(no subject)
It's been a year and a half since Daniel has seen Chicago. He'd chased rumors of survivors back to Texas, and through Arizona before ending up in Carson City, Nevada. Most of Texas is still a radioactive pit, but now it's a cordoned off radioactive pit.
There was still no sign of Jeff, or any word. Discouraged, Daniel had traveled further west, until he hit Carson City. And there, he found people almost as disorganized as Chicago had been at its worst. Gangs of kids with guns and knives squatting in ruined buildings. Absolutely no cooperation between vampires and werewolves and humans. With no safe places to gather, people couldn't work together, and thus made no progress. But…there were still people there. Good people who deserved help.
Hiding Crabapple on a farm miles from the city, Daniel stayed. For months, a small 'terrorist cell' (according to the mob bosses and Alphas of the city) helped hundreds of refugees escape north to California, rumored to be a bastion of hope, re-emerging order, and technology. It worked, for a while. And then, someone sold them out.
The group's leader and more than half of their members were wiped out in one fell swoop, courtesy of a gang of half-feral vampires. The rest escaped to the farm, and spent a month recuperating from serious injuries and broken trust. They went their separate ways. No one promised to write or call or keep in touch. Most went to California, to find the people they had helped escape.
One went Northeast.
Seven years made quite a difference in the trip, Daniel decided. When he first rode out of Texas, he was eighteen, terrified, and still radiation sick. His immune system was never quite the same after that, but terror faded over time, especially through experience. And now he was twenty-five.
But he had left behind friends again, and for what? An unsure welcome in a city that was still dangerous. And he wasn't talking about Carson City. News still travels slow in between cities, but as far as he knew, at least Chicago was still there. It was something.
It wasn't until Kansas that Daniel started to hear the rumors. The US Army was crawling across the country like…well. An army with a string of camp followers and retainers a mile long. They were playing an apparently very successful game of 'divide and conquer'. And for one battalion, Chicago was next in line.
Using techniques commonly known as 'not sleeping' and 'riding like hell was on your very heels', Daniel and Crabapple reached the outer limits of Chicago two weeks before the army would.
It felt strange.
He remembered these streets. He wondered how many people living here still remembered him. Somehow, he made it to the Wasteland (did the horse remember the way?). He tied Crabapple's reins to a post. Several passer-bys stared and whispered among themselves. Daniel felt a grin stretch across his face. Déjà vu. Apparently Chicago was still a one horse town.
Daniel pushed open the club's door. There were lights on inside, despite the sun filtering through the windows. Half of one of the walls was plastered with overlapping motivational posters, and what looked like demotivational posters. Several of the patrons gave him curious glances as he headed towards the bar, and the dark haired woman behind it.
Gwen turned, sniffing the air curiously. Then she saw who it was. A certain amount of mutual staring occurred, before she started to round the bar, smile growing by the second.
"Gwen-"
"Oh my God, look at you!" Making 'come here, come here' motions, she grabbed Daniel's hand and pulled him into a hug that only felt slightly awkward. Then, she pushed him out to arm's length to stare again. He looked much the same as the first time he'd come into the bar, she thought. Still wearing dusty clothes, still smelled like a horse, still a little too skinny. He had gained another inch or two over the years. And apparently this trip had resulted in a ridiculous hat that made him look like an extra in a spaghetti western.
And a cloth eyepatch over his right eye, one that didn't quite cover the scar running down onto his cheek.
"Daniel-"
"Gwen-"
"Dr. Scott!" Gwen shot a glare at the wise-ass sitting at the bar, and he coughed, looked embarrassed, and turned back to his beer.
"Gwen, just listen for a second-"
"It's good to see you." As Daniel took another breath- "All right, I'm listening."
"Gwen, I need you to call everyone on the Council in. Right away. There is still a Council?"
"Yeah. There's a still a city, so there's still a Council. You'll recognize almost all of them, I think."
"It'll be nice to see everyone," Daniel said. He took off his hat and rubbed one hand through his hacked off hair. "Or it would be under different circumstances."
Scribbling on a memo pad, Gwen motioned to a young woman who groaned and started tying up her sneakers and dragging her skateboard out from under the table. "All right. What's going on?"
"The US army is on its way here. I know that much. Rumors have given them anywhere from three hundred to one thousand men. They're less than two weeks out of the city, and they're planning on declaring martial law if Chicago doesn't immediately cooperate."
Gwen was silent for a moment. She blinked once, and then her lips firmed and her fingers tightened around the pen. She finished her note, and handed it to the girl who suddenly appeared at her elbow. "Take this, and show it to everyone on the Council. If you catch one of the other messengers, copy it and split up."
The girl nodded and stuffed the piece of paper into one of the pockets on her ragged cargo shorts. "Yes ma'am!" She scrambled for the door, and they both heard the clatter of wheels on tar moments later. They stood side by side at the bar.
"Anna is going to punch you in the face," Gwen said absently.
Daniel sighed. "Yes. You're probably right."