Dawnbreaker

by Posey, Jay

jCharles sat back in his chair, sipped his own drink.

  “But dat already you know,” Edda said, holding up a finger.

  “Feared,” jCharles said. “Didn’t know.”

  Edda nodded. “And de rest?”

  “The rest?”

  Edda nodded again, but this to herself, confirming something she’d been uncertain about. “I run up nort’, down sout’, some bit east. Dat why I’m gone four day.” She paused, licked her lips. “Same t’ing all ’round.”

  “The same... How?”

  She shook her head at the remembrance.

  “Like hell come eat ’em up and spit de bones.”

  jCharles had thought he’d been expecting the worst; the reality was somehow worse still.

  “How many places did you go?” he asked.

  “Yours and t’ree beside.” Edda sat back, took another sip of her drink, then set it on the side table between them.

  “Anything bigger than Morningside?” jCharles asked. Based on what he’d heard, there weren’t many places left as big as Morningside, maybe in the whole world. But he’d never been to see for himself, and he didn’t know much about the other cities across the Strand.

  “Not much out dat way big as Morn’side. Not much here, eit’er.” Edda shook her head. “Dat don’t seem to help it, not one bit.”

  All that jCharles had feared and more. Morningside was truly gone, wiped away by the Weir. No, not by the Weir... by Wren’s brother. By Asher. But it hadn’t stopped there. With Edda’s revelation, he felt a tiny hope die in his heart, not having known until that moment he’d even harbored it. The hope that Morningside’s destruction had been an act of vengeance against that city alone, one that would end there. Instead, that had only been its beginning.

  Edda was watching him closely, studying his face.

  “You t’ink dat comin’ west,” she said. “Comin’ here.”

  jCharles nodded.

  “Well I take dat meal,” she said. “But you keep de rest your money. I t’ink maybe you need it more I do.” She nodded at him. “Sure I know.”

  “Deal’s a deal, Edda. That money’s yours now. All eight thousand.” She shook her head and got to her feet. jCharles rose with her. “I appreciate the thought Edda, but I hate to be in debt to anyone.”

  “What happen out dere, dat I not believe if not I see for my own self,” Edda said as she walked over to the door and opened it part way. “What it might be is you just save my life. So I take dat meal. Keep your money, save your own.”

  jCharles stood next to his chair, blinked back at her, uncertain of what else to say. She gave him another nod and headed down the stairs to collect the only payment she’d accept. A few moments later, Mol came out of the back room holding Grace. It was obvious she’d listened in to the whole conversation.

  jCharles walked over, put his arms around both his girls, and held them tight.

  * * *

  Later that night, jCharles found himself seated in Hollander’s tiny office, listening to a more detailed accounting of Edda’s story. He’d caught up with her down in the bar before she left and convinced her to come along with him to meet with the Greenman. Now, Hollander was leaned back in his chair, chin low, brow furrowed, trying to absorb everything he was hearing. He was a big, dark-skinned man with heavy features; square jaw, strong brow, a cartoon of a law enforcer brought to life.

  “And you got all this corroborated,” Hollander said, looking at jCharles when Edda was done.

  “Yeah,” jCharles answered. “Or, well, Edda was my corroboration. The first time I heard about it was from a boy who’d escaped it.”

  Hollander grunted. “And I can talk to him?”

  “No,” jCharles said. “He left a few days ago.”

  “But I took vid while I out dere,” Edda said. “If you wanna see for true.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Hollander said, holding up a hand. “But uh...” He stopped, sniffed. Shrugged. “I guess I’m just not sure what you’re asking for, here, jCharles.”

  “I’m not asking for anything, Holl,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. Seems like the kind of thing you oughta know about though, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Maybe. I mean, yeah, it’s bad news, obviously. But there’s not much we can do for anybody over that side.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about,” jCharles said. “I’m worried about when it hits this side.”

  “I don’t see why you think it will,” Hollander replied. “Seems like an eastern problem to me.”

  “It’ll spill over the Strand at some point. It’s coming, Holl. And we’re right out there on the tip of it. When it comes, it’s gonna hit us first.”

  “You sound awfully sure.”

  “I am sure.”

  “Well,” Hollander said. And he shrugged again. “I got about two hundred men and women between active and reserves. Every one of ’em willing to die on that wall if it comes to it. So, again, beyond that, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Maybe recruit more? Issue a warning? Something besides sitting around waiting to get smashed?”

  “And tell people what, jCharles? That bad things might be coming from the east one day? Get everyone all riled up, so they start hoarding everything? Looting? Last thing I want to do is stir up anything that looks like fear. I’m not sure you appreciate just how fine a line we all walk between getting along and tearing ourselves to pieces out here.”

  “Oh, I do,” jCharles said. “Probably more than anyone but you.”

  “Yeah, well,” Hollander said. He laced his fingers together and rested his hands on top of his head. “You have the privilege of walking in the grey there, don’t you? I’m the one that’s gotta be the white hat.”

  “You know I do everything I can to help you and your people, Holl.”

  “You do, and I appreciate it. We all do. Mostly. I just mean people expect different things from me. You can nose around, call in favors, do whatever you need to do, and everybody just assumes you’ve got some business you’re handling that no one else needs to know about. As soon as I start that up, people get antsy. Uptown, Downtown, the Dive, doesn’t matter... every triggerman out there would assume I’m about to roll on them. Half the time I’m fighting off baseless rumors. I can only imagine what might happen if I actually started gearing up for something. Particularly something that might not ever happen.”

  jCharles looked down at Hollander’s desk, frustrated. He should’ve been able to make a better case than he was, but he didn’t know how to get through to the man.

  “Look at it like this. If it was the Bonefolder sitting here, telling me this instead of you,” Hollander continued, “I’d give it about twelve hours until you were knocking on my door, asking about what she had to say. And less than half that if, after she left, I started calling up the reserves. I fully expect I’m gonna hear from her by lunchtime tomorrow already, just on account of this meeting.”

  “This is bigger than all of that, Holl. Bigger than any of us.”

  “I’m not arguin’ that.”

  “So you do believe me.”

  Hollander’s top lip disappeared behind his bottom teeth. It reappeared a moment later with a quiet smack. “I believe that you believe.”

  “All right,” jCharles said, and he got to his feet. He knew that was the best he was going to get from Hollander. “Thanks for your time, Holl.”

  “Door’s always open,” Hollander said. “Long as you call first.”

  “Yeah,” jCharles answered.

  “How’s that baby?” Hollander asked.

  “Perfect in every way.”

  Hollander smiled. “Make sure you enjoy every day with her. Even the ones where you feel like a walking dead man.”

  jCharles nodded, flashed a smile he didn’t feel, motioned for Edda to exit ahead of him. She squeezed by and out into the hall. Before jCharles left, Hollander spoke.

  “Hey,” he said. jCharles looked back; Hollander was leaning forward in his chair
now, serious. “Anything comes over that wall, I’ll be the first one to meet it. Count on that.”

  “Yeah, Holl. I know,” jCharles said. And then after a moment, added. “I’ll be right there with you.”

  Hollander nodded. “Give my best to Mol.”

  “Sure thing.”

  jCharles followed Edda out, down the narrow corridor to the narrow stairs. Everything about Hollander’s office seemed about one-third too narrow. They exited on the ground floor, stepped out onto the sidewalk out front. There weren’t many people out on the streets at this time of night, the in-between time, after the respectable citizens had closed up and hunkered down and before the less respectable ones were up and about. And it wasn’t usually that busy at any time of night over by where the Greenmen had set up shop anyway.

  “I run on my way, I reck’n,” Edda said.

  “You have a place to stay for the night?”

  “Sure.”

  “And you’re not going to let me pay you what I owe you?”

  “Son, you can send it straight if it make you feel better, but I send it right back.”

  jCharles chuckled, held out his hand for a shake. Edda took it in both hands, but didn’t shake it. Just pressed firmly.

  “What’ll you do now, Edda?”

  “Same as you,” she said. “Run west.”

  jCharles smiled, couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her he wouldn’t be leaving Greenstone.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said.

  “Sure. And you.”

  He took back his hand, and they separated. But as he turned to head home, Edda’s simple words sunk deep; thoughts of his wife and daughter invaded, shook his resolve. He’d thought he was resolute, ready to guard the city with his life, to protect it at all costs. But what if his wife and child were safe somewhere else? What if he could pack them up, send them away with Edda, with Nimble maybe? Was he willing to stay behind? He turned back.

  “Edda,” he called. She was crossing the street, but stopped and looked at him. “If you find a place that seems safe enough, you think you could let me know where you end up? In case I might uh... in case I want to follow along?”

  “Not dere’s much left safe, sure I know,” she said. “But you call any time.”

  She held his gaze for a moment, a look that suggested she understood more than what he’d said, then nodded and turned away into the night.

  The walk home was ten minutes by the direct route. jCharles took almost an hour.

  As he finally came in sight of the Samurai McGann, he stopped and watched it for a few minutes. The giant cartoon samurai in garish colors painted on the side made him smile despite his heavy thoughts. The warrior was disheveled, shirtless, a piece of straw in his mouth, a sword held over his head, a bottle of whisky in his belt. An old inside joke, referencing a life even older. The hand-painted sign that said Samurai McGann on it was lying to the side of the door, propped against the wall. It’d been down for probably over two years now, and jCharles still hadn’t taken the time to put it back up.

  He looked at that roughneck samurai, and at what it represented. The more accurate term for the character was ronin, a samurai without a master. A wanderer. Just like jCharles had been when he first arrived in Greenstone. How very much had changed. He’d found his place here, allowed roots to grow, to reach down deep. Now that he was looking at his little place again, the thought of tearing those roots up seemed too painful to face. Yet, now that he’d let in the thought of fleeing, he couldn’t ignore the possibility. Staying would be utterly foolish. The kind of foolish that usually got renamed to brave after the inevitable occurred, by whoever was left behind to do the renaming.

  It always seemed to make sense in other people’s stories. Facing impossible odds. Dying noble deaths. But jCharles had seen more than a few people die in his day, and he couldn’t remember a single one ever seeming noble at the time. The choice wasn’t as clear cut, standing right there in the middle of it.

  He stared up at the bloodshot eyes of the samurai; eyes either red with rage or with too much drink. The ronin had his sword out, held aloft. Homeless, masterless, purposeless. Disgraced. Still fighting, even though he’d already lost everything he’d ever fought for.

  Then again, maybe not everything. With all else stripped away, his spirit remained yet unconquered.

  Easy for him. He was a cartoon. And yet, if Asher and his Weir should come, he would face them, shirtless, bottle in his belt, sword held high. Where would jCharles be?

  jCharles chuckled in spite of himself. At himself. The lack of sleep was making him ridiculous. He crossed to his place, pushed the door open, made his way through the saloon with a quick nod to Nimble. Nimble made a familiar gesture, asking if he should make jCharles a usual drink, but jCharles waved him off. Up the narrow back stairs. Through the front door.

  Mol was curled up on the couch, asleep with the lights on. jCharles closed the door softly behind himself, locked it, crept to his wife. He sat down on the couch by her feet. She stirred at the movement, opened her eyes and looked at him, puzzled. Blinked a few times. When recognition finally came, she took a deep breath and rubbed an eye with the heel of her hand.

  “Oh,” she said. “Not as late as I thought. Guess I must’ve been out hard.”

  “Babies will do that to you.”

  “Everything go OK with Holl?” she asked as she shifted around on the couch. She sat up straighter in the corner, and stretched her legs out over his lap.

  jCharles shrugged. “Said to give you his best.”

  “But he’s not going to do anything?”

  jCharles shook his head. “Nothing substantial.”

  “That’s disappointing,” she said.

  “Well, yeah,” he replied. “But I understand where he’s coming from. Sort of. I don’t think he’s convinced there’s a real threat. Or that it’s as big as I’m claiming. I’m not sure I blame him.”

  “So what’s next?”

  He reached over and swept a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.

  “Uh oh,” Mol said.

  “There are places further west. Towns small enough to escape notice. Cities big enough to get lost in.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said. “Places we left behind for good reason.”

  “A long time ago, Mol.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Probably depends on who you ask.” She placed a hand on top of his, squeezed it. “Sure. Of course I’ve thought about it. Of all the people in this crazy town, we’re probably some of the best able to make a run for it.”

  Her tone hinted at which direction her thinking had taken her.

  “But...” jCharles prompted.

  “But... all the things that make it easier to run are the same things that make it easier to stay. The money, the connections. Twitch, we’ve been blessed in ways most people haven’t. Ninety percent of the folks out there don’t have anywhere else to go. And even if they did, most of them don’t have the means to get there. We can’t leave them behind, hoping someone else will stop this thing before it catches up to us.”

  “It’s not like this is something I can do on my own, Mol,” jCharles said.

  “You’ve got plenty of friends,” she countered. “And plenty more associates you can reach out to. You’re a man of influence. If you put your mind to it, I’m sure we could find you a right proper army.”

  jCharles chuckled and shook his head. He was a businessman, not a general.

  Mol squeezed his hand. “Greenstone offered us a new start, Twitch.”

  “Not entirely new–”

  “A second chance,” Mol continued over the top of him. “If there’s a place worth fighting for, where is it if not here?” She let him think about that for a second, and then took her hand away. “And quit saying I, like I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m not going anywhere either.”

  “Mol...” he said, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

  “Nope, don�
��t even start,” she said, holding her hand up to stop him.

  “If you and Grace can get away safely, then you should. There’s no point in you staying here–”

  “No point? The point is that a life without you is no life at all, Twitch,” she said, getting heated and raising her voice. She glanced at the bedroom door, paused, listened for any sound of Grace waking. Took a deep breath, settled herself, kept her voice down. “Look. I know what you mean by it, I know it’s coming from the right place. But it’s a little insulting. More than a little.”

  jCharles had expected resistance, but not quite like what he was hearing at the moment.

  “What would you say,” she continued, “if I walked in here and told you I wanted you to take our baby and run, while I stayed behind?”

  “I would laugh.”

  “And what if you thought I was serious?”

  “I reckon I’d be a little insulted.”

  “More than a little,” she said.

  “Well,” he said. “What if I tell you you don’t have a choice?”

  “I’ll laugh at you right in your face,” she said. “Real loud like. And then you’ll have to get Grace back to sleep.”

  He smiled in spite of himself, shook his head. “Someone once told me I was a man of influence, you know.”

  “You still are, in the right circles,” said Mol. “So use it to do the right thing.”

  “Why is it that you always seem to know what the right thing is?”

  “Obviously so I can tell you what to do.”

  “Obviously,” he said. He sat there for a moment, looking at his firebrand of a wife. “I just don’t think we’ve got enough muscle here, Mol. Not in Greenstone.”

  “So we import it.”

  “Import it? I...” He stopped, corrected himself. “We don’t have the money to hire the kind of talent we’d need.”

  “I didn’t say hire.”

  And now he saw where she was going.

  “That’s dangerous territory, Mol.”

  “People still owe you from way back. And you’ve still got friends out there. What about 4jack and Zimm? Or Mr 850?”

  Names jCharles hadn’t spoken in a decade at least. Maybe closer to two. Had it been that long?