“It’s not a near-term situation,” Leona said. “They’ve been stabilized and can exist in place for a while longer, but the Sievert count is really too high for them to reliably procreate. They have children, but there’s a high incidence of mortality along with genetic failure. Eventually, they’ll die out. They’ve picked San Jose clean, so we have them living out of boxes and whatever tech we can transfer to them. Don’t get me wrong—they can survive, but they’ll never break out of the cycle of dependence.”
“So you’ve reintroduced the welfare state,” Buchek said.
Mulligan laughed. “Oh man, there’s something I haven’t heard in a while,” he said.
Buchek glared at him. “You think it’s funny? Me and my people have been getting by just fine without sucking up to the government like it’s some sugar daddy.”
“Hey, asshole? You’ve been existing, that’s it,” Mulligan shot back. “Want to move into something more satisfying? We can help with that, and you won’t owe us a fucking dime ... aside from the fact that you’ll need to take what we offer and run with it to turn it into something better.”
“Easy there, Big Ugly,” Buchek said. “I’m not going to take your shit and give nothing in return. Trust me on that.”
“You don’t seem like the type,” Mulligan said, “but these are ground rules we need to establish early in the game.”
“Actually, that’s more an inferred result than not,” Andrews said. He looked at Mulligan and shot him a look. Dude, what the fuck are you doing here?
Mulligan replied with a withering glare. “Inferred, my ass. Don’t pay attention to the captain at the moment, Stan, he’s gone on a mental vacation. The truth of the matter is, we’re here to prop you up long enough to become self-sustaining. We’re not here to let you leech off us out of some sense of entitlement. Yeah, you folks survived, but that’s not reason enough to keep your heads above water forever.”
Buchek stopped and turned to Mulligan directly. “You know what I like about you, Scott?”
“What’s that?”
“You sound like me. You know what I don’t like about you?”
“Ah, that I sound like you?”
Buchek snapped forward then, slamming his chest into Mulligan and actually driving him back a step. “What I don’t like is this sanctimonious bullshit you’re throwing around like you’re my personal savior, you stupid fuck,” he said, and his voice was a snarl. “You think you’re the only tough son of a bitch in this conversation? You don’t think I can’t slit your throat open and shit down the hole?”
“That would be an expensive decision,” Mulligan said. “And we’d give you a lifetime of hurt in return.”
“Oh yeah, that fat rig of yours,” Buchek said. “I have four men in defilade with fifty-caliber weapons ready to take out the radar, and then the FLIR turrets. That’s where the laser designators are, I noticed—I’d imagine you guys carry missiles in that second pod, right? Hellfires? Maybe guided seventy millimeter? I’ll bet they use the millimeter wave radar as primary guidance, and laser designation as a secondary. I’ll have you defanged quicker than you can fart. I also noticed the anti-missile defenses on your vehicle, and that there are only three on the rig’s ass. Tough break, I have twelve anti-armor rounds for my Carl Gustafs. I’m willing to sacrifice three rounds, since number four will tear right through that thing’s tailgate.”
Mulligan didn’t bat an eye. “I didn’t think you you’d allow us in without having a way of getting rid of us. Not really telling me anything I didn’t already know, Stan.”
“Guys, we really don’t need to go down this path,” Andrews said. Just the same, he tucked in his rifle. Leona did the same, moving off a few steps.
“Fantastic,” Buchek said. “So we understand each other. Can you please stop treating us like children who need to be saved? Because we’ve absolutely paid our dues here.”
“Dude—”
Andrews jumped in, cutting off Mulligan’s reply. “Stan, that’s totally not what we’re doing here. We fully understand that you and your people have managed a freaking miracle out here. We only want to sustain that, and give you a leg up. Take a bunch of crap off the table so you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Right now, KC is pulling out the survival package we have onboard and getting it ready for delivery. It’s not charity, but it is a gift, and we hope it’ll be useful. Like I’ve been telling you all along, you don’t have to worry. You’re not alone any longer. This is the only thing we’re about, man. Getting this nation back on its feet again, and if that starts here with you, then I’m happy about it.”
Buchek glared up at Mulligan for a moment longer, then at Andrews. He took in a breath and released it in a long sigh. “Okay, I lied. I really can’t shit down a hole in your neck, Big Ugly. I’m perpetually constipated.”
Mulligan chuckled at that. “I actually did think you were full of shit when you said that.”
“Don’t test me, boy,” Buchek said.
“Boy?”
“Stan.” Andrews was certain that Mulligan was going to start pushing Buchek’s buttons again, so he interjected himself into the conversation. “What is it you want from us? What can we do to show you we’re not an enemy here?”
“I know you’re not,” Buchek said. “It’s just going to take a while for all of this to sink in. And there’s the fact that we’ve done some pretty horrendous things in the name of survival. We’ve turned people away, we’ve turned people out, even though it meant their deaths. Hardly been acting like decent folk, you know? I thought it was just us out here, and now I have to worry about civilization again. I think about the things I’ve directed quite a bit lately.”
“We’re not here to judge you,” Andrews said.
“Case in point: we’re actively assisting people who tried to kill us,” Leona said. “The people in San Jose had it a hundred times worse than you did. They don’t bury their dead to fertilize crops ... they eat them.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but aside from the sergeant major here, you guys look like you’ve stepped right out of a magazine,” Buchek said. “You’re well fed, unscarred, and don’t look like you’ve had to handle anything that was outright terrible.”
“Oh, fuck this!” Leona snapped. She unslung her rifle and dropped it onto the moist grass. Glaring at Buchek, she began unfastening her trousers. The three men looked at her, then at each other as she pulled them down to her knees, exposing her dusky thighs. She turned toward Buchek and fingered the long, angry-looking scar on her leg.
“See this?” she said. “Caused by a spear or an arrow or something. How about these?” She hiked up her armor and blouse, exposing her flat midriff. It was speckled with smaller scars, white against the darkness of her skin. “Fragmentation injuries. All courtesy of our friends in San Jose, friends we’re still helping.”
“Well ... damn, Lieutenant,” Buchek said, caught between shock and embarrassment.
Leona dropped her blouse and yanked up her trousers. “Making a point here, Stan. We’ve seen shit too, and we’ve paid the price. We’ve lost people, and we’ve been injured.” She jerked her chin toward Mulligan. “Ask him. He had ringside seats to the war, while everyone else either died right away or stood around wondering why the lights went out.”
“Ringside seats?” Buchek looked to Mulligan, a confused expression on his face.
“I was outside the base when the nukes went off,” Mulligan said. “Saw some pretty lights and all, and we can leave it at that.”
Buchek studied him for a long moment. “Okay,” he said, finally.
“So we good here, guys?” Andrews asked. “I mean, I’m willing to strip naked to show off my scars and all, but I’d really rather not.”
“Yeah, I think we’re good,” Buchek said.
“Please, dear God, make us good,” Mulligan dramatically added.
Buchek finally led them to the mine the people had used for shelter in the immediate aftermath of the conflict. A lot of work had been don
e to make it habitable—flooring, piping, LED lighting. Fire pits had been constructed, and various offshoots had been converted into sleeping areas. The mine was still active, for a good many people used it as living accommodations even now. These people stared at the folks from Harmony Base like they were ghosts from a time long past. Most of them were more interested in Andrews and especially Leona, as they were fresh; Mulligan was like a spectral echo, a footnote of a time long past.
“Why are they looking at us like that?” Leona asked.
“Because you’re so damned clean,” Buchek said. “Like you’re from another world or something.”
“I guess we might be,” Andrews said. It was true. The people of Sherwood took care of themselves, but there was a definite difference between them and the crew from Harmony Base. What a difference hot showers can make.
“You guys still live full time in this mine?” Mulligan asked.
“Some of us do, on a rotational basis,” Buchek said. “And I’m actually taking you to someone you guys need to meet. Especially you, Big Ugly.”
“You’ve cloned Raquel Welch and you’ve been saving her for me? Really, Stan, you shouldn’t have.”
Buchek cackled, and the sound echoed off the rock walls of the mine. “You’d get her severely used, let me tell you.”
Buchek led them farther into the mine. An elevated wood floor had been constructed, and LED lights glared. Fans whirred, stirring the air.
“Where does the power come from?” Leona asked.
“Solar panel rigs farther up the slope,” Buchek said. “Shielded product, designed to withstand the EMP we experienced. They only produce about thirty percent of the charge a normal panel could generate, but that’s the trade-off. For instance, you’d be able to make better time in a pickup truck than your rig, but you wouldn’t live for very long. Same thing here, we’d get more energy collection out of standard solar cells, but we wouldn’t be able to use them for very long.”
“I get it,” Leona said. “You certainly planned ahead.”
“I was rich,” Buchek said. “Maybe not by Wall Street standards, but I had a net worth of around six million dollars before the world went to hell. I put it to use while I still could.”
He led them around a bend and into a larger chamber that was lit with more LEDs. It seemed to be a warehouse of sorts, with boxes upon boxes of items stacked floor to ceiling. In the center of the chamber was a battered recliner, and on that sat an old black man wearing faded military utility trousers, a rumpled olive-drab vest over a red T-shirt, and a flat-brimmed panama hat that appeared to be made from straw. He was reading a dog-eared paperback book, its cover as bent and wrinkled as the old man’s face. Andrews squinted, trying to read the title. Catcher in the Rye.
“So let me get this straight, Stan.” The old man’s voice was gravelly but clear, powerful but restrained. “You send me up here because you’re letting strangers inside the wall, and then you actually bring them to me—with weapons, no less.”
“Eldon Griffith, meet some folks from down south. Mike Andrews, Leona Eklund, and this towering piece of crap is Scott Mulligan.” Buchek pointed to each of them as he introduced them. “Folks, this is Eldon Griffith, the oldest man in Sherwood, and the biggest thorn in my side. Please, save us all and kill him now.”
Griffith snorted and regarded the newcomers with sharp eyes. He seemed to take in everything at a glance. He took Leona into account first, then Andrews. Finally his gaze settled on Mulligan. He sighed and reached around the shabby chair. He pulled out a walking cane and laboriously rose to his feet, tossing the book onto the chair after he had vacated it.
“Well, well, well. New generation soldiers,” he said, and there was something redolent in his voice, a richness Andrews could not place. Something geographical, perhaps—a regional accent he hadn’t heard before. “And one old fat cat. Let’s see here ... you’re a sergeant ...?” The man leaned forward, examining Mulligan’s insignia. “Excuse me, a command sergeant major. Shouldn’t you be in a tactical operations center somewhere, boy?”
“You must be prior service,” Mulligan said.
“Indeed. Master Gunnery Sergeant Eldon Griffith, Retired,” Griffith said.
Andrews stuck his hand out immediately. “Pleasure to meet you, Gunny. Mike Andrews, US Army. Please try not to break my hand.”
Griffith looked at Andrews and smiled thinly. “Gunny,” he repeated.
“You’ll have to excuse him, the captain’s still young and hasn’t met many Marines before,” Mulligan said. “Captain, the appropriate form of address for a warfighter of this grade is Master Guns.”
Andrews felt acute embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Master Guns. Didn’t mean to demote you.”
“Hell, son, I did my time. Rank don’t mean nothing anymore.” He switched the cane from his right hand to his left and clasped Andrews’s hand with a warm, dry grip that was still strong and vital. “I’m very happy to meet you. Of course, I’ve heard all about you from Amanda last night.”
Mulligan looked at Buchek. “I presume Master Guns is here in case we went suddenly belt-fed and started blowing up the town?”
“Continuity, Sarmajor,” Griffith said. “In case Stan here got taken out, I still have enough faculties left to be somewhat dangerous and, on rare occasion, inspiring.”
“There you have it,” Buchek said. “Our master plan, revealed.”
“It’s just slightly less than skin deep, but it will have to suffice.” Griffith turned to Leona and favored her with a wide smile as he shook her hand. “Good day, Lieutenant.”
“Good day to you too, Master Guns,” she said.
“Y’all can call me Eldon, or Griff. No one up here calls me Master Guns any longer.” The older man turned to Mulligan. “Except for you, you should always call me Master Guns so you remember your place in the military hierarchy, Sarmajor.”
“Technically we’re the same grade, but I bow to the apex predator in the room,” Mulligan said.
“Special Forces?” Griffith asked.
“Yep.”
“Go into the D-boys?”
Mulligan shook his head. “Tried, didn’t make the cut. Too tall, too stupid. Went back to group and stayed there.”
Griffith grunted. “Bet they called you Tiny.”
“No. Gandhi.”
Andrews and Leona exchanged glances. She shrugged at him, and Andrews turned back to Mulligan.
“You said Gandhi?” he asked. “Well, this is intriguing ...”
“I agree,” Griffith said. “A little unexpected.”
“No kidding,” Buchek said. “Why did they call you that?”
“Because after I arrived at the engagement area, things got peaceful really quick.”
Griffith guffawed. “Ain’t that some shit. I don’t doubt you, by the way. It fits.” He shook his head. “Ah, it’s unusual to meet a brother-in-arms who didn’t get a nickname from some stupid shit he did or said.”
Mulligan jerked his chin toward Griffith. “Since we’re sharing?”
“Oh, me? Yeah, they called me Sticks.”
Mulligan pointed at the man’s cane. “Can’t be because of that, unless everything I heard and saw about Corps fitness was the greatest lie ever perpetuated on Mankind.”
“No, no. Not because of this, this is just the sex symbol I use in my later years. I was in Mogadishu in 1992, and some skinnies rolled up on us to duke it out. One of my Marines went down so I took his rifle and laid down suppressive fire with two weapons, one in each hand. That’s where that name came from.”
“Well, God damn,” Mulligan said.
“Sounds like you had an adventurous life, Master Guns,” Andrews said.
“And that pretty much concludes the tour,” Buchek said. “You’ve seen the town, some of the residences, and the mine. This is what we are, and this is who we are. Basically, we’re all you’ll be dealing with.”
Andrews nodded and looked at Leona. “Seen enough?”
“Yeah
, I think so. Unless someone’s going to start shooting arrows at me, I’m good here.”
“Sarmajor?”
“Aside from the fact there’s a senior Marine in residence, I think we’ve hit the jackpot,” Mulligan said.
“You can pay homage later with beer, if you happen to have any,” Griffith said.
“We might be able to have some brought up next run,” Andrews said. “Sorry to say, it’s not part of our standard load out.”
Griffith sighed and sat down in the chair again. “Well, I guess there’s no point in crying over that.”
“Would you like some tissues?” Mulligan asked.
“No thanks, I’ll just use my sleeve.” Griffith made a show out of wiping his eyes, and the SCEV team laughed.
“All right, Stan. We’ll need a list of things that you guys will need short-term, and another for the longer-term deliverables,” Andrews said. “We have to hold station until our next team arrives, but that’ll get us time to plan the best course of action with regards to the supply train.”
“And we’d like to visit the other communities that you mentioned,” Leona said. “It might be better if we can get a wider picture of the regional needs overall.”
Buchek nodded. “Okay, I think I can manage that stuff without breaking a sweat. Can’t guarantee you’ll be as welcomed by the other communities as you have been here, but we can facilitate the meetings by taking you to them and giving you an intro. We’re not in constant contact with them just yet. More like we’re aware of them, but haven’t really solidified any lasting relations.”
“Why is that?” Mulligan asked.
“A lot of those folks are sick. There are illnesses out there that are coming back—small pox, measles, diphtheria, all the ones that we had inoculations for. Not to mention a hundred and one different respiratory infections, which are a lot more lethal now than they had been in the past. That alone is enough to cause general wariness, but there was a period of time where the encampments would raid each other. Some folks were killed, and that made things even more difficult with regards to relations.” Buchek put his hands in his pockets and gave them a slight shrug. “Like I said, we’ve done things we aren’t proud of.”
Earthfall (Book 2): Earthfall 2 [The Mission Continues] Page 23
