From Oblivion's Ashes

by Michael E. A. Nyman

  Vandermeer shrugged. “Typically, at full strength, it’s somewhere between ten and twenty thousand troops. Now? Who knows?”

  “We’ll have to ask at our next communication,” Marshal said. “What I’m more interested in hearing is what all of you think of this news. As Peter says, ‘the Americans are coming’, possibly a lot of them, and all armed to the teeth.”

  “What’s to discuss?” Kumar asked, laughing. “They’re our allies! If they’re armed to the teeth, then that’s to our advantage, right?”

  Without speaking, Marshal and Vandermeer seemed to exchange the same thought in one shared glance.

  “I mean,” Kumar added, with a hint of uncertainty, “it’s not as if we’d turn them away. Would we?”

  “Absolutely not,” Marshal said, straightening up. “Whatever else we might decide, the Americans are human. They’re our brothers and sisters, and our own survival could rest entirely on our ability to help them in any way we can. That central fact is not in dispute. However-”

  “How much of our own autonomy must we relinquish if we help them?” Peter said, finishing the sentence. “A question that is, indeed, worthy of consideration. We have made some great progress in our fledgling community under our current administration. It would be a shame to see it vanish under the ham-handed management of a military force with no reason to feel loyal to anything we’ve built.”

  “It’s strange hearing those words coming from you, Peter,” Valerie said, “considering your past history with us.”

  “My dear Ms. Hunter,” Peter said, “or perhaps I should say Mrs. Einarsson?”

  “Call me Valerie,” she answered.

  “Very well. Valerie. I have, if you will recall, changed sides. At the risk of being called an ideological turncoat, I have declared myself for Team Marshal and become a part of his government. He’s placed his faith in me and, as a wise man once said, ‘you dance with the one that brung you’.”

  “I’m quite certain that former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney was referring to his political supporters when he made that quote,” Valerie said. “The last I checked, Peter, you had none left to speak of.”

  “Very astute, Ms… Valerie,” Peter answered. “Nevertheless, my point stands. I owe my good fortune to Marshal. I am and will remain loyal to him. And even if I wasn’t, I would still be able to recognize a potential threat when it presented itself.”

  “The thing about armies,” Captain Vandermeer said, “is that even when they’re involved in humanitarian operations, their influence is based on how effectively they displace civilian authority. They have their own hierarchy, their own agenda, and the means to impose it whether we like it or not. And this military will not be coming to us on a humanitarian mission. They’ve already announced their need for supplies and ordinance. What happens if they’re not satisfied with what we have to offer?”

  No one seemed to have an answer for this.

  “Aren’t we being just a bit premature?” Krissy asked. “So far, all they’ve done is respond to the general message we sent and asked for assistance. Shouldn’t we at least wait and see what they have to say first?”

  “By that time,” Elizabeth chimed in, “it could be too late. I don’t like it. Ten thousand soldiers? We could never accommodate so many, let alone police them properly. Even with our population exceeding six hundred now, they would still outnumber us twenty to one!”

  “That was their compliment at full strength,” Vandermeer reminded her. “Try to remember, my entire base was overrun by undead, and all our military grade hardware didn’t so much as slow them down. Trust me. Even though they’re still fighting, they’ll have sustained heavy casualties.”

  “I don’t care,” Elizabeth answered. “If they’re only a tenth of what they were, they’re still more than we can handle.”

  “That,” Vandermeer said, “is subject to debate.”

  “So that’s it?” Kumar said. “We refuse to meet with them just because they’re bigger than we are?”

  “No fucking way!” Luca said. “We’re in the middle of an apocalypse, for Christ’s sake! It ain’t the Americans we gotta be afraid of!”

  “Calm down,” Marshal said. “We’re going to help them, all right? I’ve already said that. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need to be careful about it. I wanted you all here so that you can offer input. Let me start out by telling you all what I’m thinking of doing, barring a better idea, and then listen to your suggestions after.”

  The room grew quiet as Marshal began to speak.

  Cameron looked around the observation lounge of the CN Tower with an expression of wonder. His gaze trickled over the switchboards, computer screens, the microphones and dials, like a man in a dream.

  His gaze shifted to the recently replaced windows. From the control room, he could look down on the old restaurant and the panoramic window view it provided. Because the tower was tall, it had been decided that replacing the windows in the main pod wouldn’t catch undead attention. And as long as the undead were kept out of the downtown area, there was almost no chance that they would stumble on them by accident.

  From here, Cameron could see the sprawl of Toronto and the deep blue of Lake Ontario, all laid out beneath him like an oil painting.

  “You mean it’s all ours?” he said at last.

  “If you take on the position,” Felicia said, drawing his gaze back to her smiling face. “We’d be working here together, and since there’s so much space, Marshal said we could build our home here. We might have to take on neighbors down the road, if our department grows, but for now, in the beginning…”

  She looked up at him shyly.

  “... this is where we could raise our family. All we have to do is make sure that the equipment keeps running smoothly, and that Radio New Toronto stays on the air.”

  He looked at the beautiful, young woman in front of him and shook his head, not too hard, for fear that the dream would disappear, and he’d be back in prison or the slaughterhouse again.

  “You follow me, boy!” Mitchell had shouted at him, standing over him on that first day of prison. Cameron’s lip was bleeding from where Mitchell had hit him. “You’re in MY group, or I’ll let the white boys run a train on your ass. And if you EVER disobey an order from me, I’ll shove my dick so far up your ass I could use you like a sock puppet! You hear me?”

  And then, Chugger had killed Mitchell, and it had only been Jerome’s fast-talking that had kept the three of them from joining the others in the animal pens. He would owe Jerome for the rest of his life for that, even if survival at the time had meant a different kind of nightmare from which he could not escape. He’d never told anyone, though he suspected that Jerome knew, but he’d crept off in the darkness and cried like a baby.

  Usually, Cameron never cried. Not when he was punished as a child, nor when his mother had died from breast cancer. Not even on his first night in jail, after being convicted for dealing drugs at the raves and clubs where he worked, had he cried.

  But now, for a second time since the outbreak, Cameron felt himself start to well up with tears. With a swift move, he covered his eyes with one hand and wrestled for control.

  “Oh baby,” Felicia said, suddenly concerned, “are you okay?”

  “Yeah! You bet!” Cameron said, shaking his head like a dog, and looking back at the beautiful girl in front of him. “Just…

  He let out a whoop of joy, and swept her up in his arms.

  “This is amazing, baby. I actually get to live here? With you? And I get to be a DJ for the whole of New Toronto. How’d you manage to get Marshal to agree to all this?”

  Felicia laughed, melting against him as he spun her around.

  “That’s what you’re gonna have to learn, honey,” she said, laughing. “Just leave me to do all the decision-making, and things are always going to work out fine. But seriously, Torstein says that once everything with the Americans gets sorted out, he’ll show up with a team of workers and get started
on our new home. He says it won’t take more than a few days.”

  She leaned down and kissed him hard.

  “And just wait,” she said seductively, “until you see the new lingerie I picked out from Jolene’s. I’ll give you a bit of a mental preview.”

  She leaned down and whispered in his ear.

  “It’s tiny and it’s red.”

  For a moment, Cameron thought he was going to cry again, but manfully, he fought the impulse down.

  It was then that he saw the red light on the control panel start to flash.

  “We got an incoming message,” he said, carrying her over to a chair and setting her down on it. “What do we do?”

  “Here,” Felicia said, stretching out to pull up a second chair for him to sit on. “I’ll be your producer and handle the mechanics. You just sit here, look pretty, and push that button when you want to speak. We’ll go over the details of playing music and recorded messages later. For now, just turn that dial.”

  Cameron turned the dial and the speakers came to life.

  “… New Toronto. Can you respond? Repeat. This is First Cavalry Division calling New Toronto. Can you respond?”

  Cameron hit the button.

  “New Toronto is receiving you loud and clear,” he replied in his deep, resonant baritone. “Sorry for the delay. We had some brief technical difficulties but we are now wrapped, rocked, and ready to roll again. This is the Voice of New Toronto speaking, aka Cameron Miller, and on behalf of New Toronto, it’s good to hear from you. What’s your status, First Cavalry?”

  “Good to hear from you too, New Toronto. We are performing a running engagement up what used to be your 401 expressway. We are low on fuel, low on munitions, and under extreme duress. Our estimated time of arrival puts us in Toronto at just after twelve hundred hours tomorrow time. Can you assist?”

  “Good news, brother,” Cameron said, sinking into his role and throwing a wink at Felicia, “You and yours have safe harbor with us. At the moment, we just have one question: how many of you are coming?”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Roger that, New Toronto. If it’s at all possible, we’d be looking to off-load two hundred and twenty wounded, assuming you have the facilities to hold that many. Barring that, there are a hundred of those who will expire if they are not given-”

  “Sorry to interrupt, First Cal,” Cameron broke in. “You’re not hearing me. How many people are in your group in total?”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Please repeat last message, New Toronto,” the speaker said.

  “How… Many… People... Are you in total?”

  The voice came back sounding slightly annoyed.

  “At present, we have a total of six hundred and seventy-three survivors, comprised of two hundred and seven active soldiers, two hundred and forty-six healthy civilians, with an additional and two hundred and twenty wounded who will die if we cannot find them an alternative to combat conditions.”

  “Understood, FirstCal,” Cameron said, grinning at Felicia. “And we’re happy for the good news. We were afraid there would be too many of you to take in all at once. I’m happy to report that we should be able to provide refuge, food and shelter, for all six hundred and seventy-three of you.”

  There was another brief silence.

  “Uh… New Toronto, could you please repeat last message?”

  “No problem,” Cameron said. “We’ve got room and supplies to accommodate every last one of you. Time for some shore leave, First Cal. Just keep coming up the 401 and make the turn-off at Pearson International Airport. We’re clearing a temporary safe zone so we can meet with you and discuss terms before taking you in.”

  “A… a safe zone? You’re able to guarantee a safe zone the size of an International Airport?”

  “We’re working on it right now,” Cameron answered. “Obviously, it won’t be perfect, but it will make it possible for you to have a face-to-face meeting with our leader, Marshal Einarsson. I’ll be giving you some coordinates to plug into your GPS so you can drive right up.”

  Again, there was another long pause.

  “Roger that, New Toronto. Looking forward to the party.”

  At twelve noon the next day, Marshal drove Crapmobile out onto the tarmac of Pearson International Airport.

  “I must say, Marshal,” Peter Hanson said from his seat in the co-pilot chair. “I was surprised when you asked that I come along. Not that I’m unwilling to do my part, but wouldn’t this normally be the role of one of your more dynamic associates?”

  “You’re more expendable,” Scratchard answered from the rear. “No one would miss you if you died in a deluge of gunfire.”

  Peter scowled. “Charming,” he said. “And I suppose that explains why you’re here as well?”

  “Are you kidding,” Scratchard said, taking a puff from his cigarette and blowing a cloud in Peter’s direction. “I’m even more of an asshole than you. I’m still on parole for my last screw-up. If we need catapult fodder and there aren’t enough rocks, my body exists as a viable alternative.”

  “Stop it, Nicholas,” Marshal said, watching his instruments. “You’re both valuable assets to New Toronto, and you know it. Peter has done an excellent job turning our General Store into a genuine wealth center, and you…”

  He sighed.

  “Well, you…”

  “Go ahead and say it,” Scratchard said. “It’ll only hurt for a short while.”

  “You are, despite all your other failings, our most brilliant citizen and unique talent,” Marshal finished.

  “Never let it be said that power comes without price,” Peter muttered.

  “Whatever,” Marshal said. “The point is that the two of you are exactly the people I need to have with me when I meet the Americans. ‘Dynamic’, as you put it, is not how we want to play these negotiations. Any attempt to make a show of strength by bringing Luca or the Captain would be laughed at. Our strength is in our subterfuge, and if it comes down to a pissing contest, that’s where our stream will have the furthest reach.”

  “Ugh,” Peter said.

  “Don’t you just love metaphor?” Scratchard asked. “It’s got so much range. So you brought Peter and me along just to pee on the Americans? Kinky.”

  “No,” Marshal said. “I brought Peter along for his quick mind and to advise me in negotiations. Whatever else you might think of him, that is his area of expertise. I brought you along because you are a hard man to fool. You’re calculating, brilliant, and are likely to offer an intellectual insight that could prove handy, as long as you can keep your mouth under control.”

  “Ouch,” Scratchard said. “That was very hurtful, Marshal.”

  “It’s also true,” Marshal said. “I’m counting on you not wanting to give itchy trigger-fingers any excuse to point their weapons at us. Think you can handle that?”

  Scratchard didn’t deign to answer. Instead, he consulted his laptop.

  “It looks like Kumar and his crew are set up in the traffic control tower,” he said. “Kumar! We’re receiving. Can you hear us?”

  “Loud and clear,” came the response. “And we’re getting a faint visual on the Americans, but I’m afraid to take it out any further. What’s the range on these drones anyway? Seems to me we’re already well past it.”

  “You should be fine,” Marshal interjected. “They’re specially-modified, top-of-the-line, Phantom Class drones. The best drones sold over the counter that money can buy, and we’ve used the extra lift to triple their power to give them longer flights and greater range. They were adapted to help James and Albert do recon flights over the outlying areas of the city and should give you an hour of flight time.”

  “Range?”

  “Did Leonard rout the signal through the traffic control tower like I told him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should have a range of thirty or forty kilometers at a guess if you stay low. Say it’s fifty and give yourself some leew
ay. Either way, if you’re already seeing the leading edge of the Americans, then you’re probably not going to need much more. How far away are they?”

  “Twenty clicks maybe, and heading your direction. Wait. The advance group just passed Hurontario. That puts it at about fifteen kilometers, moving at about… fifty kilometers an hour. They should reach your position in about fifteen to twenty minutes.”

  “Fifty kilometers an hour?” Marshal frowned. “That slow?”

  “Uh… yeah,” Kumar said. “It’s probably easier if I just show you than try to explain it. Another thirty seconds and you’ll be seeing what I’m seeing.”

  “Roger that. In the meantime, how are things in the tower?”

  “It stinks in here,” Kumar answered. “Like mildew, urine, and rotting cheese, all mixed together. Reminds me of my first-year, university rez.”

  “I meant is it secure? Can your group make it back to your Camoucart in time if things turn hairy?”

  “Who knows?” Kumar said. “Probably, if we get enough warning. It’s about a three-minute trip at a dead run without all the zombies. I’m trying not to worry about it at the moment.”

  “I guess that makes sense. Any complaints from anyone else?”

  “Not so much. Vandermeer and his handpicked crew are in position. Krissy’s been complaining a lot, but it’s worth your life if you try to point it that it might be because she’s six months pregnant. I swear, Marshal. That woman should not have a gun right now.”

  “Toughen up, Kumar,” Marshal said. “She might be on edge, but she’s a pro. Are all squads in position? If this rescue is happening, they’re going to have to be ready to move fast.”

  “They’re ready,” Kumar said. “Dr. Burke and the volunteers have the hospital prepped, and we’re ready to process newcomers on mass. Valerie’s put together a team of ten dispatch operators to help guide the fleet of Camoucarts so that we don’t have a clusterfuck.”

  “Good,” Marshal said as his screen lit up with the video feed from the first drone.

  “You should be getting the feed now,” Kumar said.

  “I’ve got it.”