by T. K. Malone
“Truth?”
“Truth.”
“For a start, I don’t want to be in the crims.”
“Then don’t be.”
“Easier said than done,” and Zac finished off another beer. “My turn: want one?”
“Sure.”
He lingered a moment, torn between going in and staying out. “You gotta name.”
“Yes, Zac.”
“Well?”
“Say, Zac?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna forget the beer and get out of here?”
He watched the sun come up over her naked body. Her name was Laura, and somehow she’d brought some measure of peace to his troubled soul. They hadn’t stayed at the bar but gone for a stroll down by the river, and now he’d awoken in her cabin. She was staring straight up at the ceiling.
“So, cowboy, what’s your next move?”
“Next move?”
She turned to face him. “You say you don’t want to be under your father’s wing, under his command, in which case you gotta have another move lined up.”
“Maybe I haven’t figured it out yet. First off: I’ve got to go back to the city.”
“The city?” she said with a start.
“Yeah. There’s something I’ve got to do for someone.”
“I take it you’re not just going to stroll on in there.”
Zac pulled himself up on the bed and leaned back against its headboard. “We got suits,” he said.
She burst out laughing. “What, like those spacemen suits?”
“I suppose. Haven’t seen ‘em myself. I just know we got suits.”
“You gotta lot of trust in you, Zac.”
“The man who provided them has a lot to lose if I can’t do it. Nope, the suits will be fine.”
Laura got up, slipped off the edge of the bed and put a shirt on. “You want a mug of tea? Have to be black, I haven’t got any goats, or cows, nor have I any plans to get any of them, either.”
“Black’s fine.”
“So, you’re going to suit up, stroll into a city that’s just been nuked and do what?”
Zac cringed. When it was put in such simple terms, his plan didn’t appear the best-plotted course he’d ever taken. “Not actually sure of that. Instructions are in the crate.”
She made to say something, then turned back and fumbled under a small camping stove, lit it, and put a pot of water on. “As you can see, not the most domesticated. Mostly eat in the little town shop. The old woman in there feeds me for a few pills.”
“Is that what you do here?”
“Powders and pills, Zac. Best darn self-taught chemist in Christmas. Plus, it helps that it ran in the family. Got plenty of books and even a few video’s when we have electricity—though I suppose that’s now up in smoke.”
“Thought they packed all the academics into the city before the walls went up.”
“They tried; not all wanted to go. I only got a few brief snippets from my grandpa, but by all accounts it was a chaotic time. Suppose things got missed.”
“Their loss is our gain. I did wonder how we skipped from moonshine to uppers in the space of a few months.”
“Yeah, well, took me a while to get involved.”
Zac watched her standing over the pan. He got the distinct feeling she was keeping something from him. “Where’d you live before Christmas?”
She looked around, a little too sharply, and turned back a little too fast. “Over the valley,” she muttered, pouring. “You wanna sit on the deck? Might want to put some pants on if you do…or not; it’s a free Free World now,” and she went outside without looking back.
He jumped off the bed, pulled his jeans and boots on and went outside. The deck faced the river, a small path running along the bank, leading back up by some steps. “Take it that’s the bath,” he said, pointing.
“And just about everything else. Go for your life.”
“Over the valley” had hardly narrowed her answer, Zac thought as he splashed the freezing water over his head, then in his eyes and through his hair. That answer covered a lot of ground. Slipping his boots and jeans off, he soon stood waist deep in the flowing water and looked back at her. She was staring at him.
“Your old man, what’s he like?” she called down to him.
“Cornelius? Seems normal for a psychopath. Hell-bent on power, unapologetic for his crimes. Like most dads, I suppose.”
“You going to fight him? Take him on?”
Zac shrugged. “Haven’t actually thought that far ahead. First off: I’ve got to—”
“Yeah, yeah, go into the city in a rad-suit and put back something for someone. I know, you’ve explained it all so clearly.”
“A rad-suit? You know something about them?”
“Seen them being used. My grandfather had a laboratory; messed with some stuff—”
“Over the valley?”
“Here, take your tea,” she said, holding out a mug to him. He came out of the river, up the steps and took it. “Trouble is, Zac, now you’ve got yourself all freshened up, I fancy one, too.”
Zac took a seat on the deck as she strolled down the bank, took off her shirt and stepped into the rushing water. He watched her every move, as though she had him hypnotized, and watched as she got out, pulled the shirt over her sodden body and strolled back up. She swept up her mug and sat back down.
“Think I’ll come with you,” she said.
“And what makes you think…” but he thought better of it. “You know about this shit?”
“I’m no expert.”
“But you probably know more than Noodle.”
“Who’s Noodle?” she muttered then sipped her tea, and Zac laughed.
“Now, there’s a story. More ‘what’ than ‘who’, I reckon.”
15
Zac’s Story
Strike time: plus 5 days
Location: Angel Bay Hotel
Zac looked at the laden truck from his bike. Laura was up front with Loser as they all drove back down the valley toward the city.
It all seemed too damned convenient to Zac. Who the hell was Laura Meyers? How come she’d walked straight to the crates marked “Nevada Mead”? But, more importantly, it was more than a little fortunate that one of the rad-suits just happened to be sized for a woman and not, say, the bulky frame of Spritzer. It was just too damned convenient. There was something strange about Laura Meyers, but try as he might, he couldn’t rinse it out of her. The worse thing was that he knew it might not be her at all.
One thing he’d learned about Josiah Charm was never to underestimate the influence of the man’s meddling. He was a ninja of interference, a master of manipulation, and had a way of dabbling in people’s futures, to such an extent that Zac was sure, even if every one of Charm’s plots was laid out in front of him and explained in detail, he’d still be bemused. So, he couldn’t discount that she was just a product of the man’s scheming and had no more control over what had happened than he had. That all worked in his mind, apart from her persistent refusal to elaborate any further on her family.
Noodle had been no help, either. His eyes had just followed her around the warehouse, and Zac was sure his tongue had licked the floor clean. Billy Flynn appeared too out of it really to care what was going to happen, Spritzer had been fairly relieved, and Loser had taken to the news that he was soon destined to drive them to a nuclear wasteland with a shrug and a look which said “Just my luck”. And then there was Switch.
Zac hadn’t spent five minutes with Switch since they’d been dropped off at Gerald’s house, and even on the way there, they’d been separated, as if Switch was reluctant to talk. When Zac had finished up at his mother’s, Switch hadn’t been in the bar. At the warehouse he’d hung back while they got the crates, only getting interested when they’d jimmied the lids off. It was not that Switch particularly ignored Zac, more avoided him, pleasantries always on hand, laughter when needed, but they’d not exactly been the actions o
f an old comrade reunited. Zac wondered if the old Switch hadn’t been completely brainwashed by his father and was now nothing more than a subservient drone, an analogy which wasn’t lost on him.
By midmorning they’d passed Gerald’s place, and late afternoon saw them close to the freeway. They made the hotel early evening, Grimes and his men inhabiting the upper-story rooms, where Zac found them on the third floor terrace, overlooking the sea, all sipping ale, feet up, a full table between them. Their chatter died as Zac joined them.
“Say, Nathan, can you let the old man know I got back fine,” Zac said, to which Nathan hurriedly got to his feet. “Now hold on—” he began, but Zac’s fist landed squarely on the man’s cheek, sending him crashing onto the table. He lay still for a while, dabbing a bloody lip with his hand. “Free shot, Zac,” he finally said. “The only one you get.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were reporting to Cornelius?”
Nathan sat up. “Well, you see, Zac, that would have been what’s called a conflict of interest,” and he pushed himself off the table and charged low at Zac, bringing a grunt from him as Nathan’s shoulder smashed into his stomach. Zac stumbled back onto Billy Flynn, who grabbed and steadied him. “Want me to join in, Zac?” he offered.
“Nope, I’m good,” muttered Zac as he sized up Nathan.
The two men circled each other, then Zac feinted a left at Nathan’s cheek, but the man ghosted out of the way, his smile taunting Zac. “Technically,” Nathan growled, “he is the MC,” then he swung a wild blow that struck Zac in the kidneys.
“No, he isn’t—you are,” Zac groaned back, “or you’re supposed to be. I hear you’ve been playing the big man up in the valley,” and Zac rushed him, grabbing the collar of his jacket, trying to force Nathan to the ground as he kicked at his legs. Then he let go, catching Nathan off guard and so off-balance. He went staggering back, and Zac jumped low, landing on an outthrust hand and one foot, the other leg scything Nathan’s from under him. Nathan fell in a heap, and Zac was on him in an instant, pounding away. The pent-up rage of Zac’s last few days had finally found its release, but Nathan wasn’t done yet. From under Zac, he arched his back off the ground, lifting Zac enough to get his knee up and sharply into Zac’s groin.
Zac groaned and rolled off him, painfully scrambling to his feet, but Nathan was already up, a kick aimed squarely and firmly into Zac’s gut, forcing the breath out of him. Winded, Zac gasped for air, but another kick came, which he instinctively grabbed, yanking Nathan’s boot hard. He toppled back as Zac got to one knee, took a quick breath and staggered over to a now flat-out Nathan Grimes. The man lay looking up at Zac, so short of breath he seemed unable to move. Zac knelt on his stomach, raised one arm high, and powered its fist straight into Nathan’s jaw, the startled eyes above it slowly dulling and rolling up into their sockets before his whole body went limp. Zac sat there for a while before pushing himself up and standing over Nathan’s stilled body. He stared down at the bruised face for a moment, then looked across at Switch.
“Time you and me had a chat,” he said, turned his back on Switch and strolled into the bar.
“You always had a way about you, Zac,” Switch said as he joined him, to which Zac only grunted.
Zac grabbed two beers and gave one to Switch. “So tell me, you the old man’s eyes and ears as well?”
Switch looked out of the window at Nathan’s prostrate body flat out on the terrace. “I knew it would come to this. Why’d you think I’ve been avoiding you?”
“I don’t know—you tell me.”
“Main reason?”
“Main reason.”
“Because I didn’t want to become a punch ball for an argument between you and your old man.”
Zac too looked out at Nathan’s body. “Not a bad judge,” he said, and offered his bottle up. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” offered Switch.
“What we’re going to need is some ground rules,” Zac muttered, and then he grinned.
“Amen to that.” Switch scratched his shorn scalp. “Personally, I’m looking forward to having me some hair to run my fingers through. Those rad-suits: they ain’t going to make what I got fall out, now, are they?”
“About that,” and Zac pulled up a stool. “Those crates, the ones the suits were in, any one tampered with them?”
Switch shrugged. “How would I know? Loser didn’t seem to think so. Why?”
“They worry me. Six in all, and up until last night, we’d have been one body short.” Zac looked outside, at Laura Meyers. She was kneeling by Grimes, tending to cuts on his face, giving the man a drink. Billy was leaning over him, too, glancing at Zac every now and then. “Then she comes along, and all of a sudden the sixth suit is filled.”
“We could have squeezed Spritzer in.”
Zac grunted. “I suppose, if I think this through, how come six suits? How come one is as big as a house and happens to fit Billy Flynn? Maybe it’s just the way things fall, but I just can’t help but wonder if it’s not all a bit too convenient.”
“Your old man, Zac,” said Switch, pulling up a stool, “he had a few things to say about fate. Had a theory, he did, that players gravitate to players, that in a town of four, five, six million folk, if two needed to meet, they would.”
“He had a theory, did he?”
Switch leaned away from Zac, holding a hand up in mock defense. “Now, this is what I was talking about, Zac. Cornelius did what he did fifteen years ago; can’t a man bury his past? Whatever you think about him, he’s a player in the current scenario, and he ain’t going to go away easily.”
Zac smirked, shook his head and looked at Switch from the corner of his eye. “So I just forget about what he did?”
“Did? Forget? Oster Prime pressed a button that killed countless folk, and a man in a suit reciprocated from a couple of thousand miles away, and then, what do you think happened, Zac? What do you think happened then?”
“Best guess?”
Switch took a slug on his bottle. “Everything’s a guess. Mine? Oster Prime tucked into a T-bone, and way over on the other side of the ocean another politician ate some caviar, or locust, or whatever the shit they eat.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is…” but for a moment, Switch only rotated his bottle in his hands, a fingernail picking at its label. “My point is that whatever your old man did, there are far worse.”
Zac laughed. “Shit, Switch, is that the best you can do? You need to prepare more, you hear that? Know what my biggest beef is? Josiah Charm: he’s my biggest beef. The one man who could have executed him, the one man who could have erased him, knew all along he hadn’t and he never told me.”
“And why do you think that, Zac?”
“What?”
Switch pulled out a pack of smokes. Taking one, he drummed it on the counter, then twirled it between his fingers. “Why d’you think the man kept that information from you? Kept that your old man was alive from you. Why, Zac? What motivation would he have had?”
“Is that what it boils down to?”
“Motivation? Zac, really?” Switch flipped the cigarette into his mouth. “Every action has a motive, you know that.”
And then Zac realized why they’d made sure it was Switch who’d been locked up and forced to be with his father. Just the glint in his eye told Zac that Switch was enjoying the exchange. Few men, and fewer in the club, would have had the brains even to learn from his father, let alone blossom in his blood-soaked shade.
“Because, if I’d known my father was still alive, I might not have done what he wanted,” Zac whispered.
Switch shrugged. “That, but I think it was more about responsibility. With your dad out of the equation, he knew you’d step up, take over the distribution business. He knew you’d hold the fate of the club in your arms like it was your own load to bear. No one knew your old man was alive, not till I got banged up. Even then it took Wesley a few weeks to take me to see him—like they were
scoping me out, trying to work out if I was worthy.”
Outside, Grimes was now sitting in a chair. His expression was grim, his stare focused toward them. Switch looked at him, smiled, and turned back to Zac. “You’re going to have to smooth things over with that one. He’s a foot soldier, and you need them. Truth is, I’ll bet he’s looking for a way to back out of the leadership without losing face—something you’ve just made a whole lot harder.”
“You were saying…”
“I was saying that news of your father’s extended existence was handled very carefully, and now I look back on it, it could be that it was handled that way just to keep it from you. But there is another explanation.”
“Isn’t there always,” Zac muttered. “What would that be?”
“That the governor of Black City didn’t want to tell nine million of its residents that he was keeping The Drone Slayer alive for some future plan which revolved around their own destruction.”
Zac spat his beer out, laughing. “But that would mean Charm had planned the apocalypse,” and then he looked at Switch’s face, at the expression which told him that that was exactly what Switch thought.
“Planned? Or planned for? A small distinction, but a distinction all the same. Did you know that Charm was a regular visitor to the correctional?”
“No, but it doesn’t surprise me.”
“Chess, Zac; they played chess all the time. Cornelius, intelligent as the man is, never beat Charm once, never got close. Do you know, he nearly snapped a warder in half once, nearly ripped out his throat after one of Charm’s visits. Pissed off is an understatement.”
“Because he lost a game of chess?”
“No. I think it was the day Charm told him about Connor, but I can’t be sure.”
“So he knew? Shit. He just played dumb with me?” Zac thumped the counter. “What about his wife, what about when she died? What about my mother?”
Switch shrugged. “I wasn’t about all the time.” He pointed at Grimes. “You might want to sort that out. Shit like that shouldn’t be left to fester.”
