The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  Harl let out a quiet laugh. “Hell, I think he’s already dead. No matter, he’d end up that way anyhow.” He smiled again, giddy with himself. “Harl Cooper, Ranger Killer.”

  Once he was near enough, Harl recognized the Ranger. “Eyeglasses. I’ll be a son of a bitch. Got me a Traipse.” His smiled grew even wider.

  Jenny snorted as the raider came close. Harl reached for the dangling reins. Jenny reared, striking with a forehoof, the impact on Harl’s arm sent him staggering and his pistol flying off into the darkness. He cursed.

  He saw Jack’s AKM on the ground nearby and moved toward the rifle. Jenny struck again as Harl raised an arm in defense. He staggered again, falling to the ground with a pained cry and a litany of curses.

  Quickly, he was on his feet scrambling away and cradling his left arm, broken just above the wrist. He spat and cursed some more, kicking leaves and dirt at the grey horse, then walked to his own mount. With some difficulty he climbed aboard and with a parting glare at the Appaloosa standing guard over Jack, he rode off into the dark.

  Jack came to with a start and heard the fading sounds of hoof beats on a dirt road. He rolled onto his back and felt something hard digging into his shoulder. He grasped the object and sat up. The object was a stainless steel 9mm Smith and Wesson semiautomatic pistol. This sure as hell isn’t mine, he thought. Jenny pushed him with her nose as he cleared the weapon and locked the slide open.

  Jack retrieved his rifle, stood, and found he was still functional, a headache and sore spot on his left side the only hurts incurred. Nearby, hanging by ropes attached to a large horizontal branch of a tall tree, was a sizable log swinging slightly in the shadows of tree cover. He patted his horse on the neck. “His trap got the dumb one. Looks like you earned your pay tonight, and we have a free pistol, such as it is. I’ll find someone to buy this and get you something nice with the proceeds.” Jenny bobbed her head and gave a whicker.

  He smiled at Jenny’s response and then sneered at Harl’s pistol as he shoved it into a saddlebag, his disdain for Smith and Wesson semiautos showing. “Love their revolvers, but I’d rather throw rocks than shoot their autos,” he’d been known to say.

  He cinched down the flap on the saddlebag and hoisted himself into the saddle. “How about we pay Harl Cooper a visit?” He rubbed his temples in the vain hope it might alleviate his headache. “We have a warrant to serve and a score to settle.”

  . . . . .

  Jack left Jenny in a low spot near a creek bed south of Princeton. He’d brought her in as close as he dared, less than a quarter mile from the edge of the raider stronghold.

  Princeton was a small town, abandoned after the Calamity, resettled by people fleeing from the north, then abandoned again, only to end up as the base of operations for the raider group that would become known as the Cornhusks.

  Like many towns with small populations, it wasn’t feasible to build walls around the entire city. Instead, there was a stockade-like structure constructed in the western part of town, intended to provide protection when under attack. The Cornhusks had never needed to use the stockade for that purpose, and didn’t see any reason to improve their defenses.

  Jack had an easy time infiltrating the settlement. There was a pair of raiders at a gate where the old highway entered the town, but that was all he saw. Jack guessed they felt secure in their numbers, and perceived no threat worth maintaining a large security effort.

  Who would be stupid enough to go after the Cornhusks in their own place? he thought. He grimaced at the answer.

  On the eastern side of the settlement were many buildings along the north side of a paved road. Most were lit up, and Jack could hear music from a jukebox or sound system. As Jack drew closer, he found a jumble of old buses, motor homes, mobile homes, and portable buildings cluttering several acres of land on the southern side of the paved road. It was through these he would make his approach.

  He found a position that afforded him a view of a fair portion of the buildings where many raiders were finding entertainment and diversion. Jack’s binoculars allowed him to see raiders drinking, dancing, gambling, and pursuing other distractions. One building had a sign identifying its function, SALOON. Through large windows, Jack could see inside. One person among the throng caught his attention, a man with a sling supporting an injured left arm, drinking a brown liquid from a clear bottle. Harl Cooper. I’ll never get him out of here even if I managed to apprehend him. I guess I step into the grey area.

  Jack eyed the clutter around him. He had an idea to use the jumble of vehicles and buildings to his advantage. He moved east a short distance, finding a narrow gap between several buildings and large junk vehicles that gave him a clear line of sight to the saloon. He noted the location, and returned west, looking for another point to be used for a different purpose.

  A few minutes later, he had both positions and the route between them clear in his head. He went to the eastern position and slipped his bolt-action rifle from his back, placing his Kalashnikov on the ground. He lowered himself into a comfortable prone firing position covering the front door of the saloon. Many people sat under the covered landing that projected from the front while many more walked by on the walkway and street nearby.

  Using the reticle marks in his riflescope, he gauged the range to the front of the saloon, just two hundred meters.

  Jack waited for a lull in the music. It didn’t take long. The song playing inside the saloon came to an end. “Harl Cooper! I’m here to finish the affair between us,” he yelled in the quiet between songs. Several people looked up and down the street seeking the source of the call.

  The music came on again only to go off soon after. People flooded from the saloon and other buildings, including Harl.

  “That you, Ranger?” he shouted, his head bobbing in effort.

  “Yes.”

  “Thought you was dead. Come on out. We’ll square up right now. Nobody will interfere, hell I’ll give you the first shot,” he said as he stepped from the landing, onto the walkway, and into the street.

  All right, Jack thought. I’ll take it. He let Harl walk several steps until there was nothing behind him but a thick wood pillar and a brick wall beyond that, tracking him through the optics of his rifle. Harl stopped, and in that moment of stillness, Jack fired a single round, Harl’s head snapping back slightly, a brief bloom of gory matter clouding in the air before he crumpled to the ground. The report of Jack’s shot reverberated through the night.

  Raiders went for weapons, and within seconds, bullets flew, soon joined by many more. Jack had rolled behind an old school bus as soon as he saw Harl drop. Carrying a rifle in each hand, he moved to his other position and waited for the raiders’ fire to cease.

  The firing continued for thirty seconds or more until a loud voice began to cut into the racket. “Stop blasting. All you’re doing is shooting up our own town, ya stupid sunsabitches.”

  The firing dropped off to nothing, soon replaced by confused and angry yelling. Jack shifted his position slightly to observe the scene on the street.

  “Pipe down. Pipe down,” a man said. Jack could see him and hearing his voice he knew the man was the same who yelled before. It was Lee Ellison.

  “You still there, Ranger?” the Cornhusk leader yelled.

  Jack turned his head to divert the sound. “Still here.” His cold voice echoed eerily in the night air, bouncing between buildings and vehicles, giving the raiders the impression he was speaking from numerous locations at once.

  “You lookin’ to kill all of us?”

  “I came here to bring in or kill Harl Cooper and deliver an ultimatum.”

  “You done killed Harl. Shot him through his worthless head. What’s an ultimatum?”

  “An offer you must accept or end up like Harl.”

  “What’s the offer?”

  “There are going to be Rangers passing through this area over the next couple of weeks. Do not interfere with them. It does not involve you. The trouble down
south has come to an end, and there will be a lot of Rangers coming to Geneva. Steer clear of us and you live. Interfere and we’ll bury you. Clear?”

  “And what if I say no? What if we come out there and kill you?”

  “I’ll be dead, that’s what. I promise you that I’ll take some of you with me before I go, and those same Rangers coming north will hunt down what’s left of you and finish the job.”

  Ellison pondered for a moment. “I don’t like it, Ranger, but I think you’re being straight. Deal.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Are you Jack Traipse?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I guess Harl made a mistake going after you.”

  “His last.”

  “We won’t forget. Somewhere down the road we’ll be seeing you, Ranger.”

  “Count on it.”

  Jack crept out the same way he came in and found Jenny where he left her. Through the moonlight, he followed the road to where he and Sean had parted ways and made his way back to their intended campsite. Ahead he could just see a small fire burning off the road in the hollow. “That must be Sean,” he muttered quietly.

  Jack climbed to the ground and led Jenny down the road. They turned into the woods once they were close enough to see the opening.

  Jack stepped through the trees and into the hollow. Near the fire he could see Jason Marcus sitting on a log, hands bound in front of him and holding a bloody cloth to his face.

  “Sean, I’m coming in,” Jack yelled.

  “I see you. Come on,” came Sean’s reply from the shadows somewhere nearby.

  Jack led his mount to a spot near the horses belonging to Sean and Jason. “Sorry I took so long.”

  “I was getting worried. I thought I might have to come look for you,” Sean replied as he walked from the shadows into the light of the fire. “What happened?”

  “Long story. Tell you later. Harl is dead though. Any trouble with Jason?”

  “Not really. He came off his horse, then got pugilistic,” Sean said with a grin. “He thought size could overcome skill.”

  The pair walked to the fire.

  “And that explains the blood,” Jack said gesturing at Jason.

  “Little son of a bitch punches hard as a mule’s kick,” commented Jason with a glare at Sean.

  “We’re going to take you in, Jason,” Jack said.

  “You do that. This ain’t the Freelands though. But being back in Geneva suits me for what I got in mind.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m going to settle a score with Geiger, Sierra, and some others. That’s for sure and for certain,” Jason said.

  “Jason, you might recall Art’s my uncle. You keep saying things like that and we’ll have a problem,” Jack replied.

  “I ain’t got no quarrel with you, Jack. You’re Harl’s problem. Those others though, they’re mine and they got something coming. Sierra, Geiger, that bitch Lewis, my dad. They spoke against me, I know it. My dad turned on me. You can’t let that pass. Squealers and traitors are the worst. People do you wrong and you have to make them pay. Harl told me that.”

  “Harl is dead, Jason. Dead trying to square with me. You’ll end up that way too if you pursue this.”

  “You killed Harl? You gonna kill me too, Jack? I don’t have a gun. You gonna kill an unarmed man? That goes against your damned Ranger code, doesn’t it?”

  “You know it does. But you push this and you’ll see what I choose, code or those people I care about,” Jack said coldly.

  “Fine, but I’ll be coming, Jack. Somewhere down the line, I’ll do what I must.”

  “This conversation is over. Don’t push this,” Jack said as he turned to walk away.

  “You walk away, Jack. Go on. You two take me in and I’ll be out soon enough. I’ll kill my dad, that squealing bitch, and all those other bastards. Count on it.”

  Jack closed his eyes and grimaced as he placed his thumb on the safety lever of his rifle, ready to switch from safe to semi auto. Damn you, Jason. And damn my soul for what I must do.

  The sound of an AKM’s booming report in the hollow reverberated through the trees.

  Jack opened his eyes, remaining where he was until Sean came to stand beside him. Sean flipped the selector lever on his rifle up into the safe position, the ammonia smell of burned Soviet era gunpowder coming from the barrel. “I couldn’t let you do it, but it needed doing,” Sean said, gesturing over his shoulder. He held an automatic knife in his left hand, the blade glinting in the firelight. “He pulled this and cut his wrist ties. I should have searched him better I guess. Besides, he wasn’t just spewing empty threats. It would have come to this sooner or later. It was like the LT said, he was well on his way to becoming a Harl Cooper.”

  Jack nodded. “I know. It’s better sooner, I think. Thanks friend. I hope I never have to return the favor. I owe you one.”

  “How can a friend be in debt to another friend?” Sean replied.

  Jack smiled, recalling saying the same to Sean some time before. “Where did you hear that crap?”

  “Oh, someone wiser than me said it once not that long ago.”

  “Wise? You’d get odds on that in the Rangers.”

  “What makes a man addle-brained enough to join the Rangers anyway, Jack?”

  “I don’t know, but if you ever figure it out you let me know.” He looked over his shoulder at the body of Jason on the ground. “I guess that closes the book on Mr. Marcus.”

  “We report this straight up.”

  “Yes.”

  “You think we’ll be in any trouble?”

  “No. Lieutenant Geiger might tell us we could have handled it better. He’d be right. I suppose the Marcus family won’t be pleased. That could get ugly.”

  Sean shook his head. “Wrong, your intel is out of date. You’ve been spending too much time roaming the Ravaged Lands. Jason’s father disowned him. Said he was considering putting a reward on Jason’s head. Felt Jason besmirched the Marcus name. He also said he had seven other children that turned out fine, he wouldn’t miss one.”

  “So that’s what Jason meant about his father turning on him.”

  “That’s right. We still going into Princeton in the morning? Killing two of them and then going in for a chat doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

  “Already done. Ellison said the Cornhusks would stay clear.”

  “How in…? You’ll have to explain that to me.”

  “Your intel is out of date,” Jack said with a glance at Sean. “I’ll tell you while we bundle up Marcus’ body for burial.”

  “We’re not going to take him with us?”

  “We’re going to be out two or three more days. If it were winter we could and not have to worry about the smell, but we’d need to drape the body over a tree branch or something. The body will stiffen up overnight and it’ll be difficult to haul otherwise, unless you want to wait a day or two until the cadaver is more manageable… and pungent.”

  “I guess I missed transportation of cadavers training.”

  “When I was ten, Art told me about the difficulties of transporting a board flat body with full rigor mortis and how to remedy the problem.” Jack tapped the side of his head. “It stuck, and I don’t think we want to repeat that episode. We’ll bury the body shallow and mark the grave. If we need to recover it later we’ll be able to find it. Otherwise, he’s food for worms.”

  Jack explained the situation with the Cornhusks as they wrapped Jason’s body in a tarp and dug a grave. They placed the body inside and covered it thoroughly, then drove a stout piece of wood into the ground and tied a white cloth around it. That done, the pair ate and took turns sleeping while the other kept watch.

  They were ready to ride by first light. The pair led Jason’s horse to the east and south, staying clear of Lane and Rantoul. Despite Ellison’s agreement, they did not wish to push the issue with the raiders.

  They passed well to the south of
Old Osawatomie, later encountering quite a few people near Fontana who were either eking out a living there or scavengers combing the old city for valuables, none of them friendly. The Rangers traveled east until they were north of a sizable lake where they spent the night.

  They were off early, to the south a pair of distant red and white smokestacks were visible in the morning light. They wondered what they might be, but the Rangers were riding east. In the remnants of a place called Merwin they passed over an old rail bed. Not far down the road they encountered a dilapidated brick wall supporting a metal panel placed perpendicular to the line of travel, once a sign designating something far different than it did now. Whatever it used to display was long gone, but the later addition was still clear, THE BLASTLANDS, was all it read. It was enough.

  The two Rangers stopped and stared at the land ahead.

  “We’re going to have to go out there?” Sean said.

  “You looking to go along?”

  “Don’t even think of leaving me off your team.”

  Jack smiled. “Well, if you’re that determined, yeah, we will have to go out there.”

  “What makes a guy addle-brained enough to join the Rangers anyway?”

  “I still don’t have an answer for you. Let me know if you figure it out.”

  Sean laughed. “That may be a long time coming. We going farther in?”

  “Let’s head north. Until we know for sure where we’re going, I think we’ll stay on the edges.”

  They rode north, stopping frequently to look through optics at the land east. The area was largely rural, a mix of woods and wide spaces of open land that used to be farm fields. They saw some signs of the recent passage of humans, footprints and hoofmarks, but nothing of the people themselves.

  East of Old Drexel they stopped near a damaged concrete wall signaling entry into the Blastlands, this one displaying part of a crude radiation-warning symbol and the partial phrase ADIATION ZONE. They had been checking their radiation meters throughout the trip thus far, but decided to keep a near constant watch on them until they went back to the west.