Radio Hope (Toxic World Book 1) (19 page)

The
Doctor slumped in Marcus’ arms. He dragged his friend inside the operations center just as the first cultists made it over the wall.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jackson had to move slow
ly. He could hear firing up ahead. That meant the others were still alive, or at least some of them. And that meant his topo wasn’t in the hands of the Righteous Horde, or at least it wasn’t yet.

Jacks
on would have liked to feel relieved because of that but he couldn’t. Abe and his flunkies were just as dangerous as the cult, more so in a sense. The threat from the cult was obvious and brought everyone together. Abe and his ilk were snakes in the grass. They divided society and made it war on itself.

The overriding question in his mind was—what
would Annette do? For a moment there on the bridge it seemed that she had really got it, that some real communication had passed between them. She had promised to protect Radio Hope, and from what he’d heard she was good to her word.

But would she be in this case, or would her unthinking support for the social order turn her into a class traitor like Mitch and Ha-Ram?

Jackson felt a twinge of guilt for doubting her. She had come back for him, passing over that terrifying bridge a second time under fire to try and save him. Shame washed over him at the memory of clinging like a baby and whining that he couldn’t move. But that drop. . .it made him shiver again just remembering it. His father had led union strikes during the City-State Wars and he couldn’t even cross a bridge?

He’d make go
od. He’d have to. Annette might do the right thing, but her companions definitely wouldn’t. They needed to be stopped, and he needed to get his topo back.

Jackson slo
wed down. The firing had died away. He kept to the edge of the road, where there were enough gullies and large rocks that he could get cover if he needed to. Still he felt terribly exposed.

If those cultists come back this way I’m a dead man.

Gripping his pistol, he moved resolutely forward.

The road took a sharp turn. As he came
around it he spotted a man sprawled on the ground by the side of the road. Jackson ducked back, then relaxed when he saw it was one of the cultists who had obviously been hit. The man lay on his back, his last breaths gurgling from a shot to his throat.

Beyond the dying man the road
straitened out for a hundred yards or so before taking another sharp turn. Just before the second turn a boulder took up nearly an entire lane. His companions had obviously made a stand there, while the cultists had been left with the much less effective shelter of a few large rocks and a heap of eroded soil.

“Wasn’t enough for you,” Jackson said as he approached the cultist.

At the sound of Jackson’s voice the man turned his eyes and spotted him. He didn’t move his head or any other part of his body. Jackson wondered if the neck shot had paralyzed him. No matter, he’d be dead in a minute anyway.

Taking a quick glance around to assure himself they were alone, Jackson bent over the dying man. The man followed him with his eyes, his breath coming more ragged now as he choked on his own blood.

The fellow was thin like most scavengers, but wore good clothing. A red bandanna emblazoned with a golden fist was wrapped around his head. His gun was gone.

“So, your brethren
on the spiritual path took your weapon and left you to die, eh?” Jackson snorted. “Let’s see what else you got.”

Jackson rummaged through the man’s pockets. He found a clasp knife and a few nuts. There was a satchel by his side, already soaked from the widening pool of blood. Jackson opened it and found a blanket and some dried meat and bread.

“Good, Annette has my food so I’ll take yours,” Jackson told him.

The cultist
didn’t hear him. He’d taken his last breath.

Shoving his loot into his own bag, he turned and ran to the boulder. He peered around it. Nothing except for a scattering of
7.62×39mm casings that told him Mitch had made a stand here.

Jackson paused. The road kept bending here and he couldn’t see much further ahead. He couldn’t hear anything either. He ducked back behind the boulder and closed his eyes, trying to picture his topo. Yes, this had been the final turn before the canyon. There should be a narrow side canyon not much further on. That was the one that led to a network of canyons, and somewhere in there was Radio Hope.

Had Annette gone the right way? There was nothing for it but to find out. Making his way around the corner, he soon came to a narrow, gravelly side canyon.

This is it
,
Jackson thought.

Despite the danger and his eagerness to be on h
is way, he stopped to savor the moment. Somewhere beyond this valley lay Radio Hope and the people who ran it. He couldn’t believe he was finally going to meet them. He had to ask for their help to straighten out New City, wake up the proletariat in the Burbs to their exploitation and have them rise up and force the citizens to share their wealth so that all could benefit from the fruits of society’s labor. The people behind New Hope would understand this. They were kindred spirits. Who else in this world gave something for nothing?

He set out. Only a few steps into the valley he heard the crackle of gunfire. He stopped. That hadn’t been from up the valley
; that had been further down the road.

Shit
,
he thought
.
Annette took the wrong path.

The gunfire sounded again, the distinct staccato rattle of an AK-47 replying to th
e
pop pop po
p
of several rifles.

He looked up the valley, then back
toward the road. The gunfire escalated in intensity.

Annette tried to save my life.

“Aw hell!” he grumbled, and headed back to the highway.

He didn’t have far to go. Rounding a corner, he came to a straight part in the road. Once again the others had found a barrier to hide behind, this time the rusted hulk of a tractor parked by the side of the road, and once again the cultists found themselves
with only scant protection. About twenty yards away from Jackson, two lay prone and fired from behind a few rocks and a tree that had cracked right through the asphalt to grow in the middle of the street. Several yards beyond them, more hunkered down in a drainage ditch by the side of the road. The other side of the road dropped off sheer. There was nowhere to hide there. In the distance he caught a glimpse of Mitch popping out from behind the tractor to let out a burst. Jackson ducked as the bullets zipped past his head.

The men in the ditch were partially obscured, but those in the road w
ere in plain view from where he stood. Jackson took careful aim and fired. The head of the man on the left jerked forward, blood bursting from his skull. The other one turned in amazement, only to get Jackson’s second shot in his chest.

The cultists in the drainage ditch turned and poured fire at him. Jackson rolled into the same drainage ditch, thanking his luck that the road curved just enough that he was out of sight.

Now what? Jackson risked a look over the lip of the ditch and nearly got his brains blown out by a snap shot from one of the cultists. He heard another burst from Mitch in response.

Jackson kept low. For a moment
there was no sound at all. Then he heard the crunch of boots on gravel. Jackson risked poking his head out of the ditch again. This time no one fired. He looked around in confusion for a second until he spotted them.

They were hustl
ing up the slope beside the road. There were only half a dozen of them now, their running battle having whittled away their ranks. Even so, they still outnumbered Jackson and his companions. Three ran forward while the others covered them, then they ran to catch up. Mitch tried to take a shot at them and leapt back out of sight as bullets panged off the tractor.

Jackson looked on helplessly. They were already too far away to hit with his pistol.
Glancing over at the two men he killed, he realized the cultists had been in too much of a hurry to retrieve their rifles. He ran over, zigzagging in case any of them were watching and hoping that Mitch looked to see who it was before he fired.

His luck held. He dove down beside the two men and grabbed the nearest rifle to hand, a Remington
.30-06.

Bracing the rifle against one of the bodies, he aimed at one of the running figures. He squeezed the trigger and dust kicke
d up next to the man’s feet. Two of his companions turned and snapped shots down on him, both their bullets going high. Jackson fired again and he saw blood erupt from one of the cultist’s shoulders.

The sound of running feet made him look. Mitch was sprinting down the road
toward him. Jackson turned back and fired a couple more shots at the cultists. All were running now.

Mitch rolled to a stop beside him and grabbed the other rifle.

“What happened to your AK?” Jackson asked.

“Out of ammo. You came just at the right time, Blamer.”

Mitch squeezed off a round and one of the cultists jerked and fell, rolling partway down the hill.

The remainder humped over a ridge and disappeared.

“Grab any spare ammo and let’s go,” Jackson said. “If they decide to start sniping we’ll be fucked.”

Jackson rummaged around the pockets of his man and found a dirty rag wrapped around a fistful of bullets. Stuffing these into his overcoat pocket, he
and Mitch ran back to the shelter of the tractor.

“Surprised they didn’t shoot at us,” Jackson said, panting and trying to catch his breath.

Mitch grabbed his backpack from where it leaned against the tractor. “Probably thought there were more of you. Glad to see you got over your claustrophobia.”

“Acrophobia.”

Mitch looked at him. “What?”

“Acrophob
ia is fear of heights. Claustrophobia is fear of enclosed spaces.”

Mitch’s mouth dr
opped open. “You afraid of those too?”

Jackson shook his head. “Never mind. Where are the others?”

“Must be on ahead. I stopped behind this thing to delay the motherfuckers a bit more,” Mitch replied, gesturing to the rusted hulk of the tractor.

“On ahead?” Jackson asked.

“Annette looked at your map. We need to go to the next canyon we come to.”

Jackson resisted the urge to shout in frustration.

Damn, she got my directions wrong!

“Let’s hurry up and find them before they get too far,” he said.

Mitch and Jackson headed out and soon found the side valley, the one Jackson knew was wrong. A little stream ran through it and had eroded out the stretch of road that passed over it. Jackson imagined years of rainstorms bringing down gravel and branches from further up until the drainage pipe that ran under the road had gotten clogged. The water would have flowed over the road then, wearing it away in a few seasons at most. Yet another of the creations of the Old Times swept away.

A couple of hundred yards up the valley branched into three, where smaller creeks ran between peaks and converged into one stream.

Mitch bent down and examined the soil.

“I don’t see their tracks,” Mitch said.

“Would you see them if they passed this way?”

Mitch nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

Maybe Annette did go the right way. Maybe she kept her word and gave you the wrong directions. She kept Ha-Ram with her because he’s got the direction finder. If she is lost, I’ll never find her among all these little valleys. If she isn’t lost, I need to get back on the right path right away and catch up to her. But what about you? What do I do with you?

Mitch was crouched next to the stream, examining the damp ground on its banks for traces of their passing.

Jackson raised his rifle and pointed it at the back of Mitch’s head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Where’s Mitch?” Ha-Ram asked, looking over his shoulder for the tenth time in the past mile.

“He’s coming,”
Annette replied.

“Maybe he got shot,” the technician said.

“Maybe,” Annette said, not sure how she felt about that possibility. “Come on, we need to keep moving.”

Ha-Ram stopped. “What’s going on?”

“You’re being too clever for your own good, that’s what’s going on.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Jackson getting killed changed my perspective on a few things,” Annette mumbled, pulling out the topo map and unfolding it.

Ha-Ram kept silent while Annette studied the map and tried to compare it to the features she saw all around her.

Damn, this is complicated.

“Pull out that gizmo of yours and search for Radio Hope’s signal.
”

“Who made you boss?” Ha-Ram
demanded.

Annette looked up from the map. “I did.”

Ha-Ram turned away and opened his pack. Pulling out the radio direction finder, he swept the area.

“That way
,” he pointed.

Annette compared the compass reading with the map, he
r brow furrowing in confusion. The map was on too big of a scale. All the valleys in this area were tiny squiggles of closely packed lines. She looked at the landscape, then back at the map, then back at the landscape again.

“Let’s go up that hill,” Annette decided. “We’ll see better from there.”

Annette had her shotgun in her hands and Ha-Ram carried his radio detector. She eyed the 9mm in his holster. Should she disarm him? She decided against it. Ha-Ram didn’t seem like the type to turn on her.

They mounted the hill but couldn’t see much as it was only an eminence between two valleys. The rest of their view was blocked by higher ridges and peaks.

“Damn, this whole area is like a maze,” she complained.

Ha-Ram tested his detector again.

“That way,” he said and pointed.

“There’s no valley going that way.”

“What does the map say?”

“How the hell should I know
?” Annette snapped.

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn. On
top of a ridge back in the direction of the road she caught a glimpse of several figures. A moment later they were gone.

“Shit, let’s go,” Annette said.

They hustled down the far side of the hill and up one of the valleys. It proved to be a dead end. Cursing, Annette led them back to the other valley but found that it turned away from where they wanted to go.

“We’re going to get lost in here,” Annette said.

“No we won’t, not if we keep following Radio Hope.”

“Climbing over hills and ridges and who-the-hell-knows what else?”

Ha-Ram shrugged. “What choice do we have?”

They scrambled up a steep gravelly ridge, trying to keep low
in case the cultists spotted them. Annette could tell they were working their way north, moving around the mountain that stood between them and the highway.

After another half hour of walking Ha-Ram stopped.

“Look,” Ha-Ram said, pointing to a distant hilltop.

They’d passed around the
back of the mountain they’d been skirting all this time and come to a series of jagged peaks and steep valleys that formed a low point in the mountain chain. It was more open here, with clear views to the west and east. Behind her Annette could even see the distant sparkle of the sea. But that wasn’t what caught Ha-Ram’s attention. The hill in front of them stood alone, higher than most. Atop it was a tall radio antenna stood silhouetted against the sky.

Annette
stopped and stared. Radio Hope had started up years ago, back when she was still wandering the wildlands with the scavengers. Its messages had taught them how to gather food, warned them of locations with toxic waste dumps, gave them instructions for splinting a broken bone and mixing herbal remedies. Radio Hope had probably saved her life a dozen times. And she wasn’t alone. Everyone, from the richest citizen down to the most ragged scavenger, looked to Radio Hope to give them exactly what the name implied.

Back in the Burbs, people would have listening parties, sitting around scarce radios and absorbing
the life-giving information transmitted twelve hours a day. When the stranger had brought those crystal radios, suddenly their signal was available to even the poorest scavenger. In just a couple of days the listening parties had disappeared, replaced by people sitting with an earplug stuck in their ear. After the harvest trade fair, those radios would spread across the wildlands. She had a feeling that the mysterious man who first came to her attention protecting his daughter in the bar would be back next year to trade more radios at almost giveaway prices.

He’s from here
,
Annette realized
.
He must be.

They’re going to make sure everyone can get their transmissions. They’re going to give everyone a chance to survive. And Abe wants to shut it all down.

She turned to Ha-Ram. What to do about him?

The technician stood staring at the distant transmitter, his face transfigured with joy.
Suddenly she wasn’t so worried about him anymore.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

They headed down a gentle ridge and then zigzagged along a rough canyon. Ha-Ram had to use the direction finder to check their way and led them over another couple of ridges.

And then they were there. A broad, green valley
of fresh grass led gradually upwards to a narrow cleft with the hill on the left. The radio transmitter stood out clear against the blue sky.

“It’s broken!” Annette said.

Wires dangled from its sides and the top section had fallen and lay on the slope in front. The portion that remained standing was covered in patches of rust.

“It’s a ruin like everything else,” Annette said. Tears wet her eyes.

“No, I’m getting a signal,” Ha-Ram said. His detector pointed straight at the transmitter, with the needle on the power scale all the way to the right.

“How is that possible?” Annette asked.

“Must be some sort of camouflage,” Ha-Ram shrugged. “Sure looks convincing.”

“But where is everybody?” she looked around.

Until that moment she hadn’t thought of what to say to the operators of Radio Hope if she found them. She had been too busy trying to survive and worrying about the other members of her team to figure out what to say to these living legends. Now that she was here, she couldn’t even find them.

“Maybe they’re watching us,” Ha-Ram said
.

Annette turned slowly around, looking at all the hilltops and crevices. There wasn’t a sign of anyone. The field was littered with fresh goat and sheep droppings, though. Someone had been grazing a big herd here as recently as a day or two ago.

“Let’s keep going,” Annette said.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ha-Ram said, beaming. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to meet them. I’ve looked up to these people all my life.”

“The people you planned to sell down the river?” Annette asked.

Ha-Ram looked away, a guilty expression on his face.

They continued up the valley and studied the transmitter as they approached. It still looked wrecked. Ha-Ram checked the detector again and got the same result.

As they drew
closer they could see a low concrete building at the base of the transmitter, camouflaged so well with paint and netting that it had been invisible from further away. Annette stared at it as they walked. Would they be inside? What would she tell them? She had to warn them about Abe.

She turned to Ha-Ram and leveled
her double-barreled shotgun at his belly. His face fell but he didn’t look surprised.

“Give me your gun,” she said.

“If we don’t do this Abe won’t honor our trade,” he said. “He told me what you traded for. Do you want to be stuck in the Burbs the rest of your life? You want Pablo to grow up dodging gunfights and getting chased by tweakers?”

Annette h
esitated. What he said was true; she had to think of Pablo’s future. But what kind of future would there be if Abe owned the airwaves? Her grip on her shotgun tightened.

“Give me your gun,” she repeated.

A clank of wood hitting stone made them both turn. A figure popped out of a low pit in the ground, knocking aside wooden planking covered with grass.

The figure was dressed in fatigue pants and a heavy hooded sweatshirt. Beneath his hood his face was obscured by a strange, smiling white mask
painted with a thin black moustache and beard. An M16 pointed straight at them.

A muffled voice shouted from behind the mask.

“Drop your weapons!”