“That problem is a long way in the future, sir,” a corporal stated, smirking.
“Is that right?” Sheffield demanded coldly. “How comforting.”
“Besides,” a lieutenant quickly said to cover the blunder, “I thought there was plenty of food in the Quonset, sir.” His voice was odd, scratchy and twisted. Two bullet scars marked either side of his throat, and there was a white patch in his dark hair where a slave’s ax had struck, but failed to kill.
Sheffield scowled at the sec man. “We have six tons of MRE packs in the warehouse,” he stated. “Our last gift from Dr. Jamaisvous. After that’s gone, we’ll be forced to get food from hunters and farmers as we used to do.”
The corporal arched an eyebrow. “But sir, there are no more farms in the Shiloh valley!”
“Exactly. What the Kite didn’t destroy, the ash has polluted. There won’t be any new crops around here for years, mebbe decades.”
“My lord,” the blond woman said, “I have seen you use the Kite to break up acid rain storms and drive them away. Can’t you do the same now with the ash?”
Thoughtfully, Sheffield stared at her. It was a smart suggestion. Collette never failed to surprise him. She was the only woman wearing the blue shirt of a sec man at the Shiloh Complex. Captured from a caravan passing through Tennessee, her youth and beauty had sent the girl directly to the gaudy house. She was attractive despite a large nose. The golden blond hair, emerald green eyes and her big breasts made men think of her only as a hot slut. Yet during the slave revolt, she had fought with the sec men against the other slaves. When the revolt was finished, she directed the grave diggers. That got her out of the chains, and because of her special talents, she soon became his bed warmer. Then over the long months, a lover, somebody he could talk to, and confide with. Collette was uneducated, but smart, and always gave good advice.
When Silas died and Sheffield took over the base, he needed somebody he could trust to be the new sec chief, so he gave the job to Collette. A few of the blues grumbled over the matter. A former slave as their chief? It was an outrage! She fucked a couple, killed the rest and the men now obeyed her without question. That was when Sheffield discovered how good a fighter she was. Lean and strong, Major Collette was a chilling machine, an expert with blaster and knife. Plus, she sharpened her thumbnails daily, caring for them like a good blaster. Sheffield once saw her remove a man’s eyes with those nails. The orbs popped right out, then she bit through the ganglia and spit the bloody orb back at the man’s shocked face. Nobody fought with Collette after that incident.
The tattoo of a broken knife blade encircled by a ring of barbed wire was on the back of her left hand. The work was delicate, expertly done with lamp oil and a sharp pencil. The process was known to hurt like hell, yet Collette had done it to herself. As befitting her position, the woman was in good combat boots, loose denims and a blue shirt. A machete hung at her hip, while a small-caliber wheelgun was tucked into her belt and an Ingram M-10 machine pistol slung over a shoulder.
Under the frank appraisal of the baron’s gaze, Collette smiled. Secrets were power in the Deathlands. Before Sheffield, she had been with Silas many times, but never as man and woman. She merely used her hands to satisfy the whitecoat. Some spit in her palm, and a few minutes later he was sound asleep. They all thought he was fucking her, more the fools they. But once he was out, she would steal food, look at the books and practice fighting techniques where nobody could watch. When the time came to act, she was more than ready. The private training got her out of the slave pens, and would someday make her the baron of a ville. Not even Sheffield knew she could read and write. When playing with his hair, or massaging his shoulders, the woman was also reading the reports he held. She knew more about the status of the ville than anybody, including the baron.