My pain told me we survived it, but my brain was having a harder time. I stood up after the first orc potion and drank a second one. I resisted the urge to spit it out. I wondered if that would ever change. In hindsight, it reminded me of every disgusting liquid medicine I’d ever taken in my life, only worse. I drank a bottled water to get the taste out of my mouth. I chugged the whole damn thing. I then drank a second one to be safe. One of the train experts came over to me. I genuinely didn’t know his name.

  “Mr. Cassland. Do you have any more potions or healing for those survivors?”

  I pulled out several boxes of Samoas and Thin Mints. Girl Scout cookie packages were relatively small, so it didn’t seem like too much. I handed him the whole stack. “Somoas heal wounds, restore some health, and stop bleeding. Thin Mints are for those who aren’t as seriously injured, as they really just close the wounds and stop the bleeding. In either case, they need two cookies of the appropriate kind to get the effect. For those who are worse, Nora may still have a few orc potions. This is all of my reserves.” Brittney had a lot more, but he didn’t need to know that.

  After all of that, I still wasn’t sure how we survived, but I was assured that Mo, Hamm, and Nora did a good job thinning them out while Frank and I survived enough melee to get through it all. I got up, but everything was still sore. Sure, I was mostly healed. It showed 37/45 health in my vision, but I still felt pain. It was less painful to stand and stretch than it would have been a minute or two ago, but my body still hurt. My legs hurt a lot, but I didn’t have any status like broken leg bones or something.

  I checked my notifications and see that I was at 95% of the way through the 6th level and could not gain any additional experience. Such experience may go to others or be lost in general. That was depressing. I had done everything I could reasonably think of to get myself to 5th level in hopes of a solution just presenting itself. Clearly the universe wasn’t going to bend itself over backwards to accommodate me. Granted, that was the height of privilege; to think that the universe, the system, and even supernatural beings would lay new class options at my feet. I needed to get creative with a solution, even if it meant stealing the class of a fellow fallen human. Orcs didn’t seem to have intelligence, politics, and charisma in their affinities. I doubted a single demon could have Law either. I imagined some spellcaster might have knowledge, but it wasn’t a guarantee. The whole thing was frustrating, but it meant that humanity needed to learn from this. We needed to develop better classes for people to advance into, whether that be by finding some class creation method, or simply stockpiling tons of useful classes from among our population. Unfortunately, there was very little I could do about that in the present.

  I finally went over to check on the survivors. Turns out they were just trying to flee a massive group of orcs, and took a wrong turn and got cornered here in the rail yard. I could imagine that happening far too easily. They had killed a few dozen orcs during their flight, but we came across them after the melee started. That was the problem, we were just a little late to the party. That felt like a theme lately. There were about fifty or so survivors that we added to our numbers before making our way to the area that the original train yard survivors were trying to get rail cars connected together.

  The train yard was vast. We walked on it shortly after stepping foot on the train tracks, but it took until now to get to any of the control or storage buildings. It had more lanes than I had thought plausible, but St. Louis was always a bit of a train hub. With the sun just out and hitting us in this early morning I got to see all the gravel and railroad tracks I could imagine. It smelled of rust, iron, and gasoline. I felt the gravel under my feet, and heard the grunts of people hooking up a long line of train cars together. The train yard had a few hundred cargo cars. There were decidedly less passenger cars scattered about. The question was: where were the engines? I had no clue what they were called. I saw giant storage cars, both for things, and others just for liquids. There were even a bunch of flatbed not being used. Everything looked like I thought a train yard would look like.

  Hamm put a hand on my shoulder, “The non—workin folks are holed up in this building over here.” He pointed to one of the few structures in the yard. It looked like some kind of control building. It had long bay windows overlooking the tracks for three stories.

  “Is the VIP in there?” I really didn’t want to go talk to her, but I didn’t think I really had much of a choice.

  “You mean the SIB? Yeah, she’s in there.”

  “SIB?” I wanted to know the acronym, but didn’t at the same time.

  “Self-Important Bitch. Don’t call her that to her face. Mo almost made that mistake yesterday.”

  I mouthed self-important bitch just for myself. That phrase was telling. It also perfectly matched up with my memories of her. She frequently sabotaged my father when he proposed legislation. It wasn’t because he wasn’t a gun loving conservative conservative, he just wasn’t her personal gun loving conservative congressman on a leash. She wanted to push legislation for funding for companies that she invested in. She loved new weapon systems, and he wanted better body armor and better armor plating in Humvees. He always chose the initiatives and investments that saved lives on the battlefield. She had made it clear that she didn’t care about people. My only previous personal run-ins with her made me think that SIB was a kinder and less realistic description of her. However, maybe the apocalypse has had some sort of humanizing effect on her.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  That was my last thought as I entered the large building. I didn’t see or hear her on the first floor. I should have just stayed there, but I decided to get this particular reintroduction over with sooner rather than later. I went in search of the stair well. The interior was much like what I expected. It had offices, a break room, all with civilians in them. They looked frightened, as if this was not what they ever thought would happen. Some of these people don’t look like they’ve eaten today. I found myself handing out sacks from my belt pouch. My stash of Twinkies and Ho-Hos was gone. For some of the kids I gave out the only all-abouts I had left. Those would keep the kids fully fed for a whole day. I still had a few snacks left, but my stockpile was finally gone. We really needed to get this moving in the right direction, or we could find ourselves out of food and water.

  I eventually found myself in a stairwell on the far end of the building and went up to find more offices. On my way up to the third floor I was stopped by a large white guy in a suit. I could see the outline of the holster under his suit jacket in addition to the Rifle he carried. He put a hand up to bar my entry, “This ere is restricted.” Odd British accent?

  “I’m Captain Cassland. I’m in charge of the evacuation. I have the authority to go anywhere at this rail yard that I need to.”

  “Ms. Conway says no ones gets past. So’s no ones gets past.”

  I shook my head. “If you don’t let me through to talk to her, then I’ll just have you shot for disobeying a direct order by a military officer during martial law.”

  He slowly started bringing his rifle up to me. “You ain’t in charge here. Ms. Conway is.”

  “She isn’t. At least now I don’t need to worry about getting her on the train.” I turned around and started walking down the stairs. I wasn’t going to waste my time on her if I didn’t need to. I heard him knock on the door as I started descending the concrete stairwell.

  “Ms. Conway. Theres a Captain here to see you?” He spoke it like a questions. It sounded like a question he was afraid to even ask. I guess not a lot had changed.

  I paused in walking further, just in case she responded. “Let the young Captain in.” I turned around and trudged back up the steps. I put on my game face. I couldn’t react emotionally to what she said. That was the idea going through my head as I got to the top of the steps and opened the door.

  That went out the window almost immediately. She was lounging on a couch with a spread of food at a table untouched by anyone. She slowly turned to look at me as if nothing was going on. “Young Neal Cassland.” She was older, with the crows eyes to go with it. She had blond hair dyed to still retain a youthfulness that she had no real right to have. She was upper 60’s, trim, and wore a skirt and top combination that I would find at the local country club sipping a martini by the pool. She didn’t bother getting up to greet me.

  “Ms. Conway. I am glad you decided to speak with me. I am now the highest rank on the ground here, so I figured I should find out why it is that you need 3 bodyguards, and what looks to be a personal chef.”

  “I need to be safe. Can’t be too careful these days. Besides, Gerald has been working for me for years. He does do a good job with the meager provisions I have.”

  I kept my face emotionless. She already did the power play of not getting up to greet me. She is acting all blasé about everything, just to test me. I’d seen her try this a few times with my father. I didn’t work on him either. “Understood. I was advised that you have some things that you are trying to get on the train. Priceless artwork?”

  “Yes, I stopped by the City Museum and the History Museum since they are both in Forest Park. I’m on the board of both institutions, and it was agreed that certain works of art need to make their way to Colorado for better protection during this conflict.”

  “And where are all these priceless works of art?”

  “They are just behind the building in a small parking lot. It is imperative that those works be transported first and foremost.”

  “I will see what I can do, but civilians are more biggest priority.”

  “Yes, yes, you certainly need to take care of all the plebians downstairs.”

  “Well, them and the fifty we rescued a quarter mile from here. Add that to the one hundred or more I have walking down here at moment from a little further up north.”

  “You will take care of the art. You have your orders.”

  It took every fiber of my being not to roll my eyes right then. “I’ll take care of my priorities.” I turned and left, while I let her stew on whether she was part of my priorities or not.

  I got down to the ground floor and decided it was important to check out all this “priceless art” that she was so concerned about.

  It didn’t take long to find the 7 semi-trucks filled with crates. Before I could get in one of them, one of her other bodyguards held up a hand. “Stop. This is Ms. Wagner’s stuff. No one is allowed inside. At least not until it gets loaded onto the train.”

  I didn’t argue with him, but something didn’t make sense. She has 3 bodyguards and a personal chef. There are seven trucks. Did the soldiers help her drive these here. There was also a large black SUV that was clearly hers. Lastly, it looks like there was a refrigerated truck that her personal chef must be using. Fuck! This is the apocalypse, not teatime. Things were going to have to change with her, as I was not doing a damn thing to help her. How would I know if all of this is actually art, and not a bunch of gold, silver, and dollar bills.