After the Fall: Catherine's Tale: Part 1

by David Nees

  “So we just go along with whatever he does?”

  “I didn’t say that. We’ve done a pretty good job of civilizing him. Things could have been a lot worse for Hillsboro…and for us. You can’t really complain, can you?”

  “No. But now he’s kidnapped this engineer and who knows what he’s done to him. You heard him when I asked about it. He told me not to ask questions like that. But that’s what I’m supposed to do—ask those kind of questions. I’m a cop.”

  Frank nodded but didn’t say anything. He leaned back in his chair, watching Charlie pace back and forth. Charlie knew he was getting on Frank’s nerves. Charlie didn’t care.

  “How many others have disappeared?” Charlie continued. “We have no idea. And to make things worse, Mary knows the guy’s wife. Now she’s disappeared along with their son. Mary went to their apartment when the woman didn’t show up at the kitchens—she helps out there—and the door was padlocked…from the outside, like it was vacant. Something’s happened to the man’s family, I can feel it.”

  “Jesus, Charlie, don’t go off the deep end here. There’s got to be a good explanation for this—”

  “I wish there were, but I can’t figure one out. You know people just don’t move away. It isn’t like that anymore.”

  Frank went on as if Charlie had not spoken. “And tell Mary to leave this alone. She shouldn’t be playing detective.”

  “Don’t worry about Mary, I already told her. But I’ve got to find out what happened. Mary’s on my back about it and, for better or worse, we should know… both of us.”

  Frank rubbed his eyes and looked up at Charlie. “For Christ’s sake, stop pacing. Sit down.” Charlie settled himself in one of the chairs in front of Frank’s desk. “Charlie, you got to realize who’s holding the cards here…and it isn’t us. You have to work with what we’ve been dealt, which means we can’t oppose Joe directly. You know that. And sometimes we may not want to know everything that’s going on. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “Deniability?”

  “Something like that. Think about it.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Frank’s assistant stuck her head in. “Excuse me, but Lieutenant Cameron and that sergeant are here to see you. Something about the farmer’s market day coming up.”

  “Give me a minute to finish here and let them in.” Frank told her. He turned to Charlie. “Look, just ask around so you can satisfy Mary that you did something, but don’t dig too deep. Come up with a story if you have to. It’s in yours and Mary’s best interest.”

  After a long moment, Charlie nodded. He began to get up, but Frank said quietly, “Stick around.”

  The door opened again and the assistant (Charlie could never remember her name) ushered the two soldiers into the room. She closed the door behind them. Frank was already walking around his desk with his hand extended, smiling broadly. “What can I do for you today?” he asked, smiling.

  Charlie got up to shake hands as well and then retreated to a chair off to the side of the room.

  “Sit down, gentlemen,” Frank said, motioning to the chairs in front of his desk.

  “You know we’re getting near to the farmer’s market day,” Cameron said as he sat down.

  “So I’ve heard. Is the date set yet?” Frank asked.

  “Not yet. It depends on the crops coming in, but we’re within a month.” Charlie knew that Cameron was closely connected to the valley. “Great. We’re looking forward to this. You’ve done a good job of arranging things,” Frank said with a politician’s enthusiasm.

  “Thank you. But we have a potential problem. This idea of adding a tax on top of the exchange that will be worked out…it’s going to cause trouble.”

  “Is that your view or have you spoken to the farmers about this?” Frank asked.

  “At this point, it’s my opinion…and the opinion of Sergeant Gibbs.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t broach this with the farmers at this point. Let’s not discourage them and create difficulties beforehand. The situation may never become a problem.”

  “Don’t see how it won’t. We both know these people and we think they’ll feel the city is double-dipping by adding a tax onto the exchanges.”

  “That’s your opinion. The city has the authority to tax transactions within its jurisdiction. That’s the way things have always been. We’re not doing anything new here.”

  “Maybe not. But these are not exchanges between private parties. They’re between the city and the farmers. Then the city, after agreeing to an exchange rate, decides to pad it in their favor by adding a tax.”

  “That’s how you see it?” Frank asked.

  “That’s how the farmers will see it.”

  “Taxes didn’t become obsolete with the EMP attack. In fact, as commerce restarts, cities will need more taxation in order to rebuild and re-establish all the services the public needs. I’m sorry, but I don’t see this as a problem. And if it is, Chief Cook here will be present to keep everything peaceful.”

  “Who said anything about it not being peaceful? I’m worried that the farmers will take their produce and leave…that we’ll have no market.”

  “That would be unfortunate…for both sides. We’ve allowed this to be publicized and it’s been good for morale in the city. I’m not sure we could stand for the farmers not going through with their end of the bargain.” There was a hint of threat in Frank’s tone.

  The lieutenant looked hard at Frank, who just stared back at him. “Maybe you should just hide your tax in the exchange rate that you agree to,” he said.

  Frank shook his head. “That would be deceptive and would not make the point that the city has jurisdiction over exchanges like this. If we start this out with no taxes, the farmers will come to expect that.”

  The conversation went back and forth for ten more minutes with no change of opinion on either side. Finally Frank stood up. “Gentlemen, don’t worry. Just get the date set, let me and Chief Cook know so we can finalize the arrangements…and get the farmers here. This will all work out for the best.” He opened his door to show the men out.

  “That didn’t work so well,” Cameron said in the hall.

  “Worth a try, though,” Gibbs replied. “So, you going to let Jason know?”

  “I don’t want to screw up the plans, but I can’t see how I don’t tell him. He’s got to be ready to handle this.”

  “Yeah, it shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

  They walked back to their headquarters in silence.

  Chapter 7

  The shop where the wires and cables were made was a half-hour hike from Charlie’s house. It had been an old, empty warehouse. Now wood stoves made from cast iron filled the center of the shop, heating rows of iron pots. The chimney work had been hastily improvised and the smoke hung heavy in the air, even with the windows open. In one corner of the building people were taking generators and other machines apart on long tables, while others were joining lengths of existing wiring.

  The EMP had damaged many wires and cables—the longer the cable, the worse the effect had been. Copper windings had been fused making them useless, and so that end of the cavernous building was mostly taken up by a growing collection of bins filled with scavenged copper. The main project of the center was to make entirely new wires by drawing heated copper through dies. It was a project that had been put together with little specific expertise. Lots of mistakes occurred—the wire still often broke during the drawing process—but progress was being made.

  A growing quantity of spools of fresh-made wire joined the spools of patchwork, and nearer the main door were spools of crude cables that had been made by winding the new wire together. The plan was to harness waterpower in order to run the repaired generators. When this source of power came on line, these cables would be the key to distributing the resultant electricity throughout Hillsboro.

  Charlie asked one of the men near the entrance who the foreman was. He pointed to an older man wrestling with
a dislodged chimney, trying to get it reconnected so the stove could be lit. He was sweating and cursing as Charlie approached. “Does a Jim Bishop work down here?” he asked.

  The foreman looked over at Charlie with an irritated expression on his face. “Who wants to know?”

  “Me, I’m the Chief of Police and I’ve got some work for him to finish, down at police headquarters.”

  “I haven’t seen Jim for a couple of days,” the foreman said.

  “But he works here?”

  “Yeah. He helped set this up. Don’t know where he is, but we carry on. Maybe he was put on some other project.” He paused for a moment. “But he liked working here. Said this was the project that would make the biggest difference to the city.”

  “Anyone here know him…personally? Not just from working here.”

  The foreman gave Charlie a serious look. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, but I need to find him.”

  “If it’s about something at your headquarters, I can send someone out to help.”

  “No, I need to talk with Jim. Who around here knows him?”

  The foreman pointed to a man across the shop floor who was directing several workers as they took apart a large generator, the kind used for emergency backup power.“You can try Stan. He and Jim often talked. Don’t know how close they were, though.”

  “Thanks.” Charlie walked over to Stan and introduced himself. “What were you before the attack?” he asked.

  “I was a mechanical engineer. Now I’m a jack of all trades. See this baby? We got it from the First National Bank. If we can strip out the fused copper windings, wind in new ones and re-wire it to by-pass the semi-conductors, we might have industrial level generating power. Of course it won’t start by itself and won’t be self-regulating. Those circuits won’t be recovered. But we can get it to make raw electrical power…a lot of it.”

  “What kind of voltage will it put out?” Charlie asked.

  “Damned if I know with no regulating circuits. Jim covered that end of it. He said he could create some chokes and such that could get us usable power.”

  “Speaking of Jim, you know where he is? He hasn’t been home or at work for a couple of days.”

  Stan paused, “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “Everyone keeps asking that. No, he’s not.”

  “Well, you’re a cop, so why else would you be looking for him?”

  Charlie ignored the question. “Help me out. Who did he hang out with? Who did he know? I’m trying to find him and no, he’s not in any kind of trouble.”

  “He had some friends over at the water mill project. I think he knew people working on many of the restart projects. Jim was interested in all aspects of getting the city back on its feet.”

  “You got any names?” Charlie asked.

  Stan’s face went blank. “No, I don’t have any names to give you. I didn’t know those people. I only know about them because Jim mentioned he met some guys over there. He didn’t elaborate.” He paused. “Sorry. I can’t help you.” The man turned back to the generator and the other two men who were staring nervously at him.

  The water project was near the edge of town, close to the river where it cut through the southwest part of the town. A crumbling water mill was being rebuilt. In its day it had been powered by water drawn from the river. A channel had been cut to divert the river water to a millpond from where it could be fed in a controlled manner to the water wheel.

  The builders knew that the wheel could not be driven directly from the river with its changes in water height and flow rate. The men had identified the remains of the old channel that had provided the water. They had staked it out but it would need to be cleared in order to bring a flow of water from the river to the pond. Workers had already begun to take out trees that had grown in the hundred-year-old ditch. It was slow, backbreaking work with only hand tools available.

  The mill’s workings had been found to be missing or rotted beyond repair. However another mill, outside of town had been located and another team was out there working to take it apart and bring its contents to the site. The wheel was too large to move in one piece, so that would have to be broken down for transport. But, when the wheel and associated gears and pulleys were installed in the rebuilt structure, and when water flowed again in the newly-dug canal, Hillsboro would have a working, steady source of power operating securely within the town itself.

  “I don’t know anything about him,” said Bob Jackson, the head of the project. Charlie grimaced. His legs were starting to complain from all the hiking around.

  “Some people at the electrical project said he knew people over here…met with them at times.”

  “Never met with me, and none of the others as far as I know,” Bob replied.

  “That’s not what I was told.”

  The man shrugged. “You were told wrong.”

  “I’m going to ask around…since you don’t seem to know anything,” Charlie said.

  “Suit yourself. You’re the chief of police. Guess you can do what you want.” The man’s reply held a hint of sarcasm, or anger, Charlie couldn’t tell for sure.

  He was just as unsuccessful with the other men. It was another long walk back to headquarters. He knew in his gut that some of the people he had spoken to were hiding things from him. Maybe the reason was just simple paranoia, but maybe it was something more. Charlie couldn’t tell.

  Leo Stupek’s full name was Leonard, but no one had used that name for years. He had severely beaten the last person who had.

  He was looking through a one-way glass window that had been taken from the police headquarters. He was watching Donna Bishop. The woman had a black hood over her head and was tied to a chair in the middle of the basement room. A Coleman gas lamp in the corner provided illumination. Her clothes were torn. Her shoes had been taken, leaving her feet bare against the cold floor.

  On impulse, Leo raised his forefinger and tapped twice on the glass. She turned her head blindly towards the sound. Leo let her wait, knowing it was increasing her anxiety. This was a critical moment, when he would confront her and begin the process of breaking her down.

  He had two purposes. First, he wanted any information she held, though he did not expect much. Second, he wanted her for himself. This was a very good-looking, thirtyish woman who now had no future. Leo would give her a future, one of his choosing. She might object, but she had a five-year-old son, and Leo would use him to control her.

  He opened the door. The hooded woman turned her head at the sound and stiffened. Visibly summoning her courage, she asked, “Who’s there?”

  Leo didn’t answer. He just looked at her, taking in the moment, this moment of control. Finally he stepped up to her and pulled the hood up, revealing her face. Startled, she cried out and stared up at him.

  He watched her take him in. He knew his thick six-foot body was intimidating. He knew his deep-set dark eyes looked like they could see right into her. And he knew the gaslight falling across his face was making the effect more dramatic.

  “Who are you? Why am I here?” she asked.

  Leo let the silence stretch for a moment before he said, “You’re here because I want you here.”

  “What’s happened to my son? You didn’t hurt him, did you?” Panic began to rise in her voice.

  “Your son is fine. I may show him to you later, if you behave.”

  “Please let me see him,” the woman begged.

  “Later, like I said…if you behave.”

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Your cooperation, to start with.”

  She looked at him, a mixture of confusion and anger showing in her eyes.

  “Your husband was involved in some bad things,” he said. “They were bad for Hillsboro…and for you and your son. We had to stop that. Now your life has changed. Things will never be the same, but if you convince me you’ll cooperate, I can help you and protect your son. The choice is yours.”
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  “What’s happened to Jim? What have you done with him?” Donna Bishop yelled, glaring at Leo.

  “All will be explained in due time. For now, you have to cooperate with me. You have your son to think about now…only your son.” And with that he pulled the hood back down over her face and turned and walked to the door.

  “No, wait!” she shouted. “Tell me what’s going on!”

  Leo didn’t answer but left the room, closing the door behind him. He watched through the glass as the hooded woman began to jerk in her chair, sobbing.

  Six hours later Leo went back into the room, carrying a gray metal folding chair and a folded woolen blanket. Her head jerked up at the sound of the door opening. Leo set the chair up facing her and sat down, the folded blanket on his lap.

  “Who’s there?” she asked again.

  He pulled the hood up. She was now shivering violently. She had been tied to the chair in the cold basement for a total of ten hours. Fatigue and cold had overtaken her.

  “What do you want?” she asked weakly. “Why are you treating me this way?”

  “Do you want to see your son?” Leo asked in a quiet, but cold voice.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Do you want to get warm?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I can take care of both of those things for you.”

  “Why are you doing this? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Your husband did. He plotted to attack our city. To try to destroy the order we’ve established.”

  “I don’t understand. He would never do that. We work hard. We follow the rules. You don’t have any right to do this.”

  “I have every right. Your husband crossed the line. That had to be stopped. He put you in this position. He endangered his family.”