As I Walk These Broken Roads br-1 Read online

  Or it would find him.

  Raxx remained silent as they drove, staring at the road in front of them.

  It was Wentworth who first noticed something on the horizon. “Say,” he said, “Is that smoke?”

  “Where?”

  “Two fingers left of the highway.”

  Raxx leaned forward and peered out the window, “Yeah, I think it is — too much for the coal flue. Might just be a grass fire — they happen this time of year. Shouldn’t be anything to worry about though.”

  They continued driving, but as they approached the smoke was getting thicker. A black column was rising and spreading out across the sky.

  Wentworth took another drag on his cigarette. “That grassfire must be huge. Look at it all. Are you sure the city’s okay?”

  “The city should be fine, but I’m not sure about the farm fields. They have burn lines to protect them, but that’s a lot of smoke. It could be bad.” He spoke with a measured indifference but the wrinkle on his brow betrayed an underlying anxiety.

  As they neared they could make out multiple sources for the smoke, twisting up into one. “It’s a lot thicker than you’d expect for a grassfire…” said Raxx.

  Wentworth nodded. He thought twice about flicking his current cigarette, and decided to crush it against his boot first. He moved to roll up his window when Raxx spoke.

  “Wait a second.” He waited, not sure what the Mechanic wanted, “Do you smell that?”

  He sniffed the air, and looked over at Raxx.

  “What is that?” asked the Mechanic.

  Wentworth looked forward again. He didn’t really want to answer.

  “Meat.”

  Raxx bent over the steering column and revved up the throttle. He stared intently at the road ahead as if it could tell him what lay over the next hill. His hand found its way down to his hip and squeezed the revolver secured there. Wentworth took his rifle from the back, and adjusted it so that the butt was just under his armpit, letting it lay across his lap at a forty-five degree angle. He readied it with a precise motion, pulling back firmly on the cocking handle and letting it slam forward. His thumb flicked nervously at the safety.

  “Just for the record,” said Wentworth, “whatever this is — it isn’t my storm. They wouldn’t have done anything to the town.”

  Raxx nodded, intent on driving.

  The truck finally crested the hill, and the town lay stretched out before them. Raxx slowed the vehicle and stopping just past Landfalls, nosing onto the Main Street. They stepped out of the truck slowly, weapons in hand, held loosely.

  They wouldn’t need them. The town was empty.

  There had been no movement as they’d driven in, and the only sound was the crackling of fire. The thatch was lit up, igniting the tar roofs of the older buildings. It smelt obscene.

  An undercurrent of plastics filled the air with a carbonated rancidity. But as they walked towards the wreckage it got worse; meat, body odour, feces, and gunpowder wove their tendrils across the earth, filling them with a light-headed euphoria which sapped the strength from their limbs.

  Wentworth was the first to see a body. A trail of blood led from the street to one of the buildings, as if the victim had been dragged or had crawled to the illusion of safety. The victim — either a child or a small woman — had died curled up in the doorway. The building must have ignited afterwards, or maybe they just hadn’t noticed the fire in their haze of pain. The roof of the building had collapsed and from the chest up the body had been caught in the inferno; it was the source, or at least a source, of the sweet, burnt smell. The skin had charred black, and the arms had been thrown up above the head as the heat tightened the tendons. The lower half was unharmed. Wentworth could make out flower designs on the sandals she’d been wearing.

  Raxx was seized by a violent nausea. His first heave flew horizontally across the street before he could grab a nearby cart for support and expel the rest onto the ground. Wentworth looked behind and caught a glimpse of Landfalls, unharmed. A sudden pang went through him.

  “I thought I’d left this kind of shit behind.” The internal turmoil he’d been feeling for days stepped up a notch and he began to feel dizzy — confused emotions swirled around in his chest, and his face flushed.

  Raxx regained his composure, and looked over at Wentworth. His face was pale, but his eyes were dancing with hurt and anger. “These were good people. This shouldn’t have happened. This was a quiet area…” his eyes dropped to the ground, darted to the feed store — Wentworth remembered that a guy named Bill owned it — then back to the ground again, and around to other buildings while he took a moment to steel himself. He looked back up at Wentworth, panting. “Goddamnit!” He yelled, pacing now.

  Wentworth reached out a hand but didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth and closed it. Emotions swirled around. For a second he though he heard a gunshot, but it was just memory. Along with it came a flash of anger — then all the emotions began to fade.

  “I’m going after whoever did this!” said Raxx, eyes ablaze, “Listen, I — I could use a guy with your skills with me. You know what you’re doing, you showed me that the other day when we were getting your bike, plus there’s your reputation…” He shook his head and looked down.

  Neither of them spoke.

  “But this isn’t your fight.” He was whispering to himself. “It’s not even mine, not really.” He stared out at the fire, and slowly fell into a sitting position. His pistol listed for a second, then clattered down against the ancient asphalt.

  The emotions conflagrated within him, into a perfect moment of silence.

  “Raxx.”

  The Mechanic looked back at him. The blank slate had returned, staring at him and ticking. There was no logic to this situation.

  Wentworth strode over and crouched next to the man.

  “Raxx — we are going to find the guys that did this. We’re going to find them, and we are going to hit them so hard there won’t even be a memory of who they were.” He reached out and clasped the Mechanic’s shoulder. “You and I… we are going to find them. And we are going to kill them.”

  Chapter 9

  Blackstock was burning away in front of them. The heat rose in waves while ash fell like snow. A roof collapsed in a shower of sparks, over the incessant crackle of the background fire. The town glowed and warped like a surrealist painting.

  They stood up, gripped their weapons, and strode towards the inferno.

  Fanning out, they moved like prowlers under the flickering light. Peering through the smoke, past the flames, they saw the bodies; some burning, others in the street. They walked slowly, weapons up.

  Wentworth’s rifle snapped over as he caught a glimpse of green hair — then he remembered the caravan guard. The hair burned away before his eyes, and he wondered if he’d actually seen it. Fat dripped and bubbled off the corpse onto a rifle with an exploded magazine. The muscles sizzled.

  He didn’t say anything to Raxx. The Mechanic didn’t need to hear it.

  They finished their march to the far side of the carnage. There’d been less than dozen corpses.

  The town hadn’t been slaughtered. It had been abandoned. Somewhere out there, it might still be alive.

  Fire embraced the city in a crescent along the western rim, leaving the center intact. Raxx’s gas station was unharmed, as was Landfall’s, separated from the consuming flames by the sun-bleached road. The fire had spread as far as it would go, destroying everything of value. There was nothing to do but prepare for pursuit.

  Wentworth had spotted the vehicle tracks and footprints on the western edge of town. They cut through the soya fields and pastures, along a route littered with dead animals — fewer than there should have been. It looked like the raiders had taken the livestock as well; that would make them easier to follow.

  Through his binoculars Wentworth could make out their path of torn-up shrubs and brush stretching off into the distance. They were off-roading, which meant
that his and Raxx’s vehicles were useless; even if the motorcycle had been working it didn’t have enough traction, and the frame of the pickup wouldn’t have survived the abuse. Taking the highways would have lost the trail. Walking was their only option.

  He stepped into Raxx’s workshop with a corona of fire at his back. The Mechanic was packing several off-white bricks from a pile stacked next to an old bathtub.

  “I’m ready. What’re those?”

  “C4.” He finished packing, “It’s an explosive. Thought it might come in handy. I brew it up, sell it to the locals, the merchants that come through,” he avoided looking up, “It’s stable till you set it off. Electric primers,” he pulled one out, “then it goes.”

  Wentworth nodded. Raxx slung his bag and they stepped out into the heat.

  They paused at the town’s border. A line of discolouration still showed from where manicured lawn had met rough fields, long ago. Behind them lay a burning ruin. In front of them the sun glared a ruddy orange. Wentworth breathed it in, feeling the moment.

  Once, years ago, he’d hit a slick patch of road with his motorcycle. The vehicle had skidded sideways on a layer of molten rubber, the wheels going out from under him. For an instant his mind had lit up with perfect clarity. The laws that governed the trajectory of his skid were as cold and absolute as the skills he possessed. He tapped the rear break, turned the steering column ever so slightly, and hit a loose stone at just the right angle. He was howling down the highway once more.

  During that split second there had been no illusion of control.

  Greasy smoke flowed around him. He stepped forward.

  Raxx was quiet. Wentworth would glance over every so often, but when no response came he’d return his eyes to the ground ahead. He was feeling more focused than he had in weeks, months even. His path had become simple.

  The Western sky brazed around a dying sun.

  “We need to discuss tactics,” his voice spilled over the hollow breeze and Raxx stiffened. “If we’re going to do this we need to be on the same page. I might go over some stuff you already know, but that’s just to make sure. Most of it should be new. I’ll cover as much as I can, alright?” Raxx didn’t disagree so he began speaking.

  He went over hand signals and formations, shotgun and rifle implementation. Movement techniques, indications, and terminology. Raxx was reticent at first; nods and grunts mostly. But eventually he started asking questions.

  “So what do you think we’re looking at here? You said there were tracks left by a couple-dozen vehicles or so. What do you think that means?”

  “Gang, I’d say; disorganized, angry — what we saw back in Blackstock wasn’t targeted or directed. There’s nothing to target there, anyways.”

  Raxx nodded, “It’s just a farming town, and it’s a fair ways off from anywhere else. There’s nothing anyone could want with it…” he looked down and shook his head.

  “Don’t worry about the ‘why’ just yet. We can figure that out later. Now you said that up ‘til now this area’s been pretty quiet. And you’ve been here for about six months?” He nodded, “and the merchants that come in haven’t said anything about attacks?”

  “No, nothing. Sometimes trouble on the roads west of here, but nothing consistent.”

  “In that case, I’d say these guys aren’t local. They showed up recently, and they’re squatting somewhere.” He shook his head. “This isn’t professional — it isn’t organized. They just rolled up with guns blazing. Let’s say that there were thirty of them. That’s what I figure from the vehicle tracks — hell, even that’s not done right; if they’d all taken the same path we wouldn’t have known their numbers,” he shook his head again.

  The grass swished with their passage.

  “From the footprints, I’m guessing at least fifty civilians…”

  They crested a hill and Raxx pointed, “Hey!” A body lay in the middle of the track.

  He broke into a run — Wentworth’s rifle snapped to his shoulder, and he scanned the horizon for an ambush. With the land as dry as it was, there was little cover for enemies to hide behind, but he wasn’t taking chances.

  As Raxx neared the body he shouted back. “It’s Vince! He’s still breathing!” Kneeling by the man’s side, he saw that the merchant’s skin was a waxy where it wasn’t covered with blood and dust. Vince looked up through slitted eyes.

  “Water?” his cheeks were pale and sweating.

  Raxx freed his canteen while Wentworth approached cautiously. Cradling the merchant’s head in his lap, he looked him over for any injuries. His right ankle was badly swollen.

  Vince took the water in thin gulps. Little was spilled and his skin began to regain its colour.

  “Raxx — oy, thanks lad…” he groaned and released the tension in his neck, falling back onto the earth. “Things ain’t good boy. Help me up, will you?” Grunting, he tried to lift himself. Raxx supported him into a sitting position. Vince kept his injured leg straight. Running his hand through his hair, his gaze fell upon the other figure. “Wentworth,” he said.

  The man just nodded.

  “When all that shit went down I thought it was on account of you.”

  He looked down for a second. “It wasn’t.”

  Vince attempted a smile, and shook his head. “Can’t say I’m sorry to be wrong. Raxx, can I see some more of that water?”

  He drank, then gave Raxx a cagey look. Wentworth had wandered off to patrol.

  “Lad — are you sure he wasn’t with them?”

  He grimaced. “I’m pretty sure…”

  “I wasn’t even there, old man. I was with Raxx — we were busy trying not to kill each other because of the politics in this burg.” Their eyes penetrated his back. He sighed and turned around. “Listen, Vince — why don’t you let me see to your ankle, and you tell Raxx what happened? We’ve got to know what we’re dealing with here.”

  Vince watched him lay his rifle in the dust, and kneel down by his injured leg. He grunted as Wentworth removed his shoe. “Ah — thank you. Give me a shout if you’re gonna twist it, though.”

  Wentworth looked at him and nodded before returning to the swelling. “It’s sprained all right. I’m going to tie it up with your sock once I take it off, okay?”

  Vince took a shuddering breath. “Yeah, that’s good lad. You do that, and I’ll try and tell both of you what happened. Is that a fair trade?”

  Raxx nodded, “Sounds good to me.”

  “Me too — you talk, and I’ll try and be gentle.”

  “Okay — I’ll keep it short — I was eating my breakfast at Landfalls when it all went down. Must’ve been about ten. Gah! — I gotta show up early, of course, to sell to the farmers — then I grab my breakfast and let my boys take the shop. The guards, that is. Billy and Verizon, this trip. Aw, bloody…” He looked over at Raxx. “Those boys — they got caught up in the fighting, lad. I know you were friends with them…”

  “I know, Vince. I saw.”

  “Aye…” he took a shuddering breath — then gasped in pain.

  “Sorry,” said Wentworth.

  “No, it’s all right… I stepped out of Landfalls, but it was too late. Even if I hadn’t forgot my gun… ah, hell, it wouldn’t have mattered…”

  “Who were they?”

  “Not that it matters, lads, but they called themselves the Hellhounds. A bunch of young boys — younger than you — with a boss about my age. They just showed up, shooting off their rifles, and said it was slavery now — ipso facto. Ah! Damnit man, I’m awake, aren’t I?”

  “Sorry.”

  “It was like something out of the badlands… I don’t know what to tell you. They just grabbed all the folks, and the only reason I’m here is on account of my busted ankle. I stepped in one of the wheel ruts, and — Aw, fuck, Wentworth, relax with that!”

  “Almost there. How many do you think there were?”

  “I don’t know… about thirty of ’em? They had quads, and they were moving west.”
He shook his head, “I think they were gonna kill me too, when my ankle broke, except their boss was in a hurry.” He leaned back and looked west, staring off towards his captors. He rubbed some dried blood from his upper lip. “The whoresons did a number on me, though, before he told ’em to get moving. Enough to scare everyone else off faking. Shit! You sonuvabitch!”

  “She should be good now — I’ve got more medical supplies, but Raxx and I might need them later. How’s your face? Are you going to be okay for the next few hours?”

  Vince looked at him cynically. “Why, lad, are you gonna go play hero for Blackstock?”

  Wentworth took a moment to consider. Then he tilted his head in Raxx’s direction. “I’m just helping out my Mechanic.”

  “Damnit boys, they’re dead already! Don’t you get that? The best they can hope for is an easy spot on the oil rigs! All your messing about can do is get ’em all killed, and the three of us along with ’em!”

  “The hell are we supposed to do, Vince? Should I just forget about Connie, and Bill, and the rest of ’em? What about Vree? What about Marie?” Pain flashed in the merchant’s eyes and Raxx choked back the rest of his outburst. Their eyes met in hard glares.

  Wentworth glanced at the horizon; the sun was nearing its end. He looked back at Vince, and raised his goggles, squinting at the light.

  “Vince, you’ve heard about me. I don’t start something I can’t finish. If I say that Raxx and I are going to hunt down and kill every last one of those Hellhounds, then that’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’ll be back for you.”

  The dust blew, howling and brittle. Vince looked over at Raxx. The corners of his cheeks turned up — then he frowned. “Lad… those Hellhounds are worse than any derelict I’ve seen. They’re bad — I couldn’t say where they came from, or what they’ve already done, but they’re a force that’s gonna keep on moving…” he closed his eyes. “…so maybe it’s got to be taken care of… by someone. If you’re up to it.” He indicated Raxx with a nod of his head. “You need this one, don’t you? You’re gonna take care of him?”