Along with its escort of armed
horsemen, the wagon headed out of the town’s small commercial district.
Getting to where they were going didn’t take long. They passed through some
residential areas and then a bit of open land before arriving at a house that
was significantly grander-looking than any others Noah had glimpsed along the
way. It had a large, sloping lawn surrounded by a brick-and-iron fence. A
slatted iron gate barred entrance to a curving length of driveway that led up
to the house and looped back around.
In the center of the driveway
loop was a large and ornate—and non-functioning—fountain. It appeared as if an
ongoing effort was being made to keep the big lawn under control. This was in
stark contrast to the other houses they had passed, all of which had gone to
seed as badly as any others Noah had seen in his journey across the country. A
number of lawn care tools were propped around the defunct fountain, including
several self-powered mowers. Whoever lived here—the Judge, presumably—had a
whole crew working to keep things presentable. Noah found this vaguely
troubling. This Judge person was seeming more like a King than a
post-apocalypse justice of the peace.
The wagon drew to a
stop at the gate. One of the horsemen climbed down from his mount and
approached it, conferring briefly with a man on the other side. The other man then
unlocked the gate and pulled it open. The man in the driver’s perch snapped
the reins and the wagon started up the curving driveway.
Nick had begun to stir
by the time the wagon stopped again, this time alongside a long porch. He
lifted his head and squinted at Noah, who regarded him warily, expecting
trouble to erupt the moment the man got a look at the way Hal was holding
Aubrey between his legs. Blood from a gash in Nick’s scalp had trickled down
his forehead and dried there. The length of rope binding his wrists had come
loose during the earlier struggle. Shaking it off, he touched the wound and
grimaced. Then, with a loud grunt of effort, he got his hands braced beneath
him and pushed himself into a sitting position.
He turned his head and
looked right at Hal. After glaring at him a moment, he made a loud sound in
his throat and spat out a mix of phlegm and blood. Then he sneered.
“Motherfucker, you’re gonna die.”
Hal took the revolver
from the holster at his hip and placed the muzzle against Aubrey’s head. “I
don’t think so, hombre. You even flinch, your little whore here is the one
who’s gonna die.”
Nick wiped blood from
his mouth with the back of a hand.
Hal tensed and cocked
the hammer of his gun. “I told you not to flinch.”
Nick dropped his hand.
“Relax. I’m not gonna kill you just yet. But your time is coming, fat man.
That’s a promise.”
Hal laughed. “It’s one
you won’t get to keep.”
“We’ll see about that.”
All around them, men
were climbing down from horses. The group’s leader gestured to one of the
other men. “Let the Judge know we’re here. Explain the situation.”
The appointed messenger
responded with a nod and a tip of his cowboy hat before hurrying up the steps
to the porch. A knock on the door was promptly answered and the man was
admitted into the house. Another man came outside and exchanged a few mundane
words with the posse’s leader, addressing him as Connor. The man on the porch
wore khaki pants, loafers, and a golf shirt. His name was Chance. His clothes
were the cleanest, crispest-looking garments Noah had seen anyone wearing in
years. His dark blond hair was slicked back. He had an air of officiousness
about him that made Noah pretty sure this guy was a close underling of the
Judge, perhaps a personal assistant or direct second-in-command. He looked pained
by the idea of allowing any of these dirty ruffians into his lord and master’s home.
Noah hated him on
sight. The old civilized world had gone down in flames, the human race had
suffered a nearly extinction-level calamity, and somehow this person seemed
unmarred by any of it. There was something very wrong about that, a perception
that stirred a deep level of anxiety in Noah. A feeling of things not being
quite as they seemed on the surface—the same thing he’d felt while staring at
those TV screens in Walmart—recurred.
Connor’s messenger
returned a few moments later and said something in a low voice to Chance, who
nodded. Noah and his companions were then roughly rousted from the wagon and marched
into the house. They paused briefly inside a large foyer with a marble-tiled
floor. Above them a glistening chandelier hung from a high, vaulted ceiling.
A spiral staircase to their right led to a second floor. Noah could hear women
speaking in hushed tones from somewhere up there.
Chance ushered Connor
and his prisoners out of the foyer and led them down a long, wide hallway. The
muzzle of a rifle prodded at Noah’s back as he walked, urging him forward in a
distinctly belligerent way. One time it rammed into him so hard he nearly
stumbled and fell. He maintained his footing, though, and tried hard not to
react to the snickers of amusement behind him.
As they continued down
the hallway, they passed several open rooms. All were spacious and tastefully
appointed. One looked like a ballroom. It was beginning to hit him that this
house was actually more of a mansion, the kind of residence reserved only for
the most elite members of pre-apocalypse society. The impression that they
were being granted an audience with royalty recurred and Noah had to wonder how
it was this Judge was able to keep this place for himself. His captors
certainly seemed tough enough and well-armed enough to claim it for themselves
if they wanted. That consideration aside, Noah found it baffling that a home
as ostentatious as this one was located in such a tiny Midwestern town. It was
unlikely and bizarre, bordering on surreal, and yet here it was.
Near the end of the
long hallway they passed through an arch into another large room. This one was
a library. Built-in bookcases occupied nearly every inch of wall-space. Leather-bound
volumes filled most of these shelves. The sole exception was a single shelf of
vintage paperbacks Noah glimpsed as the procession of prisoners and captors
filed into the room. His head swiveled sharply to the left, the modest
collection of paperbacks commanding his attention even as the rifle in his back
prodded him forward. He was too far from the books to make out titles and
author names, but it was clear they were old pulps. His preferred genre, the
western, might even be represented there.
A big fireplace
dominated the wall to Noah’s right. Above the mantel were framed portraits of
dour-looking old people, none of whom were anyone he recognized,
unsurprisingly. In the center of the room was some furniture. Sofas, chairs,
ottomans, and end tables, all spread out in a loose semi-circle. Ashtrays sat
near the edge of each end table. The glass repositories were so clean they looked
as if ash had never touched them.
This was in stark
contrast to the ashtray that rested in the center of a small table situated
near a large window at the back of the library. Unlike its spotless cousins,
this one had seen a fair amount of regular use. At least a half-inch of dark
ash obscured its glass bottom. The gnawed butt-ends of several cigars
protruded from the layer of ash like grave markers. Next to the table was a
high-backed chair with velour upholstery and a frame of rich, dark wood. The person
sitting in the chair was reading a leather-bound volume and smoking a freshly-lit
cigar. She closed the book and glanced up as Noah and the others neared her.
Her left hand gripped the book, partially obscuring the title, but Noah could
see that it was called
In Watermelon Sugar
.
Chance held up a hand,
motioning for the group to stop. He addressed the woman, relating the reason
for the visit as she stared impassively back at him. After a few moments, she
cut him off with a wave of her hand and said, “I already know all this. Connor,
step forward.”
The leader of the posse
did as she bade and launched into a strangely effusive summary of events, which
Noah was appalled to note was embellished with half-truths and outright lies. This
angered him, but the emotion was blunted by how taken aback he was by the
situation.
Not once had the
possibility that the Judge might be a woman entered his mind. This wasn’t so
much a sexist thing as it was a baffling incongruity. Noah had pictured the
high authority these gangsters respected and feared as a grizzled old man in a
black suit, like a corrupt railroad tycoon or robber baron from some old
western movie. But this woman wasn’t like that at all. She was slim and
sophisticated-looking, attired in the kind of sleek and stylish equestrian
riding outfit Noah associated with aristocrats. She wore wire-rimmed glasses
and had long blonde hair that was currently pinned up. Noah put her age at
maybe forty or slightly above. She was attractive enough that it was a
distraction despite the fact that his life was on the line. Part of it, he
supposed, was that she strongly reminded him of an English teacher he’d had a
crush on in junior high.
Being in her presence
had a similar effect on Connor, who was blushing as he spun out his tale of
ridiculous lies. Noah took it as a given that the man was intimidated by her
for reasons that were not yet apparent, but it seemed he was also infatuated with
her.
An awkward silence
ensued in the moments after Connor finished speaking. At last, the woman let
out a breath and briefly looked at each of the faces assembled. Once she had
made eye contact with them all, she looked at Chance and nodded. “Have someone
take this one,” she said, pointing an index finger at Aubrey without looking at
her, “upstairs and clean her up. Put her in something pretty and find a room
for her.”
There was nothing
overtly sinister in what she’d said, but it was what had gone unspoken that bothered
Noah. To what purpose was Aubrey being put in “something pretty”?
Nick barked out a
vehement protest.
The woman didn’t look
at him. Her expression was serenely unworried as she said, “Kill the big one.
When he’s dead, hang his body with the others on Main Street.”
Aubrey had tears in her
eyes when she looked at Nick. “No.”
“It’s okay,” he told
her, his tone one of resignation. “I’m already dead.”
Next the Judge looked
at Noah and smiled. “Put this boy in a shed and shackle him. Tomorrow we’ll
put him to work.”
“Don’t kill our
friend,” Noah said, a quaver in his voice. “He hasn’t done anything. I know
he hasn’t.”
“You heard the man,”
the judge said, still smiling and looking right at him. “He’s already dead.
And I don’t care what he has or hasn’t done. I need only look at him to know
he’s too dangerous to keep alive.”
Noah shook his head.
“This is crazy.
You’re
crazy.”
The Judge ignored this as
she addressed her assistant. “Chance, see to the arrangements for the young
lady and our new shed slave.”
He nodded and briefly
left the library, returning moments later with an attractive young brunette
woman and a young man with short, dark hair. The two looked so much alike Noah
figured they had to be twins. Both were dressed in the formal attire of manor
servants, a black knee-length dress and black stockings for the woman, black
trousers and a white shirt for her probable brother.
Chance did some talking
once these two were in the library. Noah was too fraught with anxiety about
what was about to happen to focus clearly on everything the man was saying, but
he picked up enough to know the twins would be training them in their new
duties, whatever those were.
The Judge then called
an end to the proceedings and ordered everyone out of the library. Nick was dragged
out of the room first. Noah went next, accompanied by his new trainer and one
of Connor’s men. Out in the wide hallway, the trio trailed after Nick and the
men who’d apparently soon be carrying out his execution. The thought filled
Noah with fresh, helpless anger and a deep despair. Despite their sometimes
contentious relationship, he didn’t want to see him die.
But there was nothing
Noah could do.
He flinched when he
heard screams behind him. Aubrey and her minders were in the hallway now. She
called out desperately for help. Oddly, she was calling out for Noah rather
than for Nick. The cries cut off abruptly in the wake of a sharp, snapping
sound Noah guessed was a slap across his sister’s face. Hearing it made him
angrier than ever.
Still, there he was
nothing he could do.
Soon Noah’s group passed
through a large kitchen and followed Nick and the others through a door at the back
of the house. The rear of the property encompassed an impressive amount of
land. A guest house some distance off to Noah’s left would have made an
impressive home in its own right. Farther off were several smaller outlying
buildings, some of which were probably the sheds the Judge had referenced.
Beyond all this was some farmland.