Rage (21 page)

Soon it would be dark.

The bridge was still there, but the gate wasn’t functional.

He knew he couldn’t go anywhere, not with night close. And besides, before he left—there was something he had to do.

•  •  •

He found a spot behind the building, flat dirt that ran flush to a sheer wall of rock.

Dirt that he could dig.

A small shed behind the house contained a few tools: a hand rake, clunky sheers. And a small shovel. Not really up to the job, but it would have to do.

So Raine dug, occasionally hitting stones that he had to pull out with his bare hands.

Until he had a hole he felt could hold the old man’s body.

He went back into the house, the light fading more each minute, and cut Kvasir’s body free. He picked him up. Some of Kvasir’s blood stained Raine’s clothes as he carried the body. It seemed a small price compared to the old man’s.

Outside, he lowered the body down.

A different person might have said something more, Raine knew. But all he said was, “Rest in peace, Kvasir.”

And he started covering the body with the dirt, eventually filling the hole, pounding the dirt mound flat with the back end of the shovel.

Then he went back inside.

Night was beginning.

And so, too—Raine guessed—his problems.

He sat on the porch, the generator—still some fuel inside, thankfully—humming away. Lighting the place up. He sat on the makeshift bench on the porch, the rifle across his lap.

Would anything come? Bandits, mutants, or maybe … for some reason … Authority Enforcers?

His eyes would shut and he’d quickly force them open.

And so, like that, eyes locked on the entrance to the bridge, he passed the next few hours.

Until he woke with a start and realized he had fallen asleep. He was still sitting out in the now cool desert night air.

Not good, he thought. Easy pickings to be out on the porch, exposed.

The generator still hummed away.

He got up and walked inside the building, the smell of death still in the air.

Raine shut the door, wedging a chair under the knob. He knew it wouldn’t stop anyone who really wanted to get in, but at least he’d hear if someone tried.

He walked over to the cot Kvasir had put out for him only days before.

He lay down.

For a few seconds he cocked his head, listening to the sounds of the place, as if making an imprint of what the sound of safe and quiet was … so he’d know the difference.

If things changed.

Then he allowed himself, gun still in hand, to fall asleep.

He woke with a start. Light outside. Morning. He felt immediately that he held nothing in his hands. He turned to the side and saw the gun on the floor. He sat up, taking a breath.

He had been—as the expression went—dead to the world.

In a way, I am kind of dead to the world. Does anybody know that I’m here?

He stood up. He knew a few things. Staying here wasn’t an option. There was no future in hiding at Kvasir’s hut until something came for him.

No, Wellspring, and whatever surprises it held, was where he
had to go. He had something the Resistance could use, if Kvasir had been able to tell them.

Otherwise, he would be on his own, having to find them somehow.

And how long before he encountered the Authority in Wellspring?

Maybe that was something that—now—he looked forward to.

This wasn’t the first time he had seen an innocent person trussed up, tortured, brutally killed. And if he ever asked himself why he did his job—why the hell he was a solider in a strange land—seeing something like that answered the question.

Just as it did now.

Time might have passed, but the vicious, bloody battle of good and evil didn’t look all that much different.

Raine always knew what side he was on.

That’s all he ever needed. He might have to be careful, he might have to bide his time, but in his own mind he knew why the hell he was here.

And with his body still aching, he walked out of Kvasir’s lab, taking his things out to his buggy for the journey to Wellspring.

T
he walls that surrounded the city towered two stories high, each metal plane ending in a giant, toothlike serrated edge, as if to discourage oversized pigeons from landing on them.

Raine saw people streaming in and out of an entrance, guards milling about. By the time he got closer, he had joined a line.

He saw other buggies. Some were as small as his, while others were more like trucks, loaded with material in the back. Each driver had to stop and talk to the guards before being waved in.

Might need my passport, he thought, only half joking.

He pulled closer, and the guards held up a hand, stopping him, while they walked around his buggy. Finally one guard came closer.

“Don’t see a travel tag.”

Raine took a breath. He knew it was dangerous to expose how much he didn’t know about this future.

“Travel tag?”

The guard looked at his compatriot. A small shake of the head. As in,
Maybe we gotta watch this one.

“Anyone coming into the city needs a tag to do business. And if you’re staying, you need to have a garage and place to stay. No buggies, armed or not, allowed sitting on the streets of the city.” Another shake of the head. “Where the hell you from, anyway?”

“Right now? Came from the Hagar Settlement. Before that, did some work for other settlements.”

Raine guessed that lie sounded okay, since the guard nodded.

He also knew it was best to anticipate the questions and problems in a situation like this.

“Dan Hagar said I should speak to the mayor.”

“Looking for work? Ain’t much here, stranger. Unless”—now guard one looked at guard two, this time with a grin—“you like to
drive.
”

“I drive okay.”

“In this? Piece of—” The guard looked up. More vehicles had lined up behind Raine. This chat was slowing the operation down. “We’ll let Mayor Clayton know you’re coming right over. He can decide whether you stay or go.”

Raine nodded. “Right.”

The guard gave him a few directions to get to the mayor’s compound. Then the two guards stood back and let him into the city of Wellspring.

And it was a city, with buildings looking almost normal—except where a wall had peeled away, replaced by random metal sheeting. Or the brick structures that turned into wood halfway up.

And everywhere there were signs. Some advertised things Raine didn’t understand, such as a fat grinning face—a jowly man with poached-egg eyes—saying in a speech balloon, “Watch and Win! Mutant Bash TV, every Friday!”

Don’t want to miss that, he thought.

Then there were signs from who called the shots here, messages from the Authority.

One sign:
REPORT ANY ILLEGAL TRADING TO THE ENFORCERS.

And:
THE VISIONARY AND THE AUTHORITY
ARE
THE FUTURE.

There were even bars, and Raine was reminded about how this started for him, being picked up at that Red Hook dive near his apartment.

People looked at his buggy as he drove down the streets, a few of the roads with rough, near-cobblestone pavement, but most just dry, packed dirt surfaces.

He drove past what looked like a sports stadium. A sign:
RALLY TOMORROW—THE WHITE RABBIT!

This was where they race, he realized. The place was dark now, quiet.

Ahead he saw a building that looked like it had once been a museum or library—a few pillars left standing outside—save that half the building was gone.

Guess repairs and renovation don’t get done around here.

There were more guards on the steps, standing casually, dressed like Wild West characters who’d had too much of the local brew. Long coats, big hats, vests, and guns in holsters, rifles slung over their shoulders.

He pulled his buggy alongside the building entrance.

“Can’t leave
that
here,” one guard said.

“Got a meeting with the mayor,” Raine said.

“Best be back in fifteen minutes. Never know what can happen to a vehicle left on the street.”

The guard laughed at that, and his partner joined in.

Raine walked past them. “Sure hope nothing happens to it,” he said as he passed the guard who spoke to him. “That would be unfortunate.” He held the guard’s eye, unflinching. “All around.”

The guard looked away.

Raine went into the building—a sign pointed to a stairwell,
MAYOR’S OFFICE
—and he went up the stairs to meet the mayor of this not-so-fair city.

Clayton had his feet up on a desk and smoked something. Not quite tobacco, yet it didn’t smell like anything more powerful, at least anything Raine had ever smelled. He blew a smoke ring into the air.

“Son, come on in. Pull up a chair.”

“Mayor, thanks for seeing me.”

Another puff, another ring. Raine remembered a favorite film from his childhood. A videotape—God, VHS—of
Alice in Wonderland.
Of the caterpillar sitting above Alice, puffing away.

Talking in riddles.

He looked around and pulled a wooden chair close to Clayton’s desk.

“Looks like you’ve had some bad times out there.” Clayton gestured with a hand, pointing at the obvious smears on Raine’s clothes. “Best get some new clothes, son. Stuff like that unsettles the good citizens. They’re nice and safe here. Don’t need any reminders of what’s out there.” A big smile. “Beyond our
walls.
”

Clayton wore a hat as well, a leathery fedora of some kind. And what appeared to be a monocle that he could flip up and down. Added to his carefully crafted beard and mustache with tapered points and a perfect V shape, the mayor of this city was … something to see.

His long jacket had to be miserable to wear in the heat.

Part of the effect.

“I was hoping—” Raine began.

“Now hold on, son. Just wait a bit. See, I got this here note from Dan Hagar. Saying you would be coming. Needing some”—bushy eyebrows went up on cue—“help?”

“Just trying to get by, Mayor.”

Those same eyebrows narrowed now. “That what you were trying to do out there?” A hand waved at Raine, as if his torn and spattered clothes clearly told the story of everything he had been through. “Get by?”

“Got some dangerous things in the Wasteland.”

“Ha. Tell me about it. You know what?” Clayton took his feet off the desk and leaned close. “It’s damned hard to keep the trade routes open. To the settlements, to Capital Prime, to the other regions. Hard to find someone with enough …” He paused, as if savoring the word. “… 
balls
to make those trips. That something you might be interested in?”

“Yeah. Thought I could find some kind of work here.”

Clayton took another drag of his cigar, the noxious smell and smoke filling the room. If he kept it up, Raine thought he might have to retch. He kept his cool, though.

Clayton nodded. He picked up a note. “Hagar doesn’t tell me your name here. Got a name, son?”

Raine hesitated. He thought of creating something. Steve. Joe. But he didn’t know what Dan had sent along. And if Clayton was the big kahuna of this city, best not to start off getting caught in a lie.

“Raine.”

“Raine. Interesting name. Just … Raine?”

“Nicholas Raine.”

Did the Authority, who had to still be looking for him, have that name? Or did they just know there was a survivor somewhere out there?

If the latter, a nameless survivor could have been easily killed in this world in a dozen different ways.

“Good name. Let’s talk turkey, son.”

“Let’s.”

“See, I don’t know much about you. Not much at all. And Dan, well we deal with him. Hell, in my city we deal with
everyone.
” He laughed. “Except muties. They’re kinda hard to deal with, if you know what I mean.”

Raine nodded.

“Even the Authority. They come here, we do some trading. I let them know that I am a big supporter … a
big
supporter of the Visionary. They tend to leave us alone.”

A knock on the door, and a young man came in and handed the mayor a sheet of paper … and walked out again without a word.

And Raine wondered:
Did this guy get elected? Appointed? Who or what made Clayton mayor?

“So,” Clayton continued, “my motto is simple: ‘No trouble.’ With anyone. Now son, you might be trouble. That is, unless you fit in.”

“That would be the goal.”

The words made Clayton smile. “Good. Just what I hoped to hear. ’Cause you see, though Dan spoke well of you, seems he has his own problems.”

“What happened?”

“Seems the Authority came looking for … somebody. They took his daughter. In case Dan learned anything.”

At that moment Raine wondered if he might have to shoot himself out of this office, then out of this damn city.

He wouldn’t have given much for his chances of success.

“The Authority will keep looking. Trust me on that one. They’ll find … whoever they are looking for.”

Bastard’s enjoying this, Raine knew.

My life in his hands.

Or in Clayton’s words … my “balls.”

Still, someone who was willing to deal with everyone from bandits to the Enforcers might be looking for what worked best for him in his city. The fact that they were still speaking meant it wasn’t time for him to pull out his gun and start making his goodbyes.

Clayton stood up and walked over to the window.

He looked out and tapped it.

“All the good people out there,” he said with a look back at Raine, “and some of the not so good—they need what I get them. The food, the water, the fuel. More important—the reason to live.”

He turned away from the window.

“And I think … you might help me with that reason, Mr. Raine. Seems you can fight. Seems like you can drive. Some people come here from all over, from all the settlements, from small shit-ass towns that barely hang on. They even come from the Capital. Know why? They come here to race. To race and to live.”