Amazon Apocalypse 2: Chapter 40 (Patreon)

Margaret was busy, but when she found out who had come to visit, she flung her door wide.

“Carter! Sorry for the wait. I’ve been trying to get a radio broadcast up and running. Someone looted a long-range broadcaster from the city and I thought we might start an official radio channel for the settlement.” Margaret waved her hand at an assortment of wires and knobs that had likely been built sometime back in the 90’s.

Her enthusiasm was infectious. “It would certainly help us get the word out that the area around the Obelisk is safe to visit and open for visitors,” I agreed.

“Have you been in contact with anyone else over the radio?” I asked.

“We don’t have any real radio stations here in Crownhill—none that survived the integration, at any rate. I’m hoping I can make the first one. There’s quite a few people using hand-held and short-range radios, though.” Margaret held up a walkie-talkie.

It looked like it had come from a children’s toy set, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fully functional.

“We’re in communication with several smaller shelters,” she explained. “I’m trying to see how well they’re doing and helping Frank with his own project to build a new map of the area following the integration.”

“Both noble goals.” I nodded. “And I hope you are able to get the radio station up and running. I’m afraid I can’t help much with either, but I came here hoping for information. I’m guessing you got the same prompt I did. The one about the trolls being defeated and enslaved by a faction of humanity?” I asked.

“Ah, I should have guessed that’d be what you were here for.” Margaret tapped her nails against the desk. “Frank and Marcus were both interested in the same question. It happened late yesterday, and the two of them decided to use today’s training expedition to look for some answers. You’ll have to wait with me until their return.”

She shrugged and indicated the radio set. “This is what I’ve been doing while waiting for them to come back.”

Nobody at the shelter knew what happened either, meaning it hadn’t been any of the militia teams getting overzealous during what was supposed to be expeditions to level and keep the surrounding area safe. It seemed another group completely unaffiliated with us had done the deed.

What other group of humans could muster the power to take on the trolls head-on?

My mind went back to Chuck. He'd gotten one of those troll orbs implanted in him somehow. When I'd picked him up, he'd been with a group of bandits. We also knew for sure that there had been some sort of conflict at the Crownhill County Prison.

Chuck’s group wasn't the first time we'd run into bandits while exploring the city—and I wouldn't have been terribly surprised to discover that the largest group of them had turned their old prison into their new headquarters. Could they have been the ones to take out the trolls?

Crownhill County Prison wasn't meant for the insane or psychotic. It had never been a maximum-security installation, but it wasn't the kind of prison that treated its inmates with kid gloves, either. There were a lot of people comfortable with violence in there.

The arrival of the System and the idea that killing things made them stronger would have been very appealing to that sort. And similar to the Wolfmen, it wouldn't have taken them much time at all to level. That lay in sharp contrast to the office workers I'd rescued and the isolated family shelters scattered throughout the ruins of the city.

The natural human reaction to disaster was to hunker down and to wait it out. Those were instincts that we had to fight against every day just to convince people to sign up for the militia. It was an instinct Margaret would have to fight against if she got her radio broadcast up and running.

There was no point speculating if I'd have the answer as soon as Marcus and Frank returned. The safest thing would be to wait for Marcus and Frank. I nodded and pulled up a chair.

“In that case, maybe I can help you set your radio up. I’m not sure I know exactly how these things work, but I’m decently handy and have nimble fingers.”

Puzzling through how to put the radio back together took more work than either of us were used to. I couldn’t remember the last time I had to assemble something without being able to use the internet to look up how to do it. And it wasn’t like we had instructions readily printed up and available. Truth be told, if not for my enhanced intelligence I probably would have given up in frustration. But between that and the fact that my Artificer Job made my fingers nimble, we soon had one working radio broadcaster.

“Testing… testing…” Margaret spoke into the microphone while I fiddled with a hand-cranked survival radio. When I found her channel, I flashed her a big thumbs up. “This is the Official Council-sanctioned Crownhill Radio Station broadcasting from downtown Crownhill. We’re coming to you on the air for the first time! This is a call to all survivors out there. Order has been restored downtown. We have food and maintain a semblance of order here. Head to the massive black Obelisk; there’s plenty of food and work to be had.”

She turned off the microphone and smiled. “With this, we can send our messages out to the entire shard! We could help a lot of people like this."

"Congratulations. You could be our first post-integration radio star." I grinned.

Margaret laughed. "Careful. If you keep teasing me, Crownhill’s first post-integration radio star will start asking for regular messages from our sponsor. Since you’re the settlement owner, that would be you."

I held my hands up. "I'd prefer we provide commercial-free public service."

Margaret and I played around with the radio a bit more and she eventually convinced me to say hello. Presumably, somebody out there was listening. Radio had fallen out of fashion, by and large, after the advent of internet streaming services, but most people could rummage up something if they dug through a basement or two.

She had me explain about the Obelisk and what we had to offer—in addition to law and order. Mainly, we just wanted to encourage people to stop by with a car full of loot to buy and sell at the obelisk. Even if people didn't join the shelter or sign up for the militia, just boosting the flow of goods through the obelisk would increase the quality of life and opportunities here for everyone else.

The two of us would probably have kept at it for a while longer, if not for another knock on Margaret's door. I turned to her as she flipped off the microphone.

"That's probably Frank and Marcus!" She stood and went to open the door.

She was half right. Standing in the doorway was a bloody and bruised Frank. He didn't look too good. His face was pale, and there was dried blood stuck to his brow. His eyes were wide and he had a sheen of sweat on him that told me he'd been running for a while.

"Margaret, they… got… Marcus!" Frank said, his words coming out between panting gasps.

I stood, catching Frank's eye for the first time. "Frank, tell me everything."

Margaret guided Frank inside and to a seat beside her desk. She poured him a cup of water from a pitcher on her shelf. Frank downed it in one quick gulp as he began his story.

"Marcus and I combined our parties to make scouting the Ogre and Troll encampments a bit safer. One team could serve as backup, while the other forged ahead. Fighting from our operation started slowing down the day before yesterday, though. It looked like the Ogres had lost about half of their number, with most of the rest bearing heavy wounds.”

That sounded good. I motioned for him to continue.

“The trolls had home field advantage for most of the fighting and were able to drown quite a few ogres in their swamp with cleverly set pit traps,” Frank explained. “We figured it was time we tipped the fighting back to even by taking out a few troll stragglers and marking a safe path through the swamp for the Ogres to attack them."

He shook his head. "Apparently somebody else had an even bolder idea. We were spotted, but instead of attacking us, the trolls welcomed us into their encampment. I wanted to refuse, but Marcus couldn't pass up the opportunity. He accepted the offer while I stayed back."

I leaned forward, chin resting on my nested fingers, with my elbows on my knees. "And then?"

"Then the real humans they were expecting showed up." Frank shook his head. "Apparently, the trolls didn't come up with the pit traps that were giving the Ogres so much trouble on their own. That idea came from a group of humans who'd stopped by to help them in exchange for some special, glowing blue orbs that the Trolls had. Apparently, every troll has such an orb, and they can be harvested from the dead."

"Shit,” I cursed. A group of humans was already working with the trolls. “Do you have any idea who it was?" I asked.

Frank nodded. "Orange jumpsuits are hard to miss."

I leaned back. "The Crownhill County Prison… and they’ve started trading with the trolls for those regeneration orbs."

Frank's eyebrows rose. "You already knew that part?"

I nodded. "There's a militiaman on duty named Chuck. He's got one of those orbs in him—though he doesn't have any memories of who he used to be. He... ahh… he received a rather bad head injury at one point. His brain regenerated, but the memories in it did not."

"Then you'll probably know how the fight went for us. Man to man, we outleveled the former convicts. But they could take every punch we dished out and came back for more."

"So, they attacked you? And the trolls did, too?"

"What was left of them did." Frank shrugged. "From what I’ve gathered, the former convicts have the trolls well and truly under their thumb. We've been finding charred troll corpses here and there, and wondered what was causing them.”

He blew out his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Well, now we know. Apparently being burned alive is something even trolls can't regenerate from. Living in a swamp, that probably didn't matter. It's not like they'd encounter fire frequently—under natural circumstances at least.”

“Why do you think it was the convicts who did this?”

“We found a few Jerry cans of diesel fuel in the swamp, which makes me think they've been doing this there for a while."

"I'm surprised the trolls surrendered if they were being burned alive." I shook my head in wonder.

"You'll have to ask Marcus about that. He's the one stuck in their camp. They aren't treating him as badly as the trolls, but if he could have left by now, he certainly would have done so," Frank explained.

"Is he a prisoner? Are they torturing him?" I pressed.

"A prisoner, yes. Being tortured… no—at least not the last I saw. We're keeping tabs on him from a position on a nearby hill. We got a telescope set from one of the toy stores in town and have it set up behind some bushes. We've got a few camera drones up and running, too, and have put them to good use counting the wounded ogres.”

I congratulated Frank on their ingenuity.

“Thanks, but the trolls are a bit more nimble and we've lost a few drones taking them over their swamp, so we don’t know nearly as much about the troll’s numbers. All we can do is watch from afar."

I frowned, my brows furrowed in thought. "So, what you want is a show of force. Enough people that you can walk into the troll swamp and take Marcus back, whether they like it or not. You’ll want enough backing to give you a strong bargaining position."

"Exactly. I was hoping I could rally Kyle, Margaret, Michael, and everybody else who's near level 25. I know for a fact that the convict's leader has crossed over to D-Grade, though. We'll need strong people if we have to contend with him." Frank stared at me hopefully.

"Let Margaret, Kyle, and the others stay here. We don't want to leave the shelter defenseless. Instead, I'll go myself. I want to take the measure of whoever wiped out the trolls in my absence."

Frank stood and, after strapping my sword back on, I followed him back outside.