As I Walk These Broken Roads Page 4

  “What do you say then?”

  Vince leaned back and shrugged, “Wait it out. Hopefully once Raxx gets his motorcycle fixed he’ll be on his way; usually they don’t like to stay in one place too long. They show up for a few days and then they’re gone. There’s usually somebody after ‘em. And if the guys hunting him show up, well, just keep everyone’s heads down.” He leaned forward, “It ain’t great, aye, but that’s just the way the world is. You’ve got to keep your people safe. But... all the same, you might want to deputize those boys of yours, just in case. As long as you can trust ‘em to stay calm.”

  “Vince… you make sense. But you ain’t comforting an old woman who wants to sit and watch her grandkids. I’ll get together a council of Seniors to discuss things and I’ll tell them what you told me… but I’m a-feared they don’t got the patience you want. I’d like you to be there, tell ‘em firsthand what you’ve heard, and we’ll see what we can say. But however it rolls, I ain’t gonna let some derelict hurt my people – you got my word on that.”

  Vince kept a serious expression on his face as he nodded. Damn Blackstock – couldn’t this nonsense have waited a week?

  Chapter 4

  Mad Dog wafted into consciousness. A migraine was throbbing in his skull, and the world glowed deep red through closed eyelids. The noonday sun was burning his chest, beading sweat across his belly, while swirls of thought traced back and forth through his mind like the dregs of rum that still flowed in his veins. Gradually the pieces of his world came together, crystallizing in a bracing flush of excitement and apprehension. Shoving back the pain, he rolled over and got up. There was work to be done.

  He located his canteen and drank half its contents. A stab of pain lanced through his left shoulder, making him grimace and spill water down his beard. They’d burned off their Vipers tattoos last night and now his arm was throbbing. He picked up a bottle of vinegar and splashed it on, then donned his leather jacket, pulling it down tight over the wound.

  “Wake up, Falcon!” He put the toe of his boot to the sleeping form; waking the orderly with a jerk. “Wake up the rest of the Hounds! Get a move on things, and get some food cooking.” Falcon glared at Mad Dog, lost in the pain and confusion of the jolt, until his discipline caught up with him and he nodded, moving to rouse the others.

  Canteen in hand, Mad Dog went over to his quad. He unfolded the map lying in the driver’s pouch to start planning their next move. It was hard to read, and he was in too much pain to make out the details, but he needed to look busy and in control for when the others awoke. Last night had been spent in drunken revelry and self-congratulation, and they were all hurting, but he couldn’t show weakness. They were still close to the Golden Horseshoe, that crescent of merchant-run civ that was home to the Vipers – and they’d be looking for revenge.

  Mad Dog hadn’t been stupid – in fact the remaining Vipers ought to thank him for how he’d handled things. A mutiny had been coming down the tubes for a long time, and if he hadn’t seized the reins it would have turned into a full blown war. Then the Skullz, or the Six Nations, or somebody, would have moved in, and everything would have been fucked. But he’d been smart, and instead of letting it come to that he’d put a plan into action. The attack had been hard and fast; they’d taken what they needed – quads, ammo, cash – and left what they didn’t – the cycles and most of the drugs. They’d left enough so that if the Vipers wanted to keep being merchants they’d be able to. It had been the best solution all around, and hardly any blood had been shed. But that wouldn’t stop them from retaliating, given the chance. There were still plenty of klicks to cover before the Hellhounds would be able to breathe easy.

  Falcon came over with his breakfast, and Mad Dog snatched it, glaring at the man. Falcon dropped his gaze, but not quickly enough for Mad Dog’s likings; he didn’t fit in. Wearing some ancient flak vest instead of the proper jacket, he was too smart, and too quiet. But they’d needed his help with security, and the symbol was visible on his epaulettes. There was nothing overt for Mad Dog to call him on – he’d just have to keep leaning on him. Either Falcon would fall into place, or he’d act out, and give Mad Dog an excuse to shoot him.

  But the example ought not to be necessary for this group; aside from Falcon, they were all on track. They were Hellhounds now, not Vipers, and they knew they couldn’t go back. They’d forsworn their oaths, and would pay with their lives if they ever tried. Last night he’d seen the fear in their eyes as he lifted the glowing steel brand out of the fire and burned it into their tattoos, but there’d been no questioning, no reluctance. These men knew he was all they had now – and they believed that he could give them what they craved. The Hellhounds belonged to him.

  He tossed his plate aside and stood up. “Look alive, Hounds! We’ve got a lot of traveling to do today; and I don’t want to hear no whining about hangovers! I drank twice as much as any two of you put together, so suck it up!” This brought some laughs and a few punches to burned shoulders as they remembered the party. “We won – we got these vehicles and we got our freedom!” A cheer. “We got power!” A louder cheer, hooting and clapping. “And there ain’t no boss-man saying we can’t use it. The only boss-man here is me, and I’m only gonna tell you to hit ‘em harder! Ain’t that right, Falcon?”

  “Uh, that’s right Mad Dog.” Falcon’s response elicited another round of jeering and laughter. The Hounds’ eyes glinted, their hangovers forgotten.

  “The way I figure it, we got at least a day or two before anyone back in Steeltown sorts themselves out. So we’re gonna keep heading east. What they say about the wasteland sounds like bullshit to me, the maps show plenty of old cities out that way. But old Falcon here thinks different – ain’t that right, Falcon?

  “All I said was that we ought to look at all those merchants, and where they’re moving about.”

  “You hear that boys? He ain’t got no confidence! He can’t get all that ‘merchant’ shit out of his head!”

  “Oy, all I was saying was–”

  “Shut the fuck up, Falcon, Mad Dog’s talking!”

  Sheik’s crew cheered him on, and Mad Dog grinned, gloating as Falcon simmered.

  “Shut up all of ya!” he yelled, once they’d laughed enough. “He’s got that badge on his shoulder, don’t he? Even if it ain’t properly on his shoulder!” There was a round of subdued laughter at Falcon’s flak vest. “So here’s what we’re gonna do – we’re gonna keep travelling ‘till we find some farmers – and their daughters! – and then we’re gonna set up something good for the Hellhounds and forget about those merchants out west. Fifteen minutes, we mount up! Get moving, Hounds!”

  He could feel the hangover receding as he contemplated his purpose. As he waited for the others to get ready he stared up at the sun, challenging it. He was tensed and waiting. A roar was building up deep in his soul. All he needed was someone to unleash it on.

  * * *

  The roar subsided as Wentworth killed the bike’s ignition. “So what do you say, think you can figure out what’s wrong with her?”

  Raxx stroked at his goatee while his truck ticked with cooling oil. “I’m getting a feel for her – I can already tell you that there’s a sparkplug misfiring – one of the ones on the right – but the whole engine configuration’s new to me. What I’d like to do is take my time, and work out all the details from the ground up. Slowly, so that I don’t make any mistakes. Disassemble and reassemble the engine, on my own time. But that’ll take a while. How long can you stay in town for?”

  “How long are we talking?”

  “A few days. Maybe a week. Is there somewhere you’ve got to be?”

  “No... not exactly. I can wait – what’s important to me is that she’s up and running again, one-hundred percent. You seem like a straight up guy, and I think I lucked out running into you. I’ll wait a week if that’s what it takes, rather than have it break down someplace where nobody’s got a clue.”

  “Sounds good. Tell you w
hat, since I’m getting a learning experience out of the whole deal, I’ll top off your fluid levels too, free of charge.”

  Wentworth nodded slowly. “Alright.”

  A sudden yawn caught Raxx, and he covered it with his fist. “What time is it, anyway?” He stepped out of the garage, and looked up at the sun. “Huh. Just about noon. You want to grab something to eat? I need food or my brain box stops working.”

  “Sure. You got stuff here?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ve never been good at that. One of the locals does a lunch run for the farmers, though. Her name’s Tracy; she brings out sandwiches and juice for them. She does all her prep work at the market, and I head by there sometimes when I’ve forgotten to stock up. She should still be there, and it’s on the way back to Landfall’s.”

  “Right on. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “Yo, Billy!” Verizon wandered over to the cargo trailer, scratching idly at a bug bite on his arm. “There’s the cutest little redhead working in the office over there! She’s got those weird tattoos like everyone else here, but I’ve got to tell you’–” he nudged him with his elbow, “I kind of like it!”

  “That’s great, man.” he paused in cleaning his rifle, and put it down on the cargo behind him, “Any word on what’s going on with Vince?”

  “What? Vince is fine, no problems. What do you mean ‘That’s great’? I was giving you an opening there, Prince Billington – I figured green and red would go nice together. But if you don’t wanna jump… I can always take your place.”

  “Dude, we’re only here for a week.”

  “So? You know what they say ‘bout these small places...”

  “And what’d that be?” he scratched at the stubble growing in on either side of his mohawk. It might only be midday, but he was tired and looking forward to that pint Vince had promised.

  “They say that the men like the mules, and the women sleep alone!”

  “I thought that’s what they said ‘bout you and your ex-girlfriend.”

  “Maybe with your mother – on her trampoline! Oh! Seriously, though, Billy, you’ve gotta make the most of these oppor-tuna-ties – locals are always looking for some new blood!”

  “Nah man... I got a girl back in Hope. Met her a year back when I was working for the Stanson company. Can’t be doing nothing while I’m here.”

  “Shit, man, you didn’t say nothing! What’s her name? Maybe I know her.”

  “I’d be wagering that you don’t know her.”

  “That ain’t what I meant!”

  Billy chewed his lip. “Her name’s Arel. Uh, here,” he shifted his weight and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “I got a picture of us.”

  He pulled out a sepia-toned photo wrapped in plastic and handed it over to Verizon, who lifted up his aviators and examined it thoroughly.

  “Prince Billington… If I ain’t mistaken, this ain’t no charcoal sketch. What we got here is one of those high-end chemical pics – the full woozle-caboozle, usually reserved for them married rich-folks and Petrolians. You really like this girl, doncha?”

  “Yeah...” he looked down and went back to cleaning his rifle, “It was a Valentine’s Day present I got for us. Her family’s the florists out in Hope. They ain’t too keen on their daughter shacking with some caravan guard, so that’s why I’m trying to save the bucks to get some cargo to take down south, for the next time I’m with a proper caravan.”

  Verizon whistled, and handed the picture back. “You’re an ambitious boy, my Billy-O. But I thinks I know why – I saw her in the city square before tacking on with Vince here. She’s a sweetie, alright. You could just tell by the way she smiles.”

  “Thanks,” he put the picture away and leaned back, elbows up on the cargo. Verizon jumped up and sat next to him taking up the same position.

  “Oh ya, I was gonna say; Vince is having some sort of conversation with the Councilman. Red said they’ll be a while – Hey, that rhymed!”

  “Think we ought to start unloading?”

  “Hey man, it ain’t like we know what Vince wants done with all this stuff.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.”

  They sat there, shooting the breeze, nodding at the locals, and watching the shadows drift, until Billy jolted forward. “Hello! Is that who I think it is? Hey, Raxx! Is that you?”

  “Huh? Bill... Billy? Oh, hey man, how’s it going?”

  Raxx walked over to the trailer, and the two guards jumped down.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages,” said Raxx, shaking his hand. He glanced over to the man next to him. “Billy and I worked some of the same caravans a while back. That must be, what – almost two years back? This here’s Wentworth. He’s new in town; I’m doing some work for him.”

  “Hi there Wentworth, pleased to meet you.” The man shook his offered hand and nodded. “This here’s Verizon.”

  The other guard bent his arm out at an awkward angle and shook both their hands with exaggerated theatrics. “Pleased to do-ya for!”

  “So what, you guys here with Vince?”

  “Yeah, he’s in the Offices over there talking to the Councilman. Me and Verizon are waiting for him.”

  “Well, we just came down to the market to grab a bite.” He craned his neck, “Tracy is still here.” He smiled with an exaggerated grin. “So how are you feeling gentlemen? Would you like to join us?”

  Verizon smirked, “I could do with something other than trail mix.”

  “Yeah, why not?” agreed Billy. “Then Raxx here can explain to me what he’s doing out here in Blackstock of all places!”

  * * *

  Vince walked out of the town hall, lost in thought as he tried to dredge up more details about the stranger. Despite urging the Councilman to stay calm, he was growing apprehensive. He’d lied about only having second-hand information; but he’d forgotten the details of the first-hand. All he remembered was the tone.

  The younger merchant had been hushed, leaning across the table as if the story were illicit. His eyes had darted back and forth, glowing with excitement and pride. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of danger and survived to tell. It had been a grand tale.

  But Vince hadn’t really been listening.

  He’d heard dozens like it before, and this one took place at the far end of the North Route – nowhere he’d ever be travelling. All he’d been interested in was the price of steel, the pint in front of him, and the bronze-skinned girl working behind the bar.

  Now he was kicking himself – what was the name of the group chasing the man? ‘The Regent?’ ‘The Revenants?’ And why did they want him? He shook his head, then looked up and came to an abrupt halt. Next to his cart stood his two guards, that boy Raxx, and a fourth man dressed all in black.

  Wentworth.

  The other three were animated; leaning against the cargo trailer, eating sandwiches, and talking with their mouths full. Wentworth stood off to the left, chewing slowly. His face was impassive, his eyes were hidden behind dark lenses, and there was a dangerous looking rifle slung across his back. His silent nods were his only response to the other three’s conversation.

  Few caravan masters would hire this one, thought Vince. Compared to Billy and Verizon, Wentworth stood in sharp contrast. Where they were boisterous and full of bravado, his anima was cold and calculating. He looked capable, but no one would trust him. Something was waiting just beneath the surface in him, coiled like a spring.

  His stance was relaxed, with the bulk of his weight on his right heel, but he stood like he was in Vince’s peripheral – as if he could slide away without being noticed. There was something else about his stance too, something that was niggling at the back of Vince’s mind...

  It clicked, and a bolt of ice went down his spine. It was the way he held his sandwich.

  The bread had come from a wide loaf, and the condiments were generous. Even with two-handed grips, the group was losing bits to the dusty asphalt – but Wentworth held his loosely
. His left did all the gripping, while his right was only a guide. Subconsciously or not, he was keeping his weapon-hand free – free to draw the pistol holstered on his hip.

  Vince grimaced. Nothing to do but see how this beast barked.

  “Oy, Raxx!” he shouted, strolling towards the group, “How you been keeping up, lad?”

  Raxx glanced over, his face splitting in a wide grin. “Vince! Not too bad! Actually, it’s going pretty good. I got an interesting commission today – this here’s Wentworth. He’s got a motorcycle I’m working on.”

  “Well that’ll be interesting for ya,’” he tucked his thumbs into his belt, “pleased to meet you, Wentworth. New in town, aye?”

  The man dipped his head in a nod, “Guess so. Lucky to find a proper Mechanic.”

  “Don’t give me too much credit just yet – save that ‘till your bike’s running!”

  “Yo, Vince,” interjected Verizon, “what’s the dilly-o? We gonna get set up so you can buy me and Prince Billington here a pint, or what?”

  “Aye, that’s right. Everything’s sorted, we’re gonna set up over by that wall there. Oy, Raxx, we’re gonna have to catch up some other time.”

  “Sure, no problem. I ought to get working on the bike, anyway.”

  “Say Wentworth,” said Verizon, “You gonna join us for that pint after we’re done setting up?”

  Wentworth didn’t move, but Vince could feel the burn of his eyes through the polarized lenses. “Nah… thanks though. I’m feeling a bit tired after that sandwich. Think I might go grab some rack. Pleasure meeting all of you. See you later, Raxx.”

  Vince watched him walk off as Raxx made his farewells. The man was keen, alright. Hell, a merchant ought to be better at hiding his thoughts. “Alright lads, the oxen are no good to us now, we gotta lift the trailer off the hitch, and move her ourselves. You two want to get on either side?” Maybe his first impression hadn’t been fair. Maybe he’d been letting the locals’ paranoia get the better of him. The man had been polite enough...