The head of the City security—as well as the head Scav—was George Anderson. I mentioned him being at Mia’s party. The former Marine with the barrel chest. I had only talked with him a few times since we’d been in the City, and he was always polite and kind, but there was something about him that intimidated me. Maybe it was the fact he could rip my head off with his bare hands if he wanted to, or maybe it was just his confidence.
Whatever the case, when I reported to his office for my first day of work, I found myself wanting not to disappoint him. Despite not being too much my elder, he gave off quite a fatherly vibe, and there weren't many things more disheartening than disappointing a parent.
I walked in and George held up a finger. He was hunched over his desk, much too small for his large frame, scribbling on a memo pad. I looked around, twiddling my thumbs, and noticed the books on his shelves. There was a Qua’ran, an English translation of the Dao De Jing, something called The Book of Shadows, and various other religious texts. What disturbed me most were the first two books on the shelf: two bibles. One of the Catholic variety (King James Edition) and an old, battered copy of The Satanic Bible by Anton Szandor LaVey.
Talk about night and day.
I continued scanning the other shelves. Below the religious texts was all fiction. To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye, The Old Man and the Sea—it was pretty much a high school English curriculum.
“Grady,” George said. He stood from his chair and crossed the room, his arm outstretched to me. “Sorry about the delay.”
I shook with him. “No apology necessary, sir.”
George waved his hand. “Stop it with that ‘Sir’ crap. I’m a military man, but I haven’t been in the service in a long time. I’m all ‘Sir’d’ out. So just call me George.”
“Sounds good, George.”
He smiled. “Well, how you feeling this evening? You ready to start?”
“Yes, I think so, and I can’t complain.”
George’s smile faltered. An intensity filled his eyes. “You think so?” He clucked his tongue. “Grady, Grady, Grady, you can’t be hesitant. Hesitation gets you killed. I learned that firsthand in Afghanistan, same way my father before me learned it in Vietnam. He was eighteen when he got drafted. He left a kid and came home a man. If he was indecisive, he wouldn’t have made it back. Same goes for me when I served, and same goes for us now. Because we’re in a war, you better believe it. Only instead of fighting for greedy politicians and our country, we’re fighting for our world.”
His words didn’t offend, but actually hyped me up. I could already tell George was a great leader. “I’m ready.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” He nodded toward the shelves. “You much of a reader?”
“You have to be nowadays. Can’t veg out with Netflix anymore.”
“That’s a good point.”
“Thank you, sir—I mean, George.” I paused, not hesitating but measuring my next sentence before I said it. “I do have a question…”
“Shoot.”
“What’s with the religious stuff? Most people only have a Bible, but it seems like you’ve got them all.”
“I like to keep an open mind when it comes to religion, that’s it. I’ve seen enough stuff, horrible stuff, in my lifetime that I often question the idea of a God. Now, with the snow and the whatever-those-things-are either killing everyone or driving them insane, I’ve been in a bit of an existential crisis. I’ve read through most of these books, trying to find meaning to all this madness.” He smirked. “Yes, even the satanic and Wiccan ones. And you know what, I’ve gotten a lot of good information out of each.”
“That’s really cool,” I said, and I wasn’t trying to kiss ass here. I honestly thought it was cool. It was definitely a different approach, that was for sure, but I also found it refreshing. Most people held one religion close to their hearts. Jesus Christ or Allah or hell, even Xenu, was the end-all, be-all, and when you tried talking to them about it, they shoved it down your throat. There was no room for debate, no room for a calm, intelligent conversation. If you wanted to discuss religion without being told you had a first-class ticket to hell, someone like George Anderson was the kind of person you wanted to talk to.
“Thank you,” George said. “I do like my books. If you ever wanna borrow one, don’t hesitate. Just take good care of them.” He stopped and turned around with a big grin on his face.
“What is it?” I asked, already fearing what he was going to say.
“You know, Wendy runs a book club. You should join up.”
“Wendy?”
“Yeah, cute lady with bright red hair. You haven’t met her?”
I scanned my memory. I had met quite a few people in my time in the City, mostly just in passing, but I didn’t recall meeting a woman with bright red hair. That sounded like the type of hair you couldn’t forget.
I shook my head. “Can’t say I have.”
“Then you need to get out more, Miller,” George said. “Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you two. We’re always looking for new members.”
I chuckled. “Great. How many are in the club?”
“Right now…three.”
“You, Wendy, and…?”
“Scarlett, that young artsy gal.”
“I know her.”
“Nick sometimes drops in, but only when we’re reading something risqué. This week we’re doing a book called Frankenstein by—”
“Mary Shelley, yeah, I know that one. Been a while since I’ve read it, though.”
George was beaming. “Excellent. We try to keep a theme. Get in a festive mood. I know there’s snow on the ground and it’s cold as a witch’s tit, but Halloween is right around the corner.”
There’s monsters outside too, I almost added but didn’t.
“Anyway, I’m through with my copy,” George continued and then he spun around, heading toward the shelves. He pulled a very tattered book from the shelf.
