Relapse (Breakers Book 7)

by Edward W. Robertson

  "The squids betrayed you. You've got nothing to gain by protecting them."

  Anson smirked. "What's coming for you? There's no stopping it. Why don't you just pull the trigger?"

  Lowell removed his finger from the trigger it urged him to pull. "Quit thinking you have control here. That's gone. This is the last chance to help humanity out. Or was that nothing but talk?"

  "Geoff, you fucking idiot. There is no helping them. I'm the only one who can do that. So go ahead, kill me. Just make sure to save a round for yourself."

  Lowell squinted. "This was always about you. Your vision for our future. Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. The aliens, they're up to something and you're the only one who can stop them. Bad news, you son of a bitch: you're not as special as you think."

  "How long do you think you'll last without me?" He tried to grin, but it was a sickly thing. "I was the dam holding back the waters. Here comes the flood, baby."

  "You're forgetting something."

  "What's that?"

  "You made it my job to get people to talk. Time to see if you bleed red like everyone else."

  He drew the shell-bladed knife. Anson began to weep. Lowell was unmoved.

  30

  "I will make one final and no doubt futile plea for sanity," Mauser said. "In case all that ice water in your veins has left you too numb to notice, you've been shot."

  Raina surveyed the people gathering in the dark field. "I am fit enough to speak. I was shot in the leg, not the mouth."

  "And in the interests of preserving that mouth, along with the body it's attached to, maybe you should save the speeches until you've had a little rest."

  "This is the beginning of something new. The first time the city has been united since the plague. It must be recognized."

  Mauser folded his arms. "And is there some reason you can't recognize it tomorrow?"

  "They have lost their leader. Their light. The path has been taken from them and now they stand at the mercy of the moon-worshipping cannibal they have been taught to loathe."

  "I don't think anyone believes you're a cannibal." He glanced over sharply. "You're not, are you?"

  "Steel must be worked while it is hot. If we wish to hold this place without turmoil, I have to clear the path right now. Before their fear and uncertainty can tempt them to rebellion."

  His face showed reservation, but he helped her climb onto the wagon they had brought to the field. Dozens of faces turned to her, some familiar and some strange. Her leg hurt badly, but she pushed this from her mind, letting herself feel the mood of the mix of people before her.

  "It is strange to stand before you without a sword in my hand," she said. "Minutes ago, we were enemies. Now I stand on this platform, unarmed yet unafraid, addressing you as if you are my prisoners. My slaves. My cattle.

  "But you are none of these things. You are free men and women. I have heard you have slaves here; they too are now free. The citizens in the cities beneath us you were sworn to protect—they, too, are and will be free, to stay under my rule or to depart in peace.

  "The decision you face is whether to go your own way, or to stay and continue to serve that which you have spent years to build. I do not want any man or woman who does not want me as your chieftain. If you want to go, then that is what you should do."

  Her leg was quivering. She braced it with her hand and waited for the pain to subside enough to speak. "But if you wish to stay, then you are wanted. We are no strangers to strangers. The war is behind us. Our future awaits."

  She bowed her head. There was some applause and a smatter of cheers. Mauser helped her down from the wagon.

  "Well done," he said. "After that, anyone who wants to talk about rebellion is going to look like a real asshole."

  "I spoke truly. I hope it's not a shock. They have been fed so many lies they may not be able to stomach the truth."

  Many people wished to speak to her, but the fog of exhaustion was settling over her head. She slept the sleep of the virtuous.

  In the morning, however, when she went outside to see the Heart by daylight, she no longer felt so secure. Smoke rose from a pyre of bodies. The hole in the gates looked like a wound in the earth. The air smelled of burnt flesh.

  Mauser strolled up to the porch she was seated on. "How's the leg?"

  "Fine."

  "You sure? You don't look so fine."

  She stared across the churned-up ground. "There is so much to do. Not just here, but in the Dunemarket. On Catalina. All the land Anson once claimed."

  "Ah. Well, heavy is the head that wears the crown."

  "I think perhaps I don't want it."

  His brows shot up, then cranked together. "Bullshit. Nobody goes through what you put yourself through if they don't want it more than anything."

  "It is possible to get a thing only to discover it isn't the thing you thought you wanted."

  He shook his head, first in small moves of his chin, then in dramatic sweeps. "You know what this is? It's a hangover."

  She tipped her head. "I didn't drink a drop last night."

  "But you feel remorseful, yes?"

  "So many have died, Mauser."

  "Vaguely guilty? Anxious? Meanwhile, your body feels like it's been smacked with a rubber mallet all night?" He closed his eyes and nodded once. "See? Hangover. Normally, I'd recommend a nip of the hair of the dog, but given that you have no enemies left to vanquish, let's stick to hydration and naps."

  "I have no time for naps." With the help of a cane, Raina stood. "I have to get to the Dunemarket."

  "See? Back on your feet already." He stroked his stubbly upper lip. "Since when did you need to talk through your feelings? You've always simply decided what they should be and then forged ahead."

  As they rode through the quiet, misty streets toward the Dunemarket, she felt better almost at once. She didn't tell Mauser that he'd been right. He thought enough of himself as it was.

  The trip took most of the day. A messenger had already informed the Dunemarket of the victory. Raina entered the street between the hills and discovered a party in full swing: beer, liquor, donuts fried in pans of hot oil. As Raina's wagon rattled up the slope, people clambered to their feet, hoisted their cups, and cheered.

  On seeing Raina, Wendy charged full bore, meaning to scoop her up in her arms. She noticed the bandage on Raina's leg and stopped mid-hug. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm a little shot," Raina said. "But the fools forget to use enough bullets."

  "Shouldn't you be resting? What are you doing here?"

  "I needed to see it."

  Wendy frowned. "See what?"

  Raina inhaled through her nose. It smelled like the ocean, but also the fresh fog in the air. "What I've been fighting for."

  She toured the market, speaking to all those who stopped her. In time, she told Wendy that she was retiring to the Seat to rest. Her home in the hillside had been occupied in her absence, but that couldn't stop it from feeling like hers.

  She'd hardly been in it twenty minutes when someone knocked on the door. Wendy waited outside, along with a young girl.

  "The Grim Man!" the girl said. "The Grim Man is here!"

  Raina glanced at Wendy. "The Grim Man?"

  "His name's Lowell," Wendy said. "He works for Anson. His right-hand man."

  "What does he want?"

  The woman got a funny look on her face. "You're going to want to see him."

  Raina summoned Mauser and a few of the warriors and limped down to the grove in the middle of the little valley. A tall man walked through the trees. He carried a rifle on one shoulder and two backpacks, one of which wasn't half full. Like the girl had said, his face looked as grim as the beach during a winter storm. He moved like he was inevitable.

  Raina moved to meet him, aided by her cane. "I'm told you work for Anson."

  "He had me chasing you for weeks." His eyes moved down her frame. "I see why they underestimated you."

  "Why are you here?"
/>
  "He spent all his energy cultivating an image of himself as a savior. He never cared about the people he was trying to save. He wanted the worship, that's all. Do you know about the ship?"

  "What ship?"

  "The ship. He sent kids from Catalina there to work. To appease the aliens. You've got to get them out."

  She gazed steadily into his eyes. "That sounds like a fine way to get myself killed. To weaken my forces before he rallies the Sworn to rebellion."

  The man chuckled. His ribs moved but his face didn't. "I don't think he'll be a player in this."

  "He'd do anything to get back his people. As you said, he is nothing without them."

  "Wrong. These days, he's plain nothing."

  The man swung the smaller pack from his shoulder, unzipped it, and flipped it upside down. A heavy, round object thumped into the grass and rolled toward Raina's feet. Anson's pale blue eyes stared straight through her.

  She breathed in, touching the base of her throat. "You bring me this as a gift?"

  "Call it a token of my sincerity."

  She crouched down, wounded leg extended, and touched the man's bloody blond hair. It was real. His hold on the dead was gone. By rights, they would pass to his killer, to Lowell, but if the man renounced his claim in this way, then surely they would fall to Raina—and she would set them free.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "I found it attached to his neck."

  "You ambushed him after he fled. You followed us all the way from the Heart?"

  He shrugged. "Didn't think it would be a great idea to surprise you on the road. By the way, I'm not the only one who followed you here."

  She rose from the head. "What do you mean?"

  "Expect more visitors. Don't think they're hostile." Lowell put the empty bag over his shoulder. "The kids in the ship—what are you going to do about them?"

  "They are my people," she said. "And I will deliver them."

  He eyed her, then bowed his head and walked away. His words proved prophetic. While she and Mauser were still discussing what he'd had to say, Wendy returned to let her know more visitors wished to see her.

  They were a man and a woman, both around Mauser's age. The woman had a proud, pretty face and Raina recognized her at once as a warrior. She was less sure of the man, who was slight of frame, with eyes that darted about like fish in a tank. Something about him looked familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd seen him before.

  "I am Raina of the Dunemarket," she said. "Who are you and why have you come here?"

  "I'm Ness," the man said. "From… places. And we're here because we think you're about to be attacked."

  "By who? All my enemies are defeated."

  "I wouldn't say they're your enemy, precisely. More like everyone's."

  She listened to their story with skepticism. When he claimed to be friends with an alien and in command of one of their vessels, she nearly threw them out for wasting her time. Yet their demeanor was not that of the insane, and when she pressed, the man offered to show her their submarine. That was when Raina knew they weren't liars: she had seen the ship years before, a burbling dragon off the coast of Malibu.

  "I know," said Tristan, the woman. "It sounds totally crazy. Believe me, we wouldn't have traveled thousands of miles if our information weren't airtight."

  Raina leaned back in the chair that had been brought for her. "We have seen no signs of a massing of forces."

  "It's supposed to start in a week or two," Ness said. "Wish I had a harder date, but they're working with their own calendar, and Sebastian—my friend—isn't sure exactly what day it is."

  "My people have just concluded a great war. They need rest. But if another enemy approaches, we will be ready. Do you intend to stay?"

  "Stopping these assholes is what we're all about. We're up around Malibu. You need us, come on by."

  She thanked them. They departed. Mauser stood beside her, arms folded, waiting until they were out of earshot. "If they're right—and that's a mighty big if—we might want to think about relocating somewhere the aliens aren't intending to storm."

  "We can't. Not as long as our citizens remain trapped in their ship."

  "Better to lose them than to lose everything."

  Slowly, Raina stood. "If they do come to fight, do you wish us to hide from it?"

  "Can we? That would be great!"

  "We can do whatever we wish. But I doubt there are any people in all the world as experienced and prepared to defeat them for good."

  "I was afraid you'd say that." He rubbed his hand over his eyes. "At the very least, I insist we put together an evacuation plan. We have no idea what might be around the bend."

  "You're right."

  He blinked. "I am? I mean, I am, but you agree?"

  "I learned I wasn't invincible on the day I was cast out from Catalina. Draw up your plans. We will not be caught unprepared."

  * * *

  A week later, there was still no sign of the promised invasion. Individually, the People of the Stars had made their decisions. Two bands of the Sworn had decided to strike out on their own, trudging north along the coastal highway out of L.A., but most of Anson's soldiers had decided to stay. Almost all of the civilians did as well.

  Mauser had made sure word got around that Anson was dead. With their leadership wholly dismantled, there had been no violence, no hints of insurrection. As with the Scarred-Handed Knights of San Diego, the former Sworn seemed eager to seize their chance at a fresh start.

  "How go your plans?" Raina asked Mauser at the end of another long day of meetings and councils.

  "Sluggishly," he said. "Anson had his people pocketed all over the damn basin. That's going to make it very tricky to alert them in case we need to move."

  "Are they willing to relocate somewhere more central?"

  "Doubtful. They've made homes. Honestly, alien attacks aside, I can't see how this is going to function. You're going to need to establish districts or something. With representatives. You can't possibly administer all of this yourself."

  "And how do we choose these representatives?"

  "Elections? Thunderdome?" Mauser mussed his hair, which was in need of a cut. "Frankly, I'm more inclined to go with the Thunderdome. Holding elections means the winners will be people who are good at getting elected. Gross."

  "What about me?" Raina said. "I've never been elected."

  "Trust me, I think you've secured your position as Lord High Boss for Life."

  "What about when I die? There must be a clear successor. We've fought too hard to unite this realm to see it divided in a battle for leadership like happened in San Diego."

  "First off, I'm not convinced you're ever going to die. Run out of batteries? Maybe. But even after seeing you get shot, I'm not sure you bleed." He grinned. "As for the succession, we'll figure it out. This is brand new for everyone, right? We're looking at the chance to establish the first non-fucked-up system since Athens. I say we take our time and get it right."

  She agreed. They sent word to Catalina, the Heart, and the many small communities Anson had established in L.A., requesting their input as to how they would like to be represented at the Seat. While they were still waiting on responses, Georgia and her knights rode into the Dunemarket.

  Raina embraced her. "Are you returning to San Diego?"

  "I trust the people I left there," Georgia said. "But it looks like you've got the situation in hand."

  "I could never have done so without your help. Now, San Diego deserves your presence much more than me."

  The woman nodded, gazing northwest at the green hills. "There's just one thing. I've heard talk of aliens."

  Raina snorted. "I can't ask for your aid again so soon."

  "If something big is coming, we can't afford to try to keep ourselves out of the fight. If it takes you out, what chance do we have alone?"

  "I don't disagree. For now, though, you know where you belong."

  Georgia climbed back on her hor
se. "One requirement: if they come, you let us know. You can always call on us for help—or for refuge."

  She summoned her people. One by one, the riders trotted toward Raina, touched their brows, then wheeled their mounts and clopped north. The noise of their passage faded into the distance.

  Raina hiked back up the hill toward the Seat. Below the crest, she stopped to watch the people browsing among the market's carpets and stalls, dickering and laughing. It looked like such a simple thing, this tranquility. Yet she knew how fragile it was. How much sweat and blood had been spilled for its preservation. If civilization was a flower, then peace was its sunlight and its water. The briefest turmoil could uproot it.

  She didn't know if Ness and Tristan's warnings were madness or truth. Either way, a threat remained on her doorstep. This great city—her city—would not be safe until she had scoured the aliens from their nest.

  EPILOGUE

  It was a long walk back to the sub. After the balmy spring of the Southern Hemisphere, trudging around the chilly streets of L.A. was still something of a shock. To Ness' left, sheets of mouse-gray clouds hung over a slate-gray sea.

  "The beaches are way better in Australia," he said.

  Tristan smiled lopsidedly. "If our intel's right, this could be the last time we ever have to fight them. Afterwards, we could retire there."

  "Australia? Or New Zealand?"

  "Either one. Hell, we've got a submarine. We could live on both."

  "You think?"

  "What's going to stop us?"

  "For one thing, I think you like kicking ass too much to retire to a life of farming."

  She laughed and reached for his hand. Once she had it, she started to twist it into a wrist lock, then stopped and winked. "I like kicking Swimmer ass, not human. If people want to make their own lives hell, I say carry on."

  The remains of the ship stuck up from the water, huge and black. "I don't think she took us that seriously."

  "Would you? Our evidence isn't exactly compelling. She has to take our word that our alien friend has accurately translated a call to battle that, for all we know, is nothing more than a pipe dream—or is actually an invitation to the traditional Swimmer hoedown."