by Mike Chen
Moira saw it. On the far shoulder, tiny blocks resolved into three parked SUVs, each trimmed with fashioned bits of armor drilled exactly where she remembered it: one patch for each door frame, another one reinforcing the back panel, and double plating over the gas cap and tank. The bolt points were still on her car from years ago, something that had occasionally prompted Frank to suggest that she get a new car.
“I see them,” Moira said into the CB. They slowed as each of the cars came to life, engines turning over and taillights activating.
“They’ll escort you in.” The vehicles built a formation around them, one on either side and another lagging shortly behind her. Rob eased back into his seat, a look of relief on his face while Krista sat tensed in the passenger side, constantly looking from side to side. “Welcome home, Moira.”
* * *
Despite only being a few miles off Highway 80, the old University of California, Davis, campus was nearly inaccessible. The off-ramp still existed, but it looked different from the last time Moira had seen it, some two years ago. When she’d left, building materials and dead cars formed a checkpoint of sorts, watched by a row of guards.
But now, the path was cleaner. Someone still kept watch, though only two people guarded the main highway exit. Perhaps the further society came to returning, the less everyone needed to be ready for attack or defense. Moira followed the escort, each car peeling off one by one until Narc himself guided her to a meeting spot off of Russell Boulevard.
“He’s converted a frat house,” Rob said.
“I never need to go in one of those again,” Krista said.
The Jeep jerked when it came to a stop, and Moira hit the parking brake. Rob stepped outside and stretched in the afternoon sun. “He’s got solar panels?”
“Yes, we do. New Sacramento took almost all of the remaining wind turbines but factories produced tons of solar panels before the outbreak. They power most Reclaimed communities. Plenty for us to use.” Narc’s voice cut through the air, and Moira’s body reacted with the same speed as when she heard her dad. Except this was opposite in every way. Instead of fear, there was excitement. Instead of dread, there was warmth. Instead of wanting to run away, she dashed forward and threw her arms around the man who’d saved her life in so many different ways.
“Narc, you lovely bastard!” Moira yelled with a distinctly English lilt, leaping out of the driver’s seat and giving him a big hug.
“I thought you swapped trouble for Metro life. Bad timing with the Die Urbans. Ever since they opened up the processing center down 80, shipping convoys are getting hit.”
“Glad you kept an eye out for us.” They let go and stepped back, Moira unable to hold back her grin. Same Narc: tall, broad shoulders, thin glasses, and a welcoming laugh to go with neatly cropped brown hair and smile lines that gave away his age. Maybe he was embracing the hippie Zen master thing more these days, based on him standing barefoot on the front lawn.
“Nice accent,” he said. “No longer incognito?”
Moira caught Rob’s look, lingering for a moment before hopping to Krista, then back to Narc. “I don’t know right now. That’s not important.”
“Right, right. This isn’t a social visit.” He walked over to Rob. “I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter. I hope I can help.” He gave Rob a gentle shoulder squeeze, almost fatherly, and Moira could see Rob relax. Inside, she laughed to herself.
Narc had that effect on people.
“Come on. We’ll be quick,” Moira said, trotting up to join her former mentor.
Chapter Forty-One
Krista
Krista leaned over to Rob while they followed Narc to the house. “Where’s his army? With cars like that, I thought we’d walk into spikes and guns.”
“Me too,” he said.
“These old college campuses are great for Reclaimed communities.” Narc gestured around them, then began pointing at various things as they walked. “So much of the infrastructure has remained intact. We have five hundred people here, fifty or so joining in the last six months. A dozen in a trial period. We can defend ourselves if we need to, but looter gangs usually aren’t big enough or organized enough to take on a community. Besides, all we have here is vegetables. They’d rather steal resource convoys or commercial transports or just fight each other. Those pyrotechnics we used? Homegrown. We have a former chemist here. Running water,” Narc said, nodding to the kitchen as they walked through his home. “I installed a new water heater myself. Plenty of supplies to grab in the ghost town stores.”
Krista watched the strangest thing unfold in front of her: Rob cringed at Narc’s last sentence, and Moira responded by shooting him a look. In some other circumstance, it might have come off as pithy or scolding, but her action didn’t carry any expectation or weight to it. Instead, it felt more efficient, a coded shorthand between two people beginning to understand each other. He fired off a nod, and she ended the silent conversation with a short, warm smile.
Those two. They’d better hold on to Krista’s business cards.
“I have my printers back here.” Narc led them into a room filled with printing equipment, walls lined with paintings that were more random splotched colors than art to her. “Your IDs won’t be perfect, but they’ll get the job done. Just give me a few minutes.”
“Won’t they inspect them closely?” Rob asked.
Narc laughed, not a condescending laugh but a short, friendly one. “You give them too much credit. Think about what’s happening—it’s going to be overworked police or military and cit-pats who aren’t trained to spot a fake ID. They can’t even get manufacturing going again, let alone infrastructure or law enforcement. You’d probably get scrutinized more getting into a bar. Let’s take some quick photos.”
Krista stayed back while Narc talked through the smaller printer’s settings with Moira, then positioned her against a blank backdrop. “What do you think?” Rob asked in a low voice.
“I don’t trust him yet,” she said, matching his volume.
“You don’t trust anyone.”
“Neither do you.”
“Some people. I trust Moira.” His head tilted, offset with a tiny upward tick coming to his lips. “I might even be trusting you. Just a little bit.”
“You told me to stay out of your lives.”
“And you said you weren’t getting involved.”
“Yeah, well, I think I figured something out.”
“What’s that?”
Krista hesitated. Uncertainty tugged at her thoughts, but it wasn’t the anxiety of the situation that caused it.
Instead, her stomach jumped at the newness of it all. “I care about Sunny.” She knew that Rob turned to her, though she couldn’t fully gauge his reaction from her peripheral vision.
The sentence replayed in her head several times over. When was the last time she’d said that about anyone?
“How about that, huh?” she asked, quiet enough that Rob might not have even heard the question. It didn’t matter since it wasn’t intended for him.
“You’re an interesting one, Krista. I’ll give you that.”
“Now you two.” They stayed quiet while Narc ushered them through the process of creating ID cards of their era—no fancy holograms or embedded details anymore, instead a return to the days of sturdy cards and lamination. Minutes later, Narc presented three fresh fake IDs in hand. “State of Washington. Rob Donelly, Krista Deal.” The cards still felt hot from the printer. “Oh, and Moira Donelly. I thought it would look better if two of you were married.”
Moira pulled a ring off her right hand and stuck it on the ring finger of her left hand, the same place Frank’s engagement ring had sat just a few hours ago. “Seems like I’m always switching who I am, huh?”
“When you get to the hospital, I’d try the front door first, of course. But with everything happening, you
never know how tight security will be. So, just in case, hospital scrubs.” Narc opened a small metal cabinet and pulled out one set of green, one set of purple, and one with cartoon kittens on it.
“Dibs on the cats,” Krista said.
Narc nodded and continued. “I use them to keep clean with art projects, but it’ll look better than walking in wearing jeans. Oh, and a lab coat. It might have some metal shavings on it, but again, better than nothing and it looks like a doctor’s coat. No hospital IDs, though. You’re on your own for that.”
“Well, I hope my Uncle Asshole will see us, then.”
Moira opened her backpack and shoved the clothing inside. “Anything else?” she said.
“Follow me.” Narc led them down a cramped hallway lined with canvases and odd sculptures.
“Is Santiago still living with you?” Moira said while they walked into the garage.
“If you ever bothered to call, you’d know that he lives about a half mile from here. A converted two-story dorm.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” Narc pulled a box down and began rustling through it.
“Sorry that you guys broke up.”
“Actually, it’s not like that at all. Santiago’s place is next to a big field—he’s expanding the farm. With so much going on, it’s just easier if he keeps his things there. New Sac is a bare-bones Metro, honest living. We sell our produce there, and I guarantee you it’s better than anything produced in a converted Metro park or skyscraper farms. It’s calmer out here than San Francisco. A little quieter, a little more wild. Someday, this place will really be up and running, and who knows, maybe we’ll finally get around to getting married. There’s just not enough time for all that right now.”
Both Moira and Rob looked at Krista. “What?” she finally asked. “I’m not a cartoon character, it’s not like I have business cards ready to fire out.”
“Krista’s a wedding planner,” Rob said.
“Event coordinator.”
“Actually,” Narc said, a thoughtful shift coming to his face. “That might not be a bad idea. A little party for our corner of the world. I’ll talk with him tonight about it.” He pulled out a small black box with a mess of cords hanging from it. “Here we go. Binoculars. Police scanner. And adapter for car power.”
Krista took the scanner from him, wrapping the cords around its metallic square frame. “You think we’ll need to worry about the cops?”
“Speeding isn’t exactly a concern for them when the world’s going to shit. And you can bet that at least some of the police have skipped out to be with their families. No, this will just give you a heads-up if anything happens. Citizen patrols use the same band, so you’ll hear everything. Though taking MHSP-protected roads should be fine. Most looter activity is in SoCal and Nevada right now. The Die Urbans are mostly up by Chico,” he said as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Go load up, and I’ll meet you out front with one more thing.”
* * *
Krista had seen this before. Not the exact couch in the exact living room as Narc’s setup, but something that looked remarkably similar to the night she met Jas—same formation, same architecture, just with no drunk people and bad music.
Krista blinked, then blinked again, refusing to acknowledge the sudden irritation in her eyes or the way this room brought back that night in alarming clarity, so much so that she couldn’t ignore the question taking root in the corner of her mind, one that had grown a little every hour since Jas reached out.
How dare he make her feel regret like that.
A click followed by a squeak caused her to leap off the couch and she shut everything off, compartmentalizing her emotions like she’d learned to as a kid. Narc walked through the door, box in arms. “Oh. Thought you were out front.”
“Sorry. Just taking a moment.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s comfy, huh? That was here when we found this place. Reupholstered it myself.” Krista nodded, though her eyes continued to draw back to the room at large, little details seemingly pulled out of a time warp. Even the guitar in the corner made her wonder if she could remember the chords Jas taught her one late night. “Something the matter?”
“No. Just reminded me of someone I once knew. That’s all.”
“Ah.” Narc’s voice dropped in tone, a softness mixed in with its dry grate. “You never know when those moments will come. I still get them. Friends and family who got sick and died, they just pop up in the strangest places.”
“Oh, Jas isn’t dead.”
“I see. The other kind of lost.” His chin dropped but a small smile came to his lips. “Those are good too. And at least they’re out there for a second chance.” Krista’s whole body stiffened, enough that Narc seemed to notice as he spoke quick. “I mean, if you’re looking for it.”
“Why do you live here?” she said, deflecting the subject. “Away from where everyone else is.”
“Why do you think?”
“Because people are assholes.”
His laugh filled the space, reaching all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. “No, of course not. I love people.” His head slanted as he studied Krista. “Is that how you feel? I thought you worked with people.”
“Doesn’t mean people aren’t assholes.”
“It’s too easy in the cities. I have friends in Austin and Denver, they tell me that they’ve got the best tech restoration initiatives in the country, that it’s almost like it was before. That actually sounds awful to me. The noise, the pace. No thank you. I like New Sac, it’s the perfect place for us to trade with, and they appreciate what we do. But we’re barely two hours out of San Francisco, and city dwellers think it’s a wasteland. It’s not. It’s beautiful, a little rough around the edges, but we work together. We’re our own family, this community.” Narc’s eyes brightened as he spoke. “We’re not disconnected out here. I read about the whole Fourth Path thing. You know, the saddest part, Kay Greenwood’s pursuit of something that doesn’t exist anymore, that idea is what caused the whole thing. I’m out here because I love people, and that’s the American Dream today. We mourn, we rebuild, we respect the things we have. We’re self-sustaining. And I think that’s the way it should be.”
“So you are a hippie.”
“If you want to call it that, sure.” The box rumbled as he steadied it in his arms. “I like to think of it as not taking anything or anyone for granted anymore.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Rob
The words on the building across the street caused Rob to squint: something “Hall,” but the name was missing a letter or two, and an overgrowth of vines had taken over the wall. They had ghost towns, so what was this, a ghost college?
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Moira came over and stood next to Rob, then pointed at the row of buildings across the way. “They’re still standing. Just empty. No one to fill them.”
“I think I’ve stayed in San Francisco for so long that I forgot it was like this out here,” he said as he turned to her. “You been back to England?”
“Nope. This is my home now.”
“You’re not curious about if it’s any different?”
“I’ve seen the statistics. It’s just like here. Most of the remaining people stuck to major cities. London, Manchester, Liverpool.” Moira’s words came out matter-of-fact, neutral, almost like she was back at work. “It’s like that everywhere.”
“You all right with that? I mean, you haven’t really said much about it.”
“I’m fine.” She let out a hefty sigh, and it dissolved into the silence around them, bringing forth a smile—not the MoJo smile, but one with bright cheeks and glowing eyes.
“I really am. I don’t doubt that Frank thought we were a good fit. It seemed reason enough to marry because Moira Gorman needed something official besides pay stubs and c
redit card bills to go with the falsified records. I figured if he was happy, then I could make it work just being safe and content. Everyone else married for that comfort. Why not me? I mean, plenty of people did that before the End of the World.” Her voice cracked as the words fought their way out. Rob read everything underneath her tone, the cadence of her speech. Regret, shame, all of that stuff. No matter how it got dressed up, it was still the same in the end. “That’s wrong, though. Every single one of those people, all of those people marrying for stability. They’re selling themselves short. We’re better than that.”
“There’s a better way to rebuild,” Rob said. He looked at her, the purple and orange beams of the California sunset lighting her from behind. There wasn’t a drop of irony or cynicism in his statement. “More than survival. If we’re the only two people on the planet that realize that, well, you gotta start somewhere.”
Rob thought back to the FSB meeting, how Moira seemed to believe down to her bones that her testifying would be the help he needed. But standing there together, the simplicity of it all, he realized that maybe they’d both done the right thing in a different way.
Because on that afternoon, together, they opened up their real selves to someone else.
“Security is why I left Reclaimed. I’ve wanted comfort my whole life,” Moira said. “I thought now was my time.” He watched her shoulders slump, each word seeming to drag her down. “Then he came poking around. It was going to come together so fast. No more Johanna Hatfield. But that’s not really necessary now, is it? Everyone knows, and now I’m here. Frank needs someone better than me. I led him on. I thought it was okay, like the social norm. But it’s not. I owe him a huge apology.”
“Things will work out,” he said. “We all—” He stopped, dropping the thought as he pulled out a buzzing phone.
