Red Star Sheriff

by Timothy Purvis

  “Oh mah gawd! Mah gawd! We found a nest o’em! They ain’ s’posed ta be this far up! Ah gawd!”

  “A nest o’what?” Asta asked, brows furrowed, and leaned forward. Two more of the crew took flanking positions at the cave entrance and were looking inside with uneasy expressions.

  “Those, those spindly sons-of-bitches!” Mills shouted coming to a stop and pointing with his gun to the cave.

  “Ya mean the spindlers?” Drevan coughed trying not to laugh.

  “Yeah, they’s all over the ceilings! Tyler got one! But they’re fast as the dickens!”

  Asta chuckled and sighed. “It’s awright. Call the boys back. We leave first thing in the mornin’.”

  “Oh… okay. Okay!” Mills turned around and rushed back screaming, “Ms. Lynch says we’re done here! Come on out! Git outta there fer they git ya!”

  Tyler on the right side of the entrance threw up his hands. “Christ! ‘Bout time! Ah couldn’t stand one more minute o’those gawddamned things!”

  Asta rubbed her hands over her face and sighed. Drevan placed a hand on her back and rubbed.

  “Yup.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN: DUSTLANDS BOUND

  SAM BERRICKS SAT at the console monitor going through statistics of criminal activity in three confederate domains. There was a scowl on his face as he read through them. Outlaw activity had increased threefold and yet the Chuhukon Council hadn’t responded. After nearly a year of civil unrest, the Chuhukons had yet to intervene.

  You useless huuks, what the hell are you waiting for? Send out your army, take the Wastelands by force. Declare martial law. Do anything but sit on your asses! He leaned back into his chair crossing his arms. The mission was not going as intended. It was an old plan to be sure. One that President Lee himself said to give a shot. Especially since talking with one of Sam’s old contacts. A man he despised almost as much as the Confederates themselves. An old Chuhukon, that contact was, and a fussing simpleton that lacked any real imagination. Regardless, President Lee trusted his contact’s information though Sam held severe reservations. After all, his old contact was still a shady senator. And anyone who managed to hold office so long couldn’t be trusted. They were always in it for themselves.

  ‘If he’s right, that journal could prove useful for our future plans for the colonies. And he assured me that this Professor Wilson would cooperate,’ President Lee had said, hands clasped behind the back of his black duster.

  ‘And you want me to give that plan of his, another shot?’ Sam had asked frowning.

  ‘Sure, why not. What have we to lose? It’ll also give you time to look for your daughter. If you still want the commission, of course.’

  ‘Want is a mighty strong word, Mr. President. But I’ll take it all the same.’

  ‘Then get your fleet organized. You leave as soon as you’re ready.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  And here we are goin’ on a year later with no results to show for it. That little thorn in my balls had to go and muck up the works. Him and Weiss. If Pelican’s daughter hadn’t killed Michaels, I might have done it myself. Just as a little treat for the headache.

  Now he had weeks (seven in fact), just weeks to accomplish the mission. He wanted nothing more than to be home. He was tired and it was looking very seriously like war was rearing its ugly head yet again. If he didn’t complete the mission, it would be a massacre for everyone. Lee was just too dead set on taking the colonies back. Of course, that was likely due to the fact that resources of any kind were starting to dwindle for the Union. Maybe a few more years, and people would be starving in the streets. And hungry, impoverished citizens were rarely the happy sort that would just ignore their plight.

  ‘General,’ the president had said over the transmission not so long ago, ‘my patience is wearing thin. You’ve failed to acquire that journal and now you’re telling me the Chuhukons have yet to declare martial law? These setbacks are most alarming coming from one of your caliber. Our forces will be mobilized in seven weeks. You have until then to retrieve the book and to get the Council to do… something.’

  ‘They’re still just letting the domains police themselves. They won’t move on anything unless there’s a vote.’

  ‘It’s up to you to convince them it’s in their own best interests. How ever you deem fit. Just get it done.’

  ‘And what if it’s impossible to retrieve the journal?’

  ‘Then see to it that it’s been destroyed. We don’t need that kind of technological know-how out there if we’re not in control of it.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can, sir.’

  The transmission had been cut and now Sam was in the worst of moods. Nothing was going right and he was afraid of what was coming.

  “I think we’re fucked,” Sam said to himself.

  He reflected sourly, That’s the problem with ineffectual governments. Everything has to be by committee. None of them can just make a fucking preemptive decision. How they managed to drive out the Union and survive this long as an independent state defies logic.

  The Confederated Colonies were still Union, of course. They just refused to accept it. The war didn’t end. It was only paused until the Union was in position to retake the rebel territories. Sam didn’t feel that a confrontation now was a good idea. It would only lead to unnecessary bloodshed and likely drag on for years. Lee was convinced however he had the force necessary to end the battle in under a month.

  He sighed. He was still a Union man and would fight tooth and nail for it. Whatever order the president gave, he’d see it through. To the bitter end.

  His eyes focused on a distance far away thinking about his plantation. Sam reached into his inner duster pocket and withdrew an old timepiece with a flipping faceplate. He stared down at it, flipping it open, and stared into the eyes of a young woman in a picture. She’d been maybe twelve at the time, smiling and carefree in her flared blue dress. To her sides and behind her, two doting parents.

  “Caitlyn…” he exhaled a slow breath.

  It was because of her he’d made the choice to lead the Eighth to the former colonies. When her mother had died, she was all he had left.

  Then she had to fall in love with that little shit.

  “Mr. Berricks, sir.”

  A voice brought Sam out of his thoughts and he turned, clicking his timepiece shut and replacing it in his pocket, to see the slender Nielson standing there with his hands locked behind his back. Light gleamed off of his gold rimmed spectacles, and he had the look of a man who thought he knew more than anyone else. And maybe he did. But he sure knew his place and who was in charge. There was much about the man he didn’t know (and nothing he cared to either). But there was one thing about the prissy condescending know-it-all that Sam did know: the man was a trained assassin personally assigned to the operation by President Lee himself. Why Lee felt an assassin was necessary, he couldn’t say. However, this was one question he hadn’t felt needed asking.

  “What is it?”

  Nielson unfolded one hand to push up his glasses. “Ms. Lynch and her crew have returned.”

  “Excellent,” Sam said standing up. “I could use some good news after all the shit that’s been going wrong.”

  “It would appear Mr. Weiss is not among them.”

  “And?”

  “Well, I would figure having our project lead back should be beneficial to our progress.”

  Sam scoffed. “The Second Administrator is doing just fine without him. Weiss got her far enough with the Pylons. I don’t need him anymore. If he’s lucky, Lynch put his ass down. If not, he’s wandering the Wastelands. Either way, he failed me. And I don’t brook failures.”

  “Of course not, sir,” Nielson nodded. Sam thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice but let it go.

  He strode down the narrow aisle of the marauder and towards the rear ramp. Nielson followed closely. As they traipsed down the metal ramp, their footsteps heavy thumps, they saw Lynch walking alongside and towards t
he ramp base.

  “Ms. Lynch,” Sam began as he continued his plod, trying to hide his surprise. She was supposed to have met him in town. “I trust you have my book.”

  “Ya din’t tell me Aidele Wilson was involved,” she said glaring up at him.

  Berricks stopped and braced his hands on his hips brushing his duster back in the motion. “Don’t see what she’s got to do with anything. Why? Did you have to shoot her?”

  “She’s got Weiss and yer damn journal! We chased ‘em out ta the Spine, but then they went deep and we lost their trail. We searched for almost a week. Din’t find hide nor hair o’em. They got away. Thought ah’d come deliver the bad news personally. …Ah’m givin’ up this job. Here’s yer money back. We don’ want it.”

  “Giving up the hunt so soon? Thought you were supposed to be the best hunter out in these parts? Shouldn’t ya have kept up the search til you caught your man?” He glared down at her outstretched arm, credit chit in her hand. He growled. “I don’t do refunds, Lynch. I also don’t let employees off the hook just because they don’t want to do the job.”

  “Ah ain’ yer employee!”

  “Paid you, didn’t I?”

  Nielson chuckled and walked off the ramp, heading into camp. Sam kept his gaze on Lynch. She didn’t reply, only kept that stubborn look on her face. He wanted to laugh at her audacity but there was too much that had to be done. Beside Lynch stood a stern gazed man, his eyes solidly on Sam. Beyond them, a short distance away on a dirty rise, were the rest of her crew. They were surrounded by his men.

  Even though he had no doubt he and his soldiers could handle eight hunters and whatever plot they might get up to, he still felt anger rising. He’d have to have a chat with his scouts. These people were supposed to have stayed in Willard’s Peak and had someone sent to escort him back down to the small town down the cliff path.

  After a quiet moment, Lynch said, “Look, ah don’ want ta be involved in whatever the Union’s up ta. We hunted long’n hard but after a lot o’thought, ah jus’ want ta give yer money back’n wipe mah hands o’this mess.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes. This hunter was smart too. He guessed he couldn’t fault her for her feelings or her skills, being observant out in the Wastelands was likely a necessary survival instinct. One that could undermine much of what he was trying to accomplish. She was too nervous and suspected too much. Somebody is getting their ass chewed out.

  The edge in his voice deepened. “I tell you what, you hold on to that payment. It’s yours. You see, when I pay someone for a service, especially if payment is demanded up front, I get what I paid for. No exceptions.”

  Asta lowered her arm, eyes staying on his, her stature unwavering. There was a familiar glint in her eyes. The obstinate glare of rebellion. Even if he did intimidate her, she wouldn’t let it show. He would have to take that determination and crush it. Too much was on the line.

  She dropped the chit to the ground and placed her fists on her hips. “An’ when ah say ah ain’ doin’ a job no more, that’s it. No exceptions. Me’n mah crew are ridin’ outta here. Our business is concluded.”

  She turned to leave. The man at her side kept his gaze on Sam, then turned to follow Lynch. The field commander looked to Sam awaiting orders. He nodded to him once and every soldier in camp pulled their guns and held them on Lynch and her crew. She froze but didn’t look back to him.

  “Our business is concluded when I say it is,” Sam growled and crossed his arms. “Tell me, where exactly did you lose Ms. Wilson and her new best friend, Weiss?”

  Lynch looked over her shoulder. “An’ why should ah tell ya anything?”

  Sam chuckled, “A), you’ve been paid. Handsomely. And, B), I’m gonna give you two options. The first, I’ll just tell my men to gun you down now, go out to the Spine myself to find the wretch. Or second, you can tell me where in the Spine you lost her, and where you suspect they’re going.”

  Lynch turned to him, crossed her own arms and laughed. “Now come on, Berricks! The Spine is a massive place! Ya really think ya ken find two lost souls in all that rock? Ah spent five days out there and still couldn’t find her. They’d be long since gone before ya even found clue one. An’ ah imagine ya ain’ gonna want ta go ‘round jus’ shootin’ Wastelanders. Ya might start a little sumtin’ wit’ the Council.”

  “I can do math, Lynch. It wouldn’t prove too difficult with the variables you’ve already given me. How long you’ve been gone since our first meeting, the land speed of eight horses, the fact you spent five days searching. If you’re telling the truth, then using a map we could figure out just where you were searching the Spine and triangulate based on what we already know. That would put us within a few square miles of your search zone, I’m sure. Perfectly acceptable in my eyes.” Lynch’s smile turned down and she scowled as his own smile tucked at the corners of his lips. “As far as wasting Wastelanders is concerned…”

  Sam dropped his arms. His right was a blaze as it pulled the revolver on his hip, cocked it with his left hand, and fired like a lightning bolt. The shot hit one of Lynch’s crew dead center of his face. It shattered under the force of the shot and he flew backwards off of his mount. Before he’d even hit the ground, Sam had holstered his piece and was glaring at Lynch. The rest of the crew made to pull their guns, but the soldiers cocked their own rifles.

  Lynch howled. “Ya cocksuckin’ bastard! Ah’m gonna—”

  “You’re gonna what?” His hands rested on the butts of his revolvers, eager to play the firing pins. “Watch me pop each of your little buddies in the face until you tell me what I want to know?”

  “Southwest corridor!” She shouted, arms waving wildly before her. “Southwest corridor of the Spine! Ah’ll even point ta it on yer maps!”

  “That’s right helpful of you. Since I don’t intend on just searching that range, and I have more’n enough men to help me cover all the avenues, why don’t you tell me where you suspect they’re headed.”

  Lynch was breathing heavy, her arms now at her sides. She glared up at him, the greedy spike of murder deep in her eyes. She glanced at her male companion who had his mouth slightly agape.

  “…The Lester ranch…” she finally said.

  “Where?”

  “A ranch out near the Spine,” she looked up at him, fists clenched, teeth gnashed. “Owned by her grandfather, Garret Lester.”

  Sam laughed as Nielson came back with their horses. “You’re shittin’ me!? I always did wonder where that old codger hung his spurs!”

  “Sir?” Nielson cocked a brow as Sam walked down the ramp and mounted up.

  Sam adjusted himself in his saddle and glanced at Nielson. “Old buddy o’mine. Haven’t seen him since the war. Once heard he’d built himself a home. Just never knew where until now.” Sam glared down at Lynch. “Never was invited to help him break dirt. Guess he was still sore with me.”

  Lynch snorted a reply. “Kent imagine why that’d be.”

  “Nielson,” Sam said not looking away from her. “The young lady here seems to have dropped her payment chit. Care to be a gentleman and help her with that?”

  Nielson dismounted, walked over to the chit on the ground, and picked it up. He held it out to Lynch and smiled. “I believe you dropped this, ma’am.”

  She held Sam’s gaze for several seconds saying nothing.

  “I’d take it if I were you,” Sam said in a low guttural tone meeting her deep, hateful stare with one of his own. “You’ve earned it.”

  She stood where she was a moment longer then flicked her eyes to Nielson. He seemed to be enjoying the moment with unbridled enthusiasm. She yanked the chit out of his grasp, and pocketed it. Sam nodded.

  “Good. Now I’ve changed my own mind. We don’t need to head to the Spine.”

  “What!?” Lynch growled.

  “Oh, you’ve been more than helpful, Lynch. And if we’re talkin’ about Wilson’s brat, then there’s no way she isn’t headed home. Gotta warn the old man after all. Moun
t up, woman. One last job for you. Take me to that ranch. I have an old friend that I need to catch up with.”

  “Yer assumin’ she ain’ already there’n gone. It took us several days ta git back here.”

  “How far is the ranch from the Spine?”

  Lynch scowled. “Maybe a day or less.”

  “So, three days. We’ll make it in two. If she’s not there, we’ll cross that field when we reach it.”

  Lynch said nothing more and turned to her man and cocked her head signaling for him to follow her. Her man cast off a thousand-yard stare at Berricks. Sam nodded at him with a grin. The man turned to follow Lynch.

  Nielson started forward but Sam held up a hand. “I want you to stay behind for a bit. Meet up with us after you finish my task.” Nielson looked at him in puzzlement. “Find out who brought Lynch and her crew up to our camp. Then have him flogged twenty lashes.”

  Nielson looked like he was going to object, then nodded. “As you wish, general.”

  GARRET LESTER PACED the living room trying his best to keep calm. It’d been over two weeks since he’d let Durante go. Over two weeks since he’d last seen Aidele out at the barn. Even Mesmerize was gone. He didn’t expect to see Durante again, but Aidele going missing had the butterflies in his stomach riled up. Now he was wondering if the plan had gone south. Had Berricks been true to his word after all? Did he not accept Durante’s explanation? Did he come back to the ranch and take Aidele hostage? Then why no word or demands?

  Don’t be stupid. Garret chided himself and stopped to stare out the front window. Would he be bothered to take her horse too? Unless he caught up with her when riding… Garret rubbed his chin with his hand and grumbled. You know the truth of it, old man. She went out after Durante. She suspected you were handing over the journal to him. And like the hothead she is, took Mesmerize out to find out where I dropped him off. But, why hasn’t she returned? And does it have anything to do with those horse tracks out by the Spine?