Contents
Dedication
Special Thanks
Title Page
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Author's Note
Copyright
For my children,
who love a good dystopian tale as much as I do.
A SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Diane Leuhrs, Rachel McNally,
McKenna James, David Bracken,
James Colannino, and Ken Green.
You are all awesome.
Your help and encouragement
made this novella possible.
Fortinbras
A novella from The Fortinbras Files
Cora Foerstner
PART I
Fortinbras checked his pistols. After making sure he had extra ammo, he grabbed his night vision goggles. It was a little after eight when he rushed up the stairs that led from his bleak apartment to the rooftop. He moored his small airship on the roof. The ship's disadvantage was noise, but he could fly over the entire town of Orange Hope and assess the situation quickly. According to his friend, Archangel, something big was brewing, and Fortinbras didn't have time to waste on stealth.
On the roof, he powered up the steam engine. While he waited for the steam to build up, he used this goggles to survey the area. The four-story building, the tallest surviving structure in the area, provided a view of a four-block radius. The decaying buildings and the pothole filled streets showed no sign of activity. The neighborhood was empty and quiet. Too empty and too quiet. No nightlife was ominous.
He returned to the airship. As he checked the equipment, he sketched out a plan. He'd circle the Wasteland District, where he lived. Then he'd turn south, flying over the Neighborhood District, where the less poverty-ridden working-classes lived. The differences between the neighborhoods was mostly a matter of perception and one-upmanship. Prostitutes, pimps, and bar owners didn't have a lot of extra time to manicure yards. After that he'd head for the Business District and end up at the Palace District, where the town leaders lived. He'd tried to warn the cartels something was going down, but they hadn't listened because they believed that Orange Hope was too strong to attack. Since there wasn't concrete proof, he couldn't blame them for being dubious. A gut feeling doesn't usually impress people. Too bad they didn't know his gut feelings were always right.
At the Palace District, he'd talk to Christian Collins, who held his contract and ran the strongest cartel. If he were lucky, he'd see Olivia. The thought of her set his heart thumping like an overheating engine. It had been weeks since he'd had a glimpse of her. He swore aloud, annoyed with himself for thinking like a love-starved teenager. She was, after all, married to his boss.
He jumped into the airship and released the mooring clamps. As he lifted off, he glanced down and saw the kid hiding behind the barrels and firewood he'd stacked in the corner.
"Shit."
She was as resourceful as she was annoying. How in the hell did she get up on his roof? She'd been following him for two days. She dressed like a boy, practical and effective. If the street roamers figured out she was a girl, they would used her up and laugh about it over dinner. He lifted off and pushed thoughts of the girl out of his mind.
Archangel's familiar voice crackled over the ham radio. "Fort, you there? Over."
"Yeah, what you got?"
"Just left a bar in Anaheim Beach. Two guys claim there are Betrayers in Orange Hope. Lots of Betrayers. These guys are scared. Over."
Betrayers so close to the Legate Academy? They'd be crazy to get this close to Akbar. On the other hand, Archangel wouldn't just accept someone's word for something like this. This put a new spin on things.
"You sure? Betrayers and gangs?"
"Positive. The men were drunk, bragging that by tomorrow our town's going to be wide open for picking. Corday questioned them. Over."
Corday could convince a rooster to lay eggs. When Corday questioned people, they spilled every tiny morsel of information they knew. Her methods were about as orthodox as an atheist saying mass on Sunday morning, but she was effective.
"You two better get back here."
There was a long pause before Archangel answered.
"Over, Fort. It's a little word, not hard to say. Tells me you're finished." He sounded annoyed. "Anaheim Beach is locked down for curfew. Corday's talking to the mayor. If that fails, we'll make a run for it. How do things look from the air? Over."
"Just took off. I'll get back to you. Over and out."
Below he scanned the streets and buildings for unusual activity. Orange Hope had once been a thriving city in Southern California. After the Yellowstone eruption, few people survived. He hadn't been alive then, but years later a small band of survivors migrated here, hoping to find a safe place from the nomad gangs and thugs who preyed on the weak. His family was among those first settlers. His father named the town. When they arrived they found a ghost town. The only living things were four orange trees with a few anemic oranges clinging to their branches. As a joke, he said, "I dub this wilderness Orange Hope." They plucked the fruit for the children and laughed about hope for a new life. Once the town was settled, Akbar arrived to establish the Legate Academy on the outskirts of the town, which fostered an uneasy stability.
Flying east, he dipped lower over the Wasteland. Again he encountered the same uneasy quiet he'd experienced on the rooftop. Here and there lights shown in a few windows. There were too few lights. People blew off steam at night. Empty bars weren't good omens. He turned northwest and swept over the Neighborhood. Nothing. Again, there were only a few lit windows. The quiet became a long silent scream for help. Turning south toward the Business District, he found what he expected, office buildings and deserted streets. He flew by the dark Collins Building. Then he checked out the Burkhart Building. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a light flicker in one of the windows, but it went out. It happened so fast he wasn't sure if it was his imagination working overtime or if the person in the building heard the airship and cut the light. The business section should be quiet and dark.
He headed east again, flying over the older deserted parts of town where nature devoured humanity's efforts at sanitizing and taming the environment. He switched on his searchlight and swept the area, moving back and forth systematically. Except for a few startled animals, he saw nothing, which did not diminish his increasing unease. Then, below, he saw something move. This was not his imagination. The movement was too big to be an animal. He pointed the light. All he saw were shadows. Several masses of darkness dotted the landscape. He took two more passes. The shadows were definitely people huddled together and smart enough not to make fires or move when the light passed over them. From their positions, they could stay hidden and follow the overgrown area until they reached ocean. Along the way, they could arrive undetected at the Palace District or any other part of town.
"Archangel, Corday? You two there?"
"I'm here, Cowboy. Over."
Fortinbras smiled. Corday had called him Cowboy since his arrival at the Academy. At first, she meant to annoy him, later Cowboy became his nickname. She was the only person who still called him that.
"I spotted several groups directly south of the Neighborhood. They are hiding in the bushes. No fires, waiting, probably for daylight. They have a straight shot to the Palace District, the Neighborhood, and the Wasteland. There might be someone in the Burkhart Building." He paused to think and reluctantly added, "Maybe we should warn Akbar. He might want to gather his students and whoever else is around and help us out. If we could get some Legates on the edges of town, maybe we can stop this before it starts." A long pause followed. "Over," he added.
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"Akbar, really? Over."
"You got a better suggestion? Over."
"A nuke. Over."
Akbar was a conniving, narcissistic lunatic, who was about as warm and fuzzy as a startled porcupine.
"Think about it. Talk it over with Archangel. Whoever is orchestrating this means business. We might be in over our heads."
He turned west and headed for the Palace District. Mentally he slipped into his role of Legate.
There were two kinds of Legates. The first were those sent to the Academy by their families or protectors. They graduated free men and women, as free as educated, trained killers could be. The second were those placed in the Academy and indentured to a patron. Fortinbras fell in the second category. His reward for excelling was that he got to work for Christian Collins, the man who killed his family and held his contract. In two years and three days, his debt was up. In two years and four days, he would kill Collins. He'd lived the last eighteen years for the day he could take sweet revenge.
He approached the Palace District from the south, detouring toward the ocean. There were two bonfires. Flying lower, to check the groups, he confirmed they were the regular beach bums that left the city for the summer months to fish and party. He landed the airship on the beach a few yards from the group and motioned them over. It would be difficult to find a more congenial group of people. Their ancestors must have passed along the happy, mellow gene to them, or they'd decided partying was better than struggling for survival. As crazy as it might be, he sometimes joined them for a week of fishing, laughing, and singing. It cleared his head.
After a few questions, he was sure they hadn't seen or heard anything. He cautioned them to be careful and alert.
"It could get dangerous. I'd suggest going somewhere safe."
Jock, a thin man with a wide grin, said, "Man, no worries. We are armed and dangerous. Gerry . . ." He pointed to a wrinkled old man. "He knows Kung Fu shit and can whup anyone."
He circled back to the Palace district, hoping the shadow people didn't have plans to invade the beach. He flew the area twice, moving toward the center of the district. Lots of lit windows, a man walking his dog, three teens standing on a corner. Normal, everything looked normal. The well-kept, manicured yards and houses created a sense of a bygone era. The contrast between the uneasy silence of the other districts and the ordinariness of the Palace disturbed him. These people felt secure and safe, which made them vulnerable.
He landed in a parking area near Collins' home but walked toward the large home on the corner. Burkhart reminded Fortinbras of a slimy, sidewinding predator eel. He found Burkhart standing in his yard smoking. He nodded when he saw Fortinbras. The man was best viewed in the dark from a distance, where his lack of hygiene and obnoxious personality were obscured.
"I flew over your building. Looked like someone was inside. I thought I saw a light."
"Umm," Burkhart said. "Must be the custodian. He cleans at night."
The explanation was reasonable, but the man's voice squeaked as he spoke. The voice inflections could just be Burkhart being Burkhart, or he could be hiding something. If he'd hired Betrayers or was in league with the gangs, it didn't make much sense for him to be here, unless they had orders not to invade the Palace District.
Fortinbras headed for Collins' home, a large, gaudy Adobe that was no more or less pretentious than the other reclaimed homes in this District. He used the passcode to get into the large courtyard, which smelled of night blooming jasmine. Standing before the thick mahogany door, he took a deep breath. His heart beat a little too fast. When he knocked, a baby-faced young man Fortinbras had never seen answered the door.
"Tell Collins I'm here. I need to talk to him."
"He ain't available," Baby Face said and moved to close the door.
Fortinbras pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Go tell him I'm here. Now."
Frowning, the lad shoved at Fortinbras' chest. Stepping sideways, Fortinbras watched Baby Face's momentum slam him into the wall. For a moment, he seemed dazed but quickly recovered and rushed at Fortinbras, who slammed his fist into his attacker's face, knocking him to the ground.
Behind him, Gordo said, "I see you've met Fortinbras."
"I need to see Collins."
Gordo took a bite of the muffin he held and spoke with his mouth full. "He ain't here. What's up?"
"Where is he?"
Gordo shrugged and raised bushy eyebrows up and down.
"Whoring," Fortinbras said, moving away from the injured boy.
"Who's whoring?" a musical voice asked.
Olivia stood behind Gordo, her long dark hair hung over her shoulders. Her full lips broke into a wide smile when she saw him. Her eyes flitted over his body as if she were checking to make sure everything was in the right place. His heart did the flip-flop thing it always did when he first saw her. She glanced at the boy bleeding on her clean floor and motioned to Gordo.
"My husband's not here. Out on business," she said, turning back toward the living room. "Come in."
Her voice had an edge to it, and Fortinbras knew she'd understood his meaning. He followed her into the living room. She sat on the brocaded couch, motioning him to sit in the matching chair across from her.
"Something big is going down tonight. I need to contact the other cartel leaders. It's serious. You need to be prepared."
"What exactly do I need to be prepared for?" her voice sounded amused.
"I'm not sure. Um, an invasion, I think." He turned into a blubbering idiot when he was around her.
She frowned.
"Look. There's trouble coming. It's big. I've been telling Collins for weeks. Get your kids. I'll take you to my place until this blows over."
She stood. "Use the phone over there. Pound sign and one will connect you to everyone you need to talk to. I'm going to bed. You can show yourself out."
He stood and in three strides stood next to her. She smelled like roses. Even when she was a girl, she rubbed her body with roses.
"Come with me."
She shook her head. "If there really was trouble, Christian would be here protecting me. I'm safe."
When she turned away, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. His chest felt like a freight train was barreling through him.
"I'm serious. You're in danger."
"It isn't your job to protect me. I think your job description says, I kill things. People, relationships, anything."
"Are you ever going to forgive me?" The words were out before he'd even had time to think.
"I forgave you years ago."
He was aware of his hand holding her arm, of her warm skin, of her breath. He couldn't think.
"I was young. I didn't know what I was doing." His mouth felt dry from repeating old words and old excuses. "I wanted you to be safe. I couldn't give you what you needed."
"Yes, you were young and foolish." Her gaze accused him. "But you were thinking of you, not me, not us. Don't pretend otherwise. You didn't want the burden of loving someone. That would interfere with your . . . revenge."
She said revenge as if he'd taken a lover and discarded her.
"I'm sorry. Sometimes I wish I could change it."
"You mean you choose not to change." The hardness of her tone shocked him.
She stepped closer. Their bodies were almost touching and his mind screamed for him to take her in his arms. She touched his cheek with her soft hand.
"Fort, I have a life and children. A husband who, in his own way, loves me. And as strange as it may sound, I've grown fond of the man you have sworn to kill." She moved her hand from his cheek and sauntered toward the door.
"Olivia," was all he managed to say.
She stopped and turned her head to look at him.
"Make a life for yourself, find someone to love. And, think about how easy or hard it's going to be to kill the father of my children. Leave them fatherless. You remember what that feels like. W
ould you take a father from his children? If you kill him, I will never come to you. If you don't, you'll never come to me. We are lost to each other."
She left.
He stood in the empty room that had been so full of her. For years, their conversations had been no more meaningful than polite greetings and mundane small talk. Now, their first real conversation erupted like a long dormant volcano coming to life. He'd imagined what he'd say to her if he ever got the chance. The conversation hadn't gone as he'd imagined. He wondered how long she'd been waiting to say those things? Whatever had been between them, he'd destroyed. Somehow, he never imagined it was over between them.
He mentally shook off the shock and the crumbled dreams. He phoned the cartel leaders. Burkhart was the only one who didn't pick up. The others listened politely, asked a few questions, and said they'd be careful, but Johnson summed up their thoughts. "These are little more than rumors."
"I've seen what looks like groups of people hiding in the outlying areas. If I were you, I'd call in extra guards and man every lookout tower. When dawn comes, there will be a battle."
Fortinbras knew they didn't believe him. Short of ordering them at gunpoint to fortify their homes and their town, there was little he could do. He stood in the shadows outside Collins' home, watching and replaying his conversation with Olivia. The truth of her words looped through his mind accusing and torturing him. No matter how many regrets he accumulated, he couldn't bring himself to give up his revenge. He'd lived so long with the desire to kill the man that he wasn't sure if he could ever let that go. Payback clung to him like a parasite.
He'd walked away from her so many times, failed her in so many ways. His mind shuffled through hundreds of thoughts, but mostly he vacillated between saving Olivia and saving his town. He should be contacting Archangel and Corday. If Collins came home, he'd feel more comfortable leaving. He told himself that Betrayers and gangs didn't attack at night. Whatever their plans, they would begin at dawn. That thought gave him comfort.
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