Authors: Joss Ware
The City of Envy
Eight months later
F
ence took a healthy gulp of beer. That was, at least, one thing that hadn’t disappeared since the Change. Man hadn’t forgotten the important things in life.
As beer went, this was pretty damn good too. Ice cold, solid and dark like he was, bold and strong—like his sense of humor. Fence grinned to himself and took another drink.
Damn, I’m a fucking comedian.
It had been a year. An entire year since he and Lenny led a bewildered group of men from deep in the caves into a world straight out of
I Am Legend
.
A world complete with zombies, and Fence playing an even more ripped, and bald, Will Smith. No shit. And if the glances from that table of fine-looking women on the other side of the pub were any indication, they’d appreciate it if he’d do a few pull-ups. Shirtless. Just like his man Will had done in the movie.
“What can I get you?” asked the waitress, leaning in close so she could make eye contact and provide what he called a glimpse of Happy Valley: a good, solid view right down her shirt. To be fair, Cindy also had to get close to be heard over the live music coming from the stage next to them, but her girls looked as if they were dying to pop out and say hi.
“Depends what’s available, sugar,” Fence told her, giving her his long, slow grin. An old girlfriend had told him it was like sliding into a steaming hot tub. Cindy giggled and ogled back at him.
“Oh, just get her number and be done with it,” Elliott said with a roll of the eyes and the twitch of a smile.
Easy for him to say. Elliott’d been shacked up with Jade, the smoking hot redhead currently singing an old Bonnie Raitt song, within two weeks of their arrival here in Envy.
Which, as Fence had learned, was actually N.V. Or New Vegas. Because they were currently sitting in what had once been a little Irish pub in the New York–New York casino, one of the random buildings that survived the Change.
And by “number,” Elliott meant room number. No one had phones anymore, or even email, and definitely not Facebook. They didn’t drive cars. Even here in Envy, the largest settlement of humanity, there was limited electricity, with only an occasional DVD player and flat-screen TV that had survived for half a century. The disks of movies, music, and other shows were hoarded and protected like a national fucking treasure.
As it turned out, the casino/hotel had become sort of a commune for what was left of a good portion of the human race, at least here in New Vegas. Everyone lived in their own rooms, but most people ate (and took their turns working at or otherwise contributing to) the communal restaurants. It was sort of like
Cheers
on steroids: literally, everyone knew everyone’s name, because they saw each other every day.
That didn’t include the pub, however. The establishment was like pretty much every other sports bar Fence had been in, except there were no televised live-action sports. Once all the hell that broke loose during the Change had settled into something resembling normalcy, the guy who cleaned up and scavenged the space had learned to brew beer after the kegs that survived were emptied. (Fence figured, what with the world going to shit and everyone thinking it was the Apocalypse, that had probably happened within a few hours.) His kids and their spouses still ran the place. They were paid in casino chips, which were the only currency available, or through barter.
According to Lou Waxnicki, one of the guys who lived through the Change, Jody Stearns’s first few attempts at brewing ale had tasted worse than horse piss . . . but apparently he’d gotten better at it. Or at least his kids had, because, here they were, fifty years later, drinking a dark, nutty beer that rivaled Guinness.
Fence settled back in his chair and gave the waitress a sidewise look, but he didn’t ask for her room number. Not yet. They had all night to get to that point . . . and there was that table of women in the corner. He had his eye on one of them, if she’d ever look his way.
“Yo, Vaughn, do you know those ladies over there?” he said, shifting closer to the mayor of Envy, who was nursing his own beer.
In this world, Fence figured being the mayor of the largest settlement of mankind was akin to being the President of the United States back when it still existed. Vaughn Rogan, who looked like a cross between the Marlboro Man and David Beckham—not Fence’s words—was a guy who took his position seriously. He was also one of the few people in Envy who knew the truth about the guys from the Sedona cave: that they’d somehow time-traveled or slept through fifty years without aging.
Vaughn also knew that some of the men had acquired an array of odd, superhuman abilities—and some of them hadn’t. Fence was one of the ones who hadn’t, and he figured he was one of the lucky ones.
Not long after Lenny died, Elliott realized he’d somehow obtained a healing touch—except that every time he healed someone, it came back to kick him in the balls and created even bigger problems. He’d confessed to Fence that because he hadn’t understood—or even realized the existence of—his new ability, he might have accidentally contributed to Lenny’s death. Poor son of a bitch, Fence thought, to have that guilt on his conscience along with everything else they had to accept.
And Quent, the British guy who’d been the one who hired him in the first place, could touch something and tell its history. That wasn’t so bad as long as he didn’t get sucked into a comalike state of memories that made him not only vulnerable, but also threatened to keep him in that infinite vortex . . . which had almost gotten him killed once or twice.
Then there was Simon, who somehow learned to become invisible—now that was something Fence figured he could use. He chuckled deeply to himself at the thought, then shook his head. Probably the reason the good Lord hadn’t seen fit to bestow that particular skill on him. He knew him well enough.
And, hell, with Happy Valley Cindy trying to hypnotize him with her girls, he guessed it was a moot point.
The other member of their strange group, Wyatt, seemed to also have been overlooked when they passed out superhero abilities. So although he and Fence had finally begun to grow stubble again in the last few months, just like the rest of their companions—which, along with Lenny’s unfortunate death, at least proved that they hadn’t become immortal or remained frozen in time—they hadn’t been altered in any other way.
“Three of those women are from around here,” Vaughn said, glancing over at the table. “I don’t recognize the other two.” He slid his gaze to Fence, a smile lurking in his rugged face. “You want me to introduce you?”
Fence snorted. The day he needed to be introduced to a woman was the day hell froze over. And since, even though the world had ended, hell obviously hadn’t frozen because there were still assholes and evil in the world, he didn’t need the help. “Naw. Just wondered.”
Speaking of assholes and evil in the world . . . Fence’s jovial mood faltered. He turned to include Elliott in the conversation. “I just got back an hour ago and haven’t been down to the computer lab yet,” he said, referring to his two-day trip helping move some Envyites to a new settlement. His guide and survival skills were in great demand since he’d arrived in Envy, for people rarely traveled more than a few miles beyond the city’s protective walls. There weren’t many navigable roads, nor were there convenient methods of transportation, hotels, or even that many settlements. “Any updates from Theo or Lou?”
Theo and Lou Waxnicki were computer geek twins who’d lived through the Change and over the last fifty years had used their knowledge of 2010 technology to try and piece together what had happened to the world, and how. They had long suspected the Strangers—an elite group of men and women who wore crystals that made them immortal—either had something to do with the devastating events or at least had prior knowledge of them. Either way, through Theo’s expert hacking into their communications network they knew that the Strangers had used the destruction of the world for their own benefit—obtaining immortality while keeping their fellow humans controlled and relatively helpless.
Meanwhile, the Waxnicki brothers had secretly begun to build their own post-Change version of the Internet in order to have an underground network for their silent, insurgent group called the Resistance, and to harvest and organize whatever data could be culled from the caches of surviving computers and mainframes. In fact, Elliott’s main squeeze, Jade, traveled from settlement to settlement as an itinerant singer in order to secretly collect computer components. Theo and Lou were currently in a settlement called Yellow Mountain, more than a hundred miles away, where they’d found a well-preserved collection of electronics from one of the members of the Strangers’ inner circle. Nevertheless, they were still in communication with the Resistance members in Envy via their network.
Elliott’s face looked grim, and he exchanged a quick look with Vaughn before replying. “Theo’s getting some information from the Strangers’ communications network, but there doesn’t seem to be as much chatter since Quent stole that crystal from them. The bastards are obviously aware that someone is a threat to them now, though, so Theo thinks that might be part of the reason they’ve quieted down. They don’t know what we know and what we don’t.”
“Hell,
we
hardly know what we know and what we don’t,” Fence said grimly. “Except that those motherfuckers are into some evil shit, trying to sell kids into slavery and turning people into zombies and God knows what the hell else.”
“Not to mention what they did to Jade those years they had her imprisoned,” Elliott added with a glance up at the sexy redhead onstage. Her eyes met his over the microphone, and even from where he sat, Fence could feel the sharp, hot sizzle between them. No doubt about it . . . Elliott Drake was one
fortunate
dude. Jade wasn’t just a pretty face and a curvy body—she was smart and brave too. Fence wondered what it was like to have a woman with the whole package.
“I don’t like it,” Vaughn put in, his face sober. “It’s too quiet . . . I keep waiting for them to storm the walls or attack us here or something. It’s as if we’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. But none of the patrol have seen anything suspicious, even though I’ve increased their numbers and sent out a few scouting parties. You didn’t run into anything suspicious?” This last was directed to Fence.
He shook his head. “And I was looking. It’s almost . . . eerie.” He couldn’t explain how he did it, but he’d also paid close attention to the natural world—the birds and other animals, watching for signs in their behavior as well as tire tracks and campsite locations. Nothing seemed out of place or off.
“Even when I got the Mullinses to their new place and tried talking to the others in the village, no one had anything unusual to share. They hadn’t seen a Stranger in months. Zombies, yes, but the Strangers and their Humvees . . . no.”
“But they’ve got to be looking for that crystal Quent took—hell, they saw him escape with it—and they’ve got to know he’s here in Envy,” said Elliott, grim frustration in his voice.
Fence nodded, but there was no need to speak. They all understood the threat, and they all knew it was only a matter of time until something happened. If only they had an idea what to expect. The only thing they could do was wait, watch, and be prepared. All of which they were already doing.
Ready for a distraction, he glanced over at the group of women again, trying to catch the eye of the one who’d snagged his attention. She sat at the side of the table, so he had a good view of her profile except when she looked toward the stage. Then he got to see her face full-on—but she still wouldn’t look at him.
She couldn’t be more than twenty-seven or so, and the fact that he was technically . . . oh, seventy-nine; no, eighty, hell, he’d had a birthday back in February . . . didn’t bother him a bit. For all intents and purposes, he was still twenty-ni— No, thirty.
The woman looked as if she lived outdoors. Even in the low light of the pub, he could see the rich golden color of her skin and long brown hair streaked different shades of blond by the sun. She had a long, oval face and a long slender nose; wide, full lips; and from what he could tell, a killer body. Another guy might imagine her lying on a beach, tanning on the sand as the waves splashed up next to her—but that was not a fantasy Fence enjoyed. He had her soft and mussed in a bed of white sheets, the sun spilling over her body in its golden glory.
If she’d just look his way, he could catch her eye and hopefully start something.
“I thought you and Marley were . . . uh . . .” Vaughn said, setting his beer glass down, watching Jade onstage but talking to Fence.
“Marley and me? Nah,” he said, holding back on making the obvious joke. Vaughn might not get the movie reference, being a guy living after a good portion of the world was destroyed, and Fence didn’t like it when his jokes fell flat—it felt like his shield had been shattered.
Although he wasn’t strictly speaking the truth. He and Marley
had . . .
but it had been a temporary thing for both of them. That was the only way Fence wanted it anyway. At least until he figured out what the hell he was doing in this world and how to live here. Aside from that, there were other things he’d jump off a tall mountain before he told anyone about. Only Lenny had known, and understood—as much as he could.
And that, Fence thought wryly, was why he’d never found—or looked for—a woman with the whole package: looks, brains, humor, strength. Because a woman like that wouldn’t understand.
He looked at Vaughn, who was still watching Jade, but whose attention was clearly on Fence’s explanation. “Marley and I hung out for a while, but we’re just friends.”
It had been Marley, in fact, who described the mayor as a cross between the Marlboro Man and David Beckham, with a little bit of Barack Obama’s serious political persona tossed in when he was doing mayoral things. Fence was pretty sure it had been a compliment, and he wondered why the two of them, who clearly noticed each other, hadn’t hooked up.