Savages by James Cook

to a man I never thought I would see again.
    He said something that sounded like ‘ya-a-tay’, and shook my hand. “It is good to see you again, Irishman.”
    “Well if it isn’t my old pal Lincoln Great Hawk,” I said. “How the hell are you?”
     
    *****
     
    Great Hawk had already been briefed. Gabe and I had planned to go back to Hollow Rock immediately after meeting with General Jacobs, but decided to stay on base for a while. The three of us reconnoitered to the enlisted club, took a booth, and ordered drinks.
    “Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, “But that haircut does not look regulation.”
    The big Apache nodded slowly. “You are correct. It is not.”
    “Your enlistment up?” Gabe said.
    “Yes. Six months ago.” 
    “Who you working for now?”
    Great Hawk waved a dismissive hand. “Some government agency with an acronym for a name.”
    “The same one I used to work for?”
    “Possibly. I honestly am not sure. It is hard to tell who is who anymore.”
    “How’d they rope you into signing on?”
    “There was no rope involved. The lord high shitbird of whoever visited me personally. Made the usual promises. Better pay, more autonomy, contract work. You know how they do things.”
    Gabe almost smiled. “Yes I do.”
    “I had planned to go home to Arizona. Try to find my people. I am still not sure why I did not. Perhaps I am afraid I will find only infected that were once my family and my nation. Perhaps it was all the people who told me going to Arizona alone was suicide. Perhaps, like all people, I am afraid of being alone.”
    He took a bite of stew and chewed it without haste. I had seen Great Hawk in action, and knew the slow act was just that—an act. He was like a desert snake, only expending energy when it really counted. And when he did, it was swift and deadly.
    “It is entirely possible,” he went on, “that I am the last of my people. I hope this is not true, but I acknowledge the possibility. Perhaps the reason I have not returned home is because I do not want to know for certain. If it is true, and I am the last, I do not know if I would want my life to continue. So I took the job. Perhaps it makes me a coward. Right now, I do not care.”
    I pointed my spoon at him. “You are a lot of things, Lincoln, but a coward is not one of them.”
    The face did not move, but somehow the obsidian eyes looked amused. “That is kind of you.”
    “So how are things in Colorado?” Gabe said.
    “Improved. The first time I was in the Springs it was a dangerous place to live. Now, things are better. Safer. Too many refugees, though. Not enough resources. Salvage hunters have taken everything between Denver and New Mexico. There would not be much work for you two. Not unless you like to travel.”
    “Caravan guards?” I said.
    “Yes. It is still a lucrative occupation, assuming you survive the journey. Many do not. Other than that, unless you are a doctor, tradesman, or engineer, work is scarce. Even farm work. The Army does very well during recruiting drives.”
    “I heard a whole new city has sprung up around the perimeter wall,” Gabe said.
    “That would depend on your definition of a city. If a squalid collection of shacks built from scrap can be called a city, then yes. Otherwise, it is an unwelcome refugee camp that refuses to go away. The kind of place you can indulge any vice.”
    Gabe grunted. “Sounds lovely.”
    “It is not.”
    “What about farming?” I said. “Isn’t the government issuing land grants?”
    “Yes. There is ample land between the Springs and the Illinois border. Not all of it will grow anything. If it does, there is the constant threat of infected and no walls to keep them out. If you know how to farm, can obtain seeds, dig irrigation ditches, survive if your crops do not, and are comfortable being anywhere from ten to three-hundred miles away from the nearest government outpost, you can do well for yourself. Some people have banded together to