Pickers 2: The Trip (3 page)

The seeds were in sealed tubs, heavy and square, which stacked neatly in the backs of the wagons. Each had a label, and Veronique was tagging them all on her computers as they were put in place. The little keyboard and screen combo she carried on a strap over her shoulders connected wirelessly to the larger setup in wagon one so that she could wander around freely as she took the notes.

Coming out of wagon one, she spotted two familiar figures on the footbridge over the river. Maxine and Chloe were saying their goodbyes. Veronique watched long enough to see them embrace, then turned back to her job, guilty about her voyeurism.

The last of the tubs were stacked at the rear of wagon two, and Remy and Tony were rigging up the cargo lift to speed loading up. Jorge and a couple of his minions were taking stock of the salvage that had been emptied from the two wagons to make space and as symbolic payment. Veronique noted that he had a similar portable computer to hers. She would have to find some new piece of exotic equipment, if town bound officials were catching up with the technology she wore.

Maxine arrived as the last of the tubs were stacked in wagon two. There was a hint of red around her eyes, and she wore an expression Veronique knew well. Talk to me about anything but my feelings, it said. Chloe trailed a little way behind, the flush of her emotions showing more clearly on her pale skin. Maxine swung up into wagon one, climbing out a moment later with one of her bows and a quiver full of arrows. She took it over to Chloe and helped her fit the quiver and bow for comfortable carrying. Then they kissed.

The rest of the little party loading the wagons looked the other way, embarrassed or understanding the need for privacy. Jorge stepped up to Remy and offered his hand. They shook, then decided this was insufficient and embraced. Jorge hugged Tony as well, then kissed Veronique on both cheeks. Somehow, during these farewells, Maxine had joined the family line up, so Jorge kissed her as well. "Good luck with your mission. I hope what little we've been able to give you will make a difference." He gave a little bow and then walked over to stand beside Chloe.

The turbines had been fired up earlier, so the batteries in both wagons were fully charged. They started rolling almost as soon as Remy and Veronique were in their driving seats. Maxine hung out of the open door of wagon one for a moment as they built up speed, giving a last little wave to Chloe, then climbed into the passenger seat.

The Goat Track had been a fully tarmacked road once, long ago, trailing up between the steep edges of a valley, then switching back and forth as it climbed the pass at the end. The ghost of that road remained, but the surface had been cracked and torn up by the pressures of successive freezes and thaws. Large chunks of gravel were jagged stones along the route, occasionally giving way to large potholes.

Maxine leaned over the handlebars of the bike and looked at the gouge that had been taken out of the road by a small stream. The wagons would hardly register it, but she would warn them anyway. She held her hand up to signal the wagons to expect an obstacle, then rolled her bike back and turned it around. Aiming at the middle of the gap, she moved slowly toward it, then throttled up when she was confident of her angles. The blip of acceleration, to the rear wheel only, raised the front off the ground. As she neared the gap, she jumped up from the saddle, bringing the bike with her and hopping across the gouge. She waved to the wagons and scooted ahead to continue her reconnaissance of the terrain.

"Who do you suppose did all the work on the track?" Tony asked. He stood as close to the road edge as he dared, looking down at all the switch backs they had negotiated and, beyond that, the valley floor, disappearing into a haze.

"Other pickers." Remy suggested. "Folk who do not wish to go through all the formalities of those self imposed, self important border guards. Smugglers." He was standing by wagon one, something solid and grounded to keep in check the vertigo he was embarrassed by.

Maxine and Veronique were stood atop the low, rough wall that was the only guard against toppling over the edge of the track. Remy's discomfort was only heightened by imagining the fall that awaited either of his daughters should they slip. He looked down at the surface of the track, instead. This was one of the sections that had been repaired, coarse gravel laid into the holes and ruts and pounded down until it was tight. Some sections had even seen the tar of the old surface melted over them again to add extra integrity. The repairs hadn't started until they had hit the bottom of the steep, back and forth section of the road. It was as if the road up the valley had been left intentionally ripped up and near impassable, so only the determined- or those in the know- would continue on to the relatively smooth climb.

"Do you feel dizzy up here?" Tony asked.

"It's the thinner atmosphere." Remy answered, quickly.

Even with power assisted steering and a smoother road surface, getting the big wagons up the Goat Track was hard work for their drivers. They had stopped to swap over, but the girls had insisted on making it a meal stop. And now they were staring down, down into the valley, pointing out landmarks they had passed, and giving their father fearful sweats. Remy turned away from them and walked round to see if the water had boiled yet.

They sat on the tail of wagon one and the front bumper of wagon two and ate venison Maxine had shot the day before and drank an odd, aniseedy, herbal tea Veronique had picked up in Zaragoza. It was the same as so many other meals on the road, but with a better than normal view, that Remy didn't want to take in. Afterwards, they loaded Maxine's bike back into wagon two, and she took over the driving from Remy.

At the top of the pass, in a crack in the stone that wasn't quite large enough to call a cave, was a pile of offerings to the road-menders. A sign in five languages said, "Leave more than you take. We trust you to pay your toll." They left a selection of recovered tools, and a battered old jerry can three quarters full of alco-fuel.

The downhill run was just as steep, and the bends as sharp. The regenerative braking in the wagons put back a lot of the charge taken out of the batteries on the way up, but the components were running hot by the time they reached the bottom. A short way past the end of the switch backs, they were, once more, on a straight, but still steep track down the new valley. This one was just as rough as its sister on the other side of the mountain had been.

More worrying than the rough road, however, was the roadblock they encountered a couple of kilometres down it. They rounded a bend to see three trucks ahead, parked side by side so they covered the width of the road. Two were obvious fuel burners, old, patched together and carrying the patina of several years of service. The other, sat between them, was larger, newer, similar in shape and size to their own wagons. Behind the trucks, the rock face of the hillside reached over the road. A dark arch had been blasted and carved into the stone. There was no other way on than through the roadblock and the tunnel it blocked.

Remy had taken the driving seat of wagon one again. As he slowed the wagon, Maxine slipped out of her seat, back to the gun rack by the ladder up to the roof hatch. She slipped the lanyard for the big pistol over her shoulders, cradling its new stock under her right armpit, and slipped smaller pistols into the back of her trousers and under the other arm. For good luck, she stuck the cast metal catapult Chloe had given her into the front pocket of her trousers, and hooked the bag full of nail darts over her belt. She returned to her seat with two hunting rifles, a shotgun and bags of ammunition. Stowing these weapons behind her father, she took her seat again, sitting further forward because of the armoury she now carried.

They pulled to a halt several lengths away from the block, and waited. Behind them, wagon two stopped to the side, so that Veronique and Tony could shoot around wagon one if they had to. So far, they had seen no people on the block, no movement. Maxine studied the ridge line of the rock arch over the road, looking for any heads poking over it and exposed against the sky. Seeing none, she went back to studying the trucks, waiting for a sign of life.

It came as a single figure walked between two of the trucks and strode a short distance forward. Remy stood and went for the side door. "I do not recognise this crew." he said, "Get onto the roof, in case. But don't point any guns at them." He waited until Maxine had unlatched the roof hatch before opening the door.

Remy felt a twinge of pain from his knee as he stepped down harder than he should. It had almost healed, but this was a reminder to treat it with care. He played up the limp it gave him as he walked toward the figure in front of the roadblock. The man had a bushy beard, striped in grey across each cheek, and long hair tied back and hanging most of the way down his back. He wore dark work trousers made from some heavy material, a dark shirt and long, deep brown jacket. His right hand rested on the butt of the pistol stuck in the front of his trousers, his left was hooked, by his thumb, into a pocket.

"Saw you coming down the pass." the man said as Remy approached. "Watched you most of the way down."

"Really?" The trucks looked like the sort of vehicles a group of pickers would convoy up in, loaded down with bits and pieces which might be useful for repairs or trades. Raiders preferred lighter rides, stripped back of anything but armour and weaponry. They stole what they wanted and often destroyed what was left. "You planning to go over yourselves?"

"We're getting out of the country. You're wise, you'll do the same. Nothing here but blight and raiders."

"We heard. We wanted to come home and help. We've got seeds, hopefully resistant ones."

The man moved his right hand from the gun and hooked its thumb in a pocket on his trousers, just like his left hand. "You won't find many places with people in them to grow the seed. But if that's what you plan to do, can only offer you good luck at it. We'll pass you by now and carry on. If you'll give us the space on the road."

Remy didn't turn completely away from the man, but he glanced back until he could be sure Maxine was watching him and not scanning the ridge line for hostiles. She sat up and nodded. He pointed to the road beside him. Moments later, he could hear the crinkle of wagon one's big tyres as they rolled over the track surface.

The bearded man made his own signal, and the electric truck moved forward from the roadblock. A side door opened, and he stepped up into the vehicle. Wagon one pulled up beside Remy, and he stepped inside it. He stood behind the driver's seat, hand resting on the shotgun.

With coughs that made Maxine and Remy jump, the two fuel burners started up. Black clouds billowed from their exhausts before the engines settled down. They followed the electric truck. Maxine and Remy tracked the progress of the little convoy, even when they were looking at the side walls of the wagon to do so. When he was sure they had passed wagon two, Remy said, "Okay, let's roll. Let's put some space between us and them, just in case."

On the Spanish side of the mountains, the field would have been a rippling blanket of green baking into gold. Here, it was dusty ground rough with stubble, punctuated by the occasional stand of sickly looking stalks. They followed the cart, going slow for the sake of the tired horse that pulled it, between this dead field and another just as barren.

Their weapons were at the ready, as they had been ever since meeting the convoy in the valley. But the man and woman in the cart didn't appear to have any fight left in them after a day scrabbling for roots.

The horse crested a slight rise and it could see home. Its ears picked up, and its pace increased as it began the gentle descent to the farm.

The farm was laid out in a familiar way, three buildings and a wall around a square courtyard. As they took it in, there was movement across one of the roofs, and figures appeared at the gate, ready to swing it closed to visitors. Maxine dropped a hand from the steering wheel to check, again, that the big pistol was hanging off the side of her seat.

After clearing the crest, it was a long, slow drive to the gates, even at a perked up horse's pace. They were watched all the way, with extra heads peering over the ridge of the roof as they approached. The cart carried on through the gate, but the wagons halted outside the compound.

They stepped down, formally armed but leaving the bulk of their weapons in the wagons. The woman from the cart as talking to a couple- grey haired and heavily armed- passing on the details Remy had given them out in the fields. After listening, then staring at the wagons for a while, the old man nodded.

As he strode through the gate, the old man passed his biggest gun to the guard. The woman kept hold of her carbine and hung back.

"You have seed?" The old man asked.

"We do." Remy said.

"Blight resistant?"

"We do not know, but, hopefully, yes."

The old man studied the wagons some more. They had a permanent patina of mud and dust, but that didn't hide their pedigree. More than once before, they had sold the family's identity as pickers rather than raiders. He nodded. "You'll be wanting a trade, I suppose. We haven't got much we can live without."

"We can afford credit, goodwill and information, if that is all you've got. We are on our way home, to help them if we can, but any good we can do on the way is a bonus."

"We have information, about towns and farms for 'bout a hundred kay around. Only Rumours, and not good ones, of what's happening beyond that. We can write you a promise, for if we're still here when you come back. Oh, and we have fresh water, if you need to top up."

"I think we can do a deal." Remy said, offering his hand.