Whatever it Takes

"Josephine Young, you’re going to be late for school if you don’t get yourself out of bed and start moving."

I just want to finish this page, said Joey, not looking up from her book.

You said that five minutes ago and five minutes before that, said Mrs. Young stepping into her daughter’s room and removing the book from her hands. What are you reading that has you so fascinated? Glancing at the cover, she read, "History of the Royal Family of Norvus. This is what you’re reading so intently?"

Yeah, said Joey, snatching at the book. I found it in Dad’s office. Did you know my great-great-great grandfather went whacko, thought he could fly, and jumped off the south tower of the winter palace?

No, said her mother, holding the book just out of reach, that’s not a part of the family history your father chose to share with me.

And did you know that his son, my great-great grandfather, said it was because the eagles were mad at his father and tricked him into thinking he could fly?

The eagles tricked him?

Yeah, said Joey eagerly, cool right?

Right. Enough family history for one morning. Get showered, get dressed, and get down to breakfast; your father and I have to leave in less than an hour.

When Joey dashed down the stairs twenty minutes later, she nearly collided with her father who was just stepping out of his office, briefcase in hand. Wow, kiddo, you take me down now, and I won’t be in any shape to make my big speech today.

Sorry, Dad, said Joey hugging him. Mom said you guys had to get going, and I didn’t want to miss saying goodbye.

Right, like we’d leave without saying goodbye. Besides, we’re going to drop you at school on the way to the airport.

Come on, you two, called Joey’s mother from the kitchen. We have to get going.

Slave driver, muttered Joey’s dad as he caught up his giggling daughter and carried her, protesting, to the kitchen.

So, said Joey’s mother as the three sat down to eat, tell me what you’re supposed to do after school today, Joey.

Joey rolled her eyes and said, Mom, we’ve been through this a hundred times. I know what I’m supposed to do.

Jo-ey, said her dad in that tone that always meant, you’d better consider your next words very carefully.

Sorry, murmured Joey. I’m to go to Mr. Kubota’s for fight practice and then I’m to stay with him until you get back.

Good, said her mom. He likes it when you stay to work with his other classes, and we should be there to pick you up well before he closes for the night.

And if you aren’t?

If we aren’t, you stay with him. We’ll drop a bag off for you this morning on our way to the airport.

Is it fun making presentations to parliament? asked Joey.

Fun isn’t the first word I’d choose, said Joey’s father, smearing extra jam on his toast, and motioning to Joey to finish her own breakfast, but it’s interesting, and it can be challenging.

And a little scary, sometimes, added her mother. Especially now, when the threat of war is hanging over these people’s heads the way it is.

Do you think there will be a war? asked Joey.

I think so, said Joey’s dad, but that isn’t something eleven-year-old kids need to worry about. Besides, we’ll be going home soon. I’m pretty sure this will be our last presentation. A week from today, we should be on a ship headed for Norvus.

Great, said Joey. When we get home, can we go to the winter palace? I’ve never been, and I want to see if the eagles really talk.

If the what? said Joey’s dad, distracted by the newspaper he was skimming.

If the eagles talk.

Her dad looked at her over the top of his paper, as her mom said, Apparently the eagles convinced your great-great-something grandfather that he could fly just before he jumped off the tower of the winter palace. She handed him the book Joey had been reading.

Cool, he said, taking the book and scanning the cover.

That’s what I said, said Joey almost bouncing in her chair. Do birds talk to you?

Can’t say I’ve ever had a conversation with a bird, said her dad grinning. Though your Uncle Geoff claims his hunting dogs tell him where to find the best grouse every year.

Really?

I’m pretty sure he’s joking.

But that would be cool, wouldn’t it? said Joey. So, can we go see the eagles?

We’ll see, said her dad rising to put his dishes in the sink. Let’s go, ladies. Joey, our presentation should be over by four, and we should be at Mr. Kubota’s to pick you up by ten at the latest.

The first missiles hit the parliament buildings at two seventeen.

* * *

"Can you hear me, Austin?"

Yeah, Mom, I can hear you. The reception was lousy and there was a lot of static on the line, but Austin could make out his mother’s voice.

Are you okay?

Sure. Max is taking his nap, and I’m just finishing up my homework.

You fellas go ahead and eat. I don’t know when your dad and I will be able to get home. He’s already on his way to the bridge, and my unit’s been called in as well. I’ve gotta run.

Go for it, Mom. Don’t worry about us. I’ll take care of Max.

I know you will, sweetie. There’s leftover soup in the fridge and some good crusty bread in the pantry, and I think we have a little bit of ice cream in the freezer. One of us should be able to get away before bedtime.

Don’t worry about us, you go help the people trapped on the bridge.

The second round of missiles hit the bridge just before dark.

Chapter 1

"Blues!" hissed Austin.

Hide! Joey responded as she dropped behind a broken crate, trusting that Austin and Max would disappear into the night as effectively as the rats and roaches they emulated.

Seconds later a patrol car’s spotlight probed the interior of the abandoned waterfront warehouse and found nothing of interest. There was nothing to be seen in any of the buildings on this side of the docks but a jumble of broken crates and barrels that had long since been picked over by the scavengers who survived by searching the blocks of deserted warehouses and the burnt out shells of homes and businesses that had once made this a vibrant, exciting city.

There’s nobody in there, Rookie, let’s call it a night.

I swear I saw something as we came around the corner, responded the rookie as he sent the beam of the spotlight across the grimy wooden floor and into the shadows of the damp old building. All he saw now were pallets covered with smashed crates and a few broken beams that sagged drunkenly against one wall. In one spot, the floor had broken away, and with his window down the rookie could hear the water of the bay surging beneath the building.

Street rats, more ‘n likely, said his training officer. You gotta learn to leave ‘em be. So long as they stick to abandoned property we pretty much give ‘em a pass.

But they’re trespassing—and stealing, complained the rookie, as he continued to probe the building’s interior with the spotlight. He could smell the briny water and the sharp, distinctive scent of creosote from the pier pilings that the warehouses had been built on.

Technically, but the truth is the owners of nearly half the real estate in this city are dead or gone. The only reason we even bother with patrols down here is we don’t want one of the rats startin’ a fire that could spread to the inhabited sections of the city. Come on; let’s leave ‘em to it. I’ll buy you breakfast at Doc Watson’s after we clock out.

The patrol car’s spotlight flashed off, and as the car rolled away, three figures emerged from the shadows in the warehouse. Come on, said Austin quietly, let’s get what we came for and get out of here. It’ll be light in less than an hour.

* * *

"For cryin’ out loud, Joey, said Austin an hour later when they were back in the small apartment the three kids shared, Dog told us that the blues were increasing the patrols in that section of the docks, and I told you I didn’t want Max down there. You never listen to me."

I do listen to you, said Joey, putting away the cans of hash and pork-and-beans they’d scored from one of the broken crates, but if it was up to Deputy Dog we’d never leave this apartment. Besides, we were never in any danger from that patrol. They make a big show of patrolling the docks, but they never even get out of the cars.

That’s not the point, said Austin. The point is that every time we have to run we put Max at risk. Dammit, Joey, he’s barely seven.

I can run as good as you, said Max indignantly, pulling cans from his backpack and handing them to Joey. I’m not a baby you know, an’ you’re not ‘posed to say that word.

I know you’re not a baby, said Austin, choosing not to get into his use of one of Max’s forbidden words, and I know you can run, but it makes no sense at all to put ourselves at risk in a place we know is patrolled.

We needed meat, said Joey, opening one of the cans of pork-and-beans from Max’s pack and scooping it into a sauce pan, and there are still crates of hash and processed meat and pork-and-beans in that warehouse. I know Mr. Kubota wouldn’t approve of our eating this kind-a stuff, but we need protein.

I’ll find us more meat, said Austin moving over to the sink to wash his hands. And Mr. Copley’s working on getting some chickens. I’m going to help him build coops on the roof, and then he’ll sell eggs and chickens to everyone in the building.

That’s a great idea, said Joey, glad to divert the conversation from their trip to the dockside warehouses.

There are a couple of deserted restaurants south of Commerce Street, Austin said as he dried his hands, that don’t look like they’ve been cleaned out yet.

You know I don’t like going into places like that, Joey muttered as she turned the fire down under the pork-and-beans and started making a salad using vegetables from their share of the rooftop garden harvest.

That’s no-lo, said Austin pulling plates out of the cupboard and handing them to Max so that the little boy could set the table. What difference does it make? he continued, as he sliced the last of the day’s bread. Either way we’re stealing.

I know it’s not logical, but to me there’s a difference. A little restaurant might still belong to somebody.

Well, duh, said Austin. You think the stuff in that warehouse didn’t belong to somebody?

That’s different, said Joey, turning a little red under Austin’s scrutiny. At thirteen, Joey was very concerned about being a responsible adult—Mr. Kubota’s words. Her slight build, little girl freckles, and tendency to blush, made it hard to pull off the adult part, though no one who knew her would deny the responsible part. I hate having to steal, but at least in a big old burned-out warehouse it feels like we’re just scavenging stuff that’s going to waste anyway. In a little restaurant, with somebody’s name over the door—it feels like stealing.

Yeah, well, said Austin, I still say it’s no-lo. The blues catch us and they’re going to call it stealing whether anyone’s alive to claim the stuff or not. Max, said Austin, turning his attention to his kid brother, get washed up. Dinner’s ready.

Ah, Austin, complained Max, I’m not even dirty.

Just do it. It’s a bad idea for you to decide to be ob-no right now.

I am not obnauseous.

No you’re not, said Joey, grinning at Austin over Max’s head, but you are grimy. Go wash up before our dinner gets cold.

Max, a seven-year-old towhead, garbed in blue jeans, a red tee shirt, and red sneakers, grumbled his way into the bathroom while Joey dished out the pork-and-beans and Austin put the bread and salad on the table.

No one had much to say as the three ate dinner. One can of pork-and-beans, a couple of slices of bread, and a little salad didn’t make much of a dent in the appetites of three growing kids, but the food was nutritious and it would keep them going.

After dinner, as the boys cleaned up the dishes and Joey kneaded the dough for tomorrow’s bread, a knock at the door sent Max running with cries of, I’ll get it!

Moments later a uniformed police officer carried the giggling boy back into the kitchen upside down. Look what I found, said the blue, dangling the boy by one foot, I didn’t know you kids had a mouse problem.

Just a little one, said Austin with a grin as he rescued his little brother from the clutches of the law. Hey, Deputy Dog, how you doin’?

I’m good, said the blue as he sat down at the kitchen table. Dog, as the kids called him, was the biggest man any of them had ever known. They used to joke that they could put Max down for a nap in one of his shoes. He had dark, close-cropped hair, a heavy mustache, and dark eyes that missed little. Annoyed at the moment, but good.

Why annoyed? asked Joey as she made rather a show of covering the bread bowl, setting it aside to let the dough rise, and then offering their visitor a cup of tea. She suspected she knew the answer, and she also knew it would renew her row with Austin.

Annoyed because I’m quite certain I caught a glimpse of bright red hair down on the docks a couple of hours ago, after I specifically warned you three dims that we were stepping up patrols in that area.

We needed meat, said Joey, dropping her gaze and blushing uncomfortably.

You could ask for help you know, said Dog, putting a huge hand out and gently tilting Joey’s chin up so that she was forced to look at him.

You have a family of your own to worry about, said Austin quietly, drawing the man’s attention from Joey.

I have, said Dog, looking at Austin, but your dad was the closest thing to a brother I ever had, and if you weren’t so bloody stubborn I’d have moved you in with my brood two years ago. So you listen, and you listen good. Stay off the docks. The Hell Hounds have started operating down there, and those guys are bad news. They’re the nastiest roaches this city’s seen in a long time. I see you down there again, and I’ll not only let the rookie off his leash, but I’ll give all three of you a good thumping when he catches you.

Yes, sir, muttered Austin.

Joey looked mutinous, and Wil Ford, Deputy Dog to his friends, thought again about how he should just demand that these three come to live with his family. Joey, at thirteen, weighed barely a hundred pounds and didn’t look much older than his own ten-year-old son, Mike. Instead of blue jeans, Joey favored khaki colored cargo pants and long sleeved black tees with colorful short-sleeved tees on top. Today the tee she wore was dark blue and was decorated with a dolphin leaping out of a foaming sea.

I’m serious, Josephine Young, said Dog, fixing Joey with his darkest stare. Stay off the docks.

Joey nodded and dropped her gaze again.

Dog rose from the table and said, I gotta get going. I’ll stop by in a couple of days. Karen’s dad is due back day after tomorrow, and he radioed that they’ve had an excellent catch.

How come the blockade ships don’t stop the fishermen from coming into Port Charles? asked Joey, happy to steer the conversation away from the reason for Dog’s unexpected visit.

Two reasons, said Dog, rising and carrying his cup to the sink. The first is that the fishermen are careful not to get involved with smuggling in weapons or contraband, and the second is that they pay a tariff of half their catch to the blockading ships.

Sounds like collaboration, muttered Austin.

It’s the cost of doing business in a war zone, said Dog, shrugging. The people of this city need the catch, and fishermen are realists. If feeding their city means feeding their enemies as well, they’ll feed their enemies. I gotta run. When I stop by later in the week, I’ll bring you a couple a nice fish. They’ll tide you over for a while. I’ll also bring you some lemons from Karen’s sister. Her trees are producing well this year.

Thanks, Uncle Wil, said Austin as the kids rose and walked to the door with their friend. That would be great.

He’s not really our uncle, said Max seriously to Joey as Austin closed and locked the door. We just call him that sometimes ‘cause he was Daddy’s best friend. Right, Austin.

That’s right, buddy, said Austin, let’s go to bed. I’m beat.

Joey nodded and headed for her room, glad Austin had chosen not to renew the argument about their trip to the docks.

As the sun began to warm the city, the three dropped into their beds to sleep the day away. Like most of the kids who’d ended up alone and on the streets after the start of the war, Joey and her friends had become nocturnal. Remaining unseen was easier in the dark. And remaining unseen was very important. As disorganized and uncoordinated as it was, the government was still trying to take responsibility for its youngest and most vulnerable citizens. The problem was, they weren’t very good at it.

No one knew what it was about housing large groups of children in institutional settings, but such places nearly always turned out to be nightmarish places. There was never enough food, older kids frequently terrorized younger ones, and discipline always seemed to devolve into corporal punishment of the worst kind.

Joey and the boys had heard terrible stories of the abuses kids had suffered in the state run children’s homes, and they were determined to avoid them. Austin was particularly concerned that his kid brother not be subjected to such an experience. So far, Joey and her friends had been lucky—if kids whose parents had been killed could still be called lucky.

Chapter 2

It had been a couple of weeks since Joey had been ripped out of sleep by a nightmare. Her cries pulled Austin out of his own uneasy dreams, and he was in her room and pulling her into his arms before he was fully awake. Shh, Joey, shh. It was a dream, just a bad dream. You’re safe now. We’re all safe.

A bomb, a bomb hit the apartment building, and the ceiling collapsed, whispered Joey, and Mr. Kubota was here, and he was trapped under a fallen wall, and I couldn’t get him out. The beams were too heavy. And I couldn’t find you. I kept calling you.

Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now, said Austin, pulling Joey into his lap and rocking her as he would Max when the little boy was frightened or upset.

I hate it, Austin, whispered Joey, her head tucked beneath her friend’s chin. I hate this war. When’s it going to end?

I don’t know, said Austin. I don’t think anyone knows.

But grownups should know, protested Joey, anger beginning to overcome her fear. Grownups should know that war is stupid. People are dying. And for what? For stuff the grownups should be able to deal with by just talking and compromising.

They’ll get to that eventually, said Austin. They always do. It’s just that each side thinks if they hurt the other side bad enough, they’ll have more power when they finally decide it’s time to negotiate.

I guess. But it seems to me the only people being hurt are the people the leaders don’t care about anyway.

I can’t argue with that, said Austin, shifting Joey back onto her bed and pulling her covers back up. Are you okay with trying to get a little more sleep?

Yeah, said Joey, snuggling down into her blankets. I’m sorry I woke you up.

I’m not, said Austin, leaning over and ruffling Joey’s hair. I was just starting a nightmare of my own, and you got me out of it. I owe you one.

Joey reached up and took Austin’s hand and said, What are yours like?

They sound pretty much like yours, said Austin, trying to sound casual. Mostly they’re about Max or you or all three of us being trapped and rockets screaming and exploding.

Do you ever dream about your parents?

Not so much anymore. It’s mostly just you and Max.

I never dream about my parents, said Joey. It’s always you or Max or Mr. Kubota. Is that bad, Austin? Do you think it means I don’t care about my parents anymore?

No, Joey, said Austin, sitting back down on his friend’s bed. I think it means you aren’t worried about them. I think it’s just because you never knew them in war. They died before the war even started for you. It’s the same for me and for my folks. I don’t dream about them either. The truth is I hardly remember what they looked like. If Max and I didn’t have photos of them, I don’t think I’d be able to picture them at all.

It’s the same for me, said Joey, nodding slowly. I’ve been feeling kind-a guilty about that.

I don’t think you need to feel guilty, said Austin. What you do need, is some sleep, and so do I. So close your eyes now. I’m going back to bed.

* * *

"Morning, said Joey as she wandered into the kitchen a few hours later, her short red hair still damp from her shower, what’s for breakfast?"

Mush, said Austin stirring the pot carefully.

Yuck. Have we got any brown sugar?

Yeah, we have, and Mr. Copley was able to find some raisins and walnuts on one of his trips out of the city. He insisted on giving us a good supply of both when I checked in with him after repairing the plumbing in Mr. Jeffries’ apartment. You know how he is.

I do, said Joey. If they weren’t still trying to help their kids and grandkids, I think they’d try to adopt the three of us.

You’re probably right, said Austin as he stirred the oatmeal, always referred to as mush in the Barton household, and tossed in a handful of nuts and raisins. When he gave me the stuff he insisted he’d already sent a supply to their kids, and that he and Mrs. Copley wouldn’t be able to eat all that was left before the whole lot went bad.

Which just means he wanted to give us some and was afraid you’d insist on paying for it. But it’s great anyway, said Joey. With brown sugar, walnuts, and raisins, mush is almost edible.

Austin laughed and said, Right. It’s also filling and good for us. Is Max awake yet?

No. I figured I’d let him sleep until we got breakfast ready.

Well it’s ready now. You want to set the table and dish up, or you want to go roust the kid.

I’ll take care of this, said Joey, you can go tickle your brother into consciousness. And let those rotten cats in so that I can feed them.

When Austin and Max had moved in with Joey they’d brought along Max’s treasured cats. The cats were the little boy’s greatest joy, and though Joey didn’t actually like cats, Max was a nice little kid, and he didn’t ask for much, so she didn’t say anything about the cats moving in. Unfortunately, within a couple of days of their arrival she was sneezing a lot and waking up congested.

Sorry, Max, she’d said to the little towhead, but you’re going to have to keep your cats outside. I think I’m allergic to them.

But, Joey, Max cried, his blue eyes filling with tears, they’ll get cold.

They’re alley cats, pal, said Austin. They’re used to the cold. Besides, they’re wearing fur coats.

But they’ll run away. They’ll think I don’t like them anymore.

I have an idea, Max, said Joey. "Let’s get a house