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Kyle Crane is the first person that Karim meets, years into the apocalypse, that looks bored of everything that’s going on around him.
Rais’ men spend less time guarding the fortress, more time drowning themselves in alcohol, chasing away the consciousness that comes to them. Karim can’t blame them. Most of these men watched their mothers and sisters being torn apart by bloody teeth, being forced into working for a man who could care less if they lived or died. Karim can’t blame them for wanting to drink their troubles away, but that means he spends most of his days in silence.
He’s grown accustomed to it. He spent much of his regular life in the same way. Trucking was never the most social job, aside from the drug addicts he’d run into at rest stops or the occasional whiff of female company he’d allow himself to enjoy. Karim has spent most of his life in the background, helping Rais run his operation from the shadows and it was always going to stay that way.
Something about Kyle Crane makes him want to change that.
Crane is an idiot, Karim concludes that within the first ten minutes of meeting him. It takes a special kind to be idealistic in a world like this one and ideals, when it comes to Rais, rarely last.
Karim has seen a lot of these. Motivated individuals coming from desperate communities to beg for Antizin, hoping that some non-existent part of Rais will take pity on them and supply them with the medicine they require. Karim has shouldered the burden of guiding most of these people to their deaths. The last one? She got ripped apart by a Volatile nest that Rais needed cleared for one fucking crate of Antizin.
Farah. Her name was Farah.
“Ah, an American.” Karim notes, when Crane introduces himself.
The man seems disinterested, mostly agitated and it’s something new. Usually, Karim is faced with fearful, terrified youngsters who were shoved into a job they knew they would not survive. This guy has none of that energy exuding from him. Interesting.
“I have an uncle who lives in Texas. You from Texas? You a cowboy?”
Something about that makes Crane chuckle. “I’m from Chicago.”
Karim shrugs, leans back into his chair. He doesn’t really know a lot about Chicago. “Okay, Al Capone. We’ll stay in constant contact over the radio. That way, I can make sure you get where you need to go.”
The energy in the air shifts. The small grin on Crane’s face droops, eyebrows pinching together as he asks, “And where’s that exactly?”
“You’re going to be climbing antenna towers and switching on shortwave radio modulators. Most of my men are too slow, too fat, too drunk or too climb a tower like that without killing themselves. And I like my men, I would prefer that they stay alive.”
At least, it’s not a Volatile nest, Karim wants to say but he’s not sure if a guy like Crane would appreciate a story like that.
Crane sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I do this… I’ll get the Antizin?”
“That’s between you and Rais. I don’t speak for him. I know better than that. Just don’t fail.”
I don’t want another death on my hands.
“If I do?” Crane asks.
Karim shakes his head. “You’d be wishing you were dead instead.”
*
There’s a part of Karim that thinks he freaked the guy out with his last comment. If there’s one thing the apocalypse has taught him, it’s that even the most intimidating person in the room is shit-scared of death. And dying while on an errand for Rais is nobody’s dream. It definitely isn’t Karim’s.
Karim places the radio on his belt, getting out of his chair and stretching his legs. Most of the men in Rais’ operation would kill to have a desk job like Karim, but Karim is the one person who’s allowed to be ungrateful, given the amount of shit Rais puts him through on a daily basis. He’s rewarded with safety, warm food and clean water, but a man is a man. He’s an animal without his freedom.
Karim steps outside the tent, soaking in the sun’s rays. The faint growls of Biters grow louder when they see him through the fence, but they don’t move, choosing to loiter around as Karim makes his way around the tent and into the canteen.
Most of the soldiers have finished their meals, but a lone Tariq stands in line, holding a bowl up for chow. He’s zoned out, staring at the brown slop that the chef pours into the bowl. If the food wasn’t steaming, it would’ve looked like vomit. Karim stands in the line behind Tariq, who still hasn’t noticed him. Ah, absentmindedness. The perfect quality for a soldier to have.
“Dude, you’re scaring the fuck out of me.” Karim says, grabbing a bowl of the chow. Tariq snaps from his trance, turning on his heel and he lights up — well, as much as you can light up with one shut eye.
“It’s so hot, my insides are fucking cooked. And I’m pulling a double tonight.”
Karim and Tariq make their way over to one of the tables in the corner of the canteen, away from the chatter of the few other soldiers in the room with them. Unlike Tariq, Karim quite appreciates the taste of the chow. Even mystery meat is some form of meat and Karim is well aware that if it wasn’t for Rais, he would’ve starved to death by now.
“So, how come you’re dining with us lowly mortals today?” Tariq asks, followed by a grimace as he tries to swallow down the chow.
Karim scoffs. Rais’ high-level operatives tend to stay away from soldiers, it’s true. Rais put in a lot of effort to cultivate a hierarchy, reminding every person of their position in his empire, but it’s different with Tariq. Very different.
They used to be friends in the old world. Tariq’s wife took off with the kids when she first heard of the world going to shit, something about I have to see my parents one last time, stated clearly in the letter she had left him. The first night when Karim and Tariq ended up at one of Rais’ recruiting tents, they’d gotten drunk off a bottle of scotch they’d found tucked away in a bush somewhere.
The night had been particularly warm, the canvas of the sky stitched with stars. Karim laid on the grass, Tariq slowly breathing next to him, each sip of the alcohol going down easier than the last.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?”
Karim hadn’t said anything, but the silence was an answer enough.
Most of the men Karim met through Rais had lost someone. Mother, father, wife, sister, brother, lover. Karim? He’d lost his freedom.
Karim takes a bite of the chow before he speaks. “Some American came by today asking for Antizin.”
Tariq’s eyes widened. He knows exactly how each and every one of those encounters has ended. “Fuck. Did you warn him?”
“Why would I? He worked out a deal with Rais, he knows exactly what he’s getting himself into.”
Tariq’s eyes narrow. He straightens up, discreetly glancing around to ensure that no one’s eavesdropping. Satisfied with the look, he says, “You don’t believe that.”
It’s true. Karim doesn’t believe that. Whether it’s Farah or Kyle Crane, none of these people deserve to die for a shithead like Rais. But there’s no way in hell Karim will ever admit it. They signed up for it, it’s not his problem.
Climbing the ranks in Rais’ organization was not a job suited for most. It was one thing to be a meathead soldier, slamming heads together and getting drunk off watered down alcohol everyday. It was another thing to be in Rais’ inner circle, getting to plan and discuss his next invasions, his expansions. Karim discovered very quickly that he liked the politics, while Tariq settled for being Rais’ muscle.
One of the things he learned being one of Rais’ limbs was to never talk unless it was required. That includes Tariq.
“Hello?” The radio blares to life, Kyle Crane’s voice on the other side.
Tariq lets out a low whistle. “You should’ve warned him, you know.”
Yeah. Karim knows.
He makes his way back to the office rather quickly, staring at the map sprawled out on his desk. He really didn’t think he was going to need this.
“Hey, Al Capone, are you ready to do this?”
“Do what exactly?”
Just something that Rais has sent fifteen other people to do that didn’t get done. It’s doubtful that Crane will fare any better. “Radio communication has been real spotty in the quarantine. These modulators will help boost the signal so Rais can communicate with outposts at the far reaches of town.”
“That's a benefit for everyone — not just Rais.”
Karim pauses for a second. Who in the world — especially this one — continually thinks about other people? Antizin for others, running errands for Rais for others, improving radio communication for others. What’s wrong with this guy?
“Perhaps. But the emperor must monitor his empire.”
It takes fifteen minutes for Crane to reach the location of the first antenna. And not a second longer to begin complaining. “Karim, this place is overflowing with fucking infected.”
“It comes with the job, I’m afraid.”
Crane sighs, followed by some static. The growls of the Virals grow louder in the background. “Does this ever get boring for you?”
Listening to people’s screams on the radio when they get torn to pieces is more traumatizing and less mundane.
“Mostly. But you have it worse than I do, 312.”
“You do know some stuff about Chicago.”
“Eh, some. Not a lot. I was always more into cowboys, anyway.”
Crane chuckles. “Yeah, hold that thought, man.”
Karim stares at the map, the first antenna tower marked with a big red X. He wonders how bad it must be for Crane to complain, or maybe he’s overestimating Crane’s abilities because he likes him. Crane isn’t the others who have come across Rais, begging for Antizin. Not one of them ever spoke about everyone.
A sharp yell echoes from the other side of the radio. Karim grabs it off the table, his mind taking him back to Farah. God, not another one, please.
Heart pounding in his chest, Karim asks, “Crane! Why are you shouting?”
“I’m shouting because this fucked-up infected motherfucker with guts hanging out of his mouth just spat a bunch of toxic snot at me!”
“That's… not a bad reason. Hey, man, you need any help?”
Crane, fighting for his life there, replies with, “Why? You offering?”
Karim laughs. He hasn't been out in the field in years. “I got a friend who I can spare.”
It takes a few more seconds for Crane to answer. He huffs, taking a deep breath before he says, “It’s fine, Karim. I handled it, thanks.”
The pounding of Karim’s heart slows as a few more moments pass.
“I’m going up. Catch you in a bit.”
Karim traces the edges of the map with his finger. There's something deeply formidable about Crane’s stature. Karim has never met someone like this before, even in Rais’ camp. Even Tahir, Rais’ right-hand, was timid once, hardening up when he started to climb the ladder of Rais’ hierarchy. He only had one goal on his mind: to fight for Rais and help him take over Harran. Karim wasn't a stranger to politics, but Tahir was different. Tripping on power whenever he could, pushing and abusing his soldiers.
Would Crane ever do something like this?
“It's been stripped for parts, there's nothing up here.” Crane says.
Karim hums, looks down at the map. “I was afraid of that. There's another tower nearby. Just use the zipline and head east. You'll see it.”
“Hey, Karim.”
“Yeah?”
“What will I do if the second antenna is trashed?”
Karim chuckles. “I think the better question is what you'll do if you disappoint Rais. The answer is probably, ‘Die horribly.’”
“Man, you're just a ray of sunshine, Karim.”
“Not my job, 312.”
Crane hums. “What is your job?”
Karim grabs the radio, resting his legs up on the table. Truthfully, there isn't much he does. He directs Antizin beggars to their deaths on futile missions he knows Rais cares less about leaving unfulfilled. The only reason Rais keeps him around is because Karim knows better than to mouth off around him.
“I guess I would be Rais’ navigator.”
“You from around here, then?”
“Born and bred.” Karim replies. “There's no place like Harran.”
“There wasn't, you mean.”
“Yeah,” Karim clears his throat. “Right. And you? Apocalypse vigilante is a strange career choice.”
“I’m just trying to help the people.”
Here it is again. Weird.
“And what were you doing when the world went to shit, Crane?”
The silence is deafening. “I was a low-level executive at a multinational company.” Crane replied, voice low and words rehearsed, as if he was repeating them to himself in the mirror.
“What about that made you want to suddenly start helping people?”
“It's not like that, Karim. And I’m at the second antenna tower. The fence is electrified. Is someone supposed to be in here?”
Karim rolls his eyes. “That would be Alexei and his son… who shot at me the last time we met.”
“Oh?” Crane says, sounding intrigued. “What's the story behind that?”
Karim waves his hand, as if Crane can see him. “It's a long story, it really doesn't matter. Climb the tower and let me know what you see.”
Crane reports back and the second transmitter is intact. It takes a few seconds, but the static clears up. Crane fulfilled his task. Karim holds his smile back — God knows, Rais isn't going to give Crane the Antizin without squeezing him for more errands. Not that Crane knows it.
“Hey, good job. I can hear you, loud and clear. Make your way back to the quarantine and let's talk. You do remember the way back, right?”
Crane hums. “Pretty sure I do.” He pauses for a second. “Kristov doesn't seem to like Rais a lot.”
Yeah, nobody does, Karim wants to say. He knows all about Kristov’s frequent run-ins with Rais, also knows that the only reason he's alive is thanks to his father. But explaining all of this over the radio with Rais probably being tuned into this frequency, it's a bad idea.
“Come see me again. Then we'll talk.”
*
“You knew about this?”
Karim sighs. He gets out of his chair, folding up the map and shoving it into the drawer of his desk. Crane’s brow is lined with sweat, lips pinched in anger and Karim can't blame him. Rais scammed him out of a well-deserved crate of Antizin. Crane leans against the wall in front of Karim’s desk. Karim is thankful that all of his weapons were confiscated by Rais’ soldiers because the look on Crane’s face says that he would've shot up the place.
And Karim really, really likes being alive.
Karim tries to offer him the best apology that he can muster. “He's the boss, Crane. What he says goes.”
“Yeah, a fucking heads-up would have been nice.”
“Now you know. Be careful this time around.”
Crane rolls his eyes. “What is my next task?”
“The task at hand is as easy as can be. You simply have to make a few pickups from some nearby settlements.”
“Which ones?”
“The first is Jaffar's Wheelstation. It's just east of here. But bear in mind, not everyone you talk to today will be in a… cooperative state of mind. Just try to be convincing.”
Karim is blessed with a second roll of Crane’s eyes. “I guess I'll have to be.”
Karim spends the rest of the afternoon, guiding Crane to various settlements. Crane catches pretty early on that it's nothing short of extortion, his replies getting shorter every time he goes to another person to collect the money. It makes Karim feel sick too, knowing there's nothing the people can do about it. It's either paying Rais or risk dying mindlessly to Biters. If Karim was outside the tent, he knows which option he’d pick. The lesser evil.
“I made the collection at the Ferry Station. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell.”
Karim understands the feeling. It's the kind that doesn't go away no matter how hard you scrub your skin. You still feel filthy at the end of the day. “Join the club. Now, come back and claim your prize. Good job today.”
*
It's nearing evening when Tariq rushes into the building. His cheeks are drained of color, gun clutched close to his chest, like he's prepared for combat and that can only mean —
“Tahir’s patrol is missing. You gotta send that guy in.”
“What guy?”
“The Antizin guy. It's almost midnight and he's the only one desperate enough to risk his life to save those assholes.”
Karim shakes his head. “What the fuck, man? I can't do that to him.”
Tariq clenches his teeth together. “It's Tahir’s order. He needs some fucking blueprints off their dead bodies.”
“Jesus.”
Karim stares at the radio on the table before he grabs it. A pit grows in the bottom of his stomach before he says, “Crane. How close are you?”
“I don't know - about halfway back, I guess.”
“Good. I need you to make a quick detour.”
Tariq approaches the desk, leaning against it but his hand is shaking. Half of his friends constitute Tahir’s patrol.
Crane sounds almost nervous when he asks, “Why?”
“One of our patrols went off the grid somewhere near the market.”
“How is that my problem?”
You're right, it isn't.
“I'm making it your problem.” Karim’s mouth tastes like it's full of sand. “See if you can find them or don't bother coming back.”
There's a moment of silence before Crane says, “Copy.” And the line goes dead.
Dinner does not go down easy. The chow tastes especially watery and the soda pop is lukewarm. The radio stares at him, mockingly, while Tariq also seems to have lost his appetite.
“Do you think they'll make it back?”
Karim shrugs, taking a bite of the chow. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“No, I mean,” Tariq clears his throat. “This Crane guy. If they're alive… can he bring them back?”
“He seems to have some weird fucking savior complex. If they’re alive, there's no way in hell they won't make it back.”
Tariq nods. “Alright, good.”
Tariq takes the night off, heading up to his room after having his sorry excuse of a dinner. Karim heads to his desk, his usual partners having emptied out of the building. It is quite late at night, after all.
The radio blares to life, making Karim’s heart jump in his chest. “Karim, I think I found your lost patrol. Something ripped them limb from limb.” He whispers.
Jesus fuck.
“Search the bodies. Look for some blueprints in a small envelope. And don't damage them! Tahir will shoot me in the head.”
Crane chuckles, surprisingly relaxed for someone under the threat of nightfall. “Well, we don't want that to happen, do we?”
“Just find the envelope.”
“I found — wait. Fuck. I hear something.”
“Crane? Crane?”
It takes Crane a minute to reply. “I spotted a Volatile. I’m gonna wait him out.”
“I'll wait with you.” Karim says, without thinking twice. “Where you waiting, 312?”
“There's a small… office kinda thing at the petrol pump. It's pretty fortified.” Crane whispers. The distinct lack of static is so refreshing, but he doesn't tell Crane that. “Just gimme ten minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it. As long as you bring it back, we’ll be fine.”
Karim toys with the dagger on his belt, waiting for Crane’s comment. Crane doesn't disappoint.
“I think it's safe to say Rais isn't the most popular person in town, huh?”
Karim chuckles. “No, but he is the most feared. And you know the old saying? ‘It is better to be feared than loved if one cannot be both’.”
“Machiavelli.”
Karim clicks his tongue. “Correct. Smart fellow, that one.”
“So, why's a guy like you working for a guy like him?”
“What does that mean? A guy like me?”
Crane chuckles. “You don't seem like a power-hungry, shit-faced douchebag to me.”
“We all have our vices.”
“Right. That doesn't answer my question, though.”
Karim shrugs, leaning back into his chair. “There isn't much to say. Rais needs a person who knows the city throughout and I need protection.”
“Brecken can also do that for you.”
That makes Karim laugh out loud. “No offence, man. Rais can eat Brecken for fucking breakfast.” Karim pauses. “Brecken has too much heart to be a bad guy. To run an empire, you need to be a bad guy.”
“And you?” Crane asks. “What do you consider yourself to be?”
“A spectator.” Karim replies. “I’m Switzerland.”
“Right. I think I'm done here.”
“Good. Bring it back to me right away. You're going to be a hero around here.”
*