunity. In fact, no one had. The entire Horde was holding its breath and waiting to see what its new leader would do. No one still alive mourned The Pure One. David was safe from any assassination attempts.
“Wonderful,” David grumbled. “I have to live through more of this farce.”
Maybe this was God’s punishment. Maybe hell was starting early.
He looked back up at the sky.
“Why won’t you let me balance the books? Let me do something good before you burn me. I know I’m damned. All those villages, all those women, I don’t deserve forgiveness. But can’t I get the chance to make some sort of amends?”
He got no answer except the wind whipping through the plastic bag.
“Bah! You’re probably not even there, and if you are you’re laughing your ass off. Fuck you.”
David sat for a long time. No answers came to him. At last he pulled out the small radio from his pocket, the radio The Pure One had hidden in his tent. David had listened to it for a while last night with the volume turned low. It had been nice to hear Radio Hope again.
He clicked on the radio.
“… rice is a nutritious and versatile food that can be made into any number of recipes. Rice must first be cleaned in fresh, pure water, and then put in boiling water to …”
David’s brow furrowed. Why were they talking about rice? That was Old Times food. He and his parents had found a bag of it once when he was little. It was white and filling, but beyond that he couldn’t remember anything about it. When did people start growing rice again?
It didn’t matter. Here was a station that helped people for nothing. He listened for a time, his tension easing. The station always made him feel better, made everybody feel better. Perhaps that’s why The Pure One had banned it.
After a time, he started turning the dial, hearing only static. Back when he was a teenager, he and his family had owned a radio. Radio Hope had just started up then, and every afternoon and evening they would listen to it and scan for other stations, hoping that more would appear. None ever had, but they kept on searching. They even searched on longwave, the marine band that old freighters and navy ships used to use, hoping that there was more out to sea than oil slicks. Of course they’d never heard anything, but he and Mom and Dad always used to make up stories about hearing a ship someday and meeting the sailors.
David flipped to the longwave band and began to turn the dial, smiling at the warm memory. There would be nothing, of course, but it reminded him of those hopeful times tuning in with his parents.
He spun the dial slowly, listening to the pop and hiss of static. His parents had told him that when they were children the airwaves had been alive with voices, back when radio stations broadcast from every city state, and freighters still plied a few trade routes. What must it have been like in his great-grandparents’ time? Every turn of the dial would have brought a different station, a different voice.
“… and you’ll never guess what’s going to happen here in the Burbs. We’re going to celebrate Chinese New Year!”
David almost dropped the radio in shock.
“One of Yu-jin’s friends is planning it. There’s going to be free food and everything. Over.”
David craned his ear to hear more, his hands shaking. The voice sounded like a young boy’s. The response was awash with static. David stood up and angled the antenna this way and that.
“… great … if we make it … please tell them. Over.”
David’s brow furrowed. Although it was hard to hear, the other person sounded like a young boy too.
The response came back clear. “Of course I will. I’ll tell The Doctor right away. Remember that motorboat Kevin and Rachel are always testing? We’ll get to you no problem. Is there enough food on the freighter? Over.”
David’s heart raced. A freighter! Could it be?
“Yeah, we got plenty. OK, I’ll tell the captain … 48, 73 … we need a lathe that c— … of grease … oil … and we … that’s great, Pablo … how long? Over.”
“I don’t know. I’ll go to him right away. Stay put and we’ll come to you. I’ll radio the same time tomorrow. Promise. Over and out.”
“… —nd out.”
He heard the hum of a carrier wave for a moment, followed by static. David turned around, held the radio up high, but there was no more. The wind picked up, and the plastic bag from the Old Times tore off the dead bush and flew to the north. David watched it go.
The Doctor, the Burbs—that transmission had come from New City! And the response? The response had come from a freighter. David’s mind whirled with the possibilities. The freighter hadn’t come from New City. Even with all their tech they couldn’t have made one. Impossible. That meant there was another city somewhere, or cities. Maybe there was a whole world rebuilding itself out there. Instead of the Righteous Horde scorching the earth at its passing, his people could be part of that. Those killers down there could have a future in something other than killing.
And then he remembered himself. David Nimitz fell to his knees and gave thanks to the Lord for giving him a sign. The disappointment in the bunker had been a test. His faith had faltered, faltered badly, but the Lord had forgiven him for the sake of His plan. Even as David knelt there, the hard, gritty stone digging into his knees, hands folded, head bowed, a little worm of doubt crawled through his thoughts.
Luck. Ever heard of luck? Don’t see meaning where there is none. God is dead, or gone, or never was. Don’t be a fool.
No, it was a sign. He had to go north, find that freighter, and bring it to his people to take them out of the wilderness. He had been given a sacred trust and he must not fail. Yes, he was like the prophets of old.
And if I’m not, I’ll make myself one.
David opened a satchel that he had brought with him and pulled out the head of The Pure One. Setting it on the stone, he broke up the dead bush and ringed the head with the kindling. Then he took out a small flask of pure grain alcohol, looted from one of the farms they had passed, and poured it onto the head and sticks. With a piece of flint and steel he sent sparks down onto the soaked wood until it caught.
The Pure One’s head lit with a whoosh of flames.
David stood, raising his face and hands towards the sky.
From below, he could hear his people cheering. They saw the smoke rising, and knew what it signified.
David stood there for a moment, praying that the Lord would accept his burnt offering, and then descended the hill to rejoin his people.
He came back down to camp to find his scouts had captured a prisoner—an older man in shabby clothes, rake thin, with patches of flaky red skin on his face and hands. A faint chemical tang wafted off him. Two of the scouts forced him to his knees and pressed his head against the ground.
“We found this fisherman on the shore, sir,” one of the scouts said. “Shall we execute him for being tainted? You said not to execute anyone without your express orders.”
The scout’s words came out incredulous and a bit annoyed. David resisted the urge to smack him. Had these people gotten so used to killing that they resented not being able to commit murder at every opportunity?
He didn’t need an answer to that. He was no better.
“The Lord will judge him,” David said. Then he had a sudden thought. “Does he have a ship?”
“Yes, sir, a good little sailing ship.
”
David felt a strange prickly feeling ran through him. Suddenly his path became clear.
“Let him up.”
The scouts hauled him to his feet.
“You ever sail to New City?” David asked.
“Y-yes.” The man kept his head down.
“How long would it take from here? About two or three days with good winds?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You look surprised I know that. I used to be a fisherman before all this. But the purity of my faith kept me from getting sick like you have.”
The fisherman gave a nervous smile that faded quickly. His mouth worked as if to form a response, but none came.
“Any bad currents? Any underwater obstructions I should know about?” David asked.
“This stretch of shoreline is pretty rough for a few kilometers each way. It was lowlands before the seas rose and so there’s a lot of submerged buildings. Best to sail straight out and get well away from shore before coasting it. After that it’s pretty clear sailing, although there are a few more patches of ruins.”
David nodded. “Congratulations. You get to live. Scouts, take this man back to his boat and let him unload all his possessions. Then send him on his way. Secure the boat for later.”
The scouts gave each other a confused look but did as they were bidden. The fisherman stammered out a thank you as they led him away.
He turned to one of his faction, a man in his inner circle. “Get the group together, we’ll meet at the entrance to the bunker.”
They found Aaron still there, sitting on a sack of cement mix by the entrance and looking weary.
“How are you?” David asked his friend.
“I’ll be fine, sir.”
David put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll have a medic check up on you in a minute. In the meantime, keep that rabble out of here.”
He jerked a thumb in the direction of the camp, where the rest of the Righteous Horde was finishing their meal. Many stared in the direction of the bunker. They would need an answer. Soon.
David squared his shoulders and turned to the sixty or so of his faction who had survived the assassination night.
“Let me show you what we found.”
The tour didn’t take long. The men looked crestfallen, then grim, as they scoured the bunker and found only materials to make cement. Once he got them back to the entrance, David addressed them.
“This is a test. The Lord has given us stone, but we can turn it into bread.”
Some men’s eyes widened in hope. Others remained wary. David pulled the radio out of his pocket.
“I found this in the tent of our false leader. He banned listening to Radio Hope and yet did it himself. When I went to the mountaintop to pray, the Lord commanded me to turn it on and revealed a miracle to me. There’s a freighter transmitting out at sea. I heard it as clearly as you are hearing me.”
“Really?” gasped a man who David knew to be one of the more gullible. David almost winced. To have such an idiot believe it made it look unbelievable. Judging from their faces, many of the others agreed.
“A freighter means technology. It means food. Whoever is sailing it would trade a lot for the contents of this bunker. All we have to do is find them.”
One of the others cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.
“And how do we do that?”
“I used to be a fisherman. The Lord has given me a boat. I can sail out there and find it.”
This statement was met with silence. At last one of the others spoke.
“We can send one of the scouts.”
“The Lord has chosen me.”
More silence. David knew what they were thinking—You’re trying to cut and run, aren’t you?
David hurried to go on.
“The freighter was talking to New City. They said they would talk again at the same time tomorrow. Come with me to the mountaintop tomorrow and hear the miracle the Lord has granted us.”
“Hallelujah!” a couple of the wide-eyed ones said.
One of the doubters took a step forward, getting into David’s space. “Yeah, I’d like to hear that.”
David met his eye. “By this time tomorrow you will have heard the voices that will save the Righteous Horde.”
And if those two boys don’t transmit like they said they would, by this time tomorrow I’ll be a dead man.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Smile, be the friendly man in the unfriendly world. With so much hate, there has to be a place where everyone feels accepted.
“Roy loves everybody.” That’s what it says on the door, and it’s true. Even that young cracker at the gate deserves love. Hate never got anyone anywhere, and the only cure for ignorance is tolerance and education.
So be the shining example that makes their people like your people. Everyone knows how friendly Roy Jones is. Everyone knows Roy likes you no matter what the color of your skin.
But sometimes Roy needs a fucking break.
It was midmorning on Sunday and the bar was closed. Roy hauled himself out of bed and took a long drink of water from the glass on his bedside table. He could hear the low murmur of voices out front in the bar. Good. Jaylen had already opened up and some of the others had arrived.
Roy washed his hands and face, got dressed, and shuffled out of his bedroom. Walking down a short hallway past the storeroom where Annette and Pablo used to sleep, he came out behind the bar and saw most everyone had made it already. Ethan and Malik were playing chess at one of the tables while Jamal looked on, and Caleb sat tucked in a corner with his nose in a book. At another table, Justin, Matthew, Kendrick, and Tyler were shooting the shit. The usual Sunday morning crowd. All old friends. All brothers. No need for false smiles or kind words with these folks. Wives and girlfriends had their own get together at Lashonda’s at the same time.
“Hey sleepyhead!” Jaylen called from the kitchen. “Scrambled eggs as usual?”
“That would be great, thanks,” Roy said, rubbing his forehead. “And extra salt and tomatoes. Last night was a long one.”
“Embrace Islam and you’ll never have a hangover again,” Jamal said, not taking his eyes off the game Ethan and Malik were playing.
Roy chuckled. “Can you picture me a Muslim? How could I run my business?”
Ethan made a move. “Check.”
“Damn,” Malik grumbled.
“Sacrifice your bishop,” Jamal said, “It’s the only way.”
Malik frowned and shook his head, peering at the board.
Roy walked around the bar and passed into the front area. He looked over Malik’s shoulder at the pieces. Ethan had tangled him up pretty good.
“Sacrifice your bishop, it’s the only way,” Roy said.
“Everyone’s an expert,” Malik grumbled.
Roy moved over to the main table as Kendrick and Tyler made room.
“You hear the latest?” Kendrick asked. “Yu-jin got rejected for citizenship.”
“I know,” Roy nodded. “I was there.”
Kendrick cocked his head, his dreadlocks swinging. “Since when did you go to citizen’s meetings?”
“Since everything turned to shit and they needed a voice of sanity.”
“Then you’re about forty years late!” Kendrick laughed.
“Ain’t fair she was even up for it,” Tyler said. “Lashonda’s been an associate for a year now and she hasn’t been given citizenship.”
Matthew shrugged. “Lashonda only saved one of them. Yu-jin saved them all. Saved all of us too.”
“Still ain’t right,” Tyler said.
“She’s fine, though. Mm-mmmm,” Matthew said.
“I’ll tell Destiny you said that,” Caleb said from the corner.
“Read your book,” Matthew replied. “And don’t tell me you haven’t looked at her either.”
“No point in looking, she’s The Doctor’s woman,” Jamal said.
“I told you The Doctor’s gay. They’re just friends,” Roy objecte
d.
Jamal wagged a finger at him. “I won’t have you saying things like that about that man. He’s one of the only one of them that’s given us a fair break and you insult him.”
“If he’s given us such a fair break why isn’t Lashonda a citizen?” Malik said.
“Are you going to move or not?” Ethan asked.
“I’m thinking. This ain’t speed chess.”
“I whoop your ass at that too.”
“Shut up.”
“Breakfast’s ready,” Jaylen said, coming out of the kitchen carrying two plates heaped with scrambled eggs and tomatoes plus a few herbs mixed in. Jaylen’s Hangover Special. He plopped one down in front of Roy and another in front of Justin, who looked a bit worse for wear. Last night he’d been the life of the party at $87,953.
Roy dug in as the conversation flowed around him. Same old talk, same old faces. What a relief. It was nice to have something predictable in this world.
“Heard you had to patch up Baruch last night,” Tyler said.
“I saw the whole thing,” Justin said. “Damn, that white boy was leaking!”
“He’ll be OK,” Roy said.
“You patched him up good. He’ll be fine,” Justin said, nodding.
“The Doctor taught him everything he knew,” Jamal said, still watching the game. “You’re too young to remember, but when Roy here was still a punkass kid, Doc took him in and trained him up as a nurse.”
“Awwww, shit!” Justin laughed, dropping his fork. “What else did he teach you?”
Roy frowned. “Watch it.”
“Sponge baths and prostate exams,” Malik said.
Roy glowered at him. “I said watch it.”
“Stop messing with the brother and move one of your damn pieces,” Ethan said.
Roy and Jamal exchanged glances. Jamal’s translated as “listen to these young cubs talk.” Roy shrugged and went back to his food. What Jamal couldn’t accept was that these young men were more right than he wished. When New City had been founded, Roy had been an angry orphan of sixteen. The Doctor had trained him as one of his nurses and talked of training him as a doctor one day. But that wasn’t the only thing The Doctor wanted. He never touched Roy, never even said anything directly, but the desire was obvious, and it had eventually driven Roy to the Burbs.
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