139 Years to the End of the World

Last of the Wars, Part Four

I was a geography teacher. I taught kids what the shapes of landmasses on the planet were, where each city was located, and where all the big mountains could be found. The closest I've ever gotten into a fight was when I was drunk for the first time at eighteen and punched a lamppost for insulting my honour. It may come as a surprise that I lost that bout, swore vengeance, and passed out. Make no mistake, violence isn't in my nature. In fact, even confrontations made me nervous. John and Amelia's combined aura of distaste though, nearly brought me to my knees.

With a coat around me to protect my desensitized body from the cold, the three of us were surrounded by a group of rebels, armed to the teeth with guns, with our backs to the RV. In the snowing basin, the Misty sky hung overhead, enveloping us in a giant bubble of poisonous gas. Leafs and branches on the pine trees around us remained still, showing no wind within the area. Yet, the air seemed to rage through the scene.

Impossibly angrier than usual, Amelia said, "We've brought him, Jason. Now you hold up your end of the bargain."

The leader of the rebel, a buzzcut, red headed man, Jason, stepped forward out of line. His face was rough, scarred across the lip, chin, cheeks and forehead. His skin wrinkled, held in a constant unpleasant scrunch, looked to be in his late 40s. Unlike all his men, he wore a black short sleeved shirt, not caring a bit about the cold. A pistol holstered to the belt of his jeans. His eyes, a steely grey, almost distracted from the commanding grimness he wore. "Of course Miss Smith. If nothing, we keep our promises."

"Promises?" she spat back. "What are we? Five?"

John cut in before things escalated, "If our deal still stands, Colonel Jason, why are your men pointing their guns at us?"

"We have to make sure," the Colonel replied. "Milton Jones may be the 'Hero of the Mist', but he is a Roagnarkian cyborg."

Amelia replied, "From over fifty years ago."

Jason studied their reply, staring up and down and measuring us with his eyes. With a wave, he silently ordered his men to stand down. The rebel soldiers then turned and walk away back to the campsite behind them.

The Colonel then requested, "If you two will excuse me, I would like to speak with Mister Jones in private."

John replied, "There's no need for a briefing Colonel. We've already told him about the arrangement."

"Yeah," his sister added. "And Milton's not one of your lackey soldiers."

The man moved his hand over the grip of his pistol and the siblings tensed themselves. Though calm, Jason had a stinging, commanding tone when he said, "It's not really a request. Remember, so long as you are here, you are under my jurisdiction. And if you want my continued protection to get your precious 'Hero' to Roagnark, you're going to do as I say."

Sensing a potentially violent confrontation coming up between the well armed rebels and my feisty granddaughter, I stepped forward. "Okay. Fine. I'll go," turning to the siblings, I told them, "I'll find you two later."

The pair looked at me worryingly, before exchanging looks with each other, followed by a nod, and a synchronized, "Fine" To me.

"Okay guys, that was freaky as hell."

I parted with Amelia and John and followed Jason through the camp. Though they called it a camp, it looked much more like a settlement. There were tents set up at random intervals, with a countable three small wooden houses scattered around the basin. As far as I can see, there were more than just rebel soldiers there, with a few men and women, children included, going about their day in casual, civilian winter clothes. Conversing, doing laundry, preparing meals. Normal, everyday activities.