Rehana shrugs, kicking back in her seat. "Wake me up when it's over." She closes her eyes.
The Edenites' jeep slams into our rear bumper, throwing me forward. I curl into a fetal position and stay down as a hail of bullets tears inside through that open window frame in back. The windshield cracks under the impact and fractures, but it doesn't shatter. I swing the Colt forward and break it free, sending the wide piece of plastiglass sliding down the jeep's hood. When there's a brief lull in the gunfire, I lunge out after it, sliding down across the hood as well.
I hit the ground on top of the windshield and roll over, tucking the 9mm into my belt. Then, gripping the windshield with one hand, I hold it up for a modicum of protection and advance on the Edenites.
For future reference, a windshield covered in spider-web fractures is nearly impossible to see through, and this one isn't bulletproof. There are more than a few holes in it already. But it might slow down any additional gunfire that comes my way.
I can hope.
One of them is out of their jeep, standing there in a makeshift suit of armor decorated with old tires. That's the best these people could come up with as far as protection against the elements. After all this time, they're still dead-set against contamination, and without their collared daemons to do their grunt work for them, they've had to venture out of Eden's sealed-off environment themselves for food and supplies.
Score one for the good guys—that would be Luther & Friends. They managed to wipe out every daemon in a thousand-kilometer radius, both the collared variety and the wild. I don't miss those ugly freaks one bit.
But Luther? I miss him. And Shechara, Samson, even Milton. I ache inside when I think about them.
I've got to focus here.
"Drop it!" I shout at the dumbest of the Edenites. He should have stayed inside his vehicle with his buddies and shot me from there, or used a door as cover. Instead, he's out in the open with his assault rifle wavering, not sure whether to pull the trigger. "Right now!" I fire a round into the dust at his feet, and he jerks back a step. "One hole in that pretty suit is all it'll take, and you'll be stuck out here in the real world with the likes of me!"
Our silent face-off drags on for seconds that feel like awkwardly long minutes. I don't know how many rounds it will take to pierce his suit. Neither does he, more than likely.
"Shoot her!" shouts the suited figure behind the wheel. He revs the engine like he's trying to intimidate me. Only it's not working.
I send a couple rounds into his side mirror, blasting it to pieces. Fair's fair.
"Are you going to kill them?" Mother Lairen suddenly appears between me and the bounty hunters, her scarlet hair and pale face a sharp contrast to the dusty monochrome around us. She stares at me unblinking, not even squinting under the harsh sun.
"Get out of my way!"
She's blocking my view, even though she isn't really there. Just another spirit-manifestation, supernaturally pulling memories from my brain. Our bunker commander/den mother who turned into some kind of weird religious nut after All-Clear. I thought I'd seen the last of her a while back—but then again, I thought the same about Rehana.
There's no reason for either one of them to be here. I'm beyond their influence at this point. I gave up on the spirits of the earth a long time ago.
"I thought you got it all out of your system," Mother Lairen says with her customary sneer. "After you murdered Arthur Willard."
I fire another round, this time straight through Mother Lairen and into the jeep, shattering one of the headlights. "Your tires are next. Drop that rifle!"
It takes only a split-second for the idiot to do something stupid. He blasts me with a volley that bowls me over, rounds piercing the windshield and thumping into the cracked hardpan all around me. One rips across my shoulder, and I flinch with a groan at the burning sensation.
That does it.
I roll sideways and leap to my feet, kicking the windshield aside. In a single movement, I draw the 9mm from my belt and empty it at the idiot, also squeezing the trigger on the Colt with a steady rhythm, sending .44 caliber round after round into the windshield, the other headlight, the front tire, the driver's side where that Edenite is stupid enough to lean out with his rifle. My last .44 round smacks it out of his hands.
Both of my guns click empty. I stand there in a cloud of dust with the armored idiot lying on the ground in front of me, groaning and cursing. His ride is gone, the driver figuring he can still manage with three functional tires. He's taken off in the opposite direction as fast as he can go, back to Eden.
"Morons," I mutter, shaking my head. If they'd only waited until I needed to reload, they could have killed me easily.
"Is that what you want?" Mother Lairen stands too close to me with that blank face and those eyes as dark as charcoal. "Do you want to die, Daiyna?"
"Shut it." I tuck the empty handguns into my belt and scoop up the idiot's rifle. Releasing the magazine, I take a moment to survey the rounds. Half-full. Or half-empty. Depends on the day. I slap it back into place and aim the muzzle at his head. "What are you whining about?"
He looks even more ridiculous on the ground than he did standing up. He can't seem to bend his knees, so they stick out in front of him. He's got both of his gloved hands pressed down on his left thigh—apparently, the only part of his suit I was able to puncture after firing all those shots at him. That's what happens when I split my focus.
"It's-it's been compromised," he manages, sounding both terrified and furious. A dangerous combo, if he was still armed.
"That's right." I squint after his buddy's vehicle, tough to see behind that plume of dust it's kicking up. "So now we wait."
He groans, sounding like he just might cry. Because he knows the inevitable is on its way like some kind of faceless predator. All part of this quarantined continent's charm. The mythos, that is.
For Edenites, it's cut and dry. You breathe in the dust, and you get infected by a fast-acting mutagen. It turns you into a messed-up freak of nature, most likely a cannibal. For the natives, those of us who left our bunkers after All-Clear and embraced the survivalist lifestyle, it's less scientific and more supernatural. The spirits of the earth will look into your soul and decide what sort of gift to bless you with. An ability from the animal kingdom, like superhuman speed and agility, or long-distance sight, or underwater breathing—as if that's useful in these parts. Can't remember the last time I saw a body of water. The Pacific isn't too far away, but I've steered clear. Too many raiders crawling all over those shores, loading their loot onto freighters bound for Eurasia.
I shoulder the rifle by its strap and step over to the identical weapon I shot out of the driver's hand. Loose grips sink ships. The barrel's dinged up, thanks to my .44 round, but it'll still shoot fine. It just won't look as glamorous. The mag is almost full. I sling it onto my other shoulder and head toward my jeep.
"You're not leaving me, are you?" Sounds like it's his greatest fear, to be abandoned out here in the Wastes. Until now, it was probably second-place to his fear of becoming infected. Now he's afraid of what he'll become.
The unknown. I'll admit, it's scary. That's why I stick to what I know.
"Pay attention, genius." I nod toward the solar panels on the roof. "They need to charge up, and I need to figure out why the batteries died on me. So we're stuck here for a while, you and me. Might as well settle in."
I drop one of the assault rifles into the cargo area in back of my jeep, and it clinks against shards of plastiglass from the broken rear window. I keep the other rifle handy, swaying from its strap, brushing against my side as I take a breather in what little shade the jeep provides.
"You're bleeding," he says. Nice of him to notice.
"You nicked me. Feel good about that." I apply pressure, one hand squeezing my shoulder. I'll check it out later. Judging from experience, it's just a superficial wound, unworthy of too much attention.
"You're…" He weighs his words. "Daiyna."
"How long did it take...for you?"
"Until I knew I was a sand freak?" I shrug my uninjured shoulder. "Not long."
"How did you know? I mean, what could you do?"
"Nothing you can do about it." Once you're infected, you're infected. Or gifted. Same difference. But after a few seconds of silence, I realize what he's really asking. "I could see in the dark. Night vision without the gear."
"No joke."
"Do I look funny to you?"
He doesn't answer. Smart—for an idiot.
"How long do you plan to keep that suit on?" As long as the air's flowing inside, I'm sure he'll be comfortable sitting in the sun. But once it runs out of coolant and O2, he'll be roasting alive in there. "Not like it's keeping you safe anymore."
He doesn't answer. Instead, he looks like he wants to get to his feet. He's given up plugging the hole and instead presses his gloved hands against the ground, like he's ready to launch.
"Nope." I've got my new rifle pointed at him before he can blink. "You're staying put."
He curses. But he follows orders like a good little Eden Guard. "My people will be back. They'll pile into an armored car and bring more guns than you can handle."
"I'm handling yours just fine," I remind him.
"You might want to get this jeep running again, if he's right," Rehana calls from her seat. "Better to keep moving, out here in the wild."
"Nobody asked you," I snap at her, but she's right. She usually is. I need to check the wiring, see where the battery connection failed. But I also need to keep my eye on this bounty hunter. Too bad I can't be in two places at the same time. "Get out here and watch him."
"I'm good." She stretches, perfectly content right where she is.
"I see how it is," I mutter.
The Edenite is watching me. Real still, like he thinks I might bite him. Or I might have something that's catching.
"Not exactly sane, are you?" he observes.
Well, that was uncalled for. Makes me think I've been too hospitable. No more Ms. Nice Girl.
"Take off your suit. Do it now." I advance on him, aiming my rifle at his head. "You've got ten seconds. Then I start punching holes in that helmet."
"It takes ten minutes to get this thing off—" he complains.
"Then you'd better get started." He doesn't move, so I scream, "NOW!"
He stutters backward on his rear end and starts fumbling around, detaching the helmet from the collar first, then unzipping the torso. When he gets up and climbs out of the suit, I see a clean-shaven man in thermal underwear who looks like he hasn't been eating regularly as of late. I suppose an Edenite can have all the electricity and running water a body could want, but when the food runs out, he's no better off than anybody else scratching out a living on the surface.
I know from firsthand scavenging experience: Sector 31, located above Eden, is no longer the land of powdered milk, honey, and treasure troves of goods, materials, and foodstuffs. The UW raiders have seen to that.
"Leave it." I don't change my posture.
He drops the suit to the ground with a thump and a puff of dust. Then he sets the helmet on top of it.
"Now what?" he demands.
I nod in the direction his buddy took, long gone by now. "Start walking."
He scowls, shielding his pale face from the sun with an equally pale hand. Unprotected like that, it won't be long before every patch of exposed skin grows its own crop of blister-bubbles that will eventually break, become infected, and—if he survives—permanently scar.
"You know they won't let me back inside," he says. "Not now."
He's a sand freak in the making.
"And you know he'll never survive such a journey." Mother Lairen reappears in front of me. I would have flinched if I wasn't already accustomed to her spooky antics. "You might as well shoot him. You'll be killing him, either way."
Same old story with her. She always wants me to kill somebody.
"I don't care where you go," I tell him. "But you're heading east, as far away from me as possible." I take another lunging step forward, my rifle ready to inflict some serious misery. "Get moving!"
He backs away, unsteady on his stocking feet. "I doubt your people would recognize you anymore."
That raises my hackles. "I don't have any people."
"You used to."
Luther. Shechara. Samson. Milton. My jaw trembles. I clench it tight.
"You think you know me?" I scream. If I didn't know better, I would think I sounded completely out of my mind. "You don't know me!"
"You don't know me either," he says. "Not if you think I deserve to die out here."
Deserve? Who deserves anything anymore? What is there to deserve? It's survival of the fittest. You scavenge, you keep your eyes open, you stay alive. You act like an idiot, and you die.
"Bounty hunters are trash," I grate out. "Twenty hydropacks, right? For my head on a pike?"
"The pike's optional." He thinks he's funny. "I wasn't always like this. Neither were you." He's still moving backward, but his pace is agonizingly slow. "When you killed Captain Willard, things changed."
I want this conversation to end, for him to be part of that ripple on the eastern horizon, for me to have the time I need to fix my jeep and get the hell out of here. Keeping my rifle and my goggles trained on him, I stoop to pick up his suit and helmet. Not happening. Too much for one arm with a wounded shoulder to carry. So I settle on the helmet and back toward the jeep, setting it down inside the cargo area once I'm in range.
"That bastard deserved to die!" I shout, and my voice hangs in the silence for a few seconds.
"Maybe." He has to raise his voice now across the distance. Fifty meters or so. "But not like that. You were his judge, jury, and executioner."
"Yes, you were," Mother Lairen whispers into my ear. "Someone had to make him pay. What he took from you can never be replaced."
"Maybe not," Rehana offers from inside the jeep, "but Luther has a plan."
"Luther always has plans." Mother Lairen scoffs. "But they never work out so well, do they?"
I hate the memories that resurface, of us handing over our unborn children in clunky incubators to the United World troops. Rehana never wanted us to be Mother Lairen's cows, the fruitful wombs of the future. But having your eggs extracted against your will does something to you. Changes your mind about some things.
"Don't you want to meet your children?" Spirit-Rehana knows just what to say sometimes.
The rage burns inside. My muscles tighten, shaking, but somehow my aim is steady as I fire a warning shot over the idiot's head. He ducks mid-stride, but he doesn't run away. He just turns his back on me and keeps walking.
"At least give him a fighting chance," Rehana says. "Throw him a hydropack."
He's not my concern. The jeep is.
I watch him until I can't distinguish his scrawny silhouette from the mirage in the distance. Then I drop my rifle into the cargo compartment and stuff his protective suit in there beside the helmet. Might bring me something by way of trade next time I pass through Stack.
After reloading the Colt and returning it to the dashboard compartment, I load the clip of my 9mm and tuck it back into my belt. Best to be armed at all times, particularly while I'm under the hood, spending some quality time with the battery array.
Which turns out to be a fruitless waste of time. There's nothing wrong with the connection. The roof panels are fine. It's the batteries themselves. Both the primary and secondary are dead. Annoying, since I checked them just yesterday.
Or maybe it was last week. Time's been kind of fluid for a while now.
"Stupid bitch," Willard sneers. "How have you stayed alive this long?"
He's standing there in his fake fatigues glaring at me with his beady eyes, his stupid little cater
pillar of a mustache glistening with sweat.
I pop open the dash compartment, ignoring Rehana because she isn't really there. Neither of them are. Grabbing the flask, I unscrew the top and take a swig. Swallow the burning whiskey and follow it with another, then another.
"Take it slow," Rehana advises. "You haven't eaten anything today—"
"And she doesn't drink anything else," Willard says.
"Shut up! Both of you!" The flask is half-empty. It's all I've got until I can replenish my supply, and there's no way to know when that will be.
Sometimes I drink enough so that my spirit-friends disappear. Unfortunately, I'm not at that point yet. And with all the walking ahead of me, I better keep some part of my head clear.
I load up my guns, my hydro and nutrition packs, the flask, and the idiot's environmental suit, stuffing them all into my extra-large satchel. With my wounded shoulder, I can't carry both rifles, so I take the mag from the dented one. I put on the helmet so I don't have to carry it. I wish I could take the solar panels from my jeep. They'll be ripe for the picking should any marauders pass this way and decide to cannibalize the parts. But if I pick up a new battery over in Stack and am able to return in time, it should be alright. I hope so, anyway.
That's funny: I still have hope.
"So, Stack." Rehana walks beside me as I begin my trek, heading north by northwest. "That's where we're headed."
She can talk to herself all she wants. I'm not saying a thing. The spirit that alternates between manifesting itself as Mother Lairen and Willard has already vanished, probably planning to pop up again at an inopportune moment. Spirit-Rehana is welcome to follow them wherever they went. I really don't care at this point.
"Been a while," Rehana continues. "Sure you'll be welcome there?"
I've got this suit, and I'm willing to trade. I'm sure I'll be welcome just about anywhere there's barter to be had.
"Someone may have heard about Luther, whatever he's up to lately." She leans toward me. "Might be able to give you an update."
I don't want an update. Spirit-Rehana herself could give me one at any time. Her fellow spirits of the earth are active all across the continent, if what she's told me is true, and they communicate via some sort of ethereal telepathy. Even though she's trudging along here beside me, she knows what Luther is doing at this very moment.
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 81