Downrigger Drift (12 page)

Ryan nodded. “Good, for a second I was worried you thought I was getting soft.”

J.B. snorted quietly. “Not likely, I’ve seen Krysty’s satisfied expression when you two join us for breakfast lately.”

His head swiveling to stare at his friend, Ryan’s mouth gaped in shock. A joke from J.B. was as rare as an honest baron, and it literally made the tall man stop in his tracks. Not missing a beat, the Armorer slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m gettin’ to bed. Long day tomorrow.” Ambling back to his tent, he ducked under the flap, and vanished inside.

Ryan glanced around, hoping, praying for a witness to the miracle he had just witnessed. Of course, the area around the wag and tents was completely deserted. “Figures. No way anyone’ll believe me.” Shaking his head, Ryan slipped back into his tent and curled up next to Krysty. She stirred next to him, throwing her leg over his.

“That sly little son of a bitch.” Krysty’s low voice made Ryan smile in the darkness.

“You heard that?”

“Heard him? I was covering both of you from underneath the wag—just in case they decided to really get stupe. Why do you think my feet are cold?”

“No shit?” Ryan hadn’t even been aware of her presence during the confrontation. “Pretty sly yourself. J.B.’s comment bother you?”

“No, besides, I’ve seen Mildred’s lazy smile more than once in the recent mornings, as well. He just better be careful with what he says, or I might bring that up one of these days.”

“Then we’d see another rare sight—J.B. blushing.”
Ryan’s snicker was contagious, and soon Krysty shook against him as she joined in his laughter.

When they stopped, she ran her fingers down his chest. “Well, I’m too awake to go back to sleep now.”

Ryan grinned as her hand drifted lower. “Why, Miss Krysty Wroth, whatever did you have in mind?”

In one fluid move, she rolled on top of him, nipping his lips with her teeth. “Me on top of you for a while, that’s what.”

Running his hands up her smooth sides, Ryan lay back as she kissed his chest, enjoying the feeling of her strong legs intertwining his. “One hell of a way to start the morning, that’s for sure.”

Despite the evening’s various activities, Ryan and Krysty managed to catch a few more winks before dawn. However, they were up soon after the first glimmers of light broke over the horizon, mostly due to the tantalizing aroma wafting into their tent.

“Damn, that smells delicious,” Ryan said as he pulled his boots on. “Wonder who’s cooking?”

A small wood fire burned inside a ring of stones a few yards away from the wag, the white smoke curling up into the dark purple sky. The clouds had turned during the night, and a front was rolling in, with fluffy, lime green cumulus clouds puffing several thousand feet into the air, darkening to the color of the Lantic Ocean at their center. Ryan sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling. “Smells like rain coming.”

“Breakfast is ready. Come on, get it while it’s hot.” Mildred waved at them from where she stood next to the fire.

Her smile was wide that morning, and Ryan nudged Krysty as they walked, earning an eye-roll in return. When they got closer, however, his attention was drawn to the food: slabs of batter-dipped bread browning in a large, cast-iron skillet, surrounded by thick strips of crackling bacon. A blue-enameled pot rattled and steamed as whatever was inside boiled. “Looks good. Uh, what is it?”

“Something I haven’t tasted in about a century, give or take—homemade French toast, with, get this, real butter and true maple syrup.” Mildred held up an ancient glass jar that was three-quarters full of dark brown semiliquid. “I was talking to some of the women and learned they had all the fixings, so I did a little trading last night to borrow all this. I, uh, also used a bit of the coffee. Hope you don’t mind, Ryan.”

He shrugged, getting a good look at the meal as his stomach growled. Although they usually traded coffee for more vital necessities, he wasn’t averse to enjoying a cup every now and then if available. “That’s all right. What it’s there for.”

“Anyway, J.B. was kind enough to build the fire this morning, and here we are. Grab a plate and dig in. You haven’t had anything until you’ve tried this.”

Mildred had gone whole hog. There was a stack of beaten-up tin plates next to a pile of ancient silverware and a half dozen enameled mugs. Ryan armed himself and used a fork to spear a steaming piece of bread out of the pan, along with some crisp bacon.

Turning the latest batch of sizzling toast, Mildred pointed to a small ceramic pot. “Some folks like butter with their syrup, but me, I just take it straight up.” Sitting on the ground, she doused her serving with a liberal helping of the brown stuff, then cut off a piece and ate, chewing slowly, her eyes closed.

Following suit, Ryan added the syrup, sawed off a chunk with his knife, and put it in his mouth. Crisp on the outside, tender on the inside, the bread’s pleasant sourdough tang was muted by the egg coating and the sweet syrup. Ryan didn’t waste any time, but devoured everything on his plate, washing it down with sips of strong coffee, and looked for more when he was done.

Mildred had also finished hers and was cooking up more, with another half a loaf sliced and ready to go. “Keep coming, there’s plenty more where that came from. Where’s Jak?”

Ryan swallowed and glanced around. “He’s not with Doc?”

J.B. had also joined them, his grease-smudged hands testifying to his work getting the wag ready to roll. “I woke Doc when I went over to check on him. He was all by his lonesome.”

Mildred and Krysty exchanged knowing glances.

“What was that?” Ryan asked, although he already knew.

“It was hard to miss that dark-haired girl—Jabe’s sweetheart, I learned—hanging all over him last night.”

“Oh, that one.” Ryan suddenly busied himself with his breakfast. “Hadn’t noticed.”

Mildred frowned. “I hope he didn’t do anyth— Oh, hello, Jak.”

The teen joined them, his still-dripping wet hair sleeked back from a morning swim. Plopping down cross-legged on the ground, he snagged the syrup jar and looked at it for a second before tilting it up and pouring some down his throat.

“That’s not—” Mildred got out before being nudged into silence by J.B. just as the stream of sticky sweetness gushed into the young man’s mouth. Jak’s eyes bugged as the syrup overwhelmed his tongue. Swallowing as fast as he could, he tossed the bottle aside and looked for something else to drink. Seeing Ryan’s mug on the ground next to him, he grabbed it and raised it to his lips.

Even Ryan couldn’t let that go. “Wait, Jak, it’s—”

Too late. The albino teen took a huge gulp of the black liquid, then bellowed in pain, the coffee spraying out of his mouth and down his shirtfront as he leaped up and bolted for the river, where frantic splashing could be heard.

For a moment, silence reigned around the fire. Mildred was the first to break, her throaty chuckle rising to become high, loud laughter. Ryan was next—as much as he tried to hold it in, he couldn’t stop the helpless amusement, which spread to Krysty next. Even J.B. wore a wide smile as he sipped his coffee. The four of them were speechless for a minute as they tried to catch their breath before catching each other’s eye and collapsing in laughter again.

“Oh—oh shit, he’s coming back. Everyone shut up.” Mildred waved at them with one hand while hiding her smile behind the other.

Jak stalked back over, his face wet and lips red. Without a word, he grabbed a plate and scooped three pieces of toast and several strips of bacon onto his plate. Making a sandwich out of the whole mess, he began eating, blowing on his meal to cool it while trying to shove large bites into his sore mouth. The other four exchanged covert glances, but managed to hold their tongues.

Then Doc joined them. He’d also apparently bathed in the river, for his hair was still damp and stringy around his shoulders. His knees cracked like dry sticks as he settled by the fire. “Good morning, all. I trust everyone rested comfortably last night?”

Ryan, Krysty, Mildred and J.B. all nodded or mumbled affirmatives. Jak was the picture of stony, injured silence. Doc poured himself a cup of coffee, then leaned
over the skillet. “And who do I have to thank for this delectable-looking repast?”

Ryan cleared his throat. “That’d be Mildred.”

Doc sketched another of his elegant bows. “If it tastes half as good as it looks, ’twill be ambrosia upon my hungry lips.”

He picked up a plate and silverware and helped himself, then noticed Jak off to the side. “Jak, my good man, I didn’t see you when I awoke this morning.”

“Was out.” The boy barely glanced up from his plate, white hair falling across his eyes.

“Courting a fair, ebony-haired maiden, were you?”

“What you say?” Jak’s head snapped up at this, his crimson stare boring into Ryan, who shook his head and held up his hands, fighting to keep a smile off his face.

Doc shrugged. “Oh, no matter at all, I merely commented because I noticed the young woman left traces of her lipstick upon your mouth. You should be more careful if you want to keep your dalliances discreet among these ruffians.”

Now Jak frowned in puzzlement, one hand going up to his lips, which were still bright red from the scalding coffee. Mildred lost it first, laughing so hard she fell over, whooping for air. Ryan and Krysty were next, leaving J.B. shaking his head and chuckling quietly.

“Not fuckin’ funny!” Snatching the remains of his sandwich, Jak threw down his plate and stomped off, leaving the other four gasping for air, and a befuddled Doc looking around at all of them, his brow furrowed.

“Was it something I said?”

That just set the others off all over again.

J
AK RETREATED
to the sanctuary of the war wag, settling himself in the front blaster’s position, and refusing to come out until they were on the road.

J.B. shrugged. “Probably just as well. If he did get any action and Jabe finds out, likely there’d be another duel, and Brend’s son’ll end up on his back, staring into the sun.”

His blunt assessment of the situation sobered everyone, and Ryan cleared his throat first. “Yeah, time for us to hit the road anyway. Let’s pack this up, get it back to whomever it goes to, and get moving.”

“Might be too late.” J.B. nodded past Ryan, who turned to see Brend and several of the other bridge guards walking toward them. Everyone was armed, but no weapons were out.

“Everyone stay cool, and be ready to move on my signal.” Ryan turned to face the group, aware of the odds stacked against them if anything did go down. Although he was armed, and he was sure Krysty and J.B. were as well, the same couldn’t be said of Mildred and Doc, even though they were supposed to carry everywhere they went, even in a “safe” ville.

Brend came up to him and nodded. “Morning, Ryan.” He nodded to everyone else. “Mind if you and I talk for a minute?”

Ryan’s gaze flicked down and back up the other man, trying to fathom his intent. He didn’t get the sense that Brend was about to try a bushwhack, so he nodded. “Let’s walk.”

Deliberately turning his back on the other man, Ryan led the way downriver, knowing that if the ville leader was going to try something, that would be the time—and he’d be killed by J.B. before he could get a shot off, leaving Ryan to try and distract the rest of the guards.
Although his demeanor was relaxed, Ryan couldn’t help feeling his shoulder blades tense in expectation of a bullet ripping through them.

But that didn’t happen. The sun shone on Ryan’s face, a light wind ruffled his hair, and the two men kept walking until they were out of earshot of the rest. The last thing Ryan heard was Mildred playing peace-maker in the simplest way she knew: “Any of you boys hungry?”

When he figured they were far enough away, Ryan turned to Brend, planted his feet and waited.

The ville leader wasted no time. “After the…unpleasantness that happened last night, I saw ya exchanging words with my son. Like to know what ya told him.”

“I warned him against trying to go after Jak in his condition. Seemed he’d had a bit too much to drink. He wouldn’t have had a chance, you’d be burying your boy today, and there’d be a lot of bad blood between mine and yours, which I didn’t feel like having. Especially after the hospitality you’ve shown us.”

Brend nodded. “That’s all—you didn’t say anything else last night?”

Ryan debated for a second just how much to tell him about the second encounter. “I came across Jabe and some of his friends later in the evening. They were looking to blow off steam after what’d happened in the square.”

“Not aimed at you or your group, was it?”

“Not at any one of us, no.” Although it was stretching the truth, Ryan kept going before Brend could think about his answer. “I had a bit of a talk with Jabe, told him I thought he had the makings of a good leader, and mebbe he should try that route instead of running around causing trouble.”

Brend stared at him for a long time, and Ryan didn’t flinch or drop his gaze. At last, the other man nodded. “When I saw him this morning, he was…different. Whatever you told him, it musta sunk in deep. Hell, he was washin’ his own pants in the tub when I woke up. Hasn’t done since forever.”

Ryan rubbed his mouth to erase the smile that had sprung to his lips. If Brend noticed, he gave no sign. “Just wanted to thank you for whatever you said to him. Already he seems like another person than who he was last night, almost as if he came to some life-changin’ decision.”

Ryan shrugged. “Doubt I had anything to do with it, but if something I said or did helped, hopefully that’s all for the good.”

“A’right, then.” Brend clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s that. Ya all headin’ out today?”

“Yeah. We’re going to keep heading east, mebbe find those traders along the Lakes, the ones you mentioned last night.”

Brend snapped his fingers. “That’s what I was gonna tell ya! Something was niggling my brain last night, but I couldn’t grab it till the morning. If ya stay on the main road out of town, you’re gonna follow it down toward what used to be the capital of this area, a large city called Madison, mebbe sixty, seventy miles away. Caravans coming through’ve said to steer clear of the city itself—heard cannies’re campin’ out there.”

Ryan grimaced at the thought. He’d just as soon shoot a cannibal the moment he saw one. He held out his hand, which Brend clasped and pumped. “Thanks, we’ll keep a sharp eye out for them. And if we’re ever back in the area, we’ll be sure to drop by.”

“You and yours are welcome here anytime.”

With a nod, they headed back to find the rest of Brend’s men clustered around the fire, polishing off the last of Mildred’s breakfast. When they had finished, the plates and utensils were washed, and the men said they’d make sure the cooking gear got back to the right people. Everyone said their goodbyes, then Ryan and his crew finished cleaning up their campsite, packing up any remaining items and basically making sure nothing remained of their passage but tire tracks and, Ryan hoped, a bit of good sense.

Leaving the ville was a drawn-out affair, with small knots of villagers dropping by to say goodbye. Ryan even caught Jabe standing at the back of a small crowd that had come to see the war wag start up, since they rarely saw self-powered vehicles around anymore. The young man regarded him with a steady, emotionless stare. Meeting his gaze squarely, Ryan inclined his head. Jabe nodded back, once, and Ryan turned to continue directing the packing.

At last everything was secured, and the group was ready to leave. Ryan shook Brend’s hand one last time, then hoisted himself through the hatch into the driver’s seat, made sure everything was ready and fired up the engine.

Putting the vehicle in gear, Ryan eased out along the riverbank until he came to the cracked, highway, Number 90, according to J.B.’s maps. It would take them southeast to Madison, then east to the former city called Milwaukee and from there south to the blackened plain of Chicago and the hidden mat-trans.

J.B. kept the ville of Toma in his camera view as they slowly accelerated away, until the buildings and their waving inhabitants were mere specks on the horizon.