The Assignment
"Come in, Amelia," said Jordan Bellwater, her boss and the CEO of the massive conglomerate Juicero-Quibi. He was wearing jeans, a company T-shirt, and a sportcoat and was wielding some kind of samurai sword, which he was swinging about at an invisible enemy. "Please, don't worry about interrupting my training. I'm extremely adept at multitasking." He gestured toward a seat with the sword, knocking over a small statue in the process.
Amelia sat down nervously.
"I've caught him off guard," said Jordan confidently, "while he was distracted by your entrance. A tactic you'll find in the Art of War. Have you read the Art of War?"'
"No," admitted Amelia.
"A lot of people think it's just a book about war," said Jordan, "but if you read it carefully you can extract a lot of timeless insights about strategy as applied to human nature. Especially if you read it in the original Mandarin."
"Oh," said Amelia.
"Parry!" cried Jordan suddenly, thrusting the samurai sword forward. "Parry! Parry!" he said, repeating the motion, and finally "Limit break!" as he swung the sword wildly, and then stopped, as if satisfied.
Amelia clapped.
"Thank you," said Jordan. "In any case, what I wanted to talk to you about was, you've been doing well. You've landed a lot of important presentations and big accounts. I think it might be time to consider you for a promotion - to junior vice president."
"Oh!" exclaimed Amelia. "Wow, I don't know what to say. That would be amazing."
"Well, let's not get too excited yet," said Jordan. "I've got a very important project for you, and if you pull that off, the promotion is yours."
"Oh, absolutely," said Amelia. "Ready to get started right away."
"Have you heard of a town called Sad Falls?"
Amelia gave a start. "Yes, actually, that's where I'm from."
"From a backwards town like that, huh?" said Jordan. "Well good job coming this far. Anyway, I need you to go back there and survey the town for me. We're planning a big project there. Lots of jobs. But top secret, so you'll have to keep it hush hush."
"Yes, I can do that," said Amelia eagerly. "When do you need the report by?"
"Oh," said Jordan, "let's say, by Christmas. Then you can relax for the holidays."
"Thanks so much for this opportunity," said Amelia, backing out the door with her hands clasped together gratefully.
"You're welcome," said Jordan, who thrust once again toward his invisible enemy, slipping and falling backwards. "I'm feigning weakness!" he shouted, as Amelia closed the door.
A Small-Town Welcome
As Amelia made the five hour drive to Sad Falls, her eagerness drained from her, replaced by a sense of trepidation. She hadn't been back home for years. She had nothing against the slow-paced, old-fashioned town, but she was a city girl now. She had a career. She stayed out late. She ate avocado toast. She didn't belong there anymore, with the empty quaint shops and the rustic dying industries.
She pulled into the main street of Sad Falls (Sad Main Street), passing the well-worn wooden sign that proudly proclaimed the town "The Home of the Second Largest Paul Bunyan Statue in the Contiguous U.S.!" Paul Bunyan himself loomed proudly over the shingled roofs and cozily smoking chimneys of the town.
Distracted by the familiar sights, she almost collided with a horse crossing the street. She hit the brakes and swerved abruptly, hitting the curb. She jumped out of the car as the horse's rider jumped off and came towards her.
"Just what do you -" she began.
"Now what are you -" began the rider.
They both stopped and looked at each other.
"Amelia?" said the rider.
"Tom?" she said. "Is that you?" She barely recognized him. His plaid shirt rested casually on his broad-shouldered frame, a carelessly unbuttoned button revealing little more than a naughty peek of collarbone, yet somehow clearly communicating that he had a six-pack. He had been a scrawny lad when she had left. But now? Now he was hot.
The way he looked back at her seemed to indicate he was going through a similar train of thought, but, perhaps confused by his own feelings, he covered it up by launching a tirade at her. "Now just what do you think you're doing, speeding through here in your fancy electric car, and scaring all the horses? You think just because you're back from the city, you can do whatever you want? You think you can just crash through here and we've all gotta get out of your way?"
Amelia was just preparing to launch her own indignant rant back at him when an older woman came out of the nearest gift shop.
"I heard a crash, is everyone okay?" she said. She caught Amelia's face and gasped. "Amelia! Why is that you? You look so fancy! Are you back? Have you seen your mom?"
"No, Mrs. Windsey," said Amelia. "Not yet. It's so good to see you!"
Mrs. Windsey looked at the car, tire jammed against the curb. "Is your fancy electric car okay? It's not going to explode, is it?"
Amelia smiled. "That's just a myth. These cars are actually safer than regular cars if you look at the studies."
"Well, I never trust studies," said Mrs. Windsey.
"She almost ran into my horse," said Tom.
"Well, you shouldn't have been riding it in the middle of the street," said Mrs. Windsey, pointing further down the street to a bright yellow sign with a picture of a man riding a horse. "You know the horse crossing is over there."
Tom bowed his head sheepishly. Amelia laughed.
"Well," said Amelia, "I'd best be getting home." She walked toward her car, which exploded, sending the three of them flying.
"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Tom.
"Thomas! That is the Lord's name!" cried Mrs. Windsey, from the bush where she had been thrown.
"Sorry," said Tom.
The three people, unhurt, returned to observe the now burning car.
"I'm guessing you're going to need a ride," said Tom to Amelia.
"Amelia!" cried Amelia's mother, running to the door to give her a hug. "Are you home for good?"
"No," said Amelia. She wished that she had taken some time during or before the five hour drive to tell her mom she was coming, or for how long she would be staying, but to be fair, she'd had a lot of podcasts to catch up on. "Just for a visit."
"Well, it's an early Christmas present for me," said her mom. She peeked out the door. "Tom! Did you give her a ride in?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Tom, tipping an invisible hat. "She had some car trouble."
Amelia glared at him as he smirked slightly.
"Well, how sweet," said Amelia's mom. "Won't you come in?"
"Afraid not," said Tom. "I've got to get back to work."
"Well, do stop by later," said Amelia's mom. "These cookies aren't going to eat themselves."
"Mrs. Medelia's fresh baked snickerdoodles?" said Tom with a sniff. "Well, I might just have to take you up on that." He winked, waved and leaped back onto his horse, zooming off.
"You always were sweet on each other," said Amelia's mom as she closed the door.
"Mom!" said Amelia.
"Don't think I couldn't see it." She sized up her daughter with a proud maternal gaze. "Well, don't you look fancy? Look at how smart that suit looks on you. Like a real city businesswoman. Or businessperson. Is that what they say these days? I always say the wrong thing."
"Oh, Mom," said Amelia, blushing and grasping for something to change the subject. "How's Uncle Hank?"
Mrs. Medelia's face fell. "Oh well, better some days, worse some days. You know he hasn't been the same since the war. Maybe you should go up and say hello, at least."
"I'll do that," said Amelia, bounding up the stairs. She dropped her luggage off in her old bedroom and then peeked in the door of the spare bedroom. "Hello?" she said. "Uncle Hank?" In the window, an old man with stooped shoulders sat silhouetted against the late afternoon sky, staring at the birds in the yard and/or the giant Paul Bunyan statue visible from the window. He didn't move.
She came and sat in the chair next to him. "Uncle Hank? It's Amelia."
He blinked a bit and the corners of his mouth moved up slightly. "Amelia," he mumbled, before his eyes glazed over again, staring out the window, or at nothing.
"I'm back for a while," she said, "just a couple weeks. It's so good to see you and mom again."
Uncle Hank's mouth twitched again in a friendly fashion, but he said nothing.
"Well, I'll be here," she said cheerfully, getting up. "See you around!"
Back downstairs, she told her mom, "I think he's worse than last time."
Her mom shook her head with a sigh. "It's the war, you know. They're never the same."
"Do you need help with dinner?"
"Actually, I've got it all ready to go," said Mrs. Medelia brightly. "It's just keeping warm in the oven until we're ready to eat. But before that, I do have to hop over to the gift shop and drop off some donations for Clara's charity drive. Clothes for Foes, I think it's called. We donate our old clothes to poor people in countries that we've defeated in wars. Some people say it makes up for it in some small way. I don't know about any of that but I have so many clothes I'm not using, and anyone who wants them is welcome to it!"
"I'm sure it's the thought that counts," said Amelia, lying.
"Why don't you help me bring them over?" said Mrs. Medelia. "It's a nice afternoon for a walk and your legs must be all cramped up after that long drive."
"Sure," said Amelia, picking up two of the bags Mrs. Medelia was pointing to. Mrs. Medelia picked up another two bags and they headed down the street. "Are we going to Clara's shop?"
"That's right," said Mrs. Medelia. "You remember the way?"
"Of course," said Amelia. "I've only been gone five years."
"It feels longer sometimes," said Mrs. Medelia with a cheerful sigh. "With your dad gone, and Uncle Hank being the way he is, it gets really lonely in the old house, I tell you."
"Oh, Mom," said Amelia. "You should move to the city. There's a lot going on. They have senior centers and everything."
"I'm sure they do," said Mrs. Medelia. "But I just can't imagine living anywhere else."
Soon, they were at their destination, Knick Knacks and Thingamabobs, a quaint half-timbered, charmingly shingled gift shop right on Sad Main Street.
A stoutly built old woman in two layers of Christmas sweaters and her hair in a bun sat behind the counter but leapt to her feet as the Medelias entered, not gaining a lot of height by doing so. "Why, is that Amelia?"
"It is, it is!" said Mrs. Medelia, grandly gesturing toward her daughter.
"Well look at you! I hardly recognized you, you're so glamorous. You must be quite the big Hollywood star now."
"Oh, Clara," said Mrs. Medelia, "she's a businesswoman, I keep telling you. She's doing big business!"
"I always get the two mixed up," admitted Clara.
"How is the shop going?" asked Amelia.
"Honey," said Clara, fixing Amelia dead in the eye, "I haven't sold an item in ten years."
Amelia looked around at dusty mugs, figurines of cherubs peeing, bookends, knitted telephone receiver covers, and all kinds of bookmarks, postcards, and snow globes stamped with the message "Sad Falls: Home of the Second Largest Paul Bunyan Statue In The Contiguous U.S." Amelia always thought the snow globes should have a replica of the aforementioned Paul Bunyan statue in them, but instead they had knockoff renditions of Garfield and Snoopy for some reason.
"I know, I know," said Clara. "All the young people ask me why I don't sell something else, something that people these days want to buy. Well, I didn't get into this business to sell things people wanted to buy. I got into this business to sell kitsch, and I'll die doing it if I have to."
"Of course," said Amelia reassuringly.
"Oh," said Mrs. Medelia, interrupting. "We've brought you the clothes. For the charity. Clothes for Foes?"
Clara waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, no. Turned out they were no good. Skimming money off the top. I've found a much better charity, Outfits for Orphans. They give clothes to orphans. They don't actually have to be orphans, many of the children still have one parent, or even two. They're just very poor. They're actually thinking about changing the name."
"Oh. Well... here you go!" said Mrs. Medelia, dropping the bags beside the counter. Amelia followed suit.
"Thank you so much," said Clara. "Now Ceclia, I've actually been meaning to ask you about what's going on at the gardening club..."
"Oh of course," said Mrs. Medelia. "I have so much to catch you up on." She turned to Amelia. "But you don't want to stand around listening to some old ladies talking. Why don't you head over to the cafe next door and grab yourself a cocoa. I'll meet you over there."
"She always did love her cocoa," said Clara.
"All right, mom," said Amelia. "See you in a bit. It was great to see you, Clara!" They exchanged warm goodbyes and she headed to the cafe next door.
"Hi, what can I get for you?" said the girl at the counter cheerfully.
"I'll have a grande skinny oat milk pumpkin spice latte," said Amelia.
"Uh..." said the girl at the counter.
"It's okay if you don't have oat milk," said Amelia. "Almond milk is fine."
"Uh..." the girl said.
"This isn't the big city," said a voice behind Amelia. She turned around to see a severe middle-aged woman in a festive red cardigan rising up from her seat. "We're just a simple small town. We don't have your fancy 'soy' and 'vegan' drinks here."
"Mrs. Dufresne," said Amelia evenly.
"I can get you a coffee?" said the girl behind the counter nervously.
"Don't back down, Josephine," said Mrs. Dufresne, walking slowly and steadily toward Amelia. "You need to stand up to these big city folk."
"Big city folk?" said Amelia in disbelief. "I'm from here. I grew up three doors down from you."
"You've always been a big city girl," said Mrs. Dufresne, walking deliberately and disapprovingly around Amelia, never taking her eyes off her. "I could smell it on you, ever since you were a child. You couldn't wait to get out of our small town. You always thought you were too good for us."
"That's not true!" protested Amelia.
"Do you know what your boss, Jordan Bellwater, has been doing to this town?" continued Mrs. Dufresne, and now Amelia could sense the attention of everyone in the cafe turning to them. "He's bought and shut down the factory, he's driven all our stores out of business, and lured away all our young people to go help him do it to more towns."
Amelia felt the uncomfortable stares of every set of eyes in the cafe, and... she gave a start as she spotted Tom, leaning on a wall in the back of the cafe.
"You leave this town to go work for a man who is tearing this town apart piece by piece like a cold-blooded cat tearing the wings off a bird just to see what will happen, and you come back to rub it in our faces by ordering a made-up French drink."
"It's Italian, and it's real!" insisted Amelia, heat rising in her face.
A slow, cruel smile spread across Mrs. Dufresne's face and in a flash, before anyone knew what happened, Amelia went flying through the air, landing face down on the ground with a thud with Mrs. Dufresne foot on her back and the point of a sword in the back of her neck.
"It's not a real drink," said Mrs. Dufresne savagely. "Say it! It's a made up drink to make small town folk feel like a bunch of bumpkins so you can laugh at us. Say it! Say it's not a real drink!"
"M- Mom," began Josephine.
"Stay out of this, Josephine," said Mrs. Dufresne. To Amelia, she repeated, "Say it!"
"No," muttered Amelia through gritted teeth.
"I don't think you understand," said Mrs. Dufresne. "I won't hesitate to run you straight through. The police chief is a personal friend of mine."
"He's your husband," pointed out one of the customers.
"And my best friend," said Mrs. Dufresne.
"I won't say it!" said Amelia, as Mrs. Dufresne pressed the point of the sword into her neck, drawing the slightest trickle of blood.
With a jingling of bells, the front door opened, and there stood Amelia's mom and the diminutive figure of Clara the gift shop owner.
"Elizabeth!" cried Clara disapprovingly, pushing forward past the shocked Mrs. Medelia. "This is not our small town spirit!"
"I am the duly elected head of the Neighborhood Preservation Association," said Mrs. Dufresne defiantly, not taking her eyes off of Amelia, "and I am acting in the course of my duties in defense of our neighborhood character."
"Look at yourself, Elizabeth!" said Clara. "Is this quaint? Is this charming?"
With an expression of disgust, Mrs. Dufresne sheathed her sword. "Never thought I would see you defend a big city traitor, Clara. You do understand what she's done? Who she works for?"
"Certainly, certainly," said Clara soothingly, "but Amelia's personal sins are hers to bear. It's not the duty of small town neighborliness to judge the hearts of man. Or at least, in my opinion, it shouldn't be."
"My sins?" said Amelia.
"Shh," said Mrs. Medelia quietly.
"Hmph," said Mrs. Dufresne. "This isn't over. Josephine, we're going."
"I still have to finish my shift," said Josephine.
"Well, I'm going," said Mrs. Dufresne, and left.
"Do you still want that coffee?" asked Josephine after an awkward silence.
"No thanks, I think I'm awake enough," said Amelia shakily, rising to her feet with help from Clara and Mrs. Medelia.
Amelia walked home silently with her mother, burning with rage and humiliation. When they got to the house, she saw Tom waiting. How he had gotten there without passing them on the way was unclear.
"I'll head inside," said Mrs. Medelia tactfully.
When the door had closed, Amelia strode angrily up to Tom. "You just watched that whole thing and didn't say anything."
"I can't say I agree with her methods," said Tom, "but she had a point."
"Really!" said Amelia. "You've never heard of a pumpkin spice latte?"
"Not that," said Tom. "Also it's not technically Italian. Starbucks drink names are bastardized versions of Italian words."
"Fine! I knew that!" said Amelia. "What do you think she had a point about, then?"
"Well," said Tom, looking idly at a tree or something, "are you really back in town just to visit?"
Amelia blushed furiously.
"Didn't think so."
"I'm not supposed to talk about it," said Amelia, "but since you're being so insufferable, I'm doing a survey for a new big project. It's for the good of the town!"
Tom scoffed. "When has Jordan Bellwater done anything for the good of the town?"
"It's not his fault or my fault that you want to stick around and be a horse repairman for the rest of your life! You could get out of here too and do something better!"
"Really?" said Tom. "And leave behind my grandma, and my uncle, and Clara, and Mrs. Windsey, and everyone else here?"
"They don't need you."
"Is that what you told yourself?"
Amelia slapped Tom a good one across the cheek.
Tom held his hand to his face, regarding Amelia steadily. "All right," he said, "I can take a hint." He turned and walked away toward his horse.
Amelia wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out, and she just stood watching as he hopped on his horse and zoomed off.
Amelia entered the house, tears streaming down her face.
"Did Tom say something or is this about Mrs. Dufresne?"
"It's... everything!" cried Amelia. "Do you think they're right? Am I evil?"
"Well," said Mrs. Medelia thoughtfully, "the thing you have to understand that complicates things is that, well, I don't like to judge, but I'm pretty sure that Mrs. Dufresne is evil."
"Yeah, I'm picking up some hints," said Amelia, wiping her eyes.
"I mean, I agree with everyone that we're losing what makes our town our town, but I think she might be going a little too far in defending it, and if our town becomes something else because we're trying too hard to keep our town our town, then our town won't be our town anymore. If you know what I mean?"
"Maybe?" said Amelia.
"Your dad would have put it so much better," sighed Mrs. Medelia.
"But do you think I was wrong to go work at Juicero-Quibi?"
"Well," said Mrs. Medelia slowly, "I don't think they're a very nice company. But I think we all have to do what we have to do, don't we? I think I saw a comic about it..."
"But what do you think, Mom?"
"I think you're my wonderful little girl," said Mrs. Medelia, "and there will always be a place for you in this house, as long as I can keep it."
"Oh, Mom!" cried Amelia, throwing her arms around her mother.
After a long while, Mrs. Medelia said, "Now let me show you that comic, Amelia. I think someone sent it to me on the internet. It was so funny. There's a man popping out of the ground saying 'I am very smart.'"
An Afternoon Ride
The next day, Amelia set out the door with her backpack of survey equipment and was surprised to see Tom waiting there, with two horses, and a big grin.
"Hello, Tom," she said cautiously.
"I wanted to apologize," he said.
"Really," said Amelia suspiciously.
"Really," said Tom. "If I'm being honest, it's not like I haven't thought about getting out of here hundreds of times. A couple of days I even packed up everything and just changed my mind and unpacked it. We're not really as different as I let on."
"Huh," said Amelia.
"Maybe I wasn't mad at you. Maybe I was mad at myself for thinking about it."
"If you're mad at yourself for thinking about it, doesn't that mean that you would also be even more mad at me for doing it?"
"The human mind is a mystery," said Tom. "Anyway, Clara's right. There's two kinds of small town neighborliness, the kind that makes it your business to judge the hearts of men, and the kind that figures it's not my business to judge the hearts of men. And if I think about it, the second kind of small town is the kind that's kept me sticking around when I could have left."
"Well," said Amelia, "I'm sorry for slapping you."
"Didn't even hurt," said Tom through the giant red handprint on his face. "So you've got a survey to do, and your car's a wreck. Thought you might need a horse," he said, thumbing toward the two horses behind him.
"And an escort?" grinned Amelia.
"It's a slow day," said Tom grinning back. "I figured I'd tag along, keep you out of trouble."
"If you can keep up," said Amelia, heading toward the horse.
"Oh, it's on, then," said Tom.
They both hopped onto their horses, whose legs slowly folded up, hooves pointing backwards, hovering steadily, until a jet of blue flame shot out from the hooves and they rocketed off into the distance.
"Haven't forgotten how to ride, huh?" said Tom, pulling up beside Amelia.
"Did you expect me to?" said Amelia. "I'm hurt."
"Where are we headed?"
"The old factory," said Amelia. "Last one there buys coffee. Regular coffee."
"See you there," shouted Tom, and flicked on his horse's afterburners, screaming away.
"I'll see YOU th- I, ok, whatever," said Amelia, pulling down her goggles and firing off at top speed after him.
A few miles into the ride, Amelia looked ahead and saw Tom do the really cool Akira bike slide on his horse so she hit the brakes as well and flipped forward off the horse, landing in a three point stance. She saw Tom and an old man looking at her strangely.
"Oh," she said. "You stopped because there was a guy in front of... oh. I thought we were doing a thing."
"You looked really cool," said Tom admiringly.
"Cool, schmool," said the old man dismissively. "Is that why you young people were careening through here with your burners all the way up? Do you think fuel grows on trees? Well, it doesn't. Oh it used to, around here." He got a sudden gleam in his eye.
"Oh no," said Tom.
"Buckle in, youngsters," said the old man. "I'm going to tell you all about the economic history of this region."
Amelia and Tom sighed and listened to the old man tell them what they already knew about how Sad Falls had once been part of a bustling industrial region proudly producing mecha for the war effort. How the discovery of biomass fusion enabled infinitely efficient fuel production from the local trees to power the mecha, and after the war, consumer transportation like horses. How all the trees had been cut down by big city megacorps and shipped to their central power plants, and all the local factories shut down. Amelia and Tom already knew all that, but he told them anyway, and they had to be polite about it.
"They don't teach you this in schools anymore," said the old man.
"They do, though," said Amelia. Tom elbowed her discreetly.
"Eh?"
"Thank you so much," said Amelia, louder. "They really should teach this in schools."
"They should, that's what I keep saying!" said the old man.
"We have to get going," said Tom, jumping on his horse again.
"Wait," said the old man. "Don't you want to know about the causes of the war?"
"Coffee's on you!" cried Amelia, zooming past Tom.
"Dammit," said Tom, taking off after her.
"On me?" said the old man, scratching his head as he watched them go.
The old horse factory was high up on a hill, with a beautiful view of Sad Falls and environs. Amelia made her way gingerly through the ruins of the factory to the roof, and deployed her survey equipment.
"How long will this take?" asked Tom, following after her.
"Maybe half an hour," said Amelia. "It's pretty automatic, I just have to wait."
"Is it okay to leave it?" asked Tom. "I want to show you something."
"Sure," said Amelia.
She followed him down into the factory, to the ground floor. They navigated past some pillars and rubble to an opening where light shone down from a hole in the roof on a giant broken mecha head.
"Wow," she said. "Is that a GXR-7?"
"That's right," said Tom. "They converted it over to make horses after the war but they still kept a few parts around, out of pride I guess. My grandpa was a pilot, you know."
"I didn't know that," said Amelia. "So was Uncle Hank. He didn't come back from the war right, though."
"My grandpa didn't come back at all," said Tom.
"I'm so sorry," said Amelia.
"Well, it was a long time ago," said Tom. "Still, I think we can agree that war is bad."
"Definitely," said Amelia. "But the mechs were pretty cool. I feel a little conflicted about that."
"There's no reason to be," said Tom. "Mechs have a lot of peacetime uses. Construction, mining, emergency and rescue services. Unfortunately they were all shut down and dismantled after the war."
"That's kind of weird if you think about it," said Amelia. "They could have just removed the weapons."
"Well, who knows why they do anything," said Tom.
They both stood there, the light filtering through the broken roof onto the ruin of the giant mech head, a monument to better times filled with technology and optimism, looking benevolently at them through its now empty eye sockets. "Kiss Me" from Sixpence None The Richer began to play in the background.
"Look," said Tom, "I wasn't totally honest earlier. I said I got mad at you because I was mad at myself for thinking about leaving. The truth is, I was mad at you for leaving."
"You care about the town that much, huh?"
"Not for leaving the town," said Tom, looking bashful all of a sudden. "For leaving me."
"Tom, I -" began Amelia. Their eyes met. "I'm starting to think I shouldn't have left."
"Kiss Me" from Sixpence None The Richer began to play louder. Suddenly it was interrupted by a loud beeping sound from above.
"Oh!' said Amelia. "The survey's complete!"
"Right," said Tom. "You should probably go collect your equipment before the birds get it."
"Yes, the birds," said Amelia. They rushed back up to the roof. Tom tackled a raven that was flying off with one of the devices, and Amelia collected the rest.
The next day, Amelia woke up to a buzzing phone. "Hello? Oh!" She sat up straight. "Mr. Bellwater! Yes! Oh certainly! Of course!"
Mrs. Medelia poked her head in and tilted her head curiously at Amelia, but remained silent until the phone call was over. "Was that your boss?"
"Yes!' said Amelia. "He said the survey data was great. He's coming over personally for a town meeting tonight to announce the project."
"How exciting!" said Mrs. Medelia. "We'll finally find out what the fuss is all about."
The Darkest Night
That evening, the whole town was at the town meeting.
Mrs. Dufresne took the podium. "Hello, everyone. As you all know, Mr. Jordan Bellwater, the CEO of Juicero-Quibi, has come all this way to say something to us, so I think we should hear him out." She bowed stiffly toward Jordan Bellwater, who strode briskly up to the podium and took the microphone from her.
"Hey there, folks," he said. Everyone stared at him silently. "Now, I know that you're probably suspicious of me, as an outsider, and my company probably doesn't have the best reputation in these parts, am I right? But the past is the past. Today I'm here to do you a solid.
"As we all know," he continued, "the coming apocalypse is nigh. Water levels will rise. Ash will blot out the sky. Rivers will turn to blood. We all know the prophecy. We all see the signs."
Everyone nodded.
"A lot of people look at this and they say, let's make the most of this. Let's live our lives to the fullest in the time we have left, cherish the time with our loved ones, smell the roses, savor every moment, before the inevitable end. But not me! I'm going to ride it out underground in an impenetrable bunker, and so is everyone else who is brave and determined enough not to give up, and in possession of billions of dollars of wealth.
"Now you're probably asking yourselves how you come in. Do we have room for you in the bunkers? No. But we have the next best thing. Jobs. You will live out the rest of your days until doomsday in well-paying steady jobs servicing these bunkers with food, laundry, and other non-automatable needs. Sad Falls turns out to be an excellent site for our first bunker cluster and we plan to begin construction immediately. Everyone in this town will have a job for the rest of the existence of surface life on Earth."
He paused and looked around. "I'm a little disappointed. I'm not hearing any applause."
"We don't want it," said an old man. Amelia looked closer. It was the old man who had stopped them on the way to the factory with a long rambling story. Other townspeople joined in with murmuring agreement.
"I don't know if you all understand the position you're in," said Jordan Bellwater. "You're all mortgaged to the hilt. None of you own your own houses, stores, or restaurants. One word from me and you'd all be out on the street."
"You don't own my shop," said Mrs. Windsey. "I took my loan out from the Neighborhood Preservation Society." Murmurs of agreement rose up again.
Jordan Bellwater smiled. "Mrs. Dufresne has kindly signed over all the loans from the Neighborhood Preservation to Juicero-Quibi. Do you understand? Your town belongs to me."
Everyone stared in shock, eyes turning toward Mrs. Dufresne, who smiled serenely at them.
"You bitch!" cried Clara, lunging at Mrs. Dufresne. Mrs. Windsey and Mrs. Medelia had to hold her back. "What did he promise you?"
"He promised you a spot in the bunker, didn't he?" said Tom.
Mrs. Dufresne rose languidly and walked to the podium. "What does it matter?" she said. "In the bunker or out, you old biddies won't last ten more years. You heard Mr. Bellwater, all you have to concern yourself with is your quality of life in the last few years you have left. Why not take the money? Fix some of those leaky roofs. Repave that crusty old Sad Main Street. Put a fresh coat of paint on that decrepit Paul Bunyan statue. Live your last days in a nice charming town, not a crumbling ruin."
"What happened to you, Elizabeth?" whispered Mrs. Medelia. "I thought you loved our neighborhood."
"I loved what it could be!" snapped Mrs. Dufresne. "It hasn't been what it ought to be for thirty years! Open your eyes! This town is falling apart! No one has a real job! Horse repair isn't a real job!" she said, glaring at Tom, who glared back. "It's a moldy old museum filled with crumbling relics, disgusting houses with paint peeling everywhere, and dust-covered gift shops filled with garbage nobody wants. I did what I could to get the money to make it nice again, to make it charming again. I tried everything and looked everywhere and the only choice in the end was to make a deal with the devil, so I've done it."
"That's a little hurtful," said Jordan Bellwater, "but I agree, it's the only choice any of you have. Why fight it? Why not take your chance to have a beautiful town for your final days?"
"By servicing you?" hissed Clara.
Jordan looked at Clara. "I'm not comfortable with the term 'servicing' here, let's go with 'serving'."
"We're not doing either of those things," said Tom.
Jordan addressed the rest of the room. "Why don't the rest of you take your time and think about it."
"We don't need to," called out the old man.
"Call a vote right now," said Tom.
"I refuse," said Mrs. Dufresne, turning her head haughtily.
"Then I will," said Clara, her voice ringing out loud and clear. "All in favor of Mr. Bellwater's proposal?"
Silence.
"All in favor of telling him to go to hell?"
All hands were raised unanimously, with the exception of Jordan Bellwater and Mrs. Dufresne.
"Josephine?" gasped Mrs. Dufresne.
"Sorry," said Josephine timidly, but did not put her hand down.
He looked around the room and chuckled in amusement. "That's so cute. You think you get a vote. As I told you, I own your town. Get out of my houses immediately. We're tearing it all down tomorrow."
Everyone gasped.
"B-but, that's Christmas Day," said Mrs. Windsey. "Even better," sneered Jordan. He left the stage and paused as he reached the door, not turning around. "Amelia, I heard you wrecked your car. I suppose you'll need a ride back to the city?"
"I'm not going," she said.
"Not going?" He turned to look at her.
"I'm going to stick with my people," said Amelia.
Jordan laughed riotously. "Oh, your people? This is rich." He looked back at the gathered townspeople. "How many of you know that you have Amelia to blame for becoming our bunker site? Her wonderful survey results led specifically to this site being chosen. Well, I'm sure you'll all have fun working it out."
He stepped off the podium and walked off into the night. An electric jet roared to life with a hum and then faded into the distance.
Everyone was staring at Amelia.
"I'm so sorry!" she said, bursting into tears, and ran off.
She found herself in the tiny quaint church on Sad Main Street, looking up at the stained glass windows of saints. "I know I haven't always been a good person," she said, through tears, and then saw an old man in clerical clothes coming towards her.
"Oh, Pastor Jeffries, I..."
"Hey, you can't be in here," he said. "You're the one that sold out the whole town."
"I thought God is supposed to forgive all sins."
"Sure, sure, but God just... needs some time. To process this."
"I don't think that's how God works."
"Which one of us is the pastor here?"
"You don't have to be here," said Amelia. "I could just talk to God, or even just talk vaguely in the direction of the universe, or my own thoughts, and you could be in your office processing things."
"You have a lot of nerve to talk to me like that in my own church building," said Pastor Jeffries.
"Well it isn't yours anymore," snapped Amelia, and then immediately felt so bad after seeing Pastor Jeffries' face that she took herself out of the building.
Tom was waiting for her outside the building with a couple of horses.
They sped out into the night and stopped on a nice small hill, with the silhouette of the factory high up to one side and the low-lying town buildings surrounding the Paul Bunyan statue on the other side.
"Everyone hates me," said Amelia.
"Boy do they," said Tom.
"Thanks, that really helps," said Amelia.
"You're the only one that can do anything about it," said Tom.
"And how would I do that?"
"Make it up to them. Prove that you're not the person you think they are. Prove it with your actions."
Amelia thought about it for a long time, staring at the moon, and the town, and the factory. "I've got it," she said. "I've got to kill Jordan Bellwater."
"Um," said Tom. "Maybe it doesn't need to come to -"
"Tom," said Amelia, looking deep into his eyes. "I need to know you've got my back."
Tom sighed. "If it comes to it, I'll be right behind you. Let's just try to exhaust all our options first."
Amelia and Tom arrived at Amelia's house to find Mrs. Medelia crying on the porch with Mrs. Dufresne standing beside her, smiling triumphantly.
"You're kicking her out of the house tonight?" asked Amelia in disbelief after her sobbing mother had filled her in on the situation.
"It's not her house," said Mrs. Dufresne calmly.
"And what about Uncle Hank?"
"She can wheel him out too," said Mrs. Dufresne.
"That's enough," said Amelia, and something in her voice startled everyone. "Mom, go back in the house. You're not going anywhere. Tom, keep an eye on her."
Mrs. Dufresne smiled. "Well who died and made you the boss around here?"
"You," said Amelia. "Will. You're about to. You - dammit."
Mrs. Dufresne drew her sword.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Tom.
"More sure than I've ever been," said Amelia.
Tom put an arm over Mrs. Medelia's shoulder and guided her into the house. Mrs. Medelia stopped him briefly, and turned to Amelia. "You'll need this." She drew a sword and tossed it toward Amelia.
"Dad's sword?"
"He'd be so proud," said Mrs. Medelia, and she disappeared into the house with Tom.
"Let's get this over with," said Mrs. Dufresne, lunging at Amelia, who jumped up into the nearest tree. She dove off the branch, slashing at Mrs. Dufresne, who sidestepped and parried.
As they exchanged blows, Mrs. Dufresne's confidence began to falter. "You... weren't showing your true strength in the cafe," she said.
"What you don't realize," said Amelia. "is I hadn't had my coffee yet." She held up an empty can of frappuccino. "I packed some." She threw the can aside and charged, throwing Mrs. Dufresne into a hedge.
Mrs. Dufresne emerged from the hedge, disheveled and furious. "Enough playing around. This ends now."
"Sure," retorted Amelia. They rushed at each other and time seemed to stop as the two foes crossed in the middle of the yard, in front of the old tire swing, with no sound but the sounds of their blades slashing through the air.
"We both missed," said Mrs. Dufresne slyly, turning around.
"No," said Amelia, pointing to the tire swing, which fell off its rope and thudded to the ground. "You hit that."
The top half of Mrs. Dufresne slid off of the bottom half of Mrs. Dufresne. "And I did that."
Amelia waited to see if the top half of Mrs. Dufresne was going to say anything interesting but she just looked surprised. Amelia shrugged and went in.
"Everything's all right now, Mom. Tom."
"I'm so proud of you," said Mrs. Medelia.
"Are you sure she's dead?" asked Tom. "You should always check."
"Yes," said Amelia. "She's halved."
"Oh, that should be fine then."
A corny ringtone sounded from outside.
"I think that's her phone," said Mrs. Medelia.
Amelia ran outside and picked it up. "It's Mr. Bellwater."
"Oh! I wonder what he has to say," said Mrs. Medelia.
"Hello?" said Amelia, answering the phone.
"Look, Eliz- Amelia? Is that Amelia?"
"Mrs. Dufresne is dead," said Amelia.
"Shit," said Jordan Bellwater. "All right, listen up you little freak. You don't know how much trouble you and your shitty little town are in. When I come back tomorrow there's going to be nothing left of that town. Not a single brick left standing."
"Come then, if you think you can take me," said Amelia. "My father's sword has tasted blood for the first time in thirty years and it thirsts for more."
"That's a bit much," whispered Tom.
"Are you kidding? I'm not going to dirty my hands with peasant blood," said Jordan Bellwater. "I'm bringing a mech. That's right. You didn't know we had them, did you?"
"A mech?" whispered Amelia.
"You thought they got rid of them? You thought they were banned? For you. For people like you. Not for us. Enough talk. I'm going to personally mow down your town tomorrow while you watch." He hung up.
"So, what did he say?" asked Mrs. Medelia, smiling.
The midnight town hall meeting was even more tense than the earlier one. Amelia caught everyone up on the situation and the room burst out into worried murmurings.
"Should we run? Where will we go?" said Mrs. Windsey.
"Nonsense," said Clara. "We'll stay and fight."
"Fight how?" said Pastor Jeffries in despair. "Also, I'm sorry I said your sins were unforgivable, Amelia."
"It's all right," said Amelia. "I have paid them back in blood."
"I think we can tone it down a little," said Tom.
"Pastor Jeffries is right, though," said Mrs. Windsey. "How can we fight a mech?"
"With another mech," said a strong clear voice from the back of the room. Everyone turned in shock to see Uncle Hank, his eyes clear and bright, speaking from his wheelchair.
"Hank?" said Mrs. Medelia.
"We can fight back with our own mech," said Uncle Hank, moving to stand up and collapsing back into his chair again. "A little too much," he muttered. "Worth a try."
"Is he having an episode?" Mrs. Windsey whispered.
Uncle Hank pointed out the window and all eyes turned toward the giant Paul Bunyan statue.
"Er, Uncle Hank, that's..." began Amelia.
"We kept one," he said. "When they took away all the mechs after the war, we kept one. We disguised it as a giant Paul Bunyan statue. That's a GXR-7 in there, forged and assembled right here in Sad Falls."
He looked around and sighed. "I'm not having an episode. Look, I can prove it. Does anyone have a sandblaster?"
Moments later, they were all standing at the base of the statue, looking at part of a gleaming metallic foot exposed beneath brown paint.
"I am so sorry I insinuated that you were having an episode," said Mrs. Windsey.
"Does it still work?" asked Tom.
"These things are built to last forever," said Uncle Hank, giving the foot a hearty slap. A crack came from above and Paul Bunyan's nose fell off, narrowly missing Pastor Jeffries.
"That's okay," said Uncle Hank. "That was part of the fiberglass facade."
"And even if it works," said Amelia, "who's going to pilot it?" She looked at Uncle Hank.
Uncle Hank shook his head. "My brain's back but my legs still don't work. Amelia, I believe that you've got what it takes."
"What?" said Amelia. "I've never piloted a mech in my life."
"It's not about what's in here," said Uncle Hank, tapping his head. "Piloting a mech isn't about knowing what buttons to push or what levers to pull. It's about what's in here." He tapped Amelia's sternum. "It's all about the strength in your heart."
"That doesn't sound right," said Pastor Jeffries.
"I think you do have to know something about the buttons," said Mrs. Medelia.
"Hey," said Tom's voice from high up above, as he poked his head out of the cockpit. "It's basically the same control scheme as a horse."
"Oh," said Amelia. "Oh good, that's fine then."
"All right, everybody," said Uncle Hank. "Let's get this bird spruced up before that Bellwater fella comes back. We've got a lot of work to do, chop chop!"
Vengeance of the Damned
The townspeople worked all through the night, and when Christmas morning dawned, the Paul Bunyan statue was gone. In its place was nothing. The mech was somewhere else.
"Now I wonder when that Jordan Bellwater fellow is going to get here," said Clara.
THUD. The ground rumbled as if in answer. The earth shook harder and harder as the massive mech approached and as the townspeople glimpsed it through the dust, their resolve began to waver. It was at least twice as big as their mech. Would the strength of Amelia's heart be enough to overcome that difference? Probably not. But it was too late to run.
They waited in silence as the looming behemoth came closer and closer, giving them time to take in all of its detail as it passed out of the haze. It boasted a slick red and black paint scheme, its joints and weapons gleaming chrome. A skull pattern was painted over the head. It came closer and closer, and just at the start of Sad Main Street, it stopped.
"You have one last chance," Jordan Bellwater's voice boomed from above. "Bow down and surrender and live out your days in peace."
Clara, Mrs. Windsey, Mrs. Medelia, Tom, Uncle Hank, Pastor Jeffries, and all the other townspeople stood silently.
"I was hoping you would refuse," said Jordan. "Legal told me I had to give you a chance. Anyway, I'm going to enjoy thi-"
He was interrupted by a large flying object hitting him from the side at supersonic speed. The townspeople cheered, and then got out of the way.
"WELCOME TO SAD FALLS," screamed Amelia as the impact bowled over Jordan Bellwater's mech.
Jordan snarled and threw a lever, bringing the mech back up to his feet. It threw a punch at Amelia, who dodged.
"You think that crusty old GXR-7 has a chance?" said Jordan. "Meet the Z10-Ultima." He opened up the mech's chest and fired off a bank of missiles that Amelia flipped and dodged through like laser beams during a heist.
"I'm worried," said Uncle Hank in Amelia's ear. "We may not be able to match him in firepower."
"Let's find out," said Amelia, firing a rocket directly at the Z10-Ultima's face. It detonated with a fiery explosion, whose smoke cleared away to reveal no damage.
Jordan laughed. "My turn!" He fired a broad-beam laser straight out of the mech's eyes that narrowly missed Amelia as she dove to the ground, away from the direction of the town. It left a massive blazing path of flames through the meadows.
"We might need a backup plan," said Amelia.
"Uh," said Uncle Hank. "Uh... one moment."
Amelia continued to dodge splendidly and tried each of her weapons, but none of them had any effect, bouncing harmlessly off of the enormous mech's shining armor.
"It's hopeless," sneered Jordan. "You can't even make a dent."
Amelia fired from every angle, hoping to find a weak spot, but the armor seemed to be impenetrable. She rammed its leg, hoping to knock it off balance, but it stood unmoving and reached down to flick her away with a finger.
Amelia went flying into a bank of bushes.
"Now do you understand the power you're dealing with?" laughed Jordan.
Amelia gritted her teeth. Without being able to stealthily build up to full speed when he wasn't looking, there was nothing she could even do to budge the behemoth.
"All right, all right, change in plans," said Uncle Hank suddenly. "Lure him up to the old factory."
"You got it," said Amelia, and fired her jets, making a dash for the factory.
"Running away, huh?" said Jordan. He fired his boosters and launched into the air, chasing after her. He launched a guided missile after her as she went.
"He's got a lock on you!" Uncle Hank warned Amelia.
"Dammit," said Amelia, dodging every which way as the missile followed her. She spotted a large, picturesque rocky hill and headed for it, diving behind it at the last second as the missile hit the hill and blew it to smithereens.
"THAT WAS GOING TO BE THE SITE OF MY PERSONAL BUNKER!" roared Jordan, now landing and thundering after her.
The factory was in sight now and she raced for it, the massive footsteps close behind. "All right, Uncle Hank," she said. "If you have a surprise, you better pull it out now."
Suddenly, four lithe silvery shapes burst out of the factory, weaving sinuous routes as they headed for Amelia. She realized as they got closer that they were four industrial sized horse mechs.
"We're coming, Amelia," said a voice in her ear.
"Tom?" gasped Amelia. As she heard his comforting, familiar voice, she could picture him in her head.
"I'm here too, dear," said a kindly elderly voice, and Amelia suddenly pictured Clara's face in her head, right next to Tom's face.
"Thanks to recent regulations, these are a lot more accessible to disabled users than the old mechs," said Uncle Hank, and his face appeared in Amelia's mind, along with the other two.
"We haven't really gone into it but I've been on a long personal journey," said Josephine's voice. "In short, I'm still processing the death of my mother and the fact that she betrayed the whole town, as well as my mixed feelings about you being the one to kill her, but in the middle of my trauma I am also finding myself and my purpose. You'll have to fill in the rest of the blanks."
"Thank you, Josephine," said Amelia. Now she pictured all four of their faces in her head, and she separated them into four panels to keep things clear.
"You may not be able to beat him by yourself," began Tom.
"But we can do it together!" said all four of them at once.
"Get ready to get smoked!" screamed Jordan, sliding into view and firing another bank of missiles at Amelia. She flipped deftly between them and soared high into the air followed by the four horses, and with a spin, each of them clapped on to one of the limbs of Amelia's mech, gears and latches whirring and rotating until they had come together to form an even larger mech, almost as large as the Z10-Ultima.
The combined mech dove down at full speed and landed a punch right to the chest of the Z10-Ultima.
"What the-" began Jordan. He tried to launch another bank of missiles but the hatch was jammed.
The five pilots cheered.
"Now we're doing some damage, Amelia!" cried Uncle Hank.
"No more Mr. Nice Guy!" shouted Jordan, and smacked the combined mech so hard it went flying across the countryside. They hit the ground and continued to skid for a quarter mile, leaving a deep ditch in the earth behind them.
"Is everyone all right?" said Amelia, now imagining her own face for some reason, in the center of all four of the other faces.
"We're all right," they all answered.
"I really should check my blood pressure," said Clara.
Amelia looked around the cockpit. Lights were flashing that shouldn't have been flashing.
"Structural integrity is at 50%," said Tom. "We can't take another hit."
"We've got to finish this quickly," said Clara.
"Projectiles won't work," said Josephine. "It's got kinetic shielding that disperses any projectile attack."
"We'll have to get up close with a physical attack," said Amelia. "We'll only have one chance. We need something that will pierce right through the armor."
"What about the axe?" asked Uncle Hank.
"The what?"
"Oh I am so sorry," said Clara. "Was that axe part of the mech? I thought it was part of the disguise."
"Where is it??" cried Amelia.
"Back where the statue was."
"Full speed!" cried Amelia. All their jets fired as they raced back toward the town, the Z10-Ultima thundering after them. They hit the ground in a really cool three-point stance and Amelia spotted the gleam of the axe lying just beside the town hall.
"Stay down!" screamed Jordan, landing on top of them and pinning them to the ground.
"Dammit!" cried Amelia, looking helplessly toward the axe.
"I got you, babe," said Tom, detaching his horse arm and rocketing toward the axe.
"Oh no you don't!" yelled Jordan, rising up to grab Tom.
Amelia took the chance to roll out of his grasp and catch the axe in the other arm as Tom threw it to her. Uncle Hank and Josephine fired their boosters and the mech shot up over the Z10-Ultima, bringing the axe down on its head and splitting it open.
Tom swooped through and grabbed Jordan out of the exposed cockpit.
"Noooo!" screamed the dangling CEO.
The empty mech toppled over and crushed every building on Sad Main Street.
"Dammit," said Amelia.
Tom placed Jordan on the ground as everyone exited their mechs and walked over. The townspeople emerged from where they were sheltering.
Jordan sneered at Amelia as she approached. "I still destroyed half your town."
"It's just buildings. We can rebuild that," said Clara.
"With what?" said Jordan. "You have nothing."
Uncle Hank took Jordan's wallet out of his pocket. "Well, we have your credit cards."
"And two mechs," said Tom cheerfully.
"You think I'm going to let you get away with that?" said Jordan.
"Why do you need to 'let' us do anything," said Amelia, and they all turned around to look at her, sword drawn. She strode forward and held the sword pointed at his throat.
"Don't do this," said Tom. "He's not worth it."
"That's right," said Jordan. "Sanctuary, sanctuary." He took care of Amelia's hesitation to scramble into the ruins of the nearby church. "You wouldn't kill a man in a church?"
"You're right, Tom," said Amelia, sheathing her sword. "He's not worth it."
Jordan smiled craftily. He would make them pay. He would. Their screams would be music to his ears.
The rubbled shifted slightly and the church collapsed on him.
"It's a Christmas miracle!" proclaimed Pastor Jeffries beatifically, and everyone clapped. Then the mood became somber as everyone silently regarded the wreckage of the town.
"I'm sorry I destroyed Sad Main Street," said Amelia.
"That's all right," said Clara. "Elizabeth was right, we'll all be dead in ten years."
"Then what was all this for?"
"We wanted to go out on our own terms," said Uncle Hank.
"Also, we didn't want him to survive the apocalypse," said Clara, indicating the ruins of the church.
"You know they'll just send more," said Mrs. Winsley, looking off towards the city.
"And we'll be ready for them," said Amelia, taking Tom's hand.
They kissed, and everyone clapped, as a trembling hand reached out from beneath the ruined church.
THE END