Shattered Roads

by ALICE HENDERSON

  “Fresh meat?” asked the woman.

  “Not quite,” said Byron, dragging H124 past them. “Stick with me,” he told her under his breath.

  As they walked away from the crowd growing around the car, he called back, “If Firehawk comes back, somebody get me.” He pushed her through a cluster of tents and lean-tos, makeshift shelters set up against the few remaining walls of whatever long-forgotten town this was.

  She wrenched her arm from his grip. “Where are we going?”

  “To my tent. I’ve got to keep you safe until Firehawk gets back. If I’m right, you’re going to be crucial to our plan. You’re just what we were waiting for.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t see how . . .” She met his gaze firmly. “I can’t help you with your plan. I have more vital things to do. Please try to understand.” It felt strange for her to beg, but at this point, short of running away into the night to be killed by night stalkers or trying to fight the Badlanders to get back to her car, she didn’t have many options. If he didn’t listen to her, she’d have to wait for a chance when she was left alone, to somehow sneak back to her car.

  “This is important too,” was all he said, then pointed in the direction of his tent. “C’mon.”

  She walked a few more paces with him before she stopped. “Who’s Firehawk?”

  “He’s the leader of another Badlander group. We work together sometimes.”

  “Is he a better listener?”

  Byron managed a smile. “Maybe. I’m sure he’ll hear your story and instantly give you a methane car and send you on your way.”

  “I have to try,” she said. “I want to talk to him.”

  “Well, he’s not here.” He placed a hand on her back, hurrying her along as three cruel-looking Badlanders came up to them. Their clothes hung in rags, stitched together and torn. Hatred wafted off them. Two men had facial tattoos, abstract designs that curled around their eyes. The men hadn’t shaved in weeks, and the woman’s eyes were so narrowed and shrewd that she gave H124 the chills.

  “What do you want?” asked Byron.

  “Come to see our deliverer,” growled one of the men, and the others laughed.

  “Word gets around.” Byron pulled H124 closer to him. “So you’ve seen her. Now we’re passing by.”

  He pulled her along once more. She glanced at them as they passed, catching their sneers. What had made these people like this?

  “Don’t look at them,” Byron whispered. “Just keep moving.” As they walked through the encampment, she memorized every turn and step back to her car.

  They got to his tent, a run-down collection of tarps slung over a rusted metal frame. He pulled a flap aside and pushed her in. A large cot stood in one corner, and a workbench cluttered with tools and devices she didn’t recognize took up space at the back. A solitary leaning stool stood before it. In another corner stood a chipped washbasin and some ragged towels.

  “Home, sweet home. At least for the last couple months.” He grabbed some rope off the workbench. “Turn around.”

  She stared back at him. “No way.”

  “Do it.”

  He turned her around, grabbing her arms and binding them together. She thought of striking out and running. But with all of them out there, still active and awake, she wouldn’t last long. Her best bet was to wait until everyone was sleeping and sneak out then.

  He moved her to a metal pole in the center of the tent and tied her to it, then bound her feet together. Begrudgingly she let him, hoping he would hurry up and go to sleep. She didn’t say anything else, just sat in silence as he slung her bag next to the washbasin, then splashed water on his face. With an exhausted sigh, he collapsed onto his cot. “Sorry about the accommodations,” he said, peering back at her.

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t even ask what was next, what would happen tomorrow, because she didn’t plan on being around.

  Readjusting his position, he put one hand over his face, and in a few minutes, she could hear the soft sounds of his breathing. He was asleep.

  Outside was a different story. She could hear people shouting, taunting each other, sounds of fights, and then something made such a loud bang that she jumped and hit her head on the pole. It woke Byron. “Just a gun,” he told her, then turned and went back to sleep.

  She had no idea what a gun was, nor could she see the purpose in a device that made such a loud noise. She sat listening, working the ropes that bound her hands. He hadn’t tied them very tight, probably counting on her fear to keep her in the tent. She managed to get one hand free, then twisted it around to loosen the rope on the other one. She listened to his even breathing, heard him murmur in a dream.

  Things started to quiet down outside. She still heard the occasional shout, and another gun exploded in the night. She got up into a crouch, straining against the ropes, forcing them to loosen. Every few minutes she paused, listening to the sounds of Byron sleeping. He stirred once, talking in his sleep, then shouted out loud, sitting straight up. “Damn,” he said in the dark. “You still here?”

  She felt lucky this had happened before she left. “Unfortunately.”

  “Good.”

  Then she heard him roll over, and a few minutes later, the soft sounds of him returning to his slumber.

  She strained against the ropes, finally getting both hands free. She went to work on her feet, and at last they were loose enough for her to step out of the rope.

  Now the world outside had grown much quieter. She still heard some people milling around, talking in low voices. But they would probably do so all night long; she had a feeling this camp had sentries. Getting past them would not be easy.

  Listening one more time to Byron, she satisfied herself that he was asleep and crept to the tent flap. Opening it just a crack, she peered out. No one stood around in the immediate vicinity. In the distance, she could still see a few bonfires burning, the light bouncing off the parked cars and makeshift tents.

  She slid out quickly, throwing the flap back over the tent opening. She ran in a crouch, sticking to the shadows. She paused at every corner of an old building to check for movement. She spotted a group of four people standing around a small fire. One punched another in the arm, and he responded with a violent sock to the face. She sprinted past while they were distracted.

  She skirted around the back of the next row of tents, past a group of at least six or seven men and women sitting around in collapsible chairs, drinking and talking. She ran around the backside of the lean-tos, staying on the outskirts as much as possible. She didn’t want to go too far outside the encampment’s perimeter, though, as she figured that would alert the sentries or attract night stalkers.

  She thought of merely strolling brazenly along, trying to blend in, but with her plain hair, ordinary clothes, and lack of tattoos, she didn’t think she’d have a chance of fitting in. She weaved around part of a collapsed building, at last coming to the final stretch of vehicles where her solar car was parked.

  Two sentries, a man and a woman, stood guarding the vehicles, talking to each other a few feet from her car. She was trying to figure out a way around them when she heard movement in the dark behind her. She spun, and two men came into view. They’d been sitting inside one of the cars she’d passed. They stood up, closing the doors behind them.

  One looked to be about fifty, with a downturned mouth and a scar that ran from his right ear down beneath the collar of his frayed shirt. The other one was younger, maybe in his thirties, with a blue Mohawk. His face was inked with elaborate swirls and geometric shapes.

  “Hey,” said the older one. “You’re the one Byron brought into camp. The one with the car.” He narrowed his eyes, peering at her in the faint firelight. “You’re one of them.”

  “Them?” she asked, confused.

  “From one of the cities.”

  She shook her he
ad. “No. I’m not one of them.”

  “Then why did you have city tech on you?”

  She tried to sound tough. “I stole it.”

  The blue-haired one stepped closer. “And that car! Where did you get that car?”

  “I’m a wanderer out here just like you. I found the car along the way.”

  The older one laughed, a mirthless, airy sound from a throat that had probably been slit when he got his scar. “Fat chance.” He moved closer to her, and she took a few steps back. “What are you doing out here?”

  She struggled for an answer. “I’m supposed to check on the car. Byron doesn’t know how to set it up to charge overnight.”

  They both frowned, weighing her reply. She thought Blue Hair was buying it, so she started moving toward the car. The two sentries, when they spotted her, would be a different story.

  Suddenly the one with the scar lunged forward. She staggered back, and he barely missed grabbing her, snagging her sleeve instead. She wrenched it out of his grasp. “What the hell do you want?” she asked.

  “Your blood,” said Scar.

  “Your guts,” said Blue Hair.

  She glanced around, not sure where to go. They advanced quickly, and when one grabbed her shoulder, she shrugged him off. He cursed, and the two sentries heard. They rushed forward, surrounding her.

  “What do we have here?” sneered one of the guards, a tall, lean man with a hawk nose and cold eyes.

  The other sentry grinned joylessly, drawing a knife from her belt. “It’s Byron’s little captive.”

  “Too bad she died trying to escape,” said the first sentry.

  They all laughed, closing in on her. Scar got so close she could smell his putrid breath. As he reached out, she ducked down and ran under his grasping arm. Then she was racing into the shadows, trying to put some distance between herself and her assailants.

  As she rounded a corner, Blue Hair vaulted over a parked car, landing in front of her. He pulled out his own knife, a huge, wicked-looking blade that flashed in the distant firelight. She backed up, almost running into Scar, who had moved in to corner her. Once again she turned and sped away, snaking between them.

  The two sentries whooped in the darkness, abandoning their post in order to get a piece of her. She ran, banging her shin on something solid in the shadows. She could hear them gaining on her. Blue Hair cut her off again, zipping between two tents. They knew their way around much better than she did. She looked ahead, finding that she’d cornered herself, and spun around, racing past the female sentry with the knife. The blade came flashing down in the dark, catching H124’s hair. She felt a shallow cut zing down the back of her neck, so she ducked and rolled, managing to dart away.

  She sped for the deepest shadows she could find, a narrow row between two lines of tents. She raced down it, hoping they hadn’t seen where she went. She walked slowly, stealthily, keeping an ear out for them. She was almost at the end of the row when someone slid up behind and grabbed her. He slapped a hand over her mouth and turned her around. It was Byron. He removed his hand and held a finger to his lips. Her pursuers ran down the opposite side of the tents. She could see their looming shadows on the tarp material.

  Byron held her fast. She could smell him now, the scent of rain, the way the wind smelled when it came from the west. The attackers passed by.

  “They’ll double back now,” he whispered. “Why the hell did you try to make a break for it?”

  “I have to get out of here,” she insisted, keeping her voice low.

  “You’re going to get killed out here. Those guys don’t care that I’m trying to keep you alive. They can’t see the bigger picture. You’re not safe.”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t see the bigger picture,” she whispered harshly.

  The pursuers did double back, hunting along the sides of the tent row. If she’d run out there, if Byron hadn’t stopped her, they would have seen her when they returned.

  They passed by as she and Byron stood in the darkness. She became aware of his proximity, his chest pressed against her, the strength of his arms around her in the narrow space, the warmth of his body. She’d never been this close to someone for this long. It made her feel odd and slightly dizzy. His hand rested on the back of her neck, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, and she could smell his warm skin.

  “I think they’ll go back to their post now.”

  She looked in that direction, but saw only the narrow aisle between the tents. “And the two other guys?”

  “Probably get drunker and forget everything five minutes.” He looked down at her. She could see his eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Now are you going to come back with me?”

  “I have to get back on the road.”

  He slapped a hand to his forehead. “You’re so goddamn stubborn!” He gripped her shoulders with both hands, and gave her a stern look. “Look. I’m sorry I’ve ruined your day and taken your car. But you have to help us. It’s important.”

  “I don’t see how it can be more important than saving the planet from imminent destruction.”

  He exhaled. “How about doing both?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe we can figure out a way to do both. I just need your skills right now.”

  She rolled the thought over in her head. “If I help you, do I have your word you’ll send me on my way after?”

  He looked away, then ran a hand over his face. “That wouldn’t really be entirely up to me.”

  “Then who else is it up to?”

  “Firehawk,” he said gravely. “He might need you for more work.”

  “Then help me get out of here now.” She knew she was taking a chance, but she felt a strange understanding with him.

  “I can’t. I just can’t.” His eyes looked genuinely regretful. “If it wasn’t so important . . .”

  “What’s so important?” she demanded, still whispering.

  “Lives are at stake. Our people are being decimated by PPC troops. We need your help to stop them.”

  “Is that before or after I get flayed alive on a spit over a fire?”

  He grinned. “I’ll do my best to prevent that.” He took her arm, gently this time. “C’mon. Let’s get back to my tent. They won’t mess with you in there. We have our own codes, and that’s part of it. Our tents are our homes. No barging in.”

  She let him lead her back that way. When they got to his tent, he held open the flap for her, and she bent to pass under his arm. Damn. Back again. He’d lit a dim UV lantern, and she could see the rope on the ground where she’d left it.

  He walked in behind her. “You’re bleeding.”

  She could feel the sting where the sentry’s blade had cut her on the neck.

  He walked over to the washstand, pulling out a clean cloth. Then he returned and softly cleaned the blood off her neck. “It’s not bad.” His hands felt warm on her neck. She’d never felt someone touch her hair like that. It sent a pleasant shiver of chills down her back.

  When he was done, he placed the cloth on the nightstand and turned to her. “This time I’m tying you to me in the bed.”

  She gave a small laugh.

  He didn’t smile back. “I’m not kidding.” He picked up the rope and took her elbow, leading her over to the bed. He tied one end around his hips, the other end to her waist. When he got close, she smelled a hint of rain once more.

  He stripped off his top shirt, leaving on his well-worn pair of jeans and black tank top. “C’mon,” he said, motioning her toward the bed.

  She pulled against the rope. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Only because you made it so.” He pulled her over to the cot and lay down on it. She reluctantly let him pull her down beside him.

  The cot turned up at the edges, forcing them to lie flush together. She’d never lain ne
xt to someone before. He turned off the lantern and moved his arms around, at last draping one over her. “Sorry,” he said. “Don’t want you to make another great escape.”

  He shifted to his side, turning toward her. She could sense the proximity of his face, his mouth, tried not to think about it. A wave of new emotion swept over her; she became all too aware of the length of his body, of the feel of his strong legs next to hers, of the scent of his warm breath on her neck. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest and stomach as he breathed next to her. She’d had dreams of this kind of thing before, but hadn’t known what to make of them, so she tried to just forget them. They’d only filled her with an empty ache when she awoke to her real life. Now she tried to shut off her senses, to tune out everything about him. He was her captor, she told herself, a disgusting individual who’d taken her freedom, her car, and had put her in the middle of this dangerous encampment with no thought of the bigger picture. He was completely disgusting, she assured herself.

  Whoever this Firehawk was, he had better listen to her. Nothing they needed her to do could possibly be more important than her mission, not even saving a few lives. Not when every life on the planet was in danger. She had to make them understand.

  She listened to Byron breathe in the darkness, waiting for that soft, even sound of sleep. But it didn’t come. And she had the acute sense that he was every bit aware of her closeness as she was of his. As he shifted, she felt the whiskers of his cheek brush against her face. She fought off a strange, aching desire for him to close the distance.

  “Asleep?” he whispered.

  “Not much chance of that.” She caught herself and rolled her eyes the other way. “Being in this strange place where people are waiting to cut my throat.”

  “Can’t blame you for that. Well, I for one won’t cut your throat.”

  She blinked in the dark. “That’s good to know.”

  They lay in silence until he whispered, “Sorry. I’ll try to get you in and out of Delta City as quickly as possible.”

  She said nothing, just lay next to him, and finally tried to close her eyes. They stung with fatigue.