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Chapter 3: The Empress

Alabaster Square was - had been - one of the main tourist attractions of the city. It was a huge sprawl taking up six city blocks. Folks used to come from all over the world, to see the iconic skyscrapers, to see the bright neon lights, to shop at the famous stores. Yes, of course, the city has - had - iconic skyscrapers and famous stores pretty much everywhere, pretty much in every neighborhood. Sure. But a listing for Alabaster Square was the first thing tourists would see when they opened their guidebooks. Before the world fell apart, page one of every single guidebook for tourists had a list of things to do and see in the city - and Alabaster Square was right there at the top of that list.

Well, it wasn’t just the iconic buildings and the shops, I suppose. The Square also had that nightly laser show, plus it always had various street fairs and festivals going on. There was always something happening.

Now, of course . . . now, these days, the Square is a silent ruin.

As is most of the city.

And Rex and I were foolishly going there, just before dawn.

Not entirely foolishly, I hope. After all, we did know how stupid it was, to go there. That’s why we went before dawn. Neither of us would go anywhere near the place during the day - folks would see you, for one thing.

Alabaster Square was surrounded on all sides by enormous buildings, all of which were at least twenty stories tall. They were now either empty or populated by dangerous folks - gangs, most likely. If you walked through the Square, during the day - who would be watching you? You had no way of knowing. Who would be looking down at you, if anyone was, from all those windows in all those tall buildings?

This, by the way, and obviously, was one of the many reasons why the city had become so dangerous. Everywhere you went, you’d be surrounded by buildings - some short, some tall. Some towers. Some skyscrapers. All of them thick with apartments, or shops, or offices. All of them generously outfitted with windows. So many windows, all around you, as you made your way through the city. And who would be looking down at you, from those windows? If anyone was? Good folks? Bad folks? You couldn’t know.

Many of the city’s residents had fled after the latest round of bombings, after a lot of folks died, after the Coalition government collapsed. Many, but not all. Some remained, though the exact number could not be calculated. Some good folks remained, but so did gang members and other kinds of criminals. Some of the scattered remnants of the Insurgents were still in the city, too.

Anyway, Rex and I had a list of places - areas and neighborhoods - which we felt safe going to. Well, somewhat safe.

Alabaster Square was most definitely not on that list.

Of course, I should point out that we weren’t actually going to the Square itself. Rather, our destination was a squat building on the southwest corner. Our plan was to get inside, get what we came for, and get out. Quickly. Then, we could dash through the dark streets, hopefully returning safely to the office where we were currently taking shelter.

On that southwest corner, an army recruiting station. It stood two stories high, much shorter than its neighbors. When the bombs had gone off, a delivery truck had flipped over and crashed into the station’s front door.

It was still there, forming a barricade which blocked entrance into the recruiting station.

In the hushed pre-dawn air, everything felt desolate. Things had been left exactly where they’d been, after the bombs. Rubble remained. Crashed cars and trucks remained. Broken glass was everywhere. I knew the damage was worse further uptown - one of the buildings on the northeast edge of the Square had been bombed. I also knew that nothing had been cleared away, except for the remains of the deceased.

Standing in front of the station, next to the flipped over truck, it was easy to feel like hundreds of years had passed, since that awful day.

I led Rex around to the back. As usual, I trusted my friend’s ability to notice things, in case any folks were about. I pointed to the back door.

“Keypad entry,” I said. “I know the code, but, with no power . . .”

I shrugged.

“And the front door’s blocked by the truck,” Rex said. “Is that one also a keypad?”

“It is,” I said. “But! There’s a basement. And that is what we want.”

I showed Rex a small, metal door laying flat on the sidewalk. It was locked by an incredibly huge padlock, but I had a key. As Rex looked at the door, I looked around. No one seemed to be nearby.

As I’ve said - and will, no doubt, say again - I trusted in Rex’s ability to notice things. Obviously, that wasn’t the only thing I was feeling.

From the moment we became friends, and started taking shelter together, right from that very first moment - I felt gratitude. Appreciation for Rex’s friendship, appreciation of Rex himself.

Standing on that southwest corner, I felt gratitude all over again, because Rex had come with me. He hadn’t tried to talk me out of going to the Square, and he hadn’t protested.

Rex was a Great Dane, and he was a year older than myself. When we first met - almost three months ago - I was in rough shape. The day the bombs went off - well - that day reminded me of certain . . . events from my army days.

That is a good way to describe it, yes? Certain events from my time in the army. Almost a clinical way to describe what happened. Impersonal and nondescript. I will say this - the bombs going off probably gave me PTSD, because they so strongly reminded me of what happened - the way that I got injured, while in the army, and what happened after the injury.

Either that, or the bombs going off gave me flashbacks to when I actually had PTSD, while in the hospital after my injury.

And Rex had helped me to pull myself out of that . . . state of mind. He had helped just by being there, just by being a friend.

“I was assigned here,” I said, suddenly. I kept my voice low. “To this station. After my time in the hospital. I think I told you that? For ninety days. Well, ninety days or until the higher-ups figured out what to do with me. Why here, I do not know. I wasn’t trained for recruiting.” I laughed, quietly. “You know what I was trained for. Things like subterfuge, going undercover. Maybe the higher-ups felt like I could lie to potential recruits? Tell them how great the army was?”

“How long were you here before . . .”

“I was here exactly two days before everything went to shit,” I replied.

“Holy fuck,” Rex replied.

“Right? You know, the army actually was great, in some ways,” I said, pulling a ring of keys out of my pocket. “It gave me a home. A purpose.”

“That’s something.”

I knew that Rex had had both of those things - a home and a sense of purpose. He’d had them out West, where he’d grown up. Why he was in the city, I did not know. Why he’d left home, I did not know. Once again, I reined in my curiosity - I knew that Rex was going to tell me, someday. Certainly not now, and certainly not here.

The southwest corner of the Square - a dangerous part of the fallen city - was no place for the telling of such tales.

“Okay, I’m going in - it’ll just take me a second,” I said. “The lockers are down in the basement.”

I swung open the door, quietly as I could. A flight of steep stairs - almost like a ladder - descended down into utter darkness. And so, down I went.

Using memory to guide me, I made my way to a row of lockers. Once I got there, I turned on the flashlight - but I kept a hand over part of the bulb. I didn’t want too much light shining out.

I opened a locker, and I surveyed the contents therein. I really didn’t want to be there, because of the memories - and because of the danger of going near the Square. At the same time, however, I did want to be there.

I glanced - quickly - at the uniform, at the medals on that uniform. I pushed aside the memories, and I collected a gun and a holster. No bullets, but I knew where to find them.

And then I pulled out a small, wooden box. This contained my Tarot cards. I had gone to the locker, in the station - even with the potential dangers of Alabaster Square - for my gun. That had been my primary goal. However, the cards . . . The cards were a reminder of, well, days gone by, I suppose. I know that sounds overly poetic.

Was I trying to let go of the person I had been? Yes, I think I was. If so, then I shouldn’t want reminders of that person. And yet . . .

I placed the deck of Tarot cards in my backpack.

Again using memory, rather than the flashlight, I made my way to the kitchen in the corner. There were a dozen or so cans of food - mostly soups and stews - and I stuffed them into my backpack.

After that, I used a key to open the ammo locker, and I loaded up my pack with as many bullets as I could fit.

I swiftly ascended the ladder, and - once again standing on the sidewalk - I was stunned to see Rex staring at a mysterious figure who stood about ten feet away. The figure wore a light jacket with a hood.

“Who are you?” Rex was asking. “Are you alone?”

“Well, except for you two idiots, I’m alone,” the other responded. The voice was feminine, and amused.

“Idiots?” I asked, trying to keep my voice low. “There are two of us. You’re alone? In this neighborhood? So who’s really an idiot?”

“Oh, relax,” she said - and she was, indeed, a she. She lowered her hood, revealing a female Greyhound. “I’ve been following you for some time. I was curious.” She shrugged, casually. “Of all the places to get into, why this place? Was there something valuable in there?”

“Do you need food?” Rex asked. I glanced over, and I noticed he seemed tense, on edge. “Was that what you were hoping for?”

The Greyhound laughed.

“No worries, there, I’ve got plenty of food, stashed here and there,” she said. “In fact -”

“This is probably a trap,” I interrupted. “She gets us talking, while her friends circle around, surround us. We should go. Now.”

“Yeah,” Rex said. He began to back away, while at the same time looking around, staring intently into every corner and every shadow.

“Again, I say - relax,” the Greyhound said. She still sounded amused, and she kept talking, while taking a few steps in our direction. “You think I’m - what? - in a gang? That the other gang members asked me to lure you into a trap? Well, think that if you want to. The truth is, I’m quite alone. My friends are all gone, they went with their families to who-knows-where.”

“Don’t follow us,” I said, sternly. I started walking faster, Rex at my side.

Then Rex paused.

“What if she needs help? What if it’s not a trap?” he asked me.

The Greyhound must have overheard, because she said, loudly,

“If I had wanted help, I would have asked for it, right away. Well, whatever. I can see you two are no fun.”

She returned her hood to the upright position, and - with a snort of laughter - she swiftly turned and left.

“Okay . . .” Rex said, puzzled. “That was weird.”

“She must have wanted something,” I said. “Maybe not help, but - I dunno - something.”

We resumed walking back to the office where we were taking shelter. We nearly huddled, shoulder to shoulder, as we walked. Voices low, in case anyone was nearby, we talked about the mysterious female.

“Maybe she just wanted to talk to someone?” Rex ventured. “If she really is alone, like she said . . .”

“Maybe,” I replied. “But - at this hour? In this part of the city?”

Rex suddenly stopped walking.

“She’s following us,” he said.

Moving as one, we spun around. The Greyhound was half a block behind. She stopped, surprised.

“You knew I was there?” She sounded amazed. “Usually, I can sneak up on anyone. Wow. Damn, you two have more going on than I thought.”

“Sneaking up on us?” I blurted out. “You tell us to relax, and not consider you dangerous, but you tried to sneak up on us?”

“I understand,” the mysterious Greyhound said. She pointed at me. “You’re the suspicious one. And you -” She looked at Rex. “You’re the one who wonders if - just maybe - someone can be trusted. You balance each other.”

“Did you want something?” Rex asked. “Not to be rude, or anything, but the sun hasn’t come up yet. It’s still dark, the city’s dangerous, and you just said you were trying to sneak up on us. Yeah?”

“A poor choice of words,” the Greyhound admitted. “I shouldn’t have said that. The truth is, I was going to invite you to a party.”

“A - what?” I was certain I’d misheard that last bit.

“Folks still have parties, darling,” she said. “After all, no one has a job to go to, anymore. No one has school. There are no jobs, there is no school. What else are folks going to do with their time?”

Neither Rex nor I responded to that. The Greyhound reached into one of her jacket’s vastly oversized pockets, and she pulled out a pen and a dirty scrap of paper. She tore the paper in two, and wrote down an address on one of the halves. She held the address out to Rex, and - for a moment - he did not take it. Eventually, he glanced at me, and I shrugged. I almost said, Take it, out loud, because I assumed that the Greyhound would leave, satisfied, if Rex did.

Before I could say anything, however, Rex reached out and took the scrap of paper from the Greyhound’s hand. She seemed relieved.

“My name’s Julia,” she said. “By the way. And don’t worry - the party will be safe. I know the ones who are throwing it. No gang members will be there, or Insurgents, or whatever. It’s tomorrow night. See you then?”

Without waiting for a reply, she spun around and began walking down the street. She flipped her hood back upright, and soon she was gone.

“That was weird,” Rex noted. “I said that already, didn’t I? Just . . . so weird, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

For a moment, Rex studied the scrap of paper with the address written on it. Then he stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans. He looked down the street, in the direction the Greyhound had vanished, and then he turned around.

Side by side, we walked - without further interruption - through the quiet city streets.