The Wasteland Soldier, Book 1, A Fractured World

Fifteen

The cafe was one of the few buildings to have avoided major damage. The brickwork had been raked with bullets and both front windows had been shot through but the structure was otherwise intact.

Marge led Stone inside once she had instructed Geoff to take care of the town. He was the perfect man for the job; diligent, organised and the people knew and respected his voice. The fires were already dying out and showed no sign of spreading. Water was a precious commodity and none of the paltry supply they retained would be used to protect a single building. Clipboard in hand, Geoff issued a raft of instructions to the men and women who had volunteered to help. All families with children were to be evacuated into an area of the craters. This was the first priority and a group of armed men would accompany them with a small supply train of food and blankets. Explosives were to be reset on the outskirts of town. Enemy weapons needed to be collected and stored in the armoury. Enemy bodies needed to be burned in the fire pit. A mass grave would need to be dug for the burial of the locals. A census would need to be conducted. Geoff explained this was a low priority and could wait. A barricade needed to be placed where the school had once stood. All rooftop snipers needed to clean their weapons, replenish ammunition and take some rest. And so it went on.

As his volunteers put aside tiredness, fears and personal loss, Geoff felt a swell of pride that restored his faith in Ford, Gallen and people. It was, he realised, that in times of adversity that you saw the true soul of a man and woman. It was this thought that triggered a picture of Dorran, shockingly strung up to be hanged. He wondered how the poor man would find a way past that and would he ever be able to come to terms with or even forgive the people who had almost murdered him. And then Geoff's thoughts drifted to the poor children, penned inside the school by that madman. He supposed Jenny must have died in the explosion.

Tears filled his eyes. He doubled over and threw up, hiding his face with his wooden clipboard.

Marge offered Stone a seat and went to the counter. The café was warm and he slipped off his long coat. His nostrils filled with the smell of food. The place was empty and he was glad. Marge carried over a plate and sat with him. He felt uncomfortable with her looking at him and reluctantly nibbled at the slices of halk. The sight of ollish eggs surprised him.

"You have ollish birds?" he asked

"Too right we have, damn fine birds they are. Tasty eggs."

"I know someone who would kill for one of these."

He thought of Tomas as he cracked open the black egg and poured it into his mouth.

"Why are you here?" asked Stone, looking down at his plate. "Not out there, putting things back together."

"Reckon you already know that answer," she said, easing back in her chair and wincing. "Damn arm stings like fire." Her leg and arm were both bandaged. "How's your mouth?"

Stone nodded.

"It'll heal."

"What you did took a lot of guts. Got some brave people in Ford. Sometimes a man even braver can inspire a lot, teach them stuff they don't know."

He shook his head.

"You going to take that car and head somewhere else. Where else is there to be? You can do more good here."

He cracked another ollish egg, dribbled some onto his beard.

"Could do much worse out on that road, better here, safer. We did alright, didn't we, kicking that Cleric out of here."

Stone wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He crushed the empty egg shells into tiny pieces.

"Guy was pretty much a nutcase, I reckons, but smart. He outsmarted me, not you."