The Lightning Lords

by M C Rooney

  Locke reined in his horse and called across to Cazaly, “These men like to steal food instead of catching or growing it themselves.”

  “Selfish bastards,” called back Cazaly.

  Basically, Locke was saying that these young men were lazy and worthless, but they weren’t murderers or rapists.

  “Should we kill them?” asked another ranger of around thirty years of age by the name of Hussein. He wore a small grin as he said it, but had such a hard face that you didn’t know whether he was joking or not.

  “Nah, leave them,” said another ranger called Daltrey. He was a young man of twenty-one, whom Renee thought quite highly of. Very highly, but Tom never said anything about that, careful not to embarrass her. “I’m sure you’ve seen the errors of your ways. Haven’t you, boys?” Daltrey finished.

  The four riders babbled that they had indeed seen their errors and would never make the same mistake again.

  “Right then, you lot,” said Cazaly. “Piss off, and don’t come back.”

  “Don’t go to Hobart, though,” said Hussein, still grinning. “There are a hundred of us there.”

  The riders edged their way around the five new rangers, who kept their bows trained on them then bolted southwards as fast as their horses could take them.

  “Do you think they will come back?” asked Tom.

  “Nah, mate; shat themselves,” Daltrey said as he laughed.

  “We better head back now,” said Locke. “They looked scared before they saw you, and I want to know why.”

  The seven rangers rode quickly to the town, to find most of the people on the streets. They seemed to be clearing away food scraps, of all things.

  “So this is my new home,” said Cazaly.

  “You’ll like it here,” said Tom. “The people are nice …” He trailed off as he saw two men tied up against a wall with apples shoved in their mouths. Renee was standing next to one of them with Marissa, and both of them seemed to be grinning and laughing madly.

  The locals stood aside in awe, as the number of rangers had now gone up from three to eight.

  “It’s good to see Marissa smile,” Tom murmured to Locke as all seven rangers rode towards her and Renee.

  “Indeed,” Locke said. “Perhaps the young girl will find her way out of the darkness yet.”

  “I take it that these two were with the other four?” asked Cazaly, as the rangers dismounted.

  “Why, yes,” replied Renee whilst giving a sideways look at Daltrey. “Did you see them?”

  “We gave them directions to the land of fuck off,” replied Daltrey with a laugh.

  Renee laughed too, whilst blushing a deep shade of red.

  Wow, she has it really bad, thought Tom in astonishment.

  “So what are we going to do with these two?” Hussein said, pointing at the father and son who were tied up.

  “Not sure,” replied Locke, who had his thoughtful face on.

  “Who gave them the bruises?” asked Daltrey.

  “Me,” Renee answered, going even redder.

  “Nice one, Renee,” Daltrey replied and gave her a look of approval.

  “Thanks,” Renee said, looking at the ground again.

  Tom continued to look at her in amazement. Her face was going to explode of she got any redder. I hope I don’t get like that if I meet a nice girl, he thought, knowing he probably would.

  “They could be trouble,” Cazaly said, looking at Locke with an enquiring expression.

  “Training, maybe?” replied The Breaker.

  “Could be,” said Cazaly thoughtfully. “It’s always risky, though; they may actually cause real trouble.”

  All eight rangers were looking closely at the two men now, and the tied-up men looked back in sheer terror.

  “Hmm, then again,” said Locke, “the older man looks like he is broken.”

  “Well, he definitely has a broken jaw,” replied Cazaly as he moved the older man’s face from left to right.

  “Greg,” Locke called out, “can you bring the trainees over here, please?”

  “All of them?” replied Greg.

  “Yes, please, mate.” replied Locke.

  The two men no longer had eight rangers staring at them, but a potential twenty-eight. Tom looked curiously at Marissa, as she seemed to be paying as much attention as the young trainees.

  “After you, mate; this is your mob now,” Locke said to Cazaly, who nodded in thanks.

  “Now, Trainees,” Cazaly said to the gathering, “back in the day when the rangers were first formed, they did have to battle bandits, but most of the large-scale fighting involved zombies. Thanks to young Tom’s grandfather,” Cazaly said as he gestured towards Tom, “the red zombies in Hobart disappeared forever. Then, thanks to Tom’s aunt,”—Tom was really starting to feel the pressure of his family name now—“the pale zombies have now gone from the south as well.” Cazaly then walked over and placed one hand on the older tied-up man’s head again and, with his other hand, removed the apple from his mouth. “But, unfortunately, we still have to deal with dickheads like this.”

  The man said nothing; he even looked as if he was about to break into tears.

  “People who think they are entitled to a free ride, who won’t work for themselves,” Cazaly continued “but are quite happy to bludge off of others. Sure, this shit for brains and his dropkick of a son aren’t murderers or rapists, but their type will always be there to be a major pain in the arse for our society. And this is where you will come in.”

  Cazaly looked into the eyes of every young boy who stood before him.

  “I want you to be the ones who defend our people, be the ones who watch your community’s back. I want you to be a person who contributes to our town, not become bloodsucking leeches like these pricks.” He gestured again to the men. “I want to teach you self-defence but also history, science, and the arts. And your training starts tomorrow,” he finished with a smile.

  Tom looked at the young boys who were to commence this training and was pleased to see keen faces on them all. He looked again at Marissa and saw that she had the same keen look as the boys.

  “Right, you boys all head off back to your folks now,” Greg Hurst said. “Be back here at …” He turned to Cazaly with a questioning gaze.

  “Seven in the morning,” replied Cazaly.

  “Seven,” said Greg, “and don’t be late.”

  Greg Hurst looked over the moon at Cazaly’s speech. He really did believe that things had turned for the better. Tom wondered how he would take the news from Marissa.

  “Nice speech, boss,” said Hussein as he watched the young boys head to their horses to leave.

  “Thanks, mate,” said Cazaly.

  “Inspirational. Inspiring and inspirational,” Daltrey said in a posh voice.

  “Shut up,” Cazaly replied with a grin.

  The two other rangers, Dixon and Cavarretta, walked over to the men who were still tied up.

  “Do we let them go now?” said Dixon.

  “Yep, untie them,” replied Cazaly.

  “Don’t come back now,” Hussein said to them with that hard face of his.

  Once untied, the father and son bandits didn’t look at the rangers, but ran, or limped, south as fast as they could. They wouldn’t come back.

  “No training,” said Locke.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Cazaly replied with a disappointed face.

  “Marissa has something to ask,” Renee said to Cazaly as she nudged the young girl forward.

  “Yes, young lady?” Cazaly replied with a smile.

  Marissa hesitated.

  “Go on,” Renee urged.

  “I wish to become a ranger,” Marissa said quietly.

  Greg Hurst looked stunned at his niece’s decision.

  “Are you sure you are ready?’ he asked.

  “Yes, Uncle, I am,” she replied kindly and turned back to Cazaly.

  “See you at seven then,” he replied.

  “Thank you
,” she said with a grateful smile.

  Locke and Cazaly watched as she walked back to her home with her uncle, who seemed to be gesturing to her. No doubt making extra sure she was ready for this.

  “Big decision,” said Locke. “You heard about her ordeal?”

  “Yes, mate,” replied Cazaly sadly. “We will be careful with this one.”

  Locke nodded his head. Cazaly was a good man. He was not all about physical training, but mental as well. He also remembered what it was like to be young. He would do well in training the new recruits.

  Locke looked at the sun and decided to delay their departure. “We will be heading off first thing in the morning as well,” he said as he walked to his horse.

  “In search of this tower?” asked Cazaly, walking alongside.

  “Got my orders from the mayor.”

  Cazaly looked at Locke in shock. He had almost forgotten. How was he going to tell him?

  “The mayor wanted me to deliver three messages to you,” Cazaly said quickly.

  “Oh? And what are they?” Locke replied, keen to know how Lily was and how Hobart was faring.

  “There is a new doctor in town,” he replied, avoiding the main subject, “and he will help train new doctors.”

  “That’s great news.” And it truly was; doctors were rarer than hens’ teeth.

  “And he has helped with the reduction of new flu cases.”

  “Even better.” With such a low population, any news about containing the disease was truly a blessing.

  “And you’re going to be a father.”

  Silence.

  East Coast, Tasmania

  “I can’t believe I spent two months on my knees, praying to God for the power to return, and it turns out all along there is some electrical tower providing the power instead,” said Governor George Abercrombie.

  “It was a good gesture,” replied his nephew Todd Abercrombie, whom the Governor always used as a sounding board for his ideas and plans. “The men appreciated the effort, and for a while there …” He trailed off, as he knew the conclusion.

  The governor ran a hand over his short grey hair and down his long moustache, which nearly went to his chest.

  “Yes, I know,” he said gruffly. “For a while there, I was considered saintly. Now we all know that the power was not provided by God as my old pastor claimed but by a machine.” His pastor was also his dear departed father. “I was made to look such a fool for believing my prayers actually worked.”

  “You weren’t to know, Uncle,” said Todd, as pragmatic as ever. “There is so much we don’t know about the tower. It doesn’t seem to have even been downloaded on the computers’ history books.”

  “Perhaps that’s why that Governor-General did not explain to me about how electricity works,” the governor replied.

  Todd gave an angry snort. “I think that man either likes making fun of us islander inbreeds, as he calls us, or yes, he doesn’t know how the tower made the radio or Holophone work either.”

  “You don’t trust him,” the governor said.

  “Not an inch,” Todd replied, “but thankfully, his plans are for the west of the mainland at the moment. Tassie can work out its own problems for the next decade, and maybe someone better will have usurped his authority by then.”

  The governor looked at his nephew, who was a mirror image of himself, albeit younger and without a moustache.

  Whilst Ned, or Edward as he liked to call himself, had taken after his mother in looks—Ned’s mother was often described in the governor’s youth as a ‘cracker of a woman’ or ‘a good sort’—his nephew was like him, short of stature, thickset, and a head that looked like it was designed for ramming through brick walls.

  “I still don’t like being made to look a fool by all this praying nonsense,” the governor huffed, completely ignoring the topic of a mainland tyrant, eager to return to the subject of his bruised ego.

  The governor’s father had been just a local priest when the Collapse happened. A lot of people had died and risen as zombies, but due to the small population of the East Coast towns, they managed to contain the outbreak. His father had rallied all the small towns along the coast and became their leader, and somehow, they had not just survived but thrived. But the main reason for their survival, apart from the weapons he had, was the power source that kept all of their equipment and machines working. His father could not understand why the power remained going for so long. So, as a religious man, he insisted that the power was a gift from God, and George was brought up all his life with that belief, until now.

  “It was not your fault,” his nephew insisted. “In fact, the news that the power source was not divine, and may be in the hands of Westerners who could destroy it, has solidified your position even more.”

  The governor had to nod his head in agreement with this. He had led the East Coast towns for ten years now, and even though he was only forty-five years of age, he wanted very badly to remain in power long enough to hand the reins over to his son, Ned. But one major mistake and the people may insist on voting for any future leaders.

  “Do you think they would destroy it?” asked the governor, thinking about major mistakes.

  “No. I believe they need it as much as we do,” replied Todd, “but they could destroy it through incompetence.”

  “Ned insisted they are just savages,” replied the governor.

  “I do not believe in grouping an entire people into one category,” replied his nephew. “There are good and bad people in all communities. But history has shown that nations have been moved in certain directions by those who lead them.”

  “History shows that some leaders have been deposed by their people,” said the governor with a look behind him.

  “Not always,” Todd replied, “and in recent times, deposing bad rulers happened less internally and more by external means.”

  “I wonder why,” the governor mused.

  “The Four Horsemen’s grip was very strong,” Todd said quietly.

  “I’m sorry, the four horsemen?” the governor asked with a perplexed look.

  “Oh, nothing, Uncle,” Todd replied with a wave of his hand. “It was just a poem I read once.”

  It was a poem written by the Mayor of Hobart, in fact. Todd hoped he would be lucky enough to meet her one day.

  “Anyway, getting back to the matter at hand,” said the governor, “Ned said that all knowledge of the tower lies with one man, who is now very elderly.”

  Todd sighed with anxiety. “This is dangerous, Uncle,” he said. “If he dies without passing the knowledge on …”

  “We may be ruined,” the governor finished.

  “We have to discuss this with the girl Edward told us about,” said Todd, “a Molly McLaren.”

  “Yes,” replied the governor with a frown, “she may hold the key as to what course of action we need to take.”

  “I don’t like the idea of going to war,” said Todd with an identical worried frown as his uncle. “Tasmania’s population is so fragile. I would prefer negotiation first.”

  “Their numbers seem fragile, Todd,” said the governor as he looked behind him again. “We thrived, my boy. We thrived.”

  Todd also turned his head around whilst riding his horse to the township, where Edward awaited him. Once the governor had received the initial message from his son about the tower and their precarious position, he had begun gathering the Eastern Diggers in force. Two thousand soldiers rode behind them. All armed to the teeth and ready to do anything it took to preserve the power.

  Tasmania had never had an internal war since the early days of white settlement. The Collapse had killed over ninety percent of their population as far as they were aware. Now, forty-seven years after that day, it appeared the survivors were going to kill each other over energy resources.

  Todd heaved a big sigh. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

  The Tasmanian Midlands

  Buzz stood underneath the tower an
d looked out upon the outlying areas, where all his people were camped. Whilst he had lain unconscious from a massive punch in the chest from the young girl called Feral, a quarter of his people had suddenly come down with a fever. Hundreds had now died, and Buzz was imploring his father to get his people moving.

  “Quarantine, Buzz, quarantine,” said the naked professor as electricity volts poured through his body.

  Buzz turned to look at the professor, then very quickly averted his eyes.

  “Do you have to do that?” he asked.

  “This is my morning pick-me-up,” the professor replied, confused. “You’ve seen me do this many times before.”

  “Not from close up.”

  “What do you mean? Am I not a fine specimen of a man?” he said, as he did some postures he referred to as a sport called bodybuilding.

  “Maybe fifty years ago,” said Buzz, “but now you’re looking a bit dangly.”

  “Dangly?” What does he mean by that, I wonder?

  He means your body parts sway to and fro and hang a bit too low, his voice told him.

  “What do you mean by hang low?” the professor asked.

  “I didn’t say hang low,” Buzz replied.

  “I know you didn’t, young Buzz,” the professor replied. “I was talking to this other fellow who has bothered me for so many years.”

  Bothered you! the voice said, outraged. I have saved your flabby arse so many times over the years.

  “Flabby arse!” the professor replied with equal outrage. “They are as pert as the day I was born, dickweed.”

  What did you call me?

  “Dickweed.”

  Well, you can get fucked, low balls.

  “Fuck you!” the professor shot back.

  Buzz went back to looking at his people, whilst the professor had an animated domestic dispute with himself about whether his bottom was pert or not. Crazy as a loon he might be, but he was right in the fact that something needed to be done with the sick people. Despite the fact his tribe was nomadic; they did look after themselves sanitary wise, so this meant the disease was most likely airborne. They had to separate the sick from the healthy.