(Survival) Chapter Ten: Time

I pace back and forth, unable to settle my thoughts or my stomach. My erratic diet lately, brought on by lack of food and abundance of nerves, has not helped my mood.

So it’s probably pretty poor timing that John Castor walks in then. We’re in what used to be a McDonald’s, the bricks on the exterior stained with dirt and blood and memories, the interior in shambles. But it’s usable, for a temporary headquarters at least. And at this point, everything’s temporary. Including John. Including Kirkland.

Including me.

“News?” I ask, without waiting for a greeting.

He looks nervous, I note, his thin mouth in a thin straight line, his eyes darting skittishly around the room. I pick carelessly at the dirt under my nails. “Yes, sir. News, yes, of course there’s news. Isn’t there always news?” He chuckles mirthlessly, sounding more terrified than anything.

I flick my gaze to him, unamused. I keep my tone even, my voice dangerously calm. “Yes, Castor, there is always news. My question, however, was pertaining to the news today. I wonder if you could inform me? Your job is, after all, to inform.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir. It’s only- I don’t think you’ll like this news very much…”

“Spit it out,” I snap.

“Emery Garridan is dead.”

I freeze, my hands gripping each other, no longer casual in the way my fingernails click click click against each other. “What did you just say?”

“Emery Garridan. The one impersonating Leila Espion. Kirkland’s friend. She’s dead.”

“Who killed her? How do you know this?”

“I…” He pauses, takes a breath. Clearly bracing himself for something. “It was me,” he mumbles, as fast as he can.

“Come again?” I say, though I heard him perfectly clearly. I just want him to own up to it. He can’t get away with as weak a confession as that.

“It was me,” he says, more loudly. “I mean it wasn’t me personally… but it was my fault.”

He pauses, clearly waiting for a response. I don’t give him one. Silence, I have always found, is the best way to keep someone talking. Some facet of human nature causes them to always want to fill the silence, to continue talking, because somehow, the quiet is unbearable. I got over my own fear of the silence long ago. Immunity to its tricks is a necessary trait to have when you’re in a position such as mine.

Castor does not disappoint. “It was while I was working with Kirkland… well, ‘working with-’” he makes air quotes with his fingers- “Obviously I’m not actually working with them- I’m working with you- but while I was with- with him. Them. And she was up there talking with him. Garridan and Kirkland. Well, the group overheard… She was bragging, y’know, and putting ‘em down, bein’ real cocky, and I can’t stand for that- Well neither could they, y’know? I mean they were already real mad, I didn’t really do too much… Just kinda… didn’t stop ’em… Anyway, it was Monique that actually did it. She stabbed her. Right here.” He touches his chest. “Must’ve got her through the heart.”

I remain quiet.

“I mean it’s probably good, anyway, isn’t it? Tear ’em apart from the inside out? What we have to do is tip off Kirkland that it was the ones in the group that did it.” He’s clearly devising his strategy as he talks, gaining confidence as he does so, but it’s not a bad plan. Not that I’m going to tell him that just yet. I let him keep talking. “Y’know, none of them will realize that Monique or I were involved in any way. They’ll think it was their own, the older ones that they’re working with. If we let them think that- if they start fighting against each other- then we can swoop in and end ’em real easy. We just gotta tip off Kirkland first, that it was them that did it.”

I’m silent another several moments, and now so is he. He’s obviously exhausted his need for mindless rambling. That or he’s forcing himself to shut up before he can say something that might anger me. When it’s clear he’s not going to say anything else, I say, “Garridan was my spy. Mine. You don’t get to go around dictating to others who to kill. Only I can do that.

“You have no idea what I went through to have Leila taken hostage and turning Emery into her as quickly as I did. And now you tell me my most trusted person is dead! I should end your life right now and be done with you.” These words are said with a steely look in Banks' eyes. “I no longer have anyone close to Kirkland to be my eyes and ears, thanks to you and Monique.”

He nods, petrified.

I let my gaze penetrate him another moment, amused at his fear, before letting myself break into a slow smile. “That being said… not a bad idea, Castor. Not bad at all. Tear them apart from the inside. Anything to weaken them.”

He smiles weakly, though no less genuinely or gratefully.

“But,” I continue, more sharply, and his smile fades, “next time you consult me, understood? I no longer have an insider close to Kirkland.”

Castor interrupts me. “Ah—Monique and I were talking and wondering if maybe, well, you know, if maybe Brewster could be a good—”

I ignore this, cutting him off. “Yes, I have you and Monique, but can I really trust you now? And neither of you are as close to Kirkland as Garridan was, anyway. For this, you will pay, Castor. You and Monique will not go unpunished.” I pause, letting it sink in. “As for Brewster, maybe, but I have other thoughts right now.

“But don’t worry. You’ll live.” I smile again, hoping to convey that I mean it. I need him to trust me. To not be too terrified of me. Yes, fear is a weapon, a defense mechanism, and a leadership strategy, but too much of a good thing… Well, you know what they say. “For now- you may leave. I will talk to you and Monique later to discuss your punishment.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Castor seems only too eager to leave.

*****

Perhaps I won’t even punish them at all. It would be preferred if they trusted me; more than that, if they genuinely liked me, maybe even cared about me. I must carefully construct the relationship I want to have with my associates, and I haven’t decided yet what that relationship will be- either keep them in constant fear, too terrified to disobey, or let them wrap themselves around my finger, so that they’ll do whatever I say out of trust. A mixture of both, perhaps? But we’ll see. I tell myself that there’s plenty of time, and then I scoff at myself.

Plenty of time, moving too quickly. Plenty of sand, but the hole in the hourglass was cut too large, and the sand is slipping through faster than I can predict.

How much more time before Kirkland’s forces grow stronger? How much time before the climate becomes unlivable, before we run out of food or water or other resources? How much time before the air becomes dry, the already-red sun clouds completely over with smoke, the oceans rise enough to choke us all? Before this world of bone and ash, this city of weary eyes and eyes too wary to be weary turns to a world of ashen bone, a city of eyes glazed over and unable to see anything at all?

How much time before death?

*****

I force myself to shake off the thoughts. There are more immediate and pressing matters at hand.

I walk past what used to be the take-out area and head for a metal door. Reaching into my pants pocket, I extract a key to unlock a cross bar so I can open the door to a now useless walk-in.

Stepping inside, I peer intently at the person huddled along the wall. Dried blood from a gash above her right eye, a black eye, broken nose.

But the person stares back at me with a seething hatred and I know if this one were to ever get free, my life could very well end. But that isn’t going to happen. I’m smarter and faster than her.

“Leila Espion, we have a problem, and you have now become a liability instead of a hostage.”

She responds with her usual fire. “Then quit talking about it and get it over with. We both know none of us have long to live if we don’t have the resources we need to survive. And that is what Bryan is trying to do. Why be the way you are when you could help us?”

“Help you? Why should I help anyone other than myself? I say let Kirkland get things in order and then destroy him and all those who circled the wagons with him. Then just take it all. That’s control, Leila, pure and simple. From there, I will take over whatever else remains of this beaten world and call it all my own.”

“You’re a madman, Banks. Three world powers tried that and look what happened. Damn near a complete genocide. You’ll never get away with it. Someone else will come along and take it all away from you and then you’ll be at ground zero.”

“Enough,” I say quietly. Quietly, with an edge that cuts like a knife. “I came here to tell you that in the morning you will be executed, and your remains buried to never be found.”

I turn to leave but pause for a moment, and without turning to face Leila, say, “That is, unless you swear your loyalty to me.”

Leila sits there, stunned by my words.

And the metal door bangs closed and the lock is put back in its place.