Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,42
had failed, and was letting in the grimy outdoors.
The man who’d come for them, and driven them up the hill to the house in an old Jeep, walked them down a wide entry hall and into a room with high, moldy ceilings, and a massive fireplace, where a roaring fire provided the only bit of warmth and comfort she’d seen so far in this desolate place. More electric light burned, standing and desk lamps; she could hear the drone of so many bulbs above the crackle of the fire.
Mayor Bixby was a small, ferret-faced man with fear shining in his eyes as he turned away from the hearth and surveyed them all. Lance and Tris got the longest, most apprehensive looks, given their size and obvious musculature. Then he looked at Rose with goggle-eyed shock.
“Never seen a woman in uniform before?” Gavin drawled, and Rose was surprised – and a little pleased – to hear him come to her defense, even in so slight a way.
“Mr. Bixby,” Lance greeted.
“It’s ‘mayor,’ actually,” Bixby said, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height, puffing out his chest.
The world could be ending, and people like this would still get high on their own importance. Nothing ever changed.
“Mr. Bixby,” Lance repeated, and Rose bit her lip against a sudden chuckle. A quick glance at Gallo proved he was struggling to hold back a smile. “Did you want to brief us on the conduit before we get to work?”
He frowned at them all, but nodded. “How much do you already know?”
“It’s down in the mines,” Lance said. “And it likes to come out at night.”
“Like a fucking old school cyrtid or some shit,” Gavin said.
“Gavin,” Lance warned.
“No, no, that’s not right.” Bixby sighed, and deflated; Rose’s first impression felt a little ungenerous now, as she watched the firelight play in the deep grooves that worry had carved into his small face. “Let’s eat – I’ve asked Mrs. Avery to make up some sandwiches – and I’ll fill you in.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Mayor,” Lance started.
Bixby stepped forward. “Please. I know this isn’t – well, it’s not like the old days, is it? No one entertains people and they don’t talk about things in a civilized way.” He attempted a smile that looked like more of a grimace. “But the situation’s a little more delicate than the usual sort of stuff you encounter, I think.”
Lance traded looks with all of them.
Rose shrugged.
“Alright.”
The dining room boasted a long table that sagged in the middle. Chairs sat clustered around one end, and the five of them took seats to either side of the chair at the head, where Bixby settled like a puppet with cut strings, sighing deeply. A woman only slightly cleaner than their chauffer – Mrs. Avery, apparently – brought out a tray of sandwiches, a mix of near-colorless ham and cheese, and plain butter. Rose wasn’t hungry, but she ate a butter sandwich to keep the food from going to waste.
“After the First Rift,” Bixby began, “our town was revived. I wasn’t mayor, then, but thinking of throwing my hat in the ring. The town was alive again – people moving back toward us instead of away. I know it sounds awful to be glad about sending men back into the mines again, especially after everything the world had been through. But they were desperate times, and there was demand for coal, and we were – well, we were booming, frankly. The people here could afford to buy livestock, and to import goods and groceries. Even if it was always raining, and there was ash, the air wasn’t fit to breathe, we were warm, and clothed, and fed, and that was worth so much, in a time when we all had so little.
“But things started to change about seven years ago.”
Before the Second Rift. Before Beck died.
“We were taking in refugees from surrounding cities,” Bixby continued. “We had enough miners, but we needed schoolteachers, and other sorts of tradesmen. Everyone was welcome.
“That was when he showed up.”
“The conduit?” Lance asked.
“We didn’t realize that’s what he was, at the time.” Bixby’s food sat untouched on his plate. He scrubbed a hand across his bristled chin. “He seemed so normal: tired, dirty, hurting for work, same as everyone. He said he was a carpenter.” He offered a grim smile, and Rose felt a lurch in her stomach that had her setting her sandwich down. “I think you can guess where this is going.”