Strange Medicine

by Jim Stein

  “Holistic healing,” Quinn said when I commented on it after the show. “Dwain and Mr. C were right.”

  “You sound more relaxed too.” I slid my hand across her shoulders, noting the lack of tension.

  “It’s like I poured myself into the music more than usual. I could sleep for a week.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble.” I gave her an apologetic smile while wishing we could do just that. “We need to send the scouts upriver, test out our communications, and prep the buses. I have Anna, Aarav, and Clara standing by to be firespeakers.”

  “Yeah, about that.” She sucked in a deep breath between clenched teeth. “Piper and I have been talking. Shouldn’t we bring Anna with us?”

  “Back to New Philly? Nah, she’s a strong speaker. She’ll stay here to relay.” I didn’t know what to make of her pinched features and lip biting. “I can relay our status and get reports on the river. Why bring another firespeaker?”

  “Backup?” It sounded more like a guess than an answer.

  “Believe me, if I go down under a hail of evil critters, we’re going to need more than just more comms.”

  “Well, aren’t we the all-important superhero?”

  “No…I just mean if things go badly, everyone will need to get the hell out of there, regardless of what’s going on back here. Just start—”

  “The buses!”

  “What?”

  “You and Pete said we’re unlikely to get them all the way into New Philly.” Quinn sounded triumphant. “We’ll want to talk to them, maybe have them meet us somewhere different if problems arise.”

  “Maybe.” The four-wheelers would be able to go anywhere, but the buses couldn’t handle obstructions, let alone sandy roads. If the survivors had been forced to gather somewhere inconvenient, moving the transportation would be critical. “I guess I could pull Vicki in to handle things here. We still should put two scouts up at the bridges. I’m not crazy about Anna heading back into danger.”

  “But she’ll be with the buses and the guards. Plus you know she kicks ass in a pinch.”

  “Once.” The image of Anna sick in bed still haunted my sleep. “She isn’t ready for any heavy lifting.”

  “None of us are ready.” She put a warm hand on the forearm I’d draped over her shoulder. “You certainly weren’t. Oh, don’t pout.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I might not be able to see you back there, but I know you, Ed Johnson. Enough talk. Let’s get things in motion.”

  Quinn turned in my arms and gave me a lingering kiss to take the sting out of her words. I sighed as she pulled away, resigned to being ordered around by beautiful women. There are worse problems to have.

  9. Up the River

  W

  E LEFT camp at first light with three charter buses, four ATVs, and a handful of hearty souls. Plus Dwain the sprite and Ralph the imp, neither of which I could technically claim to have souls, though they had as much right to one as the rest of us. Manny and Quinn each got their own ride, and Pete rode with Vance on his beat-up police cruiser. My ride was more crowded, with Dwain behind and Ralph perched on the tank. Hopefully, we wouldn’t need the extra gas and spare parts from Reggie Boyd’s trailer—getting those had been like pulling teeth.

  The bridge was in halfway decent shape as were the roads north. We had to contend with spurious burned out car husks and the occasional crumbling roadway, but nothing the buses couldn’t skirt. Cool air blew from the river to our right as we stopped to go over the plan before leaving the highway.

  I slid off the seat and rummaged through the trunk for a snack and my candle. Dwain spun around in the passenger saddle and damned near stuck his head in the compartment.

  “Mind giving me some space?” I pulled out my half candle and a lighter.

  “Just watching.” Today he did have on the aviator glasses, but finding a helmet to fit the sprite had been challenging. The bright pink dome sporting flowers and kittens detracted from his para-military ensemble. “You gonna check in?” He clamored at my arm to sniff the candle, wrinkled his nose, and opened his mouth to say more.

  “How about checking with Anna? Make sure she’s equipped and ready.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He hopped down and jogged over to the lead bus. I sighed and lit the candle. Dwain was a good sort, but he talked constantly. It wasn’t easy to carry on a conversation over the driving wind and engine roar, but Dwain certainly tried. The momentary silence was a blessing as I sent my magic questing out through the flame.

  “Aarav, Clara, Vicki, we’re about halfway up I-95. All clear so far. Report.”

  “All quiet at base camp,” Aarav’s voice echoed with that haunting firespeak quality, but otherwise came in loud and clear.

  “Water’s getting murkier by the hour at the 322 bridge.” Clara said. “No solid sand in the channel yet.”

  When the third report didn’t come in, I reached out again. “Vicki, are you there?” Silence. “Aarav, Clara, can either of you hear Vicki?”

  “Ed, I’m here.” In person, Vicki’s voice was a rich alto suiting her round, dimpled face. I’d often though she’d make a wonderful singer. It was interesting how a person’s firespeak managed to hold those same qualities. Unlike the other two, Vicki’s voice was weak and broken by a sort of mental static. “Had to pull over to get my candle lit. The sand hit hard up by the airport, and I bugged out. These damned back roads have me all turned around.”

  Vicki was stationed the farthest upriver at a bend with a wide field of view along the river. To the north she had line of sight with the edge of the old city ruins and to the south nearly to the 322 bridge. I resisted the urge to shoot down to the bridge and see for myself; Clara would report when she had something solid.

  “Don’t waste any more time talking,” I told Vicki. “Get back down to base.”

  “No need to tell me twice. This map is crap, but I have a clear shot along the river and can cut back to 295 farther downstream. Tell Clara to watch…I hear… Good lu—”

  Static cut across her words as they grew fainter and cut out. So much for our bulletproof mode of communication. I relayed the report to Clara and Aarav and let them know firespeak might not be reliable near the sand. I blew out the candle and unfolded my laminated map as Dwain and Anna walked over.

  “What’s the deal boss?” Dwain leaned in to follow my finger as I traced several lines between New Philly’s boarders and our camp over in Jersey.

  “As the sand moves downriver, we’re likely to lose contact with base camp.” I slid my index finger to the blue curve above Wilmington. “Anna, I need you to check in with Clara and Aarav every ten minutes. When you lose Clara, we have to assume the sand is about halfway to camp. When Aarav drops off it’ll be three quarters. Let them know what’s going on and keep a log to help us estimate how much time we have left.”

  “You can count on me.” Determination shone in her eyes, and I silently thanked my sister for interfering, because there was no way I could have handled the task while taking point with the all-terrain vehicles.

  “Dwain, huddle everyone up for a quick debrief. I’ll be with them after I talk to Vance.”

  The deputy leaned against his much-abused vehicle, munching on a sandwich. Vance seemed awfully calm given he’d nearly died from exposure on his last outing. But then he’d always been the stoic sort. Pete rode on the deputy’s oversized machine and leaned in close as I laid out my map.

  “Where did Sheriff Connolly disappear and where are people gathering?”

  “We lost him here on a finger of sand only thirty yards wide.” He stabbed down just north of the bridge at Chester. “As the desert spread, public works rigged the power plant to run unmanned and the deputies worked out safe zones. We planned to move everyone here and here.” Vance pointed out two areas to the north before settling near Mom’s work. “But the buses will be needed at the hospital. The general public has cars, but the patients won’t be able to drive. Bryn Mawr isn’t
equipped to handle an evacuation.”

  “So we head north, get people moving out, and finish at Bryn Mawr.” I didn’t like the route because those old suburban roads twisted and turned like paved-over cart paths.

  “Chances are slim the buses will make it through,” Vance said.

  “If 476 is clear, we can send them ahead to the hospital while we check the other two sites.”

  “We need to check the farms too.” Storm clouds gathered in Pete’s eyes.

  “The Eastons wouldn’t leave.” Vance grimaced. “When the phones quit, we lost contact.”

  “They’ll be deep in the sand.” I couldn’t jeopardize getting the others out. “Your folks are smart. Let’s see if they made it to one of the enclaves before we jump to any conclusions.”

  Dwain led the others over. The three bus drivers stood together with their assigned guards. All were fully human, and the guards each held a rifle at the ready and a handgun on their hip. Quinn wore her black riding leathers, which blew my mind considering how hot it was likely to get. Anna clutched the log she’d already started. Manny swiveled around atop his four-wheeler, looking bored.

  “We’re going to head north on the Blue Route,” I said. “But we have to stay flexible.”

  I told them how Sheriff Connolly had disappeared near Chester and about the two groups we’d be contacting. If we couldn’t make the main highway, we’d take our chances on back roads. There just weren’t a lot of main thoroughfares in the area.

  “If things get really bad, we can run west to get back out,” said a short barrel-of-a man dressed in a tan jacket and slacks. “I run produce out that way. It’ll be longer, but the roads are clear.”

  Sid, our lead driver, was an old-school teamster, one of the few who regularly traveled beyond the city limits. The other two drivers delivered supplies in town with occasional runs to the waterfront.

  “Sounds like a good fallback,” I said. “Run the buses up to Bryn Mawr hospital. We’ll join you after we finish at the other two sites. Anna and I can communicate. Don’t sit on any information or ideas because we could lose touch if the sand gets too close.

  “Lastly, no one’s a hero. Strange things are coming off the desert. Get out of sight and move on if you encounter something. If you’re pressed into a fight, punch a hole and get the heck out of there. Guns will work on some things, magic on others.” I flashed a smile of apology at the drivers and guards. “I know accepting this is difficult, but hang in there. We’re all on the same team.”

  Since returning from tour, the people on the south side of town had been treated to a crash course in the supernatural. Only a few saw spell casting first hand, but rumors spread like wildfire—to the point that Mr. Conti insisted on explaining some fundamental truths. I liked to keep my boss up to date on the developing situation. He didn’t spill all the beans about Koko and the thinning veil, but I think talking about the elephant in the room went over better with someone from their own generation explaining things. In fact, the older folks had accepted magic easier than the younger crowd.

  “Sid, can you draw out those clear routes to the west and directions back down to base camp?”

  “You bet.” His tweed cap bobbed with his vigorous nod.

  “Anna can help make copies. We’ll send the refugees out your route rather than risk them running into sand.”

  Twenty minutes later, we roared up 476 at breakneck speed, which was about thirty miles per hour on the four-wheelers. With a wave, our cluster of small vehicles peeled off at the next exit, while the buses continued on toward the hospital.

  Vance led us to the first enclave, which was at an old apartment complex. Although well provisioned, the people looked haunted and tired, as if they’d aged years in the past weeks. Vance spoke to a fellow deputy who the sheriff left in charge. They didn’t have big people haulers, but were ready to evacuate. A fleet of cars, trucks, and vans waited in the adjacent lot.

  Everyone clamored for news of friends and loved ones. Thanks to Mr. Conti’s foresight, we passed around lists of those back at base camp. As people frantically packed the last of their possessions, Anna read Aarav the names from the apartments. We left the roar of engines behind and headed for the next location as cars streamed west.

  The second enclave was smaller, perhaps two hundred people holed up in townhomes. Getting them underway proved just as easy. We headed back to I-476 by late afternoon, easily on track to make Bryn Mawr before dark. Unfortunately, none of the Easton clan had made it to either site.

  “Sand!” Dwain yelled in my ear to be heard over the hot, dry headwind.

  “I see it.” I slowed as we approached the onramp.

  An inch of sand drifted across the double-yellow running along the overpass—not enough to hamper our machines, but its presence meant trouble. Quinn and I shot down the frontage street to the left. Manny, Vance, and Pete took the right. We rounded the shell of a gas station, passed several stone houses, and pulled into a dead-end cul-de-sac overlooking the highway. Ralph hopped from tank to headlight and back, swinging between the handlebars in agitation.

  “Sweet mother of God!” Quinn gasped.

  We stood atop a retaining wall two stories above the roadway. Or at least that’s what should have been far below us. Instead we looked at a river of sand. The intersection where we’d started stood off to our right. Guardrails poked out across the blowing sand on the overpass. Which meant…

  “The highway must be fifteen feet under.”

  “We won’t be driving down there.” Dwain pointed straight out. “Or over there.”

  The far retaining wall dipped lower than our current perch and the desert spilled out to swamp the buildings and trees beyond. Low rooftops poked out like a village caught in flash floods, and familiar spikes of green gathered in clumps around taller structures.

  A grating hiss drew my attention down where a short drop would put us onto the scorching sand. The grainy surface flowed like water—and it rose! The five-foot drop looked significantly shorter and a rooftop across from us sank out of sight.

  “Back to the others!” I gunned my engine as a column of black armor erupted just below us.

  The centipede shot skyward and towered over us. I wrenched my handlebars and nearly lost Dwain as the ATV kicked sideways. The creature slammed down, catching Quinn’s rear tire. Rubber ripped under the short spiny legs, spraying bits of tire and chitin.

  Quinn gunned the engine. Her ATV surged forward, flipped onto its side, and crashed into a bank of windows along the nearest building. Glass spilled out as the vehicle ground to a halt, its good rear tire spinning uselessly.

  “Quinn!”

  The insect scrabbled forward in spite of the broken legs dripping green ichor as sand crested the top of the wall in tan wavelets. Quinn pushed to her feet, but her leg buckled. Rather than reach for a spell, I raced forward, slammed on the brakes, and hauled her onto the seat between Dwain and me.

  Screeching rose from close behind, followed by a cry as the sprite leapt off. Dwain drew both his weapons in midair, and the gleaming black blades cut deeply into the right side of the centipede’s head.

  The term machete didn’t do the blades justice. Each had a wide triangular cross-section tapering to a sharp edge. Made of wood rather than metal, three evenly spaced knots made them look like sharpened logs with leather-wrapped handles. Rather than slicing, the beefy weapons smashed and cut, leaving two gaping wounds despite the creature’s armor. But it wasn’t dead by a long shot.

  “Get your little ass back on the seat,” Quinn managed to sound pissed and scared at the same time.

  “Yes, ma’am!” Dwain jumped on with a grin.

  We shot down the road. The thrashing bug couldn’t leave the sand and retreated. But the desert was on the move. Quinn pressed against my back, breathing heavy.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “Left leg’s just stiff, and it’s a little crowded to stretch.”

  “One of us can
ride with Manny.” I shot a significant glance at our sprite.

  “Nah, this is plenty big.” Dwain leaned out into the wind like a dog from a car window as he clung to Quinn.

  “Hey, watch the hands!”

  They jockeyed for position on the short ride back to the others, and I had to push Ralph out beyond the handlebars to keep him from joining the fray. Manny and Vance encountered the same problem in the opposite direction, though had managed to not lose one of their rides.

  “Looks like back streets then,” Vance declared.

  The ever-present groan of flowing sand spurred us to move. Time slipped away with every turn as we skirted westward on a zigzag pattern to keep away from the spreading dunes. With dusk approaching we’d have little time to evacuate the hospital. I couldn’t imagine loading up patients in the middle of the night. Somebody or something important would get left behind.

  The twisting route and constant grating had my head throbbing. We made too many turns to accurately judge how fast the desert moved. I needed to know if Anna still had contact with the other scouts.

  “Ed, it’s bad.” I imagined I could hear her voice as the pressure on the back of my head grew more insistent.

  Stupid.

  “Hold up,” I called to Manny.

  He gave me an exasperated look, glanced back to ensure we weren’t about to be swept under, and slowed. I pulled over and lit my candle with a flick of magic.

  “Sorry, Anna, I’m here.”

  “Thank, God.” Her firespeak cut in and out like Vicky’s had, so I didn’t feel quite so dense for missing her attempt to communicate. “We couldn’t wait. Sand slammed in like a tidal wave from the east. If it hadn’t been for the elevated train tracks it would have swept over the hospital before we knew what hit.”

  “We’re about two miles away. What’s your status?” If desert had closed in ahead of us, we’d have to cross the dunes after all.

  “Everyone’s on the buses. Sid has us up on 202 ahead of the sand. Ed, don’t go to the hospital, you’ll be trapped. I’m sorry.” Her voice echoed with anguish.