DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (18 page)

I rubbed my chin again, sat on the edge of the nearest pier. The snow had stopped, and the clouds were peeling away, leaving a moon staring down from above. Good. The visibility would help our people spot trouble, make it harder for them to sneak up on us.

“Stig first,” I decided. “Take him out, then loot his weapons and ammo stash... he'll probably have things we can use, and we'll deny it to the enemy at the same time. Do you know where to find him?”

“No,” he said. “I know he ain't around here. But I know who might know.” He grimaced. “Even if I don't fuckin' like it.”

That expression, I'd seen that look before. “The Militia?” I guessed.

“Yep.”

“Mm. Don't want to waste a flare to call them now,” I considered. “Dire will ask the next time they return. If she's not, then you must ask, yes?”

“Fuuuuuuuck. Yeah, all right.”

“What's your trouble with them, anyway?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Ah. Maybe another time. Take too long to explain it. Talk to me if we still alive later.”

“Mm. All right. Dire did have one other idea, but it might not be feasible...”

We discussed the contingency plan. Martin wasn't happy with it, but he agreed to it.

I nodded, and as he turned to leave, I stuck out a hand. He looked at it, took it, and shook.

“Fuck was that for?” He asked.

“Thank you. This helps.”

He looked at our hands, looked at my face, looked to our hands again, and shook his head. “Thank my ass if we live through this shit. Somehow.”

I grinned, and he wandered back to his tent.

For my own part, I looked at the suit of armor, open and crouching behind the kitchen. It was a good start, it had mobility and defense, but it was lacking in offense. I'd had to shave the hydraulic-enhanced strength of the suit down to get it flight capable. It was strong enough to knock rogue police around like dummies, but against psychos on rage drugs? Couldn't say. And using that strength required getting close in the first place...

I looked at the remnants of the SUV I'd cannibalized for a few select parts, and thought about the parts remaining.

Yes. Yes, I could do something with this...

CHAPTER 11: Rallying the Hopeless, Meeting the Hopeful

“You have to understand... the Black Bloods had been a problem for years, and the local police were never any help. Both of these groups were unpopular, both oppressed the folks who lived in Brownstones. So when she rose up, and smacked them both down, people got to talking. We were already feeling the pain from the blackout, already freezing in our apartments and homes, already preyed upon by thugs with guns. And here she was, showed up a few days back on the beach and already her people had power, and food, and guns of their own. Is it any wonder that some of us saw a chance to get help? To fight back? If she'd been Satan herself, we wouldn't have cared. There were worse devils already out in the night. And maybe she could help us fight them.”

--Interview with Tamara Lane, survivor of the Y2K crisis, and the Longlane Mall Massacre.

I worked well into the night, occasionally taking a break to walk around the camp and check in with the people Sparky had tapped to watch the perimeter. They were glad for the company, and I got to meet a few more people over the course of the five or six hours I was awake. I spent the rest of my time in the laundry room, using the tools to carve up components from the SUV and integrate them as upgrades. I didn't have room for anything fancy, but magnetic acceleration weaponry is actually not hard to do with the right components and enough power.

From the exhaust pipe and the internal wires and circuits of the dashboard, I crafted a crude coilgun. It wouldn't get enough acceleration to pierce vehicular armor, but it would definitely go through people. Or if I scaled it back, I could use it to batter and knock foes around instead, giving me a non-lethal option. Once done, it took another hour to weld it into the right shoulder of my armor, with a swiveling mount that would allow me to pull it down and aim it. Which was necessary, because without a targeting system or a mechanism to move it independently, I'd have to aim and fire it by hand. I tied it into the armor's power core, did a basic non-firing test, and smiled when none of the circuits blew.

That done, I slept the sleep of the righteous, curled up and enjoying it for the few hours it lasted.

A commotion woke me. I pulled my pistol from its place under me and waited, listening. Light shown in from outside. Past dawn, then. No violence, no shouting, no panic I could tell. Wailing kids? Unfamiliar voices? I holstered the gun, stood and pulled my clothes back on, and wandered outside.

I was met by the sight of people. About a hundred of them, most better dressed than the rest of the camp. It was a mix of men, women, and children of all ages. Most of them were carrying things... luggage, rolled up tents, a few other sundries. One elderly matron even had her arms wrapped around a cat carrier, with an ill-tempered Siamese inside doing its best to disembowel anyone who strayed too near to the bars.

I blinked.

One of the camp regulars glanced over, saw me, and turned back to the old man he was talking to. He pointed my direction, and the guy turned, studied me, and said something to another stranger. Gestures, eyes, and whispers, as more and more people snapped their heads around to study me. For my own part, I crossed my arms and glared back. Some of them flinched, but the muttering grew and finally Joan pushed forward, looked around, and pointed. “You and you, with me and Sparky. The rest of you just try and get settled, okay? Plenty of space to go around.”

She hurried over to me, leading two of the strangers over.

One was short and brown-skinned, with neatly trimmed mustache and beard. He wore spectacles, and he had the most cheerful grin on his face of anyone in the crowd.

The other was an old man who had more wrinkles than face. He was tall but stoop-shouldered. He had an unfamiliar uniform on, that included a truly comfortable looking greatcoat. Eyebrows like knots of frayed rope covered watery but stern eyes, even if he seemed to be making an effort to smile.

“So you'd be the lady in charge of this camp,” he said as he approached, and his voice was rough. It bespoke damage to his throat at some point, perhaps from contact with hazardous chemicals.

Yes? No? Kind of? I had sort of taken charge of things, hadn't I? Mainly because we'd needed somebody to, after Roy fell.

Joan solved my dilemma. “Yeah, she is. This is Dire.”

“Doctor Dire,” I clarified. We were dealing with unknowns, and a title would provide a slight advantage under certain circumstances.

“Ah! You too?” The brown-skinned man spoke up. His voice was gentle and smooth. Deeper than I'd expected, given his small stature. He bowed. “I am Doctor Khalid Basaran, a general practitioner with a focus in osteopathy. You?”

“Well, she's a somewhat focused practitioner with specialties in physics, heavy engineering, and electronics.”

I stepped around the corner to get a clear line of sight, and pointed at my armor, parked behind the kitchen. “That's her current patient.” I let a slight smile creep onto my face, as they laughed. Joan laughed too, but Sparky was still looking a bit sour.

Then there was a hand thrusting toward my face, as the uniformed one stuck it out with no particular warning. I took it and shook it.

“I'm Phil Guzman. Used to be a Captain when the piers up here were in service. Call me Guzman.”

I nodded back. “Good morning to you both. Why are you here in the camp? Why are...” I gestured at the crowd, which was busy unpacking their luggage. Not everyone had tents, perhaps a third of the arrivals. Still, it made for a chaotic spray of colors across the beach. Children shrieked and laughed, running as they played. It was a cold morning, I couldn't blame them for keeping in motion.

“Well...” Guzman cleared his throat. I waited, but he didn't follow up on it, perhaps searching for the right words to say. Joan spared him the trouble.

“Things were worse than we thought, hun. The last few nights? The noises we were hearing from back over that way?” She gestured with a mitten-clad hand. “That was the Black Bloods going door to door, extorting tribute.”

“Most of the folks who could get out a here already did,” said Guzman. “But a lot of us don't have nowhere to go, or don't have money to leave. And there's barricades up north of here, only get through if you've got papers. Goddamn government.”

“If you can't pay, then the Bloods hurt you,” said Joan. “They've been taking kids, too. Even... babies... in some cases.” She swallowed, blinked back tears.

“Right. Okay,” I said. “Still doesn't answer Dire's original question. Why is everyone
here
?”

“We are here because you beat them,” said Khalid. “And because you're strong enough to protect the people here. So now we want to be the people here, too.”

I stared in disbelief. “The people here are homeless. They have nowhere to go.”

Guzman shrugged. “Power's off in all of these apartments, all of the houses. It's cold as hell anyway, we might as well be homeless already.” I looked at his gut, which probably hadn't missed a meal in years, and refrained from comment. He continued. “Besides, with us here the police probably won't give you as much grief. Ain't like we're freeloading!” He spat the word, settled his watery eyes on me. “We got pride. We brought everything we could with us.”

“It's true,” Joan nodded. “Kitchen's full of food now. Though with more people eating it, I don't know how fast it'll go. And the laundry's full of spare clothing. Minna's got people working overtime cleaning it.”

I looked at Sparky, who'd been silent so far. “What are your thoughts on the matter?” I asked.

He waved a hand in a sort of helpless flop. “Ain't like we can turn them away. Whole point of this place was anyone could show up and stay so long as they behaved. But the Black Bloods are gonna come after us at some point, and this is gonna get a whole lot more people dead.”

“Well,” I said, my mind spinning ahead and chewing over the problem, “it also means more people who can carry guns and fight if it comes down to it.”

“No they can't!” Sparky clenched a fist, and snaps of lightning flared up for a second, before his collar compensated. “No. They can't,” he repeated. “They're factory workers and blue collar guys and housewives and welfare moms and... shit, doctors, too. Just one, maybe, but I mean they're civilians.”

“Civilians who are being preyed upon the the Bloods. Same way we were.” I pointed out. “This isn't the fight Dire would have picked either, but it's the fight that found us.”

Sparky puffed his lips out in a long sigh, and swiveled around in his chair. He looked at the crowd of people out in the camp. He kept tapping his fist against the armrest, and after a second I saw what he was looking at. The screaming group of kids, running up and down the shore. “I just... damn. It reminds me of a time back in the War. We'd taken the beaches, and there was this little village south of Caen. We told the locals we'd protect'em...”

I put my hand on his shoulder, ignored the small shock. Some of Roy's words came back to me. “Was this the Black Forest stuff he mentioned? Devil dogs or something like that?”

Sparky looked at me in confusion. “Huh? Devil Dogs? Shit, that was the marines, and that was in a totally different war.”

None of this meant much to me, but I shrugged. “Dire must have misheard him.”

“Roy was probably getting' mixed up again. He's been doing that more these years.” Sparky shook his head. “Ain't getting any younger and it don't matter. I just seen enough dead kids for one lifetime.”

We were quiet for a minute. Khalid took off his spectacles, and rubbed his eyes. I squeezed Sparky's shoulder, then let it go. “Well, the solution's simple, then.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mmhm. We beat them before they can kill us.” I smiled. “Simple.”

Guzman chuckled. “That's the spirit I was hoping to see. And Sparky, that's your name, yeah? Sparky?”

“Yeah.”

“This old Navy salt's going to forgive you calling him a civilian. Once. Don't forget that some of these young men and women who showed up here today are veterans, too.”

The look on Sparky's face was precious. Guzman grinned, wrinkles sliding over his face, and tipped his cap to me. “I'll go talk around and see who we have that's willing to help you fight. Good to meet you, Doctor Dire. I think this just might work out.” And off he went. Sparky stared after him dumbfounded for a bit, then coughed out a bark of laughter. “Well, I better go supervise. Can't let a navy guy run shit, or they'll start thinkin' they're actual people.” He rolled after him, and Joan just shook her head, and walked back towards the kitchen.

Only Khalid remained. I turned back to find him studying me, his face inscrutable. “You're a doctor, a medical doctor?” I asked.

“Yes. Though I haven't practiced in quite some time.” He didn't look that old, but I supposed there were more reasons possible for such things, and I didn't care to pry at the minute.

“Good. We don't have many medically-trained personnel in the camp. Our sickbay is over there, along with the few first aid kits we have.” I pointed. “The kitchen's there, the laundry's there. Dire is putting you in charge of caring for the camp's wounded and sick. Do you object to such things?”

“Would it do any good if I did?” It could be taken impolitely, but his attitude suggested earnest curiosity.

“Yes, actually.” I nodded. “You can object, and decide not to be the resident medical expert. But if that happens, you'll probably have to watch people you care about die or get maimed or worse, and not do anything about it. Are you certain you want that?”

“No, of course not,” he said. “But I had to make sure.”

He bowed again, and I bowed back, a bit uncertain of how else to handle it. That seemed to be the correct thing to do, for he departed without another word.

And I was left standing outside, shivering. In the space of one night, everything had changed. My past was no longer a priority, with the present so troublesome and the future uncertain. I rearranged my mental checklist, glanced toward the general direction of the sun. I had things to do while I had daylight, and most of them either involved modifying the armor, testing the armor, or using the armor. First things first, a live-fire test of that coilgun—

A yell rose from the far end of camp, and I saw Martin run after someone big, a man with a ragged bandage around his jaw. The one who'd tried to threaten me days ago, Rick. Why was he doing that?

I started heading that way, just as Martin reached Rick and struggled with him, holding him back. Stopping him from going after the small, crouching figure cornered up against the wall of the laundry. A familiar small crouching figure, with greasy black hair.

The crowd murmured and stared, and a ring spread out around the three people in the dispute. I strode forward, feeling a dull, throbbing ache building in my skull. How fucking stupid was this guy?

As I pushed through the last of the crowd, I caught what Martin was shouting at Rick.

“—easy man, take it fucking easy it ain't worth the blood don't do it you know the rules take it easy—” He glanced up at me, saw the expression on my face. “Oh fuck a duck.”

I ignored Martin, as he let Rick go and held his hands up in a mute appeal. I ignored Rick as he stopped, and backed away as hastily from me as his feet could take him. I stopped in front of the crouched man, who peered at me from between his fingers as he shielded his face.