“Sure, if you could find ‘em,” said Lumler. “We been lookin’ for mine shafts for months now. Down in the fuckin’ sewers, cellars, basements, you name it. But so far? Jack.”
“Huh,” said his friend. “Well, that’s just strange. Have you thought that maybe the deformos have some help?”
“On the inside, you mean?” said Lumler. “Like the Reformists? Yeah, the thought’s crossed my mind. I ain’t that stupid. And neither is the Governor.”
“So with all that, I guess you’ve been pretty busy.”
“Yeah,” Lumler said tiredly. “Real busy. They got us snoopin’ around all over the place. More searches, more arrests, more… interrogations. I don’t even like thinkin’ about it.”
“Sounds pretty grim,” said Santiago. Taking a last drag of his smoke, he flipped a tiny butt onto the ground and stepped on it. “But then, that’s kinda how things are these days.”
“‘These days’,” said Lumler reflectively. “You know, I really hate that saying. These days… like you got any other days, you know?”
“Heh, good point,” Santiago smiled.
Something occurred to Lumler and he sat up and nudged his friend on the shoulder.
“Hey, I been meanin’ to ask you,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“About that Hunter dude. Guy you gave all the supplies to?”
“Sure. What about him?”
“Any sign of him? I mean, he was s’posed to go out and bring in some doctor types. So? Any new Medicos?”
“Nope,” said Santiago, shaking his head. “And believe me, I’d know if there was a new doctor! We’ve all been workin’ our asses off, last few days. Double shifts, every bed full. No, I’d have noticed a new medic. Huh, for that matter, I’d have noticed a new anything if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” nodded Lumler ponderously. “We don’t get too many new citizens no more, do we? Not like the early days.”
“Nope. I guess maybe everybody who survived is like, crewed up by now, you know? Gotta be pretty hard to make it out there on your own.”
“Got that right,” said Lumler. He eyed his friend. “So, just curious… how many fighters you think we lost so far? For real, I mean, not what they print in the paper. After all, you’re a doc. You gotta have some idea.”
Santiago shrugged. “Not sure. They try to keep those kinda numbers under wraps, you know? But an estimate? Oh, I’d say a couple hundred at least. And that doesn’t count the wounded, which would probably be another two or three hundred.”
“Shit,” said Lumler, nodding. He’d suspected as much but took no pleasure in being right. “No wonder they’re always drafting us PF guys—they need the bodies! Fuck, at this rate, if the War keeps up, we’re just flat-out gonna run outta citizens! Them deformo freaks’ll swarm all over in here and that’ll be that. So long New America.”
Santiago looked at him strangely. “What are you tryin’ to do, man?” he said. “Scare me? Cause it’s workin’, if that’s what you meant!”
“Hey, I’m just sayin’ is all,” said Lumler, tossing up thick hands. “There’s only so many of us, ain’t there? And it seems like there’s a like, unlimited supply of these muties. Do the goddamn math.”
Santiago scowled at him. “Geez, you’re a cheery bastard today,” he said bitterly. “What, you miss the pancakes at the Jolly Café that much already?”
Lumler had to smile, in a humorless, bulldog sort of way. “Yeah, maybe that’s it, pal. Maybe you’re right. Aw, don’t pay me no mind. Like I said, I just been feelin’ kinda down, I guess.”
“Eh, you should get out more,” said Santiago. “All you do is work and sleep. Shit, you should go down to the Big Time, find yourself a nice girl, maybe a have a drink or two.”
“At the Big Time?” scoffed Lumler. “Not fuckin’ likely. I seen the shit they put in the drinks down there. And them girls? Shit, some o’ them are older than my old mom!”
“Yes, well,” said Santiago philosophically, “we all gotta do what we gotta do to survive, don’t we? Even the State-sponsored, geriatric hookers. Like the Governor says, we all have a—”
“Place to Fill and a Job to Do,” quoted Lumler, finishing the other’s sentence. “Yeah, yeah, I heard that a million times, too, just like everybody else.”
Santiago stretched his arms and then rose from the fountain’s rim. “Well, it may be trite,” he said, “but that doesn’t make that little axiom any less true. Take me, for example. If I don’t get my ass back to the hospital, I’m gonna find have it handed to me on a platter. So…”
“Yeah,” Lumler said, rising and brushing crumbs from his coat. “I gotta get back to the station, too. Well, take care of yerself, pal. Don’t sew yer fingers together or nothin’.”
Santiago laughed, flashing white teeth. “I’ll try not to,” he grinned. “You take care, too. And don’t forget, as your physician, I prescribe a nice night at the Big Time, spent in the company of the youngest, prettiest hostess in the joint, plus at least two drinks of their very best hooch. To be taken internally, once per week or as needed. Got it?”
“Yeah, thanks Doc,” said Lumler. “I’ll see what I can do about havin’ that scrip filled.”
For a long moment he looked at his friend and something fearful stirred in Lumler’s chest and head, a strong sense this might be the last time he ever saw the man. With an effort, no slave to superstition or emotionalism, he shook the feeling off and offered his meaty hand.
“Take it easy, man,” he said. “An’ stay safe. I sure would miss you.”
“Yeah,” said Santiago softly, shaking his hand. “You, too. Now go on, get outta here. And next week? I’ll bring the food.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
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The day before Teresa left Baron Zero’s house began as innocuously as any, just another day of chopping weeds in the stupid, stupid bean fields, but by the end of it she was packing her things. And all because of one little can of Cat.
She’d stuck to her job and her studies for the last few days, but more and more she got the feeling that, try as they might to make her feel at home, she just plain didn’t belong with these people. It wasn’t their fault; all they were doing was trying to survive, same as anyone. But for that, did they have to be so desperately boring? Didn’t they ever want to grab a bike and go zoomin’? Or go out and shoot some coyotes? No chain fights, no dog fights, no chicken fights, nothing to bet on. Hell, most of ‘em didn’t even drink stupidwater! She got the feeling that partly it was because she was young and easily bored, but the fact remained; she just didn’t feel like a real resident of the House.
What was more, she found that the feelings of loss she’d felt for Justin Case (and the others, to be honest) just wouldn’t go away. Every day, as she worked in the fields or sat in the classroom, a significant part of her mind was taken up with mooning and recollection of the times they’d shared. She tried to concentrate, to banish the thoughts, but it was no use; like a bad hangover, they lingered in her head.