Behind the Ruins (Stories of the Fall) (15 page)

“We
may not speak of it, but I think we all know in our hearts that we are
Americans. We’ve continued the tradition of a great nation shattered by
disaster, and survived and prospered as best we could.” He glanced around the
room, smiled inclusively, and began pacing thoughtfully along the front edge of
the raised platform.

“You’ve
all heard the rumors - the news, I should say - that the United States is once
more striving to make the united in its name a reality. That its reborn
military arm, the Continental Defense Force, is making its way west, bringing
with it the prospect of a brighter future. A future without the fear of outlaws
and cartel thugs raiding our towns, murdering our families and stealing the
very food we need to survive.”

He
stopped, facing the diners, and raised his hands, palms upward.

“What
should we do? How shall we greet the return of the union? Some ask that in
fear, some in curiosity, and it is a good question; a question that needs to be
asked.” That part, he smiled inwardly, was certainly true, unlike what was to
follow.

“I
have taken the liberty of making some initial contact with representatives of
the CDF.” There were murmurs at that, but it sounded like surprise rather than
disbelief, and Creedy smiled again.

“Their
aims are to bring law and order, to allow for the peaceful rebuilding of our
once-great nation, and all they require of us is to do what we have done; keep
the peace, make the world safer for our children, and labor for our
betterment.”

Some
of the less astute, Bear for one, looked confused. They’d spent the past decade
killing and looting in the guise of protection. Creedy depended on their trust
in him, and their hungry egos, to carry them past the questions.

“I
think we can all agree to these aims. So. What shall we do? I have a plan I
hope you will consider.” He paused for effect.

“I
believe we should join with the CDF, uniting our existing garrisons with their
own system, allowing for a smooth transition of control with no loss of safety
or possessions to any of us here.”

There
was some scattered applause at that, even though half the audience had
understood only half of what was said. The townies looked dazed and hopeful.
Bear and others like him had a sort of thick animal cunning on their faces as
they tried to work out how to stay in charge of their little kingdoms. Hollis
and three or four of the really important leaders were carefully deadpan, but
Creedy could sense their amusement.

“That
being the case, as this year goes forward, you, the civilian leaders of our communities,
will work closely with your Castle garrison commanders to make ready to greet
the return of the nation. This is a time you will remember and share with your
children and grandchildren. This is the time that the United States will again
stretch from sea to shining sea.”

The
townies were still applauding as Creedy reminded them that a dance was to
follow dinner. He bowed once and returned to his seat.

Sam
stared at him. He grinned.

“What?
Do you have a question?”

She
shook her head. Then nodded.

“I
did, but not about that. Did you want wine this evening?” Sam had learned
quickly that Creedy’s dark, sullen periods earned her bruises like the one
fading from her face. His brighter moments turned his mind to sex and drink.

“I
think that sounds wonderful.” Creedy turned his attention to his meal.

“I’ll
get a bottle, and some dessert if you like. I think they have peaches,” Sam
said, rising. Creedy waved a hand dismissively as he chewed, his eyes studying
the reactions playing out around the room.

If
he’d watched Sam, he might have seen something interesting stir in her gaze as
she turned and went to the kitchens, but he didn’t.

The
kitchen staffers were also eating, the fires banked and the desserts spooned
into bowls. Marcia, the older of the two who had joined the Castle staff when
Sam had, was nearest the door and put her plate down as Sam entered.

“Yes,
Miss Sam, what can I do for you?”

“Marcia,
how are you? I haven’t seen you in months I think.” She briefly clasped the
older woman’s hands and smiled. “I need a bottle of good red wine and two
desserts.”

“Certainly,
ma’am,” Marcia said. She released Sam’s hands, and transferred the tightly
folded note she had been palmed to her apron pocket. “I’ll have the desserts
brought out and the wine delivered to Mr. Creedy’s quarters.”

“Thank
you,” Sam said.

Creedy
left Sam waiting for him in his quarters as the wine chilled. He took Gregor
aside and retreated to a small, windowless interior room. It might have been
intended as a storage room, but it also made a secure meeting area safe from
other ears. It held a round wooden table and five mismatched chairs and a pair
of kerosene lanterns.

 Hollis
arrived first, followed by northern commander Dean Shafton and Leslie Straud,
who watched over the Snoqualmie Pass tolls and Columbia River traffic,
respectively. Once they were seated, Gregor closed the door and waited outside.

“That
was interesting,” Hollis said. She crossed her arms and leaned back. “You could
smell the hope, the greed and the fear in there.”

“Good,”
Creedy said. “Let them all focus on their little local piece of the pie. The
CDF is going to come in and hang them all before taking it away. I just want
them busy while we get ready to go. I don’t want the idiots following us.”

Straud
was immensely fat and sweating as he always did. “I’ve converted a lot of the
takings to silver and gold, so we’ll be able to move whenever we need to. The
plan still what it was?”

“Yes,”
Creedy said. “By the end of June they’ll be haying, they’ll have the early
fruit crops in, and the route overland to Vancouver and into Alberta should be
busy.”

Shafton
pursed his lips. “We just settle in, control the bridge across the lake and
start up all over again out of sight of the CDF.”

“Yes.
It’s not brain surgery, and it’ll be easy. They’re scattered up there, and
there’s no sign of opposing groups. Not like down south.”

Hollis
narrowed her eyes. “And it’ll be the four of us and twenty-five men each?”

“Don’t
fixate on the numbers,” Creedy said, meeting Hollis’s stare. “Take men you can
trust, if that’s only sixteen, fine, bring sixteen. It’s not going to be a war,
just an occupation.”

Straud
drummed his fingers on the table. “There’s no way we can turn the Greens back,
then? Or do a deal?”

Creedy
raised an eyebrow. “I know you’re fat, Leslie, and hate to travel, but don’t
let your bone idleness get in the way of your brain,” he said. “I haven’t been
out talking with them, but I do have information coming in from Montana. They
are armed, numerous, and have some vehicles. They are repairing the tracks and
trains are running. They may even have telegraphs or some kind of radio. This
is the actual thing; that’s the army over there. You don’t fight an army, you
move or you join. And they’re not accepting applications from outlaws; they’re
executing us. So be  ready; that’s all I should need to say.”

Straud
nodded morosely. “I know. Sorry I asked.”

“No
camp followers, none of that crap?” Shafton asked.

“None,”
Creedy said. He brightened. “Speaking of which, I should go play with Sam
before I have to get rid of her. You want to come along, Hollis? You can bring
your husband, too.”

Hollis
laughed without humor. “You never stop trying. I’ll take a pass.”

“Your
loss.”

Mal
stayed on point for the group, a quarter-mile ahead of the rest as they moved
south. The weather improved over the next few days, with the incessant spring
showers and brief wet snow flurries giving way to bright sun. Days were
comfortably cool for travel, though nights remained cold.

The
landscape changed in stages. The big fir trees on northern slopes gradually
gave way to dryhill ponderosa pine. Sagebrush appeared in blue-grey domes in
the rocky grassland areas. South of the crater they left the edge of Lake
Okanagan, the single body breaking into ponds and lakelets, some joined by
weedy canals, some by streams, some sitting aloof from the others. Viridian
cattails were sprouting among the dun stalks of last year’s reeds. Ducks and
geese grumbled and called from hidden sloughs beside their trail, flaring into
flight if they strayed too close.

The
highlands here were split by cliffs and steep valleys, and the riders had to
follow the old highway. The road was still paved for long stretches. In a few
spots the freeze and thaw of winters past had broken the pavement into
crumbling cobbles, or had erased it entirely under grass-grown landslides
grooved by the passage of wagons.

A
few traders passed them, headed north. Cautious greetings were exchanged and
one peddler followed them trying to sell his skills as a tinker until Grey
warned him off. They skirted what inhabited buildings they could. It wasn’t
difficult, as most houses still in use were those set back from the road. South
of the ruins where Grey had watched the raiders the previous year the
countryside changed again. The valley widened out, flanked by gigantic cliffs
of granite and basalt, and the bottomland ahead was a startling light pink. In
another half-hour they entered a land of orchards, both tended and feral, with
the trees in full bloom. They camped in the perfume beneath the trees that
night.

As
the band approached the old border they began to seek out conversation. People
were cautious, but those with goods to sell or trade were willing to talk and
often dealt with traders from the south as well as those heading north into the
Okanagan. Grey and his band were eyed cautiously, but they found no trouble in
trading for dried fruit and a pound of dried tea leaves. Information was harder
to come by. Georgia had the best luck. She spoke with a farmwife while the
others bargained with her husband for grain for the horses. As they rode on she
moved up beside Grey.

“That
woman remembered seeing the others last summer,” Georgia said.

Grey
made an interrogative noise.

“She
guessed there were about twenty or thirty in all. Rumors are that they traded
where they had to, but preferred to take when no one was watching. A few
hunters and trappers went missing around that time, and one family’s farm was
burned out. No one saw who did it, but the locals think it was them.”

“So
we know they followed the valley up.”

“Yes.
Not a surprise, I know. Crossing the mountains is a lot of work. She did have
one interesting bit of info, though.” Georgia grimaced and shrugged. “It’s
hearsay, so take it as such, but she said one of the bunch had mentioned to
someone that they were looking forward to getting to Wenatchee on their way
back.”

Grey
nodded. “That’s twice we’ve heard of Wenatchee. We’ll make that our first
stop.”

That
evening they camped near a crescent-shaped lake a mile or two west of the road.
Ronald had brought line and hooks, and cut a twelve-foot birch sapling for a
rod and promised fish for dinner. The others set up camp in a hollow where a
fire would be harder to see, and by the time they finished, the young man had
returned with six firm silver trout. Sowter insisted he was the best qualified
cook, and took charge. No one was in a hurry to oust him as self-proclaimed
chef.

After
everyone had eaten and gotten comfortable, Grey had Georgia repeat what she had
told him.

“You
think we’ll find their men in Wenatchee?” Ronald asked.

“Probably
not,” Grey said. “Until recently, it sounds like Wenatchee has heard about them
but not seen them. We might find some, but even if we did it’s not going to be
the ones I want.”

“But
that’d be less to fight later, wouldn’t it?” Ronald crossed his legs and leaned
forward, eyes on Grey.

“We’re
not looking to fight them,” Grey said. “That’s an idea you need to get away
from.”

The
young man looked hurt, then confused.

“What
the hell are we doing, then?”

Mal
shifted noisily, getting comfortable in his bedroll, his feet nearly in the
fire.

“Well,
that’s the question, and one we should all know the answer to. I meant to run
through this anyway, but since you bring it up, this is as good a time as any,”
Grey said. He picked up a stick and poked at the fire, watching the sparks
swirl.

“Okay,
don’t think of this as a war, or even a fight,” he began. “This is about fear
and cost and killing. We’re going to do our best to find these men and then do
what we can to annoy them. Well, not them, but the men who give them orders.”

“How...?”
Ronald started, but Clay shushed him with a glare.

“We’re
going to cost them men and money,” Grey continued, still staring at the fire.
“We’ll burn or take what we can from them. We’ll do our best to kill the men
they value most, and we’ll try to sow as much distrust between them as we can.
Don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re going to ride into a town and have a
showdown. We’d die.” Grey’s voice was flat and quiet. “We’ll find out where
they live, and kill them while they sleep. We’ll find out who supports them
locally, and we’ll burn them out. We’ll locate their stock and run it off or
kill it.”