Through Darkest America-Extended Version

by Neal Barrett Jr

  Kari didn't answer, but he caught the slight corner of her smile. "You really do like that, don't you? You think I'm real funny."

  "No."

  " Uhuh."

  "I said I didn't, Howie."

  "Well . . . what do you think, then? You gotta think something." -

  She looked at him a long moment, gray eyes sleepy beneath her lids. "No I don't," she said finally. "I really don't have to think anything." -

  Howie felt vaguely uncomfortable. There was something about the way she looked at him that told him it might very well be true. And not just about him, either.

  At sundown the sky turned brilliant red, coloring the mesa in stark shades of fiery pink. Gray, crimson-topped clouds hugged the horizon, and Howie imagined they'd reached the mountains already, though he knew that couldn't be.

  Pardo stopped the column at an ancient site, where two long ribbons of man-made stone crossed each other and wandered off straight as arrows across the mesa. Everyone knew they were roads and that machines had used them to carry people before the War. Just how this was done no one could say for sure, though there were pictures that showed what it had looked like.

  You could see traces of roads most everywhere; there had been plenty of them and they usually turned up right where you were fixing to plow, or dig a stock pen. This one was in fair condition, with a lot of surface showing. Time had taken its toll, and the stone was cracked and split all over and choked with sand and weeds, but you could still trace its edges with your eyes.

  Some of the crew grumbled over Pardo's choice of campsite, not too many liked the idea of spending the night in old places. Pardo ignored them, he had a reason for stopping there. Right at the crossroads there was a gutted building. It had thick stone walls higher than a man, and a narrow doorway. It was here he planned to store the guns overnight. More than that, he explained, if anyone decided to bother the column, why, there was a ready-made fortress right at hand, and it'd be worth a man's life to try to take it over flat ground.

  No one argued, but all the riders said they'd just as soon sleep outside in the sand until something happened to bring them inside.

  "I wonder what they looked like?" said Howie.

  Kari kicked her boot in the sand and squinted at him. "What?"

  "The roads. Before, I mean."

  "Just like they do now, Only newer."

  Howie shook his head. "You know what I mean, Kari." "I've seen lots of them. Better than that. Some good as new."

  "Where?"

  "Where I come from."

  "Where's that?"

  "That way." She jerked a thumb west.

  "Huh?" Howie raised a brow. "You mean the mountains?"

  "No, past that."

  "California? You come clear from California, Kari?"

  That was all she would say, though, and he decided wearily he probably knew more about her than anyone else, anyway.

  He watched her make a windbreak for herself in the sand, and spread her blankets down, then he walked around the far side of the old building and made his own bed. No wonder she didn't talk like anyone else. He'd never seen anyone from California before. 'Course, she hadn't come right out and said that was it, but he figured it was so.

  He wondered, wistfully, if all the girls from California looked like Kari. He decided they didn't. Hell, if that was so, every man in the country would've high-tailed it out there already and there wouldn't be anyone left anywhere else.

  With the night, a million stars filled the sky and the real cold set in. Howie pulled his blankets tight around him and tried to sleep. It wouldn't be long before someone'd come by and kick him awake. Pardo had two-thirds of the forty-odd riders doing sentry duty on horseback in a wide circle around the camp. He hadn't said so, but it was plain enough he was more than a little concerned about Monroe and his troopers. They were out there somewhere—everybody knew that. The only question was when they'd try to take the guns. If they had good sense, they'd make their run before Pardo's riders met up with strong Rebel forces.

  It was something to think about, and Howie figured every man in camp was wishing he was back in Roundtree, or damn near anywhere else.

  Near sunup, he climbed off his horse and crawled half frozen back in his blankets. He was asleep as soon as he hit the ground; it was only minutes later that the scream brought him up straight again. He grabbed his weapons, certain the troopers were upon them.

  A dozen riders had bunched up around the far corner of the building and someone had pulled a torch from the fire. A man named Kelsey was on the ground. His eyes were near coming out of their sockets with fear and sweat was pouring like fresh rain down his face. Four men held him down and tried to stop the screaming, while another did something to his head.

  The whole side of Kelsey's face was blood-red and swollen, and Howie could see ugly wounds where something had punctured the skin again and again.

  In moments, Kelsey was dead, a white foam of spittle ringing his open mouth. The riders covered him quickly, and crowded 'round to take a look at what had done it.

  Howie was horrified. Someone had killed the thing, but it still writhed and squirmed blindly across the ground—a long, terrible creature with no legs at all, and big around as his arm. Someone said it was a snick and that they'd seen two or three in the mountains before.

  God help us, thought Howie. Horses, rabuts, and now snicks. He'd liked it a lot better when there was only one kind of animal around.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hacker and Pardo nearly had it out before breakfast. Howie was sure they'd have killed each other if Klu and some of the Rebel soldiers hadn't stepped in to pull them apart. The two kept their distance the rest of the day—Hacker riding point, and Pardo sticking close to his pack horses.

  Everyone in the column had seen it coming. Hacker was storming mad over the way Pardo had pulled out of Roundtree, making a show for the town. And no one blamed him much, either. As Hacker put it, it was a damn fool thing to do. And though he didn't care one way or the other whether Pardo got his own people killed, he didn't figure on losing his whole troop over another man's ignorance. That was when Pardo went for him, pale eyes flashing and a big grin spreading his features. Klu wrestled the knife from him before he could sink it half a foot in Hacker's big belly.

  Looking at Pardo's face, you could swear the man had lost his senses. Howie knew better than that. The only time Pardo went plumb crazy was when he wanted to, and for a good reason. If he'd figured on sticking Hacker, Hacker'd be kicking up sand right then instead of setting his mount and sulking.

  So why hadn't they seen through the rest of the business, Howie wondered? He could have kicked himself for not thinking. Pardo never did anything without a reason—and he sure as hell wasn't crazy. If he'd let everyone in town know he was carrying that big shipment of arms to the Rebels—why, that was exactly what he'd intended to do!

  Why, though? Where was the sense in it? That was something Howie couldn't figure. The whole thing sent shivers up the back of his neck. He hadn't forgotten his last trip with Pardo…

  The column made camp early, long before the sun was down. Pardo picked a spot where weathered spires of red sandstone capped a small rise in the land. It offered good cover, and was high enough so that the riders had a distinct - advantage over any intruders. They could walk the horses up easy, but an attacking force would have to leave their mounts behind and fight on foot over open ground. Even Hacker had no quarrel with the site.

  Every man in the column, for that matter, breathed a sigh of relief. Most had figured the Loyalists would hit them sometime during the day and, if they had to fight, they preferred to do it from good cover. A man dragging ass over the flat tableland on a horse was pretty hard to miss with a rifle.

  Before the evening fires were lit, the rumor spread through the camp that they'd be meeting the main Rebel forces early the next day. And if that was true, wouldn't Monroe have scouts out like everyone else—and know the Rebels were there? If he
did, he'd sure try to take the arms while he had a smaller foe to face—and that meant tonight.

  "You figure they'll come?" Howie asked Harlie.

  "Hmmmph." Harlie nodded through a mouthful of dried meat. "They'll come. Ain't much question 'bout that."

  "If they're out there," said Howie.

  "Oh, they're out there, all right," Harlie assured him. He gave Howie a crooked grin. "Some or soldier probably got you in his sights right now, boy."

  Howie made a face. "How come the scouts ain't seen anything, then? There's nothing out there but flat, and you can look 'bout a thousand miles everywhere."

  Harlie studied the lone bite of beans left on his plate. "0l' Kelsey didn't see that snick, neither. But it seen him." He shook his head. "Ain't no use wishin' for what isn't goin' to

  be. They're out there, and they're goin' to hit us—because they got to."

  Howie figured he was right, but it just didn't make sense, everyone settin' around eating and talking and knowing what was going to happen. They ought to be doin' something, shouldn't they? The more he learned about war and fighting, the less he understood.

  He had his own reason for risking his neck out in the middle of nowhere. He'd promised himself a long time ago he wouldn't get far from Pardo until things were settled between them. But what about Harlie, and the rest of the riders? And Hacker's troops, for that matter. Some of them wouldn't be coming back from this business. They all knew that, and thought about it plenty, but they went right on putting their necks in a noose for a day's pay and rations. Even if they came through all right they wouldn't gain much. The Rebels would just go on fighting somewhere else until they got themselves killed or all shot up, and the riders would keep making money for Pardo, or someone else who didn't care whether they lived or died. Why, Howie wondered? Maybe they had reasons for doing what they did, same as he did. But what they were, he sure couldn't figure.

  All the fires were out by the time the sun dropped through low clouds in the west. The Loyalists might know where they were, but there was no use in making targets. A few men slept, but most huddled in small groups against the cold. Both Pardo's men and the Rebels kept to themselves. They had no quarrel with each other, but there was bad blood between their leaders, and you didn't get real friendly with a man you might be fighting later. That seemed like a damn fool idea to Howie, when they all had plenty on their hands with the Loyalists. But as Harlie or someone at supper had pointed out, "even if Monroe ain't climbing our backs 'fore morning, what you figure is goin' to happen when we meet the rest of Hacker's troops? There's twenty-four of us, and about twenty of them if I'm countin' right. There's no trouble in a match like that. But what about tomorrow, when the odds ain't so good? You figure Hacker's goin' to worry about paying for those guns—when he's got maybe a hundred or so troopers to back him? Hell no, he ain't!"

  No one could think of a good answer for that, and it didn't make sleeping any easier thinking about maybe getting through one fight before morning, so you could take on the Rebels by noon.

  "That's plain silly, is what it is," said Kari. They stood together out of the wind. The high spires of rock looming above looked like dark fingers against the night.

  "You don't like Pardo much," she said flatly.

  He looked at her. "What's that got to do with anything. No, I don't like Pardo at all. If …"

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  Kari grinned without looking at him. "You let what you feel get in the way of your head, Howie. You hate Pardo so you don't mind thinking he's stupid. He isn't."

  "I never thought he was, Kari. I didn't say that."

  "You do, or you wouldn't listen to stuff like that, or come talking to me about it. Pardo knows what he's doing. Or he wouldn't do it."

  "Well godamn," he said irritably, "I can figure out things like that, too. I sure don't need you to explain it to me!"

  She faced him in the dark, the pale starlight showing him the deep, curious eyes, the tiny frown above the bridge of her nose.

  "All right. What would you do?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "If we get past Monroe," she said patiently, "and meet more Rebels than we can handle, Howie."

  "Well hell, I don't know. And I don't figure anyone else does, either."

  "Pardo does," she said simply.

  Howie's ears burned. "You've sure taken a sudden liking to him. I reckon I should have figured." He knew what he was trying to say and was immediately sorry. But Kari didn't take it that way, or didn't care.

  "No," she told him, "that really isn't true, Howie. I don't guess Pardo's better or worse than any man. He just wants more than some and goes after what he wants."

  "Meaning what?"

  Kari gave him a questioning look.

  "You mean something," he pressed her. "What did you mean?"

  "Nothing, Howie. I didn't mean anything at all. Why does everything have to mean something?"

  Howie bit his lip. "You're always doin' that. Saying something and then saying you didn't say anything. Or that you don't care one way or the other anyway!"

  "I don't, Howie."

  "Come on. Kari . . .”

  "No. You care, Howie. I know you do and I know a lot of other people do. Maybe I'm just different. But I don't. And I don't think I want to." She studied him a long moment. "I don't want to be like you. Or anyone, if that's what I have to do . . . care so much I can't think straight."

  Howie didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Kari wrapped her arms around slim shoulders and shivered. "I'm cold, Howie. I'm going to wrap up and try to keep warm and get some sleep. If you want to come and bring your blanket you can, but if you're thinking about feeling around and stuff like that I don't want you to."

  She turned and disappeared around the stone pillar and Howie stared after her. He didn't know whether he hated himself more right then, or Kari. Why did it always have to end up the same way, every time? Why did she have to say things like that? It wasn't true, anyway. People had to feel things—whether they said they did or not.

  Someone laughed softly in the darkness, right behind him. Howie went cold, then jerked around quickly. Pardo grinned up at him. He was stretched out on a flat rock, his hands behind his head. Howie felt sick. Lord, he'd been there all the time and heard everything!

  "Sure is an interestin' night, ain't it?" Pardo cleared his throat, sat up and spat into the dark.

  "Guess you got yourself a earful," Howie said soberly. "Sure hope you enjoyed it."

  "Couldn't much help loin' some hearing," said Pardo. "It's a natural thing if you got them little holes in the sides of your head."

  Behind Pardo, the pack animals stirred as one of the

  beasts brushed his hide against stone. He'd brought his valuable cargo to the highest, safest point on the rise, then. Howie wanted to leave. He was embarrassed, and angry.

  "I reckon I'll get myself some sleep," he said.

  "You do that," said Pardo. He grinned at Howie. "Go an' get yourself under your blanket an' dream about your true love . . .”

  Howie bristled. "Listen, Pardo

  Pardo laughed. "Shit, boy, you might's well poke it in that big old rock there. Do you 'bout as much good as sniffin' after that one. You ain't goin' to get any."

  "I suppose you tried!" snapped Howie.

  "I got more sense than that."

  "Well, I ain't."

  "Uhuh."

  "And . . . and I reckon that's my business!"

  "Sure is. You can't tell nobody nothin' they don't want to hear." He paused a moment, chuckling to himself. "She ever tell you 'bout Sequoia?"

  "What?" Howie tried to see the man's face in the dark.

  "High Sequoia." Howie caught his grin.

  "Well, what's that?"

  "Just ask her sometime. See what she says."

  "Maybe I don't want to," Howie said stubbornly. "Suit yourself . . .”

  "Maybe I don't care nothin' about High whatever it is!"


  Pardo laughed. It was a deep, whiskey laugh that started in his belly and came rumbling out of his throat. Howie knew he was going to kill him, right then and there. He knew it and felt it rising up to happen. His hand went right to his pistol like it already knew what it was supposed to do.

  He knew something was wrong, because he hadn't fired a shot yet and everybody in the world was shooting at him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The fight lasted no more than a good quarter hour, though it seemed much longer than that. The Loyalists sent every man in camp scurrying for cover under a deadly hail of gunfire. Pardo and the Rebels recovered quickly enough and returned the favor with a vengeance. For a while, a small part of the mesa was nearly as bright as day. Then, the government troopers suddenly broke off the attack and disappeared into the night.

  "I don't like it," scowled Hacker, "it don't taste right to me."

  Hacker was a big man, with a fat belly and thighs round as oaks. He'd spent all his life outdoors, but his face refused to take the sun. That, and the raw corn he consumed in great quantity, left his beefy features puffed and florid. He sat his horse between his two lieutenants and eyed Pardo against the faint smudge of dawn. All three soldiers were clad alike in pale blue uniforms and black Rebel caps. They kept their mounts a respectable distance from Pardo. Klu, Jigger, and two more of the biggest men among the raiders were close behind their chief.

  "The thing is," said Hacker, "I've fought them fellers before and they ain't no fools. Monroe and Conner is smart as whips, and I figure one or both of 'em was out there last night. Why, hell …" He spat contemptuously into the dirt, "we was all shootin' at nothing in the dark and so was they. If Monroe'd wanted to take us he'd of been halfway up that rise 'fore he let off a round." He looked hard at Pardo. "There sure wasn't nothin' stopping him."

  Pardo let the remark go by, but he met Hacker's gaze straight on. There wasn't much he could say, without starting a small war right there. It had been his men on outrider duty when the government troopers attacked. Instead of cutting a wide patrol so they could warn the camp in plenty of time, they'd hugged the base of the rise like birds on an egg. The government soldiers had sliced an extra mouth in four of them before they knew what was happening. They'd been the only casualties in camp except a Rebel trooper who couldn't keep his head down. If the Loyalists suffered any losses, they'd taken them with them. There wasn't a sign on the mesa that anything bigger than a snick had been there.