Overwatch (Collapse: New Republic)

by Riley Flynn

  Price’s eyes flashed with anger. “What did we tell you about being drunk in public, Farries?”

  “I give up.” Farries grinned. “What did you tell me?”

  There goes our night out, Maggie thought. But before she could move, Smith had placed himself between her and Farries.

  “Brad, right?” he said, extending his right hand. “John Smith. We’ve never officially met.”

  Farries’ bloodshot eyes narrowed for a few moments before recognition set in. Then they widened and his lips curled in a snarl.

  “You,” he growled. “It’s your fault, you bastard.”

  Maggie opened her mouth to speak but Smith was first.

  “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “It was my fault. I should have recognized the threat and sent in more troops. My stupidity cost those men their lives.”

  The situation got more surreal by the minute. John Smith acting like a normal human being, then apologizing for his mistakes? Maggie surreptitiously pinched herself under the table to make sure she was actually living this and not dreaming it.

  Farries swayed as he weighed Smith’s words. He looked as surprised as Maggie, and the wind had already gone out of his sails. Then his brow dropped and before she knew it, he had swung a looping right hook into Smith’s jaw. The colonel staggered backwards with the force of the blow.

  “You think n’apology is good nuff?” Farries said. “I’ll take it out of your ass, you piece of shit!”

  Maggie saw Price position himself behind Farries, obviously ready to grab him, but Smith held up a hand as he recovered his footing and rubbed his jaw. A few of the other patrons were now looking in their direction with keen interest.

  “Don’t, please,” Smith said to Price. “He’s right. I deserve it.”

  Price held off as Farries stood and swayed. His face worked as if he was talking to himself.

  “Whassis?” Farries said. “You playin with me? I’ll fucking kill you.”

  Smith put a hand on Farries’ shoulder. “No playing. I’m telling you that I understand, and I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. You were wronged.”

  Farries looked at the floor. “Gave this man’s army m’life, n what’d I get for it? Fuck all.”

  Smith glanced over at Maggie and nodded as he turned Farries to face away from the table. “Why don’t we go talk about it somewhere?” he said. “There’s an office upstairs in the back. We can grab a bottle on our way.”

  “Bottle.” Farries mumbled. “Yeah.”

  Smith led him toward the back, sparing a moment to raise a hand to Maggie and Price.

  “Thanks for your help, officers,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  As they watched the two head through the door that led to the back of Fast Lanez, Price turned to Maggie.

  “What the fuck kind of Twilight Zone episode have we walked into?” he breathed.

  Before she could formulate an answer, Maggie heard a familiar voice holler loud enough to make her jump.

  “It’s the cops! Let’s get outta here!”

  The cackle that followed confirmed that it was, indeed, Raylene Van Dyke, leading a group of people toward their table, all of them laughing along with her.

  Raylene draped a beefy arm across Maggie’s shoulders. “Sorry, honey, I couldn’t resist.” Her expression turned grave as she looked at Price. “How you doing, Smiley?”

  That prompted more laughter from the group, and even a chuckle from Price himself. Maggie could tell the whole gang were well on their way to being shitfaced. She recognized the young Indian man—he was one of the group that had come in with Hutch—but the others were strangers to her.

  Until she laid eyes on the man behind Raylene, and her world tilted upside down.

  Maggie’s heart slammed against her chest as if trying to escape her body. The hair was longer and the handlebar moustache was now part of a full beard, but the watery blue eyes were as unmistakeable now as they were when she first met him. His first name was Ross; he’d never offered his last name, and she’d never asked.

  She tilted her Coors back and chugged in an effort to keep the panic from her face. A microscopic percentage of the population had survived Eko; the odds against her meeting someone she had met years ago, in a different city of almost three million people, were astronomical. It was like finding a needle in a haystack in the middle of a hurricane. Blindfolded.

  And yet here was that needle, and his name was Ross.

  She turned toward Price as the group surrounded their table. Ross hadn’t noticed her yet, but that wouldn’t last long. She prayed silently that he was still as dull-witted as he’d been when they knew each other, and that his current state of intoxication was enough to keep him from recognizing her.

  “Something wrong?” Price asked in a voice almost low enough to be drowned out by the chatter of their new companions.

  Maggie debated for a fraction of a second before deciding to tell him. He already knew that she wasn’t who she said she was; until thirty seconds ago, she’d believed he was the only other person in the world who did.

  “The guy with the long hair,” she whispered back.

  Price’s eyes narrowed. “Looks like a biker.”

  “He is. Or was, anyway, before the collapse.”

  “Wait a minute, you know him? Holy shit, what are the odds of that?”

  “God’s laughing at me. If that guy recognizes me, he’ll know I’m not—you know, sheriff material.”

  Price frowned for a moment, then nodded. “Ah. Gotcha. Just tell him he’s mistaken.”

  “What if he doesn’t believe me?”

  He glanced over her shoulder at the newcomer and grinned. “Don’t worry; anything happens, I’ll handle it.”

  She took a deep breath. Price was a resourceful man, but he was also unpredictable. She couldn’t imagine what he considered “handling things.”

  “Introductions!” Raylene hooted. “We’re all friends here, or we’re gonna be soon. Everybody, this is Maggie Stubbs and Brian Price, the new sheriffs here in Colorado Springs. So mind your Ps and Qs.” She dropped a hand on the Indian man’s shoulder. “You two know Jai here. He’s in the closet.”

  The kid’s eyes widened as he shook their hands, which sparked more laughter. “I’m straight,” he protested.

  “Don’t listen to Raylene,” said Price. “She has problems with reality. She thinks she was elected to the president’s council, too. We just humor her.”

  That set the big woman off so hard Maggie feared she might start to choke. As Raylene belly laughed, Maggie surreptitiously scanned for signs of recognition from Ross, but he seemed more concerned about not falling over. She held out hope that he was, indeed, as thick as she remembered.

  The two women with them, both in their thirties and attractive, were Bev and Tina, and they lived downtown.

  “And the piss-tank over here is Ross,” Raylene said finally, cocking a thumb in his direction. “He’s one of the stragglers from Denver that showed up before the snow flew.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He doesn’t remember a lot about how he made it here to the Springs, and I’m not surprised. Pretty sure he hasn’t been sober since before the Eko virus hit.”

  That was the Ross that Maggie remembered, all right, although his high of choice back in the day had been psilocybin.

  Ross raised a grimy hand in greeting. Maggie and Price nodded. This is it, she thought, fighting against the rising adrenaline and steeling herself for whatever came next.

  As fate would have it, John Smith chose that moment to rejoin them, now sporting a fresh black eye and a cut across the bridge of his nose.

  “Jesus, what happened?” Maggie blurted.

  Smith shrugged. “Farries and I had a face-to-fist conversation and then he left. I should have known he wasn’t in the mood to talk.”

  “We warned him to keep the peace,” Price said. “I can bring him in if you want.”

  He shook his head. �
�It’s your call, but I’m pretty sure that would result in someone getting hurt. Best to leave him be.”

  “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  Maggie’s heart gave a painful thud as she realized Ross was staring at her. She screwed up her courage and turned toward him, doing her best to keep her expression blank.

  “I doubt it,” she said. Her voice was calmer than she could have hoped for. “That’d be a pretty amazing coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “You look familiar.” His bleary eyes narrowed. “You sure we didn’t party back in Denver?”

  “She was a cop, numbnuts.” Price leaned forward, elbows on the table. “They’re not known for partying with bikers.”

  Ross frowned, obviously deep in thought, or at least as deep as he was capable of going.

  “Huh. You sure? You look just like this chick that useta sell kick-ass mushrooms. Fuck, I could go for some a them right now.”

  Raylene shoved in next to him. “Yeah, well, those days are gone, my friend,” she said loudly. “All we have left is the demon drink. Can’t even scare up any weed anymore; the shops were cleared out long before Christmas.”

  Maggie quickly decided to capitalize on the distraction and grabbed Raylene by the arm.

  “You two should really meet,” she said, pulling him to her side of the table. “Raylene Van Dyke, this is Col. Smith.”

  “John is fine,” said Smith, extending his hand.

  Raylene took it with her typical wide smile. “Hello, John Is Fine! Nice to finally put a face to the name.”

  As the two started talking, Maggie grabbed Price’s elbow and pulled him away from the table.

  “Let’s get out of here before Ross starts thinking about magic mushrooms again.”

  “To hell with that,” said Price. “This party is just getting started. I haven’t had fun in a ridiculously long time.”

  She goggled at him. “Seriously?”

  “Why not? Let’s take advantage of the fact that we’re not on the army clock anymore.”

  “We’re the cops, Brian. What happens if someone needs us?”

  “Fine, stay sober. I’ll drink.”

  She sighed. “I guarantee Ross isn’t going to let this go. In his state, he’s going to be a dog with a bone, I know it. The longer I stay, the better the chance is that he’ll trip me up somehow.”

  Price glanced over at Ross, who was swaying next to Raylene and Smith, obviously trying to follow their conversation.

  “Wait here,” he said and ambled over to Ross’s side. “Gotta drain the snake. How about you, buddy?”

  Ross grinned. “See a man about a horse. Yeah, man, me too.”

  Price put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the men’s room in back. For two tense minutes, Maggie sat at the table, trying not to look as nervous as she felt, until Raylene appeared beside her.

  “Where’s Smiley?” she slurred.

  “Went to the men’s room. With, uh, with Ross.”

  Raylene rolled her eyes. “That guy. I didn’t invite him here, just so’s you know. He always sort of tags along whenever people are out drinking. Kind of like a stray dog.”

  Maggie saw Price emerge from the back by himself and head toward them.

  “Where’s your new buddy?” Raylene asked.

  “Passed out,” he said, producing four new cans of Coors. He popped one and drained half at a draught.

  Raylene snorted a laugh. “Typical.” She pointed at the beer. “That mean you’re drinking for real tonight?”

  “You know it,” he said through a wide grin.

  “How bout you, Mags?”

  Maggie looked at her blankly, then at Price. His grin widened even more and he dropped a wink.

  “Fuck it,” she sighed, cracking a Coors for herself. “Let’s get this night over with.”

  By 2 a.m., the crowd had thinned to just a handful of downtown people, all of whom seemed to be arguing. Smith couldn’t imagine what anyone had left to argue about these days. He took a sip from his glass. It was water; he’d been careful to get his own drinks from the back all night so that no one would suspect he wasn’t drinking alcohol.

  It had been a productive night, all things considered. His encounter with Farries had gone better than he’d hoped. Now he just needed to wait for the biker fellow to come to and he could go back to the resort and get some shut-eye.

  Finally, around 2:30, the man known as Ross staggered into the lounge from the back room. Smith stood as he caught sight of him and beckoned him over to his table.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Dunno what happened,” said Ross. “I was takin’ a piss, n’ then I wake up on the floor with a knot on the back of my head.”

  Interesting. “You’re all right now, though?”

  “Got a headache.” He pulled a pint of gin from his pocket. “It’ll go away, though.”

  Smith sized him up as he took a swig from the bottle.

  “So you like the magic carpet ride, huh?” he asked casually.

  “Whuzzat?”

  “Mushrooms. You said you were a fan earlier.”

  Ross brightened. “Oh, yeah. Fuck, those were the days. And that chick had the best, man. I mean the best. I swear to God I talked to Jimi Hendrix one time. But she said she wasn’t the one who sold em.”

  Smith leaned in closer. “Or maybe she’s just holding out.”

  Ross’s eyes widened. “Y’think?”

  “Anything’s possible. Why don’t you tell me more about the woman you used to know?”

  The next twenty minutes were very interesting indeed.

  11

  The bench seat in the bank-cum-restaurant-cum-police station was wide enough for Maggie to lie on her back. On the other bench, that branched away from hers at a right angle, Price’s broader shoulders forced him to lie on his side. Their heads were just inches apart, propped on rolled-up goose down jackets serving as makeshift pillows. Maggie had cranked up the ceramic space heater so that they could sleep tolerably well without covers.

  “I was totally fine to drive us back to the resort,” Price griped for the third time.

  “We polished off sixteen tallboys between us tonight. I counted the empties.”

  “Pft. How much traffic is there to worry about?”

  She frowned. “You sound like Farries the day he drove into the Broadmoor. We’re cops now; we have to set an example. And not driving drunk is a great example.”

  They lay there in silence for a moment, listening to each other’s breathing in the stillness. The collapse had done wonders for noise and light pollution: nights were lit only by the moon now, and for the most part were quiet as the grave.

  Maggie was on the edge of drifting off when Price spoke: “So you’re going to make me ask?”

  She jolted back to awareness. “What?”

  “I’m dying to know who the hell Ross is and how you know him.”

  And there it was. She knew she’d have to tell him more about her past eventually, and she should have expected that tonight would bring it to a head. Price hadn’t pushed her since he first figured out that she wasn’t who she said she was, back in November when they’d taken on a gang of people strung out on pure cocaine. Strangely, now that he’d finally broached the subject, she wasn’t as reluctant to tell him as she’d expected.

  “First off, you tell me,” she said. “How’d you knock him out?”

  She could practically hear him grinning in the darkness. “Trade secret.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Hey, at least I’m not a drug dealer.”

  “Yeah, I was a real Pablo Escobar. Must have been why the judge in Denver gave me eighteen months. In a state that legalized marijuana.”

  And there it was, finally: for the first time since the collapse, someone besides her knew that she had been in prison.

  Price whistled softly. “You’re serious? You did time?”

  “A year of my sentence, in La Vista, down in Pueblo. Medium security.�
��

  “Huh.” He was silent for a few moments, then said: “Don’t go blaming the judge, Mags. You didn’t end up in medium for selling mushrooms; you must’ve had a record before that.”

  Jesus, the man is sharp, she thought through the blanket of the beer buzz.

  “You’re right,” she sighed. “I was always the victim—father ran out when I was a baby, mother wasn’t strict enough, we were poor, yadda yadda. Every excuse in the book. So I started running with people who accepted me for who I was… or so I thought, anyway. Most of them turned out to be as stupid as Ross, and the few who had brains in their heads used them for all the wrong reasons.”

  “You were one of those few.”

  “Uh-huh. And when my brain couldn’t solve a problem, I’d use my fists and my boots. When you’re surrounded by people who tell you that’s the right way to live… it’s hard to get out. Does that make sense?”

  She heard him shuffle on the bench; he must have turned onto his other side, because when he spoke again, his voice was closer to her ear.

  “I’m a marine—I’ve had people telling me how to live since I was eighteen. The only difference is that I had the right people, you had the wrong ones. But I still don’t get how you ended up as Pueblo County sheriff.”

  Maggie let out a chuckle. Ever since she’d first met Jax and the rest of his team at Palmer High School soon after the collapse, she’d feared the moment when these people—these amazing people, trained to deal with anything the world threw at them—would learn the route that led to her wearing a sheriff’s uniform that day, and see how ridiculous it was.

  “It was all my uncle’s fault,” she said. “Kenny Clayton was my father’s brother, and the real sheriff of El Paso County. A few weeks before the collapse, he convinced the parole board to let me out six months early by telling them he’d put me on the straight and narrow path. I’d only met him a few times in my life before that point; Mom passed away years ago, and I think he felt guilty about his black sheep brother abandoning his responsibilities. I didn’t really care—I just knew I was on the outside and I wanted to stay there, and Kenny offered to let me stay with him.”