Guns of the Border Region: Chapter Two

[My August entry is the second chapter of Guns of the Border Region. Readers new to this blog will need to scroll down to a previous entry for the Prologue and Chapter One. Twilight's Last Gleaming offers a short history of the fictional universe in which this is set. Copyright 2008 by Charles Hoffman.]

CHAPTER TWO -- THE ROAD TO WESTSYLVANIA

The following morning found Shadow on the road once more, having been told to get out of Wheeling by sunrise. She was making her way north astride a large black and white pinto stallion, her duster tightly fastened against the morning chill.
After the fun with Laughing Boy, she had been hauled over to the Sheriff’s office to explain herself.

“Honest, Mike,” she told him, “I did not draw a weapon until he did.” She knew the Sheriff, Mike Lytton, well enough that she felt comfortable seating herself on the edge of his desk. She wore a Go-Go Lounge tank top in place of her missing bra. “At least I tried to keep him alive,” she added, “That was a risky move on my part. It would have been easier and safer for me to sheath the blade in his black little heart.”

“Everyone knows you play by the rules here, Tamar,” the Sheriff replied, “Plus there were scores of witnesses and this little toy.” He indicated the derringer the deputies had brought in. “Still, I think it best if you stay out of Wheeling for awhile.”

“Okay. What about Laughing Boy?” she asked, not really giving a shit but figuring it might make her look better.

“Well,” the Sheriff replied, “I know most folks down in the Confederacy don’t think much of Border Region hospitals, but there’s a good chance they can reattach his hand.” Then he added, “Either way he’s doing some serious time over this. His little `accident’ is not some `get out of jail free’ card.”

Shadow nodded soberly. Packing heat in town, much less using it, was Wheeling’s one big taboo. Let one person get away with flouting it, and the streets in the rougher sections would soon be strewn with bullet-riddled corpses. So there was no way the law here could let that shit slide.

“Well then, I guess I’ll be on my merry way,” she said, “You got my piece?”
The Sheriff went to a long row of lockers and returned with Shadow’s sidearm. Shadow slipped it from its nylon holster. Hefting its familiar weight in her hand, she couldn’t help but smile. It was her gun of choice, a Glock model 22. Though boasting a fifteen-round magazine, the Glock 22 was fairly compact. Chambered for .40 caliber ammunition, it provided considerably more stopping power than any 9 millimeter pistol, but with a still manageable recoil.

Shadow re-holstered the weapon and then attached the holster to her belt in its accustomed place. After pulling on her duster, she said, “Adios Sheriff,” and took her leave.

#

Now Shadow was headed up old State Route 2 on horseback. So far traffic was light; just a few people on horses or bicycles. The old-fashioned horse and buggy was not an unusual sight in these parts, but more modern horse-drawn and pedal-powered fiberglass conveyances were the norm. Motor vehicles were few and far between in the Border Region.

Probably just as well, Shadow mused, You couldn’t really go racing from town to town anyway, what with the roads and all. Most of the main thoroughfares of the Border Region were, in whole or part, impassable. The eastern half of the Old Union had come under extensive bombardment by the Islamic Federation of Europe during the War. The IFE’s strategy involved crippling America and forcing it into a defensive posture. To that end, the destruction of the Interstate Highway system and other major highways became a tactical priority. Making matters worse, sleeper cells had been activated to sow additional destruction; bridges blown, tunnels collapsed. The hand of sabotage had struck everywhere, disrupting the flow of water, electricity, and telecommunications. The integrity of civilization’s infrastructure had been erased, blotted out by the Third World War.

The War had been waged years before Shadow was even born, but she had heard harrowing tales about it since infancy. They didn’t quite bomb us back to the Stone Age, she reflected, just back to the turn of the 20th Century. Other afflicted parts of the Old Union had recovered after a fashion; not so the area now known as the Border Region.

After the War, America was required by treaty to hold special elections in states with large Muslim populations to determine if Islamic law would be adopted as the highest legal authority. The affected states were located in the Northeast and Midwest of the Old Union. This development did not go over well in non-Muslim regions of those states. The western counties of Pennsylvania erupted in rioting and rebellion which quickly spread to the southern counties of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. An attempt by the governor of Pennsylvania to call out the National Guard had resulted in mutiny. The president realized that any attempt to impose martial law might well result in disaster. However, he could and did cut off Federal aid to those regions in rebellion. Even after they seceded from their parent states by mutual agreement, areas like Westsylvania remained left to their own devices as they recovered from the ravages of war.

The name “Westsylvania” referred to the western counties of the old state of Pennsylvania that were located south of Meadville. Before the War, even since colonial times, the third of Pennsylvania located west of the Alleghenies had been a culturally distinct region from the eastern part of the state. The inhabitants there had more in common with the hardy West Virginians to the south. As the Old Union fell to pieces, the area that included Westsylvania and West Virginia, as well as the Ohio River Valley, came to be increasingly referred to as “the Border Region.”
When West Virginia failed to ratify the constitution of the New American Confederacy, it became firmly and officially part of the Border Region. It was the only former state of the Old Union to lie entirely within the Region. This made for some interesting political ramifications. In most of the Region, government authority resided at the local level. West Virginia, however, was still governed from the old state capital of Charleston. The governor’s actual authority did not extend beyond the state’s boundaries, but in practice he could wield influence throughout the Region. The only other figures that could be said to possess anywhere near that kind of clout were the mayors of Cincinnati and Pittsburgh. Therefore, the governor of West Virginia was the closest thing the Border Region had to a president.

West Virginia had come through the War with its infrastructure mostly intact, but it remained one of the poorer states of the Old Union; mostly rural and sparsely populated. In post-US America, however, it became a source of goods and resources used throughout the Border Region. The city of Wheeling evolved into a thriving crossroads, much as Samarkand had been along the old Silk Road. It was now a colorful marketplace by day and a raucous party town by night. A lot of money passed through Wheeling, a good bit of it trickling southward through the state. The governor and local officials were eager to keep that cash flow running. In the Border Region, the line between legitimate and illicit enterprise was often blurred. Wheeling had waxed prosperous catering to a new breed of traders. These consisted of entrepreneurs or outlaws, depending on one’s point of view. It was the job of men like Sheriff Mike Lytton to maintain a modicum of order, without driving away the free-spirited element that had made Wheeling a boomtown.

Quite a tightrope walk, Shadow thought. She certainly didn’t envy guys like Mike their job. But that wasn’t her problem. Right now, she needed a place to crash. A sleepless night, hard drinking, pigging out, dancing, stripping, and two bar fights were beginning to take their toll on even her iron constitution. Her plan was to get into Weirton before noon and get a room there. There was only one thing wrong. She suspected she was being followed.

Awhile back she had spotted a guy on a bicycle some distance behind her. She took advantage of curves in the road to check him out. He appeared to be deliberately hanging back, lagging behind when he could have overtaken her. Blessed with hawk-like vision, she placed him as one of the crowd in a couple of the Wheeling joints last night, including the Go-Go Lounge. So what was his story? Shadow had enemies; was this a minion of one of them? Probably not; he was an amateur or she never would have spotted him so easily. Maybe he was some boob who had caught her act and was stalking her now. In which case, he was pretty ballsy, because he would have seen what she’d done to Laughing Boy. Or maybe it was just a coincidence, and he wasn’t actually following her after all.

Finding out for sure would involve a change of plans. Steubenville, Ohio, lay a few miles southwest of Weirton, on the other side of the river. Shadow would take the ferry over and find lodging there instead of Weirton. If she spotted her newfound friend in Steubenville, then she’d know he was on her trail.

Crossing over on the ferry, Shadow reflected that if the guy was indeed following her, he’d better have his shit wired tight. Steubenville, like Weirton, was no place for a tenderfoot. They were a little pair of twin sin cities; mini-Sodom and mini-Gomorrah. A swell could go slumming in the wild parts of Wheeling and not come to harm if he didn’t get stupid. Not so the rough sections of Weirton and Steubenville. Those were for hardcore types only. Like her.

After she disembarked from the ferry, Shadow headed up old Route 7. She reigned in the pinto at a motel just past Mingo Junction on the outskirts of Steubenville. She corralled the pinto with a few other horses behind the motel, got a room and moved her gear in. She locked the door and threw the bolt. Then she stripped and showered.

Shadow tossed her belt under the bed before entering the bathroom, but took her gun and knife with her. She left both weapons on the toilet tank within easy reach before stepping into the shower. The place had plenty of hot water, thank god. She let the spraying water run over her; hot, cold, then hot again. As she lathered her body with one of those little bars of soap, she felt the aches and tension seep out of her.

After a relaxing shower, she toweled off. Exiting the bathroom, Shadow seated herself at a rickety wooden desk and began cleaning her weapons. First she dried them, wiping away any moisture from the steamy bathroom. After cleaning the gun, she honed the blade of the bowie with a whetstone. She placed the knife on the nightstand and the Glock underneath a pillow. Reclining naked on the bed, she stretched out catlike and was soon asleep.

Shadow slept soundly but lightly. The slightest noise made by anyone attempting to enter the room would instantly rouse her to full wakefulness. She also had the knack for awakening precisely when she wished to. Almost eight hours to the minute later, she woke up fully refreshed.

After dressing and checking out, Shadow got on the pinto and rode the last mile or so into Steubenville. It was only an hour after sunset, but already most of the honest working people were off the streets.

She stabled the pinto at an old bus station that had been converted for horses. After stowing her gear in a locker, she bought feed for the horse. Then she headed into town on foot. No need to worry about her ride; anyone attempting to molest the great stallion would end up mashed to pulp under its stamping hooves.

The horse had something to eat; now what about her? Since leaving Wheeling early that morning she had snacked on foodpaste while in the saddle. Hungry again, Shadow went straight to one of the greasy spoon diners she knew of. At Ike’s Café, she enjoyed a platter of pork chops smothered in chili and an ice cold bottle of 33. She ate heartily, consuming her fill but not enough to slow her down if there was action later.

When she finished she made her way to the town’s main drag. Most of the bars were off on side streets leading away from Market Street, but they were all contained within a fairly small area easily traversed on foot. Her plan was to hit as many as possible in order to spot her pursuer or allow herself to be spotted by him. If he didn’t turn up she would find another back room card game --something she had planned to do in Weirton-- then get a room and call it a night.

The streets were quiet. There were no boisterous crowds milling in the open, as in
Wheeling. Here all the action was inside. Even the main drag wasn’t that crowded. Old buildings of crumbling brick surrounded Shadow, for Steubenville was an old town. Two hundred years ago, this part of the Old Union had been that nation’s industrial heartland. But slowly the industry had died out, and the surrounding region came to be disparaged as the “Rust Belt.” Many cities and towns lost half their populations. The restless young drifted away in search of better prospects elsewhere. Others hung on grimly through depression and strife, anchored by deep roots. Their people had dwelt there since time immemorial, or so it seemed, and so they remained. After the War, the area went from being part of the Rust Belt to part of the Border Region. Many localities made a comeback. Then there were towns like Weirton and Steubenville, brooding in the hills and along the rivers, waiting out the centuries.

Shadow chose a side street at random and went down it. She walked with her duster open, allowing easy access to her weapons. Yellowish light pouring from a large window indicated a tavern up ahead. Shadow headed for it. As she neared the entrance, she heard none of the sounds of a lively crowd. Inside, there were just a few hard-bitten men drinking in sullen silence. Heads turned her way as she walked in. A woman abroad by herself was an unexpected sight. But no one bothered her. Shadow had the warrior’s mark. Anyone with an ounce of street sense could see that she could handle herself. She had one drink and left.

After the first place, Shadow hit several more. Some were more lively. She witnessed a few drinking contests and bar fights, gambling, guys picking up hookers; in general the sorts of things rogue males have always done to let off steam. She went to half a dozen joints before spotting her quarry. As she had throughout the evening, she slipped in quietly and seated herself at the bar. Her dark hair and duster concealed her in the dim tavern lighting as she used the mirror to look the place over. Lo and behold, there he was; the guy who had been following her that morning.

He hadn’t made her yet, so Shadow took the opportunity to study his reflected image. Shadow could see like a cat in the dark. Despite the tavern gloom, she was able to size him up fairly quickly.

The guy looked to be about 24 or 25, or a year or so younger than Shadow. He was well-groomed, with sandy hair, and his unlined face was rather handsome. His clothing was designed for travel, but the garments didn’t look cheap. Definitely from the Confederacy, he appeared to be a member of the professional class --a “suit” as opposed to one of the working “peons.” Right now he was seated by himself at a table, nursing a beer. He seemed jittery, like he didn’t know what he had gotten himself into.

Shadow swiveled about on the barstool to face him. His stunned look of recognition was priceless. An enigmatic smile playing on her lips, Shadow rose abruptly and exited the bar. She had reached the end of the block when she heard the patter of footsteps as the guy came out after her. Shadow then turned, entering an alley. She could hear his footsteps quicken as she concealed herself besides a dumpster. A moment later, he appeared at the entrance of the alleyway. Not seeing her, he hesitated a moment before heading in the direction she had presumably taken. He had just passed the dumpster when he froze at the sudden sound of a voice in the dark: “You’ll never get to Sea World that way.”

He turned and found himself looking down the barrel of Shadow’s Glock. The woman stepped into the ghostly lamplight that seeped into the alley from the street beyond. “Okay Joy-boy,” she said, “Why the hell have you been following me?”
“Yes, I have been following you,” he admitted, raising his hands, “I was hoping to hire you.”

Even through her annoyance, Shadow was a little impressed. He had come clean immediately, raised his hands so she could see them, and mentioned money --all of which made her trigger finger slightly less twitchy. He might not be a player, but he could keep his wits about him.

“Hire me for what?” she asked, not lowering her weapon.

“I’m a stranger to these parts,” he told her, “I don’t know my way around. To be honest, I could use a guide.”

Shadow cut him off. “We’ll talk about it somewhere else. Let’s get out of this alley.” She holstered her pistol. “Walk ahead of me and don’t try anything funny unless you want my knife in your guts.”

She took him to a well-lighted coffee shop that was open all night. They had coffee and pie; apple for him and pecan for her. Shadow listened as he told his story.
“My name is Christian Foster. I’m from Mount Olive, North Carolina, and I’m an accountant. I was engaged to be married, but my fiancée ran away from her parents’ home about a month ago. I’m pretty sure she headed into the Border Region.”

“Why?” Shadow asked.

“It’s where people go.”

“Sounds like she doesn’t want to get found.”

“I just want to talk to her.”

“The Border Region’s a pretty big place.”

“I’m reasonably sure she went north instead of west. Her ancestors were from Pennsylvania.”

“But still…” Shadow didn’t finish the thought, suddenly intrigued by a new notion, “I don’t suppose you have a picture of your runaway sweetheart.”

Christian fished around in one of the many pockets on the jacket he wore for traveling. He produced a photograph and passed it across the table.

Shadow studied the photo, scarcely able to conceal her distaste. The girl in the picture had a smiling, sickeningly sweet face. She wore no make-up, and her hair was combed straight back from her forehead and held in place with some sort of clip. Her modest blouse was buttoned up clear to her throat. Shadow thought she looked like some well-scrubbed eight-year-old the day they take the school pictures.

“Do you think she’s good looking?” Christian asked eagerly.

“How am I supposed to tell if she’s good looking?” Shadow replied tartly as she flipped the picture back to him. “So what’s Sweetie Pie’s name?”

“Angel Kometka.”

Christian. Angel. What was it with these dicks and their religion? Shadow frowned. A simpering little frail like the one in the picture could not have taken off into the wilds of the Border Region on her own. Obviously, she had run off with some guy. But looking into Christian’s boyish face, Shadow didn’t have the heart to tell him that. “So what do you want me to do?” she asked instead.

“I made my way up West Virginia on my own okay. But in Wheeling I started to feel like I was out of my depth. Then I saw you handle that guy in that topless bar.”

“It was a nudie bar, actually,” she corrected, “but go on.”

“Anyway, it occurred to me that here’s someone that knows the Region and can handle trouble. But then you had to go off with the cops. I slipped some money to people around the sheriff’s station and at the stable, and found out that you had left town headed north. So I followed you, but didn’t know how to approach you about something like this. I’m not all that great when it comes to talking to women.”

“So I gathered.”

“You were headed north, which was the way I wanted to go. I lost you when you crossed over on the ferry. The ferry guy told me that your probable destination was Steubenville. I got a room here, got some sleep, then went out looking for you. I hoped to spot you on the street or in a bar or something. You showed up at that last place. I was going to come over, but then you took off.”

“I just wanted to get you alone with a gun in my hand. A woman can’t be too careful around here.”

Christian looked abashed. “I’m sorry to be such a bother. So do you think you’ll be heading east, into Pennsylvania?”

“That’s Westsylvania,” she told him, “And yes.”

“And then what? North or east or south?”

“Nosy, aren’t we? Well it just so happens that I am headed up north, but I’m in no great hurry to get there.” Shadow wasn’t particularly wary about giving Christian so much information because she thought he was a puddin’.

“Well, that’s perfect. Would it be okay if I tagged along? Like I said, I can pay you.”

“Ah, those magic words. How much?”

“A thousand dollars a week.”

It didn’t take Shadow long to think it over. She suspected that he wasn’t telling her everything, but that was okay. He didn’t give off any sort of dangerous vibe. And if he did try any funny business, he’d be fuckin’-A sorry.

“Then I guess we’ll be traveling together,” she told him, “My name is Tamar Lane, but most people call me Shadow.”

“Tamar Lane? By any chance named after the conqueror, Tamerlane?”

“You’re quick, and a man who knows his history. Yes, but my dad actually got it from Poe. It’s a Border Region thing. Some parents like to give their kids names with weird associations. I have two little nieces named Lois and Margo.”

“Margo? Shouldn’t she be called Shadow?”

Shadow couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Knows the classics too,” she said, liking him but not trusting him or anyone else. Right now, though, she was more concerned with the three knuckle-draggers who had come in during their conversation.

They had seated themselves at a table on the other side of the coffee shop. Shadow had been keeping an eye on them. They were outlaw types, clad in leather vests or jackets. Possibly they were members of one of the old biker gangs like the Pagans that had taken to horseback, but Shadow didn’t notice any insignia. The least of them was bigger than she was, and tell-tale bulges in their clothes indicated that they were armed.

The trio had noticed Shadow as well. A troop of baboons in heat could have made it no more obvious. Salacious grins, coarse laughter, elbow pokes to each others’ ribs and other such juvenile antics all made the plan growing in their dim little brains all too plain. Shadow decided to see just how stupid they were.

“All done with your pie, Sweetie?” she asked Christian, “Then we should be off.”

After leaving the coffee shop, Shadow led Christian across the street and started down the sidewalk. That way a slight turn of her head could bring the coffee shop entrance within range of her peripheral vision. Sure enough, the Stooges came spilling out mere moments later. There hadn’t even been time for their orders to arrive. This left no doubt as to their intentions.

“Don’t look back,” Shadow told her companion, “But there are three guys following us. I said don’t look back!”

Christian instantly checked his hasty instinctive motion. “Wh-what do they want?” he stammered.

“Nuthin’ much. Just to rape me and kill you.”

“My God! What do we do?”

“Just put your arm around me like we’re a couple.” As Christian did so, Shadow informed him, “I’m going to lead them into an alley and get the drop on them. Worked on you.”

Shadow led the trio down a dark street. The three men’s heavy footsteps clearly announced their presence to anyone within earshot. The normal reaction of a woman being followed by strange men would be to seek refuge in a crowded place. Instead she was headed into a more deserted area. This should have roused the trio’s suspicions. To Shadow, the fact that it didn’t was further indication that these three knuckle-draggers didn’t have four brain cells to share amongst them.
The trio hung back, curious to see where the man and woman were going. Shadow surprised them by ducking into an alley, leading Christian by the hand. One of the
Stooges actually let out a hoot, like he couldn’t believe their luck.

In the alley, Shadow flattened herself against a building in the first dark cranny she could find. She told Christian to keep going, “Run! I’ll catch up in a minute.” Christian took off, dashing fleetly down the alley.

Momentarily, the three pursuers came rounding the corner. They spotted Christian in his light clothes running away and assumed that Shadow, clad in black, was lost in the gloom ahead of him. They quickened their pace to overtake him. As they rushed past Shadow’s position, she called out to them.

“Hey Assholes!”

The three halted abruptly, almost stumbling into one another. They turned. Shadow had them covered with her Glock. It would have been far safer for her to have just bushwhacked them, but shooting guys in the back always made her feel icky. If they were smart, they would raise their hands and keep them high in the air as she made them face the wall while she disarmed them. Shadow hoped they were stupid.

They were. Asshole number one went for his own gun as soon as he saw her. Good, Shadow thought as she shot him in the face. He clutched at his ruined features as he pitched backwards, dead before he hit the ground. Shadow was already pumping bullets into the chest of a second asshole fumbling for his weapons. He toppled into some garbage cans, knocking them over with a loud crash. The third one almost had his gun leveled at Shadow when he felt her hot lead tearing through his body. The impact of the slugs spun him about as he reeled and fell headlong to pavement.

#

Up ahead in the darkness, Christian stopped running when he heard the shots. He slumped back against a wall, gulping air. The echo of the gunshots reverberated down the narrow alleyway. Somewhere, a couple of dogs started howling. As the gunshot echoes died away, Christian felt an icy jolt of fear at the sound of approaching footsteps. Then, with relief, he realized that it was just one pair of footsteps.

Squinting into the inky blackness, Christian was able to make out the silhouette of a tall figure as it drew near. Another second and Shadow stood before him. Unexpectedly, he found himself struck by her loveliness as she stepped into the patch of soft moonlight that revealed her. Her strange pale beauty was like nothing he had ever seen. The wan moonlight bathed her in its glow. For a brief moment she seemed like some ethereal being, unearthly if not exactly angelic.

“Praise the Lord!” Christian gasped. Then the scent of gunpowder that clung to her jostled him from his reverie. “What happened back there?”

“Played `em a deadly song on the Glockenspiel,” Shadow said coldly.

“Was it necessary?”

“Yeah,” she snapped, “They were fuckin’ armed to the teeth.” It was true. The first guy she’d shot had been pulling a Heckler and Koch machine pistol from a shoulder rig. He’d also had a Beretta 9 mm. clipped to his belt for backup. The last guy to go down had been leveling a SIG Sauer .40 at her. The Stooge in the middle was the only one who hadn’t had a chance to draw on her. Gazing coldly down on his corpse, Shadow discovered that he wore a pair of .45 automatics. All three piles of fresh worm food had been carrying a lot more firepower than she had

“Look,” she told Christian, “This is nothing to worry about, but we really shouldn’t hang around town. Where’s your bike?”

“It’s at the hotel.”

Shadow and Christian headed back to the town’s main drag, where a few pub-crawlers were still abroad. For appearances’ sake they played the cute couple. They made an odd pair, to be sure, but opposites do sometimes attract. No one gave them a second glance.

There they caught a pedi-cab. This was essentially a bicycle towing a backseat big enough for two people. A few of these were still about despite the lateness of the hour. The cab-drivers all went armed, and there was money to made picking up drunks.
At the hotel, Christian retrieved his bicycle and backpack. The old bus station where Shadow had stabled her pinto was not far from there. Before long they were headed north out of town. After a few miles they came to an intact bridge and crossed over the Ohio River back into West Virginia. Now Shadow could breathe a little easier.

Surely by this time the Steubenville cops had decided that it was safe to investigate the mess Shadow had left for them in the alley. Law enforcement officials in these parts were notoriously corrupt, not to mention lazy. They were perfectly willing to let the “undesirable” elements thin out their own ranks. This time they would find three heavily-armed thugs that had been out-gunned by a single foe, with the entry wounds in their fronts and the exit wounds in their backs. Nobody would be doing much hand-wringing over them. Right now they were probably being loaded onto the horse-drawn meat wagon. Next stop, the morgue. Final destination, potter’s field.

Shadow took comfort in the certainty that no Steubenville officers would come knocking on the doors of their Weirton counterparts any time soon. There was little love lost between the two agencies. If some troublemaker cleared out of Steubenville headed for Weirton, it was Weirton’s problem.

Weirton authorities, like those in Steubenville, were content to let the various outlaw factions settle their own disputes, cracking down only if some innocent civilian got caught in the crossfire. If things got too out of hand, they could give a yell for help to the Wheeling authorities or the West Virginia State Police. The arrangement suited just about everyone. The hardcore badasses could drink, drug, fight and screw to their hearts’ content. With the very worst elements “contained” in Weirton, Wheeling was able to thrive as a boomtown. This made its mayor and the governor very happy.

There were others, however, who were not so pleased. The Weirton riffraff inevitably spilled over into neighboring Steubenville. In a dying community, there were many purveyors of food, drink, sex, drugs, and other basics willing to profit by catering to the outlaw trade. The fact that the Weirton hot zone had almost immediately spread to encompass Steubenville was the source of the animosity that Steubenville officials felt for Weirton and West Virginians in general.

Shadow and Christian got into Weirton late in the wee morning hours. A fog had rolled in. The streets were all but deserted. The town’s revelers had mostly concluded their various debaucheries and had bedded down to sleep it off. The fog enveloped the deserted streets like a shroud. Visibility was poor, but Shadow knew Weirton of old. She guided the pinto unerringly through the mist, Christian walking his bike alongside. They soon reached the center of town.

They checked into an old hotel called the Gilman. After corralling the horse in a courtyard to the rear of the building, Shadow returned to the street. She and Christian entered the lobby through the front door, trailed by a few clinging tendrils of fog. Shadow banged on the bell on the worn front desk to summon the night manager, who had been sleeping in a back room. The concierge escorted them up three flights of creaking stairs to a pair of adjoining rooms. Christian awkwardly bid Shadow goodnight, and they retired to their separate quarters.

Shadow was pleased to find that her room was reasonably clean and free from vermin. She began to undress for bed. She was clad only in her thong panties and Go-Go Lounge tank top when her finely-honed survival instincts alerted her to some faint noise that seemed out of place. She froze, her keen ears straining to catch and identify the barely audible sound. The concierge had said that the other rooms on this floor were all vacant. Yet the distinct sound of a human voice in a neighboring room was unmistakable. She realized with alarm that it was coming from the room Christian had taken.

That little shit! Who was he talking to? She recalled earlier warning signs: him stalking her, that lame story about the girl. Was she being set up after all? But how? They had seen no one else. No one could have followed…

Shadow wrestled her racing mind under control. She’d know soon enough, by god. She unholstered the Glock and glided towards the connecting door. She pressed her ear to it. It was his voice alright, but she couldn’t tell what he was saying.
Slowly, taking care not to make any noise, Shadow released the deadbolt on her side of the door. The door itself was pretty flimsy. One good shove would bust it right open. Shadow braced herself and butted hard with her shoulder.

The door turned out to be neither locked nor bolted on Christian’s side. Shadow was through it in an instant. She had expected more resistance, and her momentum carried her stumbling into the middle of Christian’s room.

Jolted by the crash of the door as it was flung open, an astonished Christian looked up to behold a half-naked Shadow, gun in hand, as she came reeling into his room. But Shadow was no less surprised by what she saw there.

Christian was by himself. He was kneeling by the bed in his dorky-looking underwear, hands clasped in front of him. Shadow was taken aback for a second, not knowing what to make of what she saw. Then it came to her: Oh yeah, right…he was saying his prayers.

“Uh, sorry,” she said, lowering the gun, “I thought you were talking to someone.”

“I was,” he said.

For a second Shadow looked as though she were poised to deliver some caustic remark, but she didn’t. Her expression softened. “Get some sleep, Church-boy,” she told him.

That said, Shadow turned abruptly on her heel and headed back towards the connecting door like she was striding down a runway. She indulged a sudden temptation to flaunt her ass as she walked. Pausing at the threshold, she looked back over her shoulder at Christian and was gratified to see him gawking at her. “Pleasant dreams,” she added with a sly smile before disappearing back into her room.

Shadow closed the door behind her. The hinges were a little loose from her shoving through it, but nothing was broken. She locked and bolted it.

She stretched out on her bed and sighed contentedly, thinking about Christian in the next room, certain he was thinking about her. She wasn’t normally such a dick-tease, but he’d really bugged her with that praying shit. If he spent the night tossing and turning, it served him right. For her part, she’d be glad just to get some sleep. After having to hightail it out of a different town two nights in a row, she was more than happy to spend what was left of the night here in this room.

By the time the first gray light of dawn began to dispel the darkness and the fog outside, Shadow was fast asleep.

Next: Indian Summer

About TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING

It may sound trite, or bogus, but it came to me in a vision. Over the course of an eleven hour work day --never mind where-- bits and pieces of this future history started coming to me unbidden. By the end of the day, I had over ninety percent of the fictional events I recount in the short version of Twilight's Last Gleaming. I wrote the short version and sent copies to some friends, solely for their and my amusement. I thought that was the end of it. But in the months that followed, more and more details of this imagined future began to reveal themselves to me. Finally, I felt I had enough to undertake the writing of a novel-length chronicle. Over the next year, I did just that.

An imaginary future history depicting the world-wide ascendency of Islam, and the fracturing of America along ethnic and religious lines, cannot help but be controversial. That's okay. So long as my fictional future prompts people to think, "That's not what's going to happen, this is...", then it's done its job. I intend for my chronicle to be a provocative work of dystopian fiction, alarming regardless of one's position on the political spectrum, but it is not my purpose to give offense. I honestly believe that most people everywhere would prefer to live and let live, lead normal lives, and go about their business. The strife in the world stems from comparitively small groups of determined trouble-makers. Such is the sad story of humanity. The sole point I wish to emphasize is that we, as a nation and a civilization, cannot be as stupid, lazy, and complacent as we want and still expect to be around. If we are supplanted by a younger, more vigorous civilization, the fault will lie with us and not with them.

So if it helps, just think of this as The Road Warrior without Mad Max. It's fiction, after all. As time goes on, I hope to add additional tales using Twilight as a background. I've always wanted to create my own fictional universe, ala Baum's Oz, Burroughs' Barsoom and Pellucidar, Howard's Hyborian Age, Tolkein's Middle Earth, Roddenberry's Federation, Lucas' Galactic Republic. Well, now I have. I intend for my fictional timeline and post-US America to serve as a backdrop big enough for any type of story --action-adventure, techno-thriller, war, drama, Dickensian social commentary, suspense, mystery, and possibly even comedy and romance.

The first chapter of the first novel set in what I might as well call "the Twilightverse" appears on this blog. It's a pulp fiction action saga called Guns of the Border Region. More chapters will follow as I create them. I have also included sample chapters from the opening, middle, and concluding sections of the full, book-length version of Twilight's Last Gleaming.

TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING: A History of the Future (short version)

[The following is the short version of my book-length fictional future history, Twilight's Last Gleaming . I made a few changes as I expanded it into a novel length work, and so have made revisions in this short version to bring it in line with the full-length chronicle. Copyright© 2006, 2008 by Charles Hoffman]



As America prepared to celebrate its 300th birthday in 2076, the greatest external threat facing the United States was the Islamic Federation of Europe. The Islamic Federation of Europe had existed as a formal political entity for only a few decades, but its roots went back much further. At the dawn of the 21st Century, sizable Muslim minorities already existed in such European nations as France, Denmark, Germany and the Netherlands. As the indigenous populations dwindled, the Muslim population expanded, both through considerably higher birth rates and additional unchecked immigration. Muslims also made remarkable inroads into Spain --formerly ruled by the Moors-- and Sweden, socially experimental as always and open to social engineering schemes.

Able to vote and hold office in their adopted countries, European Muslims began to sway elections and determine government policy. Achieving greater and greater prominence in all areas of public life, Islam also succeeded in winning many converts among the younger generations of indigenous Europeans. By 2060, the only countries in Western Europe to remain outside the Islamic Federation were the United Kingdom, Ireland, Italy, and parts of Scandinavia. The Islamic Federation of Europe had grown vine-like upon the framework of the old European Union, inheriting an efficient bureaucracy already in place and gradually consolidating power within a stronger central authority than had previously existed. More ominously as far as the western hemisphere was concerned, the IFE also inherited the formidable arsenals of both the former NATO powers and the Warsaw Pact nations.

In the meantime, Islam was roaring its power in its ancient homeland as well. Representative democratic government, which had been successfully transplanted to regions formerly ruled by shoguns, Kaisers and czars, failed to take root in the sands of the Middle East. It had gained a tenuous foothold in places like Afghanistan and Iraq due solely to considerable exertions and patience on the part of the US and its allies, but within a few decades these nations reverted to Islamic theocracy. At first the frameworks of representative government were kept in place, so as to lull the West into complacency and forestall further intervention. However, religious control of those regions returned in swift increments. Elected officials all-too-soon became figureheads placed in power to rubber-stamp the decrees of religious authorities.

The Islamic nations of the Middle East formed a powerful coalition with Iran at its center. Interfaith squabbles between Sunni and Shiite factions in the Mid East gradually ceased to be a significant problem due to the cool guidance of the religious and secular authorities of the Islamic Federation of Europe, who soberly arbitrated disputes and fostered cooperation throughout the region. Mid-East oil now flowed freely to Europe, fueling a robust European economy and enriching the nations of the IFE.

In the second half of the 21st Century, Islam dominated the Eastern Hemisphere. At this time all of Africa, with the exception of South Africa, was Muslim. The continent as a whole, however, remained impoverished and of marginal importance. Islam also made remarkable inroads in areas of the Far East where it had not hitherto flourished, in India, and also in North America. In the northeastern United States, African-Americans converted to Islam in great numbers, as did many whites.

In the US, both officialdom and average citizens viewed the growing power of Islam throughout the Eastern Hemisphere with alarm. Unfortunately, the United States had failed to break its dependence on Mid East oil. Sizeable petroleum reserves in Alaska and off the coast remained untapped due to ecological concerns. Alternative energy sources never got off the ground due to the shortsightedness of business leaders in the private sector. The price of crude oil continued to skyrocket, touching off a series of recessions, panics, and depressions that plagued America throughout the first half of the 21st Century. Widespread unemployment and poverty tore at the social fabric. Yet while the man in the street wept in helpless fury, government found that its hands were tied. Europe and the Mid East held all the aces, and impotent saber rattling was never even considered.

One political measure the US did undertake in reaction to Islamic hegemony was to strengthen ties with Catholic Latin America. This entailed pursuing amicable relations with the growing powerhouse that was Mexico.

Mexico had grown prosperous in part by adapting an alternative energy plan pioneered by Brazil. Brazil’s primary alternative fuel was ethanol, made from sugar cane. By 2005, seventy-five percent of Brazilian cars were running on flex-fuel, accepting gasoline, ethanol, or a blend of both. Early attempts by Mexico to manufacture ethanol from corn resulted in food shortages. However, Mexico achieved greater success with ethanol derived from sugar imported from Cuba. The economies of both nations benefited as a result. Unprecedented prosperity enabled Mexico to beef up militarily. Mexico’s chief supplier of arms was China, who had since the early 21st Century been expanding its military assistance to Latin America. In this, China was only filling a vacuum left by the United States, the former arms supplier to the region. The US insisted that client nations conform to restrictions in regard to human rights, ecological, and other concerns as a condition for military assistance. China made no such demands.

In addition to growing power and prosperity, Mexico also gained in international prestige. Italy, isolated from Muslim Europe, was desperate for support from Catholic Latin America. In due course, the first Mexican pope was elected.

In regards to relations with Mexico, US policy was also heavily influenced by an ever-increasing Hispanic population within its own borders. Since the 1970s and earlier, illegal aliens from Mexico had been swarming unchecked across the border in increasingly massive droves. Security at the border was scandalously lax. Border Patrol agents found themselves spread thin and hamstrung by government officials who steadfastly ignored the problem until it was too late.

By the year 2000, the population of these “illegal immigrants” had swelled to between ten and twenty million, according to various estimates. The majority of those who crossed the border illegally were ordinary people who were just seeking a better life. Even so, they placed a tremendous burden on education and social services designed for US citizens.

In California taxes soared, driving businesses and longtime residents to relocate northward and eastward. By 2025, the entertainment industry formerly centered in Hollywood and environs had been completely transplanted to Vancouver. The economy of Southern California was dealt a crippling blow from which it never fully recovered.

The other Southwestern border states also experienced difficulties due to the strain placed on government services. Still the flood of illegal aliens continued unabated. A series of amnesty programs, under various guises, served to entice more and more Mexicans to illegally enter the United States. As Mexican and other Latin American immigrants gained legal status, they came to wield increasingly greater political clout.

The Hispanic population of the United States was largely Mexican, though not exclusively so. An expanding segment of the population of southern Florida was Cuban. Many of their number arrived as refugees from the oppressive regime of Fidel Castro. The Castro regime had at the outset been abetted by the now-vanished Soviet Union. With the death of Fidel Castro, Cuba turned away from communism. Long-established sanctions against Cuba were lifted as a more progressive government was established there. Even so, few of the Cubans who had been residing in Florida for so long returned to their native soil.

Birth rates were also an important factor in the Hispanic population boom. The children of illegal aliens born on American soil were automatically deemed US citizens. The Catholic Church frowned on any sort of birth control, let alone abortion. Hispanic children benefited from the support of large extended families. Meanwhile, birthrates among Anglo-Americans plummeted. Disenfranchised and facing an uncertain future, many men in “rustbelt” areas and elsewhere were reluctant to start families. During the so-called “baby bust,” birthrates among Anglos fell to below replacement levels. Anglos in the Southwest became a minority.

A huge percentage of the illegal immigrants failed to assimilate and were, in fact, discouraged from doing so by political leaders that arose in the Mexican-American community. Mexican culture was lauded over American culture. The MEChA movement was active on all University of California campuses and at many other colleges and universities throughout the Southwest --indeed, throughout the United States. The ultimate goal of MEChA was the restoration to Mexico of all territory that had been part of it prior to 1846. The Mexican War of 1846-48 was seen as a blatant land-grab by the US. Activists ignored, or dismissed as irrelevant, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo signed on February 2, 1848, in which Mexico had been compensated $15 million for its vast, sparsely settled hinterlands. Also ignored was the fact that Mexico had never truly held sway over Arizona and West Texas; in the 1840s these were still the domain of the fierce Apache and Comanche.

In any event, a separate culture took shape in the western United States during the early decades of the 21st Century. It was a Hispanic culture that revered both the Spanish culture of Old Mexico and, paradoxically, the Aztec and Mayan civilizations that it supplanted. The Hispanic culture of the West was as different from the Anglo-American culture of the East as the antebellum South had been from that of the industrial North prior to the Civil War of 1861-65. Hispanics came to be regularly elected governor of western states. Representatives and senators from the West were also increasingly Hispanic as time went on. When they went to Washington, many of these staunchly advocated Mexican national interests as well as those of Hispanic Americans. The last Anglo governor of California left office in the late 2020s. In 2046, the MEChA flag was raised at the state house in Sacramento, and at several other western state capitals as well. It was an ironic --and to some ominous-- development that was duly noted at the time.

In the portions of the United States where Anglo-Americans still predominated, there was an upsurge in religious fervor among Christians. This was true among Protestants and Catholics alike. Denominational differences were set aside in the name of Christian solidarity, although fundamentalists in both camps began to eclipse more moderate factions. Commentators deemed the phenomenon an inevitable historic reaction to the worldwide rise of Islam. The philosophy, history, traditions, and art of Christianity was embraced and celebrated. The downside of this trend, however, was a growing fundamentalist stranglehold on various topics of discourse, with a consequent chilling effect on dissenting points of view. Both fine and popular art assumed a uniform blandness. Certain avenues of scientific inquiry and research were abandoned, causing America to lag behind in the sciences. Yet despite these drawbacks, the renewed prominence of
Christianity in public life often gained the support of even those with no strong religious beliefs. Many such persons viewed it as a matter of pragmatism, a robust Christianity was seen as a necessary counterbalance to Islam. “It takes a faith to fight a faith” was a frequently heard maxim.

However, Islam was alive and well in America. Nowhere did this make for more bitter controversy than in the African-American community. Black Americans in the southern states remained the staunchest of Christians, while inner city blacks in the Northeast and Midwest were increasingly drawn to Islam. White American Muslims also became more common in these areas, joining with the Black Muslims and those of actual Mid-Eastern origin or descent. Muslims from other parts of the nation relocated en masse to the Northeast and Midwest, further swelling the Islamic populations there. They were able to swing elections and influence public policy. One result was a weakening of the nation’s defensive and intelligence capabilities.

Inevitably, the more radical Islamic factions also made their presence felt. Suicide bombings occurred with mounting frequency in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Cleveland, Detroit and Chicago. These were followed by anthrax outbreaks in several cities, as well as a nerve gas attack in the New York subway that killed over 700 people. Other atrocities ensued. The end result of this activity was a “white flight” from these urban centers so massive that it was referred to at the time as a “rout.” Businesses and the middle class fled like rats from a doomed ship. The municipal tax bases were eroded, setting the stage for urban decay on a scale never before seen in America.

In the meantime, the Southwest was making a modest comeback, after a fashion. Traffic had been flowing freely back and forth across the Mexican border for some time. The southwestern US and northern Mexico were evolving together into a semi-autonomous region --at least as far as the US was concerned. In 2060, a Congress in large part Hispanic overrode a presidential veto to declare the border officially open, citing “commerce” as a rationale. Previously, Spanish had been declared an official language of the United States.

And so it came to pass that the American Tercentennial of 2076 was celebrated, where celebrated at all, in a lackluster half-hearted fashion. Some wag wryly noted that this in itself was something of a tradition. The Centennial celebration of 1876 had been marred by bitter memories of the Civil War that ended little more than a decade earlier, and the Bicentennial of 1976 had been observed amid the malaise that followed the disastrous Vietnam War and a major political scandal. Even so, the United States of America was, at least in theory, still “one nation indivisible” in 2076. However, the cracks and fissures in the nation were now all too plain to see. One good jolt was all that was needed to shatter the Union into fragments like a piece of cheap crockery.


II.

That jolt was not long in coming. Just a few years later in 2079, Iran celebrated the 100th anniversary of its Islamic Revolution. It was a milestone that heralded dire events. Before the year was over, the worst fears of western intelligence agencies were realized when Iran and its allies launched an all-out attack on their mutually despised foe, Israel.

The state of Israel had been a thorn in the side of the Islamic Middle East for over a century. Iran especially longed to wipe it from the map. Iran was held in check at first by the deterrent effect of America’s military might, and later by the Islamic Federation of Europe. The IFE counseled patience and restraint, bidding Iran to bide its time even as it helped Iran prepare for the day of reckoning. The Islamic world consolidated its power, watching and waiting as America was corroded by internal strife.

Iran’s first attack wave came in the form of carefully coordinated air strikes and non-nuclear missile strikes that took out Israel’s defenses. The tiny nation was pounded by further air strikes that paved the way for a later invasion by ground forces.

American military response was swift. Aircraft carriers rushed to Israel’s rescue. They could not arrive in time to intercept that crippling first wave, but subsequent Iranian air attacks met with fierce resistance. In an effort to take the fight to the enemy, the latest generations of stealth bombers and cruise missiles struck deep within Iran and its allies.

Then, in a lightning move that bespoke much prior anticipation and planning, the Islamic Federation of Europe issued a formal declaration of war against the United States of America. This declaration was so worded that any and all allied of the US were included in this drawing of the battle lines. The battle was quickly joined. Nations around the globe were drawn into the fight as the regional conflict escalated with appalling rapidity into World War III.

Within hours of the IFE war declaration, the eastern seaboard of the United States found itself under aerial bombardment. European forces were able to swiftly reach American soil by striking from Greenland. Even before the creation of the Islamic Federation, Europe had begun to establish military installations in Greenland. The IFE subsequently busied itself for decades completing this task. Throughout that period, many warned that Greenland was becoming a huge dagger aimed at the heart of North America. However, this issue was never adequately addressed.

In the wake of the first attack, the US Air Force scrambled to neutralize Greenland. The Labrador Sea northeast of Newfoundland became the scene of fierce aerial combat as the air forces of the United States and Canada sought to hold the Europeans in check. The second European attack wave targeted Canadian as well as American defensive installations. Greenland also allowed the European Navy to dominate the North Atlantic. Here epic sea battles were waged on a scale not seen since Jutland.

Both on the sea and in the sky, the Europeans were better prepared and more effective. America was essentially fighting blind due to the destruction of its intelligence satellites at the outset of the war. In general, America lagged woefully behind Europe technologically. On one hand, defense budgets had been gutted in favor of social programs and failed social engineering schemes. On the other, distrust of scientists by powerful religious leaders had been influential in retarding technical advances.

The British Navy was quick to come to America’s aid in the North Atlantic. No sooner had it set sail than an invasion force from France swept across the English Channel. Britain was now fighting for survival as never before, not even during the Battle of Britain in the Second World War. Not since 1066 had an invading army overrun British soil, but one did so now. Ferocious bloody combat took place in London and other urban centers and throughout the countryside.

It did not take long for the conflict to spread to a Pacific theater, making it a true world war. Australia declared solidarity with its English-speaking brethren and at once found itself at war with Indonesia. At this point India became a factor. India joined with Pakistan in backing Indonesia. Boasting a formidable arsenal and an enormous population, India stood poised to deliver the coup de grace to Australia and New Zealand. It was forestalled from doing so only by the timely intervention of an even greater giant, China. China vowed severe consequences should India pursue its present course. India backed down, and soon afterwards hostilities in the Pacific gradually began to subside.

In the main theater of operations, the United States was being forced into an increasingly defensive posture. Enemy attacks remained unrelenting, even as America was being crippled from within. Sleeper cells were activated and went into action, striking at military installations and their support facilities, as well as civilian population centers. Most significantly, key areas of infrastructure were targeted for destruction. Highways, bridges, railways, power plants, reservoirs and food supplies were demolished or rendered useless.

Within weeks of the outbreak of hostilities, America was fighting wholly on the defensive. The US Government had retreated to the vast, underground Liberty’s Fortress complex in Virginia. In the meantime, Israel was left to fend for itself. Though it resisted valiantly, it was no match for the combined might of Iran, Iraq, Syria and their allies. After weeks of punishing air strikes, ground forces moved into the beleaguered nation. The invaders dealt death and absorbed casualties with the grim fatalism of their creed. At length, every Israeli man, woman and child found alive was put to the sword. Then all temples and monuments, indeed any structures of any type, were demolished. The conquerors of Israel razed it to the ground and salted the earth.

Subsequently, an IFE invasion fleet was launched to menace America’s east coast. A portion of the fleet was detached to launch an assault on New York City. The battle plan for this attack was designed to maximize civilian casualties. New York was the epicenter of the American Jewish population. At the behest of powerful clerics, the forces of the Islamic Eastern Hemisphere intended to purge Jews from the New World as they had from the Old.

Yet while the eastern United States was ravaged by attacks from within and without, the western states remained virtually untouched. The USA and the IFE traded blows from opposite sides of the Atlantic, but the western US remained protected by the vast Pacific and the absence of a formidable Islamic presence in the Far East.
Even so, there was a reluctance to leave the back door unguarded. Valuable troops and materiel sorely needed to defend the besieged eastern seaboard were left in place out west. This caused anguished and indignant voices to be raised among Easterners. The Hispanic Americans of the West had thus far not been threatened, while Anglos in the East were being decimated. [NOTE: The term “Anglo” as used in this account refers to English-speaking Americans regardless of race.] Never was the cultural divide between East and West more glaringly apparent. Over 80 percent of all Americans spoke some Spanish, but the majority of Hispanics spoke only Spanish. Nevertheless, fluent English was an essential prerequisite for service in the US armed forces. Clear communication was always of paramount importance in any sort of military organization or operation. The technical nature of much 21st Century warfare only served to emphasize this. A century earlier Hispanic Americans had been a backbone of the US military, but now they served in scant proportion to their numbers in the general population. Anglos bore the brunt of the fighting, and their bitter memory of the disparity bore repercussions in the post-war period.

As the American situation grew more desperate, fears arose that the war would spiral out of control and result in some sort of thermonuclear exchange. Fortunately, nuclear weapons were never utilized in World War III. The time of greatest danger from atomic weapons and other Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMDs) such as chemical and biological agents was actually the early 21st Century. Atomic and hydrogen bombs, though the object of considerable angst, were never deployed during the long Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union. A nuclear strike by one superpower would bring retaliation in kind, inevitably escalating to global Armageddon. This stalemate was commonly referred to as “Mutually Assured Destruction” (or “MAD”), and actually had a chilling deterrent effect that decreased the likelihood of the USA and USSR sliding into a shooting war.

After the internal collapse of the Soviet empire, the chief threat from WMDs was in their potential use by terrorists. Various rogue agencies espousing Islam aimed to break the will of their ideological foes, rather than seize territory or capital as in traditional warfare. Terrorists operated outside the auspices of any nation, although nation-states could and did support these networks covertly. An invisible menace without borders, terrorist networks were immune from similar retaliation. Thus it was now possible for an American city to go up in an atomic fireball without it sucking the rest of the world into a nuclear conflagration.

Ironically, this danger decreased as radical Islamic factions came to power in more and more nations. Now that these formerly outlaw elements were “on the map” with clearly defined borders and political centers, they could be targeted for a counterstrike. Therefore, when World War III broke out, nuclear weapons were not deployed. As in the previous century, no one wanted to open that can of worms.

Nevertheless, the mere fact that everyone dreaded the specter of nuclear warfare didn’t remove it from the realm of possibility. As America found itself reeling, nuclear options began to be considered. As these murmurs reached the ears of its enemies, a ceasefire and armistice were conveniently proffered by Europe. IFE representatives sensibly pointed out that the original root cause of the war was now moot. Israel was no more, and the Jewish voice in America had been muted. Few were left to champion the cause of Israel. The Islamic powers could afford to be magnanimous. They stood to gain considerable concessions from a chastened America. Even if these concessions fell short of Islam’s ultimate ambitions, the compromise was an acceptable one. There would be other wars and Islam was patient. The guns fell silent and peace talks began.


III.

The Third World War had been short, swift and vicious, like the whirlwind of fangs and claws that ensues when two wildcats fight. The talks that followed dragged on longer than the duration of the war itself. Still, the dust finally settled and a new world order was in place.

The United Kingdom was forced to accept the yoke of Islam. Britons were faced with the choice of conversion or becoming second-class citizens of their own country. Most accepted the latter indignity as an alternative to complete capitulation. Britain became a minor satellite of the Islamic Federation of Europe.

China, on the other hand, emerged from the war with its stature enhanced. It took full advantage of the opportunity to reclaim Taiwan. The United States, having been brought to its knees, was in no position to interfere, and no one else was terribly concerned about the matter. Before long, China also assisted North Korea in its conquest of the South. Ironically, however, it was the capitalist culture of South Korea that was subsequently nurtured by China. China had long viewed the rise of the Islamic world with wariness and growing displeasure. A thriving Pacific Rim was seen as an essential bulwark against the further spread of Islam. Therefore China came to encourage capitalistic enterprise in Korea, Taiwan and Japan, which became a vassal of China.

America emerged from World War III torn and bloodied. Much of the Northeast lay in smoking ruins. The infrastructure was fragmented. Many regions were without water and power. Foodstuffs rotted in warehouses because they could not be transported to starving areas. Much of the nation’s navy had been sunk, and its arsenal had been depleted. Postwar America was weakened and vulnerable.

The armistice that America was obliged to accept included the provision that the citizens of states with heavily Muslim populations be “allowed to” vote to establish an autonomous region in which Islamic law was the highest legal authority, superseding the Supreme Court and even the United States Constitution. Such elections were held in a dozen states in the Med Atlantic and Great Lakes regions. The measure passed in all but a few of these states.

This development did not go unopposed. Trouble first flared up in Southwestern Pennsylvania. Angry citizens there were loath to accept a condition imposed by a popular vote tipped by populous Muslim strongholds like Philadelphia and other cities in the eastern part of the state. The southwestern counties flamed in riot and open rebellion. Rebel leaders issued a manifesto declaring that states opting for Islamic religious rule had for all intents and purposes seceded from the Union; if secession were the order of the day, then they would secede from Pennsylvania. All the counties south of Meadville and west of the Alleghenies soon separated from the rest of Pennsylvania by mutual agreement. The secession movement spread like wildfire as other affected states followed suit. The southern rural regions of states like Ohio and Illinois broke away from the more urbanized areas of the North.

What would become the Islamic States of America included all of New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New Jersey, as well as vast parts of Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Michigan. In the meantime, the hardy Southwestern Pennsylvanians joined with the equally stalwart West Virginians in the formation of a semi-autonomous buffer zone insulating the Christian South from the Islamic North. In time this would include all of the Ohio River Valley and environs, and become known as the Border Region.

These momentous developments sent shockwaves through the West as well. The citizens of the Southwestern states overwhelmingly favored leaving the Union and joining Mexico. They made this known both through their elected representatives and by taking to the streets in protest. Mexico itself added its voice to theirs, politely insisting that citizens of those states be allowed to “determine their own destiny.”

Back east, editorial cartoons of a weeping Abraham Lincoln failed to move many. The West had come through the war relatively unscathed, to the resentment of many in the East. America’s loss of the war was blamed on the nation’s lack of cohesion. Critics were quick to point to Southwesterners’ longstanding embrace of Mexican, rather than American culture. If these states left the Union, they would take their representatives in Congress with them; their influence on American policy would vanish.

Within a year the entire states of California, Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexico left the United States to join Mexico. Of the Southwestern states, only Texas split in two as Pennsylvania had. The Big Bend area of West Texas that included El Paso joined Mexico, as did all the regions south of Austin. The rest of the state remained in the Union. Before leaving San Antonio, Anglos there dynamited the Alamo to prevent it from falling into Mexican hands.

Both the secession of the Southwest and the establishment of the Islamic States came to be seen as a blessing in disguise by certain commentators. The Northeastern states lay in ruins and the cost of rebuilding would be staggering. If they left the Union, however, they were no longer America’s problem. Let the Europeans help the Northeast to rebuild, some reasoned; after all, they were the ones who wrecked it in the first place.

These commentators regarded the “downsizing of America” in a positive light. It was thought that America could get back on its feet faster if certain problem areas were no longer parts of it. “Smaller is better” and “leaner and meaner” became popular mottos. Others simply snorted “Good riddance” in regards to the departing states.

Unfortunately, secession did not end there. Within five years the northern New England states of Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, cut off from the rest of the Union by the Islamic States, were clamoring to leave the Union and join Canada. A weary Federal government caved to their demands. In due course Oregon and Washington, along with the northern panhandle of Idaho and the upper peninsula of Michigan, were joined to Canada. However, Canadian gains of US territory were offset by the loss of Quebec. Secession fever had spread to Canada, and Quebec finally realized its long-sought goal of independence. Quebec had long been the world center of French language and culture, now all but extinct in France.

Canada and Mexico were not the only nations to gain from the break-up of the American Union. Apart from the Southwest, the largest concentration of Spanish-speaking Americans was to be found in southern Florida. These were of mostly Cuban descent. In 2093, all of Florida south of the Panhandle left the US to form a union with Cuba.

Throughout the final decade of the 21st Century, what was left of the United States continued to struggle to haul itself out of the abyss into which it had been plunged. In doing so, the nation redefined itself along the way. Almost half of its former territory had been lost. What remained consisted of the Southeastern states, with the notable exception of Florida, and the still sparsely populated central states such as Montana, Wyoming, and the Dakotas. The political, economic and cultural life of the recovering nation centered in what had been the Old South of two hundred and fifty years earlier.

It became common to refer to the South, and by extension the downsized nation as a whole, as “the New American Confederacy.” The term was spoken with a tone of irony at first. It was frequently observed that this new “Confederacy” had not seceded from the Union --rather, the Union had seceded from it! And unlike the old Confederate States of America, the new Confederacy was not built on the rotten foundation of racism and slavery. Rather, the new nation that was being erected on the ash heap of the old was the work of both black and white --brothers and sisters all, united in Christ.

One thing the New Confederacy did have in common with its predecessor was a lessening of the power held by the central authority of the Federal government, with greater autonomy being retained by individual states and regions. As a result of this trend, certain states became, for all intents and purposes, miniature nations. In Utah, the population was overwhelmingly Mormon and elected to return to their old ways. Polygamy was reinstated with nary an objection from the Federal government. Since such once-unthinkable concessions had been granted to American Muslims, not much of a case could be made for denying the same considerations to the Mormons, who were at least Christians. Alaska also began to function more and more independently of the central government. In the meantime, a whole separate culture was taking form in the Ohio River Valley’s Border Region. Places like Utah, Alaska, and the Border Region were neither wholly in nor wholly out of the Union, or rather the Confederacy, as it increasingly came to be called.

As the map of North America was redrawn, the populations of various areas were uprooted and transplanted to different locations. Asian Americans on the West Coast had been drifting northward for decades. Those of Chinese, Japanese, Filipino and other Asian descent formed enclaves in the northernmost regions of California, now part of Mexico; in Oregon and Washington, now part of Canada; in British Columbia and in the southern panhandle of Alaska. Christians in Michigan migrated to the Upper Peninsula, which seceded from the state and the nation to join Canada. The Amish of Eastern Pennsylvania joined those in the sundered western part of the state to occupy the northeastern fringe of the Border Region. In time the Amish came to adopt a more militant stance, becoming the watchmen along the border with the Islamic States of America.

Hawaii loosened its ties to the rest of the country, now without a west coast, as it became a thriving crossroads of the commerce conducted by the nations of the Pacific Rim. In time Hawaii became a protectorate of Japan. More notable, however, were the formal declarations of nationhood on the part of the Islamic States of America and the New American Confederacy.

For twenty years the Muslims in the former northeastern US labored to create an Islamic nation in the Western Hemisphere. For a time they were governed from the various state capitals by local religious leaders who worked with their counterparts in the other states in an informal committee. The actual rebuilding of the war-ravaged areas was accomplished, as predicted, with foreign aid courtesy of the Islamic Federation of Europe. In the meantime, leaders worked to construct a more permanent government and draft a constitution. This constitution was ratified in the fall of 2100. A fully independent Islamic States of America now took its place among the nations of the world. A yearlong celebration concluded on September 11, 2101, when a monument commemorating the martyrs of a century earlier was unveiled in New York at the former site of the World Trade Center.

To the south, in what only the elderly still insisted on calling the United States, there was a growing movement calling for a new constitutional convention. The old fifty-star flag still flew on flagpoles across the land, but to many it seemed a mockery --a symbol of ignominious defeat. A whole generation had now been born and grown up in a fragmented Union. Those a little older, who had been children when war came, remembered the fifty-state Union only dimly. So it came to pass that the constitutional convention was held, that the nation might officially become what it had long been in fact.

In 2105, the New American Confederacy was formally adopted as the name of the reborn nation. Optimists referred to the period of the constitutional convention itself as the “Era of Rebirth.” The terms “reborn” and “born again” were used frequently, since America had been “born again” in Christ. The New Constitution mandated that citizens at least pay token service to some form of Christian faith. This was in some measure a matter of practicality; the few remaining Muslims in the Confederacy were obliged to relocate to the Islamic States. Persons of other faiths, free thinkers and nonconformists found new homes in Alaska and the Border Region. Alaska did not ratify the New Constitution, opting instead to become an independent republic.

The Confederacy flag retained thirteen red and white stripes to acknowledge an esteemed past, but in the blue field all the stars were gone. Instead, the blue field was divided into four quarters by a white cross. This was not the only break with the past. Throughout the tumultuous post-war decades, the Federal government had been conducted from Liberty’s Fortress. An elaborate complex called Liberty’s City was constructed adjacent to it. Liberty’s City was now designated the new nation’s capital.

In Washington DC, the monuments and artifacts of the Old Union were preserved and honored. Yet latter day tourists visiting the former capital often felt as if they had come instead to Cairo, a place of museums housing relics of a long-vanished empire. They felt stained by the dust of antiquity, and came less and less to visit. Washington became a necropolis.

The whole world had changed. It was entering an age of warring faiths. Islam had already established a formidable beachhead in the Western Hemisphere. Islam may have even encompassed the whole globe in time, but here the vision grows hazy. It made little difference to the passing generation of Americans. With the adoption of the New Constitution, with the unfurling of the new flag, the last feathers had fallen from the molting American eagle. The United States of America, as it had been known to history, had ceased to exist.

Guns of the Border Region: Prologue and Chapter One

[The following is the prologue and opening chapter of a new novel I'm working on set in the universe of Twilight's Last Gleaming. It is my intention that the fictional universe and timeline I've created serve as a backdrop for any type of story. For the first one, I've decided to cut loose and go with an action-adventure, pure pulp fiction. Subsequent chapters will appear as I complete them. Copyright 2008 by Charles Hoffman.]


PROLOGUE

In the year 2079, the world was rocked by a war the likes of which it had not seen in well over a century. Nations around the globe were drawn into the conflict, but the main antagonists were the United States of America and the Islamic Federation of Europe. America, already in decline, proved no match for the ascending power of Islamic Europe.

During the war’s decades-long aftermath, the American Union broke apart. The Southwest rejoined Mexico, and southern Florida aligned itself with Cuba. Other states seceded to join Canada or become small independent nations.

The Northeastern and Midwestern states were, by the late 21st Century, home to large populations of American Muslims. Under the terms of America’s surrender treaty, these states were to be permitted to adopt Islamic law as their supreme legal authority, superseding even the United States Constitution. In time these states achieved full independence and formed the Islamic States of America.

Meanwhile, the political, commercial and cultural life of what was left of the United States had slowly become centered in what had been the Old South prior to the American Civil War of 1861-65. This section, and the downsized nation as a whole, came to be commonly referred to as the New American Confederacy. Early in the 22nd Century, a new Constitution was ratified. Among its provisions was the stricture that only Christians could be full-fledged citizens. The name “New American Confederacy” was formally adopted. The Old Union was no more.

Between the Islamic States of America and the New American Confederacy lay the Border Region. This area originally consisted of non-Islamic areas of Islamic-majority states that had broken away. In time, however, it included the entire Ohio River Valley and the whole state of West Virginia. The term “Border Region” referred to a location rather than a political entity. With the exception of West Virginia, government was conducted solely at the city and county level. The Border Region was essentially a patchwork of small fiefdoms, with the major urban centers functioning along the lines of ancient Greek city-states.

The people of the Border Region were united chiefly by an independent spirit and a libertarian philosophy. The societies of both the Islamic States and the New American Confederacy, on the other hand, tended to emphasize conformity. Consequently, the Border Region became home to numerous free thinkers, non-conformists, misfits, rogues, entrepreneurs, outlaws, and adventurers.



CHAPTER ONE -- WILD NIGHT IN WHEELING

The setting sun still reddened the western sky, but already the dives and fleshpots of Wheeling were roaring. Bars, clubs, gambling dens and bawdy houses were all crammed full of rowdy patrons. Located in West Virginia’s northern panhandle, a slim finger thrust between southern Ohio and Westsylvania, Wheeling had by the early 22nd Century become known far and wide as a booming crossroads for the countless travelers, wanderers and wastrels that traversed the Border Region.

Hot nightspots were scattered throughout the city, but the greatest concentration of the wilder venues were to be found across the railroad tracks from the main part of town, where the Ohio River flowed darkly southward before turning west. Here in the old section, winding narrow streets, their asphalt worn away to expose the underlying brick, formed a tangled maze lined by garishly lit taverns, strip clubs, and other establishments offering various forms of raucous entertainment. Rain-slick sidewalks reflected the lurid glare of multi-hued neon blazing forth from the buildings’ colorful facades. Barkers stood near some entrances, loudly hawking the pleasures to be found within in an effort to entice the throngs of passers-by. It was a warm night. Throbbing music and shrill laughter blared from open doorways. Meat grilling in open stalls and on tiny food carts scented the air with its savory aroma.

To this dark carnival-land came the woman called Shadow. She strode boldly down the center of the street, spurs jangling on her heavy boots. Clad in a long black duster, the young woman stood over six feet in her boot heels. The upturned collar of the duster framed a delicate-featured face that yet conveyed a hawkish toughness. Her long straight black hair was parted in the middle to reveal a high contemplative forehead and the keen eyes of an observer. Her thin nose and lips gave her pale features a dour cast.

Shadow had just hit town and was looking for kicks. She had spent the long summer in the western reaches of the Border Region cultivating her gardens. A bumper crop of reefer had left her flush, and now she was headed back up the long trail to her native Westsylvania. There she would tend to other enterprises before settling in for winter. But first she was stopping off in Wheeling, her old stomping grounds, for what she trusted would be a truly memorable party night.

For right now, however, the drinking and carousing could wait. After weeks of subsisting mainly on foodpaste, Shadow’s first order of business was a real meal. To that end, she headed straight for Wotan’s Carving Board.

Wotan’s was a popular eatery that saw a lot of the rough outlaw trade. It resembled nothing so much as an old Viking mead hall. Rows of rude wooden tables and benches filled most of the vast interior. Whole hogs and sides of beef roasted over open flames, sending tendrils of blue smoke curling to the rafters. Elsewhere, steaks and chops were being grilled. It was only early evening, but Wotan’s was already crammed to near capacity with hungry feasters come to gorge and guzzle.

Shadow scanned the crowd as she entered Wotan’s, acknowledging the greetings of fellow patrons who knew her of old. She made her way to a table near one of the fire pits. Because of the heat of both the flames and the many bodies that surrounded her, she removed her duster before taking her seat.

Shadow doffed the garment with a shrug of her supple shoulders, a move that drew appreciative glances. Many of the outlaws and adventurers of the Border Region enjoyed dressing the part. Shadow was no exception. Beneath the duster, much of her superb young body was bared. What little she wore was mostly black. Tight boots came to just below her knees, and studded gauntlets encircled her wrists. Crotch-hugging leather pants clung to her powerful thighs and full womanly ass like a coat of lacquer. Above the waist she wore only a scanty bra of PVC. Her exposed body was white as fresh cream, typical of one bred in the cloudy, darkly wooded hill country of Westsylvania. A tribal design had been tattooed onto her right upper arm, and a small ring piercing her navel adorned her rippled drum-tight abs. Her breasts were splendidly shaped, but not overly large. Shadow was built for action.

The sole spot of color in her apparel was the military utility belt that hung snuggly about her hips. It supported an assortment of olive green pouches and a bowie knife in a worn brown leather scabbard. The knife’s blade was narrower than that of the traditional “iron mistress,” but the clip point design was unmistakable. Jutting hilt first from the woman’s left hip, it could be unsheathed, sword-like, with a quick cross-draw motion. Travelers stopping in Wheeling were required to check their firearms with the local sheriff’s office, but other weapons could be worn openly.

Shadow seated herself and ordered her meal. She and several table mates agreed to split a whole ham. As the waiter departed with their order, Shadow added, “Bring me a pitcher of 33 to wash it down.”

33 was a beer brewed in Latrobe, in the Laurel Highlands of Westsylvania. During the 20th Century, the Latrobe Brewery had produced a pale lager called Rolling Rock. Originally a local brew, it grew in popularity and came to be distributed throughout the Old Union. Early in the 21st Century, a major national brewing company had purchased the Rolling Rock brand name and moved production of the beer to New Jersey. Now, over a hundred years later, New Jersey was part of the Islamic States of America. No alcoholic beverages, including the ersatz Rolling Rock, were produced there any longer. A few years ago, however, a group of enterprising Westsylvanians had refurbished and reopened the old Latrobe Brewery. The beer they made there was brewed identically to the original Rolling Rock. The name of their brew derived from the enigmatic number “33” that had appeared on Rolling Rock bottles.

Shadow had nearly finished her first mug of 33 when the feast arrived steaming on a heavy wooden platter. The ham was actually a whole haunch of half-wild boar, a Wotan’s house specialty. Eschewing the steak knife in front of her, Shadow hacked off hunks of meat with her bowie knife. She then stuck the bowie point first into the wooden table, within easy reach. The boar meat was far more savory than any ham from a factory farm hog; it was the rich dark purple of port wine and flaked apart like good tuna. A whole loaf of fresh bread, still warm from the oven, accompanied the ham. Shadow tore off a big piece and slathered it with butter. Potatoes and a large wedge of tangy yellow cheese completed the repast. Shadow fell to with gusto.
As she ate, Shadow studied the crowd more closely. West Virginians and Westsylvanians predominated, along with others from elsewhere in the Border Region. Many, like Shadow, were of the footloose roving breed. There was also a smattering of Muslims come down from the Islamic States to the north to partake of forbidden earthly delights. Likewise, some goody-good Christians from the New American Confederacy had traveled up from the south to go slumming in the Border Region’s wildest town. That could be a dangerous pastime, but too bad if they didn’t know how to look out for themselves. Shadow also noticed some darker complexions that bespoke origins still further south --Mexico or Cuban Florida.

After eating her fill, Shadow rose to take her leave. She plucked the bowie knife from the table, wiped it clean, and re-sheathed it. Slipping on her duster, Shadow exited Wotan’s. Time for bar-hopping and some serious drinking.

Shadow headed off down the street in her long-legged stride, the long unfastened duster billowing out behind her. At length she came to a cozy little bar she had frequented in times past. The place had no name, just a neon sign hung above the door that said “Bar.” Shadow entered the dimly-lit tavern and traversed a floor strewn with sawdust and peanut shells to seat herself at the bar.

The bartender smiled in recognition and shoved a drink across the bar to her. He had remembered her favorite, Jack Daniel’s with Mountain Dew for mixer. Shadow sipped the drink as she took in her surroundings. Behind an assortment of liquor bottles, a mirror ran the length of the bar. This afforded her a view of the entire place. Whenever she went to a bar, club, or other public place, Shadow always seated herself in a location that gave her the best view of the crowd and the exits. When hanging out in a joint, Shadow wanted to know what was going on in every square foot of it.

There was a television behind the bar. Broadcast and cable TV were things of the past in most of the Border Region, but the bar’s set was hooked up to a deck capable of playing home videos in a variety of formats dating clear back to Betamax. Right now the set was showing an old black-and-white monster movie from the mid-20th Century called The Creature Walks Among Us. A character in the movie remarked that mankind was poised midway between the jungle and the stars. After several more Jack-and-Dews, Shadow was moved to reflect that mankind had backslid quite a bit since the movie had been made.

By now Shadow had caught a good buzz, yet gave no outward sign that she had a few drinks under her belt. She had an uncanny knack for holding her booze. Shadow never got so drunk or high that she couldn’t snap back to stone cold sobriety in an instant should the situation require it. When the movie was over, she left the bar to go in search of one with a pool table.

Before long she found a place called Antonio’s that had several tables, so there was no waiting. After hanging up her duster, she moved to one of the empty ones. A guy who seemed pretty nice asked to play, and a few minutes later they were engaged in a friendly game.

It didn’t take her long to draw a crowd of spectators. Most of the men in the bar, as well as many of the women, were looking her way. Shadow in any kind of action was an incredible sight. Circling about the pool table, planning her next shot, she looked like a panther softly stalking its prey. Bending over to take the shot, she exposed breathtaking flashes of her luscious milk-white cleavage. The overhead light illuminated the supple play of her toned muscles moving smoothly under her skin.

When she finished her game with the nice guy, others were waiting. A big guy with an attitude nudged the nice guy rudely aside. He seemed a little drunk. Shadow was adept at sizing up people at a glance. Taller and heavier than Shadow, he looked to be a former athlete gone to fat. Some ex-jocks had personality problems and could be dangerous. Shadow was willing to humor him, but only up to a point.

Shadow agreed to play him, rather than create a scene. Not playing at her best, she still beat him handily. Other men were eager to shoot pool with Shadow, just for the pleasure of her company. But her present opponent had something to prove, and insisted on playing her again.

“Okay, Mac,” Shadow agreed pleasantly, “You’re on. Care to make it interesting?”

Ego-driven, Mac accepted Shadow’s wager. He was not a bad player, just not as good as he thought he was. Shadow made a show of her superior skill, executing difficult shots, pointing out which balls she intended to sink into which pockets and then doing it. She hoped Mac would get the message that he was outclassed and back off while he was not too far behind.

Unfortunately, Mac was none too bright. To make matters worse, his equally oafish friends were egging him on. Thanks guys, Shadow thought. After losing the bet, he still wasn’t ready to quit. “Aw, c’mon,” Mac pleaded, “Just give me a chance to win back my money.”

“Alright,” Shadow sighed, “You asked for it.”

By now, the full attention of nearly all the bar patrons was focused on the one-sided contest between Mac and Shadow. Two more games, and Shadow had cleaned him out.

Not surprisingly, Mac was a sore loser. The jibes of his buddies and the laughter of the women in the bar did little to sooth his temper. “You bitch,” he spat, “You hustled me.”

Shadow knew well from past experience that it was pointless to try to reason or argue with morons. But for the sake of the bystanders, she made the effort.

“I did not set you up,” she said slowly, careful to speak clearly and use direct simple language, “I did not pretend to be lousy to sucker you in. You could have quit any time. Dig?”

Mac wasn’t buying it. “You owe me money or ass,” he snarled, and made a grab for her. Shadow swatted his hand away. Mac cocked back a clenched fist and swung. Shadow wasn’t about to take chances with a bigger, stronger opponent. Before he could connect, she kicked him in the balls hard enough to lift him off the ground.
It was a front snap kick, perfectly executed. Shadow’s booted foot crashed sickeningly into Mac’s testicles. He flew up and back like a puppet on strings. Mac thudded against the bar, then slid down to the floor. He lay there shivering for a second before disgorging a thick puddle of vomit.

Shadow glowered down at him. Hopefully he would stay down long enough for her to get out of there without further incident. No such luck. Mac’s friends helped him to his feet. Shadow backed away slowly, keeping her eyes on her foe to determine if there was any fight left in him.

There was. Mac stalked forward, his face an inhuman mask of rage. Even through her considerable annoyance, Shadow was impressed by his ability to take a ball shot and recover so quickly. Mac snatched up one of the pool cues from the table. Shadow grabbed the other one. Mac swung his cue like a club, aiming the thick end at Shadow’s head. Shadow gripped her cue with both hands, quarterstaff style, and raised it to block. So powerful was Mac’s blow that it actually snapped Shadow’s cue in half.

Shadow jumped back as Mac’s cue whizzed past her head. She shifted her grip on the broken cue halves and bored back in, wielding the pieces like a pair of fighting sticks. Trained in Filipino kali, Shadow could launch an effective attack with weapons in both hands. Her first blow smashed Mac’s own weapon hand, causing his cue to slip from his numbed fingers. Filipinos called this “defanging the serpent.” Shadow then used her sticks to batter Mac to the floor. This time he stayed there.

“How ‘bout you assholes!” Shadow roared at Mac’s cronies. Dumbstruck, they were quick to shake their heads vigorously back and forth and raise their hands in appeasement gestures. Shadow spat in disgust, cast her broken pool cue away, and left.

#
Shadow went to another bar and grill to chill out. She downed several tequila shots, followed by an ice-cold bottle of beer. She had eaten a heavy meal early in the evening, but the fight had whetted her appetite. Hot dogs were sizzling on a grill behind the bar. The wieners were the kind with the natural casing, the only kind Shadow considered worth eating. Shadow ordered two hot dogs, indicating the ones that had been on the grill the longest. A devotee of the crunchy hot dog, she savored the crispy snap as she bit into her first dog.

As she munched on hot dogs and drank more beer, Shadow contemplated her next move. All the trouble notwithstanding, her win at the pool table had left her feeling that she was on a lucky streak. There was a little casino not far away where card games went on all night. Shadow was in the mood for some poker. Maybe she could win herself a pretty big pot. A malicious little grin formed on her thin lips, exposing sharp white predatory teeth. Why not? After all, she would be playing with Mac’s money.

#
When Shadow reached the Monte Carlo Casino, she headed straight past the slots, roulette and other sucker games to the back rooms where cards were being dealt. It didn’t take her long to find a game. A guy had just folded and hot chicks were always welcome at the card table.

Shadow was dealt in. She spent the first hands taking the measure of the three other players. One was a Southern swell who liked the action but didn’t seem like a serious player. At least he looked like he could afford to lose. Next to him was a non-descript looking guy who appeared to be in his late thirties. Shadow quickly pegged him as a formidable card sharp, but that was okay -- so was she. The last guy was kind of young, with an annoying habit of laughing at remarks that weren‘t particularly funny. He was pretty good, but not in her league.

Shadow felt that she had her work cut out for her. It would take a little time to build some momentum. Snacks and beverages were available. Shadow had some sushi and a bottle of Mad Dog 2020 brought to the table. Then she got busy.

Shadow raised frequently to get more money into the pot. Between her and the non-descript card sharp, they cleaned out the swell in fairly short order. Then they were left to battle it out, with the laughing guy hanging back and studying their moves. Shadow wasn’t afraid to raise the bet even when she held a weak hand; she didn’t want to be observed never to bluff, thereby cautioning her opponents when the good cards did come her way.

Several more hands were played out. Shadow rode out the ebb and flow, keeping even over the long run and then surging ahead. The card sharp realized that he had met his equal, and that Lady Luck had deserted him. He quit the table with a courtly bow that conveyed his respect.

That left the other guy. Shadow wondered if his annoying laughter was done deliberately to unsettle opponents. Not that it mattered; Shadow did not want for steady nerves.

As it turned out, her final opponent played a pretty good game. He won several hands in a row. More through luck than skill, he raked in a pretty big chunk of Shadow’s money. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the sense to quit while he was ahead. Shadow had more than enough money left to keep the game going long enough to recoup her losses. It finally ended when her Ace-high flush of hearts beat his Queen-high flush of diamonds. He finally realized that he had lost all he could afford to and then some.

Shadow stood up, began folding money and stuffing it into the larger pouches of her utility belt. Her defeated opponent sat dumbfounded. Finally he rose unsteadily and glared at her.

“You bitch,” he said sullenly, “You cheated.”

Not again, Shadow thought. She snarled, “Up yours, Laughing Boy! Sorry you lost at cards to a girl. Next time stick to Old Maid.”

She shifted into a fighting stance, waiting for him to try something. He didn’t. Shadow turned and took her leave.

That’s it, Shadow thought as she went into the street. No more gambling! Time to go dancing.

#
The Metropol was the hottest dance club in Wheeling. It was a refurbished industrial facility with new metallic décor designed to complement existing fixtures. The club boasted superior lighting and sound systems. In many rural areas of the Border Region, there was still no electricity decades after the War. The cities and larger towns were usually well supplied, however. There was plenty of juice to power Metropol’s all-night revelry.

Throbbing techno music pulsated over the crowded dance floor. Shadow was in the center of the throng, soaking up the rhythm, letting it move her. She had been tense after sitting so long playing cards. Remaining stationary for any length of time tended to make her restless. She had to get out on the dance floor and move.
When she danced, Shadow typically found herself the center of much male and female attention. That was okay. This was a pretty nice crowd; no assholes so far. Plus, she had spotted some familiar friendly faces. Shadow relaxed and felt the tension seep out of her muscles.

After awhile, she took a break. She was greeted by a blonde punkette named Phoenix, a former acquaintance. Phoenix had some interesting news.

“They’re having an amateur contest tonight at the Go-Go Lounge. You oughta enter it. You were hot out there. You could win first prize.”

“It’s probably too late,” Shadow replied.

“Not if we hurry. Last I heard it was still going full blast.”

Shadow and Phoenix left Metropol and headed straight for the Go-Go Lounge. It was an average sized strip club, a little seedy but not a total dive. They got there just in time. Shadow signed up for the contest, and was scheduled to go on last.
As she got ready backstage, Shadow wondered if she wasn’t cheating a little. She had worked as an exotic dancer in the past, although not in Wheeling. She doubted anyone here was aware of it. It had been awhile ago anyway.

Moments later, Shadow went on stage. She had doffed her boots and black leather pants. She went out clad in her skimpy PVC bra and matching thong panties. The military belt, bowie knife and all, remained fastened tightly about her waist. She was greeted by scattered applause as the spotlight hit her.

The music started, generic hard rock characterized by heavy bass and a pulsing backbeat. Dancing at the Metropol had already warmed her up and she merged easily with the rhythm. Shadow strutted up and down the runway in time to the beat, hips swaying seductively. She smiled down into a sea of lustful male faces, meeting their gazes with her own, dominating them. With a contemptuous toss of her hair, she headed back to center stage. Guys in the audience moaned at the sight of her full, firm buttocks bared by the tiny thong as she walked away from them.

Shadow stepped back onto the main part of the stage as the music’s tempo quickened. Jumping into the air with the grace of a leaping gazelle, she deftly caught the brass stripper pole and hauled herself aloft. Her well-defined arm muscles flexed as she swung herself around the pole, long shapely legs extended. The music slowed once more. Shadow swung her legs up and caught the top of the pole between her tightly crossed ankles. Letting go with her hands, she unbent her body, slowly undulating until she hung suspended upside down, her hair just touching the stage. Shadow’s acrobatics evoked enthusiastic applause.

The song ended and another began, one with more of a sexy disco beat. Shadow pressed her hands against the stage to brace herself as her legs released their grip on the stripper pole. In a single fluid motion she flipped back onto her feet and rose majestically to her full height. Shadow stood poised with her back to the audience. Glancing boldly over her shoulder, she transfixed spectators with a sultry bedroom look. Then, with one of her never-fail moves, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. As she tossed it aside, Shadow smiled at the audible intake of breath from guys near the stage. Turning about, she strutted back down the runway bare-breasted, flaunting her body like a proud young animal.

Returning to center stage, Shadow danced, swaying hypnotically, eyes half-shut, lips softly parted. She ran her hands over her supple body, to the delight of all. As one of her hands brushed against her thong, the languorous look on her face was replaced by a strangely beautiful angry one. Unhooking the thong, she yanked it roughly from between her thighs and cast it from her. It was as though concealing her body with even a tiny scrap of clothing had suddenly become intolerable to her. Save for her belt and wrist gauntlets, Shadow was now gloriously nude. She stood poised, hands on hips, for dramatic effect, allowing her audience to drink in the sight of her. A light sheen of sweat coated her entire body, causing it to glisten as though slick with baby oil. The crowd roared its approval.

The music stopped, then started. This was Shadow’s last number. She wanted to make her grand finale a memorable one. She shook back her sweat-dampened hair, then abruptly dropped forward. Catching herself on her hands, she stretched her body horizontally along the length of the runway. In this prone position she did several push-ups that caused the supple muscles of her arms, back, thighs, calves and buttocks to flex and tense. Then she began to glide about on all fours. Meeting the eager gaze of patrons who were now eye-level, she seemed like some young lioness scenting blood.

Crawling back to center stage, Shadow remained on hands and knees, her nude body in profile. She began to rock back and forth in time to the music, pushing her hips and ass back as if meeting the thrusts of an invisible lover. The guys in the crowd ate it up. Shifting her position, she faced them frontally once more. Staying on her knees she reared back on her haunches. With head and shoulders flung back, exposing her white neck, she bounced up and down as though she were riding some lucky bastard. As the music ended, she wilted in a graceful bow suggestive of a post-orgasmic swoon.

Following Shadow’s set, all the dancers came back on stage. The contest winners were determined by audience applause. Shadow took first prize. Adding it to her gambling winnings, she reflected that this had been a very profitable evening.

A little while later, Shadow was at the bar drinking Jagermeister with Phoenix. One of her fans had bought the drinks. He offered her a cigarette.

“Thanks,” she said, accepting one, “I don’t usually, but after that I need one.” She rewarded the guy by permitting him to light it for her.

Shadow was clad once more in her leather pants and boots. Her bra was missing, however, having been snatched by someone as a souvenir. She stood at the bar smoking and drinking, brazenly topless. Leaning back against the bar, unconsciously picturesque, she studied the unruly crowd.

Experience had long since taught Shadow that it was best to spot trouble before it got too close. Case in point: that guy she had beat at poker, Laughing Boy, was in the club and headed her way.

“Hiya babe,” he said when he reached her, “No hard feelings. Can I get you a drink?”

“Already got one,” Shadow replied coolly.

Undaunted, Laughing Boy continued his pick-up routine, “I just got here a little bit ago. I caught the end of your act. You are one hot lady. Listen, I got a room not far from here. We could go back, do some drugs. Have some fun…”

“I don’t think so. I’m only in town for tonight. I want to take in as much action as I can.” Shadow was trying to be nice. Instead of just telling him to eat shit, she was giving him a chance to back off and save face. Unfortunately, Laughing Boy wasn’t taking the hint.

“Well, how `bout if I go with you and help you spend some dough?” His expression turned sour, “After all, it’s my money.”

“Alright,” Shadow groaned, tired of this, “So you’re sore about me shooting you down, and you’re sore about losing money to me. If I were to pay you to fuck me, would that square everything?”

Laughing Boy stood dumbfounded, mouth agape. Shadow could sense his brain trying to work. It was like he was actually trying to figure out if she was serious. Shadow wasted no time clarifying matters.

“That was a joke,” she said harshly, “Now will you please quit bugging me?”

“You lousy whore,” he spat back, raising a clenched fist, “I oughta punch your face in.”

“Don’t try it, Laughing Boy,” Shadow warned as she shifted into her fighting stance, “I’ve already kicked the ass of a tougher man than you tonight.” In addition to Filipino stick and knife fighting, Shadow was well trained in Okinawan kenpo karate, judo and Muay Thai. She had nothing to fear from the likes of Laughing Boy. He was no bigger than she was, and his body language told her that he was not skilled. That meant she could put him down without busting him up too badly. She looked forward to teaching him a lesson.

The clamor in the bar had died down and patrons stepped back to give them room. Bar fights were not an unusual occurrence at the Go-Go Lounge, but seldom had it been the setting for one like this. Shadow faced her opponent looking like some bare-breasted Amazon; a cruel smile played on her thin lips and her nipples were conspicuously erect.

Laughing Boy rushed in aiming a left hook at Shadow’s head. So predictable. She blocked it easily, then stung his face with a couple of quick jabs to loosen him up. When he raised his guard, she snaked an uppercut into his midsection. Her tightly-clenched fist sank into his belly just under the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him and doubling him over. As he folded, she struck the back of his neck with a well-placed karate chop. Laughing Boy hit the floor.

“You’ll never get to Sea World that way!” Shadow smirked as she stood triumphantly over him. Laughing Boy had friends in the bar. One of them came over to help him to his feet. By the time he could stand erect, he was breathing normally.

Shadow knew better than to take her eyes off her foe, a fact which saved her life. Standing just a few feet away, Laughing Boy abruptly reached into his shirt, drew a derringer, aimed it at the center of Shadow’s face.

Shadow was faster. Even as Laughing Boy’s hand disappeared into his clothes, her bowie was out of its sheath. Cold steel flashed through the air as he took aim. Laughing Boy’s gun hand flew spinning from his wrist in a fountain of blood as Shadow’s razor-sharp blade sliced cleanly through flesh and bone.

Laughing Boy howled like a damned soul in torment as he clutched at the stump of his wrist. A bartender applied a makeshift tourniquet to staunch the jetting blood. Leaning on his friend, Laughing Boy staggered towards the exit.

Looking down, Shadow saw the severed hand twitching on the floor. She speared it through the palm with the point of her bowie. Brandishing it aloft, she called out after the departing Laughing Boy:

“Hey dickhole, you forgot something!”

Shadow flicked the knife with a snappy whipping motion, sending the hand sailing through the air to land at Laughing Boy’s feet. The friend picked it up, and the pair continued on their way. Shadow wiped her blade clean with a cocktail napkin as she watched them go.

Next: The Road to Westsylvania