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“Ten years in, many of the durable goods available in stores and abandoned homes were disintegrating. Looted stores and houses were open to weather and animal predation. Simple things like paper and notebooks fell victim to wind, rain and nesting rodents.”
History of a Changed World, Angus T. Moss
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NICK WOKE TO THE SOUND of a vehicle arriving. Pale morning light was visible under the bottom of the canvas panel enclosing the cage. He listened to the breathing of the others around him. Everyone else was asleep. He ached from lying on a cold, hard surface all night. Exhaustion had helped him to fall asleep, but now that he was awake, he was all too aware of his discomfort.
He sat up gingerly, feeling sore muscles protest the change in position. Some of it came from the rough ride, tied up yesterday. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, then froze when he heard voices.
“What have you got for me?”
“I think it’s a good bunch.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
The panel was pulled aside. Nick looked at Flannel Shirt and a thin man with a clipboard. The other people in the cell began to stir.
Nick clambered to his feet, feeling unsteady. He walked up to the bars, to face the man with the clipboard. “Why are we here?”
Flannel Shirt snarled, raising a fist in warning, but the other man ignored him, speaking calmly. “To serve your country.”
“You could have asked,” Nick said sharply.
“And you would have volunteered?” The man’s mouth quirked in disdain.
“Did before, would do so again,” Nick said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.
The man made a note on his clipboard. “Name?”
“Nick. What’s yours?”
The man gave him a smug little smile. “You can call me HR. Human resources.”
Nick didn’t acknowledge the man’s joke. It gave him a bad feeling.
HR looked back at his clipboard. “What did you do before Zero Year?”
“Law enforcement.”
The man stepped back, giving Nick a careful once over. “And what do you do now?”
“I travel for a settlement looking for places to barter.”
“Mm hmm.” More notes on the clipboard. “He’s a yellow tag.”
Flannel shirt opened a sack to pull out a handful of colored tags on string. He handed a yellow one to Nick. “Around your neck.”
Nick pulled the string over his head. It was long enough for the tag to hang halfway down his chest. He felt like cattle at an auction. HR waved him away from the bars before proceeding to ask questions of the brothers. They were given brown tags. Arnold got a yellow one. He walked over to stand near Nick. He held up the tag. “What does it mean?”
“Means we won’t be going the same place as those two,” Nick said shooting a glance at the brothers.
Nadine got a yellow tag, but Abby got a blue one. She protested, but the man with the clipboard walked away.
“I don’t know what it means, but you can have my tag,” Arnold offered.
Nadine looked scared to death, staring at her tag as if it were a venomous snake. “Why yellow? What does yellow mean?”
“I have no idea,” Nick said with a sinking feeling. They were being sent to different destinations. That meant the pressgangs were supplying workers for a variety of jobs. This was a much bigger operation than Nick had expected.
A huge bear of a man with a wide shock of black hair and a great scraggly beard entered the tent. Four mercenaries in black gear with fancy new weapons were right behind him. Nick had seen men like that before. These looked a little more ship-shape than the motley bunch chasing after Lily and William, but it gave him a bad feeling to know mercenaries were involved.
“Brown tags!” the man shouted. All of them had muddy boots. The big man’s clothes were sweat stained and his hands ingrained with dirt. One of the mercenaries opened the cage door. Another entered to shoo the brothers out.
“Some kind of manual labor?” Nick murmured.
A stocky woman with a round, bland face passed them as they left. She wore worn jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and thick-soled shoes. “Blue tags!”
Another one of the mercenaries stepped out to flanked her. Abby started to cry. Nadine put her arm around her.
The stocky woman’s face softened. “Nothing to cry about my dear. You’ll see, it’s really quite pleasant. Come along, we’ve work to do.”
Abby hugged Nadine. “Thank you,” she said in a raspy whisper.
As they were leaving, another man entered. He wore khaki pants, spotless and sharply creased and a white, button-down shirt. There was a fancy watch on one wrist. His shoes were polished with nary a spot of mud on them. An outfit Nick hadn’t seen in awhile. His trim hair was salt and pepper with an emphasis on the salt. He had blue eyes bracketed with squint-lines.
“Thank God. I need more men with brains. Just the three of you?”
“Well, Nadine’s a woman, but yeah, there’s three of us,” Nick said.
He huffed a chuckle. “Humor is always appreciated. Come along let’s get out of this squalid little camp. I’ve got a list of wanted as long as your arm.”
Nick halted in the doorway blocking it “Where are we going?” Nick said.
“To see the president.”