by G. R. Carter
“We don’t mean to provoke them, we mean to convert them,” Malik said matter of factly. Robbie was standing behind him, nodding at his cousin’s every word. “There are tremendous resources in that territory, and if we don’t take them, somebody else will. I’m thinking long term, now’s the time to grab what we can for our future generations.”
Darwin didn’t back down. “From what I’ve heard tell, this might now be so easy. Don’t reckon these folks will roll over for ya.”
“Of course it won’t be easy. Doing the work of Continuity never is. Each Progression in the faith is more difficult. This is where we are tested as a people.” Malik seemed quite satisfied by the thought that popped into his head. “Yes, Progressions are not just for the individual, but for nations as well.”
King used every ounce of self-control to hold his tongue. The Progressions, Continuity…crutches for those dumb enough to believe in any sort of magical fairy in the sky looking down on them. The Masens were too brainwashed to notice that without electricity their precious artificial intelligence deity couldn’t help them live forever. What they did notice was when someone challenged the faith they followed. King didn’t have the manpower to stand up against that, and he certainly was outnumbered here in Springfield.
He hated visiting here, to what was once again a capital city. Traveling in an armored convoy to reach the city’s center, visitors passed a mixture of burnt out buildings and reminders of a once proud urban civilization. To be sure, Springfield certainly was no equal to Los Angeles, Sydney, London, or DC. Yet you could see the bones of what had been, block by block, strewn now with trash and corpses, all in various states of decay... There’d been no effort by the GangStars to reestablish order anywhere outside a couple of blocks around their headquarters, making the absurdity of trying to conquer additional territory that much harder to swallow for King. If Malik and his would-be aristocracy wanted to grow their power, they’d be better served getting their own house in order before breaking into someone else’s.
“I understand your concern, Darwin. But you are thinking in terms of the earthly. We serve a higher purpose. Continuity must be spread to all survivors of the Reset. They must be prepared for the Awakening,” Malik said gently.
Continuity can get stuffed he thought to himself. He didn’t have much of a choice, signing up with Malik and his prison empire, back when things were crazy. He’d kept quiet about this silliness, but it was about to be the end of him. The Masen crew had been into the religion when he wandered into their camp half dead years ago, but they’d gone plumb overboard since. They kept thousands of followers strung out on Syn – mostly produced in the factories King supervised – while the leaders practiced hedonism. The whole lack of personal discipline tested his patience.
Malik didn’t acknowledge King’s continued skepticism, or more likely didn’t care. “Now, as to the alliance with New America, we’ve got the opportunity here to bring a population several times larger than ours to the faith, without ever firing a shot against their leaders.” He pushed up his glasses and looked around the room. “Certainly we can all agree that is a worthwhile goal, can we not?” Again he looked around the room, this time only briefly making eye contact with King, not waiting to see if the Warden of Mt. Sterling joined all the other Wardens in nodding their heads enthusiastically.
Thirteen puppets on a string. All afraid to lose their little fiefdoms, or their heads.
“Alright then, I’ll have Aldo take our answer to this Colonel Walsh.” Malik stood, followed quickly by the thirteen disciples, and finally by King. Malik looked more smug than usual, quite an accomplishment in Darwin’s estimation. He continued, “I want all of you to gather as many men as possible. Recruit the wild men in your areas, the tribes some of you call them. I want as many of them on the front lines as possible. We’ll solve two problems with one stroke. Feel free to promise them unlimited Syn supplies. Darwin will ramp up production immediately.” Everyone murmured agreement with serious looking nods to their leader.
Darwin interjected. “I’ll need to keep most of my people back if you want a big increase, I’m stretched a little thin for manpower as it is. And I’m assuming you’ll want to feed this army you’re assembling. Mt. Sterling produces most of your food.” He waited nervously while Malik stared into his eyes – he felt like he was prying into his mind, searching for reasons Darwin hoped he wouldn’t find. “Of course,” he finally said. “Maybe you could give us a couple hundred tribesmen from your area at least? You seem to have a better relationship with yours than most of the Wardens.” Oh yeah, I can give you a couple hundred he thought. I know just who to send.
As the other Wardens filed out of the door, Malik motioned for Darwin to come to his side. “Darwin, I know you are only looking out for our best interests. I understand your reservations. But surely, you of all people know the value of mergers and acquisitions. Yes?”
The man’s gone looney he told himself. Bonkers, no doubt.
“Most’a my mergers didn’t include attacking walled cities.”
“But people were hurt, none the less. Even killed?” Malik asked. He knew King’s business interests involved ventures on both sides of the law before the Reset. International business always skirted the gray – legal black and white was for commoners. King couldn’t remember when he’d last had concern about how some of his associates carried out orders, or who got killed in the process. But something about Malik’s tone troubled him.
“You’ve come to care for these people,” he said. “Especially Kara, right? You took her for a wife, adopted her son?” Darwin nodded, not sure what Malik was getting at. “You’ve got quite a family there. Something to build on. Don’t you want your children’s children to read about Darwin King’s legacy after the Awakening?”
King was in danger now, he could sense it. He’d come to love Mt. Sterling, at least the people and the countryside, not the prison building most of the town’s survivors lived in now. His people were no match for Malik’s combined forces. Maybe someday he could get them free of the Masen’s - assuming he would even make it out this building today was no sure bet. “No worries, boss,” he smiled, trying to defuse the situation. “We all know we’re part of something bigger. We’ll do our part, and no doubt.”
Malik wore his probing face, lips turned in a slight grin, just a touch of an angle to his head as he watched Darwin.
He stepped away and walked around the room. “I have no concerns about you Darwin,” he said, running his hand across the edge of the table. “However, I believe our friend Aldo is negotiating with this Colonel Walsh behind my back.”
Darwin shrugged. “I thought that’s what you wanted him to do. He s’posed to be negotiating with the Yank, right?”
Malik was still pacing. “Yes, that’s correct. But I get the sense he’s trying to work out something for himself.”
“A side deal?”
“Or worse.”
Darwin was unsure what to say. He disliked Aldo Pavoni to the core. King had done business with his type throughout the years. Pavoni was a wanna be player, never able to rise above enforcer. He was clever enough, but never wise. His tactical maneuvers helped Malik secure his power after the Masen’s made their play. But there wasn’t a strategic bone in his body. Darwin King could recognize an opportunity, but he was now in even more danger.
“I’m assuming you want me to find out?”
“I think you’re the only one I can trust.”
“How’s that boss?”
“Because everyone knows you’ve got reservations about this deal with New America. Did you know Pavoni said he feels the same way?”
King nodded. Dunny rat, this one. “He mentioned it to me, once.”
Malik showed the probing mask again. He’d known that already, of course. “What else did he say?”
“Nothing, really. I just told him to take his concerns to the man who could call the shot.”
“Yes, yes.”
Silence
fell over the room. Darwin folded first and said, “So I’ll figure out a way to get in contact with Pavoni, feel him out, try to figure out what he’s hiding.”
“Yes.”
Without another word, Malik walked out the door and out of sight, leaving King alone in the room with his thoughts. Pit of vipers, this. Not so much as a cobber of my own in this group. All he wanted to do was go back to Mt. Sterling. But not yet, he still had some business to take care of.
*****
“You got a lotta guts to walk in here, just the two of ya.”
“Should I have a reason to fear for my safety, mate?” Darwin asked.
Pavoni took the measure of him. “Not if you’re here to tell me I’m right about this New America deal.”
Darwin could feel Martin Bohrmann tense. They had discussed the many pitfalls of this visit. That they had no choice in taking this meeting made them feel no better.
“You are right,” King answered. “But the bossman gave the order, and it’s our job to carry it out.”
“Yeah, well, maybe we need us a new bossman,” Pavoni said.
King relaxed for a moment. There was no trap here, unless Pavoni was a much better actor than anyone gave him credit for. Pavoni laughed and coughed at the same time. “What’s a matter kiwi? Did I shock ya?”
“Aussie, Aldo, not kiwi,” King chuckled back. “So why the treason?”
“Treason? First amendment, kiwi. I got freedom of speech. I’m an American, not like you.”
King finally realized the reason for Pavoni’s courage. “You’re high,” King said. “I can’t believe you’re into the bloody product.”
Pavoni waved the words away. “Drugs, religion, it don’t matter… It’s all meant to take your mind off what kinda crap world we live in.”
“Gettin’ high ain’t gonna solve that, mate.”
Pavoni laughed again. “There’s nothin’ to save, mate,” he slurred. “I’m burned already. So are you. Don’t you get it? Once we sign up with these New America Nazis, guys like you and I are liabilities. Malik knows we’re questioning his decisions. More important, he knows we don’t buy into his religious crap.”
Pavoni’s heresy came as a surprise to King. He’d always thought of the enforcer as a true believer.
“You’re talkin’ outa your clacker, mate,” King said. “New America doesn’t follow Continuity…”
“It’s like a disease, King. It gets introduced and spreads like a disease. Malik will dump a bunch of Syn into the New America territories, then introduce Continuity as a way to solve everyone’s problems. Don’t you get it man?”
“So what’s that to us? It’s just business, mate.”
Pavoni looked like he wanted to scream. “I don’t care how Malik does his business. Except when it makes me a liability. I’m tellin’ ya, we’re burned already, you and me. As soon as I heard you were comin’ to see me, I knew.”
King saw it now. He’d been so quick to discount Pavoni’s strategic thinking, he’d let his own suffer. Malik didn’t allow for dissident viewpoints. Now with this meeting, he’d eliminate two without so much as a whimper from the others. The only reason he and Pavoni were alive now was so Malik could figure out how far down the rabbit hole this supposed conspiracy went.
“Alright, sayin’ that’s all true, what’s our play?”
“Our play? Who said anything about our play?”
“We’re in this thing together…”
Pavoni laugh was near hysterics. “There’s no thing! There’s no together! You’re on your own kiwi, just like I am. I’m going to play good soldier, deliver our fearless leader’s message to New America, then I got a plan to stay out of sight for good.”
He calmed down and wiped tears from his eyes. “I’ll give you one piece of advice, kiwi. Don’t go back to Malik. Go back to that rat hole town you crawled out of. Malik will be distracted until the attack is over. You’ve got until then to figure out what your next move is.”
Red Hawk Republic
The Domicile
Downtown Shelbyville
“This is a terrible idea.”
“I know, you said that already…twice.”
“Well, it’s a double terrible idea, then.”
The Founder of the Red Hawk Republic tilted his head away and smiled. Insolence was something he cared not to tolerate from most, but the leeway afforded his most trusted advisor was hard earned.
“Clark, I promise this will be over soon. You agreed ceremonies were important for morale, right?” Alex Hamilton said.
Sheriff Clark Olsen wasn’t swayed. His face remained stern, eyes squinted against the painful thought of being a spectacle in front of hundreds of people. “It was a good idea before it involved me.”
A lonely violin pierced the air, then the sounds of a congregation in full song filled the small room where they stood. Pastor Douglas Hart led the packed sanctuary in opening prayers and hymns, following a liturgy cowritten with Father Steve Simpson. Every service of the newly formed Unified Church burst at the seams these days, reversing a century of plummeting engagement in organized religion. The grand old building holding today’s service once housed a Methodist Church. Since the Reset, it had been expanded to connect to a nearby school building. The entire block now served as the Domicile, headquarters of a resurgent faith spreading its influence throughout every corner of the Red Hawk Republic; strongly encouraged by Alex and Sam Hamilton.
Today’s ceremony couldn’t have possibly been held anywhere else but here.
“Decoration Day is going to be one of our cornerstone holidays, Clark. In a hundred years kids will be getting out of school in celebration of you and all the heroes of our Republic.”
The small town lawman flushed, his pale skin tone and his dark brown dress coat amplifying his embarrassment at the attention. The uniform he wore remained the same traditional style prevalent before the Reset, though updated with a bright red hawk symbol on his shoulder. Deputies seated in the front row of the Sanctuary wore the same, setting peace officers apart from those serving in the Self Defense forces led by Martin Fredericks. Alex’s suit was all black with a dull white dress shirt and red neck tie. Both chafed at the unfamiliar feel of closed collars and naked heads. Seldom did they wear ties, and seldom were they without hats.
Olsen shifted as the music stopped. A deep voice spoke, muffled through the closed door.
Alex pictured the scene in his mind. Hart would be speaking from the lectern, or maybe from the steps in front of the altar. They hadn’t really had time to rehearse this; Alex barely had time to jot down an outline of what he wanted to say to the people who’d made the trip up
A knock at the door rested Alex from his thoughts. Olsen adjusted his necktie again and stood straight. The tiny room filled with sunlight filtered through stained glass as the door swung open and Olsen and Alex stepped into the sanctuary to a standing ovation. Olsen didn’t acknowledge the crowd, he simply walked straight to where his son stood. He towered a good four inches taller than Eric’s six foot frame and carried thirty pounds more. Yet Eric never looked stronger and more confident than today. He beamed with pride at the sight of his father and a sly grin suggested he sensed the elder Olsen’s discomfort at being here.
Eric’s focus turned to Alex and the grin disappeared. His hand clenched into a fist that went to his chest. “Against the Storm,” he said solemnly. Alex returned the gesture and walked past both of them to stand in the lectern. Pastor – now Bishop – Douglas Hart gave him a quick wink and held a hand out to welcome him into the speaker’s perch.
Alex pulled some notes out of his inside pocket. As he looked up, he realized everyone was still standing, looking at him. He felt a little of the discomfort Clark showed. Hundreds of eyes bored into him, waiting to hear what he had to say; not just about the ceremony at hand, but also for any news of the outside world. Without enough spare paper to print a newspaper, and radio waves spotty at best, posted notices and speeches were about the only way c
itizens could parse truth from rumors. Undercurrents of doubt were ever present inside the earth and concrete walls of Shelbyville; it was worse in the isolated fortress farms spread across the countryside. Fear of the next New American invasion occupied the thoughts of every Red Hawk, from Old Main to Shelbyville to Decatur and dozens of small settlements in between.
The Founder spent way too much of his day reassuring people, while at the same time working and reworking plans of response when New America attacked - an attack he was sure would come any day. No one said it to his face, but he knew there were whispers about his competence to lead. Many considered him too young, too inexperienced, to face off with the crafty Colonel Walsh and his battle hardened New American Legions. Others believed he was on a personal quest for vengeance, willing to sacrifice anyone or anything to get to Walsh.
His father left a huge void to fill. Alex was confident he’d spend his entire life trying to be half the leader Phillip Hamilton was. The younger generation believed in him; he’d have to make a series of righteous decisions for his father’s age group to feel the same. Even as he stood here, ready to deliver a speech to rally his people, warning tremors shook his own confidence. A storm was coming. A sixth sense told him soon. Until this week, he knew that threat lay coiled in the north, ready to strike.
But after the events of last week, he wasn’t so sure…
Raymond, Illinois
One Week Earlier
