Supernova EMP- The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  Maxine blinked and licked at her arid lips. “Why am I here?”

  Gabe gave a wide smile. “That’s better. So, let me tell you.”

  He stood and held up his hand. All of the noise in the throne room was sucked out of the air as the crowd in the bleachers became immediately silent.

  “Today, my people, I bring you good news. Today, I am… to marry!”

  Enormous cheers rose from the seats. The cheers lasted for nearly a minute before Gabe raised his hand again and silence fell.

  “I am glad you approve, but like a good king before me, I must make a few changes. The woman I intend to marry is already hitched.”

  The crowd booed. Gabe raised his hand again.

  “But that’s not really a problem.”

  Gabe looked at the chunky golden Rolex on his arm.

  “Because, in about twenty minutes, she’s going to become a widow!”

  Josh awoke to a pain that was like a pickax being driven into his skull and then a boot being tramped down on his face so that the pickax could be levered out of his head.

  The pain took his breath away.

  When his lungs came back online, he risked opening his eyes. The light around him was warmly yellow from an oil lamp, and the room smelled of antiseptic and paint.

  He raised his hand to his head, feeling gingerly around the wound there. The edges around it were pulpy with bruising, and across the center, he could feel a jagged line of stitches. He half-expected to see Poppet there—who had stitched him up before when he’d been shot in the leg—but instead he was lying on a gurney, and there was someone there hunched over a tray of instruments. From the frame, he knew it wasn’t Poppet, but he couldn’t tell if they were male or female. The shoulders were covered in a white coat, and for a moment he wondered if it was Halley before the figure turned.

  But it was a woman who was new to Josh. Gray-haired like Halley but thin-set, ruddier of face and with intense blue eyes. She was pulling off surgical gloves and dropping them into a clinical waste bag.

  “Welcome back, Josh.”

  As the ruddy-faced doctor turned around fully, Josh saw there was a livid scar down the side of her face, which still had the crust of a scab along the top of it.

  “It does seem a little ironic of the Harbormaster, or I suppose I should call him King Gabriel, to impress on me how you should have the best medical care we can prescribe, just so you can be fit and well… to… well… be executed. But there we are. Ours is not to reason why and yours is just to do and die.”

  The woman in the white coat, who had a name tag on her chest that read Stahlman, smiled broadly. The scab on her scar popped open a little and a dot of blood squeezed from the lips of the wound. She wiped it away and sucked her finger clean. Josh had seen a lot of madness since the supernova, and also a lot of cruelty, but never had he seen those two extremes so finely balanced in one person.

  Stahlman came forward towards the gurney and Josh tried to draw away. That was when he found that his ankles were attached to the gurney by straps.

  “Stay back!” Josh’s mouth was thick with disuse. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and swallowing was a dry pain. He tried to make some saliva while Stahlman closed in.

  “Don’t you listen? I’ve got to keep you alive. I just need to take a look at your head again…”

  Josh didn’t want her to touch him. The look in her eyes spoke like the soulless blank before a shark strike. “My head is fine. And how can you be getting me ready for an execution? I thought a doctor’s first oath was to do no harm.”

  “When did I say I took the oath?”

  Josh’s spine shivered.

  “Didn’t finish my training, but I know enough, and they keep me busy here,” Stahlman said. “They’re getting on for two thousand people here, and that’s a lot of bodies to doctor. It’s not all executions and fun like that. Hold out your hands. Wrists together, please. If you’re awake, then I have to put handcuffs on you. Them’s the rules.”

  Stahlman pulled a pair of cuffs from her pocket.

  Josh looked her straight in the eye.

  “There are guards just outside the room, Josh. They should have handcuffed you before I started stitching, but you were bleeding profusely. We had to save you on the fly. So, wrists, please.”

  Josh held out his wrists and Stahlman came forward with the cuffs.

  Josh knew that he had one chance to make this work, but Stahlman’s overconfidence was going to be her undoing. Josh knew Stahlman’s belief was that all the power in the room rested with her, but it didn’t. That was a mistake too many people in power made. They commanded and controlled based on the consent of others to follow their orders. Perhaps those who gave their consent did it through fear, or perhaps they did it through a lack of understanding of the system above them, or maybe they even consented to being controlled because they were too damn lazy to think another way, but mostly people gave their consent because no one told them they had a choice.

  Josh had one chance to explore his philosophy on control. Just one.

  It had to be fast and it had to be vicious. And although it was both of those things, the savage ferocity of the move even surprised Josh, in that he could pull it off in the state he was in. He grabbed at Stahlman’s own wrists as she moved in.

  He pulled her towards him with such speed that she didn’t have a moment to cry out—if she had, this would have been over before it began.

  Josh smashed his forehead into Stahlman’s. A burst of pain cut through his wound, and for a moment, he saw stars.

  Stahlman, unconscious from the blow, began to sag. Josh got her under the arms and laid her across the gurney by his side. He handcuffed her wrists together, and before reaching down to undo the fur-lined psychiatric restraints around his ankles, he reached across to the instrument table and pulled up a wad of gauze and a roll of surgical tape. Within twenty seconds, Stahlman was gagged and taped.

  Josh slid off the gurney and put the thin-framed doctor over his shoulder, at which point he carried her to a leather-backed chair. He sat her down and then searched nearby cupboards, finding two rolls of bandages, which he used to secure her to the chair at the ankles, knees, and elbows.

  He cursed himself for not being able to kill Stahlman there and then, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it—even when the rows of scalpels on the tray glinted at him.

  All he could think of was Karel laying into Jingo. “We’ve got to be better than them. We’ve got to be better!”

  Sometimes being better sucked.

  Josh didn’t know how long he had before the guards Stahlman had spoken of outside would come in to check how everything was going, but if they were going to come in, he wanted to be ready for them—and for that, he would need a weapon.

  The scalpels were nasty and very sharp, but they would necessitate getting up close and personal with the Harbormen, who would hold the balance of power until Josh got himself a gun. Simply, they weren’t a great option.

  Then his eyes settled on what might be the best weapon in the room available to him. It was weighty, and used in the correct way—well, incorrect in the terms of surgery—it would be lethal with a single strike.

  He passed it from hand to hand, got the measure of it, and went to stand by the door.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  “Help! Help! Help!” Josh screamed.

  25

  Tally, Henry, and Donald were brought into the heaving throne room. Tally was worried that she hadn’t heard from her mother since they had woken after a fitful, disturbed sleep. She’d tapped on the wall and called through, but there’d been no reply from Maxine.

  When the Harbormen had come for them, they’d been led by Maxine’s room, where the door had been open and they’d seen that it was empty. A brief moment of relief had shot through her, tempered by the fact that Tally didn’t know where Maxine had gone or where the Harbormen were taking them.

  Along the way, t
hey’d picked up Halley, who’d been made to leave his sister behind—he’d argued and gotten a gut punch for his troubles. He’d fallen to his knees then and his glasses had slipped from his nose. If it hadn’t been for Tally reaching down and saving them, they would have been crushed beneath the army boots of the nearest Harborman.

  Halley had thanked her with his eyes as he’d been pushed forward, looking back over his shoulder to where his sister could be heard keening and wailing.

  Filly and Martha, pale-faced and looking like they hadn’t slept at all—had been brought out of a room next. They’d joined the train of detainees in silence, looking down and not making eye contact with the Harbormen. Tally had learned of some of their experiences in Pickford on the journey south from Cumberland. They were both used to living under an oppressive regime, she knew, and had clearly adopted the most non-threatening aspects that they could.

  Lastly, Karel and Jingo had been brought out of their room. Both of the Maryland Defenders had had an extra cuff, chains, and halters around their ankles—in line with their perceived danger to the Harbormen.

  Karel was in particularly belligerent form. She’d spat in the face of the Harborman who’d pulled her into line and leaned in to try to bite him, but been taken down with two vicious punches and then kicked in the kidneys a couple of times when she’d curled up to protect herself from the blows. Then she’d been hauled up onto her feet.

  When she’d refused to walk, they’d dragged her along anyway, albeit with her spitting and cursing.

  Jingo had been smarter, learning from Filly and Martha; he’d put his eyes down and walked where he’d been told to walk. Jank had met them at the entrance to the throne room.

  “You will follow me and you will watch the ceremony in silence. If you make a sound, I will shoot you in the kneecap. This will not kill you or affect your eyesight, but trust me, it is the most painful thing that can be done to you without resorting to hot needles. Don’t make me shoot out your knees, and you may well survive the day.”

  They were pushed forward into the throne room to jeers and catcalls from the assembled crowds. There was a dark energy to the people on the bleachers, a sweaty sense of anticipation in their faces.

  If Tally hadn’t known any better, she would have called it bloodlust.

  They were pushed into the central area and placed in a line facing the dais.

  Gabriel Angel sat there on the throne, and Tally was appalled to see Storm standing next to him. Her mom was facing the dais, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed.

  Tally wanted so much to run to her and throw her arms around her. She was there on her own, like an island of vulnerability as the crowd called and hollered. More guards marched in to stand in front of the bleachers, and then Ten-Foot joined the line in which Tally stood. Him at one end, and Jank at the other. Tally felt the presence of Harbormen taking positions behind her and then flinched at the combined sounds of a number of weapons being racked and made ready.

  Gabe got up from the throne, putting his hand on his hips and surveying all before him with a self-satisfied smile that turned Tally’s stomach.

  He gave a signal, and the rowdy crowd fell silent. Tally could feel even stronger waves of anticipation coming from the crowd in the depths of their silence. Eyes were glittering all around her, and they took on the mantle of a dog waiting patiently for a treat to be given to them by their master. Having been scanning the crowd, Tally’s eyes came to a sudden halt. In the front row, she saw a face––one she recognized––but it couldn’t be….

  The last time she’d seen Greene Davidson, he’d been falling off the roof of the M-Bar after trying to gut her like a fish. And there he was, sitting in the throne room of Castle Jaxport and giving her a small wave of acknowledgment.

  A vicious blow in the nape of her neck came from behind and made Tally stagger forward.

  “Eyes to the front!” said the Harborman who’d been behind her. “Keep your eyes on the throne!”

  Tally found her footing again, even though her legs felt boneless.

  On the dais, Gabe dropped his arms and began to speak. “I decree…” Gabe said, “that it is time…”

  “…to get this party starrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrted!” Gabe yelled to the crowd, and suddenly everything was in an uproar again as the crowd whipped themselves up into another frenzy.

  Storm was carried along on the rush of it. He’d been brought to Gabe in his opulent apartments behind the throne room that morning.

  The room, wood constructed like everything else in Castle Jaxport had nevertheless been given special attention. The walls were draped with colorful hangings and drapes even though there were no windows to the outside of the warehouse. There were carpets and rugs of expensive design all around the space, as well as furniture that smelled new and fresh as if it had only just been delivered.

  Gabe had come from a bedroom through a door beyond which could be seen a vast bed and the back of a woman slipping into her blouse. Gabe had looked flushed around the cheeks and worn the widest of grins.

  “Storm! How good of you to drop by. How’s the new room?”

  Storm hadn’t been taken back to the room he’d shared with his mother, and he was wholly glad of it. The new room he’d been given was freshly decked in rugs and soft furnishings—not to the standard of those in Gabe’s apartments, but certainly better than he had known in his home back in Morehead City.

  Gabe had swept his arm around the room. “One of the benefits of living in a container port is that you never know what’s going to turn up. And once we got hold of a paper manifest, we could find what we needed for the castle so much easier. What with there being a timber yard practically next door, we will be unearthing goodies from now till doomsday… well, the next doomsday, that is.”

  Gabe had smiled widely and clapped Storm on the shoulder. “Bit of a change from your usual digs, eh, son?”

  Storm had nodded. “You have an amazing setup here. I can understand why all the people want to be on your team.”

  Gabe had been walking to a chest of drawers and stopped in mid-stride. “I like that, Storm. Team. Yes. I like that. They all want to be on my team. Very good, very good.”

  Gabe had pulled open a drawer and retrieved a balled pair of silk socks. He’d sat on the bed and begun to put them on. “So, how about you? Wanna be on the winning team?”

  Storm had been thinking of little else the evening before, or that morning while he’d waited to be summoned. “I think so. I see nothing to hold me to Josh…”

  Gabe had raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.

  “And Mom keeping everything from me about you shows that I can’t trust her—certainly not in the way I thought I could. So, I guess I’m a free agent, and I’ll join the team. If you’ll have me, that is.”

  The self-proclaimed King of America had leaped to his feet and punched the air. “Have? My boy, I wouldn’t have it any other way. But… I will have to be totally convinced you’re on-side. You understand, of course—there are many fine words spoken, but only actions show true insight into someone’s soul.”

  Storm had been able to feel the infectious joy emanating from Gabe. “Yes, I understand,” he’d said.

  And now, as the crowds howled and Gabe took in their ovation with wide open arms and a smiling face, Storm looked down upon the frame of his mother, where she stood abandoned in the middle of the throne room. Small and alone. And then he looked out to Tally in the line with the others, her face a mask of agony and disbelief at what she was witnessing.

  Storm saw that Gabe had turned his head and was now looking at him. Gabe winked.

  It was the signal. Storm knew what he had to do.

  Storm raised his hand to the crowd, and the silence crashed across the room just as it had when Gabe had done the same thing. The feeling of power that swept through him was heady and intoxicating.

  Was this how the rest of his life was going to go? Was this what it felt like to be someone special?r />
  He took a breath, filling his lungs, and began to speak to the hushed crowd. “It is time to bring forth…”

  “…the condemned man.”

  Again, the crowd erupted. Their anticipation was like an electrical charge in the air. Maxine thought she could feel the heat of their combined breath on the back of her neck.

  What had they done to her son? How could be taking part in this cruel charade? What must be going through his broken heart for him to refer to Josh as the condemned man? Maxine had to force herself to look at Storm. His face seemed beatific as he took in the adoration of the crowd. Arms flung wide like those of Gabe just moments before.

  She found an ounce of forgiveness in her heart for Storm then. It must have been completely overwhelming for him to have suffered the things he had experienced in such a short few months of his life, and to come out of the end of it here, with a father he had never known—and Maxine still didn’t know if a drugged coupling had taken place or not—showing him riches beyond anyone’s wildest dream on this new Earth. How could his head not be moved?

  She could almost understand. Almost forgive.

  Almost, but not fully.

  And how the next few minutes played out would absolutely define where the ball of forgiveness would fall on the roulette wheel of fate.

  She began to formulate a speech in her mind that she hoped she would be able to use to persuade Storm and Gabe that Josh would not need to die. She would agree to anything if Josh would live, she told herself. The guilt and shame she felt now over not telling Josh and Storm the truth all those years ago was total. She would marry Gabe if that’s what it took. She would renounce her marriage if that’s what was needed. She would promise Gabriel her world if only Josh could be spared.

  Maxine knew that it had only a slim chance of success, but she would at least try. The bloodlust of the crowd might mean that Gabe would not dare go against their wishes, she understood. They’d come for an execution, and by God, they were going to have one, Maxine could imagine them saying or thinking.