World in Tatters Ch. 9

Once we leave Philip’s bar, I pull Alice down a nearby alleyway. “Are you really sure about Philip?”

“Everything I told you in there is true. Philip has a complicated past, but every single one of the jobs I’ve worked with him, have been to help people. He helps get goods to people who can’t afford them. Goods that the Praetor keeps hoarded inside the walls. There are people here who rely on his help.”

“I get it. He helps people. But you said yourself that you didn’t always agree with his methods. What did you mean? What are his methods?”

“Well…for one, he doesn’t always show restraint. I’ve watched him put a bullet in a guard’s head for getting in the way. He didn’t have to. The man was barely conscious. We had drugged him on the way in so he wouldn’t be a problem. When we were on our way out, he was starting to wake up. He didn’t even have his weapon. As far as we knew, this guy was just there to do a job and feed his family. Same as us, but to Philip, it didn’t matter. He worked for the Praetor, making him the enemy. Philip’s single-minded, driven, determined. But he’s also ruthless, sometimes even brutal. He protects his own, though. And if we’re working for him, that includes us. Even with the bounty on you.”

“So, what you’re telling me, is that he’s a terrorist. That’s the kind of thing terrorists do.”

“He doesn’t see it that way. And neither do I, if I’m honest. He only hits militia targets. He hits the Praetor and the Praetor’s men only. He robs the Praetor’s grain stores, the Praetor’s supply lines. Never civilian targets. As far as I’m aware, he has never killed anyone who doesn’t work directly for the Praetor.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know that’s not your point. How about this: we keep looking. We keep asking around with my contacts. I think Philip is our best bet, but if you’re not okay with it, we can keep going. I’m telling you now though, anyone we go to is going to want some sort of payment. I don’t know if you realize this, but we don’t have much money.”

“I get that, but we should at least try. I don’t like the idea of working for someone who devalues human life based on who they work for. Look, it’s not even sundown yet on our first day looking. Let’s finish out the day. If we haven’t discovered anything by the time we call it a night, we do it Philip’s way.”

“Fine. I have a few more people we can talk to.”

“Lead the way.”

The rest of our evening went like most of our morning: empty, and pretty much a waste of time. We checked out a few more hunter hangouts, talked to several more of Alice’s contacts, and still came up with nothing. It looks more and more like Philip is going to be our best bet. I don’t like this at all.

If the things Alice told me are true, in my book that makes him a terrorist. I don’t care what Alice thinks she sees in him. But she’s the only person in this god-forsaken city that I actually trust. If she says that he’s a man of his word, I don’t think I can afford to fight her on this one.

We’ve only been inside the walls for a day, but we’ve already exhausted about a dozen or so of Alice’s connections. We’re running low on possibilities, and I’m not sure I had any patience to begin with. Every second we spend here, the more anxious I get. If working for Philip will get us out of here faster, I’ll just have to do his job. But I’ll do it my way.

A couple hours after sunset, Alice and I decided it was just about time to call it a night. She said that there was one last person we should talk to on our way back to the inn. This place is actually kind of peaceful now. After sunset, the crowds dissipated pretty rapidly. Torches and streetlamps burn at regular intervals along the road. The only people still around are those off to drink away their wages or headed back home from work. Instead of taking the short path straight back to the inn, we turn down an alley and wind our way through the underbelly of this steaming manure heap. Alice assures me that she knows where we are going. We continue on this strange path until we reach a section lit only by the light of the moon.

The deeper we go into this labyrinth, the mustier and dustier this place becomes. There are few true buildings back here, only tents haphazardly strung between existing structures. Torn drapes of canvas sway gently in the early evening breeze. Around the corner ahead of us, there’s a flicker of firelight. I can only assume that’s where we are going.

Alice pauses, clearly apprehensive about going into the den. After a moment, she nudges my arm, gesturing for me to follow her. I wasn’t prepared for what I see next.

It’s depressing, really. As we round the corner, I almost run right into one of two stacks of crates forming a sort of gateway into a large circular clearing. Behind the stacks, a guard illuminated by a nearby torch sits whittling a piece of scrap. At least I assume he is a guard. Not a very good one, though. He barely looks up at us as we exit the alley. Once in the clearing, I catch the full view.

Scattered around are about a hundred people, most of them gathering around steel drums set ablaze. All of them are wearing rags. Men, women, children. Old and young alike living in this squalor. It’s hard to look at. So many people with nowhere to go, few people to help them out.

Few of them seem to have any sort of food. The ones who do appear to have little. Even so, they’re sharing with as many others as they can.

“What are we doing here, Alice?”

“Two things. One: I wanted to show you this place. Show you the kinds of people we’ll be helping if we work for Philip. Figured it might make you feel better if you could see this.”

“And what is the second reason?”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Alice looks around for a moment, scanning the crowd of tent-dwellers. After not seeing the person she’s searching for, she tugs at my sleeve.

“Hmm, not out here. I think I know where they are. Come on.”

I follow Alice to the other side of the clearing, into an old building. The building is only one story of red brick and mortar. It appears there was once more to it, but there are scorch marks around the edges. The only roof this building has left is a lattice of canvas tarps stretched from wall to wall. A few spots have been visibly torn and patched repeatedly. Some spots have more recent tears, likely from the high winds that ripped through this area about a month ago. At the back of the large room stands a podium surrounded by benches. Well, I call it a podium. It’s really just a stack of boxes with a book lying open on top.

It’s strange. A book. Here. In a place like this.

“What was this place?”

“A library, if you can believe it.” A wistful tone dances in her voice. “They moved most of the shelves out years ago. The books were gone long before that. They dismantled the metal shelves to use for building materials. The few wooden ones were chopped up for firewood.”

“What is it now?”

“A cathedral. A town hall. A shelter. Really, it’s just a place where anyone in need can come to find solace.”

Near the makeshift podium stands a small group of folks. Three of them are dressed like everyone else in the clearing. One, however, is dressed a little more nicely, with her neat blonde hair cascading down just below her shoulders. She’s wearing a form-fitting, but not tight, blue button-down and khaki pants. She’s not completely clean, but definitely more so than the others. There’s a kind of elegant attractiveness to her. But that’s not the thing about her that catches my eye.

It's the way the young woman carries herself. She can’t be more than a few years older than Alice or I, but she is clearly a leader in this community. She appears to be arbitrating some sort of conflict among the other three. Once she gets them to calm down some, she ushers them back out into the clearing. That’s when she notices us approaching from the rear entrance.

She greets Alice with a quick hug. “Hey.”

“Hi, Corina.”

“What brings you here?”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Stepping aside, and gesturing to the giant standing behind her. “Corina, this is Steven. He’s a friend from a long time ago. Before I came to Picayune.”

Offering her hand for a friendly shake, “It’s good to meet you, Steven.”

Taking her hand. “You too, Corina. So, I’m going to be honest, I don’t get why Alice brought me to this place.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, while it is nice to meet another one of Alice’s friends, We’re kind-of in the process of figuring out who put a bounty on my family and myself. We haven’t had but one good lead, and I hoped Alice brought me to you because you might have information. Now, seeing this place, I suspect there was a different reason.”

“Steven, don’t be rude.”

“It’s okay. His candor is actually refreshing. I understand. Truth is, I probably can’t help you two with your bounty problem.”

“I apologize, Corina, Alice is right. I sometimes let my mouth run away from me.”

“It’s alright. Really. Welcome to my home.”

“You live here?” Alice snickers at my question.

Smiling: “Uh…no, not exactly. But I might as well. I spend most of my time here.”

“And, what is here exactly?”

“Are you talking about this building? Or, the community?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Well, today, this building was our church. Yesterday, a meeting hall. The day before, something else. We use it for whatever we need when we need it. As for the community, the people out there are my friends. Some of them escaped slavery here in the city. Others were evicted from their homes. A few are hiding from the law for various minor offenses. Don’t worry, we don’t allow violent offenders here. If they do drop in, we give them a small meal and a place to sleep for a night, then send them on their way.

“But overall, this place is a refuge for the people who have been beaten down in this city. I’m here most nights, giving out any food I can spare, and providing any medical attention I can to those who need it.”

“And what do you do during the day?”

“I work as a doctor at a clinic near the real city hall.”

“I see, so what brought a doctor down to a place like this?”

“She built this place,” Alice chimed in.

“I did not. There were some folks who came into the clinic a few years ago. They were in a bad way. One of them told me there were others. They were starving. They had nothing but the clothes on their backs, and even those were in tatters. I just offered them some food and blankets.

“It was only a few at first, but I kept visiting and bringing food. It didn’t take long for more people to show up. I helped them build some shelters, clear out the old library. We even found something tucked away.” She walks over to the podium and carefully removes the book, marking the page before closing it. “Somehow, this survived the fire that took the roof off the old library. For a while, it was the only copy we had. Only complete one anyway.”

She walks back to me and hands me this ancient tome. Battered and worn, the original leather cover still graced its binding. It was a Christian Bible. I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. She did say this was their church.

It’s not like most of the bibles I’ve seen, though. The few that do exist outside of private and state collections are all handwritten. This was definitely a print job from the old world.

Few churches still survive after all this time. Some factions suppress religion by force. Some say it’s because religion is an opiate, a distraction from their duties. But what it boils down to is control. If people start believing that there is a higher power than their warlord, they might start fighting back.

Some warlords like to use religion to their own ends. They set themselves up as divine ruler, destined by God to squash everyone in their way.

From everything I’ve heard, Picayune is the former, and especially harsh.

Returning the artifact to its keeper. “If you, or any of the others got caught with this book, you’d likely be executed on the spot.”

“Yes, I know. Fortunately for me, that doesn’t bother me too much. I can’t speak for the others, but the militia here doesn’t scare me. They don’t come back here often. It’s too far out of their way. Even if they did, we keep it pretty well hidden between services.”

“Well, more power to you. I for one prefer not to cross the militia. And, not to be rude, Corina, but I think we should probably get going. We’ve had one hell of a day, and I am exhausted.”

With a slight smile, Corina crosses back to the podium to return the holy book to its rightful perch. “Before you go, can I get your help with something? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

“Of course, he can help.” Alice answers for me before I can even open my mouth.

“Apparently, I would be happy to.”

“Great! Come on.” Corina leads the two of us into a room off to the side. On a large burner sits a several gallon crock. “Steven, you can carry the pot. Alice, you can take the ladle.”

“Gladly,” Alice chimes with a smirk in my direction.

“I feel bamboozled. Hoodwinked. Tricked by you and your feminine wiles. Alice, you did this on purpose.”

“Oh, I didn’t use my wiles for this one. You’ll know when I do.” She says with a wink.

I heft the cauldron full of some form of liquid off the frame hovering over the smoldering fire pit. We haul the whole lot of it out the side door into the clearing. Near the door, there’s a bench set up with a line of people forming at one end, each with a bowl in hand.

“Just set the pot down there.”

I hoist it up onto the center of the bench and pull the lid. The smell of chicken and broth wafts through the air.