“Last chance to talk,” said Primo.
“What do you want me to say?” Fixer begged.
“Just tell me where the cells are.”
Tears formed in Fixer’s eyes. He finally managed to blubber out two words. “I can’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I really don’t have any and I have absolutely no idea where any are.”
Quattro, the youngest brother, moved toward the railing. Slick and slim, he was impulsive and possessed a fiery temper.
“That’s a lie.”
Quattro reached into the folds of his vest and pulled out a small model car that was dwarfed by his open palm. “You had this! I saw it move!”
“It wasn’t cells!” pleaded Fixer. “Open it up. Check for yourself!”
Quattro ripped off the model car’s bottom and exposed its undercarriage. He shoved his fingers inside, mangling the works to shreds. He threw the car at Fixer’s face and screamed.
“It’s a trick! You must have used something to get it to work.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” This came out of Fixer in the hushed tone of a man who knew he was doomed.
Primo slashed out with the knife, cutting the main rope holding Fixer to the rail. The cord unfurled with breathtaking speed, sending Fixer shooting down the front of the ship until it snapped taut and he was hanging just feet above the swirling sand.
“Enough!” Primo yelled, waving the dagger in the air. “The truth! Tell us or I’ll cut the rest!”
Fixer’s body kept bumping against the front of the ship as he dangled precariously above certain death. He tried to look up at Primo but it was next to impossible. He swung back and forth, still upside down.
“Please! I’m telling you.…”
Fixer’s plea was cut off by a resounding wallop, followed by the rope snapping in half. The force of the split catapulted Fixer through the air; he landed on the sand in a heap, just clear of the speeding ship.
Primo and Quattro exchanged bewildered looks.
“What did you do?” screamed Quattro.
Primo, the dagger still in his hand, stood motionless. “Nothing!”
They frantically looked around. Primo saw a copse of brambled trees to the west. He could barely make out a figure nestled in the upper branches.
A tall man, dressed in grizzled gray, was reloading a slingshot that only seconds before had been fired at the ship.
Quattro didn’t see him. He was busy on the deck grappling for his crossbow. He picked it up and leaned over the railing—trying to get a bead on Fixer, who crawled through the sand, trying to get away from the pirate ship.
The gray-clad man shifted the aim of his slingshot toward Primo and Quattro. Primo tried to reach for his brother and push him out of the way, but Quattro shoved him aside; he had his sights set on the crawling Fixer far below.
“I got him.”
Primo made one last lunge for Quattro.
But the man in the tree had already unleashed his second shot.
It made a direct hit on the crossbow, which flew out of Quattro’s hands. Reaching for it, he tumbled over the railing and fell one hundred feet to the desert floor.
“Nooooo…!”
Primo’s scream echoed through the air, bouncing off the mountains.
The moment Quattro’s body hit the sand, his legs were crushed as the fifty-ton ship rolled over them from stem to stern. Scarlet blood splattered the desert and hull of the pirate ship.
Primo immediately started yelling for his brothers to bring the boat to a halt.
Which took more than a few minutes.
By the time Primo had climbed down the ladder to rush to his fallen brother, there was no trace of the man in the brambled tree. The Hanging Man was long gone too, and Primo was left cradling his youngest sibling in his arms. He rocked him back and forth and began to keen. His grief echoed through the desert canyon, peppered with the screams of undying revenge.
2
Rabbit.
Joad had developed a begrudging taste for it. Back when there were restaurants, it would have been the last thing he’d ever order off a menu. But over the years, he found it the easiest thing to shoot with a slingshot; it needed little cleansing before being roasted over an open fire, and one catch provided enough for a couple of meals.
Not that his diet totally subsisted on creatures that definitely didn’t taste like chicken. Joad was happy to scour through canned goods when he was lucky enough to come across them in abandoned stores. But by the time Joad reached what was left of the cities, the establishments had been pretty much foraged by Remaining.
Night had fallen and Joad was half asleep as he cooked the rabbit. Leaning against a broken Chevy, he stifled a yawn as the crackling fire was punctuated by a soft snap. Joad’s eyes immediately popped wide open. He reached behind him with the alacrity of a close-up magician and produced the slingshot. In one motion, he loaded and fired a stone into the darkness.
“Ooomph.”
This was accompanied by a painful expulsion of breath. Joad started to reload the slingshot.
“No, no! Please don’t do that again!”
The Hanging Man emerged from the cover of night, hands raised in surrender. He had managed to find a shirt, the material of which was blotched by the dried bloodstains from the whipping. Joad lowered the slingshot.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“That makes no sense. I don’t even know you.”
“You saved my life, didn’t you?”
Joad sighed. He dropped the slingshot, and turned back to his roasting rabbit.
The Hanging Man gingerly stepped forward and extended a closed fist.
“I found this in the sand near the boat.” He opened his palm to reveal a slingshot pellet.
Joad rewarded him with a slight nod. “You didn’t look like you were having much fun up there.”
“No. Not my idea of a good time.”
Joad grunted. The Hanging Man took this as an invitation to join him and moved closer. Joad stopped him mid-stride with a glare, but The Hanging Man wasn’t willing to back off just yet.
“Did you know those brothers?”
“Never saw them before in my life,” replied Joad.
“You’re lucky.”
Once again, Joad tried to end the conversation by cooking dinner. The intruder shuffled around, nervous.
“Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks.”
“By trying to steal my horse?” Joad asked without taking his eyes off the roasting rabbit.
“Oh. You noticed that.”
Joad ripped the hare off the spit, put it on a metal plate, and began pulling the meat apart. The Hanging Man watched, obviously hoping to share, but quickly realized no invitation was forthcoming.
“Speaking of horses. I was just thinking. Maybe you could help me find another one?”
Joad chewed and swallowed. “Think again.”
His finality of tone left The Hanging Man with no choice but to retreat into the darkness. Joad continued to work on the rabbit. A few seconds passed before he called out.
“Leave the horse alone.”
The Hanging Man’s mumbled curses could be heard as he shuffled off into the desert.
A slight but satisfied smile creased Joad’s lips.
Shooting stars darted across the night sky. Framed against the Milky Way, their tails left streaks of color in the heavens. Vibrant reds, blistering oranges, and emerald greens.
It must be that stuff The Strangers left behind, thought Joad.
He rolled over on the raft, his stomach lurching from the choppy sea and days without food. The water sparkled as if dotted with silver sequins. Joad didn’t think this was a natural phenomenon either. There weren’t enough sea creatures or algae to illuminate an entire ocean. This also had to be a byproduct of the visit by The Strangers.
Joad tried to remember how long it had been since he’d caught a
fish. His watch had stopped working the moment it got wet, so all he had to go on were rising moons and setting suns—of which he’d long ago lost count.
He shifted around on the bouncing raft, trying to find a position that was comfortable. But it was next to impossible; his body cramped up the moment he tried to move in any direction, and his nausea was worse than ever.
Joad cast an eye out at the swirling sea. Sparkling beads of water moved into a concentrated area, crissing and crossing until they took on a distinctive shape.
A woman’s face.
As it formed, the beads clinged and clanged. Joad shook his head in disbelief. He knew that face better than his own.
“Rebecca.…”
He mouthed her name in a haunted whisper. After all this time, dreaming of her for so long, actually seeing her beautiful face took Joad’s breath away.
As the sparkled drops continued to cling and clang, Joad wondered if The Strangers were trying to tell him something.
Or was he just…
Dreaming?
Joad awoke on the backseat of the old Chevy. He squinted as sunlight poured through cracks in the shattered rear window. The clanging noise he’d heard in his dream continued to sound, and Joad tossed aside the saddle blanket he’d used to cover himself.
He climbed out of the car and emerged beneath the remnants of a giant Exxon sign that glistened in the stark desert light. The station was a trashed three-pumper on a long stretch of deserted highway that bisected The Flats. Joad’s horse was tied to the base of the sign and snorting, also apparently annoyed by the clanging sounds.
Joad crossed over to soothe the horse with a gentle pat, then moved toward a torn-apart limo where The Hanging Man was pounding away at a piece of metal. A tinted windshield lay in pieces at his feet. He looked up and gave Joad a healthy grin.
“Morning.”
“Couldn’t you do that somewhere else?”
“Almost done.” The Hanging Man held up a pair of sunglasses he had fashioned out of bumper chrome and chopped-up tinted-window glass. “Want me to make you a pair?”
“No, thanks.”
“Wouldn’t be any trouble. Give me an hour. Two, tops.”
“Don’t have the time,” said Joad.
“What the hell are you talking about? All we’ve got left is time. It’s not like any of us has to punch a clock or something.”
Joad shook his head and moved toward his horse. The Hanging Man leapt to his feet and followed, quickly scooting around in front of Joad.
“Hey. We were never formally introduced. People call me Fixer. On account of how I like to fix things.” He pointed over to his makeshift workspace, then held up the newly fashioned sunglasses.
“Yeah. I heard.”
Fixer finally read the annoyed look. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you. At least this way we can get an early start.”
Joad stopped walking. “We?”
“You wouldn’t actually leave me stranded out here, would you?”
Joad stared at the empty landscape. No reason to state the obvious.
“Don’t answer that. Just let me ride along till we come across some Remaining,” implored Fixer.
“And I would be doing that for what reason exactly?”
“Companionship?”
Joad continued to glare at him.
“Okay. Scratch that. How ’bout I be your navigator?”
“That’s not necessary.…”
“You been through these parts before?”
“Nope.”
“Then, I could prove useful. I’ve been prowling ’round here for years now.”
“I tend to stick to myself,” said Joad.
Fixer pointed at the desert. “Plenty of trouble out there. I can help you stay clear of it.”
“Like you did those brothers?”
Fixer attempted a casual shrug but didn’t pull it off. “Oh. They sorta snuck up on me.”
“Thanks. I’ll take my chances.”
Joad continued over to his horse. He rolled up the blanket and quickly stowed it in the saddlebags. He threw a leg up and over his mount, and got settled in the saddle.
Fixer trotted over. Joad marveled at the man’s persistence—he was like one of those blowup clowns that kept bouncing back up no matter how many times you knocked it down.
“I’d think those brothers would be pretty pissed at you,” said Fixer.
“Why is that?”
“You hurt Quattro pretty bad.”
“Quattro? That’s a name?”
“It means four.”
“Yes. I know that.”
“He’s the youngest brother. Primo, Secundo, Trey, and Quattro—that’s what they call themselves.”
“To each his own.”
Joad urged his horse forward. Fixer raced around and cut him off.
“They’ll come after you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.” Fixer inched closer. “If they do show up, two stand a much better chance than one. And I’ve got a bone to pick with ’em. I don’t take to hanging and whipping much.”
“What did they want from you?”
“Something they thought I had.”
Joad stared long enough at Fixer for The Hanged Man to realize he couldn’t get away with just that. The wiry man coughed up the rest.
“Cells.”
“That’s what they were looking for in the bowling alley?”
“I sent ’em on a wild goose chase. Unfortunately my goose was about to be cooked, but then luckily you came along.”
“Why did they think you had cells?”
Fixer stiffened slightly. Joad noticed the hesitation.
“They thought they saw something. But they were just imagining things.”
“Uh-huh.”
Joad studied the man. Something he wasn’t saying. Over the past seven years, Joad had met more than his fair share of men like the brothers. They didn’t waste time on random Remaining like Fixer—unless there was something more to such people than met the eye.
The more Joad thought about it, Fixer might prove useful. It was true that Joad had never been through The Flats before. Certainly not on horseback. He and Rebecca had buzzed along the highway back when it was called something else, on the way to the coast for a vacation. They’d spent most of their time singing along to the radio and were too caught up in trying to read a map to notice much. Having a guide might not hurt.
Besides, if Fixer was right, and the brothers pursued Joad, two men might split the quartet’s focus. That would allow Joad an avenue of escape by putting this man directly in the brothers’ sight.
“What do you say? Let me ride along? Till at least we find me a horse?”
Fixer gave Joad his most winning and convincing smile.
“I promise I won’t slow you down.”
That’s for sure, thought Joad. He’d make certain of it.
He finally nodded and patted his horse.
“Climb on up.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brad Cohen, © 2009
Scott Shepherd has worked in television as a writer and producer for over twenty-five years. While studying as an undergraduate at Stanford, he developed one of the first courses on mystery and detective novels, which remains part of the curriculum. His television credits include The Equalizer, Miami Vice, The Dead Zone, Quantum Leap, for which he received an Emmy nomination, and “The Outer Limits,” for which he received a Cable Ace Award. Scott has collaborated with numerous best-selling novelists including Karin Slaughter, Harlan Coben, and Stephen King, whose novel The Colorado Kid was the basis for the current SyFy hit Haven. In addition to his television work, Scott teaches writing at the prestigious graduate program of University of Texas, Austin. Scott lives in Los Angeles with his wife Holly.
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