Nathan felt anger rising within him, but tried not to let it show on his face. “Usually I’d agree with you, but we need to speak to Brant.”
The officer looked up. “Mr. Brant doesn’t just see anyone who rolls in off the street. He’s a busy man. A very busy man. I don’t think we can help you today, sir, so perhaps you’d like to be on your way now?”
From the corner of his eye Nathan could see that Freeson’s feet and legs were getting agitated. He’d already told his friend that he would deal with all the talking. Now, Syd, who’d wanted to come along because she was the only one who hadn’t seen inside the Greenhouse Zones yet, reached across and rubbed Freeson’s arm. Like Nathan, she could see the mechanic was taking the bull from the officer hard.
“Just get word to him that Nathan Tolley is here. He might want to break off and talk. Especially because I’m bringing a message from my wife.”
“Who are you? The postman? Stryker’s documents and messages from your wife? We don’t have time for this. We have other people to deal with right now.”
Officers were walking away from the Humvees towards a group of approaching men and women. There were about twenty of them moving in a ragged line. They were following a tall and rangy boy-man who walked like he owned the city. Nathan recognized someone who was the king of his own domain, and wouldn’t think twice about transmitting that notion to anyone in the vicinity. He had an AK-47 over his shoulder and a thick, well-stuffed rucksack on his back. The people behind him were similarly attired and armed.
“Wait here,” the officer said, and with that he went over to meet the guy with the AK-47. As the officer approached, AK-47 pulled down his hood, revealing a close-cropped blond head, mirrored shades, and cheeks hollowed below razor bones. His attitude screamed charisma, and his smile at the nearest officer reminded Nathan of an alligator waiting for a fish to swim into his mouth.
Nathan heard the rush of breath and the groan of misery escaping Syd’s lips before he felt her crash into his side, blossoming a flower of pain up from his cracked ribs. Syd was hugging Nathan hard and pushing her head into his arm, keeping his body between her and the crowd being met by Detroit PD.
“Hey,” Nathan hissed, trying to mitigate the pain in his side.
Syd’s voice was a harsh whisper when it replied, and it was full of panic. “Get me out of here, Nate; get me out of here now.”
4
Nathan felt Syd stiffen all the way to her legs. She was about to run. And running was going to alert the people she was trying to avoid having see her. “Wait,” Nathan whispered sharply. “Just wait.”
Syd buried her head in his shoulder and he felt he could almost hear her heart hammering against him through both their winter coats.
Nathan was still wondering how he would extricate his pistol from inside his jacket if he needed it when the police waved AK-47 and his motley crew through the airlock and into the Greenhouse, without any checks or concerns.
These people had been expected.
“It’s okay; they’ve gone.”
Syd looked up from Nathan’s chest, her eyes filled with disbelief as the glass airlock hissed shut and the police turned their attention back to their Humvees and braziers.
“Who was that?” Nathan asked, his words whipping away on the breeze.
Syd shook her head. Her eyes bulged and she began to back away. “I can’t go in there. I’m going back to the Masonic.” She turned and started trudging away from them without a word of explanation.
Nathan could only guess at exactly why Syd had behaved the way she had. The group of murderous thugs who’d killed the delightfully dotty Marty and his wonderfully resolute and kind wife Betty at the truck stop back east had been searching specifically for Syd. And the way she’d reacted just now told him that there was a good chance the people she’d seen going into the Greenhouse were of the same tribe. That they’d made it into the Greenhouse without any trouble gave Nathan a further feeling of unease.
Nathan looked after her as Syd moved away through the bitter snows—not willing to give up his mission just yet. “Go with her, Free, and I’ll wait here to see if I can get in.”
Freeson nodded and went after the girl, jogging to catch up.
Nathan shook his head. The whole situation was a mess, and he hadn’t even been able to get into the Greenhouse yet.
Nathan, after an hour of foot-stamping chill and negotiating on the periphery of the police braziers, had eventually gotten into the Greenhouse warmth through the airlock, and was now being taken to Brant’s office. It was on the second floor of Chase Tower, below where the hospital now sat in the repurposed building. The walk under glass had been pleasant, and fragrant with the smells of farming and food. There were ranks of hydroponic units being tended by workers, two enclosures of free-range chickens, and some goats being milked by hand. In the technological surroundings of the girdered and glassed enclosures, it all gave Nathan the sense of stepping back in time a hundred years. If it hadn’t been for the concrete below his feet and the skyscrapers lancing up through the snow- and ice-smeared ceilings, he might have really thought he had gone back in time. The sound of scraping up above caught his attention as one of the cops led him forward. There were a gang of workers up topside, scraping away ice as best they could to maintain the light levels within the Greenhouse. He could also glimpse a high-up radio communication mast, and rows of meaty-looking wind turbines up there being attended to, as well. The turbines provided as much electricity as was needed to drive the hydroponic water pumps and illuminate the fluorescent sunlights they used to provided extra solar sustenance for the plants that needed it. The hydroponic units themselves stretched far into the distance along the street, and people—some of them in shirtsleeves!—tended them or walked around as if they were out for a Sunday afternoon stroll. The people here really did have it better than those outside.
Although bartering was now the primary unit of commerce in Detroit, those who were given immediate access to goods and the Greenhouse fell into two distinct camps. Those with skills that were needed, and those who had gold or diamonds to use in buying their way in.
“Brant reckons there will be an end to this one day, and everything will get back to how it was. He thinks gold and diamonds won’t lose their value, and he and his cronies’ll be well set when the Big Winter is over,” Stryker had said early in their stay in the city. That had been before Brandon had been born, back when Nathan had been at his rawest over the situation and their fool’s errand of coming to Detroit. Far as he could tell, this was yet another reason to do as little business with Brant as possible.
Nathan was kept waiting outside Brant’s office, and sat with his fingers drumming on his knees. The second level of Chase Tower was just about level with the glass roof. He watched the workers at their scraping and brushing, being reminded of the people who’d worked the tarmac apron at a snowbound La Guardia when he’d landed there in the middle of winter what felt like several lifetimes ago. That time, as he’d looked through the window, apron staff in their Hi-Viz jackets had been working snow plows or pushing brushes, working like ants between the gigantic fuselages of the aircrafts. Nathan wondered now if the world would ever go back to being anything like that memory. Just guys doing their jobs, getting their wages, kissing their wives, and cracking a beer and watching a game.
Could it ever really happen, or was it as crazy an idea as collecting gold and diamonds in case the weather changed?
He didn’t know.
“Mr. Tolley?”
Nathan looked away from the window and its vision of a world that had died many moons before. Brant was wiping his hands on a towel. His tie was undone and hung loose down his shirtfront. His bald head shone under the fluorescent light. “I understand you want to make me an offer.”
“If you’re willing to listen, yes.”
“Well, that depends on what you have to say. Come on in.”
Harvey Brant was just the kind of man who would believe his own publicity.
He was a stocky, bald headed, bull-shouldered man who, in a previous life, had been a car salesman and a minor politician, in that order. He still had the false bonhomie of a salesman who was more interested in how much you’d pay him for a wheezing Oldsmobile than whether it would meet your needs. Stryker had told Nathan that Brant had dragged the city into building the Greenhouse Zones through sheer force of will, but what had looked on the outside to be an expedition of altruism and sound civic planning had always been more about building a personal fiefdom—as the really canny people had left Detroit for the south as the Big Winter had geared up to maximum force.
Simply, Brant had seen an opportunity and he’d taken it. He was just the kind of man who didn’t need to be the sharpest chisel in the woodshed as long as he had the muscle to implement his demands, along with people around him who had the smarts to make the systems work. Brant’s office displayed a slew of papers and maps. His desk was covered in them, and directories and policy folders had been flipped open, examined, and then discarded. The seat behind the desk was leather and commanding, but the chair he pointed to in front of the desk for Nathan to sit on was small and meager. There were papers and an open box file open upon it. “Ah, just put those over on the sofa, would you?”
Nathan picked up the papers and the box, and did as he’d been asked.
“Let me get right to the point, Mr. Brant,” Nathan said as he sat down. “There has been some movement with my wife in terms of her willingness to work for your committee.”
Brant was closing folders and stuffing papers into boxes. He looked all the more the used car salesman here—out front with the guy who wanted to buy the car, he’d have been all smooth professionalism and hale fellow, well met, while back in the office he’d have been a mess. Nathan supposed he had to give Brant some credit for allowing him in to see this, or perhaps Brant had no self-awareness at all. “Well, that’s good to hear. I’m surprised she’s not here to tell me that herself, I must say.”
“My newborn son, Brandon, he can’t be left alone, and I have to say she didn’t trust that she wouldn’t just be kept here against her will if she came with me.”
Brant stopped working with the papers and looked up. “I don’t know whether to say your candor does you credit or to feel insulted.”
“Well, since you used Stryker Wilson to bring us here under false pretenses…”
“That’s unfair, Mr. Tolley. There is a life for you here among the Greenhousers; we need people with skills and practical knowledge. True, we have enough mechanics—got ’em coming out of our ears, and I know my way around an engine, too, if needs be—but your wife’s prepper background and impressive skillset make her an invaluable addition.”
“I remember Stryker sold her well to you.”
“Yes, yes, he did. It pains me that she decided to stay in the outer city rather than take up residence here.”
“She’s not one for elites, Mr. Brant. That’s kinda a line in the sand for her.”
“Then I really don’t know why you’re here, Mr. Tolley, other than to say hello, and… goodbye.”
Nathan held up his hand. “Mr. Brant, we have a problem, a problem that you might be able to help us with, and in return for that help, Cyndi will agree to work on your committee.”
Brant raised an eyebrow and rubbed a hand across his bald pate. “Tell me about your problem. I’m better with problems than I am with keeping an office tidy.”
“We had a run-in with a gang; they tried to screw us for protection…”
“It’s a lawless city…”
“Only because you keep your law here, protecting the Greenhouse.”
“Resources are finite, Mr. Tolley.”
“Is compassion?”
“Are you insulting me again?”
“If you help us with our problem…”
“You mean kill your problem? Send my guys out to risk their lives for you,” Brant added, enjoying Nathan’s discomfort.
Nathan dug in, “I’m just asking for help to get rid of them. Whatever you do with your own conscience is up to you.”
“And in return? We get Cyndi?”
“And my boys. They’ll need a place, Tony will need education, and both kids will need medication—as part of the deal…”
“I’m sensing there’s something else…”
“Yes. Yes, there is.”
“He bought it? The whole damn thing?” Cyndi’s voice was incredulous.
Nathan had gotten back to the Masonic Temple and immediately called a council. Everyone had come to their apartment. Hawaiian-shirted Stryker, laconic Freeson, slightly amused Lucy, concerned Syd, techno-whizzes Dave & Donie, and even Saber the dog.
“Well, he seemed to; whether he’ll renege on the deal like he did with Stryker is still to be seen, but right now, he’s playing ball.”
“I don’t believe it,” Freeson said.
“I’m not used to agreeing with you, Free, but yeah, I don’t either.” Stryker and Freeson high-fived sarcastically and Saber barked, but Nathan was pretty sure the dog didn’t really understand the full nuances of the situation. Even if it was the perfect exclamation point.
“Cyndi works on the committee, Tony goes to school, and Brandon gets whatever meds he needs. I stay outside with you guys—because I want to, not because he didn’t offer—he did offer, but I’m not leaving you out here to fend without me.”
Cyndi’s smile suggested forgiveness to Nathan.
“My hero,” she said, backing up the notion.
“The Greenhousers will reduce the tithe for medications to everyone in the outer city by fifty percent. They’ll barter less strictly for any produce we bring to them. They have a surfeit of food right now, and although they recognize they’re in a strong position, they seem to know that if enough of us put our mind to it, we could probably take them down. I didn’t say that outright, but it’s a strong bargaining position. And I think they know that that unrest out here could be coming in there if they don’t change their policies—we just gave them the opportunity to do it and not look... weak, I guess.”
“Nathan, the politician,” Lucy said, clapping her hands. “I’m impressed.”
“There is, however, a downside.”
All eyes fixed on Nathan. “Okay,” said Cyndi, tell us the worst.”
“He’s not prepared to send out all his men to hunt down the gangs. He doesn’t want to leave the Greenhouse undefended. They have serious firepower back there, but they need it to protect their citadel. I understand where he’s coming from. So, there’s a compromise—seeing as we were getting so much in return, I didn’t think I could decline.”
“What’s the deal?” Donie asked.
Her partner, Dave, snorted. “I bet we’re not going to like it.”
Nathan nodded. “They’ll send us five men. Good men, he says, and they’ll help us secure the Masonic, freeing us up to track down Tasha and anyone else with her. They’re happy to support us here, but Brant doesn’t want to put anyone’s life on the line. That’s our problem.”
Freeson shook his head. “No. This needs cops, military, people with experience with this kind of thing; you get into a firefight with these people and you might get killed, Nate.”
“So might I,” Stryker added.
Cyndi glared at him like she wouldn’t mind too much if that did come to pass.
Catching her look, Stryker said, “Well, thanks a million for that.”
Nathan didn’t want this descending into another argument, so he raised his hands and stood up. The pain in his side suggested that perhaps the speed of the movement had been more than a little ambitious, but he tried to stop the worst of it transmitting to his face. “Okay, guys, let’s cool it, yeah? Look, Freeson, I hear what you’re saying, but I didn’t come all this way to see the people I care about made to suffer at the hands of this gang of scum. Brant is giving us men—good men, he said—to look after the Masonic while Stryker, Free, Dave, Donie, and me go out and deal with this threat, if
we can. If we find a whole bunch of them, then we can go back to Brant for a re-up of men and firepower.” Nathan took Cyndi’s hand. “I can’t make you go and work for Brant’s committee, Cyndi, but I’m pleading with you to. This threat needs ending, and soon.”
Nathan nodded towards Stryker. “Stry is right; if we give in to this gang, they will keep coming back for more, and because he took one down, they might just circumvent their protection scam and come here to confront us all. From what I saw of Tasha, she’s no fool. She’s not street scum; she’s got a brain, and anything she comes up with by way of an attack on us will be hard and fast and clever.”
The people in the room had taken all of this in with uncomfortable expressions on their faces, but each one showed resignation to his logic in their eyes.
“We’ll be okay,” Nathan continued, “and I have an idea of how we can track Tasha and her people down in the quickest and safest way possible.”
Cyndi’s face looked set, and her shoulders had become stiff with tension, but after a second or so, she nodded her assent. “Okay, but the second Brant goes back on the deal, I’m outta there.”
“Don’t worry,” Nathan said. “That happens, I’ll be coming for you myself.”
It was only after the meeting had broken up that Nathan noticed that Syd had left it far sooner than anyone else. She hadn’t spoken, and he’d been too focused on Cyndi to see she’d gone—even without Saber, who had padded into Tony’s room to lay with him while he slept.
“Did you see Syd go?” he asked Cyndi as she heated some water to make up formula for Brandon’s next feed.
Cyndi shook her head. “No, but she didn’t look happy the whole time. Not that that’s unusual, but you know what I mean.”
Nathan hadn’t yet had a chance to quiz Syd about what had upset her so much outside of the Greenhouse. Now, he made his way from his apartment along the corridor to Stryker’s place, to see if Syd was there, but she wasn’t in the communal area or in her room.
After the Shift: The Complete Series Page 29