Wasteland Blues (25 page)

“And then it will be five rifles against none and all of you in Hell with me,” said Burrell.

“Maggie, put the rifle down,” said Leggy.

“No,” shouted Derek. “Don’t you dare!”

***

Magdalena stood firm but inside she was wavering.

“John,” she called. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Magdalena,” she heard him reply. And then she jumped as a voice rang out inside her heard.

MAGDALENA—I CAN KILL A MAN MAYBE TWO IF YOU TELL ME WHICH ONES—I’M NOT SURE BUT I THINK IF I TRY REALLY HARD I CAN KILL

Magdalena stilled the urge to vomit. She tasted blood in the back of her throat, running from her sinuses. John had told her about Samuel speaking inside his head in the robot’s museum, but to experience it herself was unnerving. When he spoke she felt as if her skull were a canyon and his voice a thunder that filled the stillness and echoed off its walls. But even more troubling was the message—that this boy, so much like an innocent lamb who hovered near her skirts, would kill for her. She didn’t know how he could do it, or if he could do it, but she didn’t doubt his willingness to try. And it was Samuel’s willingness to kill that made her decision for her.

“Time grows short,” said Burrell. “Decide now.”

Magdalena pointed the rifle at the deck of the sand crawler. One of the men climbed in and took it from her hands.

She climbed down from the rear gate and whistled. Sheba leapt down at her side and Magdalena grabbed the dog’s harness.

“You’re blind?” said the man who took her rifle.

“Yes,” said Magdalena. “But I would not have missed your captain’s heart. Believe it.”

The man stepped away and crossed himself.

Sheba led Magdalena to John. She kneeled down next to him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No,” said John. “You did the right thing.”

“Now the child,” said Burrell.

Samuel walked to the edge of the gate and jumped down. His legs were rubbery and he stumbled. He righted himself and walked slowly toward his companions. His body quivered with adrenaline. He’d been priming himself for a psychic blow, a deadly blast of mental energy that would’ve burst the brain of his target.

Blood trickled from his nose and ears—a side effect. He felt that it would’ve been worse if he’d actually tried the attack. A gush of blood and snot and a pain like an ice pick driven through his skull. Great effort was required to overcome the inhibitors that the doctors had instilled in him through his long and careful training. Training that ensured his Terrible Power wasn’t used as a reflex. Samuel had to
want
to hurt someone.

Burrell gestured to the two men flanking him. “Now the ones in the cab.”

Leggy saw Derek steel himself to resist, so he popped the passenger-side door open. “I’m comin’ out,” he called. “Nice and slow.”

The two men ran around to his door and watched as Leggy eased himself down onto the sand.

“Captain, this one’s a cripple,” shouted one of the men.

“Name’s Leggy.”

***

Burrell shook his head. “A feeb, a blind woman, a crippled old man, and a child, all riding in a machine from the Before Days. You must have strange tales to tell.”

“You have no idea,” said Leggy. He swung himself on his hands around the front of the crawler. He stopped at the driver’s side door and looked up at Derek.

“Come out, son.” He could see the cords standing out in Derek’s neck, the flush of red blooming on his cheeks. “They’re only gonna pry you out anyway. Might as well come out on your own two feet.”

For a moment Leggy thought Derek might gun the crawler to life and make a break for the road. Instead the door popped open and Derek stepped down. He took two steps toward Burrell, and then a pair of men intercepted him. There was a brief struggle, and then a third came and bound his wrists behind his back. They led him to the others and forced him to kneel in the sand.

Leggy looked up at his captors. “Now what?” he asked.

“Judgment,” said Burrell. “I believe it was Chulo’s men who killed Jordan, not you.”

“I don’t know Chulo,” said Leggy. “Does he have somethin’ to do with that bunker down the road?”

“Yes,” said Burrell.

“So you ain’t…you ain’t associated with all that?” said Leggy.

Captain Burrell shook his head. “Chulo is a madman. He takes pleasure in the suffering and humiliation of others. He breaks the minds of his captives and turns them into dog-slaves. Pets. Domesticated people. He feeds his soldiers human flesh. If his men had found you, you’d all be in collars by now. Or in the cookpot.”

“But you found us instead,” said Leggy, holding Burrell’s eye. “What do you take pleasure in?”

Burrell pointed to the low hills to the north, the place where Leggy had planned their detour. “Beyond those hills we have our ranches and our homesteads,” he said. “I raise goats. These days one in every three kids born has the blood-poison, or strange deformities. I pray that when my son takes my place, it will be only one in five. And when his son comes of age, one in ten. I take pleasure in the hope that the world may heal itself someday.”

“But then there’s Chulo,” said Leggy.

“Yes. Then there’s Chulo. Two years ago, he emerged from the wastes. He found a way into that fort, which we’d never before been able to open. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Inside he found weapons the likes of which we’d never seen. And sooner than you’d think possible, he’d gathered a band of wanderers and thieves to him. He set himself up as a king and demanded tribute. Those who resisted were killed. Or worse. And so we did as he demanded. we sent him food and goats.”

“At first he seemed satisfied. At least he kept his distance, and his men didn’t trouble us too much. But eventually his madness proved even more powerful than his greed. He began demanding more and more from us. Not just livestock—he wanted people—women and children. When we refused, he simply took what he wanted. We defended ourselves as best we could, but our homesteads are far apart. It was too easy for him to take us out, one by one.”

“Shit,” said Leggy. “Lemme guess. You decided to band together and fight back. So what are you, the scoutin’ party?”

The captain smiled. “Scouts are already set. We’re the war party. I’ve got twenty more men beyond that hill, waiting for my command.”

“We ain’t got nothin’ to do with your fight,” said Derek. “You let us go, and we’ll stay out of your way.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” said Burrell. “I doubt you’re spies, but maybe you’re bandits. Our homesteads are unguarded now, and I can’t have you roaming about.”

“So what then?” asked Leggy. “Murder us here in the dirt?”

“I’d prefer not to,” said Burrell, “so this is what will happen. You will stay inside Jordan’s house. I’ll leave two guards at the door. They’ll shoot you if you try to leave—trust me on that. When morning comes, you’re free to go. By then the battle will be over, and either Chulo will be dead or we will.”

Burrell beckoned to the man who had searched the house and spoke into his ear. The man climbed into the back of the crawler and tossed out their packs. Then he opened the storage locker and emptied that as well.

“What are you doing?” shouted Derek.

“I’m trading with you,” said Burrell. “Your lives for this vehicle. We have a need for it.”

“No,” shouted Derek. “That’s ours!”

“I could just as easily kill you and take it,” said Burrell. “I hope you see the generosity of this bargain.”

“You fuck,” Derek screamed. He tried to stand and run at Burrell but was knocked to the ground as the guard behind him pressed a knee into his back. Another man looped rope around his feet, hog-tying him.

Teddy surged to his feet. “Don’t hurt my brother,” he roared.

The man guarding Teddy swung the butt of his rifle in a short, vicious arc, connecting with Teddy’s temple. The blow spun him around, and he toppled into the sand, moaning.

Derek writhed beneath his captor, flecks of spittle on his lips as he cursed and raged. Now all the captives were on their feet, shouting and scrambling. Rifles were leveled.

“Stop,” cried Burrell. He strode forward and ordered two men to carry Teddy inside.

They lifted him clumsily and staggered toward the house, Teddy’s feet dragging behind them.

Burrell turned to Leggy. “Take your people inside. Wait until morning. Do it now, or I’ll leave you dead in the dirt.”

“John, gather the gear and bring Maggie inside,” said Leggy. “Sam, tie the mules to the tree and then go tend to Teddy.”

They moved to their assigned tasks. The two men who carried Teddy to the house now returned for Derek.

“Will you cut him free?” asked Leggy.

“No. You can do that once we’ve gone,” said Burrell.

The men lifted Derek, who continued to flail like a wild animal, and carried him inside. Derek was in a blind rage, screaming and hissing, his limbs straining against the ropes that bound him. Another man started the crawler, and Burrell’s troop climbed up into the trailer bed.

Leggy looked up at the captain.

“I make no apologies,” said the man. “Hard decisions are necessary here.”

“So much for the world healing itself,” said Leggy. “What with men the likes o’ you’s pourin’ salt in her open wounds.”

Burrell said nothing. He strode to the crawler and climbed into the passenger side. Then the vehicle pulled away, disappearing into the darkening night. Leggy swung himself toward the house. Two men stood nearby, rifles at the ready. At their feet were the meager weapons of Leggy’s band.

“You’ll get those back tomorrow, old man,” said the guard to the left. “Don’t make things any harder than they need to be.”

Samuel dragged the last of the gear inside. Leggy glanced once more at the guards and then crossed the threshold.

***

Jordan’s house was neat and spare. The scent of dried herbs and cooked meat flavored the air. Teddy was laid out on a soft mat on the floor, holding his swollen temple and rocking back-and-forth. Magdalena dabbed at the injury with a damp cloth. Derek lay on the flagstone floor near the hearth, still bound. John struggled with the knotted ropes, Derek cursing him for his clumsiness.

Leggy swung himself over to Derek. “I’m gonna unbind you,” he said. “But you gotta promise me you ain’t gonna make a run for it. I think the captain’s as good as his word. Those men outside will shoot you dead if you even poke a toe out that door.”

“Just cut the fuckin’ ropes,” said Derek.

Leggy found a knife in Jordan’s small kitchen and slashed the cords. Derek shot to his feet and stripped off the strands tied to his wrists and ankles. He strode over to a pair of wooden shutters and yanked off the bar that held them closed.

“Easy,” said Leggy.

Derek opened one shutter and poked his head out. Leggy heard the
snak
of a shotgun being levered. Derek closed the shutter.

“What now?” he said, turning to Leggy.

“We wait.”

***

Hours passed. Teddy complained of a headache. They lit a fire in the fireplace, and John found stores of food in a larder—lamb jerky, a few tubers, onions, dried sage, and a sack of corn. There were half a dozen ratty looking apples, as well, but, remembering Jordan’s complaints of graininess and worms, no one dared sample one.

Samuel got permission from the guards to fetch water, and he and Magdalena prepared a meal. Once it was ready, they all ate without speaking.

After supper, Derek peeked through the shutters again. The guards sat with their backs against the apple tree, nearly invisible in the moonlight. One smoked a stubby cheroot, its glowing red eye pointed at the door.

“I still think we could take those guys and get out of here,” said Derek.

“What’s the point?” asked Leggy. “Maybe we could overpower those two, but how bad are we gonna get hurt doin’ it? Besides, there’s gonna be a war right on the road we want to take.”

“So what then?” said Derek. “Just hole up here?”

Leggy shrugged. He pulled his blanket from his pack and made himself comfortable near the fire.

“But what about the crawler?” demanded Derek.

“What about it? It’s been requisitioned, as we used to say.”

“But—” began Derek.

Leggy cut him off. “But what? Go steal it back? While it’s in the middle of a firefight?”

Derek clenched his fists and stared down at Leggy, but the reality of their predicament overcame his anger.

Leggy fussed with his blankets. “I said I wanted to sleep with a roof over my head tonight. Looks like I get my wish.” He lay back and closed his eyes.

Derek snorted. He paced around the darkening cabin as the others shook out their own bedrolls and drifted off to sleep. Eventually he slumped into a wooden chair and joined them.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

They were woken by the sound of distant gunfire. It was nearly dawn, and the sharp crack of rifle shots slashed through the chill air. They were quickly joined by the chatter of automatic weapons.

“Guess they’re startin’,” said John, rubbing his eyes.

Quickly the individual reports of the weapons blurred into an explosive haze of noise, like constant thunder or the fireworks that Leggy talked about from the Bomb Day festivities in Moses Spring. The fight was getting hot.

Derek got up from his chair and opened the shutter. The moon had set, and the sky was a dark purple, waiting for the sun to rise. The guards weren’t there.

“Hey,” said Derek. “They’re gone.” He moved to the door and opened it.

“Slow up,” said Leggy, slithering out of his blankets. “Maybe they’re around back.”

Derek shook his head. “Why would they be around back? This is the only door. I bet they went to help their friends.” He stepped out into the yard and walked over to where their own weapons were piled. “Hello? Hello?” he called. “You guys around?”

No response.

Cautiously, the others joined him. They stood in the dooryard in a tight group. The sounds of the battle were clearer out here.

“C’mon,” said Derek. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The others agreed. They moved quickly in the chill morning air, rolling up their bedding, gathering stores that Jordan had left behind, and strapping their packs to Minna. Teddy helped Leggy mount up on Afha.

The gunfire was joined by bigger explosions. They saw flashes of white and red light on the horizon, like distant heat lightning.

“Which way should we go?” asked John.

“We gotta give that firefight a wide berth,” said Leggy. “And I mean
wide.
”

“We could head north,” said John, “toward the place where Burrell said they had their homesteads.”

“I don’t know that that’d be any safer,” said Leggy. “I’ll bet they left a rifle or two with the women and children and instructions to shoot first and ask questions later.”

“So what then?” asked Derek. “Go south and loop around that bunker?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Leggy.

“Then let’s roll,” said Derek.

Leggy patted Afha the donkey. “I ain’t lookin’ forward to this,” he said. “And I bet you ain’t, either. I miss that crawler already.”

At that moment a huge explosion lit up the dawn. A few seconds later a blast of air struck them. Afha snorted and reared as Leggy flung his arms around the beast’s neck and buried his face in the animal’s hide. The others cowered, their hands flung over their heads. A cloud of sandy grit raced past them, slashing at bare skin and coating them in dust. Above them, the leaves of Jordan’s tree hissed and rattled.

When the shockwave had passed, John scrambled over to Leggy and the donkey.

“What the Hell was that?” he shouted, steadying Afha.

“Bomb. Musta been a bomb,” said Derek, patting dust from his clothes. “A goddamn big one.” He pointed to the horizon, where a pillar of fire lit the sky in a false dawn.

They fetched water from the well to clear their mouths and clean the dust from their faces and then stood in the dooryard once more.

“You think we should check it out?” asked Derek. “I’m guessing that blast means the battle’s over.”

Leggy stroked his chin. “I don’t hear no more gunfire, so you’re probably right. Still though, we don’t know who won. I’d hate to walk right into Chulo’s hands.”

“The size of that blast,” John looked at Leggy, “You really think there’s a winner?”

Derek spit. “Well, wait here then.”

Once again he shimmied up the tree. The others watched him disappear into the topmost branches. He was down again just as quickly.

“Bunker’s gone,” he said, tucking his spyglass into his pack. “Just a hole in the ground now. Couldn’t make out much else on account of the fire and smoke. But I’ll wager that whoever was in that bunker is just a dirty smudge on the ground now.”

“Still though,” said Leggy.

“C’mon,” said Derek. “We’ll be careful. We’ll approach nice and slow.”

“Why are you so eager to go there?” asked John.

“’Cause maybe we can get our crawler back,” said Derek. “It’s ours and they took it. I want it back.”

Derek would not be deterred.

Leggy gave his assent, and the group made their careful way toward the pillar of flame.

***

“I feel like Moses,” said Derek as they walked. “Ain’t that in the Good Book, John? Wanderers led by fire out of the desert and into the promised land?”

“That’s right,” said John. “The Hebrews. A column of smoke by day and a pillar of fire by night.”

Derek chuckled. “Now all we need is a sea so I can part it. I got that one all figured out.”

“Oh yeah?” asked John.

“Sure,” said Derek. “Just load up Teddy with a couple cans o’ beans and let him rip. He’ll split that sea as neat as you please. Ain’t that right, Ted?”

“Fart,” yelled Teddy.

Samuel giggled, which spurred Teddy to imitate a long, wet expulsion.

“There it goes,” said Derek. “Just follow the dead fish to the other side, you Hebes. But don’t forget to hold your noses.”

“Pee-yew,” shouted Teddy.

“No need to blaspheme,” muttered John.

“Take it easy,” snapped Leggy. “We’re supposed to be on guard here.”

“Okay, okay,” said Derek. He elbowed his brother, and the two continued to giggle quietly to themselves.

But their laughter stopped as they crested the final rise in the road.

Three quarters of the bunker had been obliterated by the blast—only a skeleton wall remained. It stood precariously on the edge of a crater, out of which rose yellow and orange flames. Bodies lay scattered all around the hole. Above them vultures hovered, ready to descend and gorge.

The group walked on, slowly. Suddenly Samuel cried out and pointed. A head and torso lay in the sand near their feet, flung there by the blast.

“Must’ve been one of Chulo’s men,” said Leggy grimly.

What remained of the body was decked out in black armor, rebreather and a helmet—little good it had done for its wearer.

Soon they came upon other body parts, Chulo’s and Burrell’s men alike, intermingled with chunks of broken concrete and twisted metal. Scraps of burning paper and ash swirled in a feeble breeze. Granules of glass and plastic crunched underfoot.

As they neared the epicenter of the battle they saw other horrors. Burrell’s men had been torn apart by bullets and mortar blasts. A yellow powder dusted other corpses. They lay in frozen postures of agony, their hands clawing at their eyes or tearing at their own throats.

Then Teddy shouted. Two men were hobbling along the road toward them. They moved wearily, dragging their rifles on the ground behind them. The men stumbled along, heads down, arms around each other’s shoulders, supporting one another. They stopped when they saw the travelers.

Leggy was the first to recognize them—the men that had guarded the house.

“What happened here?” asked Leggy.

“Can’t you see?” said the first man. “We won!” Then he began to laugh, a high, hysterical sound.

“Where’s the others?” asked Derek.

“They had chemicals,” said the man. “And when they saw that we were close to taking their stronghold, they doused us. Hector here was lucky,” he said, nodding with his head toward the man he held alongside him. “He only got a small dusting.”

The man called Hector lifted his head. His eyes had been burned away, leaving empty sockets. Where his nose had once been were two singed, mucous-filled holes. His lips had been scorched off to reveal nubs of teeth shielding a blistered tongue. The dusted man gurgled his agreement. They’d been lucky indeed. Everyone else was dead.

“Where’s Burrell?” asked Leggy, looking away from the ruin of the man’s face. “Did he make it?”

“And where’s the crawler?” demanded Derek, his grim eyes searching the battlefield.

“Gone. Both gone,” said the man. “The captain took it on a suicide mission. He packed it full of manure and moonshine and drove it through the gate, smashed it into the fortress.” The man turned and looked at the still smoking hole. “Chulo never knew what hit him. Must’ve been a Hell of a lot more explosives inside the bunker.” He laughed. “Sheep shit and corn liquor don’t blow up like that!”

Derek said nothing, but his cheeks flushed red and he clenched his fists.

The men stumbled forward, and the travelers parted.

“Long way home,” said the man. “Have to tell the homestead we won.” He spit blood in the sand, and then the two victors hobbled away, leaving the travelers to stand amidst the carnage and smoldering ruin.

***

John leaned heavily against a pile of rubble. Words failed him. All he could do was watch the remains of the fortress smolder. No one else spoke. Samuel sat cross-legged, apart from the others, staring down at the ground. Even the animals seemed unwilling to break the sullen silence. Finally, it was Derek who interrupted the funereal melancholy.

“Goddammit!” He swung his foot hard, kicking at a short length of broken tread—debris which more than likely had come from the sand crawler—sending it hurtling into the air in a plume of ash and sand. “This is bullshit. Fuck this shit!”

Derek was near tears. John wanted to say something, to defuse the rage, but could think of nothing.

Magdalena touched his shoulder and ever so slightly shook her head. “Let him,” she whispered. “He needs to let it out.”

“Goddamn you!” Derek shook his fists at the sky.

As if in answer, a chill breeze broke the heat and brought the acrid odor of burning fuel and manure from the crater that was once a fortress.

“Fuck you all to Hell!” Derek roared at the Heavens.

The only reply was the wind. Another sandstorm was brewing in the distance, turning the pillars of smoke into odd, twisted forms and thinning them out—covering the violence with dust and sand, burying secrets, and selling the lie of passing time and natural erosion.

***

Derek felt a wet nuzzling at his hand. “Get away!” He batted angrily at the dog, “Get lost, fleabag.”

But it wasn’t the dog, or Minna or three-eyed Afha. It was one of Chulo’s people-pets, which had miraculously survived the blast. Half-naked and bound in leather straps, shuffling about on all fours and licking his hand. Derek yelped in sheer revulsion of the pathetic thing—it was a man. At least, it had at one time been a man. Its face had been horribly mutilated, its ears trimmed to feral points, teeth sharpened. Scars from beatings or worse covered every exposed inch of flesh. The creature smiled, and tried again to nuzzle Derek.

“Can we keep him, Der? Can we?” Teddy lunged forward and ruffled the creature’s patchy skull. “His name’s Woofy. Says so on his tag. Leggy says he used ta be a person, but now he’s not. Can we keep him?”

“Fuuuuuuck….!” Derek’s scream lengthened into a long coughing rattle. He fell to his knees and then slumped resignedly between Leggy and John.