by Mark Lingane
The men stepped in closer.
“We got guns, boy.” The leader leveled his machine gun at Sebastian’s head.
Sebastian twisted the blade. The sun reflected off his blade into the corner store. “I hope you didn’t bring guns to a knife party.” He raised the sword and held it across his chest. The sun beat down. He twisted the blade. Sunlight speared off the edge into the leader’s eyes. The man flinched.
A shot came through the window of the corner store, cracking the glass. The outlaw to Sebastian’s left collapsed. He thrust the blade into the one on his right, and drove it straight through into the chest of the one behind him. The rest of the outlaws ran forward, swinging guns around and aiming.
Sebastian ran across the intersection and jumped through the doors of the post office, with several outlaws giving chase. Through a crack in the doorway, he could see the store on the opposite corner. Another window in the store erupted, and a beam of light lanced out across the street, obliterating the men. The smoke cleared, and Memphis stood in the open space where the glass had been, gripping a large weapon.
“Check it out,” she cried to Sebastian.
She scrambled for cover behind the counter beside Niels as several bursts of fire shattered the wood around her. She stood up and fired again. Nothing happened. “What’s wrong with it?” she yelled.
“It needs to recharge,” Niels said.
“How long does that take?”
“Fifteen minutes. Unless you can find a power source.”
She looked across the street at the post office. “Hmm, like something that would charge a drone?”
Sebastian charged out the door and sprinted across the road. Bullets impacted around him. He leaped in through the broken front window of the corner store and dived down next to Niels.
“Where’s Memphis?” he said.
“She was just here. I think she went looking for a power source for the EM blaster.”
“What kind of power source?”
“A drone recharge station, I think.” They peered over the countertop at the post office.
“She wouldn’t be crazy enough to go over there …”
“You know her best,” Niels said.
Sebastian crept to the rear of the building. The back door was open. He saw footprints leading away and swinging down the side of the building toward the main street. The sound of heavy, clumsy steps drifted in. He stood back, disappearing into the darkness of the room. A shot came from the front of the building, followed by a distant scream. An outlaw stepped through the back door, out of the bright sunlight into the dark corner store. The end of Sebastian’s sword burst out through his chest, and he collapsed forward.
Sebastian flipped the man over. His face was pale, and he could see the skin cracking at the edges of his eyes and mouth. He searched the man’s arms and found several cuts with weeping wounds. He returned to the front of the building.
“She’s gone,” Sebastian said tersely to Niels, “and these guys are turning.”
“Turning?”
“There’s one out the back that’s been cut by an infected. He’ll eventually become one.”
There was a sound from the front of the building. Niels turned and shot an outlaw coming in through the broken window.
“I don’t think there are many left,” Sebastian said. “If we can get the last ones—”
A voice boomed from outside. “Come out and play!”
“That’s a weird thing to say.” Sebastian crept forward and glanced out the empty window frame. The outlaw leader was standing on top of the post office. He held a struggling Memphis by her hair. Her hands were tied behind her, but she could still kick at him. He pulled her close, and she stopped thrashing when he thrust a small knife against her throat.
“How many bullets have you got left?” Sebastian said.
“One,” Niels replied.
“Please tell me you’re joking. That means you had a total of four.”
“They are devices of precision.”
Sebastian glanced outside and quickly counted the bodies. “There’s about a dozen dead. That means there’s only three or four left. One bullet isn’t going to cut it.”
“You come out, boy, or we’ll slit your girl’s throat.” The voice echoed down from the top of the building.
Memphis tried to cry out, but the outlaw slapped his hand over her mouth. His stinking breath drove a deep repulsion through her, and she stared wild-eyed at the deranged man.
He whispered in her ear, “Then we’ll see what we want to do with her dead body.”
Sebastian glanced out of the window, up at the man.
“You’d better say something soon, boy,” the man shouted, “or there won’t be any kind of redemption or salvation.”
Sebastian stood looking at the sword.
“You hesitate. That means there’s someone else your heart belongs to,” Niels said.
“No, there isn’t, and I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“You need to save her,” Niels insisted.
“I’m going to. Stop talking.” Out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered, “When I give the signal, shoot him. Got it?”
“I wait for the signal, then shoot him,” Niels whispered. “Got it.”
“Okay, okay,” Sebastian shouted, “I’m coming out. Just don’t hurt her.” He stepped out into the street, and looked up at a terrified Memphis with a knife at her throat.
“Glad to see you’ve come to your senses, kid.”
“Let her go,” he called.
“That’s it, no bravado? I expected more from a big man like you.”
“Okay, let her go, or else.”
“Or else what?” The man let out a long laugh.
“You asked for it,” Sebastian shouted. He drew back the sword and raised his hand. He prepared to spring forward. Nothing happened.
The remaining outlaws surrounded him, aiming their weapons. He raised his hands and lowered his head.
Niels stuck his head above the counter. “Sorry, was that the signal?” he shouted.
One of the outlaws turned and targeted him. Niels slowly raised his hands, fumbling with the gun. He stepped out of the store and dropped it in the dust.
Sebastian and Niels were tied up and positioned in the center of the crossroads. The relentless dust slowly coated them.
The leader pulled Memphis down from the roof into the post office. He looked her over, running the edge of his knife down her face and over her throat.
“I only wanted the others,” he said. “You’re an added extra. The cherry on top of the cake. And I love to cherry pick.”
He moved close to her. He pricked at her throat with the point of the knife. The pinpricks started to bleed. He licked her blood off the end of the knife. “I’d forgotten how good it tasted.”
“Get away from me, you freak.”
“I could kill you just like that, without even thinking about it, without even trying.”
Her terrified glance met his menacing eyes. They were as dead as his soul, milky and distant, diseased and drugged. He lowered the knife to the first button on her shirt and tapped the plastic circle. He traced around the edge, mesmerized by the motion. Then he stopped. For a moment, all that could be heard was the howling wind, and his rasping and fetid breath.
He roared and thrust her against the wall, slashing and pulling at her clothes. She struggled, but his manic movements with the wildly flashing knife were overpowering.
Outside, Sebastian heard the screams. He scrambled up, but was smacked down by a rifle butt, driving him to the ground. A boot landed on his head, and kept him pinned down. The outlaw pulled back the hammer and he heard the bullet fall into the chamber.
The leader was braced against her, pushing her back, ripping at her top, keeping his feet apart for support. She saw the opportunity. With all her might, she brought her knee up and between his legs. He doubled over with the pain. She kicked high, driving her heel into his head. He coll
apsed backward onto the dusty floor. Blood from his mouth sprayed over the floor.
“Cherry pick that,” she spat.
She sat up on the counter and brought her hands under her feet so they were in front of her, still tied. She twisted at the ropes, trying to break them.
A large, heavily armored truck rolled down the main street, and stopped inches away from the outlaw who had Sebastian pinned down under his boot. The door opened, and the driver jumped out. He started shouting at the outlaw.
The leader staggered to his feet. Blood was running down his face and over his clothes. He gripped the knife and charged at Memphis. She caught his hands and pushed back. They struggled, locked together, until she feinted to one side and ducked out of his way. He fell forward, and crashed into the wall. He looked up at her with murder in his eyes.
There were shots from outside, distracting him. There were more shots. He stood up and looked through the window. The recent arrivals were bundling Sebastian and Niels into the back of the truck.
He turned and backhanded Memphis. “Maybe next time you’ll be nicer.”
She clutched at her face, holding her jaw. He dragged her outside at knifepoint, and she tumbled to the ground.
The outlaws were now winching Veronica and the steambike onto the truck.
Lying on the ground, Memphis could see two pairs of boots on the other side of the truck. She heard sounds of a heated argument, something about “equal share after casualties.”
There was a blast from the horn. The leader grabbed her hair, and forced her into the back of the truck with Sebastian and Niels. He slammed the steel door behind her, and banged the side of the truck several times. There was a small hatch looking into the front cab, but it was locked. Memphis couldn’t see the driver, but when she heard him speak to the leader, she had the strong feeling that she’d heard his voice before, but with the howling wind it was impossible to be certain.
65
THE TRUCK ROLLED on for several hours, rocking violently from side to side as it battled over the difficult ground. The wind howled, and dust blew in through the cracks. They sat together, battered and bruised, rocking and bumping into each other. Memphis leaned against Sebastian, and he put his arms around her. He could feel her stuttering breaths, so he held her tighter until she warmed to his comfort and her terror subsided.
Eventually, the road flattened out and the wind died down, allowing them to talk for the first time.
“How’s your wound. Are you okay?” Sebastian asked her.
“It’s just a graze. You can kiss it better if you want.”
“Where is it?”
“Here.” She pointed to her lips.
He gave her a smile and pulled her close. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes.
“We’re nearly at Steamboat Springs Gate,” Niels said. “Mountains shelter the town from the eastern winds. Mount Werner stands as a guardian over the west. This is an oasis in the barren wastelands, a bird of freedom in a storm of oppression.”
“Very poetic,” Memphis said. “Why’re they taking us there? You said the outlaws would never go to Steamboat Springs Gate.”
Niels shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough. These are strange days indeed.” He slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the opposing wall.
“Have you been through this gate before?” Sebastian asked Memphis.
“A few times. It’s great in the winter. Full of snow. It’s the only time the place is clean. At least for a few days before it all turns into brown sludge from the scavengers rooting around.”
“You like snow.”
“I love it, but I don’t get to see it very often.” She sighed and dragged her foot through the dust on the floor of the truck, drawing random shapes.
The truck came to halt. There were voices. They heard the door of the cab squeak open as the driver jumped out.
“I swear, I know that voice,” she muttered.
The voices faded, leaving them sitting in silence. The minutes ticked by. The rear door was wrenched open and several armed outlaws appeared.
“Out. Out. Out!”
They jumped up and hurriedly stepped out into the cool afternoon air. Clouds had rolled in over the eastern sky, and provided a respite from the heat of the day. Several small huts surrounded the area. A low building sat to the east, butting onto a long, rectangular concrete tunnel. The tunnel cut through one barbwire fence, through a ten-foot concrete wall, then out through another wire fence. Armed men stood on top of the tunnel and paced back and forth, machine guns at the ready.
Beyond the concrete and wire was the majestic Mount Werner, towering above the landscape. Lush trees populated its western face, casting delicate shadows from the sun’s golden rays, but all vegetation died out shy of the crest. A strange dark mist hung in the air over the peak.
“What’s the shadow over the mountain?” Sebastian said.
“It’s the dust and grime blowing in from the other side,” Memphis replied.
He looked up at the sky and realized the shadows above weren’t clouds after all.
The men prodded them with rifle barrels, and herded them toward another low but larger building to the west. Several outlaws were standing nearby, first watching the procession and then strolling along behind them.
Sebastian looked at the wall, wanting to reach out to it. They’d been riding toward it for so long, and now, being so close and watching it drift away was crushing.
The men pushed them as they made their way toward the jail cells.
“Hey! There’s no need for that,” Memphis shouted.
“Quiet, bounty,” one outlaw said.
“Bounty? The outlaws are bounty hunters.” Memphis whispered to Sebastian. “Only the Peacemaker had an active reward on our heads.” She spun around and confronted the outlaw. “You tell the Peacemaker he can’t hold us.”
“We could if we’d caught you for him. You go through the gates tomorrow,” the man said.
“Oh no,” Memphis said. “We’re being sent across to the eastern side. That means we’ve been caught for the Master.”
“That’s bad. Oh, that’s bad. Very, very bad,” Niels chanted.
They were pushed into the low building, with Sebastian having to duck to fit under the lintel. The doorway opened into a large room with several interrogation rooms in a small alcove on the left, a large brown door on the right, and another corridor leading back, deeper into the building. Several guards stood to one side, ready to take the prisoners.
A large desk was in the center of the room. A fat man wearing a cowboy hat and a stretched brown uniform sat with his feet up on the desktop. He watched them enter as he sipped from a large mug. He revealed an extensive black moustache as he lowered the mug. He had several large pale spots on his skin.
“I’m guessing the tied-up ones are the bounty,” he said to the outlaws. “Mighty brave of you folks to turn up.”
“Reward brings its own reward, Sheriff,” one of the outlaws said, “that being lots of cash.” The other outlaws laughed.
“I ain’t going to pay any money to a known outlaw,” the sheriff said.
“We have a spokesman to do the negotiations.”
“Who? One of the bounty?”
The guards laughed dutifully.
“The driver,” the outlaw said. “He won’t be long.”
“You outlaws get out of my office. I’d say get out of my town, but I’m sure I’ll be given that opportunity later.”
Two guards ushered the outlaws outside through the large brown door.
The sheriff stood up and grabbed a large set of keys from the top drawer of his desk. He flicked through the telescreen, pulling up the trio’s details. He wiped the excessive dust off the display, adding it to the piles on the floor.
“Chuck those two in the cells down the back,” the sheriff told the guards, indicating Sebastian and Niels.
The guards pushed them away down the corridor.
&
nbsp; The sheriff took off his hat, placed it on the desk, and gave Memphis a smile.
“Why aren’t I going with them?”
“We got a special place for you, young lady.” He gave her another disturbing smile.
He grabbed her arm, and she winced as he pressed down on the bullet graze. She tried to twist away, but his grip was too strong and the pain from the wound cut right through her. He pulled her close to his face. His horrific breath made her shy away. He grabbed her face and twisted it toward his. He pushed her against the table.
There was a shout from outside. His gaze flicked between her and the doorway the outlaws had used. There was a more urgent shout from the guards. The sheriff swore, pulled out handcuffs, and chained Memphis’s wrist to the desk.
“This sounds like my chance to tell them to get out of my town,” he said.
She tugged at the cuffs. She had only a few inches of play with the short chain. As soon as he disappeared through the brown door into the corridor beyond, she quickly tried the drawers. All were locked except for the one that had contained the keys, now empty. She looked under the desk. Success: a paperclip. She stretched her free hand underneath the desk and scraped the paperclip toward her. Once in her grip, she straightened it out, bent over the desk and steadied her hands, focusing on the cuff’s lock. She pushed in the paperclip and manipulated the lock. Sweat began to form on her brow as she worked. Her fingers became slippery.
She heard voices that sounded like they were just outside the brown door. She returned her focus to the lock and continued frantically.
The sheriff stormed down the corridor, past the anteroom, noting the heavyset youth, and burst through another set of double doors, striding toward the exit. He reached out for the door handle, but was intercepted by a scarred, bald man.
“You the sheriff?”
The sheriff looked at the large badge on the front of his shirt. “It appears so.”
“Give me the money now.”
There was another burst of machine-gun fire.
The sheriff’s head snapped up to the window in the door. “You want money, you see the Master when he gets here,” he said distractedly.