Beyond Armageddon: Book 02 - Empire (36 page)

           
Sharon
led Dante and Evan to a large building on the edge of The Commons area at the heart of New Winnabow. Robert Parsons occupied the second floor of a wood and brick structure a few doors from the council chambers. Big beautiful windows in the living room, dining room, and kitchen area offered views of the rooftops surrounding their home, the large arena, and the distant sky over a forested horizon.

           
Robert Parsons sat at the head of the table with his female friend of similar age (his wife died in the Apocalypse) to his left. Sharon and her son Tory, Councilwoman Elizabeth Doss, and Gunther Faust—an older, frail-looking councilman—also welcomed Dante and Evan to dinner.

           
On the table waited a feast, starting with warm loafs of bread complimented by creamy hand-churned butter, beans, corn, and fresh-caught catfish.

           
Light came from lamps and candles but some August sun still slipped in the windows.

           
Robert Parsons explained they usually did not start their meals with prayer or ‘grace,’ but he thought this to be a special occasion and asked Evan Godfrey to do the honors.

           
Evan cleared his throat, and then spoke as if he had been preparing for this moment for three weeks.

           
“Let us give thanks to the hands and hearts that toiled so that this table could be blessed with such a rich bounty. May our fellowship here this night be the start of a greater understanding between our people. May we find the peace in our own hearts that we all long to feel. Amen.”

           
Oh, very good, Evan,
Dante thought.
Non-denominational, not even a reference to God—and just a hint of sucking up.

           
“Here, here,” Gunther Faust spoke quickly in a German accent.

           
The platters of food as well as pitchers of juice and water circumnavigated the table. Plates clinked, glasses tinged and silverware jingled as arms reached and scooped.

           
Dante closed his eyes and drifted into the past. Those sounds conjured vivid memories of Sunday evening dinners at his grandfather’s house. Sunday evening dinners long before Shadows, Deadheads and Hivvans.

           
“So what have you learned about us, gentlemen?” Parsons asked.

           
Evan answered as he slipped a filet of fish to his plate. “I’ve learned that this town is full of ingenuity, hard work, and honesty.”

           
Dante said, “You should be proud, Mr. Parsons. New Winnabow would be a big deal even before Armageddon. I envy you.”

           
Sharon
said with a hint of sarcasm, “They don’t eat bread and fish in your Empire?”

           
“We eat bread and fish,” Evan responded. “But we seldom have the time to sit down with one another and truly break bread like this. The pace is…the pace is much faster.”

           
Dante added, “The war and all.”

           
Gunther Faust addressed the two men as he buttered a slice of bread. Dante saw the man’s hands tremble as he worked the knife.

           
“Tell me, Mr. Jones, of your Empire’s great victories.”

           
“I don’t want to hear anything about their Empire,”
Sharon
interrupted.

           
Robert Parsons encouraged, “Our visitors have learned much of us. It is fair to hear of their world. Of course, we could do without the more gruesome details.”

           
Dante realized this presented an opportunity. When Evan did not respond, he did.

“Leaving out the gruesome details would leave out the most important parts of what we’re doing, and why. The truth is it’s pretty damn gruesome out there.”

           
Evan shot a glance at Dante and broke in, “But I’m certain we can paint a picture without being too graphic.”

           
Dante understood the message:
I’m in charge down here. Don’t get in my way.

           
Dante steadied his temper and reminded himself that, yes, Trevor had placed Godfrey in charge. Instead of arguing, he grabbed a fork and attacked the lightly seasoned catfish.

           
Evan told the table, “It began in northeastern
Pennsylvania
. The battles…” his eyes drifted off as if recalling something from the distant past. Dante nearly applauded Evan’s act as the war-weary soldier. “…too many to count. With every victory, our boundaries grew wider and we found more people. A few had built colonies but nothing like this. Most were diseased or starving or both. They welcomed us with open arms and eagerly joined on.

           
“We found remnants of the
U.S.
military, opened factories to build bullets, discovered military stock piles…it was strange to find so many weapons unused. It was as if the
U.S.
military didn’t get a chance to fire many shots during it all.”

           
Sharon Parsons stood, placed her cloth napkin on her crowded plate, and left the room.

           
Evan’s act of fond remembrance evaporated and his eyes widened.

           
“I’m sorry, what did I—?”

           
“It is okay, Evan. It isn’t your fault,”
Sharon
’s father explained. “
Sharon
’s husband—Tory’s father—was a Marine killed during the fighting.”

           
“My Dad was a hero!” Tory exclaimed but his attention focused on a huge slice of fresh bread dripping with gooey butter.

           
“So you found many weapons, yes?” Gunther asked.

           
“Excuse me,” Godfrey said and stood. “I think I have an apology to make.”

           
“That is not necessary,” Parsons insisted.

           
“I think it is.”

           
Evan walked out of the room tracing
Sharon
‘s steps.

           
Dante continued the story, without any sense of drama. “We found lots of weapons. Then we found the means to build what we needed. Some of that came from old industry, some from alien technology we grabbed.”

           
“Air forces? Tanks?” Gunther craved the knowledge yet every answer seemed to fill the man with more fear. His eyes widened, his hand trembled more.

           
“Equipment for entire divisions parked on bases,” Dante told them. “Armories still locked and convoys of unused supplies. We only have a few planes because we don’t have many pilots, but we have a flight school going, every few weeks we can put another plane or two in the air. Fact is we found hangers full of fighter jets and fuel from the
Pennsylvania
and New Jersey National Guard.”

           
Elizabeth Doss said, “As if they were meant for you to find.”

           
“No,” Dante corrected. “They were there because the soldiers and pilots they were meant for never received the proper orders. The bureaucracy failed our troops while the aliens appeared everywhere out of thin air. There was little time to muster and organize. It wasn’t our troops who failed us, but a disorganized chain of command.”

           
Robert Parsons nodded. “So that is why you are an Empire? One Emperor controlling it all. No chains of command to be thrown into chaos. No confusion. One man in charge, one man making the decisions.”

           
“Yes.”

           
“Very efficient,” Gunther surmised. “Very brutal, no doubt.”

Dante answered, “It can be, yes.”

           
“And so you think your Emperor will send his troops here?”

           
“Gunther,” Parsons interrupted. “Let us save those questions for the entire council. I think Mr. Jones has given us a good idea of how his people have come to be here. Perhaps we should return to a pleasant meal and talk of other things for now.”

           
Gunther Faust appeared ready to protest but the glares he received from both Parsons and Doss silenced him. The older man shoved beans in his mouth and chewed…

           
…Evan descended the stairs and walked outside in a fast trot. Sharon Parsons stood across the small street leaning against a brick wall biting at her thumbnail.

           
“With everything you have here, you’d think you’d have a decent pair of nail clippers for that,” Evan said lightly as he approached her.

“Why are you out here? Go back inside and tell them the tales of your great victories. Tell them how your soldiers march and kill everything in their path. How glorious it must be.”

           
“Not so much,” Evan answered. “I find it depressing.”

           
She stopped biting her thumb and looked at him.

           
“Your father told me that your husband was killed in the fighting. That he was a soldier.”

           
“He was a killer,” she spat. “A brute of a killer. It was him and people like him that brought this down on our heads.”

           
A bird flew overhead between buildings, the flap of its wings echoed along the empty passage.

“Your son says he was a hero.”

           
“A child’s illusions,” she answered. “What should I tell him? The truth?”

“The truth? What is that truth? He wasn’t a Marine?”

           
“Oh, he most certainly was a Marine. He was stationed north of here at
Camp
Lejune
. How charming he was with the ‘yes ma’ams’ to me and the ‘no Sirs’ to my father. Perfectly cut hair, a stiff upper lip, and he always opened the car door for me. A real gentleman.”

           
“And?”

           
“Why am I telling you this?” She wondered aloud and looked at him as if he might know the answer.

           
“Because I’m not like the others who have come here,” he assured her. “I’m not like the Generals and that tin-pot dictator. I’m different. That’s why they asked me to come down here. They figured maybe I could do what they failed to do.”

           
“And what is that?”

           
Evan said, “No, not yet. First, you have to tell me. What is the truth about your husband?”

           
She bit at her nail again.

           
“You don’t want to do that.”

           
“Oh, and why is that?”

           
“Because you have lovely hands, you don’t want to ruin them.”

           
She glanced at her fingers and palms. They were strong but far from lovely; rough with callus’ and hangnails, feint traces of old cuts and even a small, fresh bruise on the back of her thumb.

           
“Lovely?” She found the idea that her hands were ‘lovely’ hysterically funny.

           
Sharon Parsons laughed as she said, “My hands are scarred and battered. They haven’t been lovely in a good many years.”

           
Evan told her, “They are lovely because they wear the marks of a person who works with her hands in the Earth. They are lovely because you have used them to build something amazing. They are lovely because I can see how strong they are.”

“You have quite a way with words, Mr. Godfrey.”

           
“The name is Evan, and you’re avoiding the subject. Tell me the truth about your husband.”

           
She nodded as if saying, ‘okay, okay,’ then she glanced skyward, perhaps hoping to find the right words there.

           
“He was certainly a gentleman. How handsome he was on our wedding day in his perfectly pressed uniform marching me in his arm down the aisle. Little did I know that the perfectly pressed uniform and the ‘yes ma’ams’ and the chivalry hid much. We weren’t married a year before he hit me for the first time.”

           
“Oh.”

           
“Yes, Evan,
‘oh.’
That wasn’t quite my response, of course. By the time I realized that his backhands were becoming a regular occurrence, Tory was born. Then I hoped our child would change things. It did, for a week or two.”

           
“I’m sorry,” Evan said honestly.

           
“And I realized then that there is no such thing as a weekend warrior. There are two kinds of people in the world, Mr. Godfrey. Those who live by the sword and those who don’t. A man cannot spend his day training to kill and then come home and be a peaceful husband, a peaceful father. It is not possible.”