Chapter 20

2 Years and 4 Months Post Apocalypse

The Debate

People ask for my secrets to bomb making. My answer is either: I don't know, or I'm a wizard.

I know about conventional explosives, of course, which, unlike electricity, still work after the Alien Apocalypse, though their energy yield is significantly less now. Me and my dad tested the muzzle velocity of several rifles, and found that with the lower energy yield of smokeless gunpowder, the bullets move at less than half the speed they would have before the invasion.

Extremely unfair, considering our circumstances. It's bad enough the aliens are eating everyone. Did they have to mess with the laws of physics too?

I found that if I tweak, or modify, our smokeless gunpowder with certain monster loot, I can significantly increase the gunpowder's explosive yield. It's the same with all my explosive devices.

I don't know how this tweaking process works; I feel what I need to do, and I do it. Other people, including my dad, have tried to duplicate my actions, but failed to achieve the desired results.

Hence my answer. I don't know, or I'm a wizard.

—An excerpt from The Anderson Monster Manual—from the section on monsters, and how to kill them. Written by Gabe Anderson.

***

“No problem,” Ian said to the guards surrounding him. He put on the psychic suppression helmet the guards held out, and held still while the men and women guards, visibly relieved, tightened the helmet to make sure it was securely fastened to his head. They then used a heavy padlock to lock it on. He looked ridiculous, but wouldn't be able to take the helmet off without power tools.

He sent a text to Gabe. “Load jeep with what you got. Will pick up rest later.”

The debate would start soon. People poured into the Fortress from the surrounding enclaves, gathering near the stage on the east side of the Fortress, across from both the marketplace and the kids' playground. The stage had been set up on what used to be a tennis-court, pre-apocalypse.

Ian moved off to the side, away from the crowd, where he still had a good view of the stage. He sat on the grass, trying to look inconspicuous as he watched people show up for the debate and election, from all over the city.

Over a thousand had arrived, and they kept coming.

There were a few Wilcox supporters, but most supported Payne. Several fights broke out between the two factions.

There were musicians playing various instruments, and vendors selling things like popcorn, sausages (that might, or might not, have come from a pig), and 'Woodrow Payne for Mayor' and 'Evelyn Wilcox for Mayor' T-shirts.

Con artists came as well, selling magical protection charms and fake healing booster shots at “reasonable prices.” The shots consisted of green food coloring and saline.

Ian watched as a few con artists were kicked out of the fortress by the guards. Just as well, they were wearing Woodrow Payne for Mayor stickers.

He thought about getting something to eat, but felt sick. He didn't like Mr. Payne, but was killing him the only way? There used to be this thing called democracy.

If Mr. Payne got elected, the first thing he'd do was round up the gifted children and turn them into his personal army. This would happen over Mrs. Gruber's dead body, which among other things, would make his young friends Faith and Evan orphans again. But what would happen if Mr. Payne lost? And could the man be reasoned with? Ian had encountered worse people in his travels, and he wondered if there might be a third and better option out there.

Sabrina, Gabe's assistant/apprentice, came out of the mansion. She pulled a large cart up to the jeep and began loading the bombs and assorted monster-killing items Ian had requested into the back.

Four boys around Ian's age come up and spoke to Sabrina. Ian recognized them. They lived on the first floor of the mansion—the opposite side from Ian, thank god.

In addition to being a-holes, the four boys looked bored; a bad combination. He couldn't hear what they said, but it was obvious they were being unpleasant. He could feel Sabrina's anger and unhappiness, though she tried not to show it. She finished loading the jeep and pushed the empty cart away.

Without warning, she tripped, falling face-first onto the ground. She got up again and kept going. Sabrina was too graceful to trip like that. Two of them were telekinetics, and it seemed they were getting better. The other two had asked BG for speed and strength. Both were ideal qualities for bullies. Ian hated bullies.

He stood up.

“Just ignore them,” a voice behind him. “They're not worth it.”

Ian turned around. “Ellen Crabtree! Wow! You left us after that wuffle thing. And that was the last I saw of you.”

“Fish and visitors smell after three days,” Ellen said, “and Sabrina and I lived with you longer than that. I'm sorry about your sister, she was a lovely kid.”

“Are they Sabrina's parents?” Ian asked, motioning to the couple behind her.

“Sorry, where are my manners?” Ellen said. “Ian, these are Sabrina's parents, Alex and Tara Crabtree.”

The two adults nervously shook hands with Ian. They both wore red armbands, the uniform for working at the infirmary. “It was nice of Gabe to give Sabrina a job,” Tara said. “If we didn't keep her occupied, she'd be out there hunting aliens.”

“Indeed,” Ian said.

Sabrina had returned the cart and was coming out of the mansion again, this time with Gabe. The four boys converged on them like dogs on a bloody steak. “This could get ugly,” Ian said. “I'll be right back.”

Ian jogged over to the group, trying not to trip over his own feet.

“I got to ask, Gabe, are you the biggest dork in the universe?” a tall blond boy named Erik was saying.

“Are you the dumbest person in the universe, or is it one of your friends here?” Gabe responded.

“No, that's still you. You know, most losers save their wizard costumes for actual parties and stuff. They don't live in them,” Paul said. He pulled out his cellphone and took a picture of Gabe, clicked 'send,' then high-fived his friends.

“Oooh, watch out, it's big bad Ian Anderson,” Erik said, seeing Ian.

The guy behind Erik,—Larry?-- threw a rock that bounced off Ian's helmet.

“I remember two years ago you guys liked to push me around and call me a dud psychic,” Ian said. “So how about you quit bothering my friends and family, and I won't do to you what I did to the two Skull psychics to make them commit suicide, as soon as my helmet comes off?”

An invisible force coming from Oliver grabbed Ian around the chest and squeezed, making it hard for him to breathe.

“How about we don't kill you?” Oliver said.

“How about I don't chop off your arms and legs?” Sabrina responded with a sweet smile, a large sword appearing in her hand.

“Try it, you half-pint little...” Erik said.

“Excuse me, Ian Anderson, are these young men threatening you?” a female voice asked.

The pressure around Ian's chest vanished. Ian looked around. It was the security detail Mrs. Wilcox had assigned him. One woman and two men standing behind him, guns out.

“My father's head of security,” said Erik. “I'll have your jobs for this.”

“Mrs. Wilcox is paying our salaries, sir. It's our job to protect the Fortress champion Ian Anderson by any means necessary. Are you threatening Ian Anderson, sir?”

“No, ma'am,” Erik said with a smirk. “Mrs. Wilcox won't be your boss much longer, and Mr. Payne is going to shake things up around here.”

“I'm sure Mr. Payne will need security too, sir,” she said.

“Maybe not from you guys,” Erik said.

Gabe snorted. “Thanks to Mrs. Wilcox, your families live in the mansion too, Erik. You should be concerned with Mr. Payne kicking you out.”

“Our parents had the sense to change sides, Gabe,” Erik said. “Head of Security and the Head Treasurer are working for Mr. Payne now. A lot of people are. About time we got rid of that crazy bitch Wilcox and put someone decent in charge.” He pulled out his cell-phone and took a picture of Ian, Gabe and Sabrina. Then he texted something and laughed. “Wilcox's last supporters. I hear the third floor of the mansion might be gaining some new vacancies.”

With a laugh, the four boys walked off and Ian's security team faded into the background once again.

“Assholes,” Gabe said. “The rats know when to desert a sinking ship.”

“Indeed,” Ian said. Or maybe these rats aren't as smart as they think. “Come on, I think the debates are starting soon.”

“I don't even want to watch,” Gabe said. “It's going to be a train wreck.”

“Come on, Master Zoltron,” Sabrina said, pulling Gabe along by his robes. “Mrs. Wilcox needs all the support she can get.”

***

The first hour of the debate was rather boring. Ian watched with the rest of the audience as Woodrow Payne presented his family, his wife, and two kids (aged nine or ten). They didn't say much, but smiled a lot and seemed nice.

Mrs. Wilcox's family had all been eaten within the first week of the apocalypse, so, of course, they were not present.

“I heard he adopted those two kids because they're cute and made him look good,” Ellen said.

Then there was a discussion of the rules. They would start with ten-minute speeches, then both would spend five minutes answering various questions... Ian tuned out the rest. He sensed aliens sleeping in an underground parking lot nearby.

Mr. Payne won the coin toss for giving the first speech.

He walked to the center of the stage and pulled out a piece of paper. “I was given a list of every man my opponent Mrs. Wilcox has slept with since the alien apocalypse began. This list came from a reputable source.”

This seemed like a good time. Ian reached out with his gift, cursing his psychic helmet. It blocked him just enough to make what he was doing tedious. This was going to take a while.

Mr. Payne made a show of unfolding the sheet of paper once, twice, then again. The list grew longer and longer. “I'm showing you this because I want to make it clear I will not be using this against my opponent in the debate.”

“I think you just did, asshole,” Gabe said under his breath.

“This debate is not about the moral standards or extracurricular activities of our leadership. It's about whether they are doing what's needed to keep the members of the community fed, healthy and safe. Or are they busy with other things? Is our leadership finding the best people for the job? Or are they choosing a family friend to put in charge of Fortress defense?”

Somebody's hitting below the belt, Ian thought. Also untrue. Dad hates Mrs. Wilcox.

“There is a list I will be sharing. A list of people who are dead because those who should have been protecting them were doing--” He waved a hand, “whatever. This city needs someone strong! Someone who will choose the good of the people over personal gain. Who will find good people for important jobs. Someone with the strength and moral conviction to guarantee the safety of all Cirsium city's people! Not just boyfriends and friends of the family.”

Mr. Payne's supporters started chanting. “MR. PAYNE WILL BRING THE GAIN! MR. PAYNE WILL BRING THE GAIN! MR. PAYNE WILL BRING THE GAIN!”

The alien alert siren started up. The Fortress's automatic machine guns opened fire.

There was a roar of wind, and sound of giant wings flapping. The dragon flew in from the west, using the setting sun to shield it from view. The dragon swooped down, clawed feet missing the audience by inches.

Ian's last image through the dragon's eyes was Mr. Payne as a terrified fat man who barely had time to scream as the dragon bit off his head, neck, and chest before flying away.

Everyone opened fire.

Ian could feel the bullets hitting the dragon, wounding, but not killing it. The wounded dragon dripped green blood as it flew away and favored one of its four wings. The Red Baron and one of his companion planes chased the dragon until it outdistanced them.

“Oh, my God!” said someone nearby. Probably Ellen.

Ian held his hands over his face. He hoped it looked like he was in shock, not like he was concealing a nosebleed. Note to self, puppeteering a dragon is not easy.

Words appeared on Ian's display.

You have performed your first political assassination! You are the first human to commit murder through the direct control of a baby dumdum. That poor baby dumdum is traumatized! Due to the unorthodox nature of your kill, you get 5000 credits and 4 stat points! Your galactic following is disappointed in you. Shame!

Mrs. Wilcox calmly took the microphone out of Mr. Payne's dead hand. It had landed nearby, along with most of his arm. She didn't appear hurt, but blood from the late mayoral candidate splattered her face and silver armor. She took a long shuddering breath.

“Though we disagreed on many things,” she said. “I had the greatest respect for my opponent, Mr. Woodrow Payne. His death is a tragedy. I and my staff have spent a lot of time and money to make this Fortress safe, but the truth is that none of us are safe. Sometimes shit happens.”

Mrs. Wilcox took a second shuddering breath. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

That's good acting, Ian thought.

“The election will go as planned,” she continued. “Mr. Payne would have wanted it that way. Though things might look bleak at the moment, we will not let the aliens win. If I'm elected, I will fulfill as many of Mr. Payne's campaign promises as I can. In the meantime, I would like every city enclave, or compound housing more than twenty people, to give us the name of their group, and decide who should represent them in the new Payne Representative Council I'm creating in Woodrow Payne's honor. I will meet with them to determine what problems we face and the best possible actions we can take to rectify them.”

From the crowd came stunned silence. Ian stumbled towards the stage, pushing through the crowd. When he reached the stage, a couple of people helped push him up onto it.

He stumbled over to Mrs. Wilcox, trying not to think of what he was walking over. The lower half of the large man's body lay nearby, and the stage was slippery with blood.

Ian took the microphone from Mrs. Wilcox. “I would like to say I support Mrs. Wilcox and I will do what I can to help. I would like to pledge my last 100,000 credits to the defense of this Fortress and city. Things look bad right now, but we have a war to win.”

The two of them were greeted with silence. Mr. Payne's children started crying.

“Will we get a city police force?” someone asked.

Mrs. Wilcox took back the microphone. “Provided we can prevent our police from being eaten, yes. I will discuss this with the new Payne Council,” Mrs. Wilcox responded. “Cooperation from the enclaves will be needed for any significant change.”

“Was Ian Anderson on Mr. Payne's list of your former boyfriends?” someone asked.

“You know I don't discuss such matters,” Mrs. Wilcox responded.

“What about an ambulance for the city?”

The questions continued. She answered them smoothly.

Mr. Payne's wife and her still crying children left the stage.

***

In the hours afterwords, a lot happened that Ian absorbed without thinking about. His lack of sleep the night before, and the effort expended in making a dragon kill for him had worn him out mentally and physically. After pledging his support for Mrs. Wilcox, he stood there responding woodenly to people around him.

While someone cleaned the stage and got what was left of Mr. Payne ready for the funeral, Dad and Gabe got into a loud argument over why the Fortress bullets weren't penetrating dragon skin like they should be.

“It's like the dragon knew about our defenses!” Gabe shouted.

“It's possible it did,” Dad responded. “Despite their name, dumdums are fairly intelligent.”

“They don't usually fly into the Fortress like that. Suppose it was hunting fat humans?” Gabe asked.

“Possibly.”

Someone pointed out that without a psychic suppression helmet Ian might have been able to stop the dragon with his mind power. Ian's helmet was quickly removed.

Mrs. Wilcox put a 10,000 credit reward for the person or group that killed the dragon that had killed Mr. Payne.

Ian used his mind power to find where the dragon was located, and gave everyone a general location. A bunch of people took off looking for it.

Ian explained his sleep situation to Mrs. Wilcox, who then texted Crazy Steve and spoke to Ian's family about Ian's nightmares and how he should sleep away from crowds. Crazy Steve showed up, and he and Ian left for a remote part of the city.

Mr. Payne hadn't been a good person, but he sensed that most of what had motivated the man was fear. The man had been terrified.

Well join the club, Ian thought. But his last image of Mr. Payne before he killed the man still haunted him.

Had he done the right thing? If Mr. Payne had been elected, he'd have drafted the children into his personal army.

Ian had done the rational thing, certainly. He'd done what was best for him, his friends, family, and community.

But was there really no other way?

No chance he'd have nightmares tonight, he thought, staring into the darkness. Despite his exhaustion, he still couldn't sleep.