Oh, thanks a whole bunch, thought the Hunter; thanks a million, you shriveled old bastard. But he nodded and stood up when every last person in the room went dead quiet and turned to stare. After a moment, he gave a shrug.
“If yer asking,” he said, “I’d like to help Dr. Kaes get to California. Obviously things in New America sorta took a turn for the worse. And now that I know that, and all about how the Sick’s for sure gonna come back an’ kill everybody? Well, I want to help. I ain’t gonna argue about what I did or why, but you can let me help, or you can do whatever else. Guess it’s yer choice.”
With that, feeling like he’d just delivered an hour-long oration before the UN, he sat back down and waited as Lampert wobbled back to his seat and the theater again hummed with conversation. Glancing up, the Hunter saw Dr. Kaes looking at him in an odd kind of way from across the room but something in his eyes made the Hunter quickly look away. After maybe fifteen minutes of quiet discussion among the NA group, most of it about him, some sort of consensus seemed to have been reached. They all went quiet as Santiago again went up to the podium.
“Well, OK,” he said abashedly, “we obviously have a diversity of opinions. And, far as that goes, it’s good we’re having this little discussion. Get everyone’s thoughts out into the open, you know? And I guess we New Americans sorta needed a reminder that well, not everyone is as cynical and ruthless as we’ve had to become. But here’s the thing, folks, differences aside, we’re all on the same page. We have to get Mr. Lampert to Frisco, and as quickly as possible. Am I right?”
Everyone, even the Old Man himself, nodded at this and Santiago went on.
“So, anyway,” he said, smiling a little, “I guess Shipman is in, yes? Part of the group? OK then, moving on, here’s the basic, like, germ of my idea for getting Mr. Lampert to California. See, the Governor has his own plane. A functioning, maintained-by-a-mechanic, ready-to-use twin-engine prop job from Before, very reliable, very easy to fly. You see where I’m goin’ with this? Of course, the problem is that we can’t just walk into the Governor’s mansion and ask him if we can use it. So, I think we need to figure out just how exactly we’re going to, you know, get in and get out. And,” he nodded solicitously at Kaes, “with as little violence as possible.”
They all seemed pretty happy with this, nodding and knitting their brows, and were about to launch into another undoubtedly long and involved discussion. Before they could really get revved up, the Hunter raised his hand until Santiago noticed and asked what he wanted.
“Just one little thing,” said the Hunter wryly. “If you guys don’t mind, now that I’m like, part of the group, I guess, can I please, for the love of God, get somethin’ else to wear?”
They all had a good laugh at that, sort of breaking the tension, the Hunter supposed, but he was not joking; if he had to spend ten more minutes in the stinking, itchy piece of garbage he had on his body, he might very well just end up running around naked. And nobody wanted that.
To his surprise and gratification, though, he got a lot more than some measly clothes. In fact, he couldn’t hide a big grin when the New American assigned to help him, a younger woman named Olive who’d taken him back to near where he’d awoken, produced from the community lockers nothing less than his beloved nano-suit.
“Hey!” he said gleefully, taking the fine mesh into his hands. “My suit! Excellent! But where did you get this?”
“Down in the mutie mines,” said Olive, nodding admiringly. “With a buncha other crap they didn’t have the brains to use, I guess. We tried it out ourselves, of course. Hope you don’t mind too much. But then we discovered how it’s all like, specially geared just for one person and all and, well, I guess you know all about it.”
“Yeah,” said the Hunter absently, fingering the suit. “I do at that.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Thus sayeth the Lord God: As I live, surely they that are in the wastes shall fall by the sword, and him that is in the open field will I give to the beasts to be devoured, and they that be in the forts and in the caves shall die of the pestilence.
As the others loaded their weapons and checked their gear for the umpteenth time, Justin sat apart, his things all packed and ready, and waited. The past few days had been busy ones, planning and preparing, but, thanks to the safety and provisions of the Council, there had been plenty of time for other things as well.
Following the big confab with the New Americans, they had first decided on just who exactly was going to undertake the mission at hand, that is, the invasion of the Governor’s Mansion and the theft of the man’s airplane. Of course, he and the Old Man were automatically in. As soon as they had the plane, they were (hopefully) off to California. To this end, Stiletto, the only real pilot in the group, was also in. Santiago would be leading the group, and the big man named Lumler would be his second.
The Small Man, Shipman, was also an obvious choice, but after that, things had gotten a bit more contentious, as there were more volunteers than needed. Teresa, for one (and by extension, her two-foot shadow, the Kid) had been adamant about going along, as had Barb Cass and several of the Council, but in the end the former Army man, CJ, had been tapped as the final member; he knew the area very well, he was good with a gun, and he had the sort of high-stress experience they would need. Naturally, Teresa had been upset.
“But you gotta lemme come!” she’d argued, making her case to Justin later. “You gonna need me!”
Justin had frowned and shaken his head. “I’m sorry, but it’s not my decision to make. And even if it was, I would still rather you stayed behind.”
“But why?” she’d asked ingenuously. “I can take care o’ myself, Case! You know that! Take care o’ you an’ the Old Man, too!”
“Yes, I know that,” he’d said. “You’re more than capable. But this is going to be dangerous. Maybe very dangerous.”
“So what?” she’d waved. “The whole big world dangerous now! An’ ain’t we always been in danger? What about them cannibos or them muties? Ya sayin’ that weren’t danger?”
“That’s not what I mean,” he’d countered. “As I said, I know you’re more than able to defend yourself. But this is not some rival gang they’re going up against. It’s not a cannibal cult or even a race of deformed underground humanoids, this is a large, organized, force, apparently well-armed and heavily defended. And what’s more, I frankly could not bear it if anything were to happen. So please, for once, stay out of the fight.”
She’d looked at him oddly, and for good reason, It had been a stilted and awkward statement, because a faint trace of the disgust he’d felt earlier at her callousness still wafted through his thoughts. It was blunted now, submerged in his almost physical need for her and everything she represented (love, kindness, family, future), but it was still there, mixed in with his own regret at what amounted to robbing the cradle. At the time, Teresa had, after a long look into his eyes, shrugged and frowned.
“Don’t know what you thinkin’,” she’d said, “but you been all grunchy and sad for days. So what up, Case? Somethin’ wrong? Somethin’ I did?”
No, he’d thought sadly, it’s something you are, not what you did. Something I am, something you are, and something the world has become. To her face, though, he had smiled and stroked her cheek fondly.