No Country For Old Men

Stormwolf

That is no country for old men. The young
in one another's arms, birds in the trees
-Those dying generations-at their song
The salmon-falls, the mackeral-crowded seas
Fish, flesh or fowl commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unaging intellect.

-William Butler Yeats

Blair Sandburg peered out the barred windows of his dormitory prison
watching as the slave crews returned to the Rainier Compound for the
evening. Tear tracks marred the youthful face framed by chestnut curls, and
unshed tears tears brightened his beautiful blue eyes.

He watched as Pinkerton's men used whips and batons from horseback to keep
the slave line moving as they trudged through the now open gates of the
Rainier Compound from where John Nathaniel Pinkerton had built his Empire.
Dusk and distance kept Blair from seeing individual faces, but his
imagination supplied them with the faces he knew would be down there. That
tall man could easily be Simon, back bent from exhaustion. The man being
whipped by one of Pinkerton's mounted men could easily be Rafe. Any of the
others could wear the face of Henri Brown, or Daryl Banks.

With a heavy heart he thought of the names of the people he knew were not
down there. Megan Conner. Too much strength and pride. She had violently
refused the future that most women had found themselves thrust into, and had
died a violent death. Rhonda had died in that future. Pinkerton's men had
taken what they wanted, and each one had his own heirem of women. Rhonda had
died giving birth to the son of her rapist.

Angrily, Blair flung the curtain he held back over the barred window and
turned to look at his guilded cage. His eyes swept over the dorm room with
its one single bed, and bathroom. The dresser and mirror. But always his
eyes strayed to the pedestal in the center of the room with its glass box
sitting securely on top. The glass box with its heavy padlock so Bair could
not rraid the contents of the box. the contents which even after months of
having it in the room with him made him shiver in fear.

John Pinkerton, a mad genius, who had for the ten years before the turn of
the millenium had began gathering his followers, and had engineered his own
computer virus that he unleashed at the height of Y2K. John Pinkerton, who
now held all of Washington state and most of the surrounding states in his
thrall. John Pinkerton, a man with millions of followers, and his own army,
had placed that box in Blair's room, and had laughed when he did so.

Blair felt hot tears splash down his face, and he thought desperatly as if
his thoughts could reach the one he sought, *Run Jim. Run far away from this
mad place.*

Blair turned his gaze from the glass box, refusing to even acknowledge its
presence. Night was falling, and exhaustion was seeping into him. He looked
at his bed, and shuddered. Sleep frightened him. With sleep came the dreams.
Dreams that he knew in his heart were the observation of real events. Tears
threatened to spill again, and Blair shook his head, and headed into the
bathroom.

Splashing cold water on his face, Blair lifted his head and looked upon his
reflection in the mirror. His face was pale from lack of sun, cheeks hollow,
eyes haunted. The dreams haunted him, and yet they gave him hope, too.

When he was done in the bathroom, Blair stripped down to his boxers and
undershirt, and slipped into his bed. He snuggled deep into his nest of
blankets, and closed his eyes, a silent prayer forming on his lips.

(Begin dream sequence)

He was a wolf. He knew that the moment he opened his eyes to gaze at the
forest around him. He was always a wolf. No jungle surrounded him, only
forest. Snow fell around him, and his paws sunk into the snow on the ground.
He shook his coat, then threw back his head to give a mournful howl.

The howl echoed through the mountains, but there was no reply from any other
wolves, nor did he expect one. Breaking into a trot, Blair searched for
what he knew would be here. *this is real....oh god please let it be real.*
His only hope was that it was real, and yet he feared such a reality.

It didn't take long for Blair to find what he sought. The smell of
woodsmoke led him there. The wolf loped into the makeshift camp, unseen by
the camp's sole occupant even though the wolf stood across the fire from
him.

If wolves could shed tears, Blair would be crying. Across the fire, Jim
Ellison knelt in the snow. Wearing cold weather trousers over his jeans, a
down lined jacket over his layers of sweater and shirts, Jim knelt before
the fire as he cut the small deer carcass into sections of meat that he
skewered onto a sharpened stick. What looked to Blair like tubers, and roots
were also skewered onto the stick. When JIm had filled the stick, he placed
it over the fire to cook, then continued to cut the meat from the carcass.

Blair studied Jim. The Sentinel was leaner, having lost weight from his
exile, but his body was still firm with muscle. Like Blair, his cheeks were
hollow, and his eyes were haunted.

Blair knew his sentinel probably had his senses dialed high to warn of
anything that came close. After all, the sentinel was a hunted man.

Blair hoped that he was seeing true events. Because if they were then Jim
Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City, was still alive, and remained uncaught.

A wolf's howl echoed through the mountain, but Jim didn't even look up, and
Blair knew that the wolf like him was not entirely part of this world.

Blair saw the white wolf through the trees, and he knew that his time there
was up.

Wishing he could nuzzle Jim, Blair turned and followed the white wolf into
the forest.

(End Dream Sequence)

Blair awoke, and felt the morning sun fall upon his face. After having left
the strange dream plane, Blair had fallen into a deep restful sleep.

Blair looked around his room, trying to see if anyone had come in while he
had been asleep.

His eyes fell upon the glass case. Inside was a chain dog collar, with an
open padlock through one of the ending links. Blair had seen the padlock up
close. A plate had been welded onto the bottom, covering the keyhole. Once
the padlock was closed, it was locked forever. Blair shuddered as he
remembered John Pinkerton's promise.

"I will lock that around his throat Blair.' John Pinkerton said with an evil
smile that did not touch his eyes. "The sentinel will be mine. My dog, and
he will obey me. Or you will suffer." Then he had laughed, and left the room
leaving the glass cage secured upon the pedestal.

*Stay away, Jim.* Blair thought as tears fell down his face again, *Stay far
away.*

Simon Banks lifted his head from where he was hunched over picking up rubble
when he heard the sound of hoofbeats on the road. Wiping sweat from his
brow, he covertly watched one of Pinkerton's men ride by on his red sorrel
gelding, whip in hand. Simon picked up a large piece of building rubble and
passed it to the man behind him, who passed it on down the line, until the
last man placed it in a cart where four men were harnessed to it. For the
past few years, slave crews had been cleaning up the rubble that had once
been the large buildings in Cascade. Now all that were left were the
individual homes, warehouses near the Sound, and all the buildings at
Rainier University. There was still rubble to be cleared away. Other work
crews were tearing up highways and streets. The rubble was being used to
help build a defensive wall that several other slave crews were building on
the outskirts of Cascade.

When the slavemaster called for lunch break, the slave crews set down their
tools, and trudged over to the area that had been set up for them. The all
seated themselves on the cold hard ground, while several slaves, too young,
or to weak to be on a work crew, passed out johnny sacks to each of the
slaves on the work crew.

Inside the johnny sacks were three peanut butter sandwiches, an apple, and a
bottle of water.

The slaves ate quickly, knowing the slavemasters would be sending them back
to work rather quickly.

Simon had seated himself by Rafe, and Henri. Rafe was silent, as always. The
man had spoken in almost two years. Henri kept a worried eye on his partner
as he ate. They had all lost weight, but they were fed enough to keep them
alive and able to work. Pinkerton was no fool. The man did not overwork his
slaves to the point of exhaustion, and death. Nor did he starve them. But
just about anything else was tolerated, as long as the slaves weren't killed
or maimed to uselessness. Rafe was proof of that. So far Simon and Henri had
yet to be chosen out by any of the slavemasters or Pinkerton's men for their
extracurricular activities. Rafe was chosen nearly every night.

But it wasn't being raped that had caused Rafe to become silent. His silence
had been brought about by watching Megan Conner die. The proud Aussie had
refused to be taken as a mistress by one of Pinkerton's men. She had fought
the man, and had killed him. Her old comrades had watched her die a slow
torturous death on the flogging pole unable to save her.

Pinkerton had also watched. Perched on his Fresian stallion, Pinkerton had
yawned into his hand as if bored. Beside him on a grey mare, wrists tied,
head bowed, and tears streaming down his pale face had been Blair Sandburg.
Conner had taken four days to die.

Shuddering, Simon stood up at the call that lunch was over. He tossed his
bag into the waste can, then went back to work.

When night fell, the slave crews were marched back into the Rainier campus.
Inside the huge gymnasium, the slaves laid down on their pallets. several of
the slavemasters walked through the arena, reaching down and grabbing slaves
to warm their beds for the night. Simon wasn't surprised when Rafe was
taken.

When the bed slaves were chosen for the night, the slavemasters left,
locking the doors behind them. Simon laid on his pallet, and as he drifted
to sleep, his mind drifted to the past.

(start flashback)

Simon struggled weakly up the stairs. The airborne virus created by the
madman John Pinkerton had left an entire population weak and sick. So far
only a few deaths had been reported, at least so far as could be reported.
Y2K, and John's computer virus had left the nation, perhaps even the world
helpless. Everything had fallen apart. Radio transmissions were the only
communication, but only those that weren't controlled by computers.

Stopping to catch his breath, Simon leaned over. When he had rested enough,
Simon continued his climb, knowing that he had to make it.

Before he could knock, the door was opened by Jim Ellison. Simon's friend,
and one of his detectives. The man looked tired, no doubt from helping his
ailing partner. Simon looked at Ellison. The man was a sentinel. Blair had
explained to Simon many times that Jim was vulnerable to everything because
of his senses. To Simon it was ironic that the Sentinel would be the only
one immune to the virus. It had shocked Blair, and the kid was the expert on
sentinels.

"Simon. What are you doing here. You should be resting." One good thing
about the virus was that it had also struck down the criminals.

"John Pinkerton has taken over Rainier University."

"What's going on." The weak voice came from Blair, who was leaning against
his door frame.

"Chief, you need to get back in bed."

"No, this concerns me too.' Blair said. "Simon, why are you here."

"An informant came to me. He was in the last stages of the virus, and so was
able to get around a bit more. John Pinkerton found your notes, Sandburg. My
informant says that he's looking for you and Jim. But mostly for Jim. I'm
afraid to know why." Simon said.

Blair turned paler, "Oh, God. Jim you have to get out of here."

"You can't leave, Blair. Your still to sick. Your only in the thrid stage."
Jim said as he tried to help his friend and partner back into bed.

"No, not us. You. I would just slow you down. Jim you have to leave.
Pinkerton would use you to hurt others. You have to get out of here. Please,
Jim."

"I can't leave you, Chief." Jim said hurt that Blair would push him away.

"No. You have to."

In the end, the sentinel did as his guide ordered. Leaving Blair in Simon's
hands, Jim had packed up for cold weather camping, and left. A few minutes
after Jim left, Pinkerton's men busted down the door. Blair was taken to
Rainier, as was Simon. John gave them both the cure for the virus. then
Pinkerton asked Blair were his sentinel was.

"He's gone. YOu'll never find." Blair said with satisfaction in his voice.

"Oh, yes, I will. I will find him, and he will be mine." Pinkerton had said.
The man's voice had given Simon chills.

(end flashback)

Simon drifted to sleep, his last thoughts were, *Stay away, Jim. stay far
away.*

Jim Ellison lay in the stagnant water inside a sewer drain. Through the bars 
of the opening, he used his enhanced sight to watch the slaves work. He had 
only been in Cascade now for three days. Hiding, always hiding, in the 
sewers, trying to keep his sense of smell down, trying not to be caught.
 
The sentinel did not flinch when a bedraggled rat climbed onto his back, and 
shook itself of the water dampening its fur. Instead, his attention was 
focused on the slaves clearing the rubble from what had once been the place 
he had lived. Not more than twenty feet from him worked Simon Banks. Beside 
him was Rafe, who was taking the rubble pieces from the big ex-captain.
 
Tears formed in Jim's blue eyes. Guilt welled up in him. He had taken off 
from Cascade. He had left his friends to their fate. Jim's guilt had finally 
forced him to come back to Cascade.
 
The rat leaped from his back when Jim's ears caught the sound of someone 
moving through the water behind him.
 
"Jim?" A small voice questioned.
 
Jim turned his head slightly to see the little boy no older than ten moving 
silently through the water to reach Jim's side.
 
"Momma says this water's bad." The boy said.
 
"She's right." Jim said.
 
"Why are laying in it?" The boy asked.
 
"I am watching my friends, Aaron." The sentinel answered.
 
"Momma says dinner is ready. She sent me to find you." Aaron said after a 
moment of silence.
 
Jim nodded, and together they made their way from the drain pipe to the open 
area of the underground sewers. When Jim had come back to Cascade, he had 
done so under the cover of darkness. He had then hidden in the maze of 
sewers than ran beneath the city. There he had found refugees hidden in the 
sewers. Half-starved refugees living off rats, and what they could steal. 
Which wasn't much. And some would be thieves had been caught by Pinkerton's 
men. They had been whipped, then hung from Rainier's walls, still alive, 
awaiting death. Jim had gathered the refugees, his own 'tribe', and had 
done the thieving for them. Only at night, though. Jim's face was to well 
known among Pinkerton's men. and there was no telling which one of the 
slaves would willingly give Jim up for a chance of freedom. They fared 
better now that Jim was with them, and the sentinel was reluctant to abandon 
them.
 
Jim and Aaron came to the area were the refugges had set up their camp. The 
place was deep withing the labrynth of the sewers, and had several exits 
should it become neccesary. Aaron's 'mother' a sixteen year old girl who had 
taken in some 'strays' and had protected them as best as she could, was 
cooking some stew made from meat that Jim had stolen from a house belonging 
to one of Pinkerton's men. The other strays, all eleven of them were 
gathered around with their bowls. They're ages ranged from five to fifteen.
 
Their 'mama' looked up at Jim's and Aaron's approach. She smiled.
 
"Smells good, Elisa." Jim said.
 
"Thanks Jim." Elisa said.
 
They sat down and ate the food, no one speaking. When they were done, Elisa 
and Jim tucked the children into their pallets, and Elisa told them a 
bedtime story about a wardrobe, and a magic land. The children listened, 
falling asleep to the sound of their 'mama's' voice.
 
Jim watched them as Elisa told her story. The girl made a great mother. As 
his mind drifted, Jim thought about how he was going to rescue his guide 
from Pinkerton's clutches. As well as his friends from the slave crews. And 
stay uncaught in the process.
 
Sandburg sat quietly in the saddle of the pale dun gelding and wished he 
dared to close his eyes. Beside his horse was Pinkerton's Fresian stallion 
with Pinkerton sitting smugly in the worn leather saddle, one hand gripping 
the reins, the other holding the rope that led to Blair's bound wrists.
 
Before them in the center of chained slaves tied by his wrists to a pole was 
Rafe. From what Blair had gathered, Rafe had attacked and severely beaten on 
the guards. Whispered talk among the slaves told him Rafe had had enough of 
being raped each night and had finally lost it. Now he would suffer even 
more before death claimed him.
 
One of Pinkerton'd men used a bullhide whip on Rafe's back, buttocks and 
thighs until the detective's back was laid open.
 
Pinkerton and men laughed at Rafe's torturous cries. When Henri Brown tried 
to stand to help his old partner, he was kicked down into the dirt by one of 
the guards.
 
When the whipping was done, and Rafe hung unconscious from his wrists, the 
slaves were sent back to work and Pinkerton led Blair back to his prison.
 
Rafe remained unconscious until he died later that evening. His body 
remained upon the post for three days as a reminder of what happens to those 
who rebel against the New Order. When it was finally cut down, Rafe's body 
was burned on a pile of trash. The only ones who watched it burn were the 
two slaves who shovelled trash into the fire. The two slaves, both men, did 
no know the man whose body they burned, but after a quick look around for 
the guards the slaves bowed their heads and one them said in a low voice, 
"Rest in peace." Before any guard could come to punish them they returned to 
shovelling trash.
 
From hid barred prison window Blair watched the fire's light as tears fell 
down his face.