eggplant casserole, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, sweet potatoes, and acorn bread with butter.
Captain Brady eyed the food with a smile. “I see you folks are doing well. I haven’t seen a spread like this in quite some time.”
We had anticipated his reaction, had in fact debated on the idea of fixing such a meal. Many felt we should present a more poverty-stricken appearance, but the majority had argued that it would seem more suspicious if we didn’t try to make a good impression to the first sign in two years that the U.S. still existed. Each item on the menu had been carefully planned.
Kelland launched into his explanation of the food. “Yes, sir. We found out that chickens don’t seem to get radiation sickness as easy as other animals. ’Course you have ta cook ‘em a might, to make sure you kill the salmonella.”
Captain Brady blanched a bit at that, but Jim continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “An’ when you got chickens, you got eggs for egg salad. Different folks around town got a few gardens for veggies, and one of the hunter’s wives came up with this acorn bread. Here, try some.” Projecting the image of a country bumpkin trying to impress a superior, he pulled a piece off of the end of a loaf and handed it eagerly to the captain.
“Yep,” he drawled, “we pulled out all the stops fer y’all’s visit.” The act was perfect. His apparent pride in the food made it seem that the meal was something extraordinary.
Brady’s smile diminished, even more so when he bit into the bread and discovered just how bitter acorn bread tasted. “Delicious,” he lied. “Is the rest of the food so good?”
“Well…” The mayor hesitated. “I’ll admit it ain’t all that good, but then again, some of it’s even better!”
I noticed that Brady’s smile suddenly seemed more forced than it had been.
The meal went fairly well, with all of us eating dry, stringy chicken slathered with spicy barbecue sauce. “My own recipe,” Jim bragged as Brady gasped and downed half a glass of blackberry mint tea. There was overcooked squash and eggplant, mealy tomatoes, and overripe cucumbers. The hard part lay in convincing Captain Brady that this was a special treat-without any of us getting ill in the process.
After sampling a little of the food, Brady soon contented himself with shoving it around with his fork and engaging in small talk. It became apparent that he was attempting to gather information about our resources. Watching the verbal sparring between our mayor and the captain was the best entertainment I’d had in months.
It ended somewhat more abruptly than we expected. Brady and Kelland were discussing the advantages of having so many freshwater springs in the area and ideas for the USR amp;D group’s distribution of the water to other parts, when the sound of an explosion interrupted them. As we all jumped to our feet, Brady’s aide calmly drew his pistol and pointed it at Jim. Everyone froze.
Shouting and sporadic gunfire suddenly erupted from various locations in the streets around Rejas. That seemed to surprise Brady more than the explosion, but he quickly recovered his composure. To everyone’s further surprise, the captain then drew his own weapon and pointed it at me!
“Well, gentlemen, the dinner was delicious, but the general has arrived with our tanks, and we must get on with the business at hand. Mr. Dawcett,” he gestured with his pistol as he spoke, waving me toward the main doors of the dining room. “The general will soon be waiting outside, and during the last few months of my acquaintance with him, he has repeatedly expressed an intense desire to see you again. Please, let’s not keep him waiting.”
I was thoroughly confused. It was obvious that I was on someone’s list, but an Army general? What was going on? Playing for time, I asked, “What does a general want with me? I’ve never even met any generals!”
“But of course you have.” He calmly reached for the radio on his belt as he chuckled. “General Lawrence Troutman.”
For the life of me, I honestly didn’t recognize the name at first. Then it hit me as he thumbed on the transmitter. Larry was alive. And he was evidently still pretty pissed off at me.
“Brady here, General. I have the Council with me here in City Hall.”
Pissed enough to come after me with a tank.
“And I am happy to report that I have a pleasant surprise for you, sir.”
My fears were confirmed as the radio squawked a reply. The reception wasn’t great, and I hadn’t heard that voice in two years, but it still chilled my blood instantly. “Yes, Captain?”
I probably wouldn’t survive thirty seconds past the trip out the front door with Brady-time to do something unexpected.
I turned to Jim. “You idiot! I thought you told me Larry was dead!” I launched myself at him, all the while hoping Brady wouldn’t shoot me in the back as I vaulted the dinner table.
Instant bedlam ensued. Everyone must have thought I’d lost my mind as I scrambled across the tabletop. Poor Jim couldn’t have had any idea what was going on when I punched him in the cheek and followed him to the floor. Brady shuffled around trying to stuff the radio back in its pouch with his left hand and keep me in his sights with his right, all the while yelling at everyone else to get out of his way and screaming for me to get up before he shot me.
“You stupid bastard!” I yelled into the mayor’s face. Then I slipped the small push-dagger out of my belt buckle and pressed it into his hand. I hissed, “Use it!”
Pulling him to his feet, I shoved him into his guard, knocking them both into the wall. James Kelland may not have been one of the many martial arts students in Rejas, but he was a street cop from way back. As he hit the captain’s aide, he grabbed on and spun so that his body blocked Brady’s view of the little three-inch blade slamming into the aide’s chest.
The soldier spasmed, fingers convulsing on the trigger of his pistol, which blew a hole in the wall next to Jim. At the sound of the gunshot, Brady swung his gun around to cover Jim. I immediately took advantage of his distraction. Dropping the flat throwing knife out of my sleeve, I hurled it at my target. It was the first time I had ever used a throwing knife on a live target, and I made a nearly fatal mistake. I forgot that, unlike my wooden targets, people move.
I’d practiced for years, and never once did a target move when I threw at it. But I neglected to tell Brady that, and so he reacted naturally. He dodged.
I, on the other hand, didn’t. I threw my knife and stood there like an idiot, waiting for Brady to oblige me and fall down dead. I realized my mistake during the half-second flight of the knife blade, but by then it was too late.
Brady must have seen me from the corner of his eye because he stepped forward and began to shift his aim back toward me. The knife hit him chest high, pommel first. Luckily, it hit hard enough to spoil his aim, and the table beside me sprouted splinters.
Ken tackled Brady from behind before he could get off a second shot. Three seconds of Brady’s skull bouncing on the floor took the last of the fight out of him.
As Ken finished basketball practice, I scooped my knife off the floor and ran to the front window to peek through the closed blinds. I quickly discovered that knowing there was a tank aimed and ready to introduce you to your maker and actually seeing the huge muzzle of the cannon staring back at you were two very different things.
As that first tank rolled down Main Street toward City Hall, I saw the night sky aglow behind it, the fire from the burning high school silhouetting its ominous shape. Larry had obviously chosen to come in with a full demonstration of the power at his command, destroying the school in an attempt to nip any resistance before it occurred, and simultaneously signaling his arrival to his troops. We had obligingly invited his men into the homes of our townspeople, and now they were attempting to force them out of those homes and into the streets. The sound of gunfire was everywhere, as were the screams and shouts of open conflict. Larry had evidently counted on surprising a quiet little town of meek, complacent survivors. I was gratified to see that the people of Rejas no longer fit that description. They fought back. Unfortunately, we were sorely outgunned since Rejas had stockpiled and hidden much of its weaponry.
Brady’s radio came to life with Larry Troutman’s voice, reminding me of the situation at hand. “Surprise, Captain?”
I realized that less than a minute had passed since Brady’s last transmission.
“Everybody out!” Jim held the dead guard’s pistol and waved it toward the receiving door in the back of the tiny complex. None of us questioned his order. We ran for our lives through the exit and into the violence of the
