A houseboat. Finegan Fine

wounded or dead. They call to each other and come back. The prisoners

are now making angry murmuring noises. Finegan points to the rifle in

the escapee’s hand.

You keep that, you folks might need it going up

against them.

Finegan is now pointing to the new housing for the wealthy. He pulls

some more dynamite out of his backpack, handing this to one of the men.

You know how to use this?

Another prisoner says,

I do. Worked in demolition.

Finegan continues his instructions.

They got any supplies, they should be yours,

for back pay, eh? Send them off without

anything. No food. No weapons. That’s better’n

they did to you. They may not have been in

charge of this ‘er camp, but they didn’t rescue

you either.

More and more prisoners are coming back to the group, realizing they

are freed and the war has been won. The escapee is crying again, tears

running down his face, a wordless, sobless weeping. Finegan says his

goodbye, to the escapee, and with a wave to the rest of the prison

population.

I gotta go talk to a boy now.

103

Bear Market

Finegan is continuing to peddle along the rocky shoreline, formerly a

mountainous area such as eastern Kentucky or West Virginia. They are

coming closer to the heavy population centers along the East Coast. The

houseboat is approaching a mountain top resort area. The main buildings

have partially collapsed roofs and a wall here and there collapsed

also. The yards and bushes have not been mowed or trimmed. Sheep can be

seen grazing on the former golf course. The houseboat approaches a

grassy slope of land with a winding road leading down into the water.

Finegan is preparing to moor the houseboat there, Joey getting ready to

sling a grappling hook.

Finegan and Joey approach the former resort. As usual Barney waits for

them on the houseboat, standing guard. The resport appears to be

deserted, but then the sound of muffled voices can be heard from the

basement area. The collapsed roof of the resort is in pieces on the

floor of the lobby, but the floor held so the basement is intact. The

lobby had a lofting ceiling, unstable during the quakes. Finegan and

Joey come down some winding stairs leading from the lobby of the resort

to a basement recreation area.

The basement has huge wooden beams and a stone floor, pool tables and a

bar, stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls, and over-stuffed chairs

in the corners around coffee tables and tables with lamps. A generator

is sitting near the bar, with some lamps moved to the bar with

extension cords, but it has long since run out of gasoline, useless.

A portly man, a former billionaire, is arguing with another portly man,

their hands gesturing in the air. The second man is backing away from

the former billionaire during this conversation. Lounging in one

corner, on some of the over-stuffed chairs, are several young women, a

couple decades younger than the men. The former billionaire says,

. . Need to hire some new men . .

Both men suddenly realize that Finegan and Joey are quietly descending

the stairs and jerk their heads around in that direction. They stare

silently at the newcomers, as though expecting an apology or

explanation. The former billionaire says,

This is a private resort.

Finegan says,

Finegan Fine here, trader. I come to see what

you might need, and what you have in trade.

The two portly men look at each other for a minute, unspoken

communications between them. The former billionaire says,

104

You have food? I’m looking to get the damn

phone connected but the batteries are dead.

His partner motions to the quiet generator and says,

And that thing don’t work.

Finegan says,

Cell phones? You need towers for those, and the

towers are down.

The former billionaire says,

Oh yeah? How would you know?

Finegan says the obvious.

How long you been trying to raise someone? . .

Phones don’t work no more. Short wave is the

only thing and that’s real spotty.

The former billionaire and his buddy don’t look surprised. The former

billionaire reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a checkbook, and

slaps it on the bar.

Yeah, well, I can write you a check. Bring the

food supplies and gas for the generator in

here.

He points to the middle of the floor and proceeds to fill out the

check. Finegan says,

Paper’s no good.

The former billionaire flushes with anger and looks sharply over at