Nuclear winter book 4 go.., p.12
Nuclear Winter | Book 4 | Going Home, page 12
part #4 of Nuclear Winter Series
“Hey Mister.”
Pete jumped more than he should have, whirling to see a towheaded boy of maybe five or six in neatly made and colorfully dyed homespun wool clothes leaning over the nearby fence. The fence closed in a field full of grazing cows, and the accompanying house was one of the nicer ones in sight.
“Hi,” he replied, wondering how the kid had managed to sneak up on him. Or maybe he'd just been so occupied gaping at the town below that he would've missed a stampede.
The boy pointed at his uniform. “You're a soldier, aren't you?”
“I am.” It was hard not to grin at the child's bluntness. People in Canada weren't exactly frightened and at each other's throats, but their kids definitely didn't go around unsupervised striking up conversations with strangers. More than anything else he'd seen from this place, that served to drive home the feeling that this was a peaceful town.
“I thought so.” The boy nodded, looking satisfied with himself. “Do you fight the blockheads? My dad fought the blockheads.”
Pete's amusement jumped up a notch. Nobody in Canada had called the Gold Bloc remnants in the CCZ by that name since the second winter. “Yes, I fight them.”
The boy grinned excitedly. “I knew it!”
Something about the way the boy talked and details of his facial features seemed very familiar, and Pete paused and gave him a closer look. And as he did he became more and more confident he knew the kid's parents. “I'm Pete Childress. What's your name?”
The boy's grin widened. “Hey, my name's Pete too! Pete Watson.”
Pete sucked in a sharp breath, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. He'd come here hoping to meet old familiar faces, but he hadn't expected the first person he met to be one. Or at least a new familiar face.
He could see it clearly now. Her nose and eyes, his way of standing with one shoulder slightly down and his lopsided grin. “Are your parents Rick and Alice Watson?” he asked, voice coming out slightly hoarse.
Little Pete hesitated, confused by his reaction and a bit wary that he might've done something to get himself in trouble. “Yeah. They're just at home if you want to talk to them.” He hopped off the fence and took a few steps away, then waved. “Okay bye.”
For long moments Pete stood by the fence, watching the child run off to continue playing. Some distant part of himself tried to tell him his heart was hurting, but it was far removed enough that it really wasn't.
Over six years removed.
Huh, so his friends had gotten married. He'd figured they would. Done it quick, too, judging by little Pete's age. But then again Vernon's goading words all those years ago had suggested as much, and it looked as if the man hadn't been lying.
Maybe it was vain of Pete, but it was hard not to assume the kid was his namesake.
For some reason he found himself grinning like an idiot. He'd lost Alice and he'd left Rick on unfriendly terms, but it was easy to forget all that after so long. All that mattered was that his friends were alive and, from the looks of it, doing well.
And now he was certain. Aspen Hill may not've been the same place he left, and in fact was in a different place, not to mention more than ten times as large as it had been, but he'd come home. And even more surprisingly, after all the bitterness he'd stewed in while leaving six years ago it felt good to be here.
He took a step towards the nice house little Pete was playing near, then hesitated. Rick and Alice were the two he wanted to see more than anyone, them and Wes, and it was incredibly lucky that he'd found them just walking up to the town. But now that the prospect was in front of him he realized he was more than a little nervous, since they were also the ones he might have the most difficult reunion with.
After the way he left they might not be happy to see him at all.
Okay yeah, he couldn't imagine them naming their kid Pete if they really still hated him, but even so he didn't have the nerve. Not for that particular reunion right off the bat.
So he waited for a gap in traffic, crossed the road, and continued on into town. He'd keep his eye out for more familiar faces or, if he didn't find any, go with the plan he'd come up with in Old Aspen Hill and visit city hall, see if he could wheedle some information out of them.
His step was a bit lighter as he started down the slope, the grassy roadside soon giving way to a newly poured sidewalk. The houses he passed were pleasant, the people out working in gardens or also walking along the sidewalks waved or even called greetings to him. Many houses had trees growing up near the sidewalks, planted from the few shade and fruit varieties that could survive at this elevation, and all were still young enough that they didn't tower overhead and offer shade from the late morning sun like they one day would.
Although even in these small trees he heard the twittering of birds, a welcoming sound.
Pete couldn't help but stray from the road onto side streets as he walked, wanting to see more of the place that his community had built in this safe, secluded valley up in the mountains. His meandering eventually led him to a small park beside the road, or perhaps more of a public garden festooned with flowers and with a single willow sapling growing at the far end. The space was enclosed with a neat white fence and had a few benches along the edges, and seemed so inviting that Pete took a detour to explore it.
At which point he realized that it wasn't a park or a garden, but a memorial. The lovely bed of flowers in the center was capped by a headstone, an expensive block of carved granite. The words on it hit him like a blow.
“In loving memory of Lucas Halsson.
Beloved husband and father.
He will be missed by all
who were blessed to know him.”
Pete settled down on a bench beside the grave, lowering his head in respect. The date on the headstone suggested he'd died the same year Pete left, though offered no details on how. And it was obvious that even after six years he was still visited often by his loved ones: the garden was immaculately kept, and on top of that fresh flowers lay beside the headstone, only slightly withered.
So the Halssons were here, and certainly the Smiths too.
After a few minutes Pete stood. “Rest in peace, sir,” he said quietly. Lucas hadn't had nearly the same influence on his life as some, like Chauncey Watson or Ed Larson, but he'd been an inspiration all the same. And he knew well the pain of losing a father and sympathized with Lewis and Mary.
He made his way down to the floor of the valley, walking up Main Street to the newly constructed city hall building. Although, to be fair, pretty much every building here was newly constructed given that the town was only five or six years old.
When he stepped inside he found the receptionist busy with a phone call, although she gave him a polite nod. He didn't recognize her.
Pete's curiosity got the better of him, and rather than wait for help he began making his way along the hallway past various doors, then up a set of stairs. After some wandering he found himself in a reception area outside the Mayor's office.
He didn't have a good reason to be here, and the receptionist at the desk beside the door had immediately turned to frown at him, her expression suggesting she was ready to play gatekeeper to whoever had come to bother her boss. Pete was about to apologize and beat a hasty retreat when he caught sight of the plaque on the Mayor's door. He froze.
It read MATT LARSON.
Chapter Seven: Coming Home
Matt, Mayor?
The more Pete thought about it, though, the less shocking it was. His friend had been growing into those shoes from the moment Razor put a bullet through Mayor Anderson's head. And Mayor Tillman had even taken him under her wing to prepare him for the job.
Honestly, good for him. Pete couldn't think of many people better suited to that sort of responsibility.
“Um, can I help you, sir?” the receptionist said. She wasn't quite giving him the stink eye, although her eyes kept darting to the rifle slung on his back and the sidearm at his hip. Pete hadn't really thought about having them, and there certainly wasn't anywhere he could stow them while he walked around, but now he felt awkward.
Sure, he was a soldier and they were his tools, but he'd brought them into the Mayor's office. Even these days that was a bit out of the ordinary.
He gave the middle-aged woman his best smile. “Yeah, could you do me a favor and tell Matt, that is, Mayor Larson, that Pete Childress is here to see him?”
The receptionist looked him over for a few seconds, eyes narrowed, before finally picking up the phone on her desk. “Sorry for the interruption, sir,” she said. “Do you know someone named Pete Childress?”
Even through the office's thick door Pete heard a shout, and only seconds later it was thrown open to reveal a tall, solemn man in slacks and a white shirt and tie. Matt Larson, looking a bit older and wiser but otherwise about the same.
The man looked completely floored to see Pete standing there. Jaw slack, he sagged back against the door frame, eyes searching Pete's face as if looking for some trick. “Common sense is telling me if I give you the biggest bear hug ever, I'm going to seriously embarrass myself with a case of mistaken identity,” Matt said weakly.
Pete grinned, feeling better than he had in a long time. “Well if it helps I'm not dead and haunting you.”
His friend recovered and found his own grin. Then he did just what he'd promised and closed the remaining distance between them, pulling Pete into a rib-cracking hug.
Pete felt a bit awkward as he returned the gesture, especially since his eyes were unexpectedly starting to sting. “I have to admit,” he said quietly, “after the way I left I was half expecting you to punch me in the face when you saw me. If you recognized me at all.”
“Are you kidding?” Matt said, laughing as he pulled away. There were tears in his eyes, too, and he didn't seem ashamed of them. “Do Rick and Alice know?” He shook his head, smile widening. “No, I would've heard Rick's whoop from way up on the ridge.”
Pete decided not to mention he'd walked right by their house but hadn't had the stones to knock on the door. “No, I haven't had a chance to hunt them down yet. I figured I'd see if I could get information here first thing.”
“Well I'm glad you did.” His friend got serious, eyeing Pete's uniform. “You're in the 103rd, on loan to the Canadian government? Considering how the Chainbreakers and the other companies have practically gone native, you're either here for a homecoming or on assignment.” He clapped him on the arm. “I hope it's the former and you're here for good.”
Pete was stunned that Matt recognized his company insignia. And he knew their nickname! As part of his Mayoral duties he must keep himself up to date with goings on in the nearby countries. “I'm actually just passing through on my way to Manti, although it turns out being home means more than I'd expected. But you're right, I'm here on assignment.” He paused. “How do you know the Chainbreakers, by the way?”
“You don't know?” Matt asked, grin returning in a flash. Pete shook his head; Gutierrez had mentioned they got some publicity, but he hadn't expected much more than a mention in the news here or there so his friend's answer surprised him. “Your company is one of the most notorious for going after those slaver monsters. One of the slaves you freed is even a family member of one of Aspen Hill's residents and managed to find his way back here.” Matt shook his head in admiration. “You think there isn't a single person anywhere in the USA that doesn't follow your exploits, cheering you on and hoping against hope you'll be there for their own vanished loved ones?”
Actually Pete hadn't known. The Canadians liked them well enough, although their reputation had taken a nosedive lately. But this . . . “So we're a big deal here?”
Matt chuckled. “Well let me put it this way. You probably walked down Main Street in that uniform to get here, and I'd be shocked if you didn't have a mob of girls hurling wedding rings at you, hoping one would miraculously land on your finger.” He whistled softly. “Pete Childress, back from the dead and a member of the 103rd. I bet you've got stories to tell.”
Grief had surged through Pete at the offhand mention of wedding rings, along with the memory of Abella's mischievous grin rushing up from the depths of his mind. He did his best to quickly smooth his features, although he held on to the image of her for as long as he could before it faded away.
Matt must've caught the expression anyway, although he misinterpreted it. “Sorry, didn't mean it like that. We were all worried about you.” A moment of guilt crossed his friend's features. “Especially when we, when I feel like I failed you.”
Pete forced a smile. “Are you kidding? You did the best you could with a stupid, out of control kid.” He quickly turned away. “I'm not sure how long I can stay, but it would be nice to catch up with old friends.”
“Then it looks like I'm taking an early lunch.” Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, there's so many people who'll want to see you. Too bad you didn't let us know you were coming so we could throw you a proper celebration.”
In that case Pete was really glad he'd just dropped in. He wasn't sure he wanted a hero's welcome from the friends he'd abandoned in a fit of jealousy and resentment. But he let himself be led out the door as Matt called to his secretary to clear his schedule for an early, and possibly extended, lunch.
Then the Mayor led the way out of city hall and down Main Street, talking about the various businesses they passed. He not only knew when they'd all opened, often to the day, but who owned them and even most of the people employed there. During that impromptu tour Matt also gave some of the history of New Aspen Hill.
It seemed like the town had been incredibly fortunate in its growth. The first couple nuclear winters had been hard, but the town had quickly become a trade hub and, on the back of that prosperity, had lured a lot of businesses. Not to mention financially stable, educated, and skilled new residents who were drawn by the prospect of a secluded, safe town that still provided solid job opportunities.
As Matt talked he also wove in news about all of their old friends, mostly who'd married who and the kids they'd had. It turned out Rick and Alice had two girls along with little Pete, while Terry and April had had another son and had been talking about trying for a daughter ever since.
Not far from city hall they passed a little shop that sold baby and children's toys and necessities, and Matt explained that Mary Halsson had married its owner, Mitch Jenson, a couple years ago. She and her husband's sister were currently running a daycare out of their apartment on the second floor above the store, although she might be closing it down soon since she and Mitch were expecting a baby in a few months.
“My kids are usually there a few hours a day,” his friend explained. “Along with their cousin and other kids from the shelter group.”
Pete found himself smiling. “The shelter group's still around?”
“In a way. Most of us stayed in New Aspen Hill and are still pretty close, even after all this time.” Matt suddenly brightened as a girl of about five or six with dark hair and eyes burst out the front door of Mitch's shop, although he shook his head in fond exasperation. “Speaking of my kids, here's the oldest one now.” He raised his voice slightly to speak to his daughter. “Although she knows she's not supposed to run away from Aunt Mary just because she sees me walking down the street.”
The girl didn't look the least bit apologetic as she rushed over to throw her arms around her daddy, giving Pete a cautious look as she swerved around him.
“Holy cow,” Pete said, staring at the raven-haired little girl in wonder. “This is the baby you and Sam were expecting when I left?”
The girl glared fiercely at being called a baby, and Matt grinned and picked her up. “She hasn't been a baby for years now, as you can see.” He kissed the top of his daughter's head. “This is Olivia.”
“No I'm not!” Olivia protested, looking indignant at her dad's mistake. “Well I mean I am, but everyone calls me Liv.”
Matt chuckled. “That's right, we do. Liv, this is my friend Pete.” Pete smiled at the girl, who tried to hide her face against her daddy's shoulder, shy. “Pete grew up in Aspen Hill and is a good friend, but he's been away for a long time fighting the slavers.”
That got Liv's attention. She forgot her shyness for a moment and stared at him with wide eyes. “My dad fought the slavers!” she blurted.
Pete held back a grin. “I know he did,” he said solemnly. “I was with him for part of it.”
“Oh.” Liv turned back to her dad. “Anyway I didn't run away. Mom called and told Aunt Mary she's coming to pick me and Eddy up, and she said I could come out and wait for her.”
Matt turned and squinted up the street in the direction they'd been walking. Then he brightened even more and waved. “Yep, there's her and the baby now.”
Pete followed his gaze, quickly spotting the petite, dark-haired woman coming towards them.
Sam looked a lot different from when Pete saw her last. No longer pregnant, for one thing, but definitely looking a healthy weight, as if she'd been able to eat properly for a long time. She held a brown-haired boy of about two years in her arms, although not happily: the toddler was squirming to be let down so he could run to his daddy, and the moment Sam thought they were close enough she gratefully let him slide down her leg and toddle away.
Matt crouched to pick his son up, and the boy threw pudgy arms around his neck and burrowed his head into his shoulder. “Ah, hey buddy,” the Mayor said, kissing the toddler on the top of his head. “Good hug.”
Sam reached them and Matt gave her a kiss too. “We can't put off finding Gabe new shoes any longer,” she said. “I had to butter his feet to get them on this time.”
Pete bit back a smile, and Matt laughed. Then the man saw that his wife was dead serious. “Oh. Really?”
For a few more seconds Sam kept it up, then it was her turn to bust up laughing. “No, of course not.” She abruptly went deadpan again. “I used vegetable oil.”
