Dominion of King Edward, Vermont, after the Great Collapse

"Announcing the arrival of King Edward and the beautiful Queen Claire!" the teenage girl dressed in a dirty majorette's costume announces, "All rise!"

Archie heaves his skeletal frame to his feet, idly playing xylophone with his protruding ribs, miming a scratching motion. The value of personal hygiene products had gone through the roof ever since the virus erupted throughout the United States. Not everyone had the money or food to trade for a precious bar of soap and Archie was not in the business of charity. Its not as if he can get sick anyway so the idea of communal health can go screw itself. No, Archie's problem was something else completely.

Archie liked to think that as a student of the Smithian School, the invisible hand was his staunchest ally in any endeavor. It was an understandable reaction stemming from relying on the invisible hand so often, but that idea was a fallacy. It was a purely impartial force, a man made god of neutrality. It did not care about right or wrong, virtue or sin. What drives the hand is a balancing of accounts, the payments of debt owed.

And unfortunately, Archie had found himself in deep, deep debt to the recently deceased Frank.

In virus infected America there was only one thing that mattered. Immunity. Archie did not like to admit it, but the lunatics that made up the herd were right about one thing. In the chaos of the Great Collapse, a caste system had emerged. The Immune and everyone else. The Immune were rescued by the remnants of the State and Federal governments and taken to sanctuaries. Even the prep king warlords that had sprouted all over the increasingly lawless expanse of the country saw value in having the Immune as their subjects. Immune could be sent to lead trade caravans through contagious red zones, taking the most direct paths instead of the near ruinous detours other merchants needed to use. Immune can be sent as scouts against a prep king's rivals, since they could simply fall back to a red zone if they were discovered. Immune were also prized as bodyguards, since the last thing a prep king wanted was to catch the coof after surviving the Great Collapse.

Immunity was not just incredibly valuable, it was literally priceless. Archie had acquired his immunity by hijacking Frank's. That wouldn't be a problem by itself, but Archie had unknowingly underpaid when he trapped Frank in the spell. Gold was poor compensation for a guarantee of life.

Archie first began to lose weight once his convoy of trucks crossed into Vermont. He tried to offset this by stuffing his face like crazy, but his body revolted, killing his appetite and throwing his sense of taste completely haywire. Anything that passes through Archie's lips now tasted like dog shit. It took a supreme act of will on his part to even sit down and have dinner. Archie would spend the entire meal picking listlessly at his food, trying to keep whatever he ate down. And that's not mentioning the sudden bouts of fatigue that would strike without warning, leaving Archie with barely enough strength to walk.

It was the invisible hand at work, forcing Archie to compensate Frank properly for stealing the gift of immunity. Archie's health would keep deteriorating until the cosmic scales between the two of them were balanced. And Frank, now flowing freely in Archie's veins like a blasted parasite, was growing fat from all the vitality being leeched off from the host. But Archie was still strong enough to command Frank's obedience. The shield of the stolen immunity has held firm.

On some nights, when the suffering had grown almost too much to bear, Archie had seriously considered just purging Frank from his body. But the hijacked immunity and Frank were a package deal. Archie could not have one without the other. And it was that immunity that allowed him to acquire his current exalted place in the Dominion of King Edward.

A teenage boy marches to the side of the ramshackle room and blows a tune from the trumpet held in his hands, stirring Archie from his thoughts.

"Every single damned time." Archie curses. The crier, or serving boy, or whatever you want to call him barely knew how to play a trumpet. The garbage spewing out from that instrument was the closest Archie ever heard to ear torture.

"He's getting better Advisor." the beefy man dressed in surplus military fatigues standing next to Archie comments while straightening to attention.

"As you say, Knight Commander." Archie sighs. Marco, no Knight Commander Marco, was "le generale" of the Kingdom's "chevaliers". Meaning that he was the local despot's best friend and leader of the pack of bums who at best would be regarded as a barely trained militia. Ever since King Edward declared himself ruler of this patch of rural Vermont, he had gotten a taste for big words and Marco had taken to the pompous titles with enthusiasm.

Archie of course never bothered to inform either of them that the title "le generale" implied that Marco was a faggot.

Marco and his goons had been the ones to build this manor house that served as King Edward's "palace". Archie had contributed some of his own muscle of course, but was more than happy to let Marco take the lion's share of the credit. Some goodwill always went a long way when doing business. Archie in return got the contract for erecting the defensive paling that secured the settlement's border. And the right to run the market that was the centerpiece of the "kingdom". Overall, the former financier would consider the entire transaction as a win for himself.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

With desultory fanfare, a row of Marco's "knights" march into the makeshift throne room, each bearing a rifle on his shoulder, clearing the way for their king. And in unison, all the courtiers, Archie included, bend their knee as King Edward and his Queen sweep into the room.

King Edward, Eddie to his friends, was a man who was really in the right place at the right time. Eddie was originally a trucker that plied his trade moving goods up and down the highways that spanned America. When the virus hit, truckers were designated as a essential occupation and allowed to keep working, since they were the main lifeline for anyone living in the cities. Eddie kept working for a few months, but as the virus began to sink its claws into any large population center, the man understandably got cold feet. He locked himself up with his family in their home and opted to wait the virus out.

But as everyone now knows, there's no waiting out the virus. The situation kept going from bad to worse and Eddie was driven by desperation to leave the house once again. But he unknowingly was holding the keys to a kingdom in his hands.

Eddie had no intention going back to trucking. The risks were even greater now than before. But he knew where all the merchandise was kept, which warehouses stored what. So he called up his best bud Marco and the two of them rounded up all the local tough guys they could find. The raids they mounted on the warehouses were fabulously successful. More and more truckers were calling in sick or simply absconding from work, and goods were simply piling up in the warehouses with nowhere to go. Eddie had a king's ransom of supplies in his hands and decided to flee to the poorly policed rural areas of Vermont. With the hanger ons he attracted along the way, Eddie, at the urging of his wife, declared himself king of his own little realm.

Archie had been at the head of his trade caravan when he first met King Edward. Archie had blundered into the "kingdom's" territory and Marco wanted to rob him of all his merchandise. Oh, Marco called it a tariff, but robbery at the end of the day is still robbery. Nevertheless, the muscle Archie had brought in from New York made that plan a nonstarter and a standoff developed between both sides. Archie thought that he would need to shoot his way out of this predicament, but then King Edward arrived at the scene.

Eddie was not keen on losing a large chunk of his knights in a fight with a bunch of New Yorkers, so he proposed a bargain. Archie would merge his forces with the kingdom and conduct his business from their settlement. Eddie would begin pulling in customers for Archie by sending his knights to "provide order" at the smaller settlements he planned to conquer. And when Eddie realized that Archie was Immune, the offer got more generous. He offered Archie a position in his court.

With the exception of giving up control of his muscle, Archie agreed to Eddie's terms. He was tired of travelling and his declining health made getting a permanent base a tempting prospect. There was some further negotiation, but Eddie eventually agreed to Archie's counter proposal. The king wanted access to Archie's goods and had no intention of letting a ruinous and unneeded fight spoil his other plans.

And so Archie became a permanent fixture in the court of King Edward, that vaguely ridiculous yet nondescript looking man dressed in ermine robes probably stolen from a costume store and all the jewelry he could get his hands on. Eddie claimed being decked out in this way made him look regal. Archie felt it made the "king" look more like a caricature of a pimp. The Queen was not much better. Grossly overweight and wearing an obviously fake wig, the renfaire costume she used for formal occasions made her look like a overstuffed dumpling.

The standards of royalty had well and truly gone down the drain. The King and Queen take their places on the twin thrones, a pair of high backed chairs jacked from a furniture store by Marco.

"Report," King Edward squeaks in a surprisingly high pitched voice, "Knight Commander."

"Refugees muh, milord." Marco awkwardly stammers, not used to the faux court speech Eddie insists on using, "We caught the fuc - I, uh, mean knaves trying to sneak through your territory."

"Did they pay the tariff?" Eddie rolls his eyes in contempt.

"No, bo -, no milord." Marco replies, getting his words slightly mixed up.

"Then set them to work." Eddie shrugs, "What's next?"

"Milord." Marco continues, "the refugees were heading to Maine."

"Maine?" Eddie's eyes flash with renewed interest, "The refugees are Immune, I suppose?"

"Well, yes and no." Marco hesitates, "Its easier to explain if you met them."

"Bring them out!" Eddie directs to his grubby footmen milling about.

A pair of militiamen lead out two shackled women dressed in rags and force both of them to kneel before the King. A middle aged blonde and a mousey looking young woman. But what catches Archie's attention is the baby cradled in the young woman's arms.

"The old one's Carol, she's the mother." Marco explains, "The younger one is Tabitha, she's some nursemaid Carol picked up on the way."

"And the baby?" Eddie's eyes narrow, glaring at the child with laser hot intensity.

"The doctor examined the baby." Marco swallows, "And he says the baby is one of the Miracles."

"Miracles are urban myths." Eddie snorts, "Everyone knows that the Immune are sterile."

"That's what the doctor says." Marco insists, "The baby's the real deal, milord. Born from Immune parents. Immune right from birth."

"A Miracle against the virus."