Pappa Zulu – Chapter 6
“The most persistent sound which reverberates through men’s history is the beating of war drums.”
-Arthur Koestler
The interior looked rather ornate, at least from what Saunders had seen of town halls in the last few months. All along the entrance corridor, there were benches, framed portraits of past city councilors and mayors, pictures and artwork of the town. What was more interesting was the fact that all the doors looked like they were still hanging true; no signs of reinforcement or repair, no busted hinges that had to be replaced.
In short, one could tell based on a tertiary glance that this town hall had not fallen during the First Wave. Hell, she’d would have gone as far as to say that the Whiskeys hadn’t so much as got up to the front door. Hard to believe, considering what the town once was. No one would have expected an artists colony to do anything other than be overrun when the nightmarish ghouls had shown up.
But then again, all the briefing info they had on the northern townships indicated that the infection reached the major population centers in the south first. By the time it had reached north, the locals had managed to barricade themselves in and keep the hoards back. And of course, with the surrounding countryside being such a hunter’s paradise, there was never a shortage of firearms in the town. Knowing that their asses were on the line, the country and townspeople must have pulled together to make sure nothing got over or inside the walls.
What was more, they had the Mage and the Rattlesnakes to liaise with by that point. As long as they were kicking the undeads’ asses in the south, and making sure plenty of guns, supplies and know-how was reaching the outlying areas, they were free to sit tight and reinforce their position. That was the Rattlesnakes take on the events that fell between the First Wave and the Big Push, at any rate. No doubt the locals had a different version of events. To hear them tell it, they had fended for themselves until the Rattlesnakes had shown up to do clean up, and were in no need of any “rescuing”.
They followed the Mayor into what looked like a main foyer next. Here, several archways marked the room, each one supporting a large banner that hung into its recess. She spotted the city banner, one for the state of New Mexico, and three honoring the states Peublo, Navajo and Apache residents. Along the far walls, some especially impressive specimens were arranged. In addition to more paintings depicting town history, intermixed with some modern samples, there were plenty of ornate blankets, urns, and beadwork.
But the thing which caught Saunders eye most was the framed shotgun featured on display in the center. Propped over an old wooden crate with a brass plaque underneath, the gun looked to about a century old, and larger than anything she had ever seen.
“Most impressive, Mr. Mayor,” said Braun. “It’s… quite the collection.”
Haozous hummed an affirmative. “We had to renovate to make room for it all. When it looked like the country was falling down around their ears, the towns Elders felt it was necessary to set aside a place where all that we are could be preserved.”
“A noble sentiment, sir.”
“And we received quite the infusion of gifts from the countryside. Mostly from the Reservation communities, from their personal collections no less. They were especially worried that they would not be safe any more. They, like many of us, also came here, seeking the protection of tall walls and armed men.”
“I noticed,” replied Braun. “There seemed to be quiet a few sentries out there who looked like they were from the Reserve at one time.”
Haozous laughed. “The town’s stores were loaded with guns when most of arrived. However, there weren’t many who knew how to shoot. At least not accurately. Plus, the intimate knowledge many of our younger men had about the surrounding countryside, and how to hunt came in handy. In a way, this war has been a chance for them to rediscover something which was long thought lost.”
Braun nodded. Saunders smirked at the thought of what someone like Whitman might say under this circumstances. That a slew of young Navajo and Apache dudes had come in to the town, boasting ancient warrior skills, and protecting the local white urbanites, people who didn’t know their ass from their elbows when it came to combat or firearms. Luckily, he wasn’t here, and Saunders wasn’t the type to glory in such romantic, racist ideals.
One thing she did now, everyone was happy to have men like Haozous around. Word was he had been a resident of the town for some time, some kind of artist himself, until the chaos erupted and the sitting mayor had died. Not of the Whiskey’s infectious disease, but of a case of influenza. In the wake of the First Wave, preventable diseases were also claiming the lives of countless people. Many said he was a well-known man, popular in the country as well as the town, back in the day. That and his own experience, having had a foot in both worlds at one time or another, had been indispensable in getting so many people from different walks of life to live together.
“I notice your fascination with the firearm, Sergeant,” he said next. Saunders nearly jumped when she heard him speaking in her direction. Amidst the art, artifacts and her own thoughts, she had gotten a little lost.
“I’m sorry?”
He motioned towards the firearm on the wall. “That shotgun. Do you know what it is?”
She looked from Haozous to the gun and back again, shook her head. “No, can’t say I’ve ever seen one.”
“People from the old days called it an ‘Elephant Gun’,” he said, taking several steps towards it. “Said it had been especially designed for Safari to take down really big game. It came in with one of the older gentlemen from the Jicarilla territory. Would you like to hold it?”
She looked at Braun now. How out of her element she felt at the moment! But he too was just doing the best he could, representing the Rattlesnakes and facilitating relations with the representative of the northern township. And all he could offer was a simple shrug and an outstretched hand.
“Um, certainly, sir,” she said uncertainty.
“Well, let me see if I can get it for you.” Haozous reached up to the wall and grunted to lift the weapon. It looked even larger in his arms, stretching several feet to either side of him. He passed it to her, butt first until she had most of it in her hands. It wasn’t impossibly heavy, but heavier than anything she had carried recently. When it came to firearms, one instinctively got used to whatever they were carrying and assumed it was the norm. Therefore, relative to her SCAR, the gun she now held was incredibly heavy.
“My God,” she said, clicking the mechanism on the front and opening the breach. She nearly lost control of the gun as it bent in half and presented its two empty barrels. She could only imagine how large the shells would have to be to fit. “Was this ever used?”
“Oh yes,” the mayor replied. “The gentleman who brought it in used it to defend his home. Says he took the lives of all four creatures that were attacking him.”
“Well… I imagine he was successful,” she said with a nod. “Where is he now?”
“Dead,” Haozous replied. “He died sometime last year of pneumonia.”
“I’m sorry,” said Braun.
“It’s alright,” Haozous said with a wave. “He was very old. His death came as no surprise. And he joined his family in his passing. People he missed very much.”
“Oh no,” said Saunders, closing the breach. “Did they come with him?”
“No,” the mayor replied starkly. “They had been infected, at fell at his hands.”
Saunders felt a slight chill go up her spine. “Four of them?”
The mayor nodded.
Suddenly, Saunders didn’t feel clean holding the weapon. Carefully returning it to its place on the wall, she put her hands behind her back and stood there quietly.
“Shall we go to my office?” Haozous suggested.
“Yes, sir,” Braun replied. He cast her a quick look as they followed him down the remainder of the hallway. The look in his eyes was not reproachful, far from it. It seemed to convey just how much he understood her thoughts, because he was thinking the exact same thing. That little display back there hadn’t been a little nicety of friendly gesture, it was an object lesson.
They were no longer in the den of the Rattlesnakes. They were in amongst some truly hardened people now, and they needed to watch their step.
