“So, what do you say, Brother Cipher? Would you like to become a member of the Health and Safety Committee and serve under my direction? Maybe even catch a tiger while you’re at it?” His smile was toothy and wide, like that of a pirate captain press-ganging his newest crew member.
I tried to muster up some enthusiasm and found very little. Even still, my services were needed for the good of the community, which now included Kitten and the other Assholes. I had to put my family first,always, so I shook his hand and sealed my fate.
It may as well be me.
* * *
When I toldKitten about my “promotion” later that day, he congratulated me with an enthusiastic hug. When I told him about using a baby goat as a lure for the tiger, he frowned.
“Seems like cheating. Tying up a defenseless animal. The goat doesn’t stand a chance, and neither does the tiger. It’s too bad we have to kill it.”
Inwardly, I agreed. I could have killed that tiger back in the woods with Marion, but I hadn’t. If I had to pinpoint why, I suppose it was because in a world of unnatural predators–Rabids and raiders alike–a tiger seemed like fair play. Why shouldn’t there be jungle cats reclaiming the territory humans had abandoned? It was survival of the fittest in the lawlessness of Rabid Country. And the tiger had done me the courtesy of sparing both mine and Marion’s lives. Didn’t I owe it something in return?
But there were more practical concerns. A tiger on the loose was a problem nobody wanted.
“We have to keep the town safe,” I said to Kitten. “From Rabids and predators alike.”
“I guess so, but I worry about you.”
“I’ll be up in the deer stands with a gun. There’s no way the tiger will get to me.”
“I worry about you here,” he said and tapped my temple. “And here too.” He placed a hand over my heart. I gripped his wrist and held it.
“This is who I am,” I reminded him.
“Is it?” he asked in his thoughtful way. “Or is it who the world has made you become?”
I didn’t get the last word, but if I had, I would have told him it didn’t matter. You can’t fight what you are.
* * *
With the stagenow completed and the community-wide talent show announced, our crew was bound and determined to develop an act. I hadn’t even pressed the issue; they were already one hundred percent on board. Apparently, I was the only one who suffered from stage fright.
So, in between bedding Kitten and mentally preparing for my first shift on night watch (and after a failed attempt at forming a rock band), we Assholes landed on a group demonstration: basic attacking and defensive techniques against Rabids.
On the night of the talent show and with her crossbow in arms, Artemis shot at a dummy set up on stage, two through the eyes and one through the heart. Macon demonstrated his skull-bashing techniques by splitting a variety of melons with his axe, which was a real crowd pleaser. And Gizmo set an elaborate snare, then demonstrated its effectiveness using Wylie as his captive.
As for yours truly, I posed as a Rabid and “attacked” Teresa and Kitten who wielded wooden knives with aplomb to show the crowd that even people of smaller stature could (and should) learn how to defend themselves.
“And even though it’s considered bad form to stab someone in the back,” I said to the audience, which included the children now gathered at the front of the stage. “When it comes to Rabids…” I cupped my ear with one hand to prompt a response.
“We kill them,” the crowd shouted.
Kitten, who had snuck up behind me, then “stabbed” me three times in rapid succession, aiming the blunt tip of his wooden knife at my kidneys, just as I’d instructed him to do, and I ended our demonstration by dying a dramatic death in the center of the stage I’d help build.
The resounding applause when we all took our bows made me think we should join a traveling acting troupe. Oh, the drama.
After the talent show had ended and the crowds began to disperse, I said goodnight to Kitten and the other Assholes then headed over to the town center to meet Larry at the armory for my first shift as a newly minted Promised Land guard, which included being issued two pairs of stiff cargo pants, three t-shirts in earth tones, four pairs of socks, which seemed excessive considering I only had one foot, one combat boot (at least in my case) and a gun, which I was here to retrieve last of all.
After unlocking the padlocked steel door, Larry led me down a hallway lit by motion-sensor fluorescent lights to a room roughly the size of a gym locker with floor-to-ceiling gun racks on every wall and rows of metal lockers that Larry told me stored ammo and other accessories. I was surprised by both the sheer number of guns and their pristine condition. It helped that there was a generator dedicated specifically to the room’s climate control.
“This is a lot of guns,” I remarked. And knives, and swords, grenades, flamethrowers, body armor… I wondered if they’d been bought by the Council or confiscated. Probably both.
“You never know when the military’s gonna pay a visit,” Larry said.
“You’d go toe-to-toe with the United Forces?” I asked, thinking that was some hardcore shit right there.
“If it came to it. I’d take the civilians to our bunker down by the river and let anyone who wanted to stay and fight, do so. Several of our men are registered as part of the Promised Land militia.”
