Storm Horizon

by Brian Switzer

  Becky grasped his arm and tried to pull him away. "You must be starving. Come on, let's get you something to eat."

  He resisted and shook her off. "Later, okay? I have one more thing to do first."

  She studied him at him, surprise and worry etched on her face. "Is everything else okay?"

  He rubbed the top of her head with his palm, a move he knew she hated. "Yeah, everything's fine. I need to take care of something."

  "Well, don't take too long. I haven’t seen Coy all day, you and Danny weren’t here. I've been lonely."

  He squinted his eyes in surprise. "Where's Coy?"

  "I don't know. He had already left when I got up this morning. That’s not unusual, he leaves before I get up almost every day. But this time he hasn't been back all day."

  "He's probably off somewhere, pouting because we left them behind. I'll talk to him when he gets back."

  Becky nodded and he gave her a peck on the cheek. "I won't be long."

  The crowd, aware of the loss, was no longer joyous. They gathered in pairs and small bunches and mixed what little truth they knew with all the gossip they could think of. Will wandered through them, touching a shoulder here or sharing a whisper there, until the crew he wanted followed behind him. Earlier, he watched Jax show the Judge his arm, then they both hurried off with the Doc in tow.

  Will marched across toward the Original’s tunnel, his crew in tow. For the job at hand, he selected Danny, Jiri, Tara, her sister Tess, and Terrence. He wished Coy wasn't being a child because he was a good hand on jobs like this. And of course, until today Andro would be with him for this sort of thing.

  Will left Tess and Jiri at the tunnel entrance. “Nobody comes in until we return. Got it?” The pair nodded that they got it and the rest of the team stepped inside.

  This particular tunnel was growing into the camp business district. It had been a beer distributorship with a large suite of offices before the outbreak. Now, the Doc had his office here, Terrence had turned three of the offices into a primitive police station, a lady with the Originals cleaned out a room and gave bad haircuts for items of trade, and, on Sundays, people from across the community gathered and formed a sort of bazaar. They set up small booths or rolled out blankets to display trinkets and an eclectic mix of handcrafted items that they sold or traded until time for the Sunday meal.

  The door to Dr. Samuel's office was closed. Will entered without knocking and stormed to the back where the Doc was bandaging Jax's arm while the Judge and two of his lackeys watched. Everyone looked up in surprise when Will came crashing through the door with Danny and Terrence in tow.

  "What is it, William? I'm tending to a patient."

  Will ignored the Doc and made a beeline for the Judge. He loomed over the portly barrister, standing as close to him as he could. The Judge shrank back, his mouth agog.

  “We need to talk, Jody. Let's go."

  "I most certainly will not," he huffed. "I'm not leaving Jax’s side while he's enduring this horrible ordeal."

  "Yeah, you are. Sorry, Jax. I'll get him back to you." With that, he reached around and snagged the back of his collar and pulled him to the door. The Judge’s compatriots shouted and rose to his aid; Danny and Terrence moved fast and blocked their paths.

  Will pulled him out of the office and down the hall to Terrence's headquarters; he sputtered, kicked, and resisted the whole way. Several times he almost lost his footing but he couldn't escape Will's iron grip.

  Will kicked open the door to Terrence's office, gave the Judge a shove this sent him sprawling inside, and slammed the door shut behind them.

  He rolled himself into a sitting position and looked at Will, his shirt torn, his glasses askew. "What the hell, Will?" A bookcase sat against the wall one side of him and a desk rested on the other; he grabbed a hold of each to pull himself to his feet. What he was halfway up, the bookshelf he supported himself with turned upside down, sending him back on his butt. He tried to hang on to the bookcase’s metal frame and avoid the fall, but instead, he pulled it down on top of himself with a clatter. Pushing and kicking the frame out of the way, he struggled his feet, his face beet red and his eyes bulging with rage. He took two steps towards Will, lifting his hand to shake his index finger at the source of his anger. Before he got a word out, Will clocked him with a left cross right on the point of his chin.

  He pulled the punch at the last moment but it was still a clean, hard blow. The light went out in the Judge's eyes, his lids fluttered, and his knees sagged. Will grabbed him under his arms as he fell and guided him to the ground- he was here to put the fear of God in the man, not cause him permanent damage.

  He pulled the chair over, placed it in front of the office door, and took a seat. He unsheathed his Bowie knife and used it to clean the dirt from under his nails while keeping an eye on the Judge. In less than a minute he stirred; a few minutes passed and he sat up. He was still unsteady - he swayed back and forth and his eyes were foggy – so Will continued to wait.

  The Judge patted the floor as if unsure how he got there, spied his eyeglasses lying next to him, and put them on. Rubbing his chin, he looked up and saw Will. He gave a startled squawk and scrambled backward, his eyes filled with fear.

  Will took his feet and the Judge cowered against the wall, holding his hands in front of him and bowing his head.

  "Get up," Will said.

  The Judge moaned and shook his head wildly.

  "Get up." Will's tone was irritated. "I ain't gonna hit you again."

  The Judge struggled to his feet and stood with his back to the wall, arms crossed in front of his ample stomach and his shoulders drooped. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his knees shook.

  Will pointed the business and of his knife at the man. "You are responsible for the deaths of two people out there today, Jody."

  The Judge gaped at him in confusion.

  "Jax will get a bullet in the head before the morning and one of my best men is lying dead in the street. I wasn't even able to bring him home for a decent burial."

  "I'm truly sorry for your man, but I don't see how you can hang his death on my head."

  "Easy. It wouldn't have happened if not for your meddling and your paranoia." Will could see the man growing less fearful and more confident. The altercation was moving away from the realm of the physical — Will's territory — and toward the realm of negotiation and debate — the Judge's territory.

  Will cut him off at the pass. "And I'm not here to discuss or debate it with you."

  The Judge hesitated for a long moment before asking his next question. "Then what are you here for?"

  "To tell you I'm taking over. I'm in charge. No more consultations, no more seeking your opinion, no more listening to your incessant bitching. This place is mine to direct as I see fit with no interference or involvement from you."

  The judge's mouth worked, but he couldn't get out any words.

  "If you don't like it, you can leave. Or you can meet me out there on the bottoms. Me against you or mine against yours, however you want to do it."

  "And just what am I supposed to?"

  Will shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you want. Read your books, study your history, visit with friends down there. Just stay away from me and keep your mouth shut about the day-to-day operations of this camp."

  The older man gave him a sly, tight smile. "I think you're forgetting a couple of things."

  "Oh yeah? What's that?"

  "You can't run this place without me. You need my people to help out, you need Cyrus to keep doing the things he does, Teresa to keep running your dining room." He laughed, a strangled, unpleasant sound. "Jesus, you put me in charge of your law committee! That was a brilliant chess move to make with a guy that you're trying to push aside. Maybe I'll just write a law against assholes named Will living in the quarry." He bared his teeth at Will in a bitter smile.

  Will grinned throughout the little diatribe. Now he shook his head and snickered. "Have you been paying a
ny attention at all, Jody? We've already brushed you aside. Cyrus answers to me now; he has for a while. Teresa answers to Jiri. As for your people- when I leave here, I'll go down and get the ones that are worth a shit. Let them know they are on my team now. You can choke on the rest of them, I don't care." He could tell by the look of dawning realization on the Judge's face he knew Will spoke the truth. So he went in for the kill. "And as far as that law committee? I meant to tell you, but forgot- Jiri and Terrence will head that up now."

  He waited for a response, but the Judge simply stared at him, mouth hanging open, a mixture of fear and hatred in his eyes. Will stepped forward until they were almost nose to nose; the Judge's back was to the wall, so he had nowhere to go.

  "Don't mess with me on this, Jody. I'll snatch your heart out and show it to you before you fall down dead." He turned without waiting for a response, crossed the room and moved the chair out of the way, and left, closing the door behind him.

  Fifty-Seven

  * * *

  The Judge stomped across the bottom toward home with his three men trailing behind him. Jax’s bite was forgotten, the man’s inevitable death and resurrection as a creeper immaterial. He was humiliated and furious, and his jaw ached. This scion of one of Carthage's most illustrious families, he'd grown up, practiced law for ten years, spent twenty on the bench, and guided his tunnel-dwellers through two years of the apocalypse. And in all that time, no one had ever struck him. Hell, no one had ever spoken to him in that manner, either. Oh, there was the occasional criminal who'd spewed filth after being sentenced to fifty years in the state penitentiary. And the soldiers who took over the quarry for a time and turned it into their own personal harem and slave pool were certainly unpleasant. But even they had treated him with a certain modicum of respect due a man of his position.

  He carried on an angry monologue as he walked. "What you do with a man that only understands brute force? You show him brute force isn't always the answer, that's what you do. When my people hear about this they will rally around me, that's for sure. I guess that caveman forgot that there's a hundred and twenty of us and thirty of them. He wants crops planted, livestock maintained, and a twenty-four-hour-a-day security perimeter staffed? Let's see how much of that gets done when my people refuse to work for him. And his precious ethanol? Cyrus is as loyal as an old dog. One word from me and the ethanol program will cease production.

  "That's it, that's what we need- a strike. A strike that doesn't end until that Cro-Magnon apologizes in front of the entire camp. Apologizes and recognizes my leadership and authority."

  That was the ticket, he thought with a grim smile. As had happened so many other times in his life, brains would overcome brawn and breeding would win out in the end.

  He reached his tunnel and strode inside. His eyes searched for Joe Ashton, who he left in charge during his absence. Joe was nowhere to be seen, despite the fact that the person in charge of the tunnel was supposed to be at the entrance at all times. "Well, everyone makes mistakes. I will speak to him about it, of course."

  He stopped the nearest passerby, a young layabout who spent his days riding his skateboard in endless loops around the tunnel. Drew or Rudy something was his name. He gripped Drew or Rudy's bicep as he rolled by.

  "Excuse me, young man- do you know where Joe Ashton would happen to be?"

  Drew or Rudy looked down at his delicate hand on his bicep and then up at his face. "He left, with the others."

  The Judge peered at him, confused. "What you mean, left? What others?"

  Rudy or Drew said the same thing only slower and louder as if he were speaking to a foreigner or an imbalanced person. "HE-LEFT-WITH-THE-OTHERS."

  There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and his limbs felt weak. "Start over, Rudy... that's your name, right?"

  "No, it's Rude. We've talked like a thousand times."

  "Yes, I’m aware we’ve spoken. Rudy, that's what I said."

  "No, not Rudy- Rude. There's no Y."

  The Judge blinked his eyes, nonplussed.

  "It short for Rude Dog," the skateboarder explained.

  "Just forget about your name for a moment and tell me what happened."

  "A couple of guys from the other tunnel came down here, talked to some people. Most of them got their stuff together and left with the guys."

  The Judge patted his cheeks with his forefingers- his face felt hot and he was curious if it was warm to the touch. A trickle of sweat ran down the small of his back and his voice sounded funny in his ears when he spoke.

  "Who went with them?"

  Rude sighed. "Bro, I'm not good with names. There were a bunch of them though. Joe, and that chick Theresa, and Jobe and Betty- Betty's the MILF that runs the kitchen, right?"

  The young man kept naming people who left, but the Judge no longer listened. His men stood behind him; he turned to one. "I've got to see Cyrus."

  Rude Dog's face brightened and he snapped his fingers. "Cyrus! That's one the dudes that left.”

  The Judge blanched. "Not possible." He walked away, down the tunnel toward Cyrus' home and lab.

  "Hey, do you think they’d be okay with me moving, too?" Rude Dog called out after him. "They've got some smokin' hot chicks up there." When the Judge didn't answer Rude Dog shrugged his shoulders and skated off in the other direction.

  The Judge plodded the familiar path to Cyrus's cubicle; each step was like trying to pull his foot out of wet cement. He muttered as he walked. "Impossible.... not possible.... loyal as a dog.... not possible."

  He pulled the door open without knocking and looked around. The few clothes Cyrus owned were gone, along with his personal effects. Still, the Judge refused to believe it. "He must be at the lab," he said to his men. "Would one of you fellows please verify that for me? I'll be right here when you get back." The man on the right, Tony, nodded his head and dashed off. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he told the other two before pulling the makeshift door closed behind him.

  He sat down on the edge of the little man's bed and smoothed out the covers on each side with the palm of his hand. He and Cyrus had organized the place together in the weeks after the outbreak. The odd little man had been at his side ever since and the Judge couldn't comprehend that he would leave.

  A short time later there was a rap on the other side of the cubicle wall. He stood. "Come in."

  Tony entered, looking downcast. He was a sallow-faced man who always looked sad. When he actually was sad he looked doubly so, as if someone had just shot his girlfriend and his dog in rapid succession. Tony shook his head. "Not there, Your Honor."

  He pressed his lips together, intent on showing resolve in this time of crisis. "What about his lab equipment?"

  Tony shrugged. "I don't really know what is supposed to be there. There are empty spots on the counters. But I can’t tell you if they were empty because the equipment is missing or if they were empty because he doesn't keep stuff there."

  He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "We'll just see how productive he can be when we keep all of his toys and gizmos, won't we." The thought of Cyrus being unable to finish his projects made him a little happier.

  Tony dropped his eyes and the Judge's heart skipped a beat. "What? What is it, man? Speak."

  He didn't speak; instead, he extended his hand. The Judge saw he held a piece of paper and yanked it away.

  It was a note, hand-written in a tight, neat script. Jody, it read. By now you have noticed that most of your key people have joined us. Cyrus came with them and will establish a new lab here. Will wanted to remind you that all of his equipment, indeed everything in your tunnel except for your personal belongings, is community property. Any effort on your part to deny the entire community access to any camp property will carry with it the strongest possible consequences. He also wanted to remind you that there are worse things than losing; a person could get cast out or he could die, for example. You are a well-regarded, valuable member of this community. Don't do anything to
put that regard or that value in jeopardy.

  The letter was signed, Sincerely, Jiri Hvorsky

  Fifty-Eight

  * * *

  Will lay on his back in the queen-size bed that took up more than half the bedroom space in their little shack made of cubicle walls and corrugated tin supported by a wooden frame. It was a few minutes past six in the morning; after thirty-plus years of waking up the same time, he no longer needed an alarm. The clock struck six and his eyes opened.

  Becky's side of the bed was empty, meaning she was with the horses (they had eight now) or it was her scheduled day to help with breakfast at the dining hall.

  He tried to ignore the pain in his ankle. Despite the hydrocodone the Doc sent him home with last night, it throbbed like a black and rotting tooth. He knew from past ankle sprains that swinging his leg over the edge of the bed and allowing blood to rush through his swollen ankle tissue would be excruciating. To put it off, he stayed put and considered the days ahead.

  Someone, probably Terrence, would be responsible for the weapons and keep a log of what they owned and who had which guns in their possession. But they needed to handle it with delicacy. He and Jiri had a long conversation the night before. They agreed on the need to divide the guns between several locations rather than store them all in one central spot like the armory. They also agreed that they needed two logs- the one everyone used, and the real one that would be their little secret.

  "The only people who know exactly what we brought back are our people and Jax," Jiri had said. "The Doc put poor Jax down last night after he turned. Our folks have my complete trust."

  Will gave him a sideways look. "I thought you liberal college professor types are supposed to be all about openness and… what was the word the politicians used? Transparency?"