Circles in the Dust (31 page)

             
The Mayor said nothing in return. David’s words had come flowing out and it was difficult to keep the conversation between the two of them sitting at the fire. By the end he could feel his blood boiling. The Mayor sat calculating his counter attack. David had to keep calm though. This was a negotiation, it had to be. A summit between generals. Not the ‘last chance to give it up and run away to save us the trouble of killing you’ speech.

             
“You would condemn all of humanity,” the Mayor growled.

             
“I would give humanity a fair shot at rebirth. You would condemn humanity to return to a dark age, where you can be king.”

             
There was a rustling from behind David. A chill ran through him. The sound came from right behind him, not far off. A drop of nervous sweat ran down his back. He must just be hearing things.

             
“I’m very sorry you feel that way, David,” the Mayor breathed amid an exasperated sigh. “I take it you won’t be asking for the chance to defect at the last?”

             
David set his jaw and took a deep breath through his nose. He shut his eyes and imagined his cabin. That was where he had been the happiest; for a while he had everything he needed, and life wasn’t so hard. He felt the watchful eyes of his sentinel pine behind him, always towering overhead, always watching, leading him back home. He felt the roughly tender embrace of his blankets on his bed of fresh pine boughs, the softness of his long-flat pillows under his head, the patter of rain on the roof while he lay safe and warm. He could hear the babbling of the river as he knelt on the shore, the crackling of the skin of the last rabbit he had caught, tasted the savory meat on his tongue.

             
He heard the sounds of pleasure, distantly, of the last time he had known a woman, though it had been a long time. The memory was pleasant enough, soft lips and skin, a supple body under his own. Her face was a blur, though, and he opened his eyes with a pang of guilt.

             
The Mayor was looking at him like he would have checked his watch if he had one. David returned himself to this world, full of guns and starving children, and sighed. He looked over his shoulder. It was back there, somewhere. They were much too far away to see it, but in his mind’s eye at least it was there, his monolith with supple boughs and green needles. It had survived, and so had he. At least this long.

             
“I’m sorry we couldn’t come to a more peaceful agreement,” David spoke softly.

             
There was a resounding pop as a bullet fired off behind him and it began.

CHAPTER 38

David threw himself on the ground, hoping the flames would conceal his wiry frame. Maybe they would all think he was shot, and not worth wasting a bullet. He saw the round shape of the Mayor lurch to the ground, and hoped the Outliers remembered the plan. A handful of handheld explosions sounded from the cabin side of the clearing, and was met with a wave of curses and returning fire. David covered his ears with his hands, clamping his eyes shut, though no memories of his past came to him this time. He tasted dirt, gritty on his teeth, and smelled only the fire next to him. Waves of heat assailed his face, which would have been welcome, if he hadn’t already been sweating and nauseous.

             
There was only the rhythm of war, ammo being discharged, empty shells bouncing from rocks and boots. Men were shouting, he could hear the deep thud of bullets striking wood, splintering bark from trees, opening shutters, digging into the dirt.

             
The volley lasted less than a minute. David knew the men of the Base had been holding that in for a long time; they were as desperate to get it out as he had hoped. David had counted on it, and they had not disappointed. He wondered if the Outliers had been able to exercise the restraint he had pleaded of them.

             
As the sounds of gunfire died down, he slowly raised his head to survey the damage through the wavering air over the fire. The men of the Base had taken a minimum of cover, hiding behind the bodies of trees at the forest’s edge. There were no bodies on the ground; that was good. Their pale faces twisted and flickered back and forth, but they all seemed to be there. He looked around to see the other side of the battlefield. Once again, no bodies, not even live ones, and David allowed himself a sigh of relief.

             
A shirt stuffed with leaves and pine needles was hanging out of a window, a boot riddled with holes lay dead in the dirt. A rifle had fallen from its vantage point where it had peeked over a log, strewn in the dust, though no owner was visible.

             
It was a beautiful sight.

             
David raised his hands, slowly getting to his feet, and looked up into the maws of half a hundred muzzles.

             
“Don’t shoot,” he shouted, sucking in a sulfurous cloud of air, though he hoped that was an unnecessary favor. They all remained where they were. Hands roved over bodies, looking for wounds that were not there. Heads turned to and fro counting comrades, and all were present.

             
The Mayor remained on the ground, across from David, and he stepped over the flames, reaching out to help the man up. The Mayor had keeled over on his belly, the shock too much for him. He hadn’t been able to scurry back behind his human wall. David reached out and prodded his shoulder. There was no reaction. He grabbed a handful of the polyester raincoat and heaved the Mayor onto his side. His heart sank at what he beheld.

             
Blood dripped into the dust, forming a black pool where his chest had been. David’s own lifeblood turned to ice. The Mayor’s face was gaunt, paler than the constant lack of sunlight could have bleached it, pale as death alone. There was a splatter covering the front of the man’s shirt, crimson liquid flowing steadily from a bullet wound that had to have pierced straight through blackened heart tissue. Eyes large as saucers, wide with surprise and fear, bored into David’s as the corpse teetered. Against the wall of wondering eyes, David saw the death that might just lead to many more, where there should have been none.

             
Crouching down, David used his legs to shove the Mayor back against the log he had been seated on no more than a minute past in a sitting position, pulling his chin down so the limp head would not roll back and display the treachery of the Outliers. Those eyes held David’s; he could not pull his away, could not think while they stared at him. He had seemed so sure that he would be the killer, that he was the hawk and David but a rabbit.

             
How had this happened?

             
They were not supposed to shoot anyone, they were supposed to fire one shot each into the air, and then duck down behind piles of wood and wait for the men of the Base to sink every round they had into the dummies hidden in sight around the camp. Who would do this? The Outliers were angry, sure, and for good reason. This man was the reason they had all been starving to death and faced their demise this morning. David was sure of that; there must be a handful of men privy to the Mayor’s deceit, but for the most part David knew the Mayor was the real enemy. Perhaps another of the Outliers had figured it out. Had a lucky guess. Just couldn’t control themselves, once the gun was in their hands and the Mayor was just standing there, vulnerable and open, an easy target.

             
They had their kill. The blood of vengeance pooled in the dirt. It was not so bad a thing of itself. Before long, though, it would bring many into the dust with it.

             
David managed to tear his eyes from the Mayor’s and look over his shoulder at the Outliers’ camp. Still no one had emerged. He wondered if the killer would show themselves, if this had been their morning by the river, their time to accept death, welcome it. Perhaps they had run into the woods after passing this death sentence on the rest of their comrades. They might still be there, working on a lie, something about their gun jamming, how they hadn’t fired even a single shot. The world blurred for a moment and David blinked, finding his eyes full of tears.

             
We were so close.

             
He looked back at the men standing in the trees. They were still hiding their bodies behind the thin trunks of the pines, eying David with, what was that, suspicion? Curiosity? They were waiting for the Mayor to speak, but they were in for quite a wait. David stood back up and faced them. He opened his mouth to speak, his final words, when a whoop went up behind him. There was a crunch of earth and stone as heavy footsteps approached. David whirled.

             
“You guys have terrible aim,” Mitch called out as he approached the fire. The Basemen watched idly, weapons at the ready. No one pulled a trigger, though David thought he heard a few clicks. David groaned as he realized just how close his plan had come to fruition. “Would you believe me if I said you didn’t hit a single one of us?” Mitch mocked.

             
“What the hell are you doing?” David gasped. Mitch cast a devious wink in his direction.

             
“Trust me, this is going to be good,” he whispered. David watched in disbelief as Mitch strode up to the fire and faced the army in the trees. “Hello, boys. Did you get it all out? Scratch those itchy trigger fingers?”

             
No one moved.

             
“Notice none of you are hurt,” he said. “You’re welcome for that. We weren’t aiming to kill, just to get your blood pumping a little. And it worked, handsomely. I bet you didn’t save a single round, did you? Just fired away, even though you couldn’t see a single face. You saw something, though, and you ran after it like a starving dog.” The mirth was fading from his lips; there were sparks in his eyes. A lump began to form in the pit of David’s stomach.

             
“And now you’re just standing there, with your thumbs up your asses, no idea what to do now, right?” They ignored him once again. “What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?”

             
Al stepped out into the open, pistol in hand, though it was hanging at his side now.  “Mayor?” he called out in a voice thin and weak like a lost child’s. The corpse made no reply.

             
“Mayor?” Mitch barked at the gory figure seated at his feet. “Oh, Mr. Mayor?” he shouted louder, dipping his face to within inches of those round, frightened eyes. “Oh, he can’t hear us,” Mitch said matter-of-factly. “Because he’s dead.” He grabbed the body, wrapping both hands in the folds of sopping fabric. He lifted the man off the ground, with more strength than his angular physique would have spoken of, and sent the corpse skidding through the dirt, tumbling down the gentle slope leading down to the forest. It came to rest against a boulder, lying on its back, wide eyes and bleeding wounds for all to see. David watched with as much shock as any of the others.

             
“You have no leader, and no bullets,” David crowed to the astonished gathering. “This is where most people give up.”

             
Al stepped away from the protection of the trees and walked over to the body of the Mayor, now matted and caked with debris from the forest floor. He knelt by the crumpled leader of the base, and even from a distance David could see his body shuddering, wracked with sobs, one hand covering his face, one on the shoulder of the dead man, his pistol forgotten on the ground behind him.

             
“Are you going to be the first, Al?” Mitch called out. David reached for his arm, mobility returning to his limbs, his senses returning, but Mitch shook it off and began marching into the grass. David watched him go, cringing, at a loss for words or actions. “That bastard kept us out when there was a place for us all along, and you know it, don’t you? You always did.” Mitch’s voice blazed through the brittle stillness of the dawn. “You’re as guilty as he was. Maybe I should put an end to you too.”

          Al looked up at Mitch striding toward him and rose, taller by Mitch by what looked like a full head, curling his hands into iron fists. Mitch was raising a shining pistol, gleaming silver, as he neared Al, who stood still as stone. Insults were streaming from Mitch’s mouth, mixed with accusations, and the occasional bark of cruel laughter.

              David saw a ripple pass through the men in the trees. They were vacating their hiding places, migrating into the grass, toward Al and Mitch. The two were standing toe-to-toe now, spittle erupting from Mitch’s mouth, a terrible calm emanating from Al. David turned, ready to flee from the mad flames consuming his plans for peace. He was coming around the first cabin when a figure appeared around the other side. It was Mort, shotgun in hand, the bulge of shells protruding from his hip.

             
“Mort, we’ve got to get out of here,” David said as he saw the burly man. “The plan failed. We’ve got to go now, Mitch killed the Mayor.”

             
“I know,” Mort said as he shouldered past. “I saw everything, David.”

             
David spun on his heels. “So you can see the mob out there about to eat Mitch alive?” Mort froze, but did not turn around.

             
“Mitch is the only reason any of us are still alive,” he mumbled. “I can’t just watch while they tear him apart.”

             
“You’re going to die?” Was there something in the water?

             
“Your plan was good,” Mort said, turning back, “but it didn’t work. It’s over, David. We gave it our best shot. Revenge won out. We’ll all rest easy soon.”

             
“No, you’ll get your eternal rest, and a handful of them to come along with you, if you’re lucky. Then they’ll go back to their homes, feeling like they’ve won; they beat the Outliers, the savages who wouldn’t change to save their own lives.” Disgusted, David stomped toward the center of the camp. Men were materializing out of the greenery and wandering toward the commotion out in the stretch of grass between the trees and the cabin of the boy born after the end of the world.

             
“We’ll take our place at the Base now. Like we should have so long ago.” Mort’s words drifted to him from behind.

             
David turned to see them, streaming to where Mitch was still screaming at Al, who was enduring the berating with stony fortitude. As David looked over his shoulder and watched, an ebony hand curled around the pistol clamped in Mitch’s, holding it off to the side, while another placed itself around his throat. A gunshot resounded, ripping through Al’s torso, sending him sprawling to the ground. More shots were fired and a handful of the Basemen dropped. Men were shouting and dying, some running toward their attackers, some away. The sounds of formal warfare lasted only a fraction of the time the first volley had; the Outliers had even less ammunition, a fact that David had tried to get them to face the night before. The other side would not have known that, and would have obliged their foes if left to imagine their power, but now that was all spent.

             
The waves of angry men came crashing together, fists and knives flailing, cries torn from their lips as mouths were collapsed with rocks and lungs punctured. David watched Mitch bend over, coughing, rubbing his throat, as a man approached with an ax. He called out but Mitch couldn’t hear over the din, and then, with a swift downward stroke, he ceased to hear anything. His body collapsed and the man with the ax moved onto another, taking off a few fingers, then lodging his blade deep into brain.

             
Climbing the hill on the far side of the camp, David could hear men dying but would not turn to see any more. His head was spinning and his stomach churned. How had it all gone so wrong? His plan had been working, the Outliers had done everything he told them to; the Base men had exhausted their bullets just as David knew they would. Then Mitch had to have his revenge, had to trade their chance of finding peace, of making a life for the Outliers. David had not seen him since they had spoken in the grove the night before, and hadn’t expected Mitch to make an appearance at all.