by S T Branton
I took a sip of the scotch. It was smooth and incredibly strong. The heat of it left a trail down my throat. “How did you get here?” I asked him.
His laugh boomed out from his chest. “Me? I’ve always been here. Well, not always, I suppose. I was stationed overseas for a time, back when I was a much younger man. I enjoyed it immensely, and I was good enough at it that they blessed me with my own command.” A dreamy expression overtook his whole face, contrasting with the roughness of his features. “Those were my glory days, I tell you. Nothing but me, my boys, and the things we could carry on our backs.” He sighed. “Like all good things, too sweet to last. I got promoted to a desk job when I came back stateside. Lousy promotion, if you ask me, but it let me move up quickly. Now, I’m getting old, and they put me out to pasture in Fort Sigel.”
“Do you miss the more active work?” I asked, mostly to be polite.
“Years ago, I did. I missed it something fierce. It scratched an itch that doesn’t get satisfied by pushing papers. But as I said, I’m getting on in years, and I’ve learned to appreciate the value of an easy gig.” At this point, the laughter lost some of its boisterous mirth and turned dry. “That’s what this was, up until now.” The grin faltered and came back twice as strong. “But there’s no better place to be when all hell breaks loose. If need be, we could weather our way through nuclear Armageddon in here.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Really?” Despite the fort’s indisputable sturdiness, that claim felt like a stretch.
The general slapped the top of his desk for emphasis, making the family photos jump in their frames. “Didn’t I tell you this place was built as a haven against disaster?”
I glanced around. “Yeah, but what precautions are there, other than guards? We’re not dealing only with other humans out there.”
“That’s all been accounted for,” the man responded a little smugly. “Your concern is admirable but unwarranted in this case.” His tone suggested that he would have patted me on the head under different circumstances. “Not to worry, Vic. Everyone in our care is perfectly safe. More so than the rest of the country, most likely. Your people should feel free to remain as long as they like and recover at their leisure. We won’t run out of space or supplies anytime soon.” He downed the rest of his scotch and set the drained glass on the desk.
“That’s very generous,” I said.
“It is the very least I can do to help my fellow man.” He puffed his chest out. “After all, Fort Sigel is a post-apocalyptic utopia. I owe it to humanity to share our good fortune.”
His unrelenting effervescence finally started to put me off a little. In the interest of politeness, I finished my drink in one strong gulp and placed the glass beside his on the desktop. “Thanks for the chat, General. You’ve certainly given me a lot to consider.”
“Consider nothing.” He had not stopped grinning. “The wisest course of action is to stay here, where no harm can possibly come to you. I strongly encourage you to set up a permanent base at Fort Sigel. Your people love it here. Give them a chance to be happy.”
I left the meeting with the vague but persistent impression that something was not right. The man had acted like he was trying to sell me a timeshare in the Poconos as if the Forgotten were all but nonexistent. His demeanor didn’t sit well with me at all. When I got back to my room, I paced beside the bare walls. “Marcus? What do you think?”
He is not trustworthy. No military leader worth his salt would act with that sort of cavalier disregard to the Forgotten threat. I fear that something is very wrong.
“Shit,” I muttered. “Me too. But I can’t put my finger on it yet. You think he could be Forgotten?”
The General? Impossible. I would have deduced his true nature immediately. He hesitated. That said, Forgotten have powers beyond the scope of my detection. It is possible that even my finely-honed senses cannot guarantee their absence.
“Take everything you say with a grain of salt.” I fell back on the bed, letting one arm drop across my eyes. “Got it.”
Unfortunately, yes. The well of Forgotten power has many hidden depths.
“Don’t we all,” I muttered. On my way toward a deep, hard-earned sleep, I thought of Luis sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, looking out the window. He had warned me not to trust anyone, and at the time, I thought he was merely a cynic.
Now, I wondered if he had the right idea after all.
Chapter Twenty-One
The sleep I got that night was less than ideal, full of tossing and turning and restless thoughts. If not for the strength of the nectar in my blood, I would’ve been dead on my feet the next morning. Still, I was glad to see the sun because I had a couple of important things to do.
Step one: find some coffee. If this fort really was a version of utopia, they would have goddamn coffee. That turned out to be easy. I smelled it as soon as I opened my door.
Step two: find Deacon St. Clare. I hadn’t seen him since leaving to take my shower, much like I had seen neither hide nor hair of Dan. My coffee cup in hand, I moved through the crowd in the mess hall, searching for broad shoulders filling out a suit. I also listened for a hint of his low, smooth voice, which I knew I could pick out from a mile away. Deacon was distinct from the general raggedness of Fort Sigel’s inhabitants. At least, he was to me.
Nonetheless, it took a while to find him in the breakfast rush. He sat by himself at a table off to the side, scanning the room over the rim of a mug. I dropped into a chair across from him. “Morning,” I said. “How’d you sleep?”
Deacon smiled. “Hey, Vic. I wondered where you ran off to. Get into anything interesting without me?”
I gave him a look. “I should ask you the same question. Or we could find Dan and ask him.”
His face grew somber. “Good idea. He’s been MIA since yesterday.” He scanned the room one more time and lowered his voice. “Listen, I have some serious misgivings about this place, but I can’t tell you why. I don’t have any solid reasons for it, only a weird, bad feeling about the way things are shaking out.”
“I’ve got proof,” I told him. “Sort of. Well, it’s better than nothing.”
Deacon’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward across the table. “Lay it on me. I’ll take anything you’ve got.”
I started by recounting the circumstances of the late-night meeting I had with the general. I told him about the man’s bizarre nonchalance and his supreme confidence in the fort’s security, even against the gods. I mentioned the strange family pictures without him in them, and I retold the miniature version of his life story. “Overseas, came back to a desk job, climbed the ladder, and got transferred to Fort Sigel after all that. He said it’s been pretty cushy until now.”
My companion shook his head. “I’d believe that last part, but anything before that sounds like pure bullshit to me. I’m not a soldier myself, but I’ve worked with plenty of them, and I know that’s not how the military works. You don’t simply get put on a desk or transferred to the command of a fort, especially not one this big. There are all kinds of internal processes for this stuff.” He stared into the depths of his mug. “He was lying. He must have been. But why?”
It was a damn good question, and it brought up others in my mind. I told Deacon about my attempt to case the secret government building out near the garden and being caught by a group of soldiers in hiking boots and fatigues that didn’t fit them. “They didn’t act like soldiers,” I said. “More like guys walking me home from school. I’m not sure if they have any formal training at all.”
“If they do, it’s not a lot,” Deacon said. “Have you seen how they hold their guns?” He bunched his arms up against his chest, mimicking a clutching motion. “I’ve never seen any self-respecting officer hold a gun like that.”
I nodded. “Even I wouldn’t hold a gun that way, and I fight with a sword.”
“Which we desperately need to get back,” Deacon said. “We gave our stuff up in good faith, and I think a
t the time, it was the right thing to do, but I don’t like where this is going. I hate walking around this place unarmed. It feels like they tricked us into a cage.” He grimaced. “There were tons of institutions that were infiltrated back in the city. I’d say it’s more than possible they came here too.”
I scowled. “I think we need to assume the worst-case scenario here. If we’re wrong, great. We’ll all laugh about our paranoia as we sip cocktails with our new buddies. But if we’re right, we need to be prepared for when the shit hits the fan. With that in mind, what can we do? We don’t have our weapons, and we don’t have any solid proof to show our people. They won’t want to leave based purely on our doubts.”
Deacon sighed deeply, and his shoulders slumped. “Agreed. They have everything they need right here. Food, shelter, showers, and real beds. This place has everything we promised them it would. Even if they believe something is off with the general, they probably still wouldn’t leave.”
We stared at each other, each trying to find a solution to the impossible situation at hand. During the silence, Veronica joined us at the table. “Hey.” Her normally warm, cheerful voice had a tense edge. “You guys look like you’re talking business. Let me drop this status report on you.”
I brought my coffee to my lips. “Go for it, Big Red.”
She spared me a brief smile at the nickname. “Well, people freaking love it here, man. I haven’t ever seen them this happy. They’re warm, they’re fed, and they’re all settling into their own little nests. Some of them are starting to take on odd jobs around the fort. The kids have places to play.” She looked at us uneasily. “We should be overjoyed about this.”
“But?” I prompted.
“But I feel nervous as shit.” Veronica exhaled slowly. “Tell me why I can’t be happy about everything that’s going on. I really hoped this would solve all our problems, and I mean, it looks like it has.”
Without any preamble, I filled her in on the latest General-related details. When I was done, she scowled mightily. “You gotta be kidding me. No wonder I thought he was such a skeevy creep.” She sat back on the bench, tossing the mane of red hair that hung down to her waist. “How do we fix this? There has to be a way. Only, everyone loves this guy. They think he’s a savior, for obvious reasons. We can’t tell them none of it is true. We need proof.”
I made a fist on the table and squeezed, venting my frustration. “What the fuck, why not? What if I stood up in front of everyone right now, like I did back at the safehouse, and told them we needed to leave? It worked the first time.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Vic,” the agent said. He fiddled with the stirrer sticking out of his mug. “Last time, they didn’t have a choice—it was follow you or die like fish in a barrel. That’s not the case anymore. These people don’t know what we know. To them, the general is the best thing since damn sliced bread. They’re not gonna budge simply because you tell them to. In fact, I think you’d get booed out of here.”
“Come on.” I frowned at him. “They thank me left and right for getting them out of New York. As far as they know, I’m the reason they’re still alive today. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“It did before they got here,” Deacon responded. “Now, everyone feels safe, though. You’ve done your job, so they don’t need to listen to you anymore. You’re merely some badass vigilante with a sword. There’s no place for that here.”
I groaned. “I want what’s best for all of us. That’s why I agreed to haul ass out of New York in the first place.”
“I know that,” he replied soothingly. “We all know that, Vic. That’s why we stick by you through thick and thin. But everyone else needs stability. They feel safest when there’s something familiar they can hold onto, like a regiment or a routine. The military is all about that.”
“For what it’s worth,” Veronica chimed in, “I think Deacon’s right, but it’s complete and utter bullshit. I guarantee they’d follow you if you were a man. Hell, they’d follow Deacon sooner.” She huffed and rolled her eyes.
“I’m not the boss here,” the agent said quickly. “Vic’s run this circus since day one.”
Veronica smirked. “Good answer.”
I snorted. “You’re right, Veronica, and when I have time to think about it, I’ll be pissed. But right now, we have to find out what’s what. And if my fears are confirmed, we need proof. Enough to convince the others that the danger inside these walls is greater than the danger outside.”
“That’s a tall order.” She watched me with her sage-green eyes, running her fingers through her hair. “If you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears.”
It was my turn to smirk. “Actually, I think I know exactly where to start.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
After breakfast, what seemed like every civilian in the fort was herded into the common rooms and divided into groups to help prepare for the feast. Assigned to decoration duty, I marched back to the feast hall with a chatty gaggle of mostly women. If anyone has seen my old loft in Brooklyn, they wouldn’t have trusted me to decorate a damn thing.
Our first major task involved cleaning up the meal that had just finished, which was fine by me. It gave me a chance to scope out more of the fort’s less-accessible areas.
Very quickly, I learned that the general really wasn’t kidding when he said they had everything they needed at Fort Sigel. From what I could see as I stacked dishes at the serving window, the kitchen stretched far back into the bowels of the building. The door to a storage room stood open beyond the industrial ovens, its interior shelves lined with non-perishable items. Refrigerator and freezer units hummed steadily in the background while I worked.
My natural desire to pursue any and all intel about a given location urged me to find a way to sneak off and scope things out, but I couldn’t. Not only was the place teeming with people who could see me without even trying, but we already had a plan in motion.
Actually, the mess hall was the perfect place for me. It enabled me to keep an eye out for the others and watch things in general. Thus far, it looked like everyone was so busy following instructions that we might not have needed our grand distraction after all.
A smiling middle-aged woman walked up to me as I turned away from the kitchen window and dumped rolls of streamers into my arms. “Do me a favor and hang these up, will you, sweetie? Make it like bunting if you could. Nice and festive. There’s a stepladder over in the corner there.” She fished out some double-sided tape from the pocket of her apron. “Here you go, dear. Have fun. Don’t be afraid to get creative.”
I didn’t know the first fucking thing about bunting, but I smiled and accepted the task. The last birthday party I’d been to with streamers had been like ten years ago, and I hadn’t been involved in the decorations. I was only there for the cake and ice cream.
Determined to remain inconspicuous, I headed for the wall, grabbed the stepladder, and got to work taping crepe paper to the sterile white paint of the hall. My streamers hung like saggy old-man balls—wrinkled, uneven, and flopping around every which way. Whatever. I was a god-killer, not a fucking interior decorator.
Nearby, a bunch of families had been roped into making centerpieces at a long table, and as I got closer, I recognized a few of the couples.
“Hey,” I called from my stepladder perch as I secured more shitty-looking streamers. “Nice to see you guys. How are you doing?”
When they realized who I was, they all smiled broadly. The general air of happiness and relief was catching on like fire. I hadn’t seen so many people this relaxed since before the Forgotten showed up in force. Their contentment was as heartbreaking as my decorations. They had no idea how much danger they were in. It only intensified my resolve to get to the bottom of things.
“Isn’t this place awesome?” one of the men asked. His grin, sheathed in a shaggy woodsman’s beard, stretched from ear to ear. “I’m glad as hell we found it. Not sure I could have taken another week of sleeping
on mud and rocks.” He nudged his wife. “Right, Mandy? Those nights were getting pretty nippy.”
She laughed as if the whole thing was comparable to a bad vacation. “Oh, my gosh, I thought my toes would fall off. I can’t believe that was only two days ago, and now we’re preparing for a banquet.” She beamed at me. “It’s all so exciting. Things have turned around for us so much in such a short time. I feel like we’ve been blessed.” She attached a neatly folded paper flower to a stem and stuck it into the empty vase on the table beside her.
Her husband raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be happy as long as we’re not waking up to bodies in the camp,” he said bluntly.
Mandy swatted his arm, her expression disapproving. “Theo, don’t talk like that.”
He shrugged. “What? The situation’s changed. We’re obviously not in danger anymore. I might as well say what I think.”
She rolled her large dark eyes. “Please excuse him. He likes to play the pessimist.”
“Oh, come on.” Theo’s flower was not as delicate as his wife’s, but he gave it to her to put in the vase anyway. She took one look at it and began to fuss over the folds. He glanced at me. “All I’m saying is that I’m glad to be out of range of whatever killed people back in the forest.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.” Neither of us mentioned how the murders were never solved—that elephant was still in the room—but things were so comparatively good at Fort Sigel that nobody seemed to care. The hardships were fading rapidly into memories.
Maybe too rapidly. I went back to hanging streamers with a churning in my gut. I was itching to move on more than usual, and I wished I had some way to communicate with my team. “Marcus,” I whispered. “Can you call the crew?”
