of an army.
Failure remained his biggest worry, but not like before. No one force could snuff them out with a sudden blow. If failure came now, it would be a slow and agonizing retreat.
Trevor no longer wielded merely a carbine and a cadre of Grenadiers, he commanded an army. His power had grown exponentially and would need to grow further still to seize victory. With that expansion the lines of black and white merged and swirled into gray with only one shining light breaking through the murk, and that was the cause. The mission. His purpose.
That frightened him. He knew he could send his soldiers into New Winnabow. He knew he could justify the slaughter in the name of the great cause. What kind of man could make such a decision?
So yes, Trevor could order Shepherd to march in there, kill any opposition, and secure passage. He could do that.
And what would happen then?
Trevor doubted Shepherd would refuse the order no matter how much he might not like it, but what about Shepherd’s Captains? What about the rank and file? Would they refuse to kill other human beings? Would they refuse to fight despite their pledge of loyalty?
Maybe he should not attack New Winnabow for that reason alone. Losing the race to trap the Hivvans would be a severe blow; losing control of his army infinitely worse.
If he ordered the attack, New Winnabow would put up a fight and people-men and women-on both sides would die. How would The Baltimore New Press cover that story? Would the little ticker they had at the bottom of the page recording liberated humans subtract out those murdered in the Emperor’s name?
As he reached the bottom of the stairs he heard a familiar voice and it brought a smile to his face. Trevor followed the sound of that voice into what had once been a dining room but now served as Lori Brewer’s office. He walked in as she finished a phone call.
“Right, have them meet me there. From what I hear, Wilmington isn’t in as bad a shape as Raleigh was but we need to move fast. Right. Goodbye.”
She hung up the phone.
“Hey,” Lori said.
“How are you doing?”
“Considering my husband is a couple of thousand of miles away marching across a polar ice cap, I think I’m holding up okay. Of course, that’s assuming they made it to the sub and that the sub made it to Greenland.”
She did not need to add you sent him there. Trevor heard that clear enough.
Lori shuffled papers, discarding some while shoving others into a leather messenger bag.
“So, ah, what’s going on?” Trevor tried to strike up a conversation.
“Well, let’s see. I’ve got to catch a shuttle to Philadelphia then from there to Baltimore then…well, you get the idea. If things go well I’ll be in Raleigh late tonight and Wilmington in the morning.”
“Assessment?”
“Yes, assessment. Lots of civilians, some orphaned kids, there’s a rail link that would be useful, lots of empty housing. The normal stuff and with the mess Raleigh is in I need to go see for myself.”
“Oh. Yeah. I understand.”
Lori stood and slung the bag over her shoulder.
“I have to go and talk to the housekeeper about Catherine and make sure she has everything. I swear, I’m taking care of the needs of tens of thousands of people and I can’t even take care of my own kid without going completely mental.”
She walked to the door, stopped, and asked, “I’m sorry, did you need me for something?”
Trevor considered for a moment, shook his head, and told her, “No. I’m good. Have a safe trip.”
22. Sincerest Form
Denise raised the pistol and took aim; the gun trembled in her grip. When she finally tugged the trigger, the barrel jumped, sending the bullet out to sea several feet above the tin can target on the banister.
“Urrg, I suck at this,” she grumbled.
Denise stood in front of Nina on a dock outside of Wrightsville Beach with old cans lined up on a railing. Both women had grown accustomed to the strong salty scent from the marshes as well as the constant sound of hungry seagulls cawing for food. No doubt the birds missed the pretzel pieces and lost French fries from the days when tourists roamed the seaside resort.
“So in the last five years no one ever taught you how to use a gun?”
“For the tenth time, no.”
Nina shook her head, amazed at such an oversight given the nature of the world.
“Okay then. Relax, that’s only your third shot. Try again but-” Nina quickly grabbed the gun as the young girl held the weapon in a haphazard manner. “Hey, watch where you’re pointing that thing.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, watch where you’re pointing that thing,” Nina said in a harsh, commander’s tone.
“Geez, relax, no biggy.”
“Stop. Stop right now,” Nina pulled the pistol away from Denise.
“What?”
“Look, you need to get your head on straight for this.”
“Awe, c’mon, relax.”
Nina popped the clip from the Glock automatic, opened the slide to empty the chambered round, and held the bullet between two fingers.
“Come here.”
“What?” Denise removed orange plugs from her ears.
“This is a bullet. Feel it.” Nina pressed it hard into Denise’s chest.
“Hey, ouch.”
“Now imagine this bullet moving over a thousand feet per second,” Nina said.
“Look, geez, I get it, okay? I’ll be careful.”
“No, you don’t get it. Do you know how a bullet kills people?”
Denise slapped her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes, but as Nina spoke, the young girls’ demeanor switched from annoyed to horrified.
“It isn’t pretty, understand? It doesn’t disappear and you fall over dead like in some dumb movie. It punctures through your skin and starts tearing shit up inside. Not some clean little hole,” Nina poked Denise in the stomach. “It pierces organs and rips up your guts and tears open arteries. Blood and worse starts pouring out. Your whole insides are like a zip-lock bag of water that just got a hole punched in it. Hell, with a lucky shot maybe your stomach acids start pouring all over your intestines. Maybe a lung gets punctured and you drown on your own blood from the inside.”
The little girl squirmed.
“Understand something, Denise, just because this piss-poor new world means you got to live with guns everyday, it doesn’t mean you can treat guns like an everyday thing. Understand?”
“Um…”
“Once that trigger is pulled, that bullet is going somewhere. If that barrel is pointing at me, or your foot or someone standing across the parking lot then they’re going to get hurt. Real bad. And guess what? You can’t take it back. You can’t say ‘I’m sorry.’ Once that shot is fired it’s going to do what it’s going to do and there are no second chances.”
Denise stood silent.
“Do you understand now?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Do you?”
Denise spoke clearly, “Yes.”
