Peace in an Age of Metal and Men

by Anthony Eichenlaub

  “Sub-quantum net,” Zane said.

  “The kid can make you see and hear whatever he wants,” I said.

  Rosa asked, “What kid?”

  “Francis Brown.” I took off my hat. “Boy got into some kind of ugly a while back. Seems he’s been pulling up info from Quintech. Reviving some of its more dangerous projects.” A few of the older posse members nodded their heads in recognition. “He’s just a kid, though. We need to get Francis back here. We’ll figure out his role in all of this once it’s all settled down.”

  “The source of the bad signal was in the bank, but that’s been taken care of. I hear tell there’s a backup and a tower. Our goal is to take down the tower and get out.”

  Legs took a step forward. “Heading for it? Safer to hit the tower from way downtown, don’t you think?” He stuck a thumb out at the cannon the kids had been assembling.

  “No,” said Zane. “We can’t do that.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Goodwin runs the sub-quantum net out of Austin. Picture the two fields like soap bubbles sitting up next to each other. You pop one, the other might go as well.”

  I shook my head. “Too many innocents around, anyway. The tower is close to town and we don’t know how many townsfolk are working there. Last I was in Swallow Hill, the town seemed mighty empty, so its likely people are working at the Quintech facility. Swallow Hill was a company town and still is.”

  “When do we loot Quintech?” Legs asked. “When do we blow it up?” There was a murmur of approval from the crowd.

  “No,” I said. “We don’t blow it up. We don’t leave any trace that we were around, and we sure as hell don’t let anyone know that we’ve formed a small army. We move in small groups of no more than ten. We move fast. Get in. Disable them. Get out.”

  They rumbled with discontent.

  “Now I know you’re concerned with the tech that’s in that place.” I nodded to Trish, who had finally come up to the back of the crowd. “The sheriff will handle it, all legal and nice. None of us needs to get overly destructive. Just trust that it’s being handled.”

  Legs looked like he was about to say something, but Rosa elbowed him and he kept his fool mouth shut. Others seemed to take his lead and the mood was generally one of uneasy anticipation.

  “You’ll all get your orders,” I said. “Keep up what you’re doing and we’ll move out in an hour. Hopefully we’ll get some letup from this heat.”

  With that, the group dispersed and folks returned to their tasks. Ben hung around next to me, fidgeting.

  “Spit it out,” I said after several long minutes of silence.

  “There’s not going to be any letup in this heat.” The hesitation in his voice told me it wasn’t really what was on his mind.

  “Probably not the only thing that won’t go according to plan.”

  He nodded.

  “One of the things a person learns on the field is that the fella whose plan changes as fast as the situation is the fella who wins, but all else equal, the fella with the biggest gun walks away.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means everyone here’s going to need to know their part and not just follow orders.” I stopped talking for a moment while the kids of my tribe test fired the cannon. “They’re also going to need to know how to come up with their own plans on their own.”

  “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

  “Just make sure no one drops from the heat.”

  Ben gave me a sloppy salute and disappeared into the house. I strolled aimlessly for a time and ended up back down at the barn. The horses were nearly ready. The ones that would take a saddle had been saddled. Those that wouldn’t were corralled in the barn. Trish was in the barn, but I couldn’t bring myself to enter. Instead, I circled around back of the barn and sat in the shade for a spell.

  My ear pinged and a message in my right eye told me that it was a call from Francis.

  “Say what you need to say, then,” I said.

  One moment the trampled cow path was empty, the next Francis was standing in his white suit and slicked-back hair.

  “Our plan’s almost finished,” said Francis in his deliberate voice. He enunciated each word with a diamond cutter’s precision. “There’ll be peace and no more need for justice.”

  “There’s always a need for justice, son.” I took care to breathe very slowly. His presence riled me up, and it wouldn’t do to lose my cool and take a swing at him. It’d be more embarrassing than anything, since he was only a projected image.

  “Not if we’re clever. Not if we put reasonable limits on people and set them to doing what they’re supposed to do.”

  “And what’s that? Work? Kill each other for food?” Well, there I was riled up already. I kicked dirt in frustration.

  “The killing was just a test to see how far we could go. When we’re done there’s not going to be any need for killing.”

  “What happens until then?”

  Francis shrugged.

  “What happens? What are you planning?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  I slammed a fist against the wall of the barn. “We don’t need any damn secrets. Secrets is what got us here. They ain’t getting us out.”

  A long moment passed, and Francis did nothing but stare at me with his emotionless eyes. The still air carried so much weight I could hardly breathe, but I waited. I calmed myself. If there was only something I could say to the boy to get him to back down. If only there was something I could say to get some more information on what he was planning. Mind control was clearly part of the plan. Changing perception through eyes and ears was a good start, but the tools Quintech had been on the verge of completing would give an even higher level of control. He’d have a slave army if he got it working, but did he have it working? It seemed he was still missing part of it, or he’d be using it against us already.

  Unless he already was. A shudder ran up my spine.

  “It’ll be done soon, Sheriff,” said Francis. The corners of his mouth twisted up slightly, but his eyes stayed dull and unfocused. “It’s a pity your little army is going to get broken up.”

  I scowled at the boy’s fading image. “What makes you think it’ll be anything like that, boy?”

  “Because,” he said as the last hint of his image stepped into the sunlight and faded from view. “You’re not the only one with long-range weapons.”

  Chapter 32

  I rounded the corner of the barn at full sprint, lungs tearing at the scorched air. My boot slipped in the dust and the bandages on my leg tore. The pain in my ribs made every breath a dagger in my side, but I ran hard as I could.

  “Run!” I hollered, waving my arms frantically.

  The first shot hit. It wasn’t a bomb so much as a solid, fiery punch from the sky. It thunked into the ground in the middle of the yard, shaking the earth enough to nearly throw me off balance. Then it blossomed in a silent bloom of heat enveloping half a dozen gangsters and leaving nothing but standing skeletons of metal and machine. Legs made a leap straight for his skidder, trailing smoke the whole way. He landed next to it in a smoldering heap.

  Then there was chaos.

  Broadfeather shouted, fierce energy whipping the old man into action. He called for the tribe to run, but there was no direction to it. Hopi and Navajo scattered.

  But not Marcus.

  Marcus was frozen with a look of absolute terror right on top of the only viable military target on the entire ranch: the long-range artillery. Wrench in hand, Marcus turned his pale face up to the sky. When would the next strike hit?

  Trish and Deputy Green disappeared into the barn. There was noise inside, like screaming. It was screaming.

  The horses.

  I ran to Marcus. “Run!” I hollered as I yanked him from the artillery. His eyes stayed glued to the sky until I yanked his head down to look at me. “Marcus, I’m counting on you.”

  His expression turned from c
onfusion to fear.

  “We’re being sniped at from a thousand meters.”

  Marcus’s eyes got wider. “What do we do?”

  “Run. You’re in charge. Find the rest of the kids and head for the windmills.” I gripped his shoulders. “I’m counting on you.”

  Fear disappeared from his face, replaced by something like determination. He nodded, looked around, and ran.

  The icy grip of plans gone wrong stopped me for a second. There were a million ways this ended badly, and it hadn’t even started. I could stand right there in the yard, accept my fate. It was my doing, bringing this down on those who followed me. It would get worse before it got better.

  But it would get better. I thought of Zane. Maybe he would stick around. Maybe the judge would let me walk. Maybe there was still a life of peace for me somewhere up ahead. I blinked out of my stunned silence and ran into the barn.

  The ground shook twice more as I dashed across the barn. Green rushed past the other direction, leading two horses as fast as they’d go. Trish wrenched at the gray gelding’s rope, but was having no luck because the horse was on the verge of panic.

  Most of the horses weren’t. They were an eerie calm, like there was nothing wrong and no reason to flee. They were saddled, ready to go, but they were tied to a long, solid steel railing that ran the length of the wall. Muffin, on the other hand, snorted and pawed the ground, looking at me like she knew it was all my fault, like she somehow knew that I was the one who had caused all this pain.

  The far corner of the barn exploded inward, bursting in a shower of flame and metal. The sunlight that stabbed the smoke blinded me momentarily. The sound of screaming metal pierced the air as the roof started to collapse in slow motion.

  I ran forward, pressed my way between two docile horses, and grabbed the steel bar in my metal hand. I twisted hard as I could. Crushing, twisting, pulling, the bar finally wrenched free from its place on the wall. It was attached in two other places, one on either side.

  “You get that one,” I shouted at Trish. She ran to it and I ran to the one near Muffin.

  Another explosion outside shook the whole barn. Air smelled of ash.

  The barn continued to collapse. The roof was getting closer to the horses and all of the walls seemed to lean under its shifting pressure. It could go at any second.

  I grabbed the bolt where the bar attached to the wall and crushed it hard as I could. It nearly split from the pressure, and it only took one good pull to yank it free. On her side, Trish got hers loose and was freeing horses from her end.

  But I couldn’t let go of the bar. My arm went dead, like the lifeless metal that it was. The pinging pain stopped and in its absence I finally understood how bad it had been. How could I have ignored it all this time? How was I even thinking clearly through all that pain?

  Muffin looked down at me, down at my tech. Her hooves danced back and forth, fidgeting with the will to leave, to just run. She must have felt as confused and frightened as I did. I pulled at the fingers as hard as I could, trying to pry them open, but they wouldn’t budge. The heat of the burning roof was baking me.

  “J.D. I can’t get them to move!” Trish pulled at the reins of a couple horses. Those two moved when led, but none of the others followed. Those horses that still had free will fled as soon as they were loose, but those with the harnesses stood there as if nothing was wrong. It was just another normal day in the giant black barn-oven.

  “Just go,” I said. “Get those two out.”

  The wall exploded in a fury of fire and force. Two horses were thrown back, burning and dying as they flew. The bar that I still held followed, twisting my arm back and yanking me meters back. Muffin reared up. Her kicking hooves narrowly missed my hat.

  I couldn’t calm her, couldn’t control her. Ducking low and pulling away was about as good as I could do to try to survive the next few seconds. She pulled hard, ripping at her rope like it was strangling her. I was dragged up and over and back, but she couldn’t get free. The horses next to her did nothing. Their eyes were a picture of calm focus while Muffin showed me all whites and screamed. Horses nearby were half-burned and torn apart.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Trish ride a horse out of the barn, leading another. Walls crashed around me, but nothing fell on Muffin and me. Another horse was crushed by a section of roof. The wall twisted and collapsed, the flaming roof blocking our escape. Flaming heat seared my face, nearly blinding me. Still, the duster protected my body. I wondered how long it would keep me alive in the fire. It felt needlessly cruel.

  It could have been the heat shifting the metal, or it might have been the last dregs of power responding to my relaxation, but the rod slipped free from my metal grip. As it moved, all of the ropes attached to it came free.

  Muffin stared at me, having worked off most of her panic. She fidgeted and took a step back.

  I ran down the row, yanking harnesses off as many horses as I could reach. Each, in turn, panicked. Attacked. Ran. There was still room for them to flee through the door.

  “Let’s get out of here, girl,” I rasped in the most soothing voice I could manage. I reached out slowly, touched the side of her face. She leaned into it.

  When I stuck my foot in the stirrup, Muffin didn’t shy away. She knew the routine and when I grabbed the reins she responded perfectly.

  Another explosion. Muffin staggered back. The wall with the door caved inward, buckling.

  But there was a gap a meter up in the broken wall. I led Muffin away from it, as far as we could, given the space that was still safe.

  Another shot slammed into the barn, crushing then exploding the wall where the horses had been tied.

  “Hyah!”

  Muffin galloped at the wall, from nothing to full speed quick as could be. She leapt through the hole, passing the flames. We burst out just as the entire wall folded inward and a wave of heat chased us as we went.

  We peeled out at full gallop, shouting and guiding the horse with my good hand. My metal arm hung limp at my side, useless until I got power to it. The scene before me was a horror show.

  Trish and Green were loading several tribesmen into her cruiser, which had somehow remained unscathed among a series of craters. Ben’s truck was missing, along with my skidder inside it. Where were the rest of the tribesmen? Where was Broadfeather?

  Where were the kids?

  The artillery was ruined, hit hard by more than one bomb. The yard was a mess, though the house still stood.

  Legs was on the ground, struggling to mount his skidder. He pulled himself up on one remaining arm, the flesh of his torso exposed and burned.

  He collapsed to the ground.

  Rosa dropped from the sky on her skidder, not waiting to properly land before jumping off. She landed by Legs and cradled his head in her arms.

  Waves of force and heat hit, shattering the earth with tremendous force. Muffin reared up, eyes rolling in panic. She staggered sideways and nearly fell.

  When she finally stopped fighting, Legs and Rosa were gone. Where they had been nothing was left. No grass, no earth… No skidder.

  They were in the sky, so far already that they were hard to see.

  So many others had failed to escape. There were too many dead to worry about. I forced it into the back of my brain.

  There was movement at the edge of the field of windmills. Muffin turned to follow in flight, when Chief Broadfeather rose, dazed, from the ground. He had a gash in his forehead and his bloodied fingers still gripped his walking stick.

  I reined Muffin in and swung around next to Broadfeather. Letting go of the reins, I reached down and hefted him up onto the saddle in front of me. He swayed a bit, threatening to fall, but after a bit of work I was able to steady him on the horse.

  Two more shots hit in rapid succession. One crushed the house into splinters; the other was just close enough to send a shower of earth raining down on Broadfeather and me.

  “No,” I choked. The weight of death w
as too much. I needed to move to save myself and to save Broadfeather, but I couldn’t. A pressure on my chest felt like it was crushing me.

  A fat bomb thunked hard into the ground at Muffin’s feet.

  But it didn’t explode.

  There it sat, rust red and smoking hot. It had a black tip and stubby little wings for guidance. On its side was stenciled the label: “goodwin.”

  Muffin wasn’t in the mood for my stupid, stunned silence. Without any direction, she took it upon herself to get Broadfeather and myself the hell out of there. She ran hard and didn’t slow down until we hit the windmills.

  Mina was there, along with several others from my tribe and the Navajo. They were few, far too few. Mina helped Broadfeather down from my horse, pulling him close to steady him.

  “How bad?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

  Mina’s look told me everything I needed to know. “Too many,” she said. “A dozen or so aren’t accounted for. Better than I’d hoped, but…”

  Broadfeather coughed, crimson spatters going everywhere. With one hand, he motioned us close.

  “Chief,” I said. His eyes were unfocused. Skin was so pale and cold.

  “Keep the Hopi Way.” Broadfeather’s voice was faint. “Lead the people.”

  “I can’t be chief,” I said. “And I’m no spiritual leader. I’m not who you want me to be.”

  Broadfeather’s breath was a wet rattle. Maybe a laugh? “Not you, Crow.” He squeezed Mina’s hand. “A chief must be wise.”

  Mina nodded. A single tear ran down her face.

  “Crow,” Broadfeather said after a time. “Your spirit leads with strength. I wanted you there to show that we had both wisdom and strength.” He swallowed and his lips quivered on the edge of speaking for a long time before the words came out. “It takes both.”

  His eyes closed forever.

  Every breath shook as my lungs spasmed. I closed my eyes. Wept. Every second that passed, I expected more shots to rain down from the sky, but they didn’t come. The chief was gone. So many others. Not a damn one of them would have been there if not for me. “Those goons with Legs. Some of the horses…” There was a familiar sound behind me. It was the low hum of a flying car. I turned.