“You’ve spent your lives as raiders, as rat packs, and your lives have been short and painful. But now you are going to live safer, more comfortable lives. You will never have to worry about a meal or a bed again. You will live longer and better than you ever dreamed would be possible. And we—all of us, together—will rule this entire land.”
There were more than a thousand men standing there. The crowd surged, edged closer toward Alec.
“Your days of looting and stealing are finished,” he told them, “because you will no longer have to loot and steal. You’ll get everything you’ve ever wanted, and more of it than you ever saw in your lives.”
“What about women?” a voice from the rear shouted.
“When you’re a raider, a looter, the women run away and hide,” Alec answered into the bullhorn. “When you’re a member of the army that rules the Earth, the women will chase after you!”
They laughed. Alec could feel the tension, the sullenness, easing out of them.
“All right, then,” Alec said firmly. “From this moment on you are members of the army that will rule the world. You will follow orders. And when tomorrow dawns, this world will see something it hasn’t seen since the sky burned: a new force that will conquer everything that stands in its way!”
They cheered. They actually cheered. Alec watched them, wondering, Will I always be able to control them? It was like riding atop a wild animal. Grimly, he realized, It will always be a battle to stay in control.
He spent the rest of the night touring the base, riding atop the battle-dented truck and checking every street and building in the area. Quiet prevailed. The men were exhausted from the battle, drunk with the wine they had found and the exhilaration of being alive when so many others had died. Now the wine and the exhaustion and the emotional fatigue had caught up with them. A taste of discipline was the only excuse most of them needed to fold up into the oblivion of sleep.
With the sunrise came Angela.
She arrived in a horse-drawn wagon, protected by six village youths armed with ancient rifles and shotguns. The posted guards stopped her at the edge of the base. She asked to see Douglas. The guards radioed for Jameson, who in turn informed Alec.
He had her driven to his quarters, the house they had shared to many months earlier. Alec was waiting for her in the still-unfurnished living room when her wagon creaked to a stop. She jumped down and walked straight to the front door.
Without hesitating, she entered. She looked tense, worried, thinner, tauter, just as beautiful as ever.
“Where’s Douglas? Why can’t I see him?”
Alec had to struggle to control his voice. “He’s perfectly all right. You’ll see...”
“No, he’s not all right. You don’t understand.” She seemed genuinely frightened, her eyes wide with fear.
“It’s all right,” Alec insisted, crossing the tiny room to reach her. “No one’s going to hurt him. Don’t be afraid.”
He took her in his arms, in front of the dead ashes of the dark fireplace. Angela was trembling.
“Alec, please, you’ve got to let me see him. I don’t know how much he’s told you...” Abruptly she pushed away from him. “Alec, I don’t even know if I can believe what you’re telling me! You want him dead, don’t you?”
“No,” he said. “That’s over now.”
“But it would help if he conveniently died, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s what he said last night.”
“You still don’t understand what he’s doing, all the plans he’s made.”
“Yes I do...” But suddenly Alec realized that there was still more for him to learn.
“Alec, pleased take me to him,” Angela urged. “Please, right now, before it’s too late.”
He hesitated only a moment. “All right. Come on. He’s still in his own bedroom. We didn’t move him because of his leg.”
“What about his leg?”
“He broke it in an accident a few days ago... fell off his horse.”
“No!” she screamed. “He’s been in that room for the past month! He’s been sick, deathly sick!” She dashed for the door.
Alec raced after her. They tore down the street, past a startled guard at his front door, heading for Douglas’s house. With the perfect clarity of adrenalin-sharpened vision, Alec saw the two guards loafing sleepily in front of Douglas’s front door. Heard the shots. Saw the guards jerk to attention and burst into the house.
“No!” Angela was screaming. “No... don’t... he can’t...”
More shots. Then no sounds except Alec’s own gasping breath and the pulse hammering in his ears. He outdistanced Angela and ran into the house, pushed through the open door and skidded to a halt.
His father lay sprawled at the foot of the steps, his legs resting on the bottommost stairs. A machine pistol was in his hand, its wire stock grotesquely bent under his heavy forearm. Douglas’ chest and gut were covered with bright red blood. The room smelled of gunsmoke. The two outside guards were standing frozen, guns still hot in their hands. Upstairs, the third guard was kneeling against the railing, babbling:
“He came at me, he came at me. Shooting. He was shooting.”
None of the guards were scratched. The cast was gone from Douglas’s leg. His eyes were open; his chest heaving in rapid painful gasps.
Angela clattered into the house and broke into a racking sob. Pushing past Alec, she sank to her knees next to Douglas.
“Nooo,” she moaned, “Noooo...”
“It’s all right,” Douglas said, his voice a throaty groan. “Better this way...”
“He was shooting,” said one of the guards next to Alec. “You can see the bullet holes all over the walls. He was trying to bust out.”
