Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) (22 page)

Clement turned to Bear. “You know, Mitch was pretty fired up when we left Boland. I’m guessing too much whiskey is at the bottom of all this. How about I go over and talk to the guy, see if I can find out what happened—or you want we just start shooting and take them down?”

Bear could feel his anger rising. It seemed like his new recruits might be the cause of this confrontation, a needless and dangerous drama that could easily get somebody killed. If he wanted to, they could easily kill the strangers with little or no casualties, save for perhaps a couple of the prospects. But if Mitch and his men had started this, that wasn’t something he wanted to do.

One thing he knew for sure. However this went down, someone was going to pay. He just had to figure out who.

“No, get over there. I want to find out how this started,” he said.

“Okay, Chief, got it.”

Clement was about to set off when there was a tap on Bear’s shoulder.

“Let me go talk to him,” said a familiar voice. “Might be better if it’s a woman.”

Bear turned around. His eyes widened when he saw Roja standing behind him, her field glasses in one hand. She had obviously been taking a good look at the situation. On the entire trip, the girl had barely said a word to him nor anyone else, sullenly hanging at the fringes of the group. Now she wanted to get involved in the drama. As he thought about it, he realized it might be a good sign.

“Alright,” he said to her. “Be careful.”

Roja chucked her rifle across to Clement, who stared at her, a surprised look on his face. Still keeping her nine-mil Herstal FNX-12 pistol tucked inside the holster by her waist, she walked back to her motorbike and started the engine.

“Now there’s a surprise,” Clement said softly as Roja rode across the plain toward the stranger.

When she got to within a few yards of him, Roja’s engine revved loudly and the stranger stepped back quickly as the front wheel of the motorcycle lifted up off the ground, rising several feet in the air. The next moment, Roja sat up off her saddle, standing up on the pegs and towering over the stranger.

“What the hell!” Bear exclaimed, then saw a large smile come over the stranger’s face as Roja began to circle the man, executing a perfect clutch wheelie around him.

Clement slapped his thigh, laughing hard. “Oh man, that must be Roja’s mating dance. She ever do that for you, Chief?”

“Can’t say she ever did,” Bear said, unable to prevent himself from laughing too. “Guess she must really like him.”

From around the group came hoots and whistles. Chico and his men watched too, and even the two other strangers had stood up and craned their necks over the rocks to see what was going on.

After making a full circle, the front wheel of Roja’s machine came down again. She came to a stop a few feet away from the stranger, got off her bike, and coolly sauntered over to him. Bear couldn’t help but notice how good she looked in her tight blue jeans and boots, her long black hair flowing down the back of her bottle-green leather jacket.

He watched patiently while the two spoke for a couple of minutes, then Roja walked over to the three prospects and talked briefly to them too. After heading back to the stranger for a final word, Roja got back on her motorcycle and headed back to the group.

“Dumb sonofabitch,” she said, rolling up beside Bear, ignoring the loud cheers from her fellow warriors. “That fool Mitch started all this. He pulled off the road and got all cocky with this guy for no good reason.”

“You sure about that? What did the others say—Johnny or whatever his name is?” Bear couldn’t remember the names of the other prospects.

“Same thing. That’s how it went down.”

“So how does a guy get from being all cocky to lying face first in the mud?”

“When the dude saw us riding back, he told Mitch to leave,” Roja explained. “Mitch got mad and swung at him. That’s when he got put down.”

Bear cursed out loud. He was sure the stranger’s account was truthful. It was the only thing that made sense.

“The other three pussies sitting on their bikes?” he said between clenched teeth. “What the hell happened there?”

“The dude reckoned he’d better disarm them before we arrived. Didn’t want to be completely outnumbered. He’s a cool customer.” Bear could hear the admiration in her voice.

“You’re pretty cool yourself, Roja,” Clement said, grinning at her. “Did
the dude
enjoy your trick show? I know we sure did.”

Roja ignored the comment while Bear digested everything she’d just told him.

“So what does he want?” he said finally.

“He wants for him and his buddies to be left alone. Says he’ll release our men soon as Chico gets over here and we turn around and leave.”

“Where are they headed? Two Jacks?”

Roja nodded. “That’s what he said.”

Bear’s frustration was rising. His four prospects had been made fools of, and now this stranger was dictating terms to a dozen Black Eagles warriors. What made it worse was Bear knew he would do exactly the same in his position.

Behind the stranger, Mitch began to stir. He raised his head, then started to struggle to his feet. Clownishly, he staggered around in almost a complete circle, then fell to the ground again.

“Drunken fool,” Bear snarled. “I’ll shoot that boy myself.”

“Too brain dead to ride with us, that’s for sure,” Clement said. “What you going to do, Chief?”

Bear put his finger and thumb to his mouth and whistled loudly. Waving over to Chico, he gestured for him to come back. A few moments later, there was the sound of engines coming to life and the six riders made their way over, giving the stranger a wide birth as they rode past him.

When they arrived, Bear passed Chico his rifle. The warrior took it, raising a single eyebrow questioningly. Bear pulled out both pistols from his holster, his Beretta and Sig Sauer, and handed them to Daniela.

“What are you doing?” his wife asked, a worried look on her face.

“Before we leave, I want to take a look at this guy,” Bear replied. “He’s got balls.”

This was how the chief of the Black Eagles, one of the five warrior chapters of the Outzone, behaved in a situation like this. This man had acted bravely and intelligently. Bear would give him the respect he deserved.

“The dude…he got a name?” he asked Roja.

“He said his name was Frank Brogan.”

“Any problems, Chico,” Bear said, “you shoot Brogan first.”

Impassively, the gruff Latino warrior dipped his head a fraction in acknowledgment of the order.

Bear strode through the dark brown brush while, ahead of him, Brogan eyed him warily. He said something in a low voice to his two companions, who had remained squatting behind the rocks. Bear guessed he was telling them not to come out from their position yet.

When he got close enough to see Bear was unarmed, the stranger lowered his rifle, placing the butt on the ground, barrel gripped in one hand.

“Howdy,” the man said when Bear stopped a few feet in front of him. “I’m Brogan.”

Bear took a good look at the stranger. He had got the height right. He was about six three. A big man, just not in Bear’s league. He was well-built, yet lean, with dark black hair cut in a short crop, and shrewd gray eyes speckled with green that seemed to hint at the humor of the situation he’d found himself in. He had the look of a man who’d found trouble before and was comfortable with it.

“I’m Stalking Bear, Chief of the Black Eagles.” Bear looked over at Mitch who, on a second attempt, had managed to get to his feet and was rubbing the side of his head tenderly. “I’m told this fool here caused you trouble. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“That’s okay, Chief. The kid was drunk, that’s all. Sorry for knocking him out. I didn’t feel I had a choice.”

“Understood. But see, that leaves me with a problem.” Bear looked over at the three men sitting meekly on their machines. “These men are prospects of ours, new recruits to the tribe. We just picked them up in Dawson a few days back.”

“So I heard.”

“What this one, Mitch, did was dangerous. It’s how people get killed for no good reason, and that’s not how I run this tribe. Fool needs a lesson. As chief, it’s up to me to do that…” Bear stared pensively at Mitch, who cut a sorry figure now, head lowered, staring at his feet. “Problem is, seeing as you’ve already given him one—means I’m going to have to come up with something even harder.”

Brogan nodded. He seemed to understand the situation. “Sure, I can see that.”

“So the question is…what exactly should that be?”

Bear looked down at Brogan’s rifle, the barrel resting against his hip. “What make of rifle is that?”

Brogan looked down at the weapon. This is a HK419. A marksman rifle, but it’s good for close combat too.”

“Where did you come by it? I’ve not seen one like it for quite a while.”

“I bought it in New Haven. A couple of weeks ago.”

Bear motioned with his hand. “Let me take a look?”

Brogan hesitated a moment. Then he picked up the rifle and handed it to the chief.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give it back. I’m a big target for your two friends back there.”

Brogan smiled. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

Bear examined the rifle, admiring the fine workmanship. Then he found the safety and flipped it off. Raising it, he swung it in a slow arc until it pointed at Mitch’s chest.

A look of alarm came over the young man’s face. “Chief, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, raising both hands. Other than the ugly red weal where Brogan had hit him, his face had turned the color of ash. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“Too much drink is what got into you.” Bear tightened his finger on the trigger. He glanced over at Brogan. “How much pressure does it take to fire off a round?”

“Not a whole lot. About ten pounds. Look, Chief, don’t shoot this man on my account. Me and Mitch are all square.”

“This is on my account. It’s got nothing to do with you now.” Bear kept the rifle aimed at Mitch’s chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the bullet.”

“Chief, I swear to you…I’ll never do something like that again.” To give Mitch some credit, he managed to keep his voice steady, though his legs trembled badly.

Bear stared hard at the man a few more moments. “Get over here,” he growled.

Mitch walked hesitantly forward as Bear lowered the rifle. When he stood in front of him, Bear stepped quickly forward and swung the rifle up hard between Mitch’s legs. There was a second’s delay, then his mouth opened in a wide O and he sunk slowly to his knees. Raising the rifle in both hands, Bear sent the butt crashing into Mitch’s face, catching him above his right eye.

For the second time that day, Mitch went crashing to the ground like a sack of potatoes and buried his mouth in the dirt.

Bear turned to Brogan. “You reckon that was a harder lesson that yours?”

“Oh boy. You could say that.”

Bear handed Brogan back his weapon. “Ride with us to Two Jacks. I hear you’re going that way. I’ll make sure the three of you get there safely.”

Brogan nodded. “Thanks, Chief.”

Addressing the three riders who had sat quietly on their bikes all this time, watching the drama unfold in front of them, Bear said, “When Mitch comes around, you tell him to turn back north. The three of you have a decision to make. You turn back around with him, or take the one and only chance I give you and head on to Two Jacks. You’ll find us at Holtzer’s Place, five miles south on the east side of the lake.”

“Okay, Chief,” the one named Johnny said. “We’ll be there.”

Bear nodded, then turned around and walked back to his waiting braves.

Brogan dropped down another gear as his Yamaha wound higher into the Iron Hills, passing the entrance to yet another mining camp where a hand-painted sign nailed to a wooden stake spelled out the name of the claim.

In the land where possession was ten/tenths of the law, Brogan knew that miners were being killed every week over territory disputes. Sometimes larger outfits simply turfed out the smaller claimholders, giving them a little cash for not putting up a fight—
plomo o plata
(lead or silver), the Latinos called the choice: take the money or die in a hail of bullets. The potential rewards for the miners might be great, but the living was brutal and not for the fainthearted.

Riding alongside Brogan was Roja, the crazy Latina who had pulled the wheelie as a way of introducing herself. She had waited for him at the side of the highway when the three men resumed their journey, aggressively nudging her machine in between his and Earl’s—her way of telling the young man that two was company and he was the odd man out. Grinning at Brogan, Earl had dropped back to ride alongside Derschel.

“Come visit me!” Roja shouted into the wind, riding so close to Brogan their handlebars almost touched. “My camp’s not far from the city.”

“Sure! I’d like that!” Brogan shouted back, thankful when the girl put a little more road between the two machines.

It was a tempting offer, but Brogan had other priorities right now. Besides, the girl was crazy, and a combination of stunning looks and crazy was sure to be downright dangerous in a place like the Outzone. She was pushy as hell too, with shining black eyes that stared at him with a possessive intensity. Roja was obviously a woman who made up her mind about men fast. A part of Brogan liked that. But not the sane part. That part told him to run like hell.

It took another fifty minutes before the riders negotiated the final pass and began their descent into the far valley. Directly below lay Arrow Lake, the cloudy late-afternoon skies making its surface a dull gunmetal blue. Sprawled around the northernmost tip of the lake, the city of Two Jacks sat in plain view.

Two Jacks was considerably smaller than Winter’s Edge. Most of the houses had been built from local wood, not cinderblock, and behind the city the forest slopes had been stripped bare. Farther south, the city housing thinned out, and the farms and homesteads began where rolling green hills, paddocked fields, and pastureland ran down to the lake’s shoreline. Brogan envied the peaceful tranquility Earl and Derschel would stay in, unlike himself, who would spend the night in a town far from peaceful.