James Axler – Zero City

On the ground, sandbags formed a low wall before the double doors, the emblazoned brass marred with dull streaks where soft lead bullets had ricocheted. A half circle of steel I-beams salvaged from the ruins across the Stink River chasm had been welded into tripods to act as a deterrent to attacking wags, or even APCs. Getting past those would take a predark tank. Coils of barbed wire stretched across the ground like dark smoke frozen in time and space. A few strips of stained cloth here and there marked the spots where sec men had thrown the corpses of their fallen comrades onto the wire so they could gain access to the museum and continue the fight to usurp their former leader.

Before being captured alive, Baron “Mad Jim” Harvin had unleashed his pet winged muties, but it didn’t work. Sergeant Strichland had carefully orchestrated the revolt at first dawn so his troops would be safe from the deadly black bats. Or flying lizards, or whatever the hell the muties were. Leonard had no idea, nor did anybody else, as the creatures only appeared at night and the only folks who got a good view of them died soon afterward, torn to shreds. Not a single one of the creatures had ever been successfully slain.

Leonard walked toward the front doors of the palace so that the guards would see him coming. Five huge men stood behind the sandbags, longblasters over their shoulders, handblasters at their belts. The Elite, the baron called them. The five were sworn to die before allowing invaders inside the home of their baron. To their left and right rested a pair of old muzzle-loading cannons. It had taken two years to unblock the barrels, but the weapons were fully functional now, and the soft cotton bags stacked in the red plastic milk crates were filled with bits of broken glass, bent nails and other tiny scraps of metal. A band of raiders had gotten this far once, and after the cannons roared, nothing remained but bloody clothing and smashed bones. It was the last direct attack.

“Morning, Lieutenant,” a sec man said.

“Morning, Sergeant.” Leonard smiled, trying not to lose his armload of papers. “Permission to enter, please.”

“Granted, sir, as always,” the sergeant said, waving him on.

A private pulled open the door and saluted as Leonard walked through. Inside was the mate of the outside cannons, and more sec men standing behind more sandbags. They put aside their card game and snapped to attention.

“Morning, sir. Dropping off a message, or looking for your father?” a grizzled veteran asked, his face mostly composed of scars.

The phrase embarrassed the adopted boy. “The second, Sergeant. Do you know where is the baron?”

“Cellar,” said the sec man grimly. “We caught a thief last week. Now he’s getting justice.”

“One of our own, or a newcomer?”

“Local man. Cobbler. Been here for years.”

“Did he lie about the crime?” Leonard asked hopefully. Stealing food was a pardonable crime, and the perpetrator often got no more than a dozen lashes. But lying to the baron was death by the Machine.

The soldier shook his head. “He should have known better.”

“Thank you.” The boy hurried off, still clutching the portfolio of papers and maps to his chest.

“I hope he toughens up.” The private sighed, reclaiming his chair and gathering his cards. “Don’t want a momma’s boy like Leo there as our baron.”

Fanning the cards in his hand, the sergeant shifted them about to hide the straight he had drawn. “Don’t be fooled. Boy’s still young. But I saw him in the revolt when we charged this place. He took an arrow in the leg and a bullet in the chest and he fought on with his father. Tough as a slut’s heart, the both of them.”

“Long as he ain’t twisted as his old man,” the private muttered, laying down a card and drawing a fresh one. “I hate all that screaming in the night.”

“Well, got to be worse for them doing the screaming,” the other man added wisely.

“Aye, suppose it is.” He brushed a hand through his golden crew cut. “Damn, I’m sure glad my girl is a blonde.”