“Justice has been served. The condemned have fulfilled their sentences.” His deep voice bellowed. “Tom Byrnes—my father—can now rest at peace.”
With these simple words Nick exited the stage.
Karl followed.
The crowd cheered.
***
Following the execution, a large force of Karl Metzger’s men entered Alice. They wore a variety of military fatigues—a mixture of camouflage and tactical gear. No two men looked alike; however, they resembled each other enough to suggest cohesion.
The men shouldered large backpacks and carried machine guns, knives, mortars, rocket launchers, machetes, shotguns, and all manner of weaponry. Several Hummers drove in along with supply vans and two automatic grenade launchers capable of firing over two hundred rounds of 25mm grenade ammunition or .50 caliber machine gun ammunition a minute.
These soldiers were tall and well-fed. Many had visible scars, were missing fingers, or had mutilated ears. All of the men had fashioned a red handprint above their hearts by slapping a paint-covered hand over their shirts and jackets. The handprints were thick and cracked, reapplied dozens of times, with red trails dripping down the fronts of their chests.
Karl introduced his force as the Red Hands, and himself as their leader.
The Red Hands shared with the people of Alice an assortment of plundered goods out in the big field before the fire department. Endless amounts of hard alcohol, dried meats, tobacco, soda, and beer circulated among the crowd. A whole cow and several pigs were delivered on the back of a truck and slaughtered outside the kitchen door.
Everyone was given the day off from work, with the exception of Karl’s men, who were taking up their new positions on the line. Even trade had been postponed. The Priest took Karl aside under the shade of a maple tree and they spoke at length. Following their conversation, the Priest walked with urgency across the lawn to saddle his horse, and he galloped out of Alice with a contingency of men.
“Where’s he going?” Nick asked.
Karl smiled, laying a hefty arm over Nick’s shoulder. “That’s not your concern, Sir General. Please, have a drink with me.”
As the afternoon progressed, spirits were high, fueled by alcohol, cigars, and fresh meat. Karl Metzger stood tall over the congregation of men, quieting them down so that he could address Nick and the Dragoons. Men came forth, carrying sizable wooden crates, and set them down on the park tables before Nick and Karl. All watched as Karl opened a crate with a pry bar and stuck his hand in to remove a glimmering steel pistol from the padding of hay. Karl held high a six-inch barrel Colt Python revolver. The stainless steel glistened, and the black grips were sleek and new.
“These pistols”—Karl’s deep voice boomed from his bobbing Adam’s apple—“are suited for only the hardest of men. Men who have proven themselves on the battlefield time and time again. They are a present to you, Nick, to distribute to your Dragoons. A deserved sidearm for men of such high caliber.”
The Dragoons closest to Karl and Nick were handed their new pistols and ammunition along with dark brown leather chest holsters. The pistols rested prominently on the torsos of the Dragoons, glimmering in the sun like sheriff badges.
***
Simon headed to the gardens as the party on the firehouse lawn progressed. He had seen enough. Standing in the crowd amongst a torrent of people caught up in a maddening revelry was the most frightening display of barbarity he had ever witnessed.
What Simon needed at that moment was to be solitary, to lighten his thoughts in the joyful meditation that only making things grow could provide. He went back to his apartment first to bring Winston along, who was all too happy to be out in the fresh air.
“Come on, buddy,” Simon said, reaching down to ruffle Winston’s head. “Want to help me garden?”
Winston licked at Simon’s palm.
As the sun glimmered overhead, and Winston wandered around to smell the various plants and piles of dirt, Simon busied himself picking the weeds between the rough leaves of the kale plants. A few times he had to reprimand Winston for digging in the soft ground, and his dog looked up at him with dirt on his nose and a cocked expression.
Then he heard a familiar voice.
“Simon? Hey, Simon.”
Simon half-turned to see Jeremy Winters approaching through the narrow lane. Winston was already trotting to meet him, his tail swaying wide.
“Yeah, Jeremy. Right here.”
Jeremy walked over, carrying something long and skinny and wrapped in cloth. He scratched at Winston’s head and smiled.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said to Simon. “You alone?” He looked over the expansive field.
Simon nodded.
Jeremy took a seat on the ground across from him.
“You hungry? They made a feast at the firehouse. I snagged this for you.” He unfolded the cloth to display a loaf of freshly baked bread about a foot long. Simon’s mouth salivated.
“You’re missing all the fun.” Jeremy laughed, tearing off a chunk of bread.
“Yeah? Maybe.”
“You don’t look so sure.”
“I’m not.” Simon was quiet, not able to find the right words at witnessing such a violent display mixed with the overwhelming revelry by the townspeople.
They chewed on the crusty bread and Jeremy said, “Hey, listen … I don’t know what’s going on ….”
Simon looked at Jeremy, who was shaking his head. “I mean … I didn’t even realize it, but I was screaming along with the crowd, and then, as they were stringing up the prisoners, it struck me: What the hell is going on? What am I doing? Why are we not only accepting this execution, we’re lusting for it? This isn’t the way we did things in Alice. We have laws, rules. We don’t execute people. We try to better ourselves, better humanity, to prevent the past from repeating itself. With Tom gone, it’s like we’ve all gone insane.”
Simon looked at Jeremy. “I’ve got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. We’re changing—Alice is changing, and it’s not for the better. And worse yet, it’s being accepted with open arms.”
“Look,” Jeremy glanced about, despite the fields being barren, “if this is the way we feel—before we start talking openly—I think we need to establish something.”
Simon nodded.
“With everyone in a frenzy, we need to be careful who we talk to.”
“Okay.”
“We should only speak in private, to each other. No one else.”
“I agree. I think everyone is distracted by the death of General Byrnes. If they hear us saying anything bad about Karl or his men, we might feel the sharp side of his spears. I don’t think the town’s bloodlust has been satiated quite yet.”
Jeremy nodded. “If we do talk to other people, it can only be those who we know and can trust.” Jeremy sat upright, as if a thought had unexpectedly come to him. “Where’s Beth?” he asked. “I thought you were watching her?”
“Home. She’s fine, I checked on her before coming to the fields. She’s sleeping. Lucky for her, she missed the morning’s festivities.”
“Maybe she knows someone in Hightown who can help. Maybe someone over there knows more about these Red Hands, about Karl.”
Simon thought it over. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Good.” Jeremy tore the remainder of the bread in half, handing Simon a chunk. “Nick … he’s blind right now. He can’t see past his pride and anger.”
Simon tore his remaining bread in half, giving Winston the larger of the two pieces.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “I’ll talk to Bethany tonight.”
Chapter 43
987 Ridgeline Road
“I’m so proud of you, baby.” Stephanie Kern bent over Nick, kissing his cheek while rubbing his shoulders. Nick took a sip of his morning coffee.
“You’re a great leader,” she said. “Better than your father.”
Nick jerked away.
“My father
was a great leader,” he said. “I can only hope to be nearly as good as him.”
But I will be better, he thought. I am better.
Soon, Nick would leave to make his rounds while Stephanie sat at home doing whatever it was that she did while he was working.
Nick used to encourage her to go outside and mingle with the townspeople, but Stephanie seemed to enjoy her reclusiveness. She read books like they might disappear from the face of the earth, and if she was to venture outside, it was only to go to the Alice Public Library. It was that same library where Nick had found her, all that time ago when he was clearing out the town, building by building. She was huddled in the corner surrounded by blankets and candles, piles of empty food cans nearby. She was like a hermit, living in a cave of knowledge. When he later asked her, “How the hell did you manage to stay alive?” she replied, “No one comes looking in libraries, it’s the safest place. I foraged for supplies at night, and spent the days hiding in the dark.”
Nick put his coffee down and asked, “Are you going out today?”
“I don’t know.” She stared off. “I have a headache.”
Her migraines were getting worse, keeping her bedridden in the dark for hours, sometimes days.
She rubbed at her temples. “What else did General Driscoll say?”
“Nothing I haven’t already told you.”
“You really are the king of Alice.” She beamed.
Nick sipped his coffee. He had traveled to Zone Red to meet with General Driscoll late the previous night, before dawn. The general had heard the news of Tom Byrnes’s death and returned to Hightown as soon as he could. Nick told him that he had been put into power by the townspeople after the death of his father, and when asked about Karl Metzger and his band of mercenaries, Nick told him, “They’re only a few dozen men. Just to bolster our line.”
The stony-faced general had nodded gravely, lost in thought. He ordered Nick—ordered, actually ordered the leader of Alice—to bring Karl Metzger to a sit-down meeting. Nick obliged.
“Of course.” He smiled. “I’ll talk to him today, get it scheduled.”
Nick stared into the steam rising from his coffee.
I was the next in line. I’m taking what’s already mine—what I fought to establish. I don’t have to bring Karl to a meeting. I don’t have to answer to anyone.
Nick left General Driscoll being wished the best of luck—not that he needed any luck. Not that he didn’t notice the way the general talked to him like a child.
They think we’re a town of feeble peasants.
Oh, how wrong they are.
“When’s your first meeting today?” Stephanie’s voice shook Nick from his thoughts.
Nick checked his watch, not actually looking at the time. “In about an hour,” he said. His afternoon meetings with Martin Howard had been cancelled for good, but Stephanie didn’t know that. She didn’t have to know anything, really—it was best to keep her in the dark.
The day after the memorial service for his father and the party following, Nick conducted his usual evening meeting with the round table … only he brought along Karl Metzger and a detachment of well-armed Dragoons to circle the room, their new pistols gleaming over their chests.
At long last, Nick set the men at the table straight.
He told them that the Guards were ordered to fall back to domestic responsibilities, replaced by the Dragoons and the Red Hands on the line. The people of Alice were needed to spend extra time in the gardens, rebuild guard towers, strengthen the trenches with cement and wood, and build stronger turrets. Leave the fighting for the soldiers.
Nobody at the table had a chance to speak, and no one dared to utter a word. Nick never sat down. He stood tall at the head of the table with his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke, Karl Metzger standing to his side like a giant, menacing shadow. The startled old men answered him, “Yes, General.”
The respect felt good, despite that it was coming from the aged members of the round table, which still consisted of the same people his father had put in charge—Martin Howard, the electricity man; Douglas Banks, the architect; Stephen Knight, his father’s old war buddy; Tim Chester, once a public relations officer in the Army; and Chris Lockton, a one-time urban developer.
They had once served a purpose, but they were no longer needed. His father should have set them straight ages ago. They were given too much power, too much say in the way Alice conducted itself. All they did was make progress difficult.
Don’t just act the part, Nick reminded himself. Become the general—be the leader that you already are.
Nick told the table that Project Yellow—Martin’s solar project—was now placed on permanent hold. The group nodded, remaining quiet, as Nick explained that the town of Alice was being put on lockdown until the person or persons responsible for feeding the attackers information were brought to justice. This meant that a curfew was in place, and the Rangers would not be allowed outside the perimeter on their regular patrols.
The men at the table looked grim and sipped at their glasses of water.
Good, Nick thought, smelling the fear in the room. The executions showed them that I’m in charge—that my men respect me, and will obey my every word.
As Nick walked toward the door, leaving the men sitting at the table, he heard a voice dare to speak. “Nick.” Douglas Banks stood. “I have an idea.”
Nick stood outside the open door and nodded his consent for Douglas to continue.
Douglas went on, “I still have my original blueprints for improvised defenses. If we have the manpower, maybe they could come in handy?”
“Good thinking,” Nick replied. “Give them to Will Holbrook. I’ll look them over when I can.” With that, Nick had left, followed by Karl and the Dragoons. Nick remembered Douglas Banks’ old blueprints—catapults and arcane medieval type defenses. They were laughed at when he first bought them up, but something pleased Nick when he envisioned the fear in the enemy’s eyes at seeing a barrage of rocks rain down on them.
Psychological warfare.
The more weapons, the better. The time was ripe for a shift in power, for Zone Red to stop hovering above Alice. It was time for Zone Red to recognize the strength gathering behind the walls, even if it meant withholding from them the one resource more important than all the fuel Zone Red could ever supply—water. Zone Blue controlled fresh water, and plenty of it. Enough for hundreds of people, thousands … or none at all if he should choose.
Nick checked his watch again.
Today, the only thing on his agenda was to meet with Karl to discuss how to quell the discontent over the recently imposed curfew. They had waited several days after his father’s death to give the news, but still the ruling was met with audible grumbles, and the murmurs of restlessness were becoming louder. Nick had to think over his options. He would have to use force if there were no other choices.
He swirled the few sips of coffee remaining in his mug when he and Stephanie both heard the rumbling of an engine. They exchanged glances and went to the door.
“Who the hell is driving a car? I didn’t authorize the use of anything from the garage, especially through town.”
They stood on the porch as the rumbling grew louder, and soon he saw a Jeep approaching from down the road. Several soldiers in front of the barracks across the way stopped what they were doing and stared. Nick had the feeling that soon, every window in the barracks would be lined with faces.
The Jeep approached and stopped before Nick and Stephanie’s little home.
The door of the Jeep opened and Karl Metzger stepped out, flashing a broad smile as he looked up, seemingly enjoying the sunny day.
“Ah. Good morning, Sir General,” he said with a slight bow. “A beautiful day, is it not? Stephanie, you look radiant as always.” He stopped before them.
Stephanie blushed and smiled.
“Karl,” Nick said, “what are you doing here? I was just leaving. Will Holbrook should be here any minute
.”
“Will Holbrook can have the day off.”
“What—why?”
“Please.” Karl stepped aside, presenting the open door of the idling Jeep. “I have something to show you. The both of you.” He smiled at Stephanie.
Nick looked at her. Her eyes were glowing with anticipation. Nick watched the gathering of soldiers in front of the barracks grow larger. It was rare to see an automobile in town. The heat from their stares felt hot.
“Will Holbrook should be on his way,” Nick said, eyeing the crowd.
“He doesn’t need to be with us, I assure you. This surprise is for the two of you alone.” Karl smiled, the deep furrows in his face arching upward.
“All right,” Nick said, looking away from the soldiers across the road. “The car is becoming a spectacle. Let’s get on with it.”
“Hold on,” Stephanie said. “Let me get a jacket.” She turned back inside.
“Steph—” It’s not cold. He didn’t bother.
Nick spoke to Karl in her absence. “What trick do you have up your sleeve?”
“Why, Nicholas, I would never …” Karl pulled his sleeves back, revealing hairy forearms. “I come in a gesture of kindness. I resent the implication of insincerity.”
Nick squinted at him.
A moment later, Stephanie appeared holding a jacket, and Nick ushered her to the Jeep.
“This better be important,” Nick said, as Mark Rothstein put the car in gear.
“Oh, Nicholas.” Karl laughed. “Today is a good day. Try not to be so glum all the time. Live a little.”
Nick bit his lip and stared out the window.
The Jeep drove through the heart of town, toward the wooded section of Alice Springs Park.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Be patient, now. Be patient.”
They were driving in the direction of the Ridgeline River and eastward, toward Fairview.
Nick had adjusted his pistol belt when he entered the Jeep, so the large revolver hung over his crotch. He attempted to look down at the clasp, but Karl kept glancing at him from the rearview mirror. His thumb brushed over the clip, gently popping the button open, being careful not to make a sound.
The After War Page 31
