Chapter 17
2 Years and 4 Months Post Apocalypse
Homecoming
Human Population 60,000,000
1 Year, Ten Months Post Apocalypse
Desert Scorpion Home Base
Mike woke up and saw a gangly teenage boy in the doorway. The boy smelled like death, blood, and freshly fired guns, and there were blood splatters on his odd-looking armor.
“Mike,” the teenage boy said. “We need to talk.”
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“Your group, the Desert Scorpions, have been extorting money and drafting people from the nearby enclaves, claiming to be this region's protector. But you're not protecting the region, you're protecting yourselves, so your neighbors are getting upset and telling you to go to hell.”
“And what is your connection to these enclaves, Ian?” Mike asked, reading the boy's display.
“Your group sent people to terrorize these enclaves to gain cooperation. Rape, kill, that sort of thing. To make them more afraid of you than the aliens."
“You're the Ian Anderson we've been hearing about?” Mike said.
The boy turned away from him and punched the guard tower wall several times in frustration, then held his hand like it hurt. “I'd rather be out killing aliens and trying to win this game, but you assholes keep causing problems! Now the enclaves have united against you and are planning to ambush your patrols. I know your people will retaliate, killing more humans than the aliens. I'm not even sixteen, but I have to be the adult in the room and tell you guys to cut it out!”
“Easy buddy. I'm not the guy in charge.” Mike held out his hands and spoke in a soothing voice. “I just manage security. Now, if you want to speak to our leaders, I'll take you to them. I don't advise it though. They'd love to kill you.”
“Ian. You done here?” came a voice from the doorway. “Our people are loaded up and we're ready to go.”
“Almost done,” Ian said. “Mike, I know you, and many of your comrades, have families. I know where you live. I know the location of your nursery, your school, the hidden sub-basement vault your wives and children use for shelter in emergencies. Vault combination 20-6-15. Change it, and I'll learn it again the same way I learned this one. If you don't quit bullying your neighbors and their families, I will return and you are not going to like it.”
Mike stood up, towering over the smaller teenage boy. “Threatening my family won't change how things are done here, but I will snap your neck like a twig if you ever go near them.”
“No threats, just a warning. Everything will be clear when you wake up again.”
“What?...”
Mike returned to consciousness, getting up off the floor amid the sound of screams and alarms. He rushed to the source of the disturbance and found the council meeting room covered with blood. It seemed Ian Anderson had taken out the entire Desert Scorpion leadership.
According to the chain of command, Mike was their new leader.
***
Dear Enclaves and concerned parties.
I wish to address a matter of mutual concern. A teenage boy named Ian Anderson, aka Lord Ian Mind Master, has the ability to penetrate our defenses and kill with impunity. He's a threat, not only to us, but to every human in this area.
I'm suggesting we join forces. And though I believe we could kill this individual, I think it would be a bad idea to do so at this time. This boy has shown a strong desire to hunt and kill alien invaders and has an impressive knack for it. I would suggest working together to assist him in achieving this goal. While we are assisting him, we need to observe him in action to learn more about his particularly lethal skill set. And if, and how, it can be duplicated.
Mike Ortiz
Desert Scorpion Leader.
***
Dear Ian,
I realize we didn't part on the best of terms. I think both of us said and did things we regret, and I hope we can put that behind us.
You should know the two kids you brought to the Fortress at the beginning of last year became instant celebrities. They were telling your story for over a month, and I really hope the part where you let those alien monsters use you for a chew toy was an exaggeration. Regardless, the way you've been clearing this entire region of dangerous aliens is nothing short of amazing.
Mrs. Wilcox has made you official Fortress Champion. I'm not sure what the title is worth, but you've more than earned it.
I'll be blunt, Ian. We need you back at the Fortress desperately. The aliens in our city are growing larger and smarter, but what's worse is, in part thanks to you, this region has gotten stable enough for citizens to push for a mayoral election.
Mr. Woodrow Payne seems like the one to bring us together in these difficult times. He's charismatic and has brilliant ideas for bringing the city together and creating a fair and equitable society.
I also think Mrs. Wilcox won't give up her position without a fight, and I'm a little scared. I think you could help ensure a smooth transition of power.
I heard you've killed a bunch of people. I will not pass judgment until I hear the whole story, but what I've heard does not make you look good. I know this new world can be a difficult place, but I hope you're able to survive in this monster-infested land without becoming a monster yourself.
Please come back, Ian, and use your influence to prevent a war. Unless you've become a monster. In which case, stay where you are.
Your Father
Carl Anderson
Ian folded the letter, put it away again, and sighed. “It's not like I wanted to kill those guys. Don't see why everybody's making such a big deal out of it.”
“You butchered eleven humans in cold blood, Ian,” Crazy Steve said. “I'm not convinced it was necessary,”
“We've been over this, Steve. They were bad people,” Ian responded. The truth was killing those people made him sick and still kept him up nights.
“You were going to talk to Desert Scorpion leadership. What happened?”
“They really didn't like what I had to say.” Ian sighed. “Anyway, the Fortress is the last place I want to go. But if my going will prevent a war...”
By contrast, Mrs. Wilcox had sent him a far shorter letter.
Ian Anderson. Get your ass back to the Fortress now!
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Mrs. Wilcox
The two letters seemed conflicting. If Mrs. Wilcox was trying to kill someone Dad liked, it would make sense to keep Ian out of the way.
Ian had received the letters the week before from a traveling courier. This was the slowest, and by far the most expensive way to send a message, but since Ian worked hard to stay out of cell-phone range, they hadn't had much of a choice.
Though Dad had already paid the courier, Ian gave the man an additional thousand credits with his response: Tell them I'll be back in a week.
***
Ian dismissed his ogre-like tumtum servant at the outskirts of the city. If he tried to bring it in with him someone would shoot it. People kept acting like controlling the giant alien was a big deal, but the truth was, controlling something as stupid and docile as a tumtum was trivial.
Ian had found that a good way to avoid conflict with Desert Scorpion patrols and potentially troublesome enclaves was to send the 30-foot tall tumtum ahead of their battered red Jeep carrying a sheet. On the sheet, he'd spray-painted the words:
This is Ian Anderson
I'm just passing through.
Don't mess with me
and I won't mess with you
It was impressive how often, instead of fighting or trying to rob him, whatever enclave or patrol he encountered would remember a nearby alien monster they were afraid of. Or some heavy object they wanted moved. He was all too happy to help. He liked being useful.
Ian sighed and looked out the passenger window of his Jeep. Going back to the Fortress was the last thing he wanted to do.
“It's not that bad, Ian,” Crazy Steve said. “You're a superhero. With great power comes great responsibility. Speaking of which, have you given any thought to my suggestion?”
“Of course, Steve. If I could mindwipe someone instead of killing them, I'd do it. But at this time, I can't permanently erase anyone's memories. I know how you feel about killing humans, but if I can stop killers from killing innocent people, I should. If I don't, I share responsibility for the innocent people they kill.”
The city hadn't changed much since the last time they'd been there: the streets were falling apart, making driving difficult, even for Ian's Jeep. Bent or fallen streetlights blocked their way sometimes, and electrical wires sagged or lay on the ground.
Houses and businesses on the outskirts of the city were abandoned, and alien monster trees popped up from time to time where no tree should be, like in the middle of the street or coming out of buildings.
A big tumtum tree came out of the roof of an abandoned bank where someone had spray painted “MR. PAYNE WILL BRING THE GAIN,” using red, white, and blue spray paint, next to the ruins of what had been the front entrance.
Ian could sense people watching as he and Crazy Steve drove into the city. “Take a hard right at this next street.”
“Okay. Why?” Crazy Steve asked.
There was a loud crack of gunfire, and something slammed into the back of the jeep with a loud bang.
“That's why.”
“Shit! We got snipers!” Crazy Steve floored it, taking evasive action. The snipers fired several more times, but scored no more hits on the Jeep.
Five minutes later, Crazy Steve stopped the jeep in an alley and studied his cell-phone. “I just got some texts from over ten different enclaves around the city telling me they didn't do it. The Poopy Pandas say 'It wasn't us. We wouldn't have missed. Desert Scorpions can't hit the broad side of a barn.'”
“Poopy Pandas?”
“I think it's a cool name. Maybe the Desert Scorpions are mad because you killed their leaders?” Crazy Steve looked reproachfully at Ian.
“They're not involved. Their new leader, Mike, won't admit it, but he thinks I did him a favor. From what I got from the snipers' minds, it would seem they were hired by a military man, who in turn works for Mr. Woodrow Payne. I don't think Mr. Payne likes me.”
As they drove further into the city, approaching the Fortress, they began seeing more people going about their business. The streets were better cared for and some of the businesses actually appeared open.
The Fortress stood on a hill in the most elevated part of the city. The walls and guard towers could be seen for miles, provided no building was blocking the view. At night, the fortress gave off enough light to be seen outside the city, one of the few places in the region that did so since the Alien Apocalypse.
The Fortress, now the center of city commerce, contained over a thousand people, and even more came and left throughout the day.
The place also attracted monsters.
Ian heard and sensed fighting in the distance. “That way,” he pointed. “Time for me to make an entrance.”
“You'd better be making an entrance from the Jeep,” Crazy Steve said. “Last time you tried to make an entrance, you lost an arm. You were crying, saying 'let me know if I'm being stupid.' I'm letting you know.”
“Just get me over there,” Ian said, “and I was not crying.”
There were shouts, shooting, and the roar of flames. Crazy Steve pulled up next to a burning abandoned house. At least Ian hoped it had been abandoned.
Ian jumped out of the jeep. “It's okay, Steve. Just wait here!” he shouted, running towards the flames.
His foot connected with a big piece of broken concrete. He tripped and fell. His armor prevented him from getting hurt, but not from falling flat on his face.
Good one, Ian, way to impress the locals, he thought.
He got up quickly. The thirty-foot-long purple-and-white alien dragon “dumdum” was almost on top of him. The dragon's display popped up.
This is a baby dumdum. He is new to this world; please be nice to him.
I would if the creature would quit trying to kill and eat everyone, Ian thought.
Ian raised his hands.
The dragon froze where it was, about twenty feet away from Ian, just as it was about to breathe fire again.
The dragon couldn't move. A large armor-piercing crossbow lay on the ground to the right of Ian. It was what the patrol should have been using to kill this thing. He guessed someone had dropped it and run for safety.
Ian made a show of being under tremendous psychic strain. His arms and hands clenched like he was lifting a heavy object, his legs trembling, taking a step back, then forward again. He sensed people watching him with bated breath, guns ready.
Someone ran up, picked up the crossbow, and fired. The diamond-tipped crossbow bolt went through the bottom of the dragon's mouth and into its skull. The dragon died and vanished. A dumdum tree would soon appear nearby. Dumdum trees were tall, skinny, and non-fruit-bearing. For obvious reasons, they were becoming increasingly common in this area.
Ian didn't know when armor-piercing crossbows had started showing up as monster loot, but diamond-tipped crossbow bolts cost a credit apiece in the Galactic Market.
The big man holding the crossbow ran up to him. Ian recognized him as Dex, the older boy he used to patrol with. “Ian, you okay? Wow. You've grown.”
An old man stormed over to them. “God damn it, Ian! You come back after two years, and you're already stealing our kills! We were doing fine without your help!”
Dex smiled and shook his head.
The old man's glare turned into a smile, and he held out his hand. “Good to see you again, Ian. Welcome back. Dang, you've grown like six inches.”
“Holy shit! Dex and Hunter!” Ian said, recognizing the two men he used to go on patrol with. “It's been years! How's Sam, Dex?”
“She's well,” Dex responded. He held up two fingers. “Two kids.”
“Congratulations!” Ian said.
“Sam's back at the Fortress,” Hunter said. “Apparently, you're not allowed to patrol while carrying a baby. Speaking of the Fortress, you might not want to go back. They're waiting for you.”
Ian's battered red Jeep pulled up. “Ian, what the hell are you doing? Get your ass back in the Jeep!” Crazy Steve shouted.
Ian shook Hunter's hand. “Later guys, got to go.” Ian got back into the jeep. As they left, he could see Hunter shouting at his patrol.
“What the hell were you doing, showing off like that?” Crazy Steve asked, trying to negotiate the streets to get them into the fortress. The streets were crowded with people, animals, and the occasional motorcycle or truck.
“Trying to make an entrance,” Ian said. “I believe you once said people's perceptions of you are often more important than the reality. It's easier dealing with people if I look heroic.”
“No, I said stay in the Jeep, you idiot!” Crazy Steve responded. “It doesn't matter how tough you are, it takes one screw up to get yourself killed!”
“I was fine,” Ian said. “I would never do that with a dangerous alien.”
“They're all dangerous aliens!”
A crowd waited at the Fortress entrance. A huge banner hung over the entrance with the words “WELCOME HOME IAN ANDERSON! FORTRESS CHAMPION!” Near the banner, spray-painted on the Fortress walls in red was: “Take Back the Fortress!” and “Woodrow Payne for Mayor.”
By contrast, the crowd around the entrance held up signs saying “DEATH TO EVIL IAN!” “WAR CRIMINAL!” as well as pictures of the people Ian had killed and their families. One picture, in particular, was of an attractive man in an army uniform holding a young boy.
Seeing Ian, the protesters took up a chant. “Ban the Butcher! Ban the Butcher!”
Ian recognized the man in the photographs, though the previous Desert Scorpion leader had aged a bit by the time Ian killed him.
Ian pulled out his cell-phone and texted Mrs. Wilcox.
“I requested discretion! What did you do, invite the city?”
Mrs. Wilcox quickly texted back.
“It's just a small gathering. Get over here and be nice. Don't worry about the protesters.”
Crazy Steve drove through the crowd surrounding the Fortress entrance, amid chanting and booing. Mrs. Wilcox's security people used large shields to hold back the protesters. The protesters weren't having any. Rocks bounced off the Jeep. Tomatoes and other things splatted against the windshield. Crazy Steve used the windshield wipers to clean it off, but he only made it worse.
Crazy Steve moved his hands in time with the chants. “Ban the butcher. Ban the butcher,” he said quietly to himself. “I'm telling anyone who doesn't hate you how many times I saved your life. Without me, you wouldn't have lasted a day.”
“Quite true, my friend,” Ian said. “Personally, I'd rather deal with a thousand angry mobs than spend a day with my family. This is going to suck.” There were reasons he'd waited this long to return to the Fortress. In fact, if it hadn't been for Mrs. Wilcox and Dad's pleading messages to him, he'd still be on the road.
As soon as Ian left the Jeep, he was mobbed by the crowd. Something splatted on his helmet, obscuring his vision. A tomato maybe. He wiped off the helmet's transparent eye covering to see security guards pushing back the protesters.
Uncle Ben enclosed him in a big bear hug. “Ian, I'm so glad to see you're okay!” he shouted to be heard. “Man you've grown. I really hope those stories about you are not true.”
Dad and Gabe stood off to the side. Dad nodded. Gabe looked away. Neither seemed to know what to do or say.
Guards escorted Ian through the crowd and helped him onto a makeshift stage in front of the crowd until he stood next to Mrs. Wilcox, who, as always, looked amazing in her polished silver armor. She raised her microphone to her mouth.
Before she could speak, an attractive young woman, holding onto a ten-year-old boy, pushed her way in front of the protesters. “That monster killed my husband! I demand he be brought to justice!”
A second and third egg splatted on Ian's armor.
Ian sighed. Great.