The check-point was a sandbagged position, complete with more fifty-cals like the Humvees had. Past the check-point was an overpass that one would drive under to reach the city proper, and even more firepower was found there.
“They have tanks,” breathed Jessica. “Where the hell did they get tanks?”
“Honey, I'm pretty sure I got no idea.”
The pair of armored vehicles weren't 'tanks,' Frank knew. They were Bradley fighting vehicles, but for all intents and purposes they might as well be tanks, given it seemed there was no opposition to this militia's rule in Parkersburg. The boxy turrets of the Bradleys housed a 25 millimeter cannon and an anti-tank missile launcher. Overkill for keeping an eye on a line of civilian vehicles.
Maybe not overkill for whatever might follow them from the east coast, though.
While Jessica might have been wrong about the classification, Frank shared her question. Where did they get them? And how did they know how to operate them? As Frank puzzled over this, all of the possibilities bad news in his opinion, they finally reached the check-point, and a portly man with tattoos and a heavy fleece came up to the SUV, rifle slung behind him.
He asked them were they were bound, and did they have enough supplies to barter with. Paper currency was useless, he let them know. While the government in Cheyenne might still accept it, Parkersburg did not, by order of someone he called the conde. Issac haltingly stated that yes, they had enough. The guard shrugged, seemingly uninterested if they really did or not.
“Everything here is barter,” he continued. “You want gas? Barter. Supplies? Barter. Passage across the bridge? Barter. If you can't pay for stuff, the city will give you the chance to work to earn what you need. If you don't accept that, you get thrown out of the city. Or maybe just shot,” he amended with a nasty grin that contorted the ink around his face.
When Issac and Jessica stared in shock, he laughed, a harsh, barking sound.
“Jesus! I'm kidding! We don't shoot people around here.” As the married couple started to relax, Tattoo-Guy shrugged.
“We hang them instead. Can't waste bullets.”
The uncomfortable 'introduction' to the city finally came to an end, but not before Tattoo-Guy had leaned in close to Issac.
“Hey, you aren't an aviation mechanic, by any chance? Work with planes or helicopters? We really need those here. Double food ration and you'll never be put on a work detail if you stay and sign up with us.”
Issac had shaken his head quickly.
“Aww. You sure?”
“Yeah man, I'm...really sure.”
“Okay. Well, hey, if you change your mind, just head to city hall. Any of the green-bands in town can direct you. Enjoy Parkersburg.”
Once the window was rolled up and they were driving into the city, Jessica stared over at her husband.
“They...they can't do this!”
“I think they can, Jess. There isn't anyone here any more to stop them. Government and military pulled out of here. Parkersburg is theirs, or this conde guy, whoever he is.”
As they drove, Frank and Andre watched the city go by. In several places there was obvious damage to buildings and infrastructure. Many of these locations had teams of men women, and in some cases children hard at work with shovels and buckets and the like. In each case the throngs of laborers had a trio of armed men and women in green arm bands watching over them.
Frank could also see that construction efforts were under way. Made of wood or metal or salvaged pre fabricated concrete pieces, bunkers and towers were going up everywhere. Parkersburg was being hardened and fortified. Whoever was in charge here clearly had no intention of giving up their control.
There was another type of work being done that he noticed. Here and there, large boulders as if from a quarry had been dragged into position on street corners or parks or other locations. Pairs of individuals, green-bands and not press ganged workers labored at chiseling symbols or sigils into the boulders. Something about the symbols tickled the back of Frank's memory, but when he tried to focus on the memory, it flitted away like a feather on the wind. Issac frowned at them.
“What do you think those are?”
“Beats me,” replied Jessica. “Maybe just another way of showing their ownership of the city? Like the graffiti on the Army trucks.”
Frank was pretty sure it was more than that, even if that memory proved fleeting. They kept driving.
There was other traffic on the road, though not nearly as much as what would be usual for a city. Like the Murton family, they drove slow, maybe only thirty-five miles per hour. Frank could see the motorists looking furtively here and there at the work crews and patrols. No one wanted to find out what the penalty for speeding was. At intersections there were more green-bands, directing traffic as it seemed the traffic control system was down.
There were several open air markets, some simply in the parking lots of what used to be grocery stores, others in any space wide and flat enough to house them. These too were watched over by armed militia men, with harried looking shoppers trying to find what they needed.
“Baby, we have enough gas, right?” queried Jessica. Issac nodded, glancing over at a Humvee driving the opposite direction as he followed the signs to the Parkersburg-Belpre bridge, passing by other work crews and hollow-eyed pedestrians who skulked along.
“Yeah. Won't need to barter for that. Hopefully they don't rob us blind at the bridge...”
As Issac trailed off, Frank nodded to himself. Issac had his pump action, and Frank had the Marlin, but neither had really considered getting them out and ready. They were rather hilariously outgunned at this point, and they would have to play by the rules the militia had set down, like them or not.
As they waited their turn to go at another intersection, Frank realized there seemed to be two subgroups to the militia. One resembled those they'd seen coming in near the squatter camp; hard edged men and women, often with tattoos but of wildly varying ages and physiques. There was a second group, and this one regardless of ethnicity was in good physical shape, with similar short haircuts. Military style haircuts.
Did this explain the preponderance of heavy weapons, APCs and structured control points? Had a military unit essentially gone rogue here? It was certainly possible, Frank thought as they were waved through by a tough looking woman in a leather jacket with a M4 carbine. If the government really had pulled out entirely, perhaps elements of a unit had just decided to stop following the orders that government sent out, especially if it meant setting up a kingdom of their own.
Perhaps this conde guy was in charge of them, maybe the unit commander. And they were wanting folks to repair and maintain air assets. It hit Frank then that this entire time he hadn't seen a single helicopter or airplane cutting through the skies of this half-light world. Having remained quiet so far past the initial check-point, Frank brought this up to Issac and Jessica.
“That guy back at the city entrance was looking for aircraft techs and suchlike...I ain't seen anything flyin' that I can recall. Is anythin' flyin'?”
Issac and Jessica looked at each other. The wife answered, letting her husband worry about the drive to the bridge, turning back to answer Frank.
“We...haven't seen anything in a few years, Frank. We heard that at some point when that voice started up, planes just fell out of the sky. Like their systems just went completely insane...or maybe their pilots. Like Y2K was supposed to be, way back when. I don't know if anyone has even tried since. Maybe the people here are going to. I figured you had heard the stories, too.”
Frank shook his head from side to side. Fear of using radios, fear of the internet, fear of flying. Whoever was in charge in Cheyenne had their work cut out for them as far as maintaining the United States went. For that matter, any government anywhere if it was like this all over the world.
Several tense minutes later, they were pulling up to the Parkersburg-Belpre bridge. There were shacks on either side of the road, and militiamen were guiding vehicles to them. From what Frank could see, it was there that survivors seeking to get across the bridge would barter for passage. Those that could 'pay' were waved up to the bridge itself. Here, like everywhere else, heavy weapons were being sited.
Small mountains of goods and supplies were piling up at each shack, and periodically graffiti marked Humvees would cart them away to who knew where.
“Wish I knew how much it would take to get across,” whispered Jessica to her husband as she spotted the mounds of cans and boxes.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Are we going to have to live outside the city?” This was from Andre, speaking up for the first time since they'd entered the city. Issac shook his head, glancing back into the passenger section.
“No! No, no, no. We're fine, Andre. We're totally fine...”
Frank watched as they were directed to a shack of wood and corrugated metal. There was a shaven-headed man in a sweatshirt and dirt spattered jeans holding a Mini-14 across his chest. Deep set eyes stared at them as they parked.
Totally fine, though Frank with some concern. Totally, totally fine.
“Don't worry, Jess,” murmured Issac. “I got an idea how to save us our food and water.”
“Baby, is this a good time for one of your bright ideas?”
“Sure! Sure. Don't worry,” Issac muttered back as he shut off the ignition.
Even as Issac stepped out, 'Baldy' was shaking his head.
“Get everybody out. Toll depends on how many you got.”
Smiling in an appeasing manner, Issac nodded and leaned back into the SUV to quietly tell the others to disembark.
“We're cool, guys,” Issac whispered. “We're cool.” One after another, the occupants of the vehicle the Murton family had 'salvaged' exited, standing around awkwardly as Baldy stared them up and down.
“Okay,” he said after he finished his visual inspection. “Okay. Family of three...and your brother from another mother. Sure. Three adults, one kid. Okay. Lemme figure this out...”
The man circled the vehicle, looking at the supplies lashed to the cargo rails on the roof, and inside the windows at what the Murton family and Frank had placed inside. He scratched his chin, making guttural sounds in the back of his throat as he seemed to be doing some mental gymnastics upstairs. As he moved, Frank started to frown, brow furrowing. He was getting the feeling the 'toll' had nothing to do with how many people wanted to get across the bridge, and instead was based on what the conde's militia wanted to take.
Baldy took a hand off of the Mini-14 to rub at his face thoughtfully as he finished two circuits around the SUV.
“Okay. Uh. So we actually got lots of canned stuff, but I see water containers and medkits and stuff--”
“Actually,” started Issac, then stopped as Baldy just glared over at him.
“What?” demanded the rifle-toting goon. “What is it?”
Issac took a deep breath and started again.
“Actually, I got something that might be worth more to you. Might not seem like it at first, but just give it a chance--” Issac blinked and stopped speaking again as Baldy edged forward aggressively.
“Worth...more? Like, what bro? What you got that's worth more, huh? What's worth more?”
Issac leaned into the car, fishing around in a bag, then came out with a book. Frank didn't get enough of a chance to see the cover, but the construction of it reminded him of old military manuals or technical readouts. He started to offer it to Baldy, but blanched and recoiled as the man's eyes started to bug out of his thick skull.
“A book? A book? A fucking book, bro? What the fuck? What the fuck is this? A fucking book!?”
Issac raised his hands up defensively.
“Calm down, man, that's not just a book--”
“I can't eat a book! I can't drink a book! I oughta kill your ass. I oughta hang your black ass from the bridge. A fucking book?”
Jessica looked like she wasn't even breathing, and even little Andre, usually so positive, was watching the brutish man with obvious fear. Frank's mind started to raced as he frantically tried to calculate a positive outcome.
Maybe despite not having his anima, maybe despite the fact he felt like he'd spent a lifetime away from combat training, Frank could possibly take this guy down before he could get a shot off. The odds were long, but not impossible. Going for his rifle or Issac's shotgun was likely out of the question, though.
But a quick glance around showed him those fifty-cals being set up near the bridge. The other militiamen all around them at other 'toll booths.' More people with guns on the roofs of nearby buildings.
Every scenario saw all of them being gunned down.
Issac was looking to Frank for answers as Baldy gripped the Mini-14 in a menacing fashion. The people at other 'toll booths' were starting to look over now; the civilians with alarm, the militiamen with a cross between amusement and annoyance.
“Fuck your stupid book, you dumbass!”
Then a new voice sounded behind Frank.
“Bruno? Bruno, you are being very loud. Why are you using your big dog bark, Bruno?”
It was like someone flipped a switch. The militiaman went from being ready to shoot Issac to suddenly pulling back like a whipped dog, eyes downcast. The Murtons, and Frank, turned rapidly to face the new speaker.
He was Latino, short and well tanned, with a neatly trimmed mustache, dark shoulder length hair and bright, intense eyes. Unlike everyone else Frank had seen, this man was in a slightly older, if well maintained suit. There were two other things that immediately stood out to Frank.
He didn't have a weapon. And he was smiling.
Those two things, combined with this Bruno's reaction, told Frank this man was likely the most dangerous person in the city.
“Sorry, boss. Sorry. He, uh, he tried to pay the toll with a book--”
“Bruno, Bruno, Bruno. What is my title again? Please, we have to be correct for visitors! We can be informal in private.” The man in the suit smiled at the other four, showing off a handsome set of white teeth.
“...uh. Conde. Sorry, conde. But he tried to pay with a book, sir!”
Holy shit, thought Frank. This was the man. This was the man in charge of all of Parkersburg.
The conde 'tsked' softly, holding out a hand for the book and receiving it. He looked over at Issac, still smiling.
“May I use the hood of your car, sir?”
“Ah...sure. Sure thing sir.”
Nodding in an exaggeratedly grateful fashion, the conde spread the book on the hood, reading it intently. As he did, he spoke to Bruno without turning around.
“Bruno...did you even look at this?”
“Um. No. No sir, conde, I didn't. I didn't.”
The smaller man turned another page, nodding as if he'd expected nothing else.
“I know your mother probably taught you to not judge a book by its cover...but sometimes it's helpful to at least look at the cover.”
Bruno got that look on his face that suggested somewhere rusty wheels were desperately trying to turn.
“Um.”
“A maintenance manual for water purification systems. A little dated, but not much. Bruno, who did we put in charge of the wastewater management facility?”
“Um?”
“Where the water gets cleaned so we can actually use it, Bruno.”
“Oh. Yeah. Uh. Clyde and Mad Dog.”
The conde nodded again, closing the book and turning back to face Bruno, who seemed to wilt under his scrutiny.
“Yes. Clyde and Mad Dog. Clyde isn't getting any younger, Bruno. And Mad Dog is...well,” he paused, turning to grin over at the still unsettled Murtons and Frank. “We do not call him Mad Dog for his shrewd mind, let us say.”
Bruno nodded, still looking confused. His boss tapped the book heavily with a thump thump.
“We can teach others to maintain the systems with this. The human body can survive without food for weeks...only days without water. This is treasure.”
“Um. Okay.” Bruno nodded again, shrugging as the conde turned to smile again at the others.
“Clyde is a municipal sanitation engineer. Or, well, he was until he beat his wife and her lover to death with a pipe wrench back in the Nineties. I'm told the violence was spectacular. After that he became an inmate at Mount Olive Corrections, where most of us are from.”
The smile widened at the shocked expressions he received. The Mount Olive Correctional Complex was reserved for West Virginia's most violent offenders.
“Ah, right. That usually, what's the phrase? Throws people. It throws people a bit. Don't worry, though! As this city's new administrator, I have things under control. Don't I, Bruno?”
“Yeah. Under control. Definitely under control,” agreed Bruno in a slightly distracted way, pawing at his dark green sweatshirt.
He was looking suspiciously at the book as if it might get up and fly away. The conde sighed gently, and shook his head. Frank forced himself to stay calm. The book was apparently worth quite a lot to the man in charge, and that was good.
That same man could have all of them killed or put into work gangs. Best to keep him happy.
“We, uh, saw the construction efforts t' repair th' city,” said Frank experimentally. Issac, Jessica and Bruno all started a bit, seemingly surprised at Frank's ability to speak. The conde beamed.
“Yes! We're working quite hard at that. I won't have my county falling apart...ah, I should explain what I mean by 'county.'” He started to pace around, handing the book to Bruno.
“You see, when things got really bad and everyone started to pull out...well, the warden knew he didn't have the resources to transport all of us. So he made the decision to unlock the cells and simply leave. Let us fend for ourselves! I know, I know, that sounds awful,” he chuckled, noting the look on Frank's face. “It was for the best, though!”
Frank blinked at him as he continued his routine. Jessica and Issac glanced at each other apprehensively, wondering where all this was leading.
“Some might have seen that as a death sentence, but no! He actually did us a great kindness. Instead of being slaughtered in our cells when those things from the east came in, we could move. This wasn't a crisis, this was opportunity. And, my friends, what is America?”
It was all Frank could do not to copy Bruno and just say 'Um.' The Murtons looked similarly dumbstruck.
The conde spread his arms wide like a politician giving a speech. Or perhaps a carnival huckster.
“The land of opportunity! A place where you can make something of yourself if you just work hard, and work smart. I did that for myself before law enforcement took issue with my business. But that's another story. So! Many of my associates and I came this way, following the convoys. We found a unit of the National Guard here...from a cavalry regiment? I'm not sure,” he said, and shrugged away the lack of knowledge. In Frank's head, everything started to come together. The organization, the stock of heavy weapons. This crime king-pin had joined forces with a rogue unit, and now Parkersburg was theirs.
“We come to Parkersburg as they are trying to establish their own little piece of the action. I negotiate with them. We reach an agreement. I become the new administrator of this city! My friend, Will, he says 'Javier,' because that is my name, 'Javier, you could be king.'”
He flashed that unsettling, perfect smile again.
“I say, 'no, no! That is too much. I will simply be a count, a conde.' And a count rules a 'county,' so. This is now the County of Parkersburg. Simple, you see?”
“Aren't you—” started Jessica before she uttered an oath and clamped her mouth shut. Javier merely waved a hand.
“Please, please! Say it. I'm very hard to offend. Isn't that so, Bruno?”
The thug nodded, looking off at the bridge, as if that was easier than following Javier with his eyes.
“...well, aren't you worried the government will...come back?” Jessica said it haltingly, slowly. Frank felt his fingers twitch in alarm, but he needn't have worried. Javier didn't look the least bit upset. Indeed, he laughed out loud.
“The government? Oh, that is funny! No, no, I am not afraid of the government in Cheyenne Mountain. In the old days—all of five years ago, hah hah—they could have sent planes or missiles. They don't dare, now. They don't dare because of the voice. Now they have to drive allllll the way here, across land infested with monsters, little operations with less vision than mine, and so on.” He leaned close, as if preparing to share a secret.
“And do you know who the current president is? Come on, I bet you can't guess! Anyone? Anyone?”
Issac and Jessica shook their heads slightly. Andre just stared at Javier. Frank shrugged heavily, stretching the fabric of his heavy jacket.
“Mister conde sir, I got no idea.”
Javier pointed both fingers in the air, once more seeming like a performer.
“President Monica Seifried...formerly the Secretary for Health and Human Services! You know. Before everyone ahead of her died. Does that sound like someone I am going to worry about? Hah! No, the good secretary doesn't have the resources or the time to worry about us, I think. Besides...I am not that impressed with the current state of the United States military. I already have gotten part of one unit to follow me...and another came through here retreating, and we took their heavy weapons as toll! Heh heh.”
He continued to chuckle, quite amused. Frank shook his head slightly, incredulous. Regardless of what the leaflets and rumors might say, it sounded as if the United States was disintegrating faster than what was left of the government could handle. Was Cincinnati really safe haven?
Or was it just run by criminals and traitors, like here?
“So yes! I am not worried. But you were traveling! You wanted across the bridge...and this book guarantees your passage! Unless...could I convince you to stay here? We have large supplies of food and water, soldiers to guard you, real houses to live in—most of the original tenants just aren't around any more, hah!”
He grinned maniacally at them. Issac managed a weak copy of that grin back.
“Ah, no sir, Mister Javier—Conde Javier. We, uh, just want to get to Cincinnati.”
Javier bowed slightly, spreading his arms to the sides again.
“Very well, I had to try! But I will not keep you here. We have more than enough work crews right now...hah hah, I joke! Just a joke. Probably, heh heh. Good luck getting to Cincinnati...and if you make it, tell them of the County of Parkersburg!”
Issac and Jessica stumbled back towards the SUV, clearly pleased to get away from the 'count' of Parkersburg and his two legged attack dog. Frank slowed, realizing Andre hadn't moved. He looked up at Javier, and asked a quiet question.
“What about the monsters, sir?”
“Andre!” hissed his mother, coming around to grasp him firmly about the shoulders. Javier gestured with one hand, that smile back again.
“No, it's all right. If my plans can't get past a five year old, they're probably bad plans, eh?” With Jessica clutching her son protectively, Javier leaned down slightly.
“Little Andre, once upon a time a group of people came through here. Not long ago, really. They were from the Morninglight, trying to find what was left of their fellow worshipers. It's funny, you know. Right about the time London, New York and Seoul were wiped of the map, you stopped being able to find those Morninglight people...”
Andre nodded a bit. Frank listened closely as well. The Murton's had mentioned the Morninglight and their increasing numbers before when telling their own story. It seemed those numbers had dropped off of late.
And according to Javier, that drop of seemed to coincide with the primary headquarters of three secret societies ceasing to exist. If the conde was correct, what did it mean?
“Anyway...this little group camped outside my fair city. They put strange symbols on the trees and rocks around them. I set men to watch them; I have never trusted the Morninglight. Grandmother rasied me to be a proper Catholic boy, heh heh. So my men watch. And one day, monsters come from the woods to their camp!”
The conde raised his hands in a theatrical manner, and Andre gasped a bit.
“What happened?” Frank asked, though he already knew the answer. In his head, the last piece of the Parkersburg puzzle fell into place. That was why the symbols being carved throughout the city seemed familiar. They were almost identical to the ones surrounding a Morninglight camp on Solomon Island.
“Ah, my men came back saying the monsters—things like men that crawled on all fours—had been turned to dust! These men, they are reliable men. They know better than to lie to me. And so...I had the campers brought to me. I managed to learn the secrets of these Morninglight people. I can be very persuasive,” he said with a wink to Andre.
“So, no, I do not fear monsters either. It was a good question, though. Travel safely! Go with the blessings of the conde of Parkersburg!”
With no small relief, they all piled back into the SUV, and were directed to the bridge. None of them looked back til they were across the Ohio river. On this side too militiamen were setting up more check-points and sandbagged fortifications. Finally, once they had gone around a bend and they were out of sight behind the trees and hills of Ohio, did Issac speak.
“That guys completely nuts,” he grumbled, his grip on the steering wheel painfully tight. His wife nodded, glancing back as if she might still spy out the city through the terrain behind them.
“And he's the worst kind of nut,” she said softly. Her son cocked his head at the statement.
“What kind is that, mom?”
Jessica sighed, collapsing deep into her seat.
“The kind that gets others to follow him.”
