All Fall Down: The Chronicles of Altor, page 29
He had only taken a few steps when he heard a woman’s voice from behind. “Quinn?”
Quinn stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t move for a heartbeat, recognizing the voice. When he turned around, he had composed himself.
“It’s Jasmine. Jasmine McCrory.”
“Hi, Jazz,” Quinn said. “I owe you an apology. I’ve been meaning to look you up ever since we closed the doors.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Jazz said. “It’s only been what...?”
“A little over a year. Thus, the apology. I really am sorry, but it’s good to see you.”
“If anyone has an excuse for ignoring an old friend, I’d say it’s you. You’re like Atlas, with the world on your shoulders. Well, if not the world, at least Altor.”
“It does feel like it sometimes, but if Altor has to rest on these skinny shoulders, we’re all in trouble.”
“You’re built just like you were in high school.”
“The way you say that, you almost make it sound like it’s a good thing.”
“Could be a lot worse.”
“You look just exactly like yourself, Jazz.”
“The way you say that, you almost make it sound like it’s a good thing.”
“You were always beautiful and you know it. No false modesty now.”
Jazz’s cheeks reddened just a little. “Well, thank you, then. I heard Marshall is here somewhere, too, but I never see him. Is he doing okay?”
“Depends on the definition of okay, I suppose. He was outside the dome when we had to close the door. He’s in Dust City, but I’m trying to get him inside. People keep trying to blow him up out there.”
“I always knew you guys would make something of yourselves. I didn’t know it would be this,” she waved her arm around to encompass the dome, “but I knew it would be something big.”
They were standing in the middle of a busy path and people were moving around them on both sides.
“Listen, I really do know how busy you are. I don’t want to take up your time.” Jazz started to move away.
“Hold on,” Quinn said. “I’ve had kind of a surprise for you this whole time and haven’t gotten around to giving it to you. I’d like to do that. Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Sure. Where? What time?”
Quinn looked up at the dome, where a softly-lit digital clock showed the time twenty-four hours a day. “How about six o’clock? We can meet right back here.”
“It’s a date,” Jazz said, then flushed again. “Well, not a date-date. It’s a dinner for two old friends.”
Quinn smiled, happy to see Jazz be the flustered one this time instead of him. He waved and hurried toward the elevator. He rode it down to his office in the lower level. Once inside, he put a skin up on the walls that he had never used before. It was the downtown area of Middle Falls, the small Oregon town area where he had grown up.
He sat in his chair, leaned back and nearly felt like he was back home again.
“Janus, I want you to have the restaurant remodeled.”
“It was just changed for today, to one of our pregnancy winners.”
One of the prizes offered to pregnant couples as part of Janus’s Get out the babies movement was the chance to have one of the restaurants remodeled to anything that was in Janus’s databanks, which was almost anything. They got to choose the restaurant, then invite as many of their friends as the place would hold to celebrate the upcoming birth of a baby.
“I understand that, but there’s got to be some perk to owning this whole place, right?”
“The concept of ownership has undergone a radical change over the last year.”
“I want you to do this. Send a message to the couple and tell them that they can now pick two nights, two different restaurants if they wish, then slot them into the next available opening.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Then remodel the restaurant to Artie’s.”
“The drive-in from our hometown?”
A small chill ran down Quinn’s spine. Our hometown. He supposed it was true. He had created Janus in the basement of his parents’ home in Middle Falls. It felt like another small shift in perspective for Janus to claim it as his hometown.
“Yes, Artie’s from Middle Falls. I need it done before six this evening.”
“Acknowledged.”
Quinn always wished for more time each day. It felt like he could never get everything done that he needed to. At that moment, he had lost any momentum he’d had. Six o’clock seemed a long ways away.
WHEN JAZZ WALKED DOWN the path, she found Quinn already waiting for her. It was a testament to how far he had managed to step back from the spotlight that most people didn’t even seem to recognize him.
“I should have come and picked you up at your place,” Quinn said.
Jazz shook her head. “This is fine. You’ve created a safe place here, Quinn. Have there been any real crimes inside the dome?”
“Not really. A little mischief here and there. Kids will be kids. But no serious assaults or robberies. We’ve got a pretty good deterrent here, since they know they would be caught almost immediately.”
“Why should anyone rob anyone when all they need to do is ask for something?”
“Exactly,” Quinn agreed. “So far, our attempt to create a perfect society is humming right along. Ready to eat?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Oh, I’ve got something special lined up. Come on.”
Quinn crooked his arm out and Jazz slipped her hand through it, a gesture that had gone out of style decades earlier.
They made an attractive couple. Jazz had always been naturally lovely and Quinn had grown into his looks over the years.
When they turned a corner, they both stopped and gawked.
It was Artie’s, straight from Middle Falls. The tall façade rose up forty feet in the air, with a red neon sign that read Artie’s, Burgers and Shakes.
“Oh my God,” Jazz said. She looked up at Quinn, a happy smile on her face. “I never thought I’d see Artie’s again.”
“I had Janus store almost everything in the database to be recreated. It’s not quite the same, but it’s pretty close. Do you want to eat in the car or inside?”
Jazz tore her eyes off the sign and looked down at the front of the restaurant. There were reproductions of 1950s Chevys, Fords, Pontiacs, and more. “Let’s eat in the car.”
“Good choice,” Quinn said. He opened the passenger door of a 1956 Ford Thunderbird that was an exact replica of the car Suzanne Somers drove in American Graffiti, then slipped behind the wheel. He leaned out the window and pushed a red button on the speaker. Instantly, a woman’s voice said, “Artie’s. What can I get you?”
Quinn looked at Jazz. “You want a burger basket and a chocolate shake?”
“What else?”
Quinn gave their order, then turned on the radio. A disc jockey’s voice came through the speakers. “This is KMFR, Middle Falls Radio. Here’s Elvis Presley and Heartbreak Hotel.”
Quinn cleared his throat and said, “Radio, play something from 2002.”
Elvis faded away and a new DJ’s voice was heard. “It’s 6:05 in Middle Falls and I’m Scott Patrick. Here’s Days Go by, from Dirty Vegas.”
Quinn grinned and said, “Guess we couldn’t really do that in high school, could we?”
“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”
Quinn looked up at the board that listed the prices. “Let’s see, our whole meal will come to about $3.75 plus tip. Of course, that assumes there’s any form of monetary exchange in Altor, which there isn’t. In any case, only the best for you.”
Their food arrived quickly and, to their surprise, it was an excellent approximation of an Artie’s burger basket. The bun was soft and delicious, the fries were perfectly golden, and the chocolate shakes tasted like frozen cake batter.
When the song ended, a rather anachronistic announcement played over the radio. “Here’s a big new bulletin. The first Dome Baby has just been born to Caitlin and John Brewer. They were also the first marriage performed under the dome. Who knows what’s next for these pioneers?”
That was good news and a nice capper to a perfect date.
For almost the last ten years, Quinn had felt under constant pressure. Sitting there in the comfy confines of the Ford T-Bird with Jazz, he felt the weight slip off his shoulders for at least a few minutes.
Chapter Forty-One
The Battle for New City
` Things had been quiet for some time between Covington and New City. Tensions had boiled over when Dickie had killed two of the men guarding one of the roads into town. Bullets and harsh words had been exchanged.
When Kane had killed Dickie, that had calmed the waters and a détente had taken hold.
It couldn’t be said that things were friendly, or that either side would ask to borrow a neighborly cup of sugar, but there hadn’t been any further violence.
That lasted until September.
New City was doing well, if not completely flourishing. The large lots that had once been covered in grass and water features were now given over to vegetable gardens or turned into grazing land for cows. They had six milking cows inside the walls. That wasn’t really enough to provide milk, cream, and butter for the entire town, but it meant that everyone had at least a little.
Kane would have traded almost anything for a bull to increase the herd but hemmed in behind the wall that kept them safe, that was impossible.
They did have roosters, though, and the chicken population multiplied over time. Soon enough, almost every house had three or four laying hens. Omelets were a popular breakfast choice in New City. Truth be told, it wasn’t unusual to find more omelets stuffed with the vegetables grown in the garden for lunch and dinner as well.
Thanks to all that food production, Kane and June were convinced that they were in a good position to make it through their second winter.
They had learned a lot about what worked and what didn’t in the first year and they had laid out plans that would build on that knowledge.
They could envision a time when they wouldn’t have to worry so much about people starving to death.
The band who had taken over Covington were not in such a good position. They had been attacked again and again over the summer. Several groups had nearly managed to take the town.
Where New City had been able to focus on one thing, Covington had to come to grips with both food production and fighting each militia that showed up on their doorstep.
That meant they went into early fall short on rations and there was a long, bleak winter staring them in the face.
The easiest solution was to take what belonged to their wealthy neighbors up the hill.
The toughest challenge to doing so was the wall that stood at the top of a rise. They did have a good array of weaponry, including the .50 caliber gun that could wreak real damage, but that wasn’t enough to get them inside the wall.
Kane had long since destroyed the bridge between the two towns, but that was only a deterrent, not a complete blockade. The army of Covington had gone downstream several miles, found a likely spot, and built a new bridge across. That added a bit of distance to any possible attack, but once it was completed, they were able to get there.
The man who served as the leader of Covington was a former contractor by the name of Hank Dillon. Hank had seen the winter coming while spring was still in bloom and had planned accordingly.
He had taken a piece of heavy equipment that had been among their spoils when they captured Covington—a Caterpillar D-9 of fairly recent vintage—and had begun to turn it into a weapon of war.
They may not have had enough food, but they did have skilled labor, steel, and welding equipment.
It didn’t require all that much to turn the big Cat into something that would be, if not exactly a tank, at least something that was on the same spectrum.
The trick was getting it to a point where it could be used against the wall. They had indeed built a bridge downstream from New City, but it was a bridge intended to get human beings across, not massive pieces of heavy equipment. Hank knew their little footbridge was not the answer.
As soon as Kane discovered that bridge, he tried to tear it down and, failing that, built new trenches on the hill above it, so anyone that wanted to get across would have to fight their way over it.
Hank was not dissuaded by small challenges. He found an old road that ran parallel to the river. He took the transformed D-9 five more miles downstream until he found another bridge, crossed it, and made their way back toward New City.
There was no road that ran most of that distance, but that was one of the advantages of using a piece of heavy equipment. Road or no road, it found a way to move forward.
It was the afternoon of September 17, 2034, when that rattling, rumbling, smoke-belching piece of equipment roared up to the New City lookouts who were on watch in their trenches. There was a small army trailing behind it, but they stayed far enough back to allow the Caterpillar to blast its path of destruction ahead of it.
The New City lookouts sent a runner to town, but the rest stayed and fired.
It was like shooting at a barn with a pea shooter.
The cab was completely covered with steel sheeting. There wasn’t even a slit to look out of. Instead, the machine was steered by a man inside who used a series of protected cameras that hooked into a tablet inside. The engine was likewise protected. Men with guns could not harm the machine.
Just as tanks effectively ended trench warfare, the armored D-9 threatened to do the same. It ran over the entrenched New City men and women, squishing them beneath its massive weight. Their screams were terrible but did not last long.
The D-9 turned toward New City. The plan was to have it ram into the gate until it knocked it down, then to roam through town causing havoc wherever it could, panicking the citizenry and allowing their own fighters to get inside and finish the job.
The road to New City was essentially clear of obstacles from that point on. The Caterpillar was weighed down by the tons of steel armor and its top speed was between three and four miles per hour. It was slow but relentless.
Kane dispatched fighters to both sides of the trail it was climbing so they could shoot at it from behind. It was just as invulnerable to attack from the rear as it was from the front or side.
The machine slowly crawled up the incline to the wall under heavy but ineffective fire.
Inside the wall, Kane was indeed panicking. It was June who ran up to the wall and began to issue orders. She pointed at three men who were standing back from the wall, obviously not wanting it to fall on them when it was breached.
“You! Run and grab the gasoline we have stored.” She put an arm around her son Ric and said, “Go and get two of the torches we use in the square. Bring them back here and hurry!”
While June put a likely impossible plan into action, the D-9, belching black smoke into the air, churned up the hill toward the gate.
“How close?” Kane shouted out to the lone man left on top of the wall.
“Too damned close!” the man shrieked. He snuck a quick look over and said, “Impact in about ten seconds!” then scrambled down the ladder, jumping the last ten feet.
It was longer than ten seconds before the impact, but not much. The D-9 hit the gate and the sound of screeching, splintering wood was even louder than the overworked engine. The gate held, but it bowed inward.
June looked helplessly up the street for the gas and torches. It was nowhere in sight.
The Caterpillar backed up and took another run at the gate. This time the front layer of logs splintered completely in half and fell forward over onto the armored cab. They bounced off, leaving a dent but nothing more. Only the second layer of logs stood between the attackers and New City.
The three men came running as fast as they could, each carrying a five-gallon container of gasoline. Ric ran behind them, carrying two lighted torches from the town square.
June turned to Kane. “I think you and I need to carry these up and dump them all over that machine.”
Kane didn’t stop to think about whether that was a good plan or not. It was the only plan they had. He grabbed a red five-gallon container and lugged it up one of the ladders to the platform that hadn’t been knocked off the wall. June picked one up, but it was too heavy for her. She looked for the men who had brought the gas, but they had faded away.
“I got it, Mom,” Ric said.
Ric was only thirteen, but he was going to be big like his father. He hefted the can and followed Kane up the ladder with June carrying the lit torches away from her as she climbed.
The trailing army was starting to catch up, but Kane had dispatched more gunmen to trenches he had dug along the sides of the road. They fired on the approaching men and women, who were forced to scramble for cover, leaving the Caterpillar alone.
Kane got to the top of the wall and peered over. The machine was not directly under him, so he ducked below the top and hurried along the catwalk.
Ric reached the platform and followed along behind his father.
Kane opened the container and poured it on top of the D-9. It chugged out but seemed to take forever to empty. When he had finally dumped it all out, he reached back for the next can from Ric.
Volleys of shots were ringing out from below. The New City citizens in the trenches were badly outnumbered but were doing their best to hold off the approaching army.
Just as Kane’s hand touched the can, a shot from below hit him, knocking him completely off the platform. He fell to the ground thirty feet below like dead weight.
Ric didn’t even hesitate. He poked his head over the spot where his father had been and turned the can upside down. More gasoline emptied out onto the machine below.
The Caterpillar hit the gate again, nearly knocking a hole in the middle. The impact blew Ric completely off. June managed to hold on but knew that one more blow like that would finish the gate.
