Chapter 3 Past and Future

He was wandering around the Zamaii town center. He was alone. After spending so much time around the others, after all that had happened in just the last 48 hours, he needed some time to process things. 

They had arrived in the shadowy dark of pre-dawn. The sergeant had made them all get out to have documents inspected. They had stood there yawning, practically holding each other up by standing shoulder to shoulder. Then it was over, and back in the convoy. The town center wasn’t far from the fence surrounding the outer suburbs. They arrived at the barracks: their new home for the foreseeable future. It was a large, squat concrete building with slits for windows surrounded by more fences and barbed wire - not the most attractive building in the world. They had reported in and got assigned their bunks. Here Bob waved goodbye to them - he had special dispensation to stay at a small apartment owned by family in the area. So it was just him, Schertling, and Petar in a room with an empty bunk. Corporal Djemai was in a separate part of the building for female officers. When they got to their room, the empty bunk loomed large in their minds. Petar and Schertling decided to sleep. Damien was tired too, but he didn’t want to sleep. He could still feel the fingers of insanity poking and grasping at the back of his head, and he didn’t want them to take control of his dreams. So he had gone out. 

Zamaii was a dusty, flat town. Concrete blocks, for the most part. The streets were laid out on a grid system, so it was easy enough to get around. But there didn’t seem much to do. It was strange. The town was famous in Agurtan history. This was where Bob of the Bucks Team had come from, where he had used the Laurel Beavers to fight off a bandit raid, marking the first time an SA was used in battle. It was where the Zamaii Miracle had happened, when, some 15 or 20 years before, Omangan refugees had fled here with the imperial army in hot pursuit, but Bob led the Agurts army and threw them back. Damien wondered as he strolled around another block, walking aimlessly. The Bob in their squad was a natural leader, a veteran, and he was from Zamaii. But hadn’t Bob of the Bucks been arrested or exiled or something? He wasn’t clear on it. He had never paid much attention to politics growing up. Maybe it was just one of those weird coincidences in life. 

He thought about the events that had led him away from his home in Fierla. It had been his choice to leave, in the end. His father and mother had wanted to talk him out of it but he...needed to leave. He needed to get out of the woods and...do something. He just wasn’t sure what that something was. But joining up was a way, at least, of getting out, while taking care of himself at the same time. And now he was far from home, wandering around the dusty streets of Zamaii. He had even killed his first man yesterday...but he didn’t want to think about that. He surfaced from his reverie and took a look around. He was maybe five or six blocks away from the barracks. He had reached the square in the center of town. There were a couple of government buildings and a few farmers selling some scraggly vegetables. A Polis Militiaman approached him and tipped his cap. “Sir, can I help you?” Damien shook his head. “Just walking around.”

“You new here?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. Well, ain’t much here, unfortunately. A few restaurants over there -” he gestured with his baton. “But the real action is over there, in the evenings.” He pointed out the entrance to what looked like a relatively narrow alleyway. Damien raised his eyebrows questioningly. The Militiaman smiled conspiratorially. 

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but you go down that alley and take a right. You’ll be on the Zamaii bar street. All the boys from out of town love it. Heck, all the boys in town love it too! Take my word for it, check out Harper’s. You won’t be disappointed.” 

The way he smiled gave Damien the creeps, but he gave his best grin in return and thanked the man. The Militiaman moved on. There was a bench in the square, and Damien sat there for a while. A single sparrow flew down next to him and started pecking at the dust, in the hopes of finding a single speck of food. It eventually flew away disappointed.

The bird flew over the concrete buildings towards the western edge of town. It was one of the older districts. Many of the places here were a mishmash of concrete, wood, plastic, and corrugated metal. But unlike the concrete apartments that made up the newer parts of town, there was a sense of community here. People had set up tables and chairs at some corners with tarpaulins for shade. Children played at ball. Some of the older folks gambled over cards while the younger carried laundry. 

But it wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine. As Bob drew close, he saw that there were some young men hanging around one of the street corners. They went quiet as he approached and stepped into the road to block his way. Some of them appeared to be carrying lengths of wood and metal. The old man smiled. “Can I help you gentlemen?” 

The men snickered. There were six of them of varying shapes and sizes. They were wearing jackets emblazoned with some sort of logo - a flaming heart? One of them stepped forward. His face was long and drawn out, with several pimples. A greasy lock of blonde hair trailed over his forehead. “Looks like you must be new here, old man, so we’ll do you a favor. We’ll protect you - just give us, oh, let’s say 500 dollars.” 

Bob’s eyes widened. “500 dollars? That’s three months of wages!” 

“The price of safety can never be too high,” the leader pointed out wisely. 

Bob grinned. “Well, I would agree with you, but I’m afraid-”

“Samson Garwell, is that you I see? I want to have a word with you!” A matriarchal voice rang out across the road, and now it was the leader’s turn for his eyes to widen. 

“Shit. Come on boys, let’s get out of here, fast!” The gang turned tail and ran for the hills, scattering, dropping their makeshift weapons haphazardly. As they cleared out of view, a small, old woman could be seen standing across from Bob. She couldn’t have been much more than 5 feet tall. She was dressed in a light blue dress to match the summery weather, with an apron strung across her waist. Her greying blonde hair was held back by a bright red kerchief. When she saw who it was, her forceful demeanor dropped entirely, and suddenly she was the young girl Susan who Bob had met all those many years ago. She leapt into his arms. “Bob! Oh it is you!” 

Bob smiled warmly and embraced her lovingly. “Hi Susan. It’s been awhile.”

Susan jumped back and looked at him, began sizing him up. “I’ll say it has, you old vagabond! Come on, let’s get you fed. You look like you could use a meal.” And as soon as she finished talking, she turned on her heel and marched off. Bob couldn’t get the grin off his face. He knew there was no use in arguing, so he followed her before she disappeared out of sight.

Safely ensconced in Susan’s apartment, and with a mug of hot herbal tea pressed into his hands almost as soon as he walked in the door, Bob listened to Susan talk about the latest neighborhood gossip. 

“Well, that Samson - he’s got that gang of boys and they’re acting like bigwigs, but they’re good boys, their hearts are in the right place of course -” 

Bob nodded along, sipping his tea contentedly. He looked around. It was small, but homely. Every corner was filled with mementos of a life of peace, and love. There were photos in plastic frames, posters stuck one over the other on the walls, calendars with important dates circled and starred, old chairs with bits of clothing hanging off of them, stacks of newspapers and magazines of all sorts held down by a pile of books for a paperweight. It was for just such homes as these that he had gone out of his way to join up, first the militia, then the army. He wanted to protect them, and to maybe - if he was lucky - bring more people the rare pleasure of peace. He noticed one picture in particular that reminded him of something, and cut into Susan’s talk. “Susan, where’s Wallace?”

Susan stopped talking at once. Bob’s brow furrowed in understanding and sadness. “Oh Susan. I’m so sorry.”

Susan sniffed, and wiped a cheek with her apron. “It isn’t quite the same with him gone, you know. But he was getting on in years...maybe if we had moved to Armaria, like we always said we would, the air would have done him good, we could have had a few more years, but you know how he loved this place, the rolling hills…” 

“I know. I used to go out there with him when we were young. He was a good man, Susan.”

“He was. The best.” She took a deep breath and turned back to her sink and washing some vegetables. Bob sipped his tea. After a minute or two, she piped up again. “Haven’t you ever thought of settling down, Bob? I mean, now that the team has been disbanded and all. Not that I believed any of it, of course. None of us do. A pile of Soncetan rotten fish is what it is, we all know it. But now that it’s over…” 

“I joined up fresh, Susan. I’m a private now.” 

She sighed, stopped washing and turned around to look at him, folding her arms over her chest. Bob smiled. For such a tiny woman, she had a way of projecting her authority. “And why ever did you do that?” She asked him, as if talking to a child who had just done something incredibly stupid and needed to explain himself properly. 

“Oh you know me, Susan. Married to the army.”

“But you don’t have to be. Ah, if only Amy hadn’t-”

“Susan,” Bob put down his tea. “Please.”

“Oh Bob. Well it’s true, isn’t it?”

Bob combed back his hair with his hand, an old habit of his when he was uncomfortable. “Maybe it is. But it’s not the life I lived.”

Susan sat down next to him and put her hand on his. “Well whatever you decide to do, you know you’ll always have a place here.”

He put his hand on hers. “Thank you Susan. It means a lot to me, it really does. Can I ask, does Macgranger still keep that old shack near the fence?”

“That old place? I think so, yes. It’s a bit run-down though.”

“I need a place to stay and I was thinking there.” 

“Well if you’re going to stay somewhere, why not here?” 

“I’m going to be going in and out at strange hours and…” Bob grimaced. “Well, I’m worried, Susan. Something’s going on…something big. Something that could affect everything we’ve been building here and in Agurts for the last half a century.”

Susan’s lips became a pencil-thin line, tight and determined. “Well, Zamaii’s weathered some storms before. We’ll weather them again.” 

“Oh I have no doubt you will. But I don’t want to put you or your family in danger. Better somewhere out of the way.”

“Right...well, I’ll talk to Macgranger and we’ll set you right up. And-” She stood up. “I’ll come and help you decorate. I won’t see you staying in squalor, you can be certain of that.” Her eyes blazed with excitement at the coming battle against mold, mildew, and the other dastardly allies of dirt and mess.

Bob smiled. He was certain she wouldn’t.

They went over to Macgranger’s, who was also thrilled to see Bob and gave him a hug as soon as he saw him, his bushy brown beard practically enveloping Bob’s own. The last time Bob seen him, he had been just a young lad - now he was bald as a coot and had three children. He was only too happy to give Bob access to the shack, which was used mostly as just extra storage in the nearby lot. As they cleared up under the directions of Susan and Mrs. Macgranger, they chatted about life. Macgranger had never forgotten what Bob had done for him! He was thrilled to be able to help the legendary hero of Agurts, Zamaii’s greatest son! He didn’t trust anything from the papers - it was all Soncetan propaganda! In his opinion, Bob should run for president - he’d have every vote from Zamaii to Auth! Bob nodded and murmured vaguely agreeable phrases, “Oh yes...yeah...you’re right.” But in reality, he was hardly listening. As he worked he was going over the events of the previous couple of days - particularly the attack. After conferring with Sergeant Han and checking the bodies of the fallen, he agreed that it was most likely a raid by one of the Soil Ghost tribes, probably the Flames of Odryssa. It fit their profile: a young, aggressive tribe looking to expand territory. But something rubbed Bob the wrong way. It was just so out of keeping with everything he knew about Soil Ghost culture. The raid was a pointless attack on the Border Patrol. What were those deaths in aid of? And how had they known that the convoy would be passing by at that particular time? He had so many questions, and not nearly enough answers. 

As Bob pondered, Damien returned to the barracks and collapsed on his bed, finally succumbing to exhaustion. Petar shook him awake a few hours later. Damien groaned as the harsh light of their room shone into his eyes. Petar slapped him lightly on the face a couple of times. “Rise and shine, pretty boy, it’s dinner time.” Schertling had already left, and Petar was dressed. Damien sat up groggily. When had he come back? What time had he fallen asleep? He couldn’t remember. Petar threw a shirt at his face. “Stop staring off into space, you moron! Get a move on, I’m hungry.” Damien put on the white sleeveless undershirt and military fatigue trousers and boots and looked at Petar. “Alright, let’s go.” 

Dinner in the mess hall was an unappetizing affair. Once again they were treated to a Hallesbury heated dinner - rice and beans and a small amount of meat and greens. In theory, the meat and greens were different than those they had had before, but in practice they received such small amounts of both that it was difficult to tell. After eating about half of the stodgy mess, Damien pushed away his tray in disgust. Schertling was trying his best to chew through it, but his hangdog expression suggested he was about to throw in the towel. Petar had long given up, and had laid his head on the table in faux-exasperation. Damien leaned into them: “Say guys...I met this fella earlier, he recommended a bar. Wanna head over there and check it out?” Petar’s head whipped up. “I’m in!” Schertling shrugged, finally tossing down his fork. “Can’t be worse than this place.” Damien stood up and surveyed the mess hall. The corporal was talking with some of the other officers at the other end of the mess hall. The way she ignored them suggested they wouldn’t be needed for the evening at the very least. “Let’s go.” 

Damien led the way to the bar street, retracing his steps from earlier that morning. Just as the militiaman had told him, they could spot some others from the barracks and young people from around town drifting in groups towards the alleyway. They joined the growing crowd and began to slowly make their way forward. As they got to the bar street the general murmur of the crowd mixed with the yelling of hawkers and the sound of music being played on radios to create a party atmosphere. Damien had never been to a bar street like this before - all his drinking had been done at the homes of friends or family or in the surrounding fields or barns. Certainly he hadn’t seen this many people before all in one place who all had the intention of drinking. It was...intoxicating. Next to him, Petar was far less impressed. He yawned. “Doesn’t hold a candle to the places back home, but you make do with what you have, I guess. Hey Damien, where are we going anyhow?” 

“Uhh...a place called Harper’s.” 

Schertling pointed. “I think I see it over there.” 

Damien and Petar turned to look. Their eyes widened as they saw the place. Harper’s appeared to be one of the older establishments on the streets. It was a two-story square building that could have been a house or maybe restaurant at some point, in another life. Large, open windows showed that both floors were full of packed tables where groups could be seen drinking and talking. A gaudy neon sign gave the street outside a lurid glow. Beneath the sign, steps led up to a small porch. And on the porch were two scantily clad women smiling and beckoning to the crowd below. Their faces were rouged red as if flushed with excitement, and they frequently took the chance to stoop over, exposing the tops of their breasts. As a fairly rudimentary method of advertising, it appeared to be effective. It certainly drew in Damien and co. like moths to a flame. 

As they approached, Petar took the lead. He walked up to one of the girls and smiled rakishly. “Hello darling! What do I have to do to buy you a drink?” Damien chuckled at Petar’s swagger, then gawked as the woman whispered something in his ear that made him turn red all over. He turned around - stupefied - to Damien and Schertling and waved them in with a beaming grin. “Let’s go lads!” Then he threw himself into the bar. Schertling and Damien looked at each other for a moment before charging in after him. What had she said - what had she said??

Harper’s was full to the rafters, but since they were a small group, they managed to find a cozy table to one side near the back of the ground floor next to a wall. Most of the other clientele appeared to be packs of young men such as themselves, while most of the staff seemed to be much like the women outside - ladies walking around with large mugs of watered down beer and dressed so as to strategically expose their bodies. Even as they reached the table, Petar’s eyes were roving about the place from one waitress to the next. “Lock down the table and get me a beer - any beer. In fact, I’ll pay for the first round. I’ll be back in a minute!” And off he dashed. Damien and Schertling watched him leave then looked at the money. Damien picked it up. “I’ll go get the drinks then. What’ll you have?” Schertling, much like Petar, had already found his attention wandering elsewhere. “Uhhh...whatever you’re having,” he shouted above the noisy din and laughter. Damien went to the bar, which stretched almost from end to end of the back wall of the ground floor. He came up next to a waitress who turned and smiled at him. She had large grey eyes and long blonde hair that almost reached the seat of her tight blue shorts. She was wearing a tight white sleeveless shirt with a small pink flower pinned to her breast. For a moment, Damien was speechless. She smiled at him again, “Need a moment?” 

He shook himself out of it and put his money on the counter, perhaps a little too forcefully - but he was nervous. “Three beers, ma’am. Please. Thank you.” 

She laughed. Damien thought it was a very warm-hearted laugh, and he relaxed. “No problem, tough guy. Where’s your table, I’ll bring ‘em over.” 

He pointed at Schertling. “Just over there, ma’am. Are you sure you don’t need any help?” 

She laughed again. “Don’t worry, I think I can handle it. This is my job, after all…” 

“Oh. Right. Yes. Ok.” 

She turned to the bar and yelled at the bartender. Damien walked woodenly back to their table. Schertling asked him, “I saw you talking to the blonde lady! What happened?” Damien just shook his head. “I’m an idiot.” Schertling patted him. “We all are.” At this point, Petar came rushing back. He was totally out of breath. “Guys - it’s - well -” he leaned in close - “you can pay for a waitress to sleep with you! Or - more! You just have to - ask their price!” The blonde waitress arrived with their beers. “Lads, your drinks!” She deposited their mugs of beer on the table. As she walked away, she looked at Damien over her shoulder and bit her lip. Damien was watching, and his eyes immediately returned to his drink. Petar and Schertling were grinning at him. Petar raised his glass. “Well lads...cheers!” They banged glasses together and started drinking in earnest.

“So where exactly are you from, Schertling?”

“Ah, well, I was born near Munachium, but life, it was not so good, so papa took mama and I through the Bayarian Gray Zone.”

“You don’t say! That must’ve been quite the adventure.”

“Ah I don’t even remember it all that much, I was young.” 

“Why didn’t you move to Omanga? It’s closer than Agurts.” 

“They tried to draft papa into the old Imperial Army when we crossed over at Viliemov, but mama, she was having none of it. The look on the officer’s faces! Incredible!” 

“Well, sounds like your old mama saved you and your papa both! To Schertling’s old lady!” 

“To Schertling’s mother!”

“To mama!” 

“He was quiet, but a good man.”

“A good man.”

“Worked hard.” 

“Dying 2nd day on the job. What a nightmare…” 

“Those fucking bastards.”

“Who were they anyhow?”

“Had to have been Soil Ghosts, right?”

“No, could have been any number of bandit gangs! I think the 13 Dreadlords are still operating in our area.”

“That’s history! The White Salamander killed at least two of them.”

“I heard it was Omanga.”

“Omanga attacked us?”

“No, the 13 Dreadlords!”

“The 13 Dreadlords attacked Omanga?!”

“No - it’s - nevermind!”

“Excuse me!”

They were - at this point - quite drunk. As one they turned to look blearily at who interrupted them. It was a blonde waitress with more beer. She smiled charmingly. “More beer for you lads?” They all grabbed another mug, murmuring thanks. The waitress started to leave. Petar looked at Damien fiercely, and Schertling nudged him in the ribs. Damien took a long pull of his beer and moved after the waitress. 

“Uh...excuse me!”

“Oh hi! What can I do for you?” 

“I...you...do you...uhhh…” Damien grasped for the words that kept slipping out his mind. His vision was swimming. She moved in a little closer. Her breasts grazed lightly against his chest. He could feel the blood rushing through his temple. He really wanted to grab her and kiss her. She looked up at him with big brown eyes and whispered to him. “Want to go somewhere, handsome?”

Damien managed to nod. She put a hand on his chest. Her touch was electric, sending a current running through him top to bottom. “Give me a moment.” 

He would have waited until the end of time. He stood there, rooted to the spot. She returned a minute later. “$100.”

He blinked. It was a lot, but he didn’t have anything else to spend his money on. And who needed savings when you might die tomorrow anyway? “It’s a deal.” 

She nodded. “Let me just grab my purse. Meet me out back.” Damien nodded and they separated. He went back to the table and picked up his beer and downed it. Petar and Schertling slapped him and punched him jovially. “Go get her country boy!” Petar cajoled him. “Have a good time big man,” Schertling said. Damien put his beer down and headed out into the night to wait for her.

She had a light jacket on and was carrying a small leather messenger bag strapped diagonally across her chest. She waved when she saw him. “Let’s go, follow me.” He followed her down some alleyways to a multi-story building with two large men outside. She pointed at one. “Pay him.” Damien got out his wallet and paid the man, who looked down at him. He was a giant. He looked bored, dangerous, and slightly disgusted. After he had paid, the waitress took his hand and pulled him in the door, led him to a small, windowless room with a single bed. She sat down on it and patted next to her. Damien sat down. Outside of the party atmosphere of the bar, he was beginning to feel a little weird about all this. Should he even be here? 

“Hey um…” the girl was playing with her hair, twirling one blonde strand around a finger. He looked at her blearily. She didn’t look quite like he had thought she looked earlier. She asked him, “I heard you were attacked earlier.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” 

“”That must have been scary.” 

“Yeah.”

“Soil Ghosts, you think?”

“I uh...don’t know. I...killed one.”

“Did you see his feet?”

“Um, no. Why?”

“Soil Ghosts have different feet. It’s part of their mutations, apparently.”

“Oh. No I...I saw his face…”

Suddenly the face, half destroyed by Damien’s bullet, surfaced in his mind’s eye and leered at him. He started to shake. He looked at the girl next to him and only saw a grinning skull. He was sick. He was dying. He was already dead. His breath was coming shorter and shorter and he didn’t know what the fuck was going on and he didn’t want to die like Alex he didn’t want to be buried beneath a tree on a hill but he could feel the ghost gripping at his neck and he couldn’t breath-

“Hey! Hey. Are you ok?”

“I-” He could feel tears running down his cheek. “Alex- He died - We couldn’t - And I killed someone-”

“Oh, sweetie.” She pulled his head down to his chest. He could feel her heartbeat in his ears. “It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok.” They sat like that for a few moments. Then he pulled his head up. His face was just opposite hers. Her lips pouted invitingly. He kissed her.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur.