"Let me show you something," Denton says crossing the room to where a large scale map of the region hangs on the wall. He waves a laser pointer at the map, the bright red dot wiggles and flashes over the topography in rapid, saccadic movements. "The green areas, those are viable greenhouse operations as of two weeks ago. Just shy of two-hundred hectares. We have another thousand hectares of traditional farmland under our control, mostly north, north-east of town. We have a limited supply of diesel, come this time next year we'll be down to manual labour only if we can't find more. It will be hard to maintain that much land, let alone expand our operations without running equipment."

I shift in my chair, not overly engrossed in Denton's lecture, but I give him my attention because I am here to make amends. I am here to secure a sort of treaty with Pelex. So I nod and say, "um-hmm, go on." More interesting than his charts and diagrams is his fresh-pressed suit, with not a wrinkle to be found and razor-sharp creases. I glance down at my attire, I look like a derelict in comparison. In place of finely-tailored attire I have cargo shorts, pockets stuffed with items deemed useful for my day-to-day exploits: energy bars, pocket knife, tourniquet, compression bandage, compass, the list goes on. A heavy leather belt is cinched around my waist from which hangs my empty holster and an arrangement of spare magazines.

Cutting overland on my way here I trod through some poor farmer's tiny clay-laden acreage, a fair amount of the heavy soil clung to my boots and is just now drying enough to fall off in clods creating a debris field beneath my chair. I'm certain this has not gone unnoticed by the pristine Denton Frost-- our current interaction a practical treatise on dichotomy.

"Pelex is currently housing, feeding or providing some kind of support and security for twelve-thousand individuals," he continues. "We've had a good summer so far, crop yields per acre are up twelve percent over last year. We control about eighty head of cattle, a hundred and fifteen pigs and I forget how many chickens--"

"So food's not an issue," I cut in hoping he gets to the point sooner rather than later.

"No Connor, food is absolutely an issue, because we are already dipping into stockpiles we have set aside for emergencies. Even now we are running a deficit of food rations. And this doesn't leave this room, because only a very small number of people know this, but at most we can maintain this for a year. I haven't even told Dana. We don't need a panic on our hands, but I want you to understand the situation."

"Okay, can't you take over more farms?" I say. I feel a bit guilty, but in a way I'm glad Pelex is struggling much like we are.

"We have been trying to expand, as resources allow. We spent months working on a five-hundred hectare operation north of Hope at the periphery of our established green zone. It was right next to a sizable wind-solar project, a perfect location. We had the engineering almost complete a couple weeks ago when the GFA showed up and wiped it off the map. They didn't even take it for their own use, they just destroyed everything."

"I heard about that, the engagement at least, I didn't know about the project."

"We lost a lot of people that night. But more than that, we lost all that time and the potential food production was significant." He shakes his head and I almost feel a twinge of pity for him.

"So where does that leave us? I mean Pelex and the Harbour Guard and the warrant, or whatever you want to call it, you have out for Jake."

"We can't afford to be fighting with you. I'm not gonna lie, I don't like you running around with your own little vigilante army, ignoring the laws of the land, but fighting you is counter-productive. Pelex has far more important matters to attend to."

I try to ignore the snide remark about the Harbour Guard, as Ari warned me not to sink to Denton's level, and he knows I can be easily baited. But it's easier said than done and I just now notice I've balled up my left hand into a fist. My right hand continues to fidget with the empty holster on my hip. Mr. Beck having relieved me of my sidearm at the door.

"Denton, we aren't purposely trying to make things difficult for you. Nor are we vigilantes, we are just acting in the best interest of everyone in Grey Harbour."

"Everyone? Really?"

"What do you want from us? I have people to feed too."

"I want you to respect our authority in Grey Harbour, I want you and your people to abide by the laws we have set out and I want the Harbour Guard to fall in line with Pelex Security--since you asked."

"That last bit is going to be a tough one. I don't think we're quite there yet." I reply. "There is considerable lack of trust on both sides and no one in the Guard is willing to follow orders from Pelex Security." I sure as hell won't, I think to myself.

It's Denton's turn to nod as I expect he knew I wouldn't go for joining the fold. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"Look, how about you give us some kind of document outlining what the laws are, you know compared to what would have been common knowledge a year ago. Let's start with that and perhaps we can get to a place where at least we aren't breaking the rules by accident, I'm not even gonna ask who is coming up with this new legislation."

"I can get documents couriered to you by end of day tomorrow." Denton says.

"Yeah, that's a start," I agree, rise from my chair, cross the room and extend my hand.

"It will have to do," Denton says. His hands are soft and his grip lacks the firmness I've come to expect from people. I'm nearly certain I could snap the bones in his manicured hand if I had the notion. I have half-a-notion.

The weak handshake is symbolic of the treaty between our groups, a tenuous gentlemen's agreement between two guys who despise each other and are clearly holding plenty back.

"So what happens when you run out of food?" I ask.

"I try not to think about that," he replies.

I walk out of Denton's office, past the stone-faced Mr. Beck who offers not so much as a grunt of recognition. Most people I can get a good read on, Mr. Beck is a tough nut to crack. I collect my weapons on the way out and leave with a pretty high confidence that I've accomplished very little so far today. I leave a trail of clay bits in my wake all the way to the exit.

* * * * *

Making my way to the open air market, I congratulate myself for not punching Denton, not even once and coming away from the meeting without causing any sort of shit storm. It's a banner moment for me.

I pass a crew of workers tearing an abandoned house down to it's foundation. It's all salvage: wood for heat, textiles for clothes and if the house hadn't been emptied out by it's previous owner's or ransacked at some point, perhaps even some food.

A man and a woman, both armed, both clearly Pelex people, oversee the activity. They eyeball me as I pass, no doubt also making note of my armed status. I give a non-threatening wave, I get no response, and so I move on whistling Sweet Home Alabama as I continue down the street.

The market is a sprawling hub of trade and a sort of focal point of the community. It has moved from the small green space downtown to the parking lot of the former high school and it has even started to spill over onto the adjacent property. Tables, tents and a few semi-permanent structures dot the landscape. At least someone had the wherewithal to survey the property and layout a grid work of lots to assign to the vendors making the entire thing easy to navigate.

I come to a table on the fringe of the property where a young girl is selling hand-drawn maps of the market. "How much for a map?" I ask.

"Five cents," she replies. She's a skinny little thing, older than Heath by a couple years at least. Her large blue eyes peer back at me expectantly from behind long strings of unwashed blond hair. I don't see anyone nearby who appears to be in charge of her.

"You here alone?"

"No, Ray is here too, but he's getting some food."

"Is Ray your daddy?"

"No he's my brother, Daddy's gone."

"Gone where, honey?"

"Heaven. That's what Ray says anyway."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say, shrugging my pack off my shoulders.

"It's okay," she replies and goes back to colouring a map with a stub of a pencil crayon.

I dig through my pack and find a pack of saltines and a handful of hard candies. "Take this," I say, handing over the food, followed by another handful of pennies. "For the map," I tell her.

"It's too much."

"No, you keep it, and this is for you and your brother," I add, pressing a silver coin into her hand. "Don't show that to anyone, you tuck it away some place safe, okay?"

Her eyes go wide, as she takes the coin.

"But--"

"Some place safe," I repeat, standing up. "Right now. And thanks for the map."

"Thank-you," she replies tucking the coin deep in her pocket.

"You're welcome." I say with a wink.

* * * * *

The map makes it a breeze to find my next stop, a tailor or seamstress. I find both at the same table. I unload a collection of thread bare socks, some of Heath's stuff that needs patched knees and a pair of jeans that blew a button.

"Take pelts for trade?" I ask.

"Sure do," replies the man as he tags my stuff and hands it off to the table behind him where several people are busy mending assorted clothing. They all appear to be from my parent's generation or older, owner's of what was an archaic, under-appreciated skill set, now suddenly back in demand.

"When can I pick it up?"

"We should have it done by end of day, say five o'clock?" he replies, handing me a chit of paper.

"Sounds good, see you then."

Checking my watch I press on, cutting through the throng of people on my way to the street on the north side of the market. If everyone else is on time, a bunch of us were to meet up and grab a bite to eat. Rumour has it, one vendor even has beer, which I desperately need to see for myself.

As I approach the road a commotion breaks out up ahead, but I can't see for the crowd who initially surge toward the shouting. The CRACK of a rifle shot sparks instant hysteria as everyone suddenly changes direction. I struggle to maintain my footing as I fight upstream through the panicked crowd. Breaking through to the street, I find that the shit storm I avoided earlier in the day with Denton may still be brewing something up.

Freya is on her knees, held at gunpoint by a group of men, not Pelex security, but rather another group with the red cross patches on their sleeves.

Crossing the street I immediately gain the attention of a couple of the men, who swing their guns in my direction. I raise my hands and keep them well away from my weapons.

"Stay where you are!" one of them orders.

I halt in the middle of the street and reply, "can I ask why you have detained that young lady."

"That only concerns the Son's of Gabriel," he barks.

He's a tall man with a gaunt face and narrow, dark eyes set above a prominent nose. Like the other men, he's wearing dark slacks and a white linen collared short-sleeve shirt. The left arm of each shirt carries the familiar red-cross-in-a-circle emblem, the symbol for Egon Henker's merry band of zealots.

"Seems it might also concern the young lady there," I say taking another step, an action that draws even more attention from the group of zealots. Butterflies zoom around my stomach like a Redbull air race and I swallow hard, clenching my jaw, willing myself forward despite the urge to back away.

"That maybe so, but it is no concern of yours."

"No, perhaps you are right, but by the looks of things it is somewhat concerning to them," I say nodding to the squad of Harbour Guard who have taken up position behind the SoG men.

The SoGs wheel about to find a half-dozen weapons trained on them. With that distraction I'm able to bring my own carbine to bear on the guy closest to Freya, who I take to be their leader.

"I'm back to being concerned," I say.

"You should not meddle in the affairs of Son's of Gabriel, sworn executors of His Holy Law and protectors of the Brothers of the Sacred Rite."

"Can it fuck wit!" Jake snaps.

"Easy Jake," I say, desperately wanting to ratchet things down a notch or two. "Let's just start with names maybe. I'm Connor and these good people are the Harbour Guard. Who might you be?"

"I am Brother Moses and I speak for my host. We don't recognize the authority of the Harbour Guard," he hisses. "And we certainly don't care who you are. We answer only to His Holy Redeemer and abide only the laws set forth by God."

"Look man, we don't want to get into this," I say. "I just had a nice long talk with Denton this morning and I promised to avoid this kind of stuff. It's bad for everyone. Let's say we--"

"We don't answer to Denton Frost," the SoG leader cuts me off.

"Oh?" I reply, caught a bit off guard by the revelation. Just who the hell is holding the leash to these guys then? I wonder. "Either way, probably best to avoid bloodshed over... uh... what is this about anyway?" I ask.

"She's a witch!" He hisses back at me, stabbing a finger at Freya.

"Oh, come on now--" I start, but he snatches her arm and yanks her roughly off her knees. She yelps.

"Hand's off, asshole!" Raven barks, breaking cover and storming to the forefront.

"Aw Christ!" I say under my breath. "Everyone just hold up for a fucking second! Raven, back off!"

Raven scowls back at me and holds his ground.

"Raven." Freya pleas, giving him that "chill out" look.

"Maybe we can just lower the guns," I suggest, slowly bringing the barrel of my carbine down to a low hold. A couple of SoGs and a few of the newer Harbour Guard follow suit. Jake and Raven are slower to comply. "C'mon people, can't we iron this out? I hear some guys from Harkstead have a microbrewery and they have a booth across the street. Don't know about you guys, by I sure as fuck would rather have a beer and some smoked meat than do this thing here we're doing right now."

"We cannot just ignore the desecration of the body," Brother Moses continues, indicating Freya's multiple pagan tattoes on her arm. "To mark the body in this way is to consecrate an unholy alliance with the Beast. It is a perversion of the soul and a direct violation of His Holy law," he rants.

"Whose law again?" I ask.

"His Divine Conduit, Lord Egon Henker declares the law as revealed to him by the Lord Most High."

"Right," I say as I grow increasingly exasperated by the exchange. "Look man, this girl has done nothing to you, she's done nothing wrong. Let her be on her way and we can all just move on. This isn't worth the--"

"The animal is defiled, Your Worship," one of the SoG lieutenants interrupts, speaking to the leader. "It must be purified."

"In a moment Brother Mark," the leader replies to him.

I take a couple steps forward and reach out and take Freya's free hand. "Let her go," I command the SoG leader in a steady, quiet tone. We are locked in an unblinking stare for long seconds. Muzzles that had been lowered start creeping back up as our confrontation edges toward violence.

"Take the witch," he hisses. "She'll be your damnation."

I pull Freya away from him slowly and place myself between her and the bulk of angry zealots. Backing away, I move my free hand from the carbine, leaving it to dangle from it's sling. My hand finds a home near my waist, my finger tips just brushing the hand-checkered rosewood grips on the .45.

"It's best we part ways I think," I say to Brother Moses as I continue my slow, backwards pace.

"Purification by blood!" shouts Brother Mark suddenly, and in an act of religious fervour raises his rifle and shoots Freya's mare point blank, dead between the eyes. The great animal, collapses to the ground as if smote by divine power. Freya screams.

Brother Mark rounds on us, his fervent rage yet unsatisfied and brings his muzzle to bear. Unlike Jake, I don't slap on body armour every time I leave the house. Right now I find myself wishing I had. My pistol hasn't even cleared the holster, when in a flash of steel Brother Mark's arm is cleaved clear from his body at the elbow by a savage strike from Raven's kukri. Before the man even knows his arm is gone Raven has sent him hard onto his back then pivots and moves on Brother Moses.

"Raven stop!" Freya shrieks as Raven goes for the kill.

As the SoG leader turns to face his attacker, I launch myself and tackle him from his blindside before he can get a shot off. It's a desperate move to protect him as much as Raven and head off further bloodshed. My gamble pays off for the moment, as no one else reacts. Raven looms over me, breathing heavily, the bloodied kukri gripped tightly in his hand.

"Stand down, Raven," I order. "It's over. You hear me," I add, louder so all can hear over Brother Mark's screaming. "This is enough killing for today, put your weapons down and go back to wherever it is you call home."

Jake comes forward and pulls Raven away from the crowd, Freya hurries after them. The remaining Harbour Guard quickly disarm the Son's of Gabriel who are still standing, many of which are in shock.

"I'm going to let you up now," I say to Brother Moses. "That's not going to be a mistake on my part is it?"

"You've made nothing but mistakes from the moment you arrived here," he replies his tone full of threat.

"You have no idea," I sigh as I disarm him and let him up. "Get your people out of here, I've had enough of this shit. You say one more word and I'll knock your goddamn teeth out. And your guns stay here."

The Harbour Guard quietly disarms the SoG group as the Guard medic and I apply a tourniquet and hemostatic dressing to Brother Mark. We get an IV started and then watch silently as they put a litter together to carry off their fallen brother.

"We didn't need this, not today," I say to Jake quietly enough that Raven cannot overhear.

"None of us died Conner," he replies. "And that's good enough for me."

Although I won't be shedding tears for Brother Mark's missing limb, I know by the burning in my gut it's going to cost me dearly in the near future. I send Raven and Freya home with most of the Guard with instructions to bring Raven's horse back in order to pull the wagon back to our neighbourhood.

Once they have gone, we disentangle the horse from the wagon harness and tackle and round up twenty men to help us drag the dead mare over to the park. It takes us some time but we finally find a butcher who is willing to take on the job of turning the carcass into useful meat. I make it patently clear to him and his apprentice, as they begin slicing into the animal, that I want the meat to get disseminated to those most in need. At least something good can come of this shitty day.

"What a fucking mess," I say to Jake.

"It's no worse than a moose," he replies.

"I'm not talking about that."

"Oh. Let's get a drink, looks like those beer guys left their stuff behind."

"Hell, why not, might as well add theft to the list," I say.

* * * * *