The Mechanics: A Post-Apocalyptic Fiction Series

by Bobby Akart

  The words seared through O’Brien’s brain. Earlier in the day, a courier had delivered his thirty-day performance review. Compiled by the staff of DHS, O’Brien received overall poor reviews. The report concluded that he failed to achieve the minimum requirements of knowledge, skills, abilities, and behaviors required for an individual to perform the role and occupational function to which he or she was assigned.

  “Really? Well, fuck you!” he screamed as he threw an empty glass of bourbon thirty-three floors to its death.

  The rooftop access door closed and La Rue approached him cautiously. It was pitch black on the roof except for the glow of lights coming from the UN encampment at the Seaport.

  “What’s got you riled up?” asked La Rue, who poured himself a drink. Before he took a swig, he noticed O’Brien wasn’t drinking. “Are you not havin’ one, Jim?”

  “Yeah, I mean, I just threw the fuckin’ thing overboard, along with the rest of my new career,” replied O’Brien.

  La Rue walked around the table and handed his old friend the glass. He topped it off.

  “I know things have been rough goin’, but we’re just getting started with the UN boys. There has been some progress.”

  “Apparently not enough progress to satisfy those bureaucratic fucks in Washington or Hawaii,” said O’Brien. “They gave me some kind of performance eval that pretty much calls me incompetent.”

  “That’s pretty ballsy considering you’re up here bustin’ your ass to keep it together. At least you’re on the job. That guy in Atlanta tucked tail and ran back to Tennessee. There is no Citizen Corps in the southeast.”

  “That’s true,” said O’Brien, as he began to feel better. “Hell, there isn’t a Citizen Corps in D.C. either because there isn’t a D.C. The place has been ravaged by their own.”

  La Rue reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of tube-sealed Romeo y Julieta cigars. He handed them to O’Brien, who greedily accepted them. He fired up his lighter to read the label.

  “Wait, these are Cubans,” he said.

  “That’s right, boss. Some of my guys found them in a humidor at this place they hit on Chestnut Street. Liquor too. I had them deliver the boxes to your office a few minutes ago.”

  O’Brien lit up the woodsy cigar and took in the aroma. He relaxed as he savored the spoils of victory. Things are looking up.

  He let out a deep breath and downed half the glass of bourbon.

  “I need a win, Marion,” he started. “I’ve been at this for nearly eight weeks, and all I have to show for it is an army of misfits and now, thanks to you, a resupply of cigars and whiskey.”

  “What else is there?” La Rue laughed.

  “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ laid,” replied O’Brien.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” asked La Rue, who lit up a Marlboro. “There are plenty of young girls out there who will work for food, if you know what I mean.”

  “Great, just what I need, a hooker.”

  “No, seriously, it’s not like that. They call it bartering. People are doing whatever they have to do for survival.”

  “Well, no, thanks,” said O’Brien. “At least not right now anyway.”

  The men remained silent, taking in the night air. O’Brien refilled his glass and then La Rue took a swig out of the bottle. They returned to the roof’s edge and looked at the spectacle below.

  “Look at ’em,” said O’Brien, shaking his head. “What do they do all day?”

  “Believe it or not, they are gaining control of large parts of the city,” replied La Rue. “Their roadblocks are effectively cutting down on traffic in and out of Boston. Anyone who leaves must pay a toll of sorts. They have to give up their weapons, food, and valuables. In exchange, they get to pass and stay alive. If they resist, their stuff is taken anyway and they get their asses beat.”

  “That’s all well and good, but what do we get out of that? I don’t see Zhang delivering any boxes of goodies.”

  “Letting them have a little taste is serving a purpose,” replied La Rue. “It’s buying us time to get our own force together. I’ve recruited some good people, and they’re not gangbangers.”

  “That’s good, but we need our boys out of Fort Devens,” said O’Brien. “I want Zhang to fuckin’ attack that Bradlee fuck!”

  O’Brien saw Brad as the cause of his problems. He’d put too much trust in him initially, and that set him back a month. Now, because of Brad, the administration was up his ass. There had to be a way to turn things around.

  “Order him to do it.”

  “What?”

  “Lie. Tell him you received orders from the President to storm Fort Devens, release our prisoners, and take the base over.”

  Why not? “We’ve got the numbers and probably equal firepower. Let’s strike directly at the heart of the beast, which is that smug colonel and his beloved Fort Devens.”

  “Now you’re talkin’,” said La Rue. “Let me tell you something else that might help you gain favor with the President.”

  “What’s that?” asked O’Brien, now fully relaxed as he enjoyed his cigar. He gestured for La Rue to proceed.

  “I was at Mass General today, following up on a tip from one of my boys who got stitched up. He’s sharing a room with a guy recovering from the gas line explosion. The guy, a professor, claims he knows about the cyber attack.”

  “We all know about it; look around us,” interrupted O’Brien.

  “What I was gonna say is the guy may have been involved somehow. I went to the hospital today to visit my man, and I spoke with this professor today.”

  “Did he tell you anything?”

  “He was hesitant, even scared,” replied La Rue. “Jim, I’ve made a living out of reading people and encouraging them to see things my way. This guy knows something, but he wasn’t gonna reveal it to strangers.”

  O’Brien perked up. This could make a difference on his next evaluation. “Bring him in to talk to me. Surely he’ll spill what he knows to his governor.”

  “He can’t really be moved right now. The explosion fucked him up pretty bad. But I’m keeping my man in place even though he’s scheduled to be released tomorrow. I want this professor to be monitored and protected. We’ll become his new best friends.”

  “Outstanding, Marion. I’ll tell Pearson tomorrow and let that snitch report this back to the President’s people. Maybe my performance will be appreciated then.”

  “Jim, can you hold off on that? This professor may be our golden parachute. This President and his do-boys in Hawaii won’t appreciate what you’ve done for them. Let’s hold onto this information in case we need it as leverage or a larger payout in the event he leads us to somebody, or something, even bigger.”

  “That makes sense,” said O’Brien. “Now, enough business. Let’s talk some more about this barter thing the ladies are embracing.”

  “Almost done, Jim. There’s one more thing.”

  “For fuck’s sake, my friend. What else?” asked O’Brien as he walked to a roof scupper and peed into the downspout.

  “While I was at the hospital, a helicopter arrived with a number of passengers onboard,” replied La Rue.

  “Was it military?” asked O’Brien as he zipped up his pants.

  “No, it was private, and it was big. It looked like it could’ve been owned by Trump or someone like him.”

  “So what’s the deal?”

  “Apparently, a little girl got bit by a rattlesnake,” La Rue replied. “They brought her in for those anti-venom shots. There was also an old man who was checked out for a stroke.”

  “Any names?” asked O’Brien.

  “Nothing at all. The doctors and staff were tight-lipped. The two patients were placed in a recovery room at the end of the floor I was on. They had their own armed security guarding the hallway. I caught a glimpse of them as I left the professor’s room today.”

  “Whaddya make of it?”

  “It could be nothing, except for the fact tha
t there is obviously some money behind the whole thing—a big chopper, special privileges, private security. It’s worth watching.”

  O’Brien considered his options. He could always use a helicopter for himself, especially since some bastards shot down his UN choppers.

  “Tell you what, Marion. You get me the N-number off that chopper. I’ll have Pearson run it through the FAA Registry. We’ll find out a little more about our mystery guests.”

  Chapter 30

  Sunday, October 30, 2016

  11:08 a.m.

  Citizen Corps Region I, Office of the Governor

  99 High Street

  Boston, Massachusetts

  O’Brien and Pearson leaned over the conference table in the offices of the Citizen Corps and studied the maps provided to them by Zhang. The UN commander stood quietly to the side while the two men soaked in the information. Pearson spoke first.

  “If I understand this correctly, the areas indicated by the light blue crosshatched markings are wholly within your control. Is that right, sir?”

  “Affirmative,” he replied. “Each day, we expand the grid outward from the center point, which is indicated by the red star. Our focus has been the residential areas to the south and southwest. Moving through populated areas first enables us to flush out the opposition and to accomplish our goals of gun confiscation.”

  O’Brien stood up and turned his attention to Zhang. “How’s that coming along?”

  “I am pleased,” said Zhang. “We have confiscated over one thousand guns and many more thousand rounds of ammunition. I have them stored securely within the confines of the Convention Center. In hindsight, confiscated and stored food should have been held there as well.”

  O’Brien bristled. He didn’t appreciate the passive-aggressive body slam. Zhang had wanted to empty the Food Bank facility and transfer the contents to the Convention Center. O’Brien refused, in part because he didn’t want to give up control over his most precious asset at the moment. The decision cost him.

  “Well, good for you, General Zhang,” commented O’Brien. Now, let’s talk about some of your failures. “What are you doing to tamp down this insurgency?”

  Zhang moved to the map and pointed out yellow highlighter markings across several arterial roads leading in and out of the city. “We’ve cut off access to the north and—” started Zhang before being interrupted by O’Brien.

  “You mean the gas pipeline explosion cut off access to the north.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Zhang. He continued. “Access to the east has also been cut off.”

  O’Brien interrupted him again. “The access has been cut off by those Chinese gangs while we stood by and watched. We don’t control those tunnels, they do.”

  He wanted the high and mighty general to realize that he wasn’t performing up to O’Brien’s performance standards. That he, too, was ineffectual and unproductive and he was making the fucking boss look bad!

  “Continue,” said O’Brien brusquely. He glared at the map, with his hands on his hips.

  “Thus far, we have concentrated our efforts to the south towards Roxbury, Dorchester and Mattapan. These neighborhoods are being subdued.”

  O’Brien could feel the heat rise into his face. Subdued? We didn’t want those neighborhoods subdued. We wanted them to run wild in the fuckin’ streets! But he couldn’t admit that to Pearson and Zhang.

  “Listen up. The money is here,” shouted O’Brien, slapping his hand on top of Newton and the neighborhoods representing the western part of the city. Then he caught himself and he thought about La Rue’s words from last night. It’s buying us time to get our own force together. Let the UN subdue the poor parts of the city and save the good stuff for me.

  “I understand, Governor, but there is a logical—” started Zhang before he was interrupted.

  “Never mind, General,” said O’Brien. “Keep up the good work. Let’s talk about something more important. I’ve received a directive from the President’s office.” O’Brien ignored Pearson’s puzzled look. Any directive from the President would come through his liaison—Pearson.

  Zhang stood and looked at O’Brien. “Yes?”

  “The President has ordered us to free the prisoners located at Fort Devens and to seize the base. I am told this is of the utmost priority.”

  “What shall I do about the U.S. Marines protecting the facility?” asked Zhang.

  “Disgorge them,” replied O’Brien.

  “Disgorge? I’m not sure what you mean by—”

  “I want you to take all of your soldiers up there and kick them the fuck out!”

  “But—” started Zhang before an urgent knock at the door interrupted him.

  “Come in,” said O’Brien.

  One of Zhang’s aides entered the room, holding a military telephone. He quickly approached the general. “Sir, an urgent call for you from the Braintree checkpoint,” announced the aide.

  Zhang took the phone. “Yes.” Zhang listened intently as the situation was explained to him. O’Brien and Pearson grew impatient as the one-sided conversation lingered.

  “Hold the line,” said Zhang. In Chinese, he dismissed the aide and instructed him to close the door behind him. He turned and addressed O’Brien. “We have someone entering the city claiming to be from Barnstable on Cape Cod. He identified himself as a member of your General Court—a state legislator.”

  “Why is he coming to Boston?”

  “He claims to be on official business upon orders of the governor,” replied Zhang.

  “I don’t have any need to meet with somebody from Barnstable. Did you request this, Pearson?” asked O’Brien.

  “No, sir.”

  O’Brien turned to Zhang. “Did he say anything else?”

  “Yes. When our unit at the roadblock pressed him for a letter of authorization, he claimed he did not have one. He was directed to return to Boston and the State House. He said the governor was reconvening the legislature at 9:00 a.m.”

  “Tomorrow?” asked O’Brien.

  Zhang returned to the call and asked the soldier what day he was referring to.

  “Yes, 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning,” replied Zhang. “Shall I have him detained and brought in for questioning?”

  “Absolutely!” But as Zhang raised the phone to give further orders to his men, O’Brien reached for his arm and stopped him. “Wait.”

  O’Brien paced the floor methodically with his hands in his pockets. His back was turned to Pearson and Zhang when a smile came across his face. This is a gift from God almighty himself.

  He regained his composure and turned to Zhang.

  “No. Let him pass without further discussion,” instructed O’Brien. “In fact, tell him to have a nice day and safe travels.”

  “Sir,” Pearson began to object but stopped when O’Brien raised his hand.

  “Go ahead, General, tell them.”

  General Zhang gave the instructions and then disconnected the call. Pearson was agitated and immediately questioned O’Brien.

  “Why didn’t you detain him?” he asked.

  “No,” replied O’Brien, smiling again. He was unable to contain himself. “Why the hell not? Let them fucking convene.”

  “But, sir, this open act of defiance would potentially undermine your tenuous authority and would not be well received by the President,” said Pearson.

  “Let them convene,” said O’Brien as he directed the other two men to sit at the conference table. He spun the map around and studied it. “We’ll be ready for their treasonous assembly.”

  Chapter 31

  Sunday, October 30, 2016

  8:49 p.m.

  100 Beacon

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Julia and Sarge were standing guard on the rooftop of 100 Beacon until their relief came at midnight. Despite Sarge’s new status as the head of the Boston Brahmin, it was difficult for him to set aside certain day-to-day responsibilities. Plus, it gave him an opportunity to be alone with Julia
where they could talk.

  The two huddled under a blanket as they sat Indian-style on top of the dormant heat and air unit, which elevated them another eight feet above the rooftop. The clear skies and lack of wind would probably produce a frost, their second of the unseasonably warm fall. As always, fires were burning throughout the city. Attempts to stay warm resulted in buildings catching on fire. The charred remains became commonplace.

  Steven and Katie were going to remain at 100 Beacon full time to oversee the activities of the Mechanics. Julia and Sarge would be spending their last week here for a while. After Election Day, they would remain at 1PP permanently. It was safer for them there.

  The conversation quickly turned to Steven and Katie, who had become aloof over the last several weeks. Julia and Sarge rarely had the opportunity to talk without being overheard, so now was a good time to broach the subject.

  “I believe it stemmed from Mr. Morgan putting you into his position,” started Julia. “Over the next several days, I saw a noticeable difference in Katie’s attitude towards us. It’s easy to explain things like this away as typical jealousy.”

  Sarge sighed and gave his opinion. “I don’t have any other explanation. Steven and I have always been tight. We were brothers and partners. I never felt like either one of us considered ourselves to be superior to the other. He has his strengths, and I defer to him on certain matters. Likewise, I have my strengths. We always struck a good balance.” Sarge got quiet and shook his head. The whole thing puzzled him and he’d strained for an explanation.

  “Then you reached a higher level of success,” said Julia. “When you were handed the reins of the Boston Brahmin, you garnered the attention of the entire group. Although not by design, you were elevated above Steven. Maybe he didn’t appreciate that?”

  “I guess,” replied Sarge. “I’m not sure it is him. I think it may be Katie chirpin’ in his ear. Whenever Steven and I are together, alone, it’s like old times. But when she’s influencing him, I see a noticeable difference.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, his attitude towards me changes,” replied Sarge. “I don’t want to use a word like insubordination because we’ve never had that kind of a relationship, nor will we. It’s more like insolence.”