by Jim LaVigne
“But… I… we,” Justin stammered, “that is—”
“And,” the man continued, “it wouldn’t be humane to tie you up and leave you to starve or get killed by wolves, now would it? Which brings us back to square one. What am I gonna do with you?”
“Hey, mister,” said Bowler, hands out in supplication. “you don’t hafta do anything with me! I won’t come after you, I promise! I mean, I’m sorry Doctor Kaes, but I kinda gotta speak for myself on this one, you know?”
Justin nodded. “I understand. But I think that you, sir, may be making more of this than need be. That is, if you steal our vehicle, I don’t really see how we could follow you.”
“You’d find a way,” said the man, smiling grimly. “I know you, Doc. You ain’t gonna give up that easy. Not so sure about these others, maybe they’d leave me alone, maybe they wouldn’t. But you? Naw, you’d find some way.”
Justin blinked and frowned. “You seem to know all about me. Is it too much to ask your name?”
“Never mind that,” scowled the other. From some hidden pouch in the small of his back, he produced a set of what looked like big thick twist-ties. With his other hand, he motioned with the rifle. “Well, for right now, anyway, I’m gonna truss ya up. Gotta couple things to take care of, then I’ll decide. OK, you, big fella,” he gestured at Cornell, “take these here binders and lash the Doc to that girder over there.”
Cornell nodded and moved forward, his movements stiff and his face pale. Then he suddenly leapt forward, fast as a shot, and was grappling with the man for control of the rifle. A fierce, grunting struggle ensued, the two men hopping and scrabbling for position and if Cornell had a good foot in height and at least 50 pounds of weight on the man, his opponent showed no sign of being overborne or easily disarmed. Justin snatched up a length of wood and he and the others circled around, ready to hit the stranger from behind, but the two men’s gyrations meant that it would have been just as likely they’d hit Cornell. And then, before they could do anything else, the fight quickly ended as the man kneed Cornell forcefully in the crotch and the bigger man went gasping to his knees. The stranger leapt back, a terrible glow in his icy blue eyes, and aimed the rifle squarely at Cornell’s face. Even from ten feet away, Justin could see the tension in the man’s finger as it poised above the trigger.
“Wait, don’t!” cried Justin, waving his arms.
And then the man shot Cornell, straight through the forehead. There was a sharp zap sort of noise, not all that loud, really, but incredibly nasty, and a tiny bolt of white light erupted from the muzzle of the rifle and zipped completely through Cornell’s head like a stone passing through water. Stunned, much of his cranium and brain simply vaporized, Cornell’s eyes and mouth went very wide, his body stiffened spastically, and then he fell over into a puddle of gore, hitched a few last breaths, and died.
Shocked beyond words or action, Justin gaped from Cornell to the man, his hands up, frozen, and hoped very much that he was not about to die. The man, his face contorted in black rage, jerked the rifle from one of them to the next.
“You motherfuckers think this is some kinda fuckin’ game?!” he snarled. “Some kinda fuckin’ cops and robbers bullshit from Before? Like they’s laws an’ shit to protect ya? Well, there ain’t, OK? I am the motherfucking law! You got that?!”
No one said anything. Well, nothing intelligible, anyway; even the Old Man was stunned dumb. Around them, the only noise was the steady drip of water. Justin felt like he might faint; the world itself sort of swirled around, his knees felt very weak, and he almost pissed his pants.
“Pl… please,” he heard himself saying. “Please don’t hurt anyone else.”
The man grimaced and spat a thick glob onto the ground.
“Goddamn it!” he growled, scowling fiercely. He seemed to wrestle with his emotions for a long moment, and then hissed out a pent-up breath and nodded stiffly. “OK, OK. The deal’s just the same, folks. Ain’t nothin’ changed. Me and the old geezer and the big lady are leavin’. And I still ain’t decided what to do with what’s left of the rest of you. You, the long-haired kid, come’re and take these binders.”
Bowler, after a moment’s hesitation, shakily did as asked and picked the plastic strands from the sodden ground.
“Now,” said the man, speaking slowly, “go lash the Doc to the girder.”
Bowler looked helplessly at Justin, who shrugged and offered his wrists.
“I suppose we’d better,” he had to pause to swallow, “do as this man says, hadn’t we?”
The younger man, eyes very wide and face gone ashen white, nodded woodenly.
“Yeah… I guess so.”
The restraints weren’t complicated; even Bowler had no trouble securing Justin’s hands to either side of the twisted steel girder.
“Nice an’ tight,’ now,” cautioned the man. “I’m gonna check them binders, so make sure they’s tight.”
Bowler, a torn, pained expression on his thin face, complied and Justin felt the straps dig into his wrists, just to the point where he would lose circulation in his hands.
“OK,” said the man and motioned at Erin Swails. “Now do this here lady, same way, other side of that thing.”
And so, before long, there they were, the five of them, all firmly lashed to the same fifteen-foot piece of twisted steel. The stranger, having checked Bowler’s work, had Cass truss up Bowler and the Old Man and then personally did the same for Cass. By the time they were all done, some hour or so later, thanks to their captor’s careful, methodical movements, most of the adrenaline in Justin’s system had worked its way through and he felt drained. Also hungry and thirsty, despite the danger, but mostly just drained, emotionally and physically, like a battery run down and ready to quit.
Having made sure that he and the others weren’t going anywhere, the stranger promptly strode away and seemed to look for something in the matted grass and wind-strewn garbage. This went on for some time and Justin finally wondered aloud what the man was up to.
“He mentioned a bike,” answered Erin, her voice flat and dead. “Maybe he’s looking for that.”
Presently this became evident, as the man stopped looking, shook his head sadly, and kicked something laying bent and twisted in the debris. He swore once, took some things from what was left of a motorcycle, and then went over to their car and began to go through its contents. After a few minutes, he came away from the vehicle with some clothing and donned a pair of black cargo pants, a dark brown shirt, and a long, light brown duster coat over his strange, ultra-camouflage suit. The clothes were too big for him (because, Justin realized with a sharp pang, they were Cornell’s) but the man used a knife to slash off the extra lengths of sleeves and pant legs, readjusted the straps and belts beneath, and shrugged a few times experimentally. At Justin’s side, the Old Man clucked and sighed.
“That’s low,” he said softly. “Killin’ a man and then takin’ his clothes? Man. I mean, I’ve seen some pretty harsh fuckers on this trip, you know? But this dude pretty well takes the cake!”
“Mr. Lampert, please,” said Justin. “He’s coming back. Please be quiet now, alright?”
“Just low, is all.”
The strange, terrifying glow in the stranger’s eyes was gone, but the utterly dead aspect to his normal stare was, Justin decided, bad enough. It was like staring into the eyes of a shark. A five-foot, seven inch, scrawny, bullet-headed, homicidal shark with lots of guns. Suddenly, though, the stark reality of Cornell’s death setting in, anger cut through the fear Justin was feeling and he straightened up (as best he could, tethered to a girder) and tried to stare right back.
“Sir, please,” he said, as calmly and firmly as he could manage. “All of this is completely unnecessary. You don’t need to kidnap Mr. Lampert or hurt anyone. We’ll cooperate, with whatever you want to do. There’s no need for violence.”
The man’s face was utterly expressionless. “Sorry, Doc,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry.
“I already got a plan an’ I aim to stick to it.”
“But if you would just listen!” pleaded Justin. “This man, Mr. Lampert, represents perhaps the only hope of humanity’s survival! If we don’t get him to California, where they can make a vaccine, the Plague will return, over and over again, until everyone is dead. Don’t you understand?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I heard about all that,” he said. “And it don’t mean shit to me. I gotta job to do, plague or no plague, and that’s that. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you ain’t blowin’ smoke up my ass an’ the Sick will come back and wipe everybody out. But that ain’t my thing, Doc. Get me? I don’t give a fat rat’s ass about it.”
“But it does concern you!” Justin spluttered. “Don’t you see? The plague will return, and then, sooner or later, you will contract it!”
“Eh,” said the man with a slight shrug. “I’ll most likely be long dead by then. So whatta I care? Naw, Doc, it’s like I said: Sorry to mess up your plans, but this old dude is worth… well, let’s just say he’s worth a lot. And now he’s mine. End of story.”
“Worth a lot?” said Justin. “To whom?”
“Never mind that,” the man said. “But if it’s any consolation, I can tell ya it ain’t a cannibal outfit.”
“Oh, thank God for small favors!” the Old Man suddenly cackled. “Geez, Doc, this dude’s worse than your girlfriend! I mean, at least she was good-lookin’, you know?”
“Mr. Lampert, please,” said Justin, still hoping to reason with their captor.
“Please, nothin’!” Lampert wheezed. “This guy is a fuckin’ psycho! He don’t care about anyone but his precious self. Well let me tellya, Mr. Sociopath, you have met your match with me!”
“Shuddup, old man,” glowered the stranger ominously.
“Or what?” sneered Lampert. “Huh? What are you gonna do, kill me? Shit I been beggin’ these poor egghead bastards to do that for a month! And besides, you know as well as I do that I’m no good to anybody if I’m dead. Gotta be the whole package, get it? So there, loony-tunes. Suck on that.”
Justin cringed as the stranger’s expression clouded and his hand strayed to within his new garments, but the man was too smart to be so easily baited. After a moment, he grinned mirthlessly and barked something like a laugh.
“Oh, you’re good, old dude,” he said. “But that ain’t gonna work. I ain’t fallin’ for it.” He paused and eyed Mr. Lampert for a second. “But how about if I just sedate you, huh? You guys got all kinds of drugs and shit in that car. How about if I just juice you up and be done with it?”
“No good,” said Barb Cass, shaking her head. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Why not?”
“At his age?” said Cass. “Hell, just about too much of anything could kill him. No, you don’t want to sedate him. You can’t gag him, either, since he could suffocate. Believe me, I’ve had to take care of him for almost a month; you just have to put up with him.”
“Amen to that,” said Erin quietly.
The stranger scowled some more, taking this in, and then gave another shrug.
“Well, whatever,” he finally said. “Don’t matter anyway. Here’s the deal, folks: I decided I won’t kill ya.”
There was a long pause as they all absorbed this announcement and the man stood and nodded as if in appreciation of his own largesse. Finally the Old Man found his voice.
“Well, gee whiz, Mr. Psycho,” he said acidly. “That’s mighty magnanimous of ya! You hear that, gang? He ain’t gonna kill ya! Now isn’t that nice of this charming gentleman?”
Justin ignored the outburst; he was suddenly too relieved at the prospect of not being shot to death to care. He blinked at the stranger.
“But,” he said. “If you leave us here like this, tied to this girder, we’ll starve to death!”
“I ain’t gonna do that,” said the man. “I’m gonna tranq ya, then cut ya loose. You’ll be out for, oh, eight hours or so. And that’ll give me plenty of a head start.”
Justin thought for a second about asking why the man had had this change of heart, but then, reminded of the old gift horse in the mouth adage, decided against it. His glance flitted to Cornell’s body, now going a ghastly purplish-gray color as the blood settled and lividity set in, and then back to the stranger.
“I understand,” he said, “but is there nothing that can change your mind? If it’s money you’re after, I’m sure that the people in California would reward you quite handsomely. Even more so than… who are you taking Mr. Lampert to, anyway?”
“I already told you,” said the man, “ain’t none of your business. And anyhow, that ain’t what this is about. I gotta job to do, see? And that’s it. The money’s just the icing on the cake. Now hold still; I don’t wanna dart ya in the eye.”
Justin made a few more noises of protest, but the stranger ignored them completely, took careful aim with a strange, rod-like device and then Pfft! shot Justin smack on the thigh. There was a sting, like a bee, and then he could feel the toxin ooze from the dart into his system. In a matter of minutes, as he watched the others get similarly zapped, his legs and arms went numb, his head grew very heavy, and his eyes couldn’t seem to stay open. The world around him went brown around the edges as his vision narrowed to a tunnel and a strange roaring noise began in his ears. His last glimpse of reality was the Old Man’s wrinkled, shriveled face, hovering above him and, though it might just have been the drugs, Justin could’ve sworn he was babbling something about flying monkeys. And then nothing.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Krillo-bars are yummy good,
crunchy, tangy, salty good!
Krillo, Krillo, Krillo-bars,
Eat some now they’re Krillo-bars!
Krillo!
—jingle in ads for Titan Agrofoods product, circa 2052
Chopping at the sun-baked dirt with a long-handled hoe, sweating in the heat and desperately bored, it occurred to Teresa that maybe Baron Zero’s House wasn’t for her after all. Hell, when they’d handed her this thing, she hadn’t even known what a hoe was! To her, the word meant a slutty woman, someone who put out for anybody or anything. She’d become acquainted with the other kind quickly enough, though, as she’d been assigned a work detail on the Farm, weeding the soy bean plants. Hard, dusty, hot, boring. Not an acquaintance she needed.
There were plenty of other things she was having trouble getting used to as well. They wouldn’t let her carry a gun, for one thing, or even a knife, which made her feel vulnerable. She couldn’t smoke whenever and wherever she felt like it, and she wasn’t yet allowed to use any of the House vehicles, which meant that simple joy-rides, something she liked a lot, were out of the question. Plus, she had to share an apartment with some silly, air-headed girl named Susan who talked too much and wore stinky perfume, there was only “healthy” (which is to say, bland, home-grown, mainly vegetable) food to eat, which she found as palatable as mud and which gave her gas, and the vaunted school she’d been so eager to attend, while instructive, moved at such a slow pace that it was starting to make her bored enough to scream.
Of course, she saw the obvious plusses to the House, the security—or rather, the absence of constant worry and alertness—and the community aspects of it all, but with every new little regulation or rule or historical date to memorize, she wondered if life with the Bloodclaws had been so bad after all. At least they weren’t boring!
With a muffled curse, she slashed at the hated weeds once more and then took a short break to lean on her hoe, wipe the sweat from her face, and glare up at the boiling sun. What was the point, anyway? As far as she’d seen, no one even liked to eat these rotten soy bean things! Why didn’t they just go out and raid a store or some other gang, get themselves some decent, can food from Before? Just thinking about a nice can of stew or maybe some noodles and red stuff (the cans with the little red-faced dude in the funny white hat were the best) made her stomach gurgle. Even one of those little cans of
Cat or Dog would be better!
She’d also found that the single straight men who lived at the House were no different, no more immune to her body and looks, than had been any of the hetero male Bloodclaws. They were a whole lot less direct about it and tended to mumble and act like idiots when they approached her (as opposed to simply walking up and asking if she wanted to go Do It), but the attraction, the effect she had on men, was no different. Already she’d had to fend off, albeit easily, the attentions of six different men. Still, she found that it was becoming annoying.
She also missed her former traveling companions, especially Justin Case and Mr. Lampert. Sure, maybe they were on a suicide mission and they were kind of doopy and old and stupid about some stuff, but they were, for lack of a better word, interesting. The things they said and the adventures and trouble they got into were exciting. Not at all like weeding soy beans.
And, she had to admit, she missed Case in another way, a way she didn’t quite understand or particularly even like, that she suspected was what people meant when they used the word love. She couldn’t stop thinking about the big dumb greep, for one thing, and when she did, something sort of melted in her chest, she started to breathe funny, and would suddenly want very much to simply see his face, even if it was only one more time. Problem was, she had no previous point of reference for these bizarre feelings. Hell, maybe she was just going crazy! But she’d heard people talk, about how they loved this or that person, how they’d do anything for them, how the other person meant the Whole World to them, all of that. Could that be the trouble? Was she actually in love?
With a grunt, she tried to shake these mushy, girly thoughts, lifted the hoe, and went back to work, but in the back of her head all of these little misgivings were starting to pile up; maybe she should start thinking about leaving.