The Takers: Book One of the Oz Chronicles (18 page)

"Your job isn't to win," he said scratching his belly. "Your job is to lead. The winnin' will take care of itself." He could tell by my expression that I was confused. "The greatest army in the world with the greatest equipment and the perfect battle strategy can't win without a good leader." He motioned to the campground with his head. "That scraggly bunch of misfits don't care about the fight. They care about the man leadin' them into the fight. You understand?"

I tried to look like I did, but I wasn't sure. I had never been called a man before. I was waiting for him to correct himself and change it to boy, but he never did.

"Look," he said. "If you sacrifice yourself for them, they will die for you."

I nodded. "Some of us will die, won't we?" I had told Lou as much earlier, but now hearing somebody else say it, it really sunk in.

He ran his thumbnail across his lips and gave me a compassionate gaze. "Yeah, Oz, some of us will."

I smiled. "How do you know so much anyway?"

He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back, his elbows out like chicken wings. "Because I'm an old fart."

***

When our shift ended I woke up Roy and Reya to relieve us. Reya was unhappy about the arrangement, but after some prodding by her brother she reluctantly agreed. I imagine they kept each other awake by arguing until morning.

Before lying down by the waning fire, I walked to the edge of the campground to pee. Before I could get my pants unzipped, I heard jumbled almost unintelligible voices from the trees above me.

"Look, everybody, it's Oz." Hundreds of voices giggled and hissed in response.

I froze. "Who-who's there?"

"Who-who?" A raspy voice called out. "Who-who?"

"The Délons are coming. The Délons are coming." The same sing-songy voice from the two-way belted out.

I looked around and wondered why no one else in the camp was reacting to the deafening babbling from the trees. Roy and Reya were in a heated argument, and the others were lying in the same position they were in before. I was the only one who could hear the voices in the trees.

"The Délons are coming," the voice said again.

"So, come on already." It was a foolish use of bravado considering that it was obvious they outnumbered us a hundred-fold.

"It's not your time, warrior," a voice to my left said.

"It's not your time," a voice to my right said.

"It's not your time," a voice whispered in my ear. I could feel its lifeless and stale breath on my neck. I backed away.

"You're not really here, are you?" I said.

"Wish you were here," a Délon giggled.

"We've so many warriors to fight," another moaned.

"The Délons are coming," the sing-songy voice said. The voice suddenly turned grave. "The Storyteller is ours." With that, the prattling stopped. They left as suddenly as they came. I scanned the tree line. Nothing. My ears ached from listening to the incessant mumbling. I stumbled backwards and struggled to get solid footing. Still in a state of semi-shock, I rejoined my sleeping comrades and sat next to the fire. The urge to pee had been scared out of me. I sat and stared into the hot embers of the fire. I looked up at the purple crack in the sky. A warrior was fighting the Délons tonight, of that I was sure. I pulled my knees to my chin and wrapped my arms tightly around my legs. I closed my eyes and tried to wish our fellow fighters to victory.

Atlanta, home of the NFL's Falcons. We arrived in the southern metropolis around mid-morning. The highway system was a twisted mass of concrete and steel spaghetti. On the side roads and looping bypasses, there were thousands of abandoned vehicles, but there were none on 1-75. Wes was right. Somebody was giving us a clear path. I thought about his question. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? Something or somebody could be leading us into a trap. I shrugged the thought off. Even if they were, it didn't really matter. Our goal was to find the Keepers. If that meant fighting our way out of a trap, then so be it.

We stopped at a convenience store and picked up a city map. We were all a little surprised to see the store had been looted. About the only thing that remained were maps. It had been savagely stripped bare of everything else.

"Who do you suppose did this?" Miles asked.

"Survivors," Wes said.

"Survivors?" Devlin was picking through the wreckage looking for any morsel of candy. "Like us?"

I made my way across the broken glass and fractured display shelves to the counter and snatched a folded city map from a wire rack on what was left of the wall. I scanned the wreckage. "I wouldn't say they're exactly like us."

"Yeah," Wes said. "They don't appear to be as friendly as us." He looked at Reya and corrected himself. "Most of us, anyway."

She smirked at him as he exited the store.

"We should go," I said. Ajax stood on all fours in the doorway. He was feeling a hundred percent, and he was anxious to face the Takers again. He knew it was the only way to the Keepers. "We have to get to the zoo."

"Cool, the zoo," Devlin said.

"Alright," Miles gave his fat friend a high-five. "The zoo rocks!"

"You idiots," Reya said. "We ain't going there to sightsee." She flashed me an evil eye. "We're going there to die."

I started toward her. "Wrong." I stopped when we were side-by-side; shoulder to shoulder, her facing one way, me the other. Without looking at her I said, "We're going there to fight." I walked out of the store.

We had left the wagon and VW bus parked on the side of the interstate due to the congestion of abandoned cars on the on-ramp. Roy, Kimball, and Lou stayed behind to guard our supplies and Nate. Wes sat on Mr. Mobley and waited at the edge of the convenience store parking lot for the rest of us. I climbed aboard Chubby and stuck my hand out to help Miles aboard. Ajax started down the grassy slope to our awaiting caravan. After giving up on finding anything edible in the convenience store, Devlin exited and mounted his horse. Reya followed. We weaved our way through the maze of cars, some in pristine condition, some torn apart at the metal frame.

Miles was the first to spot the strangers approaching from the east side of the overpass. There were a couple dozen men on horseback headed our way. They were all dressed in military uniforms, but they were unkempt and none of them exuded the discipline and pride of an average soldier.

"What do you make of that?" Wes asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Our survivors?" I turned to Reya and Devlin. "Get down to the wagon and bus. Tell Roy to drive the VW. Keep heading south."

"What are you going to do?" Reya asked.

"We won't be far behind," I said.

She watched as the band of horsemen inched their way closer.

"Do you need me, boss?" Miles asked. I could tell that he wanted to go with Devlin and Reya.

"No, we can handle it."

Miles quickly dismounted Chubby and climbed aboard Devlin's steed. Together with Reya, they headed down the on-ramp to the caravan.

Wes and I rode slowly toward the horsemen. They moved methodically around the abandoned vehicles. The rider in the middle turned to the others and said something. Two riders suddenly broke away from the pack and headed down the off-ramp on the other side of the overpass. The rider who had spoken galloped toward us with three other riders. The others stayed behind.

As they got closer, I recognized the one in the middle. He was a large man with a thick neck and a muscular build. His name was Pepper Sands, a linebacker for the Atlanta Falcons. I knew him because I saw him get three sacks against my Titans just last month. My Pop had cursed his name every time he broke through the offensive line and crushed our quarterback. I'd studied his resume later that night on the internet.

We met in the middle of the overpass. I was star struck. The man was a professional athlete that could bench press a Buick. Now, here we were face-to-face, both designated leaders. In a sense, we were equals. The idea blew my mind.

"You fellas passing through or looking for a place to hang your hat?" Pepper asked.

I couldn't bring myself to answer. I was mesmerized by his celebrity.

"Passing through," Wes said.

Pepper pointed to our caravan. "How'd you get the van to work?"

"Runs on propane." Wes wasn't as impressed by the great Pepper Sands as I was.

Pepper turned to his men and laughed. "Damn, boys, it runs on propane." His men laughed with him. He turned back to us. "There's a passing through tax." He sat up straight in his saddle and involuntarily flexed his forearm.

"A passing though tax?" Wes was incensed.

"That's right," Pepper said.

"Says who?" Wes asked. His voice was a little too sharp for Pepper's liking.

"Says me." Pepper moved his horse closer. He was headed for Wes when he stopped at the sound of my voice.

"What's the price?" I asked.

Pepper smiled. "Now the kid's got brains." He looked at his cronies. "The children are the future, boys." They laughed. "How many in your party?" he asked me.

"Does it matter?" The star worship was starting to wear off. This time I sat up in my saddle and flexed what little muscle I had in my forearms.

"Don't get smart, kid." He looked at our caravan. "The VW bus will do."

I followed his gaze and spotted the two horsemen who had broken off earlier riding toward our group. "No," I said. "You can't have the van. We've got food and weapons. You can take your choice."

Pepper circled me on his horse. "I said we'll take the van." I could see he was wearing a small tank on his back. Tubing and a metal nozzle were stuffed in the back of his pants. It was a small flame-thrower.

"And I said no."

He didn't know what to make of me. I was thirteen, all of 100 pounds soaking wet, yet I was standing my ground like I was the giant and he was the puny one. "Kid, do you know who I am?"

"Pepper Sands," I said. "You had twelve and a half sacks last year. You played college ball at Michigan. You still hold the record for tackles in a season there."

"Good, then you know my nickname ain't Pepper Grinder for nothing." He had an insufferable swagger that pissed me off. "I used to pulverize punks bigger than you for a living."

"You were a great football player," I said.

"You're damn right I was…"

I interrupted him. "But in case you haven't noticed, football season's over."

"What the hell…"

I raised my hand to shush him. "Like I said, I won't give you the van, but maybe we can work something out."

He studied me carefully. He had not expected my defiance, and he didn't know quite how to handle it. "What do you have in mind?"

I pointed to Wes. "That's Wes. He converted the VW bus to run on propane."

"You giving us your mechanic?" Pepper smiled.

"What are you doing, Oz?" Wes was a little peeved that I would trade him for safe passage.

"I won't give you my mechanic, but I'll give you his knowledge."

Pepper thought about the offer. He examined his crew. He finally gave his decision. "Deal".

"Not quite," I said.

Pepper wanted to leap out of his saddle and throttle me, but he showed remarkable restraint for a man who used to crush people for a living. "What do you mean, not quite?"

"I mean, what Wes knows could change your whole way of life. I need a little more than safe passage in exchange."

"You're pushing your luck, kid." He considered my statement. "What did you have in mind?"

I turned to Wes and smiled. "I need an army." Wes smiled back. For the first time, he knew where I was going.

***

"You're crazy, kid." Pepper Sands leaned forward in a leather recliner on the fifty-yard line in the Georgia Dome. His feet rested on the Falcon's logo. His men sat in recliners (all considerably less nice than Pepper's) behind him. They had made the Georgia Dome their home. The emergency lighting worked due to an industrial-sized solar powered generator. It was a 75,000 seat indoor stadium that made me feel even smaller than I already was. Even with it empty, I got the tiniest sense of the kind of thrill Pepper and his teammates must have felt on Sundays.

Wes, Roy, and I sat in folding chairs across from Pepper. The others in our party remained with our supplies in the underground loading dock area of the dome.

Pepper reclined in his chair. "You're asking too high a price."

"That's the offer," I said. "Take it or leave it."

He smiled. "You're a hard-nosed little snot, aren't you?" He snapped his fingers. A smallish mousy man stood up quickly and ran to Pepper's chair. "I'll give you Donny here." Donny's eyes opened wide. He had the look of a man who'd just been told he would volunteer to stand in front of a firing squad.

Wes snorted. "You gotta be kidding. He looks like a strong wind would break him in two. No offense, Donny."

Donny nodded and shrugged his shoulders as if he agreed with Wes's assessment of him.

"You're one to talk." Pepper pointed at me. "Your little general here hasn't hit puberty yet." He rubbed his hands together and cracked his knuckles. The popping bones made an echo in the cavernous dome. "I'll give you three men."

"All or nothing," I said.

"Kid, you're not really in any position to negotiate. I'm not about to send every man I've got to die just because you're on some silly mission."

"Fine," I said standing. I turned to Wes and Roy. "We're leaving."

Pepper bristled. "Hey, nobody told you that you could leave."

Wes and Roy slowed down, but I told them to keep walking. This enraged Pepper even more. I had my back to him, but I could feel him getting out of his chair.

"I said you can't leave!" He shouted. His voice bounced around the arena.

We kept walking.

"You can't beat them," he said. He had lost the command in his voice. He was scared.

I stopped and told Wes and Roy to do the same. I turned to Pepper. "Yes we can."

He tried to laugh and make it sound menacing, but it came out weak and unsteady. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because," I said, "we have to." Wes, Roy, and I continued to walk towards our party.