“Sir,” she began curtly. “Thank you for trying to educate me on how things used to be. I suggest you begin studying how they are going to be.” She put her hands on her hips, exposing her handgun. Linus gave a small sigh. He’d expected something like this, had hoped for something better but...
Her point, however, was missed by the religious leader, who began an anxious Spanglish discourse about the history of Tenochtitlan and how it had survived for the last hundred years. Sensing that things weren’t going well, the other leaders started chiming in as well. Soon they were all talking loudly, hands gesturing emphatically. A crowd formed around them, as well, as word spread that the queen had arrived. Sara felt trapped. Abruptly interrupting the religious leaders, she took the most cordial leave she could and lit out in the direction of the temple. The religious leaders followed, still talking, struggling to keep up with her pace. Her guards looked at her questioningly. Should we get rid of these chumps?
The landmass of the city was about four miles across at its widest, and the temple was dead center. To get to the center, Sara and her entourage had to weave through a convoluted maze of roads and footpaths, all the while surrounded by the dense populace trying to catch a glimpse of her. After all was said and done, it took two hours to walk to the temple.
“That’s not a temple, that’s a church,” she said, pointing at the destination. As a student of history, she was offended. Linus had already made the same observation to the religious leaders, with poor results.
It was a gigantic old baroque cathedral at one side of a large open square. Two massive bell towers jutted into the sky. The ancient stone facade was stained a dark, oily gray and birds had long since asserted their dominance in the alcoves. Sara had seen pictures of buildings like this in her books, but in person the sheer size and oldness of it was almost too much to take in. In a different state of mind she would have rejoiced over its grandeur and her possession of it. All she could think of now was getting inside it and locking herself in.
Hundreds of people milled about in the square, and once she was spotted they all pressed toward her, eager to get a view of this queen. Sara’s men formed a buffer around her and pushed forward to the main temple entrance. Another small group of religious leaders stood in front of the portal, flanked by solemn stone statues. The leaders following her were pushing through the crowd, shouting their protests at her. The crowd began chanting something she didn’t understand. The entrance to the temple, church, whatever, was only a hundred feet away. Sara wanted to bolt for the door but forced herself to walk.
The religious leaders standing at the portal blocked it in the hopes of gaining an audience with her. They all started talking at the same time in Spanish. Their blockade allowed the shouting religious leaders behind to catch up. Sara was cornered. The crowd was pushing in closer. The men behind her were holding up a tattered scroll and loudly reading from it. Sara suddenly felt dizzy and hot. Her whole body was sweating and shaking slightly.
She moved slowly, trying to stay her focus as her vision became hazy. Her pistol was out of its holster and pointing at the religious leaders. She wasn’t sure how it got there. The gun flashed and she felt thud after dull thud in her palm as one by one the religious leaders crumpled to the ground.
The crowd drew back, stunned, horrified.
It had begun.
Chapter 27
Sal, Chambers, Ellie and Paco began the long journey back to Los Alamos. For their return trip, Vaca had loaned them a walker cart. It was probably the worst cart Vaca had, but they couldn’t complain. It was better than walking.
Sal was worried. Telling Vaca about Dav might have been a bad idea. He hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him. Sal shook it off. Right now, his main problem was getting back to Los Alamos, re-arming, and going out again to solicit the next group. No one said this was going to be easy.
“You people don’t get it,” Paco started again. He had been criticizing them steadily for the past week. He felt at liberty to point out every mistake they had made as well as every mistake they were going to make. When Chambers got to the point of threatening violence, he would let up, but the reprieves were never long. Paco was the only one with any ammunition, and he hadn’t shared.
“You people think we’re going to join you?” he said with scorn. “That’s stupid. Who would want to join you losers?” This never got old, apparently.
“You’ll see,” Sal said.
“No,” Paco sighed deeply. “I won’t.”
“Well, don’t ruin how it all ends for the rest of us,” Sal replied sarcastically.
“It ends bad, man.” Paco frowned and shook his head.
They were all tired and thirsty. They hadn’t seen water since the previous morning. Agreeing to stop and rest for the night, they set up a guard schedule. Chambers asked again, in vain, to use Paco’s weapon.
“Just wake me up, I’ll shoot whatever you need,” was his reply, as he rolled over on his wool blanket, turning his back to them.
Nothing needed shooting that night or any other night. The journey went fairly smoothly. They did encounter a small herd at one point but were able to avoid it by hiding in the sagebrush as it passed by. Thankfully, Paco had staked their cart into the ground, as none of the others had thought to.
They reached Los Alamos two weeks after leaving Vaca’s. Paco was quick to point out their speedy return was thanks to the cart.
Sal was tense as they pulled onto their base. He knew there was a real possibility his departure had cost him his authority. When the cat’s away…
He’d left a man named Goff, Chambers’ second in command, in charge. Goff, a bulbous inarticulate fellow, greeted them at the gate. That was a good sign. That meant there was no further rebellion in his absence.
Paco was provided quarters, and he made some prognostications that he would sleep well that night. “It is tiring being the only guy with a gun on a journey,” he said.
After the sun set, Sal hurriedly left the perimeter wall and went to his communication building. He sat down in front of the radio and took a deep, nervous breath. He always had to prepare himself for talking with her. She was crazy, just like he’d told Vaca. It was more complicated, though. Talking to her was like talking to multiple people all in one. One moment she would be timed and childlike, and then the next moment she would be strong and dictatorial. Her voice constantly shifted inflection, too, which made understanding her changing moods near impossible. Sal only caught glimpses into her meaning, much of the time, and it was a fool’s errand to try and identify the linkages between her topic shifts, enigmatic statements, and confusing parallels. Despite how ridiculous she may seem, though, there was no doubt she was powerful. She commanded a people who followed her orders without question, and Dav had no self-doubt in her core beliefs. This made her particularly dangerous.
He radioed for Dav but was told she was gone until the following night. Sal impatiently waited until the next night. He spent the time arguing with his oldest wife about whatever he could come up with, then at nightfall hurried out to the building again.
“This is Dav. Is this my friend Sal?” she asked quietly. Her voice had a slight tremor in it, as if were wavering.
“Yes, this is Sal. I have another target for you.”
“Good…” Her volume increased to normal, even a little loud. “Is it as big in numbers as the Pa-na-ma Canal?” she asked, enunciating clearly. “I desired that target. I don’t like the invisible targets. Did you know there are invisible targets? It didn’t used to be that way.”
Sal sidestepped the invisible topic. “Not as big, but it will accomplish your goals. It is a good target.”
“All targets must be considered worthy, but numbers are important, mind you. I prefer to live off numbers, like meat. Science is so unbiased, but man is so prejudiced in choosing targets without numbers. Can you tell me more about it? Is it calm there? Have we any friends there?”
Sal had absolutely no clue what Dav was
talking about, but he played along. “Yes. The numbers are big. But I need a favor in return.”
The other end went silent for a moment. “A favor? Those…those dedicated to our cause…THE cause…those with the logic to see the symbiotic circle…don’t need favors.” Her voice was severe.
“This favor will advance the cause, err...This action will work in the simm-eotic circle.”
“Then speak with the speed,” she ordered.
“You mentioned being in contact with the Western Government.”
“Yes, we’ve been unveiling facts to them. They are blind. So blind.” Dav paused to take a bite of something and kept the microphone on while chewing. Sal waited impatiently for a minute while she finished. Then there was a muffled sound, as Dav covered her microphone and said something to another person in the room. Sal couldn’t make out what she’d said. Then she began again. “They don’t see how they destroy, destroy and destroy. Facts/truth. Lies/mythology. They see no difference, Sal my child. They’ve left our original human ways—our ways before the zombies. I want them to SEE again. I want to heal them all.”
“Then please talk to them again. Tell them you will destroy them.”
“Me? Tell them it’s me? Tell who?”
“Yes, you. Tell the Western Government–”
“The Western Government!? Sal, the Western Government isn’t a physical entity. It is an idea. You cannot destroy an idea, you can only trick it. With tricksy little tricks.” Dav trailed off in a ramble regarding tricks. Sal only made out the words: politics, farmland, apes…
“Then trick it with a missile,” Sal said.
“Those weapons are but a representation of the phallus.”
“The problem is your targets don’t know where these missiles come from. They only hear stories. I think you’ve just created a superstition about these attacks,” Sal tried explaining.
“That is fine. I am fine with that. Fine. I said fine three times. Now four times. I am keeping track of that pesky word today. Because NOTHING IS FINE, Sal!” Dav yelled. Sal winced at the sound over his antique speaker. “Five times…Man and woman need to believe these attacks come from their gods—their ancient war and technology gods with their steely eyes. It has a grander effect on everybody’s teeny little post-zombie minds. Their thoughts will connect to their actions and will cause their hearts to change. They will stop breeding.”
“This time say you are doing it, they need to know who is attacking them,” Sal said.
“WHO IS THEM, SAL? Stop with the THEM! There is no them,” Dav yelled over the radio.
“I have a list of potential targets and places to send messengers. They are them.”
“Such small thinking. Are you eating? Are you fat?”
“To get them to stop breeding, they must know a stronger human faction is attacking them. That will convince them to stop.”
“Tell me whether you’re fat or I am done talking.”
“Umm…Yes, well, I am a little bigger than most,” Sal hesitated.
“Gooood. You are like the pre-zombie man. So fat, so plump. I am glad.” Dav sighed. “Your argument does not withstand reason. Here is the thing, Sal. Sal, lovely Sal. I wish I could hold your hands and explain. I want to hit targets, I love the targets. I cannot breed, so I do this. This thing we’re doing now, I do this. But I cannot stray from the logic we’ve calculated. So much time, effort and time has gone into this path. This path is the baby of many people. They have birthed this path. People must think the phallic symbols come from some sort of deity to keep them from breeding.”
“Damnit, Dav, humans don’t withstand logic. Your people are intelligent…But your understanding of the outside world is limited and based upon calculations and book knowledge. Humans are unpredictable, there are no equations to control them!” Sal’s tone got heated.
“There is only one book that matters, Sal, The Infinite Flea Race to Slavery, written by our founding father. It is perfect didactic reason.” She mumbled something to the other person in the room and laughed heartily. “Humans have always feared the imaginary gods—that is the reliable constant. That is what’ll change their behavior.”
“Not to Westerners. They are more afraid of fighting another front. They are busy fighting the south, if they think they’ll be attacked from the north they will cave. They will do what you tell them,” Sal insisted.
“Their fear will change their behavior?” Dav asked, sounding distracted.
“Yes. So send a missile and tell them you did it. Tell them you did it because they breed. It will work,” Sal said. There was a pause on the other end. Sal worried his logic was too simple. Hers usually required a roundabout way that ended up at the most illogical conclusions. Sal needed Dav to comply in order for his plan to work.
“I am thinking, Sal. That sounds so simple/easy/basic. I have Dave with me, my advisor. His name has an “E” at the end. When women say “E,” it gives them wrinkles. He has heard everything you’ve said. You’ve said it well. I would say you’ve said it well. We will do it and say it well. Not an invisible target. Even if you are wrong, they will still suffer for their h-h-harming of the human species. I thank you for the persistence you argue with. Your persistence must mean you care. Our methods are different, but we both care.”
“Fantastic,” Sal breathed, relieved. Talking with Dav was so exhausting.
“We will send messengers to the target to spread the warning that Dav will harm. We will prepare the missile. Stop breeding, all right? Please send a computer drive with imagery so we can create the target package. Dave will meet you at the normal location. What do you call this target we will discover together?”
“Hoover Dam,” Sal said.
“I look forward to it. Please remember to not procreate. I just…just…just have to say something. I feel like it’s awkward if I don’t. Can I see your fat belly someday?”
“Please remember to not procreate, yourself, Dav,” Sal responded.
“Indeed, better not look at your beautiful fat. I have no fat. WORKING HARD.”
“Yes, Dav.”
Chapter 28—April 101 A.Z.
The secularists of Tenochtitlan would have been encouraged by the removal of the religious leaders from the day-to-day ruling of the city, had the means not been their execution.
The others who believed the religious leaders to be sacred were simply aghast.
She hadn’t known it at the time, but she was coming down with a severe stomach sickness that would leave her feverish, with diarrhea and vomiting, for the next three days. This might have contributed to her rash act. It may also have been her unfamiliarity with large crowds in close proximity to her.
Once she was better and heard reports of the growing rebellion, Sara moved up her timeline. She ordered an formal census of the city, with particular attention on those who were old or invalid. Those who had the best idea of the city’s population were the religious leaders, whose bodies were now being dumped into the lake. Sara guessed the city had 100,000 people in it, but that was just a guess.
She wouldn’t start with arbitrary turnings. She would logically explain who was chosen. She would justify it. She would sell it to them. All she needed was to stave off all-out rebellion for a while longer. By the time these people knew she meant to turn as many as possible, even all of them, the Academy Cartel would have the walker army it needed.
Once all her men were on the island and the bridge was well underway she called Dalbec to her. “How many soldiers do we have?” she asked.
“We don’t know for sure, but about 10,000, plus or minus a few thousand.”
“A few thousand?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Have you considered what we’ll need?” she asked cryptically.
“Yes, Sara,” he said. He knew exactly what she meant. A systematic turning of Tenochtitlan’s citizens.
“Then please, begin,” she motioned.
“I’ll need full authority over the Storage Security Division
. I’ll need their zombie handlers.”
“It’s yours,” she said. She turned to walk away.
Dalbec nodded to the empty space between them and went off to organize the turning of the citizens of Tenochtitlan. He knew they would have to begin with the captured soldiers. They were another liability Sara had failed to immediately deal with.
At first, the people did not want to believe it. They began to hear accounts of dissidents rounded up in the night and taken to the outer skyscrapers. They brushed aside the stories as propaganda from the Brothers of Tlaxcala. Those who believed it would comfort themselves by saying, “It is natural for the conquered soldiers to become slaves.” As the program expanded, though, there was no denying what was happening. Then they feared it was too late to form alliances to fight it.
The Brothers of Tlaxcala hated the wealthy secularists, the wealthy secularists couldn’t find common ground with the supporters of the now dead religious leaders, and the moderates were too frightened to take action lest it put them at the top of the list to be turned. The population of Tenochtitlan was ample; they would simply hope that Queen Sara’s hunger would only take maybe a tenth of them. Those odds were satisfactory to people who figured open rebellion would fail and surely get them dragged off in the night.
Sara was aware of the turmoil, informed by her spies. She had also cultivated a network of neighborhood leaders and former officials, including them on an “advisory board.” In theory, this board was a conduit for communication to flow from the queen to her people and vice versa, greasing the cultural and political skids of the takeover for all involved. In reality, it was really just an avenue for her to collect information and disseminate propaganda. The mix of proximity to power, plus an assumption that their status conferred protection on their families, turned these leaders into powerful indigenous voices for restraint. “It is too soon to tell the outcome. Don’t do anything rash. A robust army makes for a safer city. No more food shortages.”
100 A.Z. (Book 2): Tenochtitlan Page 19
