“Well then, how about a proposal?” asked Silas, leaning forward. “Don’t cross the mountains. Stay here and join up with us.”
“Join up?” asked Leggy. “You mean be a Paladin again?”
“That’s right,” said Silas.
Leggy looked down at his wheelchair. “I can’t see how that’s gonna happen.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Silas. “We could fix up a sidecar to one of the bikes. Think about it, Nick. Back on the road, running with the Paladins, fighting bugs and bandits. It’d be beautiful.”
“Silas, I’m just a broken down old man. What help could I possibly be to you?”
“You were my best teacher,” said Silas, “and that’s no lie. You still got a lot of knowledge to pass on. I’m sure of it. You could train a whole new generation of Paladins.”
Leggy stared into the fire. His days of running with the Paladins had been some of the best of his life. Could he recapture them? Just maybe he could. It’d be nice to be respected again, to be a man that other men looked up to.
Then he looked over at his traveling companions. He could see the worry in John’s eyes, and the coldness in Derek’s. Would those boys go on without him? Probably. And they’d end up dead in the Wasteland, too. But was that his concern? Derek had forced him on this crazy march at knifepoint. Kidnapped him. He didn’t owe these boys a thing.
Or did he?
“I think,” said Leggy quietly, “I better sleep on it.”
“Fair enough,” said Silas. He rose, shook Leggy’s hand, and asked the others if there was anything else they needed.
No one spoke.
Silas bid them goodnight, blew out the oil lamps that lit the room, and tromped upstairs to his own quarters.
***
Derek lay on the hard cot, staring into the darkness of the rafters above. Though the bunkhouse was quiet, he couldn’t sleep. His mind was clenched like a fist. That asshole Silas wanted to steal one of his band away, and he tried to do it right out in the open.
And so what if Leggy did choose to stay with his old companions? He was an ornery cuss, and harder to boss around than John or Teddy. After their encounter with the Paladins, he’d be harder still. If Leggy left, Derek wouldn’t have to put up with the old man’s back-talk. So why not let him stay? Good riddance!
But Leggy had proven his value. He had a cache of unexpected resources, not the least of which was his knowledge of the Wasteland. Without Leggy, Derek knew their chances of survival beyond the mountains would be slim. And then there were the army cities that Leggy had talked about. The ones with the weapons. Derek had no idea where such places might be hidden, but Leggy could lead them right there.
Derek hated to admit to himself that he wanted—needed—Leggy to make the journey with them. And he hated even more that Leggy might abandon them. He gripped the shaft of his knife. It would be easy to cut Leggy’s throat right now, so that everybody lost. Derek would prefer that to seeing Leggy choose the Paladins and send the three of them packing. He lay on the cot, nursing his spite, waiting to see which direction his heart pushed him.
***
Leggy didn’t sleep. He pondered Silas’s offer. This should have been an easy decision. Rejoin the Paladins. He would be Nicodemus again, not an old feeb whose name itself was a mockery. The Paladins would be a much better choice than riding into the blasted nightmare beyond the mountains with a sociopath, a brute, and a religious fanatic.
He’d joined up with the Paladins about a year after turning in his guns to one of Rasham’s road bosses in Santa Cruz. His tenure with the recovery crews had been instructive, and it put a bit of silver in his pocket, but he’d been tired of putting his ass on the line only to make Rasham richer. Sure, he could’ve demanded a bigger piece of the pie for himself, and Rasham was sensible enough to give ambitious types an opportunity to pick up more of the take, but it would’ve meant staking his own money, outfitting a caravan, training his own team…Nicodemus wasn’t interested.
He’d spent the next year wandering the coast, north as far as Corvallis where the acid storms had given everything a glazed and melted appearance, where the buildings were crumbling and the people were, more often than not, burned and scarred.
Then he headed back south.
He stayed awhile in Santa Cruz, bunked out on the boardwalk beneath the rusting skeleton of a roller coaster. It was there he’d shacked up with a lady named Betsy.
If scouting for a hauler was a frenetic nightmare of heat and dryness and violence, Santa Cruz was a slow, soupy dream of quiescence. His thirsty pores had lapped up the damp air coming off the briny ocean, and he could feel his skin softening and loosening around his brow and on his cracked palms. He’d wiggled his toes in the sand and raised his hands in salutation to the hot ultraviolet sun.
He and Betsy ate fish and wild dog, and smoked a weed that Betsy had called shemp, which grew like kudzu in the hillsides.
But as weeks turned to months, Nicodemus was surprised to find himself uneasy. The damp sea air made him moldy. The shemp made him slow. When a trio of itinerant bikers nearly got the jump on him and Betsy one evening, Nicodemus knew it was time to go. He tried to persuade Betsy to come inland with him, but they both knew she wouldn’t. And so he left her, and when he found himself in Moses Springs with no money and no fuel, he’d signed on with the Paladins.
Leggy sighed as he remembered those days. The Paladins were paid by a consortium of trading hubs to keep the roads passable, which meant trying to stay a step ahead of the bugs, muties, bandits that fed off travelers and traders. In short time he’d risen to the rank of captain, leading men on long missions, negotiating deals with new villages, extending the Paladins’ circle of influence. Could he have that again?
He shifted in the cot. Something in his heart held him back from accepting Silas’s offer, and it took many hours before he could unknot it. At first, he’d told himself that he didn’t owe these boys anything. They’d dragged him along at knifepoint, for Chrissakes. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he did owe them something.
As the stars outside the windows twinkled in their mad, radioactive dance beyond the polluted atmosphere, Leggy was forced to admit that if they hadn’t dragged him along, he would’ve lived out his last days as the town fool in that dung heap of a village. These boys hadn’t kidnapped him, they’d rescued him. And for that, he owed them more than he could ever repay.
And then there was the journey itself. It was so wild, so improbable, so impossible…yet the idea of it had kindled his heart, set his enthusiasm ablaze. Sure, running with the Paladins would have a stock of adventures. Patrolling the roads wasn’t for the faint of heart. But crossing the continent? Traveling from West to East, as far as a man could go before he ran up against the other ocean? Searching for New York City? Even the Paladins wouldn’t dare that. Not in their wildest dreams.
He made his decision just as the sky shifted from black to cobalt. He would stick with the kids, and take them as far as he could. At that moment, he heard the soft hiss of a knife slipping from its sheath. He cracked open one eye to see Derek rise from his cot and come toward him.
He’s gonna stab me in the heart, thought Leggy. Sunnofabitch! He tried to get his mouth to work, to tell Derek of his decision, but his throat wouldn’t cooperate. Derek glided on cat feet, the blade picking up the first hints of dawn.
Then there was a crash from the kitchen, and Champer trundled into the room with an armload of firewood.
“Wake up, fuckers. Any of you turds know how to get a fire going?”
Teddy sat bolt upright. “Wake up, fuckers,” he shouted.
Champer brushed past Derek, who still had his knife in his hand, and piled the wood next to the fireplace.
“Kindling’s in the box,” Champer said. “Flint’s on the mantl
e. Build a good one or I’ll piss in your eggs. Goddamn late sleepers, but you’ll shit yourself if breakfast ain’t on time, is that right?”
The big man went back to his kitchen, cursing all the way. John and Teddy got up and worked on the fire.
“I’m going with you,” said Leggy quietly.
Derek looked down at the old man, then at the knife in his hand. His knuckles had gone white around the haft. He stood for a moment, then tucked the knife back into its sheath. “I’m gonna take a piss,” he said, and strode outside.
Leggy sighed. It would be a Hell of a trip, that was for sure.
***
A dozen or so men made their way to the breakfast table. Leggy knew only a few of the older ones, but they’d all heard of him and wanted to shake his hand. Then he told Silas he’d be moving on. Silas nodded
“I’m sorry to see you go,” he said.
“Me too,” said Leggy, “but I want to do this.”
“I understand,” said Silas. He looked at the travelers. “You’ve got a good man here. You’re lucky. I expect he’ll see you through some tough scrapes.”
After breakfast, they gathered up their gear and thanked the Paladins, especially Silas and Corrin. Silas walked them outside and pointed them in the direction of the market, where they could buy a pack mule for the mountain journey. Then the Paladin mounted his bike. His engine barked to life, and they watched the plume of dust he left in his wake rise up into the morning sky.
Teddy turned back to the Paladin house, surprised to see Champer watching them from the kitchen window. The grizzled man winked at the oversized boy, and smiled.
“So long, fuckers,” called Teddy, smiling back at him.
Chapter Twelve
As they made their way to the market and its stables, Leggy gathered the boys around him. “Now listen fellas, you let me do the buyin’. Bedouins are sharp traders, and I don’t care how much cloth from the house of Caliph we have tied round our wrists, they’ll fleece us if they can.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” asked Derek.
“Watch and learn.”
But it turned out Leggy’s bargaining skills weren’t needed, for when they arrived at the stables they found Tariq waiting for them.
Teddy greeted the young boy with a glad cry, and scooped him into his massive arms. Tariq hugged him, then motioned to be put down.
Once on the ground, he bowed formally and said, “Please accept this gift, which we offer humbly as brother to brother.”
“What gift?” asked John.
Tariq grinned, and ran inside the stable. When he returned, he had a pair of mules in tow.
“This is Minna,” he said, “and this is Afha. We trust they will serve you well.”
“How’d you know we needed a donkey?” asked John.
Tariq shrugged. “You said you were going over the mountains and into the wastes.” He pointed to Leggy’s wheelchair. “That strange chair would never make it. You must ride, or be left behind. You will also need to carry extra rations. These mules can bear a great burden. They are small, but strong. Like me!”
Derek advanced on the mules and examined them. “This one looks all right,” he said, pointing to Minna, and stroking her white mane. “But this one’s a fucking mutie.” He pointed to Ahfa’s forehead, where a small third eye had grown. It had no lid, and no pupil, just a milky gray cataract that seemed to swirl like clouds in a wind, nestled into the brown fur of the animal’s brow.
“Please,” said Tariq, stroking Afha’s nose. “This is a very fortunate marking. It is good luck to travel with such a beast.”
“Sure,” said Derek, bending to examine Minna’s teeth. “If it’s such a good luck charm, why’re you giving it away?”
Leggy looked at Afha closely, then turned to Tariq. “Look kid, we appreciate the gesture, but I think one’s enough. I ain’t even sure how we’re going to feed and water this one, let alone two of them.”
Tariq furrowed his brow. “But these are desert asses. They can go days without drink or food. They are tough and canny. And they can smell moisture from miles away. They may be watering you, sir!”
Leggy laughed, stroking his chin. “You’re quite the salesman, kid. You’re a Bedouin, that’s for sure.”
But the kid was right. It made sense to have a pair of mules. For one, they could carry more water. And for another…an idea popped into Leggy’s head. With a pair of beasts, perhaps one of them could haul his chair. He never thought he’d want to cart the damn thing around with him, but now it came time to leave it behind, he’d grown accustomed to it. And it seemed infinitely more preferable than having to spend the rest of his life on the hard spine of a donkey.
He turned back to Tariq. “Okay, we’ll take ’em both.”
Tariq grinned. “I am very pleased. These beasts will serve you well.”
The travelers moved on to the market, where they outfitted themselves with extra food and water, which they split between Minna and Afha. Tariq had also given them a saddle for Afha, but Leggy wasn’t ready to mount up.
“Figure I’ll wait until the road runs out before I get on that donkey.”
***
They left Moses Springs at mid-morning, passing between the eastern gates with a nod to the guards, who regarded them curiously.
They followed the road up into the foothills. It was well-maintained and clearly marked, which led Leggy to believe that the Bedouins ventured into the Sierras more often than they let on.
For a time they thought that they’d heard the distant sound of engines behind them, whenever the wind turned. None of them had mentioned it, and assumed that the Paladins must patrol the roads leading up to the foothills. But eventually even the faraway rumble of the motorcycles was lost as they put Moses Springs farther and farther behind them.
***
The Paladins maintained a watch tower on Moses Peak, a small hill that rose up from the desert surrounding the town. It was from here that Silas watched the travelers slowly make their way through the foothills. He’d sent Corrin to shadow the band for half a day. It was a courtesy more than a necessity. The real dangers would start in the mountains proper and beyond, in the Wasteland.
How in the world had Nicodemus fallen in with this crew? Silas was unsure of it all. Unsure of those three untried souls so determinedly heading east. Unsure of his old teacher. Silas didn’t pretend to understand them or their reasons for this half-baked journey.
The one called John was scared of his own shadow but so devout he’d asked the Paladins if he could say a blessing over breakfast. Silas didn’t hold much to the boy’s religion—the Church of the Word was an old cult that clung on in the backward shanty towns and tribal villages. Still, he’d allowed the blessing because there was something saintly about the boy. Silas could see it, even if he wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a good thing or if it would be much help in the Wasteland.
And Teddy, the simpleton. His strength was to be admired. Silas had seen his share of strong men, but he couldn’t think of three combined that could match the dimwit’s might. He had no doubt that it would be one of their greatest assets in the unforgiving east. But beyond his muscles, the man-child seemed free of the gritty survival instinct that made self-preservation the first, and sometimes only, law.
But Derek…now there was a cause for worry. The boy was so full of anger, hatred, and rage that it genuinely frightened the Paladin. The fire that drove him could easily consume the whole band of travelers. And yet there was more than rage to him. He was crafty, observant, patient even.
Silas didn’t want to admit it to himself, but there was a dark glimmer to Derek, like the fire that draws the desert moths. Clearly he commanded the allegiance of John and Teddy. Maybe Nicodemus had been drawn in too. There would be a great many tests for them all in t
he desert, but Silas sensed that Derek had the most at stake. The boy had a troubled soul.
Then there was Nicodemus. His old teacher. A man whom Silas had believed to be more than twenty years dead. Resurfaced as a vagabond and a cripple, but still a teacher, a guardian…an adventurer. A man to be respected, yet his companions called him Leggy. It was a bad joke of a name. Why not just spit in his face? But Nicodemus just took it. Silas didn’t know what to think. Why had Nicodemus turned down the offer? Surely, this was a fool’s errand. Or a suicide mission.
But, “to each his own path.” That was something that Nicodemus had drilled into him. Leggy. He called himself Leggy now.
Silas put a pair of old binoculars to his eyes. He searched the foothills until he could make out a hint of movement among the brown peaks. The misfit band marched slowly forward, away from the setting sun. The teacher, the saint, the innocent, and the hero. The cripple, the fanatic, the retard, and the maniac.
Silas climbed down from the tower and mounted his bike. He stepped hard on the clutch, swung his roadhog around, and roared off back toward Moses Springs.
Chapter Thirteen
At dusk the travelers made camp in the lee of several huge boulders. Teddy, who had taken a liking to the mules, relieved Minna and Afha of their packs and then patted them down with his strong hands. Derek walked a wide circle around their small campsite, scouting the perimeter. He found no signs of bug nests and no signs that anyone had been here in a long time.
When he returned to camp, he found Teddy nearly hysterical with excitement. Leggy and John had already gathered around his brother and Afha the mule, which Derek took to be the cause of Teddy’s animation.
“Look, Der! Look at this,” shouted Teddy.
He showed his brother a pebble in one great hand. Then he put both hands behind his back, then made a show of bringing them out front again, fists closed. The guessing stone. Teddy could be amused for hours with the game. Derek remembered Teddy playing the game with his mother when he was still a child. His brother shrieked with delight whenever he’d guessed the right hand. Now Derek thought Teddy wanted to play with him, but he was wrong. Teddy was holding both fists out to the mutant donkey.
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