The Last Mayor Box Set

by Michael John Grist

  "Go ahead."

  "Who's in the RV? I saw you turn and talk to someone in the back. Who is it, and have they got a bead on me right now?"

  That almost makes me break a sweat. I remember a conversation like this twelve years ago, in Las Vegas. It's almost exactly what Don asked me before we went on board my battletank school bus. But I've learned my lessons.

  "One of our people," I say, telling the truth though not the whole truth. I'm not going to admit it's my wife, struck down with a mystery illness. "Injured in the harvesting. I was bringing them back to our hospital. Our nurse is in there too, but there's no rifle pointing this way, I assure you. I did leave orders to drive off if anything untoward happens here, or if any one should approach the RV uninvited." I consider shrugging, but that's a weak gesture, and just let it stand.

  Drake nods. "I'm sorry to hear one of your people is hurt, and I understand the caution." He's obviously recalculating our active numbers. Forty-eight down from forty-nine. "But nurse? We've got a doctor, Amo, invaluable to us. I'll happily send her in to take a look. It can happen right now, no guns, you can even go with her and I'll stay back here. I don't want anyone to suffer if they don't have to."

  I consider this. It's a good offer, and it puts me on edge. Keeshom's a big guy but he's not got the coordination to fight, especially not in close quarters. He's a nurse and a knitter. It's paranoid to think Drake would lie, but paranoia is the right thing for now. If he sends a fighter not a doctor, and they get Lara…

  "That's kind," I say. "Our doctor died a year ago, fighting the demons. Perhaps you've read about them in the cairns."

  He sucks on his teeth. "Demons. Nasty business." Something about the way he says it implies he doesn't really believe they ever happened, but that's fine. They're all gone too, just like the ocean, so it's hardly going to be an issue.

  "We're down to a handful of newly trained nurses," I go on, "and the attention of a doctor would be most welcome, but again, let's build to it."

  He nods. "Right you are. I understand completely. I just hope it isn't too urgent."

  It may be. I have no idea.

  "It's under control. In fact, I think I'll send them on to our hospital. If you'll excuse me for a moment."

  "Of course."

  I back away a few steps, then turn. Walking toward the RV, I'm very aware of what a broad, easy target my back must make. The temptation's strong to turn around and look back, but this is about strength now, and turning would make me look weak. I look ahead.

  Keeshom's face appears in the driver's side window briefly as I near the RV, pale and wide-eyed, then he ducks back out of sight. That's something alarming, but I force myself not to run. I keep my pace even and controlled. I go around to the passenger side just so I can get a look back on the Chinese Theater without needing to turn my head. They're all just standing there, arrayed like an army with Drake at the front, hands on hips. None of them have budged an inch.

  The words 'First Law' revolve in my head, mixing with their blank expressions and the sheer number of kids.

  Then Keeshom is speaking, and the RV's heat washes over me as I close the passenger door. It's baking inside with the engine and AC off, and there's a strange, violent scuffling sound. In the center aisle I see Keeshom on his knees leaning into Lara's booth, with wide white eyes and sweat pouring down his face and panic in his voice, and I'm instantly concerned.

  "She just started into this fit," he says urgently. "I don't know what keyed it off, but it's a big one." I hustle over and see the fit; Lara is thrashing wildly, her hips bucking up and down like a wild donkey, restrained only by Keeshom holding her arms firmly in position above her sternum.

  It's a certain kind of terrifying, and I stop caring about how things appear through the window and rush to kneel beside him. The air here stinks of sweat and panic, and Lara's face is wild, with bloody froth bubbling up from her mouth and her eyes rolled all the way back in her head, a brilliant startling white.

  She flails madly. Her head jerks roughly side to side, causing froth from her chin to fleck onto the sidewall and onto me and Keeshom. Her legs kick and thrash in a snug wadding of blankets.

  "What the hell?" I ask, not certain what to do with my hands or how to help.

  "One minute she was asleep, then this," Keeshom says between pants. He looks drained. "I didn't know what to do but try to restrain her, but I can't-"

  I stop listening and take action, though I'm far from sure it's the right thing to do. I put one hand firmly on Lara's right shoulder and with the other try to restrain her lashing head. She could hurt herself badly doing this, but I can't restrain her effectively with just one hand; her skull just stubs off my fingers. To really hold her down would probably do her more damage than just letting her go. I don't know what to do.

  "I tried with blankets but it didn't do any good," Keeshom says helplessly. "I managed to wrap her legs, but then it's just been this." He looks at me plaintively, almost begging. "I'm not prepared for this, Amo."

  I think of Drake and his doctor outside. Maybe they could help. Maybe they still can, but the risks that opens us all up to…? I try to decide what I'd do if it wasn't Lara, and I try to nail down what it is about Drake and his people that has me uneasy, but it's everything. They have guns even though the ocean are harmless. They have so many kids from just five women. The way they're standing, and the way they stare, with not a one of them waving or smiling, not even the children.

  It's not normal. Something's going on. I can't trust Lara, and all of us, to their hands.

  "You've done well," I tell him, speaking calm but clear, over the panting sound and the smack of Lara's thumping hips on the shallow booth mattress. I rack my brains, trying to remember what Dr. Ozark recommended for Julio's victims as we raced toward Albuquerque.

  Gentle but firm restraint was the key. Keeshom's got her arms, which is good; those will be most likely to break if she manages to buck herself out of the booth. Her feet are wrapped up well too, and though a bit of shaking will loosen them and she'll be risking breaking some toes, she was at least wearing tough farming boots when I carried her in here, not sandals, and they'll protect her well enough.

  It's her head and neck I'm most concerned about now. There's not enough blankets to do anything about them, but...

  "Pull her down," I tell Keeshom, as I think it. He stares at me blankly. "Down," I repeat, "get her legs bent, squashed at the bottom, so there's some space up by her head. Now, please."

  He pulls. She flails and I try to guide her head as best I can. She jerks and kicks her way down the booth, juddering like a wind-up clockwork toy. Her knees bend and spasm, but now there's enough room in the booth by her head and I lift one leg and fold myself into it. At her head I get on my knees and slot her head into the space between my thighs; human padding.

  Her head whips and hits my inner thighs manically, but not too painfully. All her motions are smaller now, as Keeshom holds her middle and I press gently on her shoulders. This way the damage will be limited to light bruises on the skin, not dents from the metal, not damage to bone, not wrenchings deep in her neck.

  I look down into her face and it's not pleasant, because she barely looks like Lara now, more of a twisted, reddening parody. She sucks in breaths then sprays out foam. She looks just like one of Julio's survivors as we drove close to the demons, and with that a sharp, cold dread creeps into me.

  Could there be a demon nearby?

  It makes sense she'd be sensitive to them, like Julio's survivors. One of them grabbed her, broke her ribs, so is this my early warning? And if it is? If it is then we're defenseless; me, Keeshom and Lara, plus Drake and all his people. We're sitting ducks to what might be coming.

  "Shh," I say to Lara while my mind races, "shh, it's going to be OK," though she shows no signs of slowing down, and Keeshom's clearly exhausted. He must have been holding her the whole time I was talking to Drake.

  My mind races but I don't know what to do.

&n
bsp; If it's a demon we need to go right now, but if it's not then that'll be a bad step, a sign of weakness in front of Drake which could lead to, what? I don't know. I don't know these people or what they're capable of. They might be a worse threat than a demon. A show of weakness might be all they need to pounce and take us all out. But I can't just stay here.

  "Hang on, honey," I say down to Lara's twisted, rictus face, the only thing I can think of to do. "It's going to be OK, I promise."

  But I can't promise. I haven't got a goddamned clue, and that scares me right to the core.

  AMO 4

  It doesn't stop.

  It's been five minutes, ten maybe, and she's still kicking. She should be getting exhausted, the fit should be passing but it doesn't and that's hard to comprehend. She's gasping just to get in enough breath, and her face has gone dark with burst capillaries, and the white foam at her lips is taking on a bloody stain.

  I'm starting to think she might shake herself to death.

  "Keeshom," I bark, and he looks up at me, and I see how weary he is. I've got it easy, kneeling over her like this and holding her down with my weight. He's been at her side for twice as long, back when her struggles must have been at their strongest, trying to hold her whole body down. "What can we do for her?"

  "I don't know," he says between pants. "The last time it happened, heading to Maine, they all spasmed then dropped into comas. But she's not." He sucks in a breath. "I gave her a sedative when it started, but she was already unconscious and it didn't do anything. I don't know, Amo."

  My mind sprints on, thinking back to our RV convoy tearing east through New Mexico. Lucy in the RV behind me had lost her mind, but at least she'd exhibited behavior I could understand. She'd wanted to flee, she'd fought with me to try and get out of the vehicle, and then she'd passed out and the shaking had stopped.

  But Lara just keeps on shaking.

  "Not a sedative then," I urge, "what else could stop this?"

  He stares hopelessly back. "A muscle relaxant? I don't- we don't have any here though. In the hospital. Or if it's like the survivors, then-"

  He trails off but I read his meaning. There's been plenty of time to think about it, and we've drilled for this eventuality. We know what the early warning signs are, what to do if we see them. If there is a demon coming, we need to get the hell out. But then-

  An idea comes, and I hold her head down with my hand and slip out of position on the narrow bed. Standing in the narrow aisle I feel my legs cramping up. "Get up here," I tell him, "do as best you can."

  Keeshom moves sluggishly into position, kneeling over her just as I was. I guide his hands to hold her arms, though he can't do anything for her hips, which begin to kick up and down freely.

  "Just for a moment," I say, then hurry to the front and fetch the walkie.

  "Feargal," I say into it, "respond, where are you?"

  He comes back clearly a few seconds later, his light Irish accent reassuring despite everything. "On 91, ETA twenty minutes. What's happening there?"

  "It's Lara, she's gone into a fit, like Julio's victims did on the way past the demons. Tell me, is Crow there?"

  There's a moment's pause as he takes this in. "Crow? Yes. But he's fine."

  This confounds me further. "Put him on."

  "Roger."

  A moment later I hear Crow's deep, calm voice. "Amo, what do you need from me?"

  I catch my own breath, thinking that this doesn't make any sense. If it is demon-related then Crow and any other sensitives would be as incapacitated as Lara, unless we're that much closer to the source. Would twenty minutes distance make that much difference? On the way to Albuquerque the pit survivors were showing symptoms for hours before we got near. So maybe it's not demons and it's something else, but I can't just-

  "Are there any reports of the others dropping in fits?" I ask. "Anywhere in the harvest."

  He knows what I mean right away. "Nothing's come in. No reports. The harvest continues."

  No help. So either it's demons with an extremely focused range, or it's something else completely unrelated, like allergies. But she tried to leap into the harvester. That memory remains, cold and brutal in my mind, as I'm sure it will forever. That wasn't normal, and nobody else did that before. It sure as hell wasn't allergies.

  "Amo," comes Crow's voice, and though there's no room for me to be calm now, his voice helps. Crow lived through the worst of Julio's horrors and survived. Panic is not going to help.

  I focus and see what matters. Drake and his people may be our future, but Lara is my present. They have a doctor but what can their doctor do if it's demons? The risk is too high to go to them first. Which leaves one choice.

  "Brace yourself," I call back to Keeshom, then slide into the driver's seat, push the stick in gear and crank the handbrake off. I raise an open hand to Drake, all the explanation I can offer, and punch down on the accelerator.

  The RV pulls away.

  If it's a demon, the only answer is to get Lara away. If it's not, then this will tell me that too. I can roll back and ask their doctor for help, if they're willing, if Lara's still alive.

  I see Drake in the rearview mirror watching after me. Keeshom shouts something but I've made the decision now. I lift the walkie and switch to all-channel override broadcast, which should reach both Chino Hills and the Sacramento advance party with no problem.

  "New LA, this is Amo, I'm calling Code Cerulean, repeat Code Cerulean focused around the Chinese Theater. We may have demons incoming. There's a large number of fresh survivors on the forecourt and they may have lured demons with them. Josh, I want all harvesters in their RVs now, waiting on further word and watching the sensitives with you, that's Gail and Felipe. Feargal I'm going to cross you on the 91, where we'll hand over. Sacramento, Tomas, I want you to rally everyone and get them ready to roll on an exodus east. If we're hit you'll be next. Once more, we are readying for mass exodus to the east. Report."

  There's a long silence as we race on, then a clash of voices chimes in.

  "Tomas," I select, overriding them.

  "All people to mobilize?" his lone voice comes through, tinged with disbelief. "Is this a drill I didn't know about?"

  "It's real," I call back. "For your own safety get everyone together and ready to go right now, no time to stop and pack, go with your emergency kits only. Signal understanding so I can move on."

  "Understood. But-"

  I move on. "Josh?"

  "Understood," he comes back in his twangy Alabama accent. "I have the kids with me."

  I push back on the wave of concern and emotion that this comment brings up.

  "Feargal, I'm on the move with Lara and Keeshom, trying to put some distance between us and whatever's out there. We'll cross you in a few minutes for further instructions."

  "Roger," he says, and I set the walkie down. The speedometer hits seventy and glossy cars marred by patches of rust flash by on my right. The beach is a blur and the ocean a blue strip and all that matters is the river of the road carrying us away.

  "How is she?" I call back to Keeshom.

  "The same."

  I can hear the muffled thumping of it over the engine. I don't want to think what kind of damage she's doing. I push down on the gas and propel us past Manhattan Beach toward Redondo, then jerk us hard onto Artesia, which leads up in a tight spiral to the elevated 91 freeway, where we cruise along above the rooftops. We fly through Compton and over the dry cement bed of the Los Angeles River, past Long Beach Airport in the distance with its jumbo jets tilting on soft rubber like wilting plants, until-

  "I think she's getting better," Keeshom calls. I cock my ear and maybe I hear it now too, over the growl of the engine and the grind of old asphalt under the wheels. Lara's panting is fading and the bucking is less violent. "She's calming down."

  It's good but it's bad. We haven't done anything other than move, which suggests it's demons, which means we need to run.

  "Crow?" I say into the walkie.


  "No change," he answers, knowing what I'm looking for. "No reports anywhere, and I'm feeling nothing."

  It doesn't make any sense.

  "I'm coming up to the 605 overpass," I say, "where are you?"

  A beat passes.

  "Fullerton, nearly at the 5."

  I game out the minutes to come. I try to pull back and look at the global view.

  "Stop when you see me. You're going to pick me up."

  "Roger," says Crow.

  I hope I'm wrong. This is where brutality rewards. If I'm going to run an exodus of New LA, it's not going to be with fifty fresh demons at my back. I can't take that risk. I have to persuade Drake to come, or force him to come, and failing force?

  It's a horrific scenario. I push it to the back of my mind.

  I need to be sure.

  "She's almost still," Keeshom calls. "Like shivers now. Does this mean there's a demon coming?"

  I don't have any certain answer for him. We moved position and the symptoms got better, but I need to be sure.

  "Hold tight," I say, then hit the brake. The wheels squeal, the stink of burnt rubber fills the air, and as the RV skids I pull us into a tight U-turn.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Going back," I answer. I pump the pedal hard, flooding the engine, and the old RV spurts back the way we came, rising fast to sixty then seventy miles per hour. I grip the steering wheel so hard it feels like the skin on my knuckles is going to split. Thirty seconds pass, a minute.

  "Amo," comes Keeshom's voice, and I know from the tone that it is not the news I want to hear. I even hear her breathing getting louder. The sound of her thrashing starts up again.

  I keep driving. Two minutes pass, three, and she gets louder. Keeshom is talking but I need to be sure. I can't commit myself to this course if there's any other way, or-

  "Amo!" he yells, jolting me out of the reverie. The road is a hot blur. "She's dying back here."

  I hit the brakes, U-turn, and get us going once more, waiting to hear Keeshom tell me what I know he's going to say.

  "That's it," he says, not even to me. "That's it, sweetie. Calm down."