World in Tatters Ch. 45

“Where is she?” Panic rising is Alice’s voice. “Where’s my mom? Why isn’t she here?”

“I don’t know.” Stunned. “Shit, Alice. I don’t know.” We look around the room, checking the bathroom and closets for any sign of Aunt Nora. Realizing our situation, I rush over to the lifeless bodies of the two guards, “She’s obviously not here. We need to go. Help me get them inside.”

Alice doesn’t seem to hear me, facing the door from the foot of the bed. I hook my arms underneath one of them, trying to drag the dead weight into the bedroom.

“Alice! Look at me!” I insist, pulling her out of her stupor. Gentler, “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

Alice finally grabs the guard’s legs, helping me pull him through the door. As soon as we get the other guard into the room, Alice yanks her knives out of their bodies, wiping them off on the bedspread. I close the door behind us as we backtrack to meet up with Richard and Kiera. Just as we’re filling them in, Artemis rushes around the corner.

“Guys, President Falstrom…” She wheezes out.

“We know, she wasn’t in her rooms.” Richard chimes.

“That’s ‘cuz she’s at the party. Under guard.” Arty takes a second to catch her breath. “Drum’s showing her off like some prize. I got the feeling it wasn’t the first time.”

Richard and Kiera look at each other for a long moment, holding a silent conversation between them. “Alright,” Kiera says finally. “It’s time to abort. Arty, you get Pollo and get out. The rest of us will go out the way we came in. For now, we’re uncompromised. Let’s keep it that way.”

“What!?” Alice barks. “We came for my mom. I’m getting her out.”

“Alice, I’m sorry, but you’ve already killed two guards. Even if we could stay hidden for a time, as soon as they find those bodies, everything will be locked down. We won’t be able to get out. With your mother or otherwise.”

Furious, Alice furrows her brow. I can see how badly she’s struggling against herself, but surprisingly, “Fine. Let’s go.”

Artemis heads back to the party to get Apollo while the rest of us clear out as fast as possible. We make it back out through the kitchens and make a break toward the fence line. Just as we near the spot we stashed our gear, I hear the sounds of shuffling feet and clattering of metal. As I look up, I notice a small army of heavily armed men coming out of the shadows to surround our crew.

“Guys.” I call out. My companions stiffen as they notice our predicament. Richard’s hand twitches toward his side where his sword would normally be. I notice Alice’s hand reaching toward one of her knives, her anger overcoming her good sense. I grab her hand before she can do anything rash.

The soldiers level their rifles at us as a man steps out of the shadows between them. Rolo Kilik stands before us, directing his smug, scarred grin at Alice and me. “Steven, Alice. Hello again.”

Kilik’s insufferable face is the last thing I see before one of his men pulls a black hood over my face.

****

I spend the next several hours in a quiet room. The soldiers never bother to take the hood off, so I sit in near perfect darkness. I pass some of the time by talking to myself, or rather, talking to anyone who might be in the room. I can tell by the quiet that Alice and the others are nowhere nearby. If they were, I’m pretty sure Alice wouldn’t be able to contain her rage.

I’m sure they’re alright. They have to be.

When morning comes, or at least, I assume it’s morning, I hear the sound of a doorknob turning nearby. Footsteps echo behind me before they rip the hood off of me. I shut my eyes against the blindingly harsh lights. The men fuss with the ropes binding my wrists to the chair.

“Get up. Come on.” The man doesn’t grab me or force me out of my seat, he just stands over me, expecting me to comply, his voice betraying boredom more than hostility. I hesitantly rise to my feet and turn to face him. The man stares at me with a blank expression, revealing nothing of his character. “Let’s go.”

I rub the chafed spots on my wrists and follow my captor into the hallway. Judging from the décor, I’m definitely not at the president’s mansion. Most likely, this is some sort of government building or warehouse. The gray walls make me claustrophobic as we make our way down the halls. He leads me up a few flights of stairs, emptying into a cozy block of offices. The gray walls and tile floors give way to earth tones and drab carpeting. Glass walls reveal meeting rooms with grand tables and offices with stern-looking people in suits poring over paperwork.

I’m led down another corridor to a conference room much bigger than the others. Three men stand at the end of a long table. The one in the middle, a dark-skinned man with a shaved head, faces the window at the far end. I recognize one of the men next to him, a beefy figure wearing grungy travel clothes. A face I was hoping not to see again so soon.

Butch.

When Butch notices me enter the room, he flashes me a smirk of self-satisfaction. He converses with the dark-skinned man for a moment more before being waved away. Butch stares at me as he walks out of the room. My escort and the third man follow him out leaving me alone with the dark-skinned man.

“Good morning, Mr. Tucker.” Came a deep, flat, but almost pleasant voice. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

“Elias Drum, I presume.”

He steps forward to peer out the window, never bothering to face me. “Hm. You presume correctly. I’ve been waiting quite some time for our meeting. Please,” Gesturing over his shoulder with a glass in hand. “Join me.”

I hesitantly move around the giant table to his side of the room. “What is it you want from me?”

“Want from you?” He echoes. “We’ll get to that.”

I edge around the table giving Drum a wide berth. I glance around the room as I cross, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. Finding nothing, I keep my distance.

Elias Drum is above average height. Shorter than me, but not by much. He has a stern face, ornamented only by a thin goatee wrapping from his upper lip to his chin. He carries an air of quiet authority, not intimidating exactly, but not someone to cross.

When he finally looks at me, he sizes me up. “You’re taller than I expected.” Drum crosses to a table with a tray of glasses and a silver pitcher in the center. “Would you like a glass of water? I’m sure you’re thirsty after the night you’ve had.”

Without waiting for an answer, he tops off his glass and pours a second one. He offers the second glass to me, but I don’t take it. “Where are my comrades?”

“Oh, do you mean Falstrom’s daughter? Or the married couple?” Setting the glass down, he drops his voice to an almost threatening tone, “Or perhaps those two waiters who infiltrated my staff?”

I feel a rush of anger pulse through me. My hand reaches to my belt where my knife normally is. Finding it missing, though expected, made my breath catch in my throat. “What have you done with them?”

“What have I…?” Waving a hand to dismiss my concern. “Your friends are free to go. They are waiting for you just outside the city.”

His statement catches me clean off guard. “…Why?”

A sly smile breaks his façade. “Why what, Mr. Tucker?”

“Why would you let them go? What are you playing at?”

“I am not playing at anything. You see, I spent quite a bit of time and resources in order to speak with you, Steven. May I call you Steven?” I do not respond. “I was hoping your sister Rachel would be joining us, but alas, I only require one of you for my purposes.”

So, Rachel got away without being captured. That at least gives me some relief.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Though, I am beginning to suspect.

“Ah, yes. Why have I expended so much effort in bringing you here? Have you not guessed?”

“My mother.”

He meets my eyes again, “Very good. I take it from the company you keep that you are aware of Charlotte’s position in the so-called Atlanta Resistance Militia. Which means you are also aware that she is very much alive. I was hoping to tell you that myself.”

“So, are you looking for information on her? For intelligence about the resistance? Their plans? Because I just joined up with them a week ago. I don’t know jack.”

“No, Steven. I do not need any information from you. You see, I have brought you here to give you information.”

My only answer is a look of skepticism.

“Come,” Drum crosses to stand directly in front of the window. “Look.”

Still dubious, I join him. If it weren’t for my current situation, I would have enjoyed looking out over the Atlanta skyline. From this floor, we can see out over a huge swath of the city. People down below go about their day as though there isn’t a war on. Looking down at them, I can imagine the sounds and the smells from the markets. Just people living their lives.

“You grew up here in the city, did you not?”

I pause for a moment, not sure if I should answer, “Mostly. Traveled a lot.”

“So, you’ve seen the changes, then. Five years ago, Atlanta was little more than a backwater.”

“It was the seat of the power for the Alliance. I’d hardly call it a backwater.”

“Oh, sure. The economy was solid, but even with that success, electricity was generated on a small scale and reserved only for the powerful. Technological advancement was completely stagnant. The city was dark, lit only by firelight.” He gazes out over the city, admiring his work. “I’ve seen the images in the old books. I’ve seen what the city was like before, a beacon of light and stone visible for miles around. Not only electric lights, but wireless communication, motorized vehicles, access to the world’s knowledge in the palms of their hands.

“It was beautiful.

“Now look what we have been able to accomplish in just a few years. Just imagine what we’ll do in another five years. Ten years. Twenty years. If we keep moving at this pace, you may see this city return to its former glory in your lifetime.”

“And for that,” I scoff, “You would kill—”

“Anyone who gets in my way? Yes.” His bluntness surprises me. “Are you aware of the types of people whose deaths I’ve authorized? Troglodytes. People who stand against progress because they don’t understand the good that comes out of it. Politicians who use ignorance to control the populace. In other words, people who history will forget.”

“And men, women, and children. Civilians of all ages. You justify the murder of hundreds, if not thousands for your vanity projects.” He meets my eyes over his shoulder, unamused, but not hostile either with a hint of confusion in his brow. “What does any of this have to do with my mother?”

“Your mother once ruled this city-state. Quite effectively, I might add.”

“Nora Falstrom was president. My mother was her friend, sure, but she had no hand in the government. Maybe you should check your facts.”

“The sad part is, I think you believe that. Or maybe you just want to believe it. Charlotte Tucker was about as shrewd and ruthless a leader as they come.”

“Oh, yeah, how’s that?” Defiant. “She never held any office. I mean, sometimes she did favors and errands for Aunt Nora, but…”

“One does not necessarily need political office to exercise influence. And Charlotte is quite the master of that.”

“I’ve never known my mother to very charismatic.” The word catches in my throat as I remember that day in the square…The way the crowd rallied when she dragged the terrorists before them.

Incredulous, patronizing, “Have you not caught on to what I’m implying, Steven? Or are you really that thick-headed?”

“Let’s just assume for a second that I am. Why don’t you spell it out for me?”

“Leave it to Charlotte to raise a blunt instrument as her son. But knowing who your father is…was…I expected something cleverer from you.”

“I leave the biting wit to my sister.”

Drum takes a deep breath before letting out a long sigh. He sets his water glass on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let me make this clear enough for you. Your mother…Charlotte Tucker…was Atlanta’s enforcer. Infamous in the right circles. Anything she wanted done, she could get done. She just threatened and brutalized whoever she felt like to get it. She’s never shied away from the use of force or deception.”

For a moment, I can’t decide whether to take him seriously. I decide it must be a joke. “Look, Elias.” I pause a second. Mimicking his tone from before, “Can I call you Elias? You clearly take me for a fool. Fine. I get that. But I’m not stupid enough to take the word of a mass murderer about my own mother.”

Drum’s expression is unreadable. “Believe whatever you like, Steven. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.” He flicks his hand toward a folder on the table, “It’s all in there.”

“Oh, yeah. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Without another word, Drum pushes a button on a nearby console. A buzzer sounds outside in the hallway. The doors swing open, and my escort from before saunters in. “You have your orders Mr. Edwards.” Drum turns back to me, “I have a feeling we’ll be meeting again soon, Steven. But for now, please accompany Mr. Edwards. He’ll be taking you to meet up with your friends.”

“Really? You’re just letting me go? I thought you needed me.”

“Maybe I exaggerated slightly. But you may be useful to me yet.” With a wave of his hand, Drum opens the side door and exits into another office. “And please, take the file with you. You may find yourself needing it sooner or later.”

“Wait!” I call out, crossing toward the door. I see Edwards’ hand drift to his sidearm, and I freeze. “You claim that you only kill ‘troglodytes’, as you call them. Basically, just your political enemies, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Then why did you do it? Why did you have an entire city firebombed not two weeks ago? That order alone cost the lives of dozens of civilians.”

“I gave no such order.”

“Bullshit. I witnessed the aftermath with my own eyes. I helped clean it up with my own hands.”

“Mr. Tucker, I assure you. I have not recently, nor have I ever ordered or authorized the use of incendiary devices against civilian targets. That is not, as you might say…My style. I prefer a bit more precision.”

Drum punctuates the word with a sly grin. A grin that sends a shiver down my spine. As I back away toward my escort, I catch a glimpse of Drum taking his place behind an ornate desk, Butch glaring at me from the other side as the door swings shut.

“Let’s go.” Edwards calls to me. He makes no movement in my direction, no threatening gestures, just stands there with his hands in his pockets waiting for me to follow him.

I hesitate a moment, staring at the file on the table. Deciding it best, I take it up. Drums words echo through my thoughts. I fold it in half and stuff it into my back pocket. As I cross to Mr. Edwards, “Is Drum always that cryptic? Or that big of an ass?”

“Hm.” Edwards cracks a smile, snorting in amusement. The first break in his stoic veneer.