by Mark Lingane
He pointed to the long line of digits. “Is that the date?”
“Yes. It looks about right,” Memphis replied, standing close to him with her hands in her pockets.
“That means I turned seventeen a few weeks ago.”
“Cool. I’ll have to think of a suitable present for you. But we can start right here.”
She pulled him into a building with a nod to the muscular man at the door. He wore an ill-fitting suit that had, Sebastian noted, several spots of blood on it. Above the entrance was the symbol of a red cherry shaped out of curved neon lights.
“Two of your finest birthday shots, bartender,” Memphis said.
The bartender looked at the two of them. He stared at Memphis. “You of age?”
“Yeah.” There was a pause. “You’re not asking about him.”
The bartender glanced at the strapping young lad. “No, why?”
“It’s his birthday.”
“So? He looks of age. Take a compliment where you can, missy.”
“Just line up the drinks, eagle-man.”
“You can have one each. I doubt you can take much more than that. And you be careful what you call me.” He slid two shot glasses across the worn wooden counter and bounced a measure off the rim into each.
Memphis picked them up and handed one to Sebastian. “Here’s to being of age.” She knocked it back in one gulp.
Sebastian did the same, then wondered where to spit the foul-tasting liquid. His eyes went red as he forced himself to swallow. “!” he said.
“I agree,” she said. “Another one, bartender.”
After a short argument, where she ended up paying triple the amount, he reluctantly poured one “final” shot each.
“As you’re an adult now,” Memphis said to Sebastian, “what will you miss about being a child?”
“I will miss, I do miss, my toy—I mean my collectables, those amazing little devices Mr. Stephenson used to bring around to our house. He was my teacher. He was an unhappy man and he was lured over to the enemy with offers of popularity. And my friends, I miss them.”
“You’ve got me now.” She gave him a smile and a shoulder nudge, which did little against his large frame.
“What do you miss?” he said.
“Ha! Nothing. My childhood was no picnic, and the quicker it was over the better. I just hated being alone all the time.” She knocked back her drink and gasped as her voice evaporated, and her eyes watered. She kicked the floor with her new boots, and a cloud of sawdust billowed up, making her cough.
After her throat recovered, but while her head was still tumbling to a floor that simultaneously fell and rose, she leaned over to Sebastian, rested her hand on his shoulder, and gazed into his bloodshot eyes. “What will you look forward to?”
“I don’t know. Maybe going home, if that’s possible.”
There was a dirty mirror set behind the bar, doubling the apparent number of bottles. He looked in his reflection and sighed. “When you look around, you’ve got to ask, where is the hope? Where are the treasures of life? I know every day’s a gift, especially living in these days, but the moments worth remembering seem to be less and less, ground away by just making it through each day.”
“Hell, Sebastian, every day’s been like that here.”
“I guess so, but it seems so far away from my home. If I ever get through this task, can I ever go home? Will there be a home left? What’s the point of fighting if nothing’s worth fighting for?”
“Come on, this is a time of celebration, no miser-ation.”
“You’re right.” He stood up straight and his head swam in a pink cloud. “What do you look forward to?”
She stared directly at him smiled and looked away. “I have something wrapped up for you.”
“Ooh, presents. What is it?”
She leaned in close and whispered into his ear. “Me.”
She dragged him into the Danseurs du Pôle, explaining that it was a “teaseuse” show. He stared at her uncomprehending. “Show, don’t tell,” she said. And what a show it was.
Ten minutes later, she led a baffled Sebastian down the street.
“But it’s not really dancing. They just spin around, waving their legs, while … gosh … they sort of … well … is it hot out here?”
“No, it’s just me,” Memphis replied, as she danced down the street.
Sebastian staggered down the street behind her. His head was spinning. Either that, he thought, or the solar system had found sports mode. “I don’t feel well,” he said.
He tripped and fell against a wall. He staggered upright and used a streetlight to steady himself. There was a poster stuck to the wall advertising some of the delights that could be found inside the building. In the center of the poster stood an athletic girl with blond hair that fell in ringlets around her face. He didn’t understand why the girl in the picture needed a large fan; the place was already cold enough.
“@summer,” he whispered. He ran his hand over picture. “I miss you. I wish I could see you one more time.” He sighed and closed his eyes, a mistake as he soon found out when the world rocked around him violently.
Memphis stared at him. She took his hand off the poster and pulled him close. She kissed him passionately. Keeping the hurt out of her voice, she said, “Forget the past tonight, just once, for me. Please.”
He reeled back, nearly tripping over. He steadied himself and looked back at her. She seemed to be crying. He felt terrible. And sick. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, not knowing if it was for comfort or support, but it made him feel happy.
She hugged him back, feeling lost within the strength of his arms. She felt safe. She felt wanted. “Come with me,” she whispered.
They lay in the bed together, the covers tucked up to their chins.
“It’s freezing in here,” Sebastian said.
“That won’t be a problem in a minute.”
“What do we do?”
“Why don’t you start by holding me? We can take it from there.” She gasped as he rolled over. “In this light, it looks like your eyes are glowing.”
45
THE PEACEMAKER SAT watching the events on the telescreen. He laughed and sardonically clapped his hands as the Church of Truth outlined the betrayal of the Chargers by the 49th Division. There was news of a minor flu outbreak in the south, with the message that people should be alert, not alarmed. He frowned. He hadn’t authorized that.
The screen flickered as an anonymous incoming call interrupted the stream.
“You have a bounty on a young lady,” the caller said.
“This’s correct,” the Peacemaker said. “Assuming she’s still with the young man.”
“I can’t guarantee that, but it appears she ain’t wishing to be too far away from him.”
“I’ll pay once they’ve been apprehended.”
“That weren’t part of the deal. Bounty is bounty.”
“Correct, my astute fellow, but bounty is earned, not given. When they’re brought to me, then you’ll get your portion. If you want the full bounty, I suggest you grab them now and bring them to me.”
He hit the disconnect button and went back to viewing the news feeds. He pulled out the keyboard from beneath the display and commenced writing a news piece. He thought about what needed to be said, the words calmly falling into place in such a way as to obscure the intent.
Chargers seek peaceful resolution to ancient conflict. 49th Division stepping back from aggressive stance to allow independent third parties to—
The screen flickered and the Chargers’ insignia appeared. “I am popular today,” he muttered.
A Charger soldier appeared on the display.
“And who presents to me?”
“I’m Clint, um, Center Clint Mackay.”
“I was expecting the q-backer. Q-backer Charlie Baxter is my contact,” the Peacemaker said.
“The q-backer’s assembling troops, and generating alliances with
surrounding divisions.”
“Is he now? That’s very proactive of him. I hope nothing goes wrong.”
“Nothing will go wrong because he’s teaching the Truth.”
“Of course he is. Enough of the informalities. You and the Chargers now have control of the San Francisco oil hub, and now it’s time for you to honor your side of the deal.”
“The Truth prevails,” said the self-promoted Charger soldier.
“Of course.”
The Peacemaker disconnected the call. He was surprised that Alan Finchley, the q-backer from the 49th Division, hadn’t responded to any of the messages. He was annoyed that such a low-ranking officer had been instructed to call him. It was disrespectful, and a lesson should be administered. The situation was getting a little tense, and verging on slipping out of his control. He had to take a firmer hand if stability was to be maintained.
He flicked through the command contacts for the 49th and came up with the second in command. He pressed the facial image, and the communications system started to hunt down the location. Several minutes slipped by as various comms routes were displayed on the screen.
“Center Williams here.”
“Are you not at the Raider’s headquarters?”
“Not at the moment. We’re on patrol.”
“Where is Q-backer Finchley?” the Peacemaker said.
“He’s just here. Oh wait, he must’ve stepped out.”
The Peacemaker knew this was a lie. “Can I speak to him?”
“He may be some time.”
“I can wait.”
“The choice is yours, Peacemaker, but we’re on batteries out here. There’s no telling when they’ll cut out.”
The man was slippery, more so than the q-backer. The Peacemaker was sure he was lying. “I’m calling to offer assistance,” he said. “I can have agreements in place.”
“Actually, I think we’re all right,” Brad said.
The Peacemaker paused. “Could you repeat that? The line must’ve been scrambled.”
“We’ve got a strategy and it seems to be working.”
“You have lost your capital city and the control of resources. How is that working, and how is that a strategy?”
“That’s the thing with strategy, you need to keep it secret,” Brad said. “No offence, but if I told you, and somehow it slipped out—I know, it’s impossible to believe—but say it did, then we’d have no strategy at all. We’d be easy prey unless we got significant support from somewhere else.”
There was a cold silence from the Peacemaker’s end of the comms unit. “This is ridiculous. Have the q-backer call me when he returns.”
“I will do, Peacemaker, but he’s left me in complete control until he returns. That makes me the decision maker. You deal with me, or not at all.”
“If so, it appears you don’t want to deal.”
“Not so. We need an equitable agreement. Not one where there’s a win-win situation and you get both wins, as you have done in the past.”
“I’ll get back to you,” the Peacemaker said. The line went dead.
“I bet you will,” Brad muttered. He glanced over at his passenger.
“You’ve got big pineapples, my friend,” Tyler said.
Brad smiled; sweat was pouring off his brow. “I’m hoping this plan works. If it doesn’t, they’re going to get juiced. And yours, too.”
“If you’re going to bet, bet big. And, boy, have you ever bet big.”
They lurched on along the rough northern road, with the tires crushing the plant life.
The Peacemaker sat twitching his fingers until a new idea came.
Renewed effort to defend against the ruthless and unprovoked attacks against the Chargers by the 49th Division—
46
THE ZEPPELIN THRASHED about in the turbulent winds. Commander Nikola Tasman expertly made his way along the rocking galley, taking the rise and fall of the craft in his stride. Gas burst occasionally from escape valves as the gyroscopes adjusted the floatation gases. He swung past crew performing continual maintenance on the weaker parts of the craft as the vibrations took their toll. He ducked under a low support beam and entered the flight deck.
Several men were gathered around a metal table. He stood watching the men for a moment, swaying with the craft, before saying, “There was a rumor that you might like some guidance from me.”
The captain gave him a suspicious look. “I believe the words were ‘Get here on the double.’”
“Your polite request was noted and given due consideration.”
“Thought you might like to see this.” The captain indicated the body lying on the table. “It was dead when we found it. Someone had strangled it. The neck was completely crushed.”
An infected lay sprawled out on the metal tabletop, its lanky limbs hanging down over the sides.
Nikola slipped out a light blade and sliced into the infected body.
“I said it was dead.”
“You can never be too sure with these things.” Nikola hacked at the head until it was severed. He looked up at the captain. “Now I’m certain it’s dead. You said it had been strangled?”
The captain nodded.
“Not many people would have the strength for such a feat. It would take a rare person to do it and survive. Check absolutely everyone for signs of infection. We’ll need heavily armored teams to systematically search the ship from top to bottom.”
“Even inside that fancy box of yours?”
“I’ll check that.”
The captain looked into Nikola’s eyes, wondering if there was any point in reminding him who was the actual captain, but the ferociousness and ease with which he had hacked off the creature’s head gave him pause. He shivered as he looked at the mauled body. He thought he’d seen the last of these creatures.
He watched Nikola disappear through the bulkhead. I’ll be glad to see the last of him, he thought.
47
AHEAD LAY THE Nevada plains, flat steppes where little grew. The occasional solitary and unremarkable hut constructed from wood or rusted steel pocked the landscape. There was nothing ahead but the quiet horizon.
Sebastian hoped the worst was behind them now, and the road ahead would be kinder. It had been a tough few months, but Memphis filled him with some kind of hope—hope that meant things could change. If you could change yourself, he thought, you could change anything. All you had to do was believe.
Memphis tapped Sebastian’s foot and he pulled the bike over to the side of the road.
“Let’s stop here for the night,” she said.
“Are we safe to camp out here? You said it was dangerous.”
“We should be okay for the first few nights. Once we get deeper into pack territory, then we’ll need to stop at motels.”
“What’s a motel?”
“They’re places where lonely people go to kill themselves.”
“And you want to stay in one of those?”
“Well, other things do happen there as well, when, say, two people want to be alone. Together. Privately.”
She peered around his shoulder and looked into his eyes. It seemed to take a long time for the thought to register with him. He laughed, a little too loudly, she thought. It made her wonder if he’d got it at all. Maybe she could demonstrate. Maybe several times.
Sebastian twisted the throttle and the bike roared ahead. He pulled off the road and into a small dell. Memphis collected wood while Sebastian unpacked the tents. The wind picked up, and the air started to chill. When Memphis returned, he’d put up his own tent and was starting on hers.
“You’re putting up the second tent?”
“I, er, yes, I thought you’d want your own space.” Sebastian was holding the tent against the swirling eddies.
“It’ll get cold out here tonight. We’ll be warmer in one tent.”
“Are you sure? They’re only one-person tents.”
“I’m sure we’ll fit.” She glanced at him as she dropp
ed the kindling. Nothing registered. She smiled. He really was one of a kind.
The rations from the 49th Division were enough to last a week, but when they tasted them, they decided they might last two weeks. Neither of them looked forward to the meals, except for the condensed soymilk.
“The food won’t last long,” Memphis said.
“We’re a long way from those potato chips.”
“We’re also a long way from those drones.”
“Are there any more?”
“On the east coast there used to be nearly a million,” she said, “but the power units have been failing over the centuries, so the number remaining’s unreliable.”
The fire began to spark and crackle. Memphis went to fetch more wood. The days were beginning to warm, but out here on the desert plains the nights dipped into bitter cold. Sebastian moved closer to the small fire, watching the occasional bug crawl out onto the sand. He cleared his mind and focused on the water electrons in the pot. He tried to bounce them around, gently, but the pain soon started to jab into him. This continuing pain bothered him.
“You look worried.”
“I don’t like open plains. I get strange visions on them that have never ended well.”
“Maybe here’ll be different.”
“I met a witch on the plains back home when I was young. She gave me vegetables. I should’ve seen the signs. Then she appeared before me again and told me about this journey, why I had to come here to North America, and what I had to do. Then I thought I saw her again when Melanie got shot by the infected—” His voice caught in his throat as the memories of his fallen friend came back to him.
Memphis sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around his body.
“Thank you, Memphis,” he said.
“For what?”
“Believing that things can change, and that the past doesn’t have to dictate the future.”
“I should be thanking you for the same thing. It’s like we were both broken, but now we’re healing.”
He smiled at her and held her hand, but in his head he knew he was still broken. All he had was a past that reminded him of what he couldn’t do now, and her belief in him. In the empty well that defined his belief, it was all he had, and that was enough for him to get up each day. He owed Memphis a lot, and although @summer often ran through his thoughts, Memphis deserved his undivided affection. But then his mind would constantly slip back to …
