James Axler – Zero City

“You sure about the back room?” Dolly asked, sounding wistful. She liked this one; he was cleaner than most, and darkly handsome in a frightening way. The eye patch didn’t bother her; she bet the other guy had come out a lot worse in that fight.

“Would if I could.” He smiled politely. “Tomorrow, for sure.”

A pro, Dolly accepted the rebuff. “So what do you want to know?”

“I’m looking for somebody,” Ryan said, tucking the live bullet into her apron. “A woman called Patrica.”

“Fat Pat? Sure. What you want with her?”

Ryan stared at the woman.

Her smile faded like ice in the sun. “Right. Not my business. She’s the madam of the gaudy house down the street. Anything else?”

“Stew,” he said, adjusting his hood to hide his features once more.

She shrugged, checked her pocket and walked away, hips expertly swinging to avoid bumping the tables.

Watching the crowds stream by in an endless procession, Ryan started to feel better about the task at hand. They were in the ville, and he knew who had the med kit. Now all he had to do was get hold of this Patrica, get an audience with the baron and find the vault. The rest would be simple stealing. What could he offer to sell? Mebbe where the muties nested? That might work.

The food arrived in a not overly clean bowl with a big chip in the side and a plastic spoon that had seen better days. But the stew was hot, and Ryan wolfed it down as if it were his last meal. He was nearly done when a gong began to sound, slow and steady. The man lowered his spoon. Another mutie attack? Couldn’t be; this was daytime. But everybody in sight stopped whatever they were doing and started to walk down the main street of the ville, heading in the same direction. Dolly and the sec men included.

Leaving his food, Ryan mingled with the crowds, keeping an eye out for Krysty. Usually, her fiery red hair would be an easy find amid the collection of brunettes and blondes, but this day she was wearing a hood.

A fortified building of some sort stood at the head of a large courtyard, and the crowd was forming a half circle in front of the structure. On a wooden platform stood a redheaded man in embroidered military fatigues, and a few more folks less ornately dressed. Could be the baron and his flunkies, Ryan realized. Better and better. There were sec men on the ground behind a sandbag wall, holding very clean blasters, but they had a relaxed appearance, as if this were nothing unusual.

Then the man on stage lifted the med kit into view, and Ryan had to stop himself from rushing the guards.

There it was, only a hundred yards way. Ryan grimly swore it wasn’t going to leave his sight again.

“Will you look at that, a predark medical bag. Bastard thing must be worth a ville itself,” muttered a dirty-faced bald man dressed in tattered clothing.

“More,” a tiny woman agreed, her cascade of golden hair reaching to her knees. The luxurious tresses were braided into a thick ponytail. “Wonder what’s going on?”

“Good morning, citizens of Alphaville,” the baron boomed, the med kit dangling by a strap in his hand. “First off, I want to tell you that the traitor who broke the windows of greenhouse fourteen has been caught and dealt with.”

A murmur swept through the crowd.

“I prayed the poor bastard would escape,” said a giant in a leather apron. He was holding a massive hammer and reeked of sweat and hot iron.

“Nobody escapes Alphaville,” said a tiny rat-faced man wearily.

When the noises died, Baron Strichland continued, “The plants have been saved, the soil replenished and there will still be enough food to last us through the long dark winter.”

Applause broke out from the attendees.

“That’s something,” a dour old woman snorted, her hands as gnarled as tree roots. She stank of lye and soap, and a hand-carved clothespin jutted from a skirt pocket.

“And on a more positive note, we have a new addition to our ville, Brian and Tasha.” The baron gestured to the couple and they dutifully stepped forward. Ryan recognized them as the folks chased by the wolves the previous day. The man seemed thinner, more haggard, his face a stone mask. The woman was red eyed and sniffling, the baby cradled in her arms. Their daughter wasn’t in sight.