Mayor Holson looked pleased with herself. She had successfully herded the cats. Mister O looked amused, Axehill looked like he wanted to punch a wall and Misty just looked tired.
As we walked out of the council chamber, an aide in a grey suit intercepted me.
"Mr. Kaaz," he said, handing me a thick envelope. "Compliments of the Mayor’s Intelligence Office. A breakdown of the national landscape."
"Thanks," I said, tucking it under my arm.
We walked out into the rain. The protestors had dispersed, chased away by the storm or security. We got into the Terramotta.
"Southfield," I told Bells.
As Bells navigated the ruined streets of Detroit, I opened the envelope.
It was a list. A leaderboard of the apocalypse.
Confirmed Major Factions by Metropolitan Area:
- New York: 1
- Los Angeles: 1
- San Diego: 1
- San Jose: 1
- San Francisco: 1
- Chicago: 1
- Houston: 1
- Seattle: 1
- Washington D.C: 1
- Atlanta: 1
- Denver: 1
- Detroit: 1
I stared at the list.
The trend was obvious. The most powerful cities—New York, Chicago—had consolidated. They had one voice. Detroit was lagging behind, fractured into four squabbling tribes. And on the national stage, only Seaside was even recognized as a player.
"Depressing?" Grace asked, looking over my shoulder.
"Motivating," I said. "It shows how far behind we are."
I pulled out my phone.
"Grace, I need access to the corporate account," I said.
"Done," she said, tapping her own phone. "You're authorized."
I opened the real estate listings.
I found a plot in Southfield. It was an abandoned golf course—massive, centrally located, and flat. Sixty million stones.
I hit buy.
[Transaction Complete. Property Acquired.]
I dialed Sal.
"Sal," I said. "Get the crew."
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"We building again?" Sal asked, sounding hopeful.
"We're moving," I said. "Go to Midtown. Pick up the Supermarket."
There was a pause. "Pick up... the building?"
"Yes," I said. "The whole thing. Glass, steel, foundation. Rip it out of the ground and fly it to the coordinates I'm sending you."
"Boss, that's heavy," Sal said.
"You're a Master Builder," I said. "Figure it out."
I hung up.
I looked out the window at the passing ruins of the suburbs.
For the last year, I had been treating the apocalypse like a pandemic. I thought in terms of "opening back up." I thought about supply chains and storefronts and customer service.
But looking at that list... looking at White Hill... I realized my mistake.
White Hill wasn't a security company. It was a military junta.
Seaside wasn't a shipping company. It was a maritime empire.
The Cove wasn't a pharmacy. It was a technocracy.
They were nations.
A supermarket is not a nation. It is merely one part of a nation.
"Eden cannot be a company that specializes as a supermarket," I sation. "We have to be a nation that specializes in food."
The supermarket would be the arm, not the body.
We arrived at the old golf course in Southfield thirty minutes later.
It was a wasteland of overgrown fairways and rusted golf carts. But the space... the space was infinite.
We waited in the rain.
Twenty minutes later, a shadow fell over us.
I looked up.
Sal and his crew of men were floating down the main road. They were using matter manipulation and structural reinforcement to suspend the massive Eden Supermarket fifty feet in the air.
It was a surreal sight. A pristine glass monolith floating through the grey sky, trailing wires and concrete dust.
"Down there!" I pointed to the center of the driving range.
Sal guided it down and the building touched the earth.
The ground shook and Sal wiped sweat from his forehead, looking exhausted but proud. He plugged the main line into a massive Seaside generator.
The lights flickered and then, the neon EDEN sign buzzed to life.
It stood alone in the dark field, a beacon of civilization in the middle of nowhere.
I walked up to the doors. The ceremonial ribbon was gone, lost in the move. I took a piece of caution tape from Sal’s truck and tied it across the entrance.
I cut it with my pocket knife.
"We are open," I said to the empty field.
I turned to Grace and Aiya.
"Change of plans," I said. "Grace, you handle all operations relating to the business side. HR, payroll, logistics. You run the economy of this nation."
Grace nodded. "Understood."
"Aiya," I said. "You handle the produce and the supply chain from Adam. Quality control. And the food court."
"What about the restaurant?" Aiya asked. "We could rebuild the luxury dining room."
"No," I said. "A stand alone restaurant is wasteful and useless right now. It feeds fifty people a night. The food court inside can feed five hundred an hour. Quantity over quality for now."
"And you?" Grace asked.
"I will handle marketing," I said. "That is what I know. Not war or logistics. Marketing. I will sell the idea of Eden to the people."
I looked out at the golf course.
"All funds," I said, "will be used to develop this gated community. We build housing for our workers, then walls, then a fortress."
"We are going to do what I neglected last time," I said. "We are going to conquer our backyard."
I pointed to the perimeter.
"We build a monopoly on violence and resources in this zone. We prevent any other factions from forming in Southfield. We install defenses—my bamboo, my mandrakes—everywhere. If another faction gets curious or greedy, they die before they reach the parking lot."
I looked at the store.
"We will do things the right way this time," I said. "Rather than creating far away colonies or building luxury restaurants, we will build the foundation."
I turned back to the car.
"Let's get to work."