"This is Seargent Major Thomas Lewis, requesting access to restricted frequency 80.794. My I.D. code is 8742. Please respond… Again, this is Seargent Major Thomas Lewis, requesting access to frequency 80.794. My I.D. code is 8742… My access code is Alpha, Juliet, five, eight, Sierra, Uniform. That's Alpha, Juliet, five, eight, Sierra, Uniform. If anyone can hear me, please respond."
The major had been at it for a few minutes now. Standing at the edge of the quarry pit. He had his back to the mounds of corpses as he spoke into a black box. It crackled and spat but gave no response.
The others paid it no notice. Not Phillip, Merle, or the half dozen soldiers who sat in the monstrosity's high-walled bed. How east must they be for such magic to be normal? Were they even east?
Sandor sat in the back of the monstrosity – which he'd learned was called a truck – sweltering under the summer sun. He ran a cloth over his axe. Grime sloughed off, splattering at his feet. Dafter men may claim to clean their weapons to honour them, as if they were showering their favourite whore in gifts rather than cleaning a man's lifeblood from a hunk of sharpened steel. No, you clean a weapon to keep it sharp, stop it slipping from your grip, and from sticking in its scabbard, so you can kill the next man in your way without any extra fuss.
Weapons don't have souls, no more than men.
It would serve him well here; his axe and shield. As they always did. Where ever the Major intended to take them, it would be in need of frightening men with axes. Be it the frigid lands beyond the wall, the wastes of the far east, or whatever lay beyond the sunset sea, every land needed someone to the dirty work.
Best to forget about Westeros. It, and whatever menial task had gotten him killed. What was it again? The image of on angry man in a tavern came to mind, but everything else was fog. If he'd been resurrected – which was the only reasonable explanation – a red priest must have been involved.
Forget it. The Stark girl probably slit my throat during the night. Feral little bitch.
Merle sat to his right, feigning interest in whatever Phillip was prattling on about. Dull, bovine confusion lived behind his eyes. Some men existed purely to be cruel and little else.
It'd be easy to make the same claim about Phillip. He was, after all, hardly human – no man lied so easily. Yet, something was different about him. Something unplaceable. Like a distant fire at night, Sandor couldn't help but keep an eye on him.
"Bet you're wondering what he's up to, huh?" The soldier across from Sandor asked, cutting off the man beside him. He ran his hand through his cropped sandy hair, kicked his feet up on the empty spot between Sandor and Merle, and yawned.
The other soldiers shot him poisoned glares.
The Governor smiled and spread his fingers across his knees. "I admit, I am curious. What's your name, son?"
"Axel."
"That's 'sir' to you, cadet!" A gruff voice called from below.
The Major's second in command climbed onto the bed through its open back. Sandor took note of his hair. Cropped and neat like the rest of them, brown, and shaved down to stubble on the sides. They were too uniform. Not even Kingsguard paid this much attention to detail.
A scar split the man's cheek and the corner of his mouth, so he mustn't be green. Strange. Sandor kept an eye on him.
Axel grinned. "Yeah… sir. My bad, Gov, sir."
"Keep running that mouth and you'll be a cadet 'till you're grey and wrinkled. Hear me?"
Axel saluted. "Loud and clear, Colonel Duncan, sir!"
A vein throbbed on the Colonel's forehead. He gave Phillip what a grumpkin would consider an approximation of a smile. "Excuse him, Governor Cagle, sir. Recruits ain't much to speak of in the best of times."
Phillip laughed. "No apologies needed, Colonel! Honest to God, it's nice to see that confident young men with no fear of consequences still exist. Gives me hope that the world we once knew ain't so far away." He faced the soldiers. "Are all you boys' cadets?"
The soldiers glanced at the Colonel.
"Well?" The Colonel barked. "The Governor asked you shitheads a question!"
They snapped into an upright posture and stared past Phillip. "No, sir! Governor, sir!"
"These here are well seasoned men, sir," The Colonel said. "All first class for at least three years. Lance Corporal Davis, explain why the runt is here!"
The soldier closest to the exit shot to his feet. More height than muscle, he worse spectacles, and his hair curled like that of a maiden. "Sir! Cadet Sutter is here to complete his final assessment to advance to the rank of private, sir!"
Phillip nodded along. "Right… Right… Well, you look mighty fine, men. I feel safer just sitting across from you."
"Thank you, Governor, sir!" The soldiers yelled as one.
The one next to Axel elbowed his ribs.
"What? He wasn't talking to me, dumbass."
"Well…" Phillip shrugged. "I wasn't addressing you, but we were talking before. Cadet Sutter here was just about to tell me what it is the Major is doing all the way out here."
The Colonel gained a solemn look and opened his mouth to speak.
"The Major reckons the government is still out there somewhere," Axel said. "There's a radio tower nearby. We haven't been able to find where for sure, but its signal is strongest the closer you are to Atlanta. He's trying to reach them."
Merle laughed. "Bunch of nerds probably hijacked the thing! I knew a couple of little freaks in high school who would have fought tooth and nail through them hoards for a chance to play at radio man."
Axel chuckled. "Probably. Or more likely, there ain't nobody there and the Major is chasing a dream."
The Colonel slammed his fist against the wall, shaking the entire bed. "That's enough, Cadet! It ain't a dream, it's fact! The United States of America is too big to fail!"
"It's been three months of radio silence, sir. If they were out there, we'd have heard something by now."
Like a man off to war, the Colonel stormed between the rows of seats. Merle glared at him. Even when confronted with unnatural horrors, the fool faced them with a grin. Yet, this unremarkable man drew a glare from him sour enough to gag even the most devout cheesemonger.
The Colonel grabbed Axel by the scruff of his shirt and pinned him against the wall. "SAY THAT AGAIN, BOY! SAY IT AGAIN!"
Wide eyed, Axel tried to scramble out of his grip. To no avail. "Th- The hell's wrong with you? Get off-"
The Colonel punched his gut. Axel doubled over and spluttered. The Colonel slammed his back against the wall.
No one said a thing. The soldiers hid sneers behind false scowls, Merle dug his nails into his palms, and Phillip scanned everyone's faces. When he met Sandor's eyes, he put on a scowl.
Sandor flicked the last of the grime off his axe and moved on to his shield, starting with the straps.
"Listen to your betters, boy," Phillip said.
"You hear that?" The Colonel moved his face inches from Axel's. "That's an order from a governor. A governor, cadet. If it's all gone to shit, how the hell is he here? Huh?" He a raised a fist. "Huh?!"
Axel shrunk back and raised his hands. "I- I- I…"
"That's enough, Colonel Duncan," The Major said. He stood before the bed's open doors with the tired eyes of a defeated man. "Stand down."
"But Major!"
"His doubt is understandable. From where we stand, the rest of the world might as well be gone. It's hard to see the forest through the trees at the best of times." He spared Phillip a glance. "Sorry you had to see that, Governor."
Phillip smiled. "No worries, Major. Are we ready to head out? I'm eager to get inside Fort Bennet. Y'all still got power, I would assume? A shower and a haircut would go a long way. A governor should be presentable, after all."
"Fort Bennet was abandoned under order of Seargeant Major Rodrigues. We're heading to Woodbury."
This isn't real.
Painted homes passed Sandor by. Uniform and crafted from fine wood, brick, and mortar. Glass windows. A yard in the front and back. Stone paths and black roads. Shoulders of grass separated path from road, and planted trees reached for another over it all.
No village knew such luxury. Aside from the rubble and clutter you'd expect of the end of an era, there wasn't a speck of mud or shit to be seen.
It had to be a stronghold of some sort, a gathering place for lords and ladies on their travels. But where were the walls? The gates? The turrets? Hells, where were the latrines? Even if the highborn refused to squat over the vile things, some poor peasant brat needed to dump their shit somewhere.
Perhaps it was all a cruel joke. Give the small folk villas, but no walls. See how long they can keep a hold of it! Sounds like something a king with too much coin and time would do. Yet, the homes showed no sign of raiding.
Pillaging, yes. But not raiding. No blood coated the sides of houses or crusted the grass like morning frost. Only a handful of homes were burned. And the only corpses in sight were the walking sort.
It all smelled of sulphur and rotting flesh. Villages were supposed to smell like cows, mud, and whores.
As the truck trundled down the black road, passing identical house after identical house, no one spared them a second glance. As if this were any other village. Except Phillip.
The man had been in a dour mood since he learned his precious fort was lost. Oh, he hid it through pleasant smiles and idle chatter well enough. But anyone with the strength to truly see would notice the storm behind his eyes and the venom beneath his tongue.
It confirmed that the man was human after all. Passion belonged to men and men alone. The fool poets liked the pretend it held some sort of magic, that it could overcome anything. Horse shit, of course, but still passions often defined a person.
Phillip was an enigma. Why hold such passion over a measly fort? A castle, that would make sense, but forts aren't any more valuable than a pinecone in a forest. Although, in this land, who knows perhaps they rare as they come.
Yet, the moment they neared Woodbury, the storm cleared, and the venom sweetened.
Rusted walls of steel roofing formed pathetic palisades around half a dozen blocks of buildings, men kept guard on defenceless wall walks, and shoddy towers made of hobbled together wooden planks sprouted here and there. Any shit-for-brains bandit would piss themselves laughing at the mere sight of it, and then thank the Father for creating stupid men.
No coin is worth this. I'd sooner grovel in the muck with the Fleabottom beggars then try and make a living here. Beggars, at the very least, don't have to worry about Kings Landing collapsing at the seam in the middle of the night.
As the truck trundled up to its rickety gates, the exposed men scrambled. Barked orders sounded like whispers over the truck's roar. The gates parted down the middle, let out a screech sharp enough to put a stray cat to shame, and let them into a corridor of brick buildings some five stories tall.
Remarkably, it didn't smell of shit. Not even a hint. No beggars lingered in the alleys or the side of the road. No rats scampered about. No strays eyed him from the shadows. Taking a stroll through these streets would be uneventful as a high-born lady's garden.
It even smelled of lavender and vanilla, yet at the same time it didn't. The smell was all wrong. Sweet flowers weren't meant to burn the back of your throat.
Washing wire hung between the buildings, dangling the strange clothes of this land over the road. Paved roads, rather than dirt. They guided the truck towards a clogged town square.
Walls of store fronts, only broken up by the occasional alley way, surrounded a small garden. Peasants were shoulder to shoulder on the grass, craning their necks. They stood on benches, sat atop store front verandas, and some of the more daring ones were sat on the thickest branches of a few planted trees. They spared the truck but a glance before returning to their gawking.
The ones with any sense stayed close to the alleys. Always best to have an exit plan where gatherings were concerned. Especially executions. They watched the truck like hawks.
A lad no older than ten and five knelt on a central, wooden platform guarded by men in green. He hung his head, veiling his face with long greasy hair. Steel cuffs linked by a thin chain bound his wrists.
Crooked nails and misaligned boards held the platform together. It groaned like a greybeard rising from his chair as a thin weasel of a man approached the damned fellow. Grey streaks stripped what remained of his black, cropped hair.
"Matthew Tabor, you have been accused of looting. How do you plead?" The weasel asked. His voice boomed like thunder. Where he found such bass in such a small frame, Sandor hadn't a clue.
"Not fucking guilty!" The lad shouted.
"You will refrain from using profanity."
"Fuck you!"
The weasel waved a guard over. A barrel-chested bull of a man. He lifted a strange weapon above his head similar to the major's, but with a blade attached to the tubed end. The bull looked to the weasel for confirmation, and after a nod, rammed the weapon's broad butt between the lad's shoulder blades.
The lad spluttered, crumpled, and writhed as he gasped for air. Murmurs echoed through the crowd. Followed by a scream.
"Matt!" A gangly lad broke from his father's grasp and reached for the platform.
The father – a rotund greybeard with hair white as snow – wrapped him in a bear hug and pulled him back.
The weasel smirked. "You claim innocence, yet extra rations were found in your quarters. Unregulated rations, mind you. As well as magazines, playing cards, and other recreational items. None of which you can provide proof of purchase for. How do you explain this."
"It ain't stealing," the lad wheezed. "It don't belong to anyone no more."
"I think we've heard enough. Two nights in a cell followed by eight months community service. Take him away."
The guards snapped to attention. "Yes, Seargeant!" They seized an arm each and dragged the lad down the stairs. The crowd parted around them, murmuring all the while.
"This place ain't gonna last eight months!" Matt shouted, fighting the guards' grasp. "Wake the hell up!"
Axel knocked on the cab's roof. "So, Major. Did I pass or did I pass?"
The Colonel stuck his head out of the window. "Go report to assignments, they'll get you your new uniform and schedule."
"Sweet! This place is so damn suffocating. Nothing like a bit of action and adventure to free the mind."
The Colonel laughed. "Not in your wildest dreams, shit head. You're on wall duty like everyone else."
"What? But this was a test for expedition duty!"
"And you flunked. Big time. Gotta be one of the worse applicants we've ever had. And there have been some real stupid, brain-dead motherfuckers who try out for this. No. Shit head. You're a wall sitter. Now, sit."
"This is such bullshit!"
The Major opened his door. "You're dismissed, Private Sutter."
"But-"
"You're dismissed."
Axel clenched his jaw, balled his fists, and stormed between the rows of seats. The hushed snickers of the soldiers followed him on his way out.
Phillip got up and peered over the side of the bed. "I'd say you made the right call, Major. The boy's got spirit. Ain't a sensible soul alive who could deny that. But he's wild too. Impulsive. The exact opposite of the sort of man you want watching your back when you're up shits creek without a paddle. Pardon my language."
The Major gave a curt nod. "That's right, sir."
"On an unrelated note, I have a minor concern. A misunderstanding on my part, I'm sure. Could we perhaps discuss it somewhere more private?"
"I'm afraid it'll have to wait, sir."
The peasants were trickling over. Tentative steps. Craned necks. Desperate eyes.
And silence.
Anticipation danced in the air. Hope that somebody else would initiate. The gathering of courage to be that somebody.
The Major watched them surround the truck with a blank stare.
"Did you find any medicine?" A woman asked. The crowd parted around her. She was short, brown-skinned, and clutching a toddling babe in her arms. "Any inhalers?"
Other voices butted in.
"What about insulin?"
"Metoprolol?"
"Asprin?"
"Forget medicine! How much food did you bring back!"
That one spurred on a chorus of murmurs. They grew in volume, approaching a cacophony. Until the Colonel yelled over them all.
"The supply list will be posted in the town hall come next morning! Now, step back from the Major!"
The woman forced her way through the crowd. "I can't wait that long! My boy is sick! He could die!"
"Lady, if you don't step back, I will throw your ass in the hole! Do not test me!"
The Major raised a hand. "That's enough, Colonel."
"Sir, with all due respect, she is way out of line. And this ain't the first time neither."
"Duncan. I've tolerated your disobedience twice today; I will not do so a third time. Take the men to their barracks for post-action review and remove yourself from the situation. Now."
Duncan ground his teeth. "Yes, sir… Move out men!"
The soldiers filed out of the truck's bed. As they and the Colonel marched away, the crowd visibly relaxed. Yet, the scowls remained.
Sandor stole a glance at Phillip. The man was dead silent. Would have been welcomed news, if the fool's silver tongue wasn't all he had. He sat with his back against the bed's wall, staring off into space. Yet, his eyes were far from vacant. Something stirred behind them. The same something that awoke when a commander saw the enemy ranks in the flesh for the first time.
If the prattling sheep below could see his face, his true face, they'd run for the hills.
"Folks, as you know, our budget is tight," The Major said. "Food, water, and essential medicine take priority. And with our growing numbers, our weekly budget grows thinner and thinner. We've come back with plenty of food and water, antibiotics, first aid supplies, and enough insulin for those in need. But luxury items like aspirin and inhalers would have pushed us over."
"Luxury?" The woman asked. "In what world are inhalers a luxury?"
"Ms Bennet, we've given you instructions on how to combat an asthma attack without an inhaler. If you need a refresher, Doctor Stevens is always available for an appointment."
"I do not need a damn refresher, Major. I need inhalers. This is a two-year old boy we're talking about here. Keep him calm? Keep him still? When he's choking to death? How in the hell do you expect me to pull that off?"
"I'm afraid it'll have to do for now."
"Oh no. No, no, no. You ain't afraid. You don't know the meaning of the word. Afraid is having a heart attack at every little wheeze and cough. Afraid is holding your baby boy in a bear hug when he melts down after being told he can't play again. Afraid is fearing every breath will be his last!"
Tears welled in the babe's eyes.
"Gloria…" The Major began.
"Did I say I was done? Did I? Because I got a whole lot to say about these rules you got us living by! And so does everyone else!"
The babe began to blubber.
"Lower your voice," The Major hissed.
"How dare you! I will not be-"
"FOR FUCKS SAKE, WOMAN! THE BABE!" Sandor bellowed.
Every pair of eyes snapped to him, locked on the burned side of his face. Silence fell over the square, for less than a heartbeat. The babe let out a terrible, screeching scream. He squirmed in his mother's arms, thrashing and kicking as tears streamed down his cheeks.
The crowd backed away as if he'd sprouted greyscale. The mother sank to her knees, bouncing the babe and cooing gently. Her hands trembled and her eyes glistened under the midday sun.
Phillip was on his feet now. Smiling. "Nice one," he whispered.
"Piss off."
"Wasn't talking to you. This is the best thing we could have hoped for."
Merle butted in between them. "What's the plan anyhow, man? They're dumb. But sooner or later the truth is gonna come out, brains or no brains."
"Just keep doing what you're doing and follow my lead. Trust me."
Merle grinned. "Hell yeah."
Mayhaps I'd be better off ratting the fools out. Try and gain favour with the major… and hope they trust me. Trust a monster. Right… May as well see where this goes then.
The Major led them to the basement of the town hall. A rather unimpressive building for a title of such import. It blended in like a shrub in the underbrush. Another two story, brick building with a sloped roof. If it weren't for the 'town hall' sign above the entrance, Sandor would have walked right past it.
"Henry will get you settled in, sir," The Major said as they descended the stairwell. A stairwell made for children. It forced Sandor duck his head to avoid the strange rectangular lamps fixed to the ceiling. And only Sandor. "Once you're situated, you can come find me in the barracks. It's a short walk north of the square."
"I'm grateful for your hospitality, Major. Who is Henry? A fellow soldier?"
"Something of a priest."
Merle snorted. "Something?"
"That's right."
They arrived at the bottom and the Major pushed open a set of double doors.
Those cold-cocked bastards on The Wall knew more excitement than this place. White walls surrounded a clump of steel chairs sat before a stained floor mat – which Sandor assumed was meant to substitute a stage. No windows to speak of. Instead, rows of rectangular lamps clung to the ceiling, bathing the colourless space in stale, white light which made the walls hard to look at.
It smelled like a dusty broom closet.
Merle and Phillip's eyes went to a crooked cross above the stage.
"Is this your church?" Merle asked, half laughing.
A door opened in the back. "I'm afraid so, son," said an old man. Rotund and balding, Sandor recognised him as the accused lad's father. He brightened at the sight of the Major. "Major Lewis, what a pleasant surprise. How can I help?"
"New arrivals. Important ones. Get them the best accommodations we've got."
Phillip waved his hands. "Oh no, it's quite alright. Treat us like everyone else. Please."
"Sir, you're too humble!" Merle said. "This is Casey Cagle you're looking at. Acting Governor of Georgia. He's gonna need a proper place to lay his head if we're gonna work on putting the world back together. Ain't that right, Major?"
The Major grunted and gave a nod.
"Oh my!" Henry said. "Why didn't you say so? Follow me to the back, Governor. I'll get you and your men set up quick smart, don't you worry."
Phillip smiled and nodded. "I'd appreciate that."
With that, the Major left. No announcement or goodbye. He just turned on his heel and marched away. The stiff bastard walked like a knight – with a sense of import, betrayed by utter mediocrity. Every knight thought themselves the Mother's gift to the world.
The moment he left; Henry's eager-to-please eyes soured. "Excuse him, Governor. He's a busy man. You must understand. Honestly, I was surprised to see him at all. Haven't seen the Major at Sunday mass in quite a long time"
"It's alright. Your name is Henry, correct?"
"That's right, sir. Henry Tabor. Excuse me a moment." Henry looked over his shoulder. "Beau! Beau! Get the ledger ready! We got arrivals who need rooms ASAP!"
A small voice replied from behind the door. "Okay, dad."
"Sorry about that, Gov," Henry said. He opened the door and waited beside it, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. "As I said, my name's Henry. Henry Tabor. Woodbury's priest."
Phillip manoeuvred through the clump of chairs, follow by Sandor and Merle. "It brings me untold relief to see you, father. A part of me feared that the Lord's teachings had been cast away like an out of season phone."
"I'm afraid you weren't too far off, Governor. Before I arrived, there weren't a church to be seen in Woodbury. Yes, people prayed. And yes, they begged for God's mercy. But there wasn't any worship. Just the selfish pleas of the desperate. I'm doing my best with what I've got to turn things around, but it's a long road ahead of me."
Henry led them into a room resembling the chambers a beggar lord would provide his maester. A mess of papers sprawled across an uneven desk. More lived in dodgy bookshelves and cabinets. Only a corner of the room was left bare. It had been turned into a cramped sitting area. A tiny wobbly table and an odd pair of chairs.
The aesthetic of importance; a shell without a snail.
Beau riffled through the desk drawers and mess of papers. He whispered soft curses to himself, each more insistent than the last. Discarded papers and books littered the floor around his feet.
Lords liked to use lads like him as fodder. All height. No muscle. Thin wristed, smooth faced, and twitchy as a rat caught in a cage.
Joffrey often claimed that's what would become of his little brother. "There're no such thing as useless men, Tommen. What you'd call a useless man, is a man perfectly suited to dying. That's what Grandfather always says about you."
The little cunt deserved what happened to him, even if he was only a lad.
"Our country's relationship with The Lord had always been a relationship of convenience, Governor," Henry continued, sitting at his desk. "It shouldn't come as any surprise that once things get tough, we cast him aside. Happened back in 0-8 when the market crashed. Attendance at my church halved overnight. Halved!"
Phillip shook his head. "Shameful."
"Sinful, Governor. Sinful. There ain't no greater crime than playing into the devil's hand."
"Couldn't agree more, father."
Henry waved his hands. "Just Henry, if it please you, Governor. I'm no priest. Just a man letting faith guide my hand. Truth be told, I dreamed of being a priest as a boy, but life caught up with me and got in the way. As it does. I hope the Lord will overlook my lack of training."
"I'm sure he will. Times being what they are and all. You're doing these people a fine service."
Henry just about glowed brighter than the sun. "High praise, Governor. High praise. Thank you. Anyways, let's see about getting you and your men settled. I'm afraid I didn't catch you boys' names."
"Name's Merle Dixon," Merle said. He put on a smile that sent a shiver down Sandor's spine. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Sandor Clegane," Sandor muttered.
Henry nodded. Beau handed him a book stuffed to the brim with tabs. He snatched a pencil from somewhere under all the papers and got to scribbling. "Just to be clear, you're not official guards, are you? Not military, secret service, or private security? Just civilians?"
Phillip stepped forward. "That's right. The Highway Patrol officers assigned to me and my family abandoned their posts only a few days into this disaster. Around the time we lost contact with Europe. My family, rest their souls, lost their lives during our first wave. Susie turned in my arms and almost took me with her." Phillip drew a shaky breath, sat down, and dried his eyes with his sleeves. "Excuse me. I- I just need a moment."
"It's alright, sir. Take all the time you need."
"I… I just haven't had a moment to process it, really. It's been one horror after another. She would have killed me. I had to. The Lord will understand, won't he? I had to kill my baby girl," Phillip blubbered.
Henry touched Phillip's hand and guided it into his. "Of course, sir. The Lord was just takin' little Susie up to heaven to escape all this mess. That's why we hardly seen any children these days. Why he decided to turn them into horrors is beyond my understanding, but whatever the reason is, it's for the best. Whatever you had to do here. Whatever you faced. It was all a test and proof that the Lord has great plans for your future. Afterall, people need a strong man to guide them, and true strength is forged in the flames of adversity."
Phillip nodded. "You're right, Henry. Thank you. Sorry if I brought the mood down."
"No, no. No apologies needed. It's good to reminded of it, the horror out there. Keeps us vigilant."
Phillip nodded and wiped his face.
Footsteps approached from outside and three knocks wrapped the door. Quick and sharp. "Governor? Governor Cagle? Are you here?"
The voice sounded oddly familiar. A babe babbled.
"Give us a minute, Gloria," Henry said. "We're just getting Governor Cagle situated."
"Surely it can wait! This is important."
Henry's voice gained an edge. "This is an important man, Gloria. I'm sure there are others desperate to meet him. You need to wait your turn."
Phillip stood. "No, it's okay. If it's important, I'll hear what she has to say."
"It'll only take a moment!"
"See, I'm sure this can wait a moment. Can't it?" He asked.
Henry stiffened. "Yes. It can."
"Excellent." Phillip turned on his heel. "With me, Merle, Sandor. Can't be too careful, can we?"
"No, sir!" Merle went bounding after him.
Sandor followed too.
The mother awaited them. The one who needed to be reminded to keep her babe breathing. Whatever a woman like that had to say couldn't be of much import.
"You're really him?" She asked, star struck. "You're a governor?"
"I am, Ma'am. How can I help you?" Phillip shut the door.
Gloria smiled. "You're good," she whispered.
"Excuse me?"
"Or crazy. Like, bad crazy. You're not, are you? Tell me you're not."
"Ah." Phillip nodded. "So, I was right, then. Good," he whispered back.
Sandor groaned. "What in the seven hells are you two on about?"
"This, Sandor, is exactly what we needed. Someone bold and clued in."
"Her?" Merle hissed. He looked Gloria up and down.
Admittingly, she didn't strike much of an impression. She was what you'd expect from a middling age mother. Short, plump, starting to wrinkle and grey. Plop her in a flea bottom crowd in peasant clothes and she'd only stand out because of her dark skin and hoop ear rings. And even then, Kings Landing knew its fair share of travellers and migrants.
Gloria put down the babe, letting him toddle about as she gave them an inquisitive look. She twiddled her hooped earring between thumb and forefinger. "You told them you're a Lieutenant Governor, right?"
"That's correct."
"Smart. Who the hell knows what the Lieutenant Governor looks like?"
"You, apparently."
Gloria chuckled. "Hell no. I just know that whatever he looks like, he ain't a fucking Latino."
Merle shot Phillip a baffled look.
"I mean, I admit, you're almost white. But almost white ain't white, you hear me?"
Phillip shrugged. "Guilty as charged."
"What's your plan? You here to rob these people or something?"
"In a sense. I'm not after anything as frivolous as money or guns, however. No, I'm here for the ultimate prize this wonderful, wonderful new world has to offer."
"And what would that be?"
"What were you before all this?"
Gloria blinked. "Excuse me?"
"A maid, maybe. A clerk? A burger flipper?"
"I worked at Target, yeah… So?"
"How many people looked down on you every day? How many of those spineless fuckers wanted to spit in your face and grind it into the dirt every single fucking day of the week? How many?"
"More than I can count."
"More than you can count…" Phillip shook his head. "And where did they get off? They ain't much better. Worse. Most were only one bad day away from your life, and yet they had the audacity to look down on you. As if you were a different god damn species."
Gloria nodded along. "Yeah, okay. You're crazy alright."
"I'm awake, sweetheart. That's what I am. Truth is, what these dumb fuckers call a disaster is a blessing in disguise. The playing field is levelled once again. There's no one on the throne anymore, but it's waiting. It's waiting for someone with the balls to sit on it."
"And that's you? Some nobody conman is gonna rule the world?"
"Why the hell not?"
Gloria laughed, and laughed, and laughed. With tears in her eyes, she held her forehead. The babe looked over. He burst into giggles and toddled to his mother, chubby little arms outstretched.
And she pushed him over. As casual as a horse's tail shoes away a fly. The babe landed on his back and burst into tears, flailing like a crab on its back.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Sandor snapped. His voice bounced off the walls, rumbling like thunder.
Phillip and Merle gawked at him, as if they'd forgotten he was there. But Gloria, she merely shrugged.
"Don't get your panties in a twist, big guy. Little shit deserves more and worse. It never stops crying. Keeps me up all times of the night. During normal times, it was already hell, but now, when each day might be my fucking last, it's a joke."
"He's your son." Sandor stormed over to the babe and yanked him onto his feet.
The babe took one look at his pock-marked face and let out an ear-piercing squeal of a shriek. He squirmed out of Sandor's grasp, tripped in his haste to flee, and landed face first. Like a kicked puppy, he crawled towards his mother only to be met with a shove to the forehead.
"Stay down and shut up!" Gloria yelled.
The babe whimpered and did as he was told.
Gloria groaned and wiped her face. "He looks exactly like his piece of shit father, you know. Same dopey fucking eyes and butt chin. If he weren't good for pity points, I'd have left his ass in Atlanta. No one can turn away a poor, helpless mother and her baby. You get me, right?" She gestured to Phillip.
Phillip put on a smile. His fakes were hard to pick apart from the real thing, but Sandor was starting to recognise the signs. There was always a moment of delay before a fake. Not much, mind you. No longer than a heartbeat. But it was there all the same. Aside from that, they were perfect – matched his eyes and everything.
"I get ya, sweetheart. Left my own monster behind first chance I got. She was shit-out-of-luck I had her that weekend, but thems the breaks."
"No, no, no." Gloria said. "What'd you do that for? There's a nobleness about a single father. You could have gone far with her."
"Not when she's 15."
"Ah."
"Could have whored her out when shit gets real nasty out here, but eh, not worth the hassle. Wasn't pretty enough anyway. I mean, look at me! Anything that comes out of my balls ain't gonna be on the cover of any magazine no time soon."
Gloria chuckled. "True that. No offence, but yeah…"
Merle, for once, wasn't grinning. He'd taken several steps back and had a look on his face as if he were locked in a room with a starved wolf. "Hold… Hold on, now. Sister, if you hate him so much, what was all that shit about inhaler before?"
"That was about getting back at that shit-for-brains Major, brother. The man's lost his fucking mind. No one – and I mean no one – is allowed to loot. Not even soldiers. Now, you may be wondering. How do we eat? He fucking pays for it! Whenever they loot something from a store on their supply runs, they leave cash in the register! For ghosts! Fucking ghosts! Do you know how much free shit is out there waiting to be claimed? And I can't have a fucking crumb of it! These people are all riled up about the no looting rule, so why not add a little fuel to the fire?"
Phillip pulled up a steel chair. "These people, they like you?"
"Oh yeah. I'm friends with all the women. Wash a couple clothes next to a bitch and chat about nothing, ask how her day's going, agree that her husband is a bastard, and suddenly she's your best fucking friend. And of course, I make sure to smile at all the men and be a nice, agreeable lady."
"They respect you, though?"
"Some. Most of the women think I'm sort of sage who has advice for every situation. But the men wouldn't listen to a word I have to say if it came down to it. You know how it is."
"But they'd listen to their wives, right?"
"Probably. With enough nagging and a few weeks of no sex."
"How'd you like to help us take over this dump?"
Gloria raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you already? They think you're the Governor. Your word is law."
"For now, yeah. These fuckers might be dumb, but they're not braindead. Eventually someone will figure it out. Hell, you did."
"Well, sweetheart. I'm not sure if you noticed but you're dealing with the United States military here. A whole squad of soldiers armed to the nines, against your…" Gloria counted them with her pointer finger. "Three."
"Don't you ever read? That's not how you do a coup. Coups are done with lies. Rile up the people, get 'em on your side, and overwhelm the muscle."
"And what lie do you have in mind?"
"A tragedy. Something along the lines of, a poor, desperate single mother loses her only joy in life to a preventable illness. And it's all Major Thomas's fault."
Gloria grinned. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I mean… you said you only keep him around for pity points. Ain't nobody gets more pity than the mother of a dead child. You'll be a victim for the rest of your damn life."
"Well, when you put it like that… Diego. Come here, sweetheart. Come to mommy."
Sandor's veins froze over. As if in a dream, he watched the babe waddle in his mother's arms. He watched as she covered his mouth and pinched his nose. He watched as his thrashing slowed little by little, until he lay limp in her arms.
As Gloria threw back her head and screamed, a sinking feeling weighed heavy on Sandor's stomach. For a moment, it was as if he were a fly on the wall, looking down on himself and the atrocity. Yet, he still felt the racing beat of his heart and the brittle sensation in his bones.
Until he remembered the world he lived in. The real world. Not a world of songs and fables. He lived in a world where monsters were champions, where noble lords and ladies gorged themselves to death while the small folk starved, and where strength ruled rather than fanciful ideals.
Sandor lowered his heart into a deep, dark bog, far from the noise of the fool within him, and ran from the room after Phillip and Merle, taking up their call for a doctor.
