Wretched Earth

by James Axler

  Not that anybody in Sweetwater Junction was looking too closely at marks on walls. It seemed everyone was focused on survival.

  “Miranda threw one of her diva fits,” Krysty said. She and Mildred sat side by side on a crate. Both of them were equally comfortable with all their companions, but after a few days apart they seemed to feel a need to assert female solidarity.

  “From what I hear those’re pretty spectacular,” Mildred said. “Although I don’t think Jacks is an unbiased witness.”

  “It was quite the eruption,” Doc said. “The lady has a flair for the dramatic.”

  * * *

  SHOULD HAVE KNOWN it’d turn out like this, Ryan told himself. We didn’t believe a word of it, either, when that skinny kid told us at the caravanserai.

  “Do you think to take advantage of me, a poor widow trying desperately to hold on to my son’s inheritance?” Miranda was yelling as she rampaged back and forth across the flowery throw rug in her parlor. She was wearing tight black riding pants and boots, and a short black vest over a lavender blouse. Ryan had yet to see her ride a horse. He had to admit she looked good in the outfit.

  “Miranda—Baron,” Krysty said, “we’re not asking for anything over this. We’re telling you the truth.”

  “The rotties are real,” Doc said. “The change is real. And it is terrible to behold. It is the single greatest threat you, the ville and your son face.”

  “It sounds cool,” Colt said.

  Everybody stopped and looked at the youth, who sat on a satin-upholstered footstool, eating sugar cookies from a plate on a round table beside him. Most looked shocked at his reaction.

  Ryan suppressed a grin. There’d been a time, when he was a baron’s privileged teenage son, that he’d have thought stories of the rotties were cool, too. Like something from the predark storybooks he’d loved to read.

  “Do you have any idea what you are saying, Colt?” his mother raved, turning on him like an angry cougar. “This isn’t some game or fancy story. I have seen real horrors. I watched while my father, your grandfather, was pulled apart and eaten alive by stickies. My baby brother and I hid behind a bush and looked on, helpless, as they burned our home and danced. Danced! And then, as we fled from the muties across the desert, my brother, my beloved Antonio, died of thirst before my eyes! Those are horrors enough without made-up tales of the living dead.”

  Colt cringed and bit his lip to keep it from quivering. He couldn’t keep his eyes from growing shiny with tears.

  “It’s some kind of trick, Baron.”

  That was Stone, Miranda’s new sec boss after Jenkins’s demise, which not even she seemed too torn up about. The new guy was a hard case, a bit above medium height but thick, with coal-smudge brows and retreating black hair leaving a widow’s peak behind on his slab of a face.

  He wasn’t Miranda’s new plaything. That would be Chad, a former servant. He had blond hair, a wide empty face, and even emptier blue eyes, set off by the white shirt with the fancy collar she’d stuffed him into, along with too-tight denim pants. Ryan wasn’t sure what Chad, who couldn’t be more than a couple years older than Miranda’s son, did to pack all that muscle into his skin. He was willing to bet the muscle was packed densest between his ears, though.

  Right now Chad stood to one side, as if trying to hide behind a lamp with a gilt-fringed shade, proving his head did contain at least a few brains. Enough for a basic sense of self-preservation, anyway. Although even scorpions and screamwings would hide from the baron when she was in a mood like this.

  Ryan stood with Krysty at his side and Doc perched on another fancy footstool, his hands knotted between his gangly legs.

  “What do you even know about these mercies, Miranda?” Stone asked.

  She spun to face him.

  “I know they have served me well,” she said tartly. Clearly, she was in a mood to snap back at any perceived challenge. Even one offered in implicit support of the rant she’d been delivering mere heartbeats before. She was full-on crazy, no doubt about it. “Not like some who claim to, who could not deal with that devil Jacks’s snipers in their tower!”

  To his credit Stone stood his ground.

  “Why are they playing you, then?” he asked. “Why do they come in here telling a story only a total stupe would believe?”

  “Yes, why?” Miranda wheeled to confront Ryan. “Why do you bring this fairy story, after you have done service to this ville?”

  “Because we’re trying to do you more service, Baron,” Ryan said. He wasn’t going to bend to her, any more than to Miranda’s new sec boss, Stone. “We bring you this warning in good faith. The threat is out there. It’s real.”

  He met her furious black eyes with an ice-cold blue one.

  “If you don’t reckon you can trust us anymore,” he said, “we’ll hit the road again. We’ll head west, fast as we can. Away from the rotties.”

  He felt Krysty stiffen at his side. She was wondering if he’d let his own anger get the better of him. If he’d overplayed his—their—hand.

  But while Krysty was definitely the gentle-persuader half of their partnership, he was no beginner at hard bargaining, nor diplomacy, either. And he had noticed the baron, for all her furious whims, tended not to press too hard on those strong enough not to cower at her outbursts.

  Of course, if I’m wrong, he thought, she’ll happily have my guts yanked out and tied into a noose, to hang me from a windowsill.

  Miranda frowned, but thoughtfully, not in anger. At least Ryan hoped that was the case.

  “You asked the right question, Miranda,” Krysty said.

  The baron looked at her and some of her tension dissipated. That was something Ryan couldn’t comprehend. By rights the baron should have been turned into a whirling ball of jealous claws by the presence of a rival so potent as Krysty, with her drop-dead looks and gentle yet Gaia-strong personality. Instead, Miranda seemed to have taken a positive shine to the redhead.

  “What do you mean, chica?” the baron asked.

  “Why would we bring you a fairy story? Why would we risk with a lie the goodwill we’ve earned from you?”

  “There’re reasons,” Stone muttered. “Scammers always have their reasons.”

  Krysty shot him a daggered glance. “Was it a scam that took down the snipers in the tower?”

  Ryan saw Stone open his mouth, no doubt to give back a “yeah, but” argument that would just lead to a chain of “and thens.” Ryan had seen that cycle many times. Evidently, Stone had, too; he shut the bear trap he used for a mouth on whatever he was going to say.

  Smart, Ryan thought. Hope he’s not too smart for everybody’s good.

  A slapping sound attracted everybody’s attention. Perico, Miranda’s leathery old chief adviser, had brought his palms down emphatically on the thighs of his tan canvas pants. Now he rose from the overstuffed chair where he’d been sitting with his jaw shut and his ears, obviously, open.

  “Isn’t it clear they believe the story, Baron?”

  “Yeah,” Colt said. “They wouldn’t lie to you, Mother!”

  Fortunately for the kid, Perico had Miranda’s full attention.

  “It may be as Stone says,” she said. “They may be seeking some advantage.”

  “Of course they’re seeking advantage! They’re alive. Every living thing seeks advantage. Your question should be, are they seeking unfair advantage? Where’s their angle in lying to you, Baron?”

  “More power,” S
tone growled. “More jack.”

  “They asked for that? Miranda, you made your terms with them after they iced the snipers. Have you heard them ask to change those terms?”

  “No. But, still—”

  “Yeah,” Perico said. “It’s a hard story to swallow. Well, don’t.”

  “I thought you were defending them!”

  “Me, too,” Krysty said under her breath. She took hold of Ryan’s hand.

  “I’m sayin’ I don’t think they’re consciously lying to you, Miranda. I said they seem to believe what they say, and I stick to that.”

  “What should I do, then?”

  He shrugged. “Let them bring you evidence.”

  Miranda nodded. One thing you could say for the woman, Ryan thought: she wasn’t big on dithering. Whether a mood swing or a decision, she got right to it.

  “Very well.” She turned to the trio. “I shall believe you when you bring me more evidence. Until then you would be wise not to mention the matter again. And do not let it detract from your real duties to me! We must prepare to deliver a death blow to the traitor, Jacks.”

  She smiled a wicked smile. “If you are telling the truth, after all—so much more important to finish him quickly, ¿qué no?”

  * * *

  “RYAN.”

  Walking down the hallway away from the baron’s parlor, Ryan stopped. And turned. It was Perico, rolling up behind him on his slightly bowed legs.

  Something about the man’s gait suggested to Ryan he’d spent years walking the decks of a sailing ship. He hadn’t said anything about his past or how he’d wound up in Sweetwater Junction, and Ryan wasn’t inclined to ask. Perico didn’t seem the sort to go in for idle chitchat.

  Neither was he.

  Ryan waved for Krysty and Doc to walk on, which they did. Perico came up and fell into step beside him.

  “Handled yourself well in there, boy,” the old man said. “Not everybody’s got the smarts or the stone to stand up to Miranda. Especially in one of her moods.”

  Ryan said nothing.

  The adviser dug a finger in one hairy ear. “Here’s the thing. I’m the man who keeps track of things around here for her, now that Jacks isn’t exactly doing the job anymore.”

  By keep track of he meant spy, Ryan knew. It didn’t surprise him.

  “There’s something in the wind that don’t smell good,” Perico said. “We’re getting fewer travelers from out of the east. I mean, even fewer than since the dust-up happened, when Baron Jeb got chilled. Once word of that got around traffic through here dropped off major. But now it’s like there’s a gate slammed shut between here and parts east.”

  Ryan shrugged. “We spoke our piece.”

  “So you did. And well. I’ve also heard some rumors in the marketplace about strange goings-on. Things that may refer to what you were talking about.”

  At the hallway’s end Ryan stopped and faced him. “So why didn’t you back us with the baroness?”

  “Because I got no evidence. No witnesses. So far it’s all talk. And I need to keep credibility with her, to keep her on as even a keel as I can.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said. “Good luck with that.”

  Perico laughed. “Bring me something solid, Ryan. You know what’s at stake better than I do.”

  * * *

  “WOW, WHAT A HARPY,” Mildred said. when her friends finished their tale. “Jacks isn’t totally wrong about her, then.”

  “Not if he characterizes the baron as something of a virago,” Doc said.

  “She’s smart,” Ryan said. “Just got too short a fuse, and too many fuses sticking out of her waiting for a spark. Like a porcupine.”

  “That’s an image I’m not going to thank you for,” Mildred said.

  “For what it’s worth, she’s no worse than plenty of barons and bosses we’ve bumped into,” Ryan said. “Better than most, I reckon.”

  “She really cares about the ville,” Krysty said. “Passionately. If only so her son will have something to rule over once he gets old enough.”

  “Think she’ll be able to let go of power just because Junior’s got to be a certain age?” Mildred asked.

  Krysty shrugged.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ryan said. “Not our problem. If we’re here that long, it’ll be because we’re wandering around with something else driving our bodies, looking for warm bodies to bite chunks off of.”

  “What of your experiences?” Doc asked J.B.’s group.

  “Jacks just shook head,” Jak said. “Laughed. Dickhead.”

  “His adviser, Coffin, did considerable ranting and raving about it all being nonsense he’d have to be a fool to believe,” J.B. said. “Coffin’s pretty shrewd, actually. But he’s too in love with his own opinions.”

  “Who isn’t?” Mildred said. “Jacks is also advised by his grandmother, who looks like a little shriveled monkey and screeches like a paranoid parrot. Mostly about what a slacker her grandson is. She wasn’t having any of it, either. But Jacks is used to tuning her out.”

  “So, no help from that direction, either?” Ryan said.

  “Jacks didn’t get where he is by being stupe,” J.B. said.

  “Get where?” Jak said. “Run out palace, owning half ville?”

  “He didn’t get chilled, Jak. Old Jeb might not have been aware of what was going on, but Miranda’s paranoid as a tomcat passing by a stickie nest, and as protective of her cub as a mama bear. Plus not even Jacks says she’s a stupe. If she didn’t twig to what he was up to, he had to be playing pretty smooth.”

  “So where does all this leave us?” Mildred asked.

  “Boned,” Jak said. “Should shake ville off boots.”

  “We talked this out already, Jak,” Krysty said. “We agreed to do what we could to make a stand here.”

  “So there it is,” Ryan said, “plain as a chill in a chair. We got to bring Jacks and Miranda to the table, or bring them down. And we got just about zero time to do it in.”

  “We still could run for it, Ryan,” J.B. said. “Like Jak says.”

  Ryan glanced up at his best friend and right-hand man. “Really think we can run from this threat forever, J.B.?”

  The Armorer looked at him for a long moment. Then he took off his glasses, pulled out a handkerchief and began polishing them.

  “Naw. They aren’t fast, but they’re steady. And steady does the trick, every time.”

  “So what are we to do, with the leaders of both dominant factions in this unfortunate town so obdurate?” Doc asked.

  “We could get in touch with the locals,” J.B. said. “So far we been sticking with Jacks and his sec men. You?”

  “Same here,” Ryan said.

  “The people are beat down,” Mildred said. “If they were going to take a stand against their oppressors, wouldn’t they have done so by now?”

  “They may be waiting to see if things get better,” Krysty said. “Sometimes it even works. Anyway, keeping heads down, waiting and hoping, is a lot safer than defiance.”

  “People fight best when fight for homes, loved ones,” Jak said.

  “That’s true,” Ryan said. “And the sec men on both sides are mostly stupes. Miranda’s got loyalists with more heart than use. Plus a core of coldhearts, like her new sec boss, Stone.”

  “Jacks has a bunch of bullies and assholes,” Mildred said with surprising venom.

  “We had a bit of a run-in on the way to talk to Jacks,” J.B. said. “Some
body decided to fondle Mildred’s boob.”

  “He live?” Ryan asked.

  “She shot his dick off.”

  Ryan arched a brow.

  “She’s dead-center on Jacks’s men, though,” J.B. said. “Jacks got the coldest of the coldhearts. Most seasoned and best trained. Sounds like Miranda’s people are better motivated. Jacks’s are driven purely by greed and ambition. But bottom line—both sides’ goons are better at thumping unarmed civilian heads than actual fighting.”

  “Gotta fix soon,” Jak warned.

  “He’s right,” Krysty said.

  “You got some kinda feeling here, Krysty?” Ryan asked.

  She shook her head. Her scarlet hair was stirring nervously about her shoulders of its own volition.

  “Call it an intuition, lover.”

  “All right,” Ryan said. “I’ve been calculating this. So here’s what we do.”

  He quickly sketched the plan he’d been forming in his mind.

  “Won’t that weaken both sides?” Mildred asked when he was done.

  “Only if it works.”

  “But why? Won’t that make it harder to fight the horde when it comes?”

  “If the ville’s still split down the middle and fighting against itself when the rotties show,” J.B. said, “the place’ll fall over like a twig tepee.”

  “We weaken them enough so they have to sit down and patch things up,” Ryan said. “They won’t do that, then we’ve weakened them so we can topple them first, and get the ville ready to fight ourselves. Like Jak says, the locals’ll fight just fine when there’s a changed horde staring them in the face, and nobody above them to beat them down.”

  “You sure that’ll work, my dear Ryan?” Doc asked.

  “Only thing I’m sure of is that one day we’ll all end up with dirt hitting us in the eyes, Doc,” Ryan said, standing. “Now, unless we want that to happen sooner rather than later, it’s time we all blew out of here.”