by DMJ Aurini
“That’s what I meant about it being a matter of will, not education. People don’t have the will to understand things; they’ve only got the will to be ignorant. And it’s because of that, that we live in shitty, recycled buildings – nobody wants to learn construction techniques. Any vehicles out there are antiques, because no one wants to learn how to make new ones – and socially? We’re stagnating, man. It’s a fucking mess where it’s denser, there’s even slavery out in the badlands. There’s no progress.” He let out a long sigh.
Wentworth smoked his cigarette, and the kilometres burned away.
“Heh, sorry man. Bit of a rant there. I’m just frustrated because there aren’t many people I can talk to about even the basic stuff I do. They don’t want to hear it and I get lonely.”
“No, don’t apologize. I was just thinking about what you said. It strikes a chord. I’ll have to get back to you on it, though.”
“No problem man.”
Fifth gear chugged desperately up the hill as they continued on down the highway.
Chapter 3
“Alright lads, we’re almost there. Another hour and we should be in town. Then we’ll get everything stowed away, and I can buy you some pints of that Landfall Ale I’ve been telling you about!”
Vince and his guards were moving at a steady clip, riding a two-vehicle train pulled by a pair of oxen. They were all in the lead car, a gutted station wagon, behind it the cargo trailer rolled sullenly. Vince sat centered behind the beasts, reigns in hand, while his two guards sat at the rear, back-to-back, facing the passing fields. The station wagon was a comfortable ride, and had been rigged for defence. Steel barricades with gun ports protected the occupants.
Vince wiped his brow and adjusted his wide brimmed hat. His barrel-chested frame slouched backwards in the padded seat, as he scratched at his unkempt travelling-beard. A bandanna hung loosely over his nose, protecting against the dust, while his earth-toned pants and utility vest refused to show wear.
He’d hired the guards back in Hope after leaving the Petrolia–Steeltown–Sauga caravan. Few merchants came out this ways so, as usual, he’d been forced to act as his own Caravan Master, taking care of rations and security. Billy and Verizon had seemed competent enough, and they’d come with good recommendations. As a bonus, their youthful high spirits were brightening his own.
“Ya know, Vince,” said Billy, the one with the green mohawk, “The way you’ve been talking about this Landfall Ale, if Verizon here ain’t shooting rainbows out his ass after the first pitcher then I’m going to be disappointed.”
Before Vince reply Verizon shouted, “‘Shooting rainbows out of my ass with your mother! On her trampoline! Oh!”
Without delay Billy began cussing out a rebuttal. Verizon had been repeating variations of the ‘mother on her trampoline’ line throughout the trip, but as to where he’d got it, Vince couldn’t say. The lad was dressed in a sleeveless biker jacket and aviators, and had taken up the role of resident smartass for the trip. His wisecracks helped pass the time.
But despite the laughter an undercurrent of irritation had entered the boys’ banter. They’d been on the road for two days already, and were all looking forward to getting away from the dust and the sun. Vince could already make out a line of smoke rising from the hamlet’s coal flue, and the growing sense of relief was palpable. There wasn’t much further to go, and the land on either side was flat and treeless, posing little threat of banditry. Soon enough another trip would be safely through and over with.
* * *
They’d been driving in silence, just watching the road disappear, when Raxx spoke up. “You like driving too, eh?”
“Yeah,” said Wentworth, “When you’re moving you leave your worries behind. There’s nothing you can do about anything, and no rules; it’s as close as a man gets to freedom.”
“Yeah, I hear you; just you, your skills, and the road.”
Several minutes passed before either of them spoke. “Pull over just after this hill. My bike’s in a gully here.”
Raxx eased onto the shoulder and shut off the engine. They stepped out, weapons in hand. Wentworth was wearing his jacket and helmet, and Raxx, before leaving, had donned a pair of old football pads reinforced with boiled leather and metal plates. He still had his revolver on his hip, but now he carried his shotgun as well.
“I know you said that this area’s pretty quiet and there’s not much banditry, but I’d like to scout things out before you give my bike a look-over. We made a lot of noise arriving just now, and if there’s anyone here they’ll find us pretty quick. That hill over there is the highest around, and it’s got plenty of cover. That’s part of the reason I left my bike here, yesterday.”
“Makes sense,” said Raxx, “You seem to know what you’re doing so I’ll just follow your lead.”
Wentworth replied with a silent nod. He’d been scanning the area for anything that didn’t fit, and though everything looked normal, he remained vigilant. He slid into the gully, and started off towards the hill. Raxx followed. It was fifty meters distant, but rather than walk directly to it he followed the contours of the land, so that by the time they reached it they were traveling almost parallel to the road. Once they started climbing Raxx understood the reason for their detour. The path they were taking had more brush on either side, the kind of stuff that would provide cover, while posing little impediment to their own observations. He tried to mimic Wentworth’s cautious prowl.
As they neared the top Wentworth hunched over so that his torso was horizontal, and continued at a slower pace, stepping carefully so as to avoid unnecessary noise. Raxx imitated, and soon they were both crawling.
Once they got to a good vantage point Wentworth motioned for Raxx to come closer. He said in a hushed tone, “Do you have binoculars or anything?”
“Yeah,” said Raxx. He pulled out a pair of plastic binos out of his tool pouch. He’d coloured them black with a marker long ago. Wentworth nodded. ”Don’t use them unless you see something suspicious. The glare from them could be noticed.” He indicated that Raxx should take the south-west arc, then positioned himself towards the north-east. They both shuffled to their positions, and started scanning the horizon.
Five minutes later Raxx felt a kick on his boot. He looked behind him to see Wentworth looking back at him. The man nodded and they both started crawling back the way they’d come. Once they reached the bottom of the hill Raxx whispered, “Is it okay to talk now?”
“Yeah. I didn’t see anything. I take it you didn’t either?”
“Nothing.”
Wentworth nodded, “You might think I’m being paranoid, but I’d feel pretty stupid if I died in some sort of fuck-off way.”
“No worries. I would too. You take this shit pretty seriously, don’t you? I mean,” he hefted his shotgun, “I know how to use this thing, but that crawling around – I noticed how you were using the land to hide us. I never thought of that before. Makes sense though.”
Wentworth shrugged, “Thanks.”
“So where’s this bike of yours? I was kind of looking for it while we were up there, but I couldn’t spot it.”
“It’s right there.” Raxx looked where Wentworth had indicated but didn’t see anything but the wooded valley south of the highway. All of a sudden his eyes went buggy. He blinked, and realized he’d been staring directly at a camouflage net some twenty meters off the road. “Holy shit. Nice. Your bike is under the cloth there?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Alright, let’s give her a look.”
They walked over to the bike. Wentworth kept hold of his rifle, as Raxx slung his shotgun across his back and picked up a toolbox from the bed of his truck. They reached the bike and removed the cam net. The bike was a cruiser, built for long distance riding and heavy loads. Leather saddle bags were mounted on the back, and the body was a metallic grey, non-reflective. It was rust free and appeared in good working order, aside from the broken transmission chain. Ra
xx knelt by the side of the bike and pulled out a device to measure it.
“Good news, you had the right grade. I’m just going to check a few other things.” His excitement was palpable. He went over the bike, opening panels and examining the components, identifying the different mechanisms while measuring to check whether he’d have the right tools. He wanted to pull apart the engine right there, to figure it out, but managed to reign in his enthusiasm. “I don’t think this’ll be a problem… should have everything I need… alright! Let’s get her on the truck.”
Wentworth put away the cam net, and walked the bike over while Raxx pulled a wooden plank out of the truck bed to use as a ramp. Together they hauled the bike up the ramp, and secured it with chains.
“Augh!”
“You got her?”
“‘Kay, steady now!”
“Stop-stop-stop – Okay!”
“Try moving that board...”
“Is she tight?”
“I got this end.”
“Holy shit, you’re one heavy slut…”
“The back’ll go up?”
“Yeah, jump down, she’s good...”
As they got into the cab Wentworth panted, “Maybe the mule would’ve been easier…”
The only thing marring Raxx’s manic grin was his own shortness of breath. “It’s starting to feel a lot like work, isn’t it?”
* * *
Vince rode the wagon into town, heading towards the market. As he rode he waved to locals. This was his second trip here since the thaw, and being one of the only strangers who visited, he was well known.
Behind him Billy and Verizon were unloading and clearing their weapons. The rifles wouldn’t be necessary in a quiet town like Blackstock.
“Hey, Billy,” said Verizon, “how about that sheep over there? Is she more your type?”
“Fuck you, Verizon. From now on it’s William Buckley to you.”
“What’s that – ‘Prince Billington’ you say?”
“Fuck you, and the train you rode in on!”
“The train with your mother on her trampoline! Oh!”
“Alright, quiet down lads,” said Vince, “you’re gonna give folks the wrong idea…” or maybe the right one…
He guided the oxen towards the tan-brick building next to the marketplace, nodding and waving to the vendors, and keeping an eye on the children who were darting about his wagons, excited at the presence of the stranger. “Stay here and keep an eye on the goods. I’m going to speak to the Councilman and get a booth sorted out. After that, we’re going to get the stuff secured, and then we’ll go over to Landfall for those pints – and then, Billy, you’re gonna see Verizon shoot rainbows out of his arse!”
Vince dismounted, and strolled over to the doors of the building. There was still a plaque out front which read ‘OPP Det. 42 Blackstock,’ and the words ‘Police Station’ were still emblazoned above the double doors, but the last peace officer had died long ago; with only a hundred-or-so locals there was no need for a lawman.
The front desk and the small office portion just inside the door remained essentially unchanged from the prewar days; a pair of clerks worked at the desks, and the Councilman had taken over the Chief’s office. The rest of the building was dedicated to storage, housing the machinery and supplies that were commonly owned and seldomly used.
“Well, if it isn’t Vince McCullough!” The receptionist’s face lit up as he entered; the blue whorls on her cheeks enhancing her crimson hair, “And such good timing, too! There’s a stranger in town – hey, I’ll bet Councilman Vree will want to see you about him! Give me a sec to ask her.”
Without giving Vince a chance to reply, she got up and dashed around the corner to alert the Councilman.
She came back and grabbed Vince by the hand, pulling him towards the office, “Yes, she wants to see you right away! Ooh, I hope you get your booth set up soon. Have you brought in any more of that Yorker jewellery you had last time? I showed my cousin Connie the necklace I bought from you, and she loves it and wants one of her own! Okay, just go right in, I’ll see you later Vince!”
Vince closed the door behind him. He looked at the Councilman and let out a sigh.
“She could talk the leg off a mule,” he said.
“Ai, youth!” Vree smiled gently. She was one of the oldest citizens of Blackstock, and had been the Councilman for as long as Vince had been trading there. She wore her mantle with a grandmotherly air. The two of them had always gotten on, and she, more than anyone else, realized how valuable Vince’s trade was to Blackstock. “There’s times I think Marie does more of the running of this place than I. She’s always dumping the next job on my lap ‘fore I even figured out what it’s going to be, and she’s usually got it’s fixing, too. Ah, well. I suppose she told you why you’re in here, instead of seeing to your stall?”
“She said something about a stranger in town.”
Vree laughed, “She just ran in here telling me about how Vince had just shown up, and that she’d bring him in to see if he knew anything about the stranger. Not that I’m complaining, it’s what I would have done later this afternoon – but you see what I mean about her doing the job for me?” She chuckled, eyes glowing, as Vince slouched back in a chair.
“Yes, we’ve got a stranger in town. He ain’t done nothing yet, and you’ll see him soon enough, he’s-a staying with the Landfalls, like you always do, but he’s creeped out some of the boys that met him, and, well… Vince, here’s the thing; he came out of the East. No one’s ever done that before. So he’s got some heads buzzing.”
Vince frowned when he heard this. Blackstock was the last settlement, as far as he knew.
“So I’m glad that you decided to show up so quick-like after he did. I’m thinking that, if this fellow’s trouble, then maybe you’ve heard a thing or two about him; you merchants get around a fair bit more than us. So, Vince, you ever hear of a man called Wentworth?”
Vince had been growing bemused as Vree went on. These smaller towns always got upset whenever a stranger showed up, and it was funny how they’d assume that a merchant would know anything about some derelict passing through. He couldn’t blame them, though; they didn’t have the perspective to understand the size of the civ out West…
But his train of thought had derailed when Vree mentioned the name.
“Wait – did you say Wentworth?”
“Wentworth, ai.”
“Dark hair, dressed in black leather, with a motorcycle and a long-gun of some sort?”
“Well! I couldn’t say about the last two, but that’s what he looks like. Wait now, motor… he and that other boy, from out West like you, Raxx; they’re out right now trying to fix some machine of his. Ai, maybe it’s the motor-sike you just mentioned. What’ve you heard about him, Vince?”
Vince leaned back in his chair, thumbing his road-beard, buying himself some time. The whole thing was ridiculously provincial – but he had heard the name.
“Honestly… not much. But, well – I’ve heard something – which is saying a whole lot right there. Back in Sauga, say, a month back, I was chatting with some guys from the North-Route. We were sharing stories about what’s going on all over the place, and a bunch of them mentioned this guy called Wentworth, out of a place called the Ottawa Vale.
“Seems this lad’s been going around from town to town on his motorcycle and trouble comes along with him. Some say he’s causing the trouble, others say it’s someone else hunting him. The stories – they’re all mixed up, and the merchants – well, they all admit that they’ve only got second-hand information to go on, that they don’t really know. North-Routers are good that way; they don’t make stuff up just to impress. But that’s pretty much all they said.
“Now it’s been about a month since I talked to ‘em, two months since they’ve been out there – so we’re talking the beginning of spring. And all of that happened a fair ways from here, up Northwards. So I dunno, Vree, I can’t tell you what to do. But I’d b
e careful of him if I were you.”
She shook her head sadly. “Ai... we’ve been through rough spots before... but honestly, Vince, I’m getting too old for this. The East.” The stillness of her frame spoke louder than a shudder. “We never had to deal with anything from there before...” She steepled her fingers together, and leaned back in her chair thinking for a few moments. “It’s all dead, you know?”
She stared down at her desk. Dust motes danced through the beams of light coming in through the windows. “Well, I guess I’ll send Marie down the fields, tell her to get Elmo and who, deputize ‘em. When they gets back we’ll take care of Wentworth. Tell him head on out there. Back out East. I hope this ain’t a trend starting.”
“Whoa, hold on a sec there, Councilman; you said he ain’t done nothin’ yet.” He shook his head in confusion, damn these locals! “He ain’t caused trouble, or even mouthed off anyone, aye?”
“Ai… he ain’t… I would’ve heard if he had. But you said he’s dangerous, so why’re you being so milk with him now?”
“Aside from the fact that he ain’t done nothing but have a name? Well, Councilman, I’ve got another reason, and it’s pretty big and hairy. First of all, if he’s the guy I heard about, then he’s somebody who’s survived long enough to make a name for himself. Trying to kick him out wouldn’t do no good, it’d just piss him off. Trust me on this.
“And second of all, there’s something you folks don’t know about derelicts – sure, they’re trouble out between places, but when they’re in town they’re usually pretty quiet. You leave them alone, they leave you alone.
“That’s what all the burgs do out West; they don’t mess with the derelicts as long as they’re abiding at the time. That saves trouble, ‘cause maybe they ain’t a derelicts after all – and what more, maybe chasing them off is more trouble than it’s worth. Now, if for some reason, the law does come after these boys, well, they ain’t the type to go quietly. Like I said, trying to take down this Wentworth, or kick him out, or whatever, just runs the risk of pissing him off. And that ain’t something you wanna do – if he’s the guy.”