Chapter 171: Perry goes West (Patreon)

“Why does Boomer have a cowboy hat?” Perry asked as he shoved his duffle bag into the cargo hold, peering up at the oblong mech’s wide-brim hat that was big enough to use as a boat.

“To keep the rain off him,” Natalie said with a shrug, settling her own cowboy hat.

“You know we’re not actually going that far west?” Perry asked. If his knowledge of Pre-Tide geography was right, there was a hell of a lot past Chicago.

“But I made cowboy hats for everyone!” Natalie pouted, pulling out two more hats from behind her; a white one and a black one.

Perry shrugged and took the white one because it shed more light, leaving Heather to take the black one that made her hair pop.

How she can predict which one we want…It’s a good thing, right? We’re not too predictable? Or is Nat just too good?

Maybe a little…too good? Perry donned his hat, watching Natalie with narrowed eyes as she blushed and wiggled, effectively distracting him from any suspicion he might’ve had.

Perry had a lot of stuff he’d needed to settle in Franklin before they could set out, namely leasing out his businesses to Locust, getting his G.E.D, saying bye to his parents, making plans to get back at Gramma…Finding someone to manage the motel.

Sophie had returned to Elysium shortly after Perry’s confrontation with Professor Replica, seemingly having run out her summon timer, or possibly because the Elysian Attendant had achieved her goal….whatever that was.

Perry tried not to overthink it.

“Take care sweetie!” Mom said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “Don’t forget to take pictures! And call! And it’s okay to take vacations and visit sometimes!”

“Mom, It’s not that big a deal, It’s just six months. You and dad could literally fly over anytime you wanted.”

“I knoooow, but, it’s just…you’re growing up and moving out, and…” Mom honked into her handkerchief. “I’m just so saaaaad! My little boy is leaving!”

“If some of the other kids at the fraternity talk shit about you, beat the crap out of the biggest one there, that’ll stop things from escalating, and they’ll be too embarrassed to report it to the Warden.” Dad said, giving Perry a thumbs up.

“Do you think I’m going to college or prison?” Perry asked, eyes narrowing.

Dad stubbornly maintained his cheerful thumbs up. “Works either way.”

“Neither of those things is happening.”

“You’ll call us when the baby comes, right?” mom asked, clutching at Perry’s shirt. “We wouldn’t miss our first grandbaby for the world. We’ve got the whole month off, and I’ll teleport us over there at the drop of a hat.”

“That is true.” Dad confirmed.

“Yes, one of us will call you,” Perry said for the umpteenth time.

“You’re gonna stay safe, right? Not gonna let Heather do anything too strenuous or put her in harm’s way?” Mom asked.

“HEY!” Heather said, holding out her arms to demonstrate the protective enchanted jewelry Perry and Nat had made, practically dripping off of her. “If I get any more bedazzled, I’m going to literally fold in half. Let’s keep it reasonable, a’right?”

“Promise me you won’t just eat take-out every day and keep the sweets to a minimum.”

“Mooom,” Perry said with a groan.

“Remember to cook your food completely. Don’t want brain worms.” Dad said.

“Dad.”

“I’m just saying, Chicago still thinks it’s nineteen seventy eight. Their food safety is unlikely to be particularly sophisticated.”

“And always crush your enemies so thoroughly that they can’t recover from it.” Grandma chimed in.

“I got it, but I’m just providing security work,” Perry said.

“For a whole city!” Mom said. “That’s the first step in becoming an anchor! Maybe one day you’ll even start your own city! Oh, my little man, a Homesteader. Can you imagine? You even have the hats for it!” Mom tipped his hat at a rakish angle and wiggled with delight.

“Not really my thing,” Perry said with a shrug. He liked R&D in a nice well-lit lair more than grit, hard work, extreme danger, and spitting into a spittoon.

“You did promise to retake the Manitian homeland,” Gramma pointed out. “You’re sworn to do it eventually. You know, since you’re going to be administering an entire city, I have a few suggestions for policy decisions you could-”

Perry tuned her out.

Perry glanced over and saw Boomer shoving the last of their luggage into his cargo hold, not giving them any excuse to continue saying farewell.

“Bye mom, bye dad.” Perry said, hugging them tight. “I love you both.”

“Grandmother.” Perry gave his grandmother a thousand-yard stare and a nod.

“Grandson.”

“Plagius, take care of yourself.” Perry said, shaking the Drainer’s hand. “Take it slow. Stay alive.”

“Thanks for everything.” Plagius said with smile.

“Hey, no problem, Titan’s gonna take good care of you. He’s practically the definition of a cool guy.”

Perry waved at the news cameras before the three of them piled into Boomer and set off, the sunrise at their backs.

The trip took roughly twenty-four hours, with Boomer trotting along the ground at a reasonable thirty-five miles an hour while they sat and talked and made plans.

The reason for going so slow was because of their fourth passenger: they didn’t want to subject them to any high-speed crashes if they could avoid it.

It seemed like nearly every time Boomer had flown it’d been slapped out of the air by something; Best not risk it.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Perry stepped out of Boomer, stretching his back and scanning the surrounding environs.

“This is gonna take more work than I pictured,” Perry muttered to himself.

Huge plumes of smoke rose above swaths of Chicago, the vast majority of their cars lay discarded on the side of the road, having long since run out of gas. The few that did work were covered in makeshift armor made of megafauna bone, prowling the streets with predatory intent.

The surrounding farmland was being reclaimed by the wilderness at a prodigious rate.

This is going to be a whole thing. I can just tell.

Perry cracked his neck and started scanning the buildings for radio towers.

Step one: Announce to the people of Chicago that I have arrived and will keep them safe. This requires commandeering a method of public address. In this case, a radio station.

Step two: Subordinate the local gangs who have assumed control of the city.

Step three: Secure the perimeter of the city and the farmland from megafauna, allowing people to begin working the farms without undue risk to their lives.

Step four: Restore critical infrastructure, power electrical grid, organize critical labor.

Step five: Wait six months for the tracks to arrive?

Perry’s gaze landed on radio station and he began sauntering down the cracking road into 1970’s Chicago.

***

“Good morning Chicago!” Nash said, as cheerfully as he could. “Greetings from your buddy Nash and the Reclaimers! Their leader, Bill the Butcher wants you to know that anyone caught eating human flesh will be shot! The line for fresh distilled water and fresh-hunted food starts at the top of the circle interchange! Bartermaster April Meyers represents the Reclaimers there. They’re looking for ammunition, weapons, soap, skilled artisans, and other trade goods. Come get some food!”

The Reclaimers were the latest brutal gang to seize control of the radio station, vying for control of the city via violence and using radio marketing to attempt to put a veneer of legitimacy on their reign, ever since The Veil had been lifted, they’d been sent careening back a hundred years, at least.

It was like the goddamn wild west out there…only with more radio.

Nash had basically worked out a deal with anyone who had control of the station: He’d add advertisements for them in between the music if they gave him a bit of food, water, and gas for the generator.

Since none of the gangs had passable DJ’s, this arrangement had stuck…for now.

At least I can get people music.Nash thought to himself, loading up the vinyl for the next song. He firmly believed it was that little modern nicety of playing the greatest hits of the fifties and sixties that kept people from devolving into complete savages.

Or maybe just my little world. Nash had worked real damn hard to maintain the radio station and his gig there when it all went to shit, stared down the barrel of more than one gun, just so he could…Keep DJ-ing?

Did I even care about it that much or did I just want a cozy job at the end of the world? It was hard to tease apart Nash’s love of music and his love of not getting eaten by giant moles trying to scrape some food out of the dirt.

It was these three-minute stretches between having to do anything, where Nash sat on his ass contemplating his life choices, that his inner monologue got real harsh with him.

Nash pulled off his headphones and leaned back in the booth, switching off the mic and stifling a yawn as he stretched.

Nash flinched as he heard gunshots.

If he could hear them in the soundproofed DJ booth, then they were CLOSE.

Blam, blam, blam.

Oh shit, is it another gang?

Nash checked his breath, and tried to calm his heartrate and breathing. He was trapped in the booth, and running outside would be a good way to get shot. There wasn’t much he could do to keep himself breathing but be indispensable as a DJ…and avoid stray bullets.

Nash crawled under his desk to avoid catching a stray…and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. About two minutes after the shooting started, the station fell silent and the door opened. Nash crossed his fingers hoping it wasn’t another change of hands, and therefore another chance of being ‘disposed of’.

Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.

A kid who looked fresh out of high school stepped inside, and Nash was alarmed to realize that he didn’t recognize him.

Nash crawled out from under the desk, standing straight, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Good morning, I’m Nash, the DJ. You got some ads you want run? Who’s your boss?” He asked.

“MMM…” The kid didn’t look at Nash, instead scanning the studio equipment with a critical eye.

I know that look! He’s trying to replace me!

“Hey look-“ Nash said, about to try bargaining for his life.

“I’m Paradox.” The kid said, finally looking at him and offering a handshake. “I’m in charge of preserving Chicago for the next few months.”

“Uh, wha-“

“May I borrow your studio to put out a message?” he asked.

“Um, sure.” Nash didn’t see a gun, but there sure as hell wasn’t any noise coming from the two guys who’d been watching the studio for The Reclaimers.

Paradox waited until the song ended, then took Nash’s seat.

“Good morning Chicago, this is Paradox, your new overlord. Pleased to be here. I’m sure a lot of you have a lot of questions about why the world is the way it is, and in order to explain that and what I’m doing here, I feel it’s necessary to start from the beginning, so that everyone is on the same page.”

“In nineteen sixty-nine, a phenomena that would come to be known as ‘The Tide’ arrived on Earth, causing sudden extreme changes among humans and animals alike…”

Nash listened with gradually mounting horror as Paradox spent nearly an hour describing the state of the world with such detail and such confidence that Nash couldn’t help but want to believe him. He said they were all killed in the eighties, and their minds had been moved into robots and re-activated ten years ago to re-live the late sixties and seventies as part of a behavioral experiment to confirm that a society of androids was possible.

He said that there were only a handful of human cities out there, and that they were building train tracks to Chicago as he spoke.

“And lastly, if any civilians need assistance from me, I’ll be at City Hall all this week getting set up. I look forward to seeing you there.”

Paradox switched off the mic and swiveled to Nash. “How do you do it? I felt like I was constantly gonna run out of things to say.”

“You did alright…but..”

“But?”

Are you crazy? Are you not crazy? Wouldn’t that be worse? Am I really a robot? A bundle of questions vied for control over Nash’s tongue, but what slipped out was a simple warning.

“You just challenged all the gang’s authority and then you told them where you’re going to be,” Nash blurted.

“What, you think it wasn’t incendiary enough?” Paradox said, glancing back at the microphone. “I really wanna get them all on the first try…”

“It should be plenty,” Nash said, raising his hands in a placating manner before the kid stirred up any more shit than he already had.

Oh, hell, what am I thinking? There’s no possible way he could stir things up worse.

“By the way,” Paradox said, flicking the mic back on. “Chicago style pizza is garbage. Meet me at City Hall if you wanna block the bill to make it illegal...cowards.”