The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  While it was a bit early in the day for total bedlam, it was still awfully wild, at least to Jack’s eyes. What have you got yourself into, Jack? he thought as he walked down the street, dodging a rough-looking group of men staggering from a saloon to a bawdy house on the other side of the street.

  Jack went a block down and took the first right as Bill directed. The Longbranch Saloon wasn’t visible from Jack’s vantage point.

  End of the street. If I survive the journey, he thought, seeing some raucous groups in the thoroughfare.

  Jack stuck mostly to the middle of the street, trying to avoid gaining anyone’s attention. At one point he veered right to avoid an impending fistfight between a trio of toughs and the crowd surrounding them, and fell into range of a hawker’s call, “We got some of the loveliest ladies in all the land here, my good man,” he shouted at Jack, who did his best to ignore him.

  “Completely and utterly naked! Naked, naked, naked!” the hawker continued as Jack passed him by, acting as if he didn’t hear the man. “That means they ain’t got no clothes on, son. Get with the program,” he yelled from behind.

  “I see you don’t care for the ladies,” the hawker at the next establishment called at Jack, “We’ve got the most delectable gentlemen in here my friend! From smooth as a baby to hirsute as a bear, we’ve got it all! Fat, skinny, muscular, short, or tall! Take a look inside, you know you want to!” Keep walking. Don’t make eye contact, Jack thought as he passed the place by.

  “You’ll be back, I just know it!” the second hawker yelled.

  Jack could see the Longbranch ahead, just past the Parlor Extrema.

  I don’t want to know, Jack thought, grimacing at the name of the place.

  “I see you passed by those lesser, tamer dives,” the Parlor’s hawker yelled. “This is the place for the likes of you, big man! Anything goes, and I mean anything! We’ve got the freakiest sex shows, featuring the most extreme acts since the Calamity!” he called as Jack walked past.

  “C’mon! We’ve got a hot quintet getting ready to kick off in a few minutes that you’re not gonna want to miss! One of them is a mutant! A mutant! Can you believe that? Don’t act like you didn’t hear me!” the hawker shouted as Jack walked away, “You’ll be back, big man! I know you will!”

  This is the wrong place for a wallflower like me, he thought as he homed in on the entrance to the Longbranch.

  The Longbranch Saloon was famous for three things; its twenty-yard hardwood bar top, its high quality liquor, and the unusual characters that seemed to frequent the place.

  Among these unusual characters were Yuri and Gregori, ex-Russian Army Spetsnaz soldiers. They were leftovers from the 1993-1994 war. Sent to disrupt the American war effort in New York, they were part of a team that caused serious power outages in the New York City area.

  Later, they were ordered to detonate an SADM—Special Atomic Demolitions Munition which was small enough to carry in a backpack—near a target within Buffalo, New York. They refused, defying orders over considerations of the proximity of their target to civilian population, and when the war ended they knew they could not return home without facing serious repercussions, so they went to ground at the close of the conflict. Following the Calamity, they eventually found themselves in the Deva State. They made a comfortable living gathering extremophiles, and other things, from the Blastlands to the north.

  Jack entered the saloon and scanned the large space, which was not terribly crowded, perhaps a few dozen patrons, a mere fraction of what it could contain at full capacity.

  Jack approached the sole bartender who stood behind the bar drying beer glasses with a bored expression on his face. Jack leaned across the bar top and said, “I’m looking for Yuri and Gregori, might you tell me where they are?”

  “Sure thing... if you’re buying something.”

  “What do Yuri and Gregori drink?”

  “Bourbon. Top of the line Misery Bourbon.”

  “I’ll buy a bottle,” Jack replied.

  “Well okay. At last, a man who gets it. Most steely-eyed guys like you come in here with their weapon strapped on their back, pistol on their hip and figure information ought to be free, so they pull the tough guy act when I tell’em they gotta buy something. One Freelands gold for the bourbon and information.”

  Jack dug a coin from his pocket and set it gently in front of the bartender. The bartender smiled at the act.

  “Mister, I’m thinking we’re gonna be friends. You don’t give me guff, you don’t slide a coin across my bar top, scratchin’ it. I’m thinking you ain’t a tough guy after all. You are a gentleman methinks. Name’s Gus by the by,” he said as he set Jack’s bottle in front of him after retrieving the coin from the bar.

  “A pleasure, Gus. I’m Jack. I once read that a good bartender keeps his workspace clean and dispenses three things: quality alcohol, good advice, and on occasion, information. It seems to me you do those things well, so it’s only natural I treat you with the respect you deserve.”

  Gus chuckled. “Ah, that all patrons could be like you.”

  “I’m sure you’d be bored out of your mind,” Jack said with a smile. “Where might I find Yuri and Gregori?”

  “Right down there,” he said pointing to his left, “past the end of the bar and turn left.”

  “You have my thanks,” Jack replied.

  “And you are always welcome here, friend,” Gus said.

  Jack turned and started through the barroom, carrying the bottle in his left hand. Going past a table where three toughs sat drinking, one of them said to Jack, “Hey pal, you gotta share that Scotch.”

  “It’s bourbon, and it’s not for you,” Jack replied as he walked away. The man who spoke stood and started after Jack, drawing a bayonet from a sheath on his belt. Jack heard the steel blade sliding across the metal spring lining in the sheath. He immediately spun and struck the man in the throat with the glass bottle. As the man fell, he grasped his throat while his bayonet went flying, landing in a clatter on the floor a short distance away. The bayonet man’s companions started to rise from their chairs and Jack rapidly drew his pistol, thumbing the safety off as he pointed the weapon at them. Nearby patrons scattered, chairs and tables tumbling.

  “You sit down and put your hands on the table,” Jack said coldly.

  The men complied. “We weren’t gonna cause no trouble, neither was Benny,” one of them said gesturing at the thug still prone and writhing in pain on the floor. “He didn’t mean nothin’.”

  “I suppose he was just going to show me his knife?”

  “Okay, maybe you got a point. We don’t want no trouble.”

  “Nor do I. See to your friend there. You steer clear of me and we all stay living, got it?”

  “Deal!” the two men said in unison.

  Jack walked backwards a few steps then turned and headed toward the dark corner where the Russians were sitting, looking over his shoulder to make sure the toughs were staying civil.

  Gus the bartender smiled at Jack and touched the edge of his visor in salute as he returned his barmaid—a sawed off double-barreled shotgun—to its shelf under the bar.

  Jack could see the two Russians, dimly illuminated by a small lamp on a table where one of the men sat, the other was seated at a second table behind a balustrade on a raised platform directly behind the lower table.

  “Yuri, look at this, a visitor. A Ranger I suspect,” the man at the front table said with a noticeable accent. The man behind the balustrade said nothing, but raised his right hand in greeting.

  Jack returned the greeting by nodding, then said, “If he is Yuri, that must mean you are Gregori. I am Jack Traipse.”

  “Yes, I am Gregori. Traipse... I remember this name. Gordon and Hardin, relation? Son?”

  “That’s right, I’m Hardin’s son.”

  “Ah, yes. Hardin was an asshole. Gordon was an asshole. I am thinking you are one also, yes?”

  Jack chuckled. “A lot of people think so.”<
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  “Of this I am sure. Those three ruffians whose feathers you ruffled moments ago must think so. Yuri will too when he stops thinking. Always with the thinking is Yuri. Sit young Traipse,” he said gesturing at a chair to his left.

  Jack sat down and placed the bottle of bourbon on the table in front of Gregori. “For you and Yuri. Gus said it was your preference.”

  “Gus, yes, a good man. Not an asshole like you. You should have shot those three men out there. Not doing so makes you look weak. Bourbon is only my preference because there is no vodka here. This is good place, except no vodka.”

  “They didn’t need killing. Had they drawn weapons, maybe.”

  “The dumb one tried to stick you with bayonet. A bayonet is a weapon. You should have killed him at least.”

  “He didn’t have the bayonet for long, did he?” Behind Gregori, Yuri laughed softly.

  “Irrelevant. He draws weapon, you must kill him. That’s what an asshole like you would do.”

  Jack smiled and shook his head. “I think we’ve determined that I am an asshole, and yet I didn’t kill him. Something must give, Gregori.”

  “Bah! You think too much, young Traipse. Much like Yuri. He’s an asshole also. Everyone is an asshole, including me. I will go and bring back lunch,” he said as he stood up. “You will eat with us, yes?”

  “Certainly. I look forward to hearing more of your philosophy.”

  Gregori left with a dismissive wave, while Yuri moved down and sat across from Jack. “You don’t bait easily. That is good, especially for one in your line of work. Fortunately Gregori is in a good mood this day.”

  “So he goads and prods, and I take it you study and observe,” said Jack.

  “That is decent assessment. Both methods have their uses. You are not much like your father. You are much less extroverted, more educated. I am just guessing, but I think you must take after your mother perhaps?”

  “A lot of people think I do. I understand you have led a most interesting life. It was quite an ordeal to end up here I would think. Are you the only Russian soldiers that made it through the war and the Calamity?”

  “Of our team, yes. I know of one who lives near Hell in your Freelands from different unit. His team was to attack an ammunition plant in northeast Texas, but they were caught and hunted down by Texas woodsmen. He was the only survivor. He said it was like big raccoon hunt. The American authorities tried to recover the weapons and explosives the Spetsnaz possessed, but by the time they got there it was all gone, and no one knew anything about it, of course. All taken by cowboys and hidden in the woods. He stayed after the war ended, got married, survived Calamity, and now he’s old like Gregori and I.”

  “What are the odds on the three of you surviving?”

  “I no longer think in terms like odds. For me it does not matter. I am here. I live a good life, except for the lack of vodka of course. There is moonshine, but is made from corn. No good vodka is made from corn. Bourbon yes, vodka no.”

  “There’s a man near Geneva named Anderson that is making vodka, from wheat I think. I would have mentioned that to Gregori, but I’m... you know,” Jack said with a grin. Yuri smiled back at him. “Maybe you can help the man perfect it.”

  Yuri laughed. “If this is true, I may just move to Freelands, ha! Gregori will stop calling you asshole for this, at least for a while,” he said tapping the wooden table top.

  “I will tell you about how to handle the box containing the extremophiles while we wait for Gregori. Do not open the box, there is radioactive material in there. Do not worry, it is lined and there is not a great deal in there, but still. Just enough for the little things to feed on. As long as you keep the box sealed all will be well. Is simple, keep it sealed, take it to Heaven. Simple.”

  Yuri was right about Gregori’s happiness in learning of a potential source of vodka. Gregori didn’t refer to anyone as an asshole until after lunch.

  When lunch was finished and Jack had the box of extremophiles, he found Bill and Smitty at the bar, chatting with Gus and saw no sign of the trio of men he encountered before.

  “Mission accomplished I see,” Bill said, referring to the briefcase-sized box Jack carried. “Gus was telling us about your encounter at the table over there.”

  “I should have steered a better course I guess,” Jack replied with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Gus.”

  “No apologies necessary, Jack. It’ll give the regulars something to talk about until somebody gets shot or stabbed tonight. I should have guessed that you were a Ranger, you handled that like a pro. You stop by next time you get out this way.”

  “You must walk fast, Ranger,” Smitty said. “We turned down the second right and you were nowhere to be seen.”

  “Second right you say?” Jack replied, glancing at Bill.

  “Yeah, you take the second right and come around to the Longbranch from that way, otherwise you have to go down Sex-Show Row. That’s a real freak show.”

  Sex-Show Row? Forever scarred, thanks, Bill, he thought. “Indeed. You ready, Bill?”

  “Sure am, Jack,” Bill replied.

  Smitty walked with Bill and Jack until they were back in the Domestic Sector. The two travelers thanked the policeman and said their goodbyes. They walked to the Perkins’ house, picked up their horses, and shortly were on their way back to Seligman, arriving in time to clean up and have dinner.

  The next morning after breakfast the pair were leading their mounts to Greely’s Livery Stable and Jack asked, “Bill, do you think we can make as fast a trip with a horse in tow as without?”

  Bill laughed. “I knew you’d end up buying that horse.” He tapped his nose twice. “A salesman can tell. If it slows us up would you pass on the purchase?”

  “No, I’d have to board her and figure out how to get back down here and get her to Geneva.”

  “I expect we can do all right,” Bill said. “We haven’t had much in the way of delays. Let’s talk to Greely about it, he’ll likely as not have some advice.”

  In short time they were at the livery stable, where Jack informed Greely of his decision to purchase Jenny.

  “I kinda figured you’d make the plunge,” Greely said with a smile and a tap on the side of his nose, “Got the paperwork right here,”

  Jack rolled his eyes and said, “I hate being predictable. What’s the damage?”

  “Two-hundred and she’s yours. I just need your name,” Greely said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Traipse, Jack Traipse,” he replied.

  As Jack said his name, the smile on Greely’s face disappeared. He wadded up the paper he had been writing on and threw it on the floor. “That won’t do. Let’s start over,” he said as he began filling out a new bill of sale.

  “Is there a problem?” Jack asked feeling slightly confused.

  “Not at all. I just have an opportunity to pay off an old promised debt, at least in part.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. We met just yesterday morning.”

  “True, but I owe you nonetheless. There’s only one Traipse family in the Freelands that I know of, so you’d be the son of either Hardin or Gordon. I promised them a long time ago to repay them in some fashion for a great service they did for me, and since they’re both dead it passes on to you.”

  “I’m Hardin’s son. Gordon isn’t dead, Mr. Greely. He lost a leg, but he lives in Kings Town. As a Ranger I’m not sure I can accept—”

  “Jack, don’t insult the man,” Bill said. “This isn’t Ranger business. It’s personal, a matter of honor.”

  Jack was embarrassed, he nodded with a pained look on his face, “You’re right, Bill. My apologies, Mr. Greely. Might I ask what you owe Gordon and my father?”

  “Yes you can. Put simply, a life. My life. I promised them that one day down the line I would do something for them. They said I owed them nothing, but a promise is a promise. I thought I’d never get to fulfill it, but maybe I can in some fashion. You ask your uncle if I can do something for
him. Do that for me when you see him next, would you?”

  “I will.”

  “And for you I’m going to let you have that mare for a hundred and board her for free till you can pick her up.”

  “I was going to take her back to Geneva, but we have to go to Heaven first. I don’t know when I’ll be back here next.”

  “I’ll go you one better maybe. I assume you’re going to Gravette for the train?” Jack and Bill both nodded, “I’ll call down there and make sure they can board her. On your way back north from Heaven you pick her up. I’ll see to it they have a stock car ready for you. They’ll put in pads for the mare. Bill, you keep that horse you were using and leave it at the livery in Gravette, that will save you guys some time. Now, let’s get this paperwork filled out.”

  . . . . .

  A short time later the two men were on their way to Pea Ridge, where they planned to stop briefly to check in with the Ranger post and deliver Lieutenant Geiger’s package to his wife then leave for Gravette early enough to catch the train to Heaven

  Their route took them past the site of an American Civil War battlefield—still largely intact—and into Pea Ridge.

  Pea Ridge, located several miles north and northwest of the wrecked and alien-infested cities of Rogers and Bentonville, survived the Calamity intact and had been resettled about twenty years ago, providing an important link between Seligman and the railhead at Gravette, about seventeen miles to the west.

  The town militia and Rangers of Pea Ridge had to deal with a near constant influx of aliens emanating from the nearby alien ‘incubator clouds’, as the locals called the yellow gas, still churning out aliens thirty years after the Calamity. Two decades of dealing with the problem had provided them a fairly good handle on when the clouds would ‘bloom’, their name for the times when the clouds would spawn dozens—and on rare occasions, hundreds—of aliens that would attack from the yellow haze as a mass.

  Jack decided to check in with the Ranger post first, before visiting Mrs. Geiger. He discovered all twelve of the Rangers assigned to Pea Ridge were present, and with good reason, today a bloom was expected, so every available Ranger and militia member was to be ready to respond if the hue and cry were given. The Pea Ridge Ranger commander, Lieutenant Blake, asked Jack if he would lend a hand, which he agreed to do, and the lieutenant gave Jack directions to Mrs. Geiger’s house.