by Mel Odom
Simon didn’t speak because he didn’t have to. Small movements of his free hand brought up simple reports regarding the redoubt and the supplies they had. He ate with his other hand, absently spooning oatmeal into his mouth.
Oatmeal had grown old for breakfast. With supplies diminished and the hydroponics labs nowhere near ready to produce for so many people, breakfast had been limited. At least this morning’s menu included deer steaks. After they’d defeated the demons, they’d gone back to claim their kills.
“You’re not smiling.”
Simon looked up as Nathan Singh sat down across from him.
Nathan pointed his spoon at Simon’s helmet. “The reports must be bad.” He spoke quietly so that the other Templar in the room couldn’t hear.
A table in the corner held a group of small boys and girls that talked and whispered even under the stern gaze of their teachers. Demons loose in the world or not, Simon knew that kids acted like kids.
“The reports aren’t good,” Simon agreed. His oatmeal had grown cold while he’d been distracted, as had the meat, but he ate it anyway. It wasn’t food at this point; it was fuel.
“I tell you,” Nathan said sarcastically, “it’s all these new people. They’re eating us right out of house and home. They’re like a bloody plague of locusts.”
Although the situation was grim, Simon couldn’t help grinning. Nathan, no matter what else was going on, had to laugh and joke. In his own way, he was as bad as the children in the corner.
“They have a table for blokes like you,” Simon warned.
Nathan looked at the corner and shook his head. “You mean I’d have to sit at the little kid table? Not bloody likely. Cows would sooner jump over the moon, mate, and pigs would fly.”
“You’re up early.” Simon pushed his empty bowl away and sipped his tea. It too had grown cool.
“Not exactly.” Nathan folded a piece of deer steak and popped it into his mouth.
Simon cocked an eyebrow and looked at his friend.
“I haven’t hit the rack yet,” Nathan admitted.
“What kept you up?”
Nathan pulled a long, slow grin. “Natalie Cho.”
“Oh?” Simon hadn’t even seen that coming. Usually Nathan dated around and didn’t stay around any one woman too long. He’d been that way before the invasion. With the world hovering on the precipice, there was even less reason to get serious about someone now.
Nathan shrugged. “We…like each other a lot.”
“I see.”
Nathan waited. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That this isn’t exactly the best time to go and get romantically involved with someone.”
“Are you getting romantically involved?”
Nathan blinked at Simon as if he were incredibly dense. “I thought that was what I was just telling you, mate.”
“Oh.”
Irritation knitted Nathan’s brows. “Again with the ‘oh.’ I swear, your father named you appropriately enough. Simple Simon.”
“Well…” Simon thought about responses he could or should make. “I suppose you like her.”
“We like each other. And I told you that, too.”
“You did. I’m just having trouble keeping up with you.”
“What’s to keep up with?”
“You. Natalie Cho. The redoubt. The lack of food, and the probable lack of water after summer comes. Or before then if the snow becomes toxic. And the funerals.”
Mention of that took some of the wind from Nathan’s sails. “The funerals.” He took in a breath and let it out. Then he looked at Simon. “Maybe you should think about letting someone else handle those, mate.”
“No,” Simon said. “I took them out there. I got them killed—”
“The demons killed them. It wasn’t you.”
“If I’d—”
Nathan reached across the table and dropped a hand onto Simon’s shoulder. “Simon, if you could change any of this, you would. I’d help you. But if you start blaming yourself for everything that happens—casualties—”
“They weren’t just casualties,” Simon said bitterly. “They were friends.”
“I know that. Truly I do. But I also know—and they knew—that no guarantees exist in what we’re doing now. This—this is what we trained to do, mate. Give our lives fighting the demons and holding on to this world.” Nathan nodded and held Simon’s gaze. “They did their part. Respect them enough to acknowledge that they died trying to do what they promised their ancestors they’d do. And they died honorably. Let them rest honorably, and give them their full measure of respect. They weren’t fools you led into battle. They were warriors.”
“I know. I will.”
Nathan lifted his hand from Simon’s shoulder. “You will. In time.” He paused. “You want to know what’s really scary?”
Simon looked at his friend, aware that he should have known Nathan hadn’t yet said everything that was on his mind. He waited.
“Natalie’s pregnant,” Nathan said. “We just confirmed that last night. The lab gave her a blood test. She’s about six weeks along.”
Simon tried to find some happiness for his friend and smiled a little, but he couldn’t help thinking that in a few months—too few months—there would be another mouth to feed in the redoubt.
“Congratulations,” Simon said.
“Yeah.” Nathan was silent for a moment. “Natalie’s upset. She cried when the nurses told her.”
“Afraid it’ll look like you?” Simon tried to keep the humor going between them, but he felt the strain of the effort it took.
Still, Nathan grinned. “That was harsh, my friend.” But the humor quickly died in his dark eyes.
“Maybe too harsh,” Simon agreed.
“No.” Nathan shook his head. “You did fine. I’d have said it if you hadn’t. The thing is, Natalie had to stop and think about whether she wanted to have the baby.”
That stilled Simon. Templar didn’t have abortions. Life was sacred. God gave life as a gift. Even children who had handicaps remained in Templar families and were loved as gifts. Not many of those happened, with the way the Templar took care of themselves and maintained healthy lifestyles, but there were occasional birth defects. Children with missing or defective limbs were made whole inside the suits of armor.
Simon waited.
“She’s still not sure what she wants to do,” Nathan said. “Other than the fact that she’s dead certain she doesn’t want to have it now. She doesn’t want to leave a child behind if she gets killed in the field. She’s seen too much of that around here.”
Simon knew that was true. One of those that had died last night had left children.
“Cryonics are a possibility,” Simon pointed out. “You could freeze the embryo.”
Nathan grinned mirthlessly. “Not here, mate. Back in the Templar Underground, sure. But not here. We’re living out in the hinterlands.” He twirled his spoon. “She’s thinking of going back to the Templar Underground.”
Simon didn’t say anything. He kept his face as blank as he could. Under the circumstances, that was easy: he didn’t know what to think.
“They can remove the embryo there,” Nathan said. “Freeze it and save it for later. For when we kick the demons back to wherever it is they came from.”
“What if that doesn’t happen in this lifetime?” Simon asked.
“And here I thought you were going to come up with a plan soon.”
Simon shook his head. “Not me. I’m in survival mode, not world conquering.”
“I’m disappointed.”
“Me, too.”
Nathan rubbed his face. His whiskery cheeks crackled under his armored gloves. “Anyway, Natalie is trying to think about things. But if she should come to you and ask you about letting her return to the Templar Underground—”
“She can go,” Simon repl
ied. “Without question.”
“I told her that’s what you’d say, mate, but she’s nervous. I’m not used to seeing her like this.” Nathan hesitated. “There’s something else you should know. If she goes back, I’m going with her.”
Simon had known that was coming, but it was still hard hearing it.
“Just to take Natalie there and back again,” Nathan said. “She won’t want to stay. She just wants the baby—our child—taken care of.”
“I understand.”
“The problem is, given everything I’ve helped you do to Terrence Booth, he may not just let me walk back out of there.”
“When you go,” Simon said, “you’ll go under my protection. If he tries to keep you there, I’ll find a way to get you out.”
“I have your word on that?”
“You do.”
Nathan held out a hand.
Simon took it.
“Then make sure you don’t get yourself killed anytime soon,” Nathan said. “After you get us back, I’m going to need an uncle for my baby.”
FIFTEEN
A t best, if we stay at the present rate of consumption, we can expect to remain viable for another five weeks. Is that what you’re saying, Lord Cross?”
Simon glanced at the seven men and women gathered in the small room. They were the ones who had stepped forward on their own. Each of them had divided up the Templar warriors and children they chose to represent. With so many of them now at the redoubt, several of them fell along normal House lines.
All of them had come to him over the past four years. None of them had been with him the night they’d reoutfitted the train and hauled the first of the survivors out of London. Simon didn’t hesitate telling them the truth because they’d joined forces with him after everyone saw how hard it was going to be.
To a man and a woman, each of the Templar in that room had known Thomas Cross and held to the Templar beliefs that they were supposed to help the downtrodden. They hadn’t been able to turn their backs on the men and women and children trapped in demon-infested London, either.
“Five weeks of food,” Simon said. “But that’s only if we’re able to take deer. I don’t want to depopulate the forests of wild game—”
“Nor do we, Lord Cross,” Genevieve Bowker stated. She was in her early sixties, but still quite formidable in her armor.
“—and I don’t want to take the chance of having a hunting party ambushed by the demons again,” Simon finished.
“We take chances every time we go into the city for supplies and clothing for the people we’re sheltering here,” Victor Carlyle said dismissively. He was in his early fifties, lean and fit. “You can’t protect us or provide for us single-handedly, Lord Cross.”
“I understand that,” Simon replied.
“Then we’ll just have to take our chances.”
“The amount of food we’re dispensing to the people is dangerously low,” Marta Grimes said. She was in her late forties, fit and competent. “They’re barely getting enough now. If anything, we need to give them more food. We can’t starve the children. They need food to eat in order to grow strong and healthy. They are our future. Ignoring that is potentially lethal.”
Simon knew and understood that as well. But he didn’t say anything. None of the people in that room thought they were smarter than him. They just compared notes.
“Nor can we ignore the needs of the Templar,” Micah Cuddy interjected. “The armor can compensate for physical weakness, but a malnourished warrior eventually makes a mistake that costs him his life or the lives of others.” He was in his early thirties. “Keeping the Templar well fed is the first priority.”
“Over the welfare of the children?” Marta Grimes looked ready to do battle.
“The Templar are our defense. A well-fed child is only going to make a better morsel for the bloody demons if they get past our warriors.”
“You don’t know that the demons are going to get past the Templar.”
“We know that the demons are hunting us out here,” Solomon Tremaine stated quietly. “Those men and women that gave their lives last night prove that.”
“They haven’t found us yet,” Marta said.
“It’s only a matter of time,” Cuddy told her.
All of them, Simon knew, were older than he was. None among them had ever questioned their place in the world, or his ability to lead. If they had, he would have gladly stepped aside. Maybe, he admitted to himself. It would have been good to have the burden of responsibility lifted from his shoulders, but losing control of what was going on in the redoubt on a day-to-day basis would have been hard.
He owed the Templar something after abandoning them when he had six years ago. He’d also given promises to the people he’d taken in, and the warriors who arrived to stand at his banner.
Most of all, though, Simon knew he owed his father. After the way things had been between them, Simon couldn’t simply step aside. His father deserved more than that.
“When it comes to time,” Simon said in a clear, controlled voice, “we have five weeks. Food is the problem at the moment. Not water.”
“What if we give the people a proper amount of food?” Marta asked.
“Then we’re down to four weeks.”
Marta locked eyes with him. “Is it worth it, Lord Cross? To plan for five weeks of slowly starving to death if the demons don’t manage to find us? Or should we live and eat as people do when they’re not saddled by fear for four weeks? If we have only a week before this place is discovered, how would you want these people to live that week? Hopeful? Or hungry?”
The headache Simon had nursed grew steadily between his ears. He was much better at tactics. And he’d rather face multiple armed demons than have to answer the questions of the men and women in that room. Fighting for survival was easy, and there was no holding back. But trying to stretch finite supplies through time was an exercise in frustration.
“It would be easier,” Marta said quietly, “to make a decision on rationing if we knew a solution for the food shortage was at hand. I know what I’m asking you to consider is hard, Simon, but these are the times when you—when we”—she looked around the room—“need to trust in our faith. What we are doing is fair and just.”
“Tell that to those Templar that died last night,” Cuddy snarled. “Tell that to the men and women who’ll have to take on extra shifts to pick up the slack. Or the young trainees who won’t have the benefit of their full tutelage before they’re asked to shed their blood.”
“Enough,” Simon said.
All of them quieted at once and looked at him. He didn’t often take command of the meetings so directly. He felt uncomfortable pulling rank.
“We’re recanting the rationing,” Simon said. That hadn’t been his idea to begin with. It had been theirs—all except Marta.
“I don’t think—” Cuddy began.
Simon raised his voice and continued speaking. “We’re going to send out more hunting parties. We’ll work farther afield than where we’ve been hunting. We’ll also double up on the number of hunters.”
“That’s going to leave us possibly shorthanded here,” Carlyle said. He was ever the tactician himself. “Or the Templar worn to their bones.”
“We’ll supplement the hunting parties from the men and women here at the redoubt that know how to hunt or are willing to be trained.” Simon shook his head. “It’s something that I should have thought of before.”
“You don’t want unarmored civilians walking around out there,” Genevieve said.
“They’re better out hunting than here starving,” Simon replied.
“We swore that we’d protect these people,” Carlyle objected. “Telling them they have to risk their lives isn’t defending them.”
“We are protecting them,” Simon responded in a loud voice. “We fight the demons, and we take the greatest chances. That hasn’t changed. That’s not going to change.”
Silence echoed his wor
ds, and he knew they were shocked. They don’t have to supervise the funerals later, he thought bitterly.
“We can’t protect them by asking them to starve to death,” Marta said quietly. She stood taller. “I, for one, quite understand Lord Cross’s take on this matter. It isn’t particularly elegant or esthetically pleasing, but it is the right thing to do.”
“I won’t allow anyone to be forced into hunting,” Simon said. “We’ll present the opportunity at general assembly. Those who are willing to help will be trained and outfitted with armor as best as we can manage.” He paused. “The bottom line is that we need help saving these people. They can help us help them.”
In the end, there were no more arguments. Whether they liked his handling of the situation or not, they knew he was right.
“I want to be a knight, Lord Cross.”
Simon stared into the wide eyes of the six-year-old boy seated across from him. Talking to the young civilians was hardest for him. It wasn’t that they were brave. They were fearless in the invulnerability of their youth, and that only made their offers more heartbreaking.
Even worse, the Templar needed the young ones most of all. Adults and teenagers learned too slowly. Older Templar candidates couldn’t be trained to simply react without thinking. Demons could be incredibly fast, and the difference between surviving and being a casualty could be a nanosecond.
Simon knelt with one knee resting on the floor of the small office he’d claimed for his own. Danielle stood nearby and didn’t say a word. From the conversations they’d had over the past few months since they’d started bringing the civilian children into the classes with the Templar children, she was as torn by the decision as he was.
“You’re Chandler, aren’t you?” Simon asked. He didn’t even need a prompt from the suit’s AI to get the boy’s name. He made it a point to know all of those that had been at the redoubt for more than a few weeks.
Shock widened the boy’s blue eyes. “You know who I am?”
Simon nodded. He had his helmet at his side and went bareheaded inside the redoubt so that any who saw him would know who he was. Being visible helped keep him in touch with those within the redoubt on a day-to-day basis.
