Monsters of Men

I reach into my bag. “Take this,” I say, handing him my comm. “To replace yours. I’ll get a new one when I get back.”

He looks surprised. “Yer going back?”

“I have to. It’s full-out war now and it’s my fault. I’m the one who fired that missile. I have to make it right–”

And I get upset again because I keep seeing it in my mind. Todd safe in the viewscreen, not dead after all, and the army getting out of range of the spi

The attack was over.

And I fired anyway.

And dragged Simone and Bradley and the whole convoy into war, one that might now be ten times worse.

“I’d have done the same, Viola,” Todd says, one more time.

And I know he’s saying nothing but the truth.

But as he hugs me again before I leave, I can’t help but think it over and over.

If this is what Todd and I would do for each other, does that make us right?

Or does it make us dangerous?

[TODD]

The days that follow are kinda scarily quiet.

A night and a day and another night pass after the spi

In the meantime, he’s placed a heavy guard around New Prentisstown’s one big water tank on a side street just off the square. He’s also had soldiers start to gather up the town’s food and put it into an old stable next to the tank to make a foodstore. All under his control, of course, and at the edge of his new camp.

Also in the square.

I’d have thought he’d take over nearby houses, but he said he preferred a tent and a fire, saying it felt more like proper war out in the open with the army’s Noise ROARing its way around him. He even took one of Mr Tate’s uniforms and had it fixed for himself so he was a spiffy new general again.

But he also had a tent set up for me across from him and the captains. Like I was one of his important men. Like I was worth the life he came back to save. He even put in a cot for me to sleep on, to finally sleep on after being awake thru two straight days of battle. It seemed almost embarrassing to sleep, and practically impossible to do in the middle of a war. But I was so tired I slept anyway.

And dreamed of her.

Dreamed of when she came looking for me after the blast and how I held her when she got upset and how her hair stank a little and her clothes were sweaty and how she somehow felt both hot and cold, but it was her, it was her in my arms–

“Viola,” I say, waking up again, my breath clouding in the cold.

I breathe heavy for a second or two, then get up and outta my tent. I head straight over to Angharrad and press my face against her warm horsey side.

“Morning,” I hear.

I look up. The young soldier who’s been bringing Angharrad fodder since we set up camp has arrived with her early feed.

“Morning,” I say back.

He’s not quite looking at me, older than me but shy of me anyway. He puts a feedbag on Angharrad and another on Juliet’s Joy, Mr Morgan’s horse who the Mayor took now that Morpeth’s gone, a bossy mare who snarls at everything that passes by.

Submit! she says to the soldier.

“Submit yerself,” I hear him mumble. I chuckle cuz that’s what I say to her, too.

I stroke Angharrad’s flank, retying her blanket so she’ll be warm enough. Boy colt, she says. Boy colt.

She still ain’t right. She barely raises her head no more and I ain’t even tried to ride her since we got back into the city. But she’s talking again at least. And her Noise has stopped screaming.

Screaming about war.

I close my eyes.

(I am the Circle and the Circle is me, I think, light as a feather–)

(cuz you can silence yer Noise for yerself, too–)

(silence the screaming, silence the dying–)

(silence all that you saw that you don’t wa

(and that hum still in the background, felt rather than heard–)

“You think something’s go

I open my eyes. “If nothing ain’t happening,” I say, “nobody ain’t dying.”

He nods and looks away. “James,” he says, and thru his Noise I can see he’s telling me his name with a kinda hopeful friendliness, from someone whose friends are all dead.

“Todd,” I say.

He catches my eye for a second and then looks behind me and dashes away to whatever his next job is.

Cuz the Mayor’s coming outta his tent.

“Good morning, Todd,” he says, stretching his arms.

“What’s good about it?”

He just smiles his stupid smile. “I know waiting is difficult. Especially under the threat of a river that would drown us.”

“Why don’t we just leave then?” I say. “Viola told me once there were old settlements at the ocean, we could regroup there and–”

“Because this is my city, Todd,” he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the fire. “And leaving it would mean they win. It’s how this game is played. They won’t release the river because we’ll fire more missiles. And so everyone will find another way to fight the war.”

“They ain’t yer missiles.”

“But they’re Viola’s,” he says, gri

“Mr President?” It’s Mr Tate, coming off night patrol and walking over to the campfire with an old man I ain’t seen before. “A representative is requesting an audience.”

“A representative?” the Mayor says, looking fake impressed.

“Yes, sir,” says the old man, holding his hat in his hands and not knowing exactly where to look. “From the town.”

Me and the Mayor automatically look at the buildings that surround the square and the streets that spoke off around it. The town’s been deserted since the first Spackle attack. But look now. Down the main road past the ruins of the cathedral, there’s a line of people in the distance, older, mostly, but one or two younger women, one of ’em holding a kid.

“We don’t really know what’s happening,” says the old man. “We heard the explosions from the battle and we ran–”

“War is what’s happening,” the Mayor says. “The defining event for all of our futures is what’s happening.”

“Well, yes,” says the old man. “But then the river dried up–”

“And now you’re wondering if the town might be the safest place after all,” asks the Mayor. “What might your name be, representative?”

“Shaw,” says the old man.

“Well, Mr Shaw,” says the Mayor, “these are desperate hours, where your town and your army need you.”

Mr Shaw’s eyes dart nervously from me to Mr Tate to the Mayor. “We’re certainly ready to support our brave men in battle,” he says, twisting the hat in his hands.

The Mayor nods, almost in encouragement. “But there’s no electricity, is there? Not since the town was abandoned. No heat. No way to cook food.”

“No, sir,” Mr Shaw says.

The Mayor’s silent for a second. “I’ll tell you what, Mr Shaw,” he says. “I’ll have some of my men restart the power station, see if we can’t get the lights on in at least part of the city.”

Mr Shaw looks astonished. I know how he feels. “Thank you, Mr President,” he says. “I only meant to ask if it was okay to–”

“No, no,” says the Mayor. “Why are we fighting this war if not for you? Now when that’s accomplished, I wonder if I may count on your help and the help of the other townsfolk to provide vital supplies to the front line? I’m talking food, mainly, but help rationing water, too. We’re all in this together, Mr Shaw, and an army is as nothing without support behind it.”

“Uh, of course, Mr President.” Mr Shaw is so surprised he can barely get his words out. “Thank you.”