“Damn straight. Mickey Mouse set up at best.”
“Mickey Mouse?”
Mattea shook his head. “You never heard of Mickey Mouse in WEN 2341? What did you do for fun in your world?”
“You don’t want to know.”
A silence followed with Coru wondering what would he be doing back in WEN 2341. What would he find when he arrived — if he did arrive? It would undoubtedly be changed — how could it not with everything Zhang had visited upon this time. Would Cloud Rez even exist? Would his family still be alive? Was Payton already there? Would he cease to exist himself when he returned, if his family did not exist? How was he still alive if there was no Cloud Rez? He sighed, tossing the endless cycle aside. He’d run this mental race again and again. A man could go crazy figuring out time travel. It shouldn’t even be possible, yet here he was, strutting his stuff to force another “cock on the walk” to back down.
Mattea asked, his tone different now, “You still worried about your little brother?”
“Always.”
“Maybe he found a good place like you did.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe it was him who was looking for you, offering an award. It doesn’t have to be a criminal thing.”
“That would be better than Zhang looking for me.” Coru could see Mattea was thinking Zhang offering the award was most probably the case, though he was trying to look at the bright side for his friend’s sake.
“Or maybe Payton headed back through the Bore and he’s back home.”
Coru didn’t answer. This was a hope he couldn’t articulate — to do so might make it impossible. He was counting on it. He shrugged.
The trailer door opened. The thin tattooed man in the doorway nodded curtly at Thighs. Without glancing toward the two waiting in their trannies, Thighs nodded for the barriers to be brought down. Coru glanced back, saw the Bear Lake Outlanders column, their progression steady. It was an impressive sight, as they’d meant it to be. Headed by heavily armed trannies, with armed men and women roaming on horseback, all capable of charging, pivoting, firing, all mobile pieces of the greater whole, a well-lit, in-your-face confident parade advancing toward them. Like Millman had said, a good offence is a good defense. Coru turned back to face the Road Lords, saw they were impressed.
Mattea hopped over to the Beast. Coru started Beastette up and advanced, stopping beside Thighs. “We should be through in a couple of hours. Who do I talk to at the other end?”
“Steve. He’ll find you. And don’t even think about stopping.”
Coru could think of a dozen derisive comebacks. He nodded and he and Mattea drove through the now open gateway into the City of Prince George, the sun beginning to rise, the weight of the Road Lords’ stares heavy on their backs.
Four Lords threw their legs over their bikes, mounting up to ride along, bent it seemed, on escorting the Bear Lake Outlanders through and out of Prince George.
The Lords didn’t trust them. The feeling was mutual.
On this side, the highway was in good shape, and well-marked. There was no mystery as to which way they were to follow to make their way through the city. Coru and Mattea stuck close to the main column now — no need to scout ahead here. According to the whistled messaging system Wren had devised, within twenty minutes the whole of their group was through, the barrier erected behind them once again.
Coru fought off the claustrophobic feeling that came over him then, knowing if things suddenly went bad, escape back was cut off. He resisted the urge to press on the accelerator, to hurry his party along. He didn’t like being here.
The highway quickly changed into the main drag of the city and with it came silent industrial and commercial buildings, empty strip malls, car lots, filled with useless, unclaimed vehicles, listless pieces of some sort of colored streamer still tied to their antennas, seeming to wave in surrender. Newspapers, plastic bags, empty plastic bottles tumbled along the sidewalks and streets, gathering in alleyways and crooks and corners of buildings, adding to the desolation.
At one intersection, the sharp clang of something metal — Coru instantly thought tire iron — hitting the pavement down an alley shot up his spine and reverberated, confirming that yes, there were people all around them, hiding, watching. Again, he had to remind himself to go slow, stay balanced, allow the parade of survivors to whom he was responsible to leave this place unharmed. To speed up, to show panic could trigger disaster.
They passed old “one way” signs, no longer relevant; they passed by a large railroad station, with multiple tracks to their left, no lumber, no industry at work here. It was strange to see the industrial machinery of man sitting idle. It looked like someone could walk on in, pick up a tool and carry on as before. They passed the seedy bars and tire shops of the rough side of town, then the sleek tall buildings that housed pricey condos and designer coffee shops on the other side. The low hum of their vehicles, though solar powered and thus quiet, still echoed and multiplied off the empty buildings. That echo coupled with their distorted reflections in the windows was enough to make a person want to hurry away from this place. It was good to finally escape the claustrophobic city center.
They moved out into the suburbs, rows of look-alike houses with burnt dry lawns and vacant windows, abandoned cars, bicycles, three empty big box store malls, these with their windows shattered, surrounded by dozens of rusted shopping carts. With the exception of the malls, for the most part, the buildings were undamaged. Whoever had been in charge here had kept the vandalism to a minimum. When civilization returned, Prince George would do well, he reasoned, distancing himself from reading evil intent around every corner. Still, his sense of foreboding grew. Here was where the Road Lords could stop them. Here they were most vulnerable.
The sound of horses’ hooves clipping along the blacktop beside him and behind him was a comfort.
Still nothing happened as they passed through the streets, their passage smooth and uneventful. It would seem the Road Lords would be true to their word and allow them to pass for the agreed upon price.
He guided Beastette around a sharp turn, losing sight momentarily of the main column behind him. A sudden rush, a blur of blue, a thump in the back of the tranny startled him. Beastette rocked to the side, suddenly heavier. He glanced over his shoulder, saw a young native woman huddled on the floor of Beastette.
“Don’t look at me!” she hissed. “They’ll see you! Act normal.”
He turned forward, whistled to Mattea. The Beast swerved toward him, patterning up with Beastette, matching her speed. Coru jerked his head to the back, Mattea glanced back, his eyes widening in surprise.
Beastette rocked again as the girl adjusted her position, burrowing under the blanket Coru had folded on the floor, covering herself. “It’s a trap! They’ll get your money at the other end, then when you make camp, they’ll follow and attack. They’ll take everything of value you have. Horses, vehicles, food, energy sources. They’ll kill everyone to get what they want. Except the women. They’ll keep the women.”
34
THIS WON’T END WELL
Coru tensed, gripping the steering wheel hard. What he wouldn’t give to have Wren’s telepathy now — they needed her so badly. “What’s your name?”
“Wendy Stark. You get me out of here and I’ll help you.”
“Okay, Wendy,” he replied soothingly refusing to be pushed into panic. “How will you help me, when you’re hiding in the back of my ride?”
“There’s only fifty-three Road Lords. They make out they have way more, but there’s only fifty-three. Their raiding party will be forty, max. It’s all they dare. I know where you can set up and defend. Just take me with you.”
“You’re currently lying on our next payment, Wendy. How will I get through the southern barrier with you on board?”
She looked over at Mattea’s tranny, which was still matching their speed. “Either I jump in with him and you pay, or I throw the money over to him and he pays and I
stay with you.”
“They’re expecting you, man,” Mattea said. He whistled a code, beginning the dialogue of danger down the column they’d all hoped wouldn’t be needed.
“I know. ‘Tatman with the money’.”
Mattea veered closer still, closing the space between the two trannies to a little more than a eighteen inches.
Coru said, “Looks like you’ll be jumping, Wendy.”
WREN CAUGHT THE WHISTLING MESSAGES, writing them down on a scrap of paper. Danger. Trap. Arm up. After. Out. She and Gayle exchanged worried looks, but remained calm. This was what they’d trained for. They had a plan. And they had eleven kids in their trailer, twelve with Deklin.
She leaned out and passed the whistling message along. Doug, on horseback caught the message, nodded at her like he was meeting a neighbor on a Sunday stroll, swung his horse around and took up the whistling himself, riding back along the column of Bear Lake Outlanders, spreading the word.
“After. Out?” She scanned her surroundings, her rifle pointed out the side window.
“The danger is after we’re out of Prince George? After we pass through the second gate? Maybe after we pay the second half of the money? When we’re out of money?” Gayle’s tone raised to a squeak as she tossed out her guesses, gripping and twisting her hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t like this, Birdy. Not one little bit.”
“All those could make sense.”
Now came the number fifty-three, over and over again.
Gayle squinted through the windshield. “Fifty-three whats?”
“It isn’t a time. A street? What’s the highway number south of here?”
“I don’t know — I don’t pay attention to that stuff.” Gayle reached over for the glove compartment. “There’s a map in here.”
“No wait,” Wren said, catching hold of her hand. “It’s fifty-three men.”
They listened as more information trickled down toward them. Now the number was forty. Forty men. Guns. Tony appeared at their side, his normally olive face ashen, his eyes large and angry. “There are fifty-three Road Lords, but only forty will attack, once we’re outside the city, after they collect. Be ready.” He looked at Wren. “Can you climb from the truck into the camper while it’s still on the move? I want the kids to know. I want–” His voice failed him for a moment. “I want my kids aware, prepared. Tell them it’s all hands on deck.”
Wren set the rifle down and crawled out the window, moving along the runner board that ran the length of the truck and slipped into the box. From there she climbed onto the hitch. Balancing on the shifting ‘Y’ shaped hitch, the sight of the blacktop moving inches below her feet, made her stomach turn. Reaching out, she grasped hold of the rocking trailer in front of her, and rapped on the front window. After a moment, a face appeared. It was Ann-Marie, the Antonelli’s oldest. “Open up,” Wren mouthed.
Tony was still riding alongside. “Hurry up,” he warned, “One of the Lords is coming.”
Ann-Marie slid the window open and helped Wren crawl inside, landing in the middle of a queen-sized bed. Ann-Marie started to laugh, but stopped when she saw Wren’s face. “What’s up. What’s happened?”
“Wait.” Wren scrambled back to the window and peeked out. She saw a Lord pull up on his motorbike and look over the Antonelli rig with narrowed eyes.
“Stop the damned whistling,” he growled. Tony stared him down and after a moment the biker moved on.
Wren turned toward Ann-Marie. “We’ve got trouble. The Road Lords will collect our tax at the south exit, let us travel down the road aways then attack us.”
Ann-Marie sat down on the bed with her.
“Don’t be afraid. Be warned and armed. I don’t know how we know this now, but we do. Call your older brothers and sisters in here. Not the little ones.”
Ann-Marie nodded and went out into the kitchen area. Wren could see through the open door the little ones were coloring, the middle kids were watching a movie on the far wall. Deklin was daydreaming in the corner with Spiderman, the older ones were watching out the side windows. From their expressions, she saw they had caught wind of the whistling messages and looked grim.
Ann-Marie motioned them into the bedroom and closed the door. There were five of them, ranging from twelve to seventeen years of age. Three boys, Kevin, Billy and Mario, who was the oldest and Therese and Ann-Marie. The door opened and the two new-comers, Thomas and Rachel squeezed in, shutting the door closed behind them. They were both significantly cleaner than when Wren had first seen them, with Rachel’s sandy locks now done up in a pretty French braid, Ann-Marie’s doing no doubt.
Mario asked, “What’s the plan.”
“The plan is to be ready to fight once we’re outside the south barrier of this God forsaken city. The Road Lords are lying — they won’t let us leave. Mario, what kind of weapons do you have in here and do any of you know how to use them? Ann-Marie, is there someplace we can hide the younger kids so they won’t be in the line of fire?” Wren’s gaze settled on Rachel. “Can you climb out the side window and get on your horse?”
Rachel nodded, her eyes big. “Uh-huh.”
“They’ve maybe figured out our whistling is code. I want you to ride up to the front, talk with Co… Tatman or Mattea — the guys who brought you in, find out what they know and bring it back here. Don’t ride fast. Act normal, casual, like you’re just riding around for fun.”
Therese’s face brightened. “I could make a couple of quick sandwiches. She could be bringing them a meal.”
Wren grabbed the young girl’s hand. “Perfect! Go do it now.”
Therese scurried from the room.
Mario said, “We have two repeat rifles with scopes, and two scatter shotguns. I can make cut slugs now.”
Wren looked at him blankly.
“That changes a regular 12 gauge shell into a slug. Pellets make a mess, they don’t even touch the target unless they’re close. Slugs kill. Spectacularly.”
“Oh.” She considered. Was she asking these children to kill?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m guessing these guys aren’t on our side, right? What do you want me to do, make them mad or stop them?”
“Stop them.”
He nodded curtly and left the room.
Ann-Marie said, “Mario, Me, and Billy can shoot.”
Thomas added, “I’m a crack shot. Just point me where you want me and let me loose. I won’t let you down.”
Rachel grimaced. “I can’t hit a barn door. Sorry.”
Therese was back with the sandwiches in a bag. Ann Marie opened the swaying blind at the side window and shoved the window wide. Ginger was sedately following along with the trailer, right outside the window, as if this were the plan all along. Rachel squeezed out the window legs first, with Billy and Thomas holding her steady until she was astride Ginger. With a wide grin of surprise she’d pulled it off, she leaned over, untied the mare and said, “I need the sandwiches.”
Therese tossed the bag out the window, with Rachel catching it handily. With a wink, she urged her horse forward, moving up the column. They watched her go until she was out of sight, then closed the window and turned their attention to where to hide the little ones.
By the time they had a plan, and had done a dry run with the young ones, having them scurry into their appointed hiding places — inside cabinets, under the bench seating, with Deklin told to climb up into the top bunk — Rachel was back, still smiling sunnily, though now it didn’t reach her eyes.
She rode alongside the trailer and gave them the quick and dirty information. “Once we paid their tax at the south gate, we’ll continue to move south at a normal speed. Once we’re out of sight, we’ll veer east to some grove this girl knows about —.”
“What girl?” Wren asked.
“Some girl who jumped into Tatman’s tranny back in the center of town. She told him this is a trick they do all the time. They take your money, let you go through town, then after you think everything’s
cool, they follow you out of town and take everything.” She ducked her head, peering into the bedroom. Apparently satisfied, she added. “They’ll try to kill the men and keep the women and girls.”
Wren shuddered, memories of Nicola’s experiences in just such a situation flashing through her head. The Road Lords’ plans for the women they captured was clearly the same. “Good work, Rachel. Go tell the others, word for word.” Wren told her. “Tell anyone who knows how to make cut slugs for their shotguns to do it now.” Rachel started to leave, but Wren called her back. “How far away are we from the south gate.”
“Another thirty minutes.”
“That’s not much time. Go. Tell everyone — but be careful. Remember, you’re a girl out riding for fun. Oh, and Rachel? I like your hair, it looks really pretty.”
Rachel’s eyes blinked to naked vulnerability. “Thanks,” she said shyly, then with a nod urged her horse away.
Mario closed the window and faced the kids. “I want one of you, armed at each side of this trailer, at an open window, with your weapon and ammo ready if we don’t have time to circle the wagons. Remember, if it comes to firing, Mom and Wren are in the truck up front. Don’t fire in that direction. Once we make camp, Dad will have a plan.”
They nodded solemnly and divided up as Mario had instructed. He wasn’t slumped over a tablet, reading to pass the time anymore. He was a young Tony, standing tall, handsome, with clear olive skin, intense dark eyes fringed with dark lashes, his long dark hair held back with a leather thong at the base of his neck. Mario was a force to be reckoned with.
Wren left the children in Mario’s good hands and retraced her precarious path back into the truck. After checking the coast was clear, she slid out the window, feet first, touched down on the swaying hitch with her toes, transferred her weight gingerly, then let go of the trailer and lunged for the truck tailgate. Then it was up into the box and back out and along the runner board. Sliding gracelessly through the open window into the passenger’s seat with a gasp, she said, “Gayle Antonelli, you raised yourself some awesome kids.”
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 40