“Nathan,” he said, finally. “I’ve been traveling around this country since I was five. Never saw any Rovers. Never even heard anyone mention them. But they scare you. They scare you more than anything we’ve seen together. So what gives?”
“They don’t move much out of California.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t know! Okay? They just stay on the west coast. That’s all.”
Sam thought about this for a moment, then got out of the car and popped the trunk. Nathan joined him, slamming the passenger door angrily.
“Sam! We have to get out of here. What are you doing?”
Sam rummaged through the trunk and removed a small pouch.
“What’s that?” asked Nathan.
“Maps,” said Sam.
“Maps? Seriously? Where’d you get ‘em?”
“Different places. Old gas stations mostly.”
He riffled through them until he found a map of California, then threw the pouch back and closed the trunk.
“Right,” he said, carefully unfolding the map and laying it flat. “We’re about here, I think. Where’s the nearest city?”
“Um…Century City, I think. There.”
Nathan pointed to a spot near a place called Los Angeles. Century City was marked in much smaller letters, but there was nothing unusual about that—lots of the old cities had fallen into ruin and been replaced by new cities in more easily defensible areas.
“Right,” said Sam. “Let’s go.”
He folded up the map and got back in the car. He waited until Nathan had joined him, then peeled out of the parking lot and sped away down the narrow highway, in the opposite direction from the Rovers. Nathan gripped the dashboard and stared at Sam.
“So now you want to go to a city?”
“Last night we were jumped by guys with expensive night-vision gear,” said Sam. “Then today these…Rovers turn up and give us the once-over. My guess is that it isn’t a coincidence.”
“Yeah, but why?”
“Don’t know. Don’t really care. We arrive in California and stuff starts happening. I say we raise some money, get some stock and head somewhere safe…like Detroit.”
Chapter 4
CENTURY CITY HAD LOOKED pretty close on the map, but the drive took them the best part of the day. Sam began to glance nervously at the gas gauge, which was far from reliable and got really iffy at around the quarter of a tank mark. It could mean he had nearly half a tank; on the other hand there had been times when it meant he was running on fumes.
He had just decided that they’d better leave the highway and search for a settlement and some fuel, when the dusty road began to change. The number of potholes diminished and some repairs looked like they might even have been made within living memory. The road got wider, too, and Sam guessed that it had once probably had three lanes or more going in each direction. Every so often there’d be an off-ramp, leading away to a nowhere that had once been somewhere, with the occasional remains of huge green signs, crushed and bent by the side of the road, that had told drivers exactly how far away the somewhere was.
Then the fencing began. Crude wooden pickets set up along the road, narrowing the approach to a single lane. There were other vehicles, too. A small van and what looked like some kind of motorized wagon, as well as a couple of donkey carts.
The going got slower and the fencing higher until it towered above the road and led to a massive wooden gate bounded by two watchtowers, each of which was equipped with a small dish.
Sam felt his stomach lurch.
“I’m not liking this,” he muttered as they fell into line behind the wagon and came to a complete stop.
Up ahead they could see two men in uniform who seemed to be talking to the people in the vehicles. They’d chat for a while, then the gates would grind open and the vehicle would pass through.
“What are they doing?” asked Nathan, his voice quiet and tense.
“They’re checking identification.”
“They’re what?! Sam…I don’t have any…I mean, I had it removed two years ago!”
He brandished his right wrist, showing the tell-tale scar where once there had been a subcut chip.
“That’s okay.” Sam reached forward and popped open the glove compartment. “There’s a box in there. It’ll be near the back.”
Nathan rummaged around and finally produced a small cardboard box. Sam watched as he opened it.
“Holy…where did you get these? They’re really good!”
“There should be a reader in there too. It’s about three inches by two. Kind of silvery…”
Nathan found the reader and opened it.
“You just put a chip into that slot, enter the data and there you go.”
“How do you attach—”
“There’s some tape thingies. In a bag, under your seat. Left hand side, I think. Just pick one that matches your skin tone.”
“Sam…”
“Quick, get on with it—they’re coming!”
Nathan entered his data, slapped on the chip and passed the kit to Sam who prepared his own, placed it and shoved the bag and boxes under his seat just as the two border guards strolled up to the car. He rolled down the window and smiled.
“’Afternoon, boys,” said the first guard genially. “What brings you to Century City?”
“The usual,” said Sam. “Shopping…the beach.”
“Sorry, son, the beach is forbidden. Toxic for the last twenty years. Surprised you hadn’t heard. Where are you from?”
“Wisconsin,” said Sam, cheerily. “It’s quite a ways from the ocean. I’ve heard stories, though. Always wanted to see it.”
“Well, you could try driving north. I think there’s some non-toxic sand up by Gualala.”
“Nah,” the second guard shook his head. “That got shut down last year. He should try south. You should try south, son.”
“South?” the first guard looked dubious. “You mean San Diego? There’s nothing down—”
“No, south. You know, like Mexico. Baja, maybe.”
Sam noticed that Nathan was getting edgy again, shifting in his seat and glaring at the guards. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering how his friend had managed to survive up to now. Security checks of one sort or another were pretty much par for the course in all but the smallest settlements and acting nervous or shifty was a sure way to set off alarm bells and find yourself denied entry…or worse. Fortunately, these particular guards seemed more interested in being affable.
“Baja, yes, now that’s a possibility,” said the first border guard, turning back to Sam. “Don’t take any chances, though, son. It’s a long way. I’d suggest you check Mutha for details.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Not at all. Contrary what many people think, we’re here to help. Uh…you weren’t planning on going into the city proper, were you?”
“Well, yes.”
“Sorry. City population is strictly controlled. There’s a waiting list, but it’s about a three year wait.”
“Minimum,” said the other guard.
Sam looked at the guards and then at Nathan.
“What?” whispered Nathan, between clenched teeth.
Sam flashed him a smile and turned back to the guards.
“We only want to go in for a couple of days. Are you sure that isn’t possible?”
“Quite sure.”
“It must get boring being posted out here.”
“We manage.”
“It’s a tough job and my friend and I really appreciate the work you do keeping the city safe.”
“Yeah? How much do you appreciate it?”
“Is it okay if I get out?”
“Sure,” said the first guard, taking a step back.
Sam unfolded himself from the driver’s seat and walked to the back of the car.
“We appreciate it about this much,” he said, popping the trunk. “Help
yourselves to anything you want.”
The two border guards ran to the back of the car like kids on Christmas Day. Sam left them to it and got back in.
“Sam! That’s my inventory!” hissed Nathan.
“I thought we were switching to light bulbs.”
The guards slammed the trunk and staggered back, laden with small household appliances. They dumped their stashes in the guard house and returned as if nothing had happened.
“Now,” said the first guard. “ID please.”
Sam held out his wrist and the guard scanned it with a small hand-held device.
“Thank you, Mr…Hammett. And you, son.”
Nathan extended his arm. Sam could see that he was shaking and just hoped the guards didn’t notice as they swept their reader over his wrist.
“Nathan Berlin. Thanks. Okay. Welcome to Century City. Just drive down this way about fifteen miles. You’ll come to a parking structure just outside the walls. You can leave your vehicle there.”
Sam’s face fell. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, sir. No internal combustion vehicles of any kind permitted in Century City. You have a nice day now.”
The great wooden gates creaked open and the GTO rolled through and along the road toward the city.
“Oh, man, what a nightmare,” muttered Nathan.
“You used your real name.”
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Well, we can’t turn around and go back now.”
He glanced in the rear-view to see if there was anything going on, but the two guards had just moved to the next vehicle.
“Why did you use your real name?”
“I don’t know! There wasn’t time to think!”
Sam was about to make some less-than-helpful remark about panicking, when they reached the crest of the hill and were suddenly struck silent. Beneath them, stretching as far as the eye could see in every direction, were the sprawling remains of a once-great city.
The streets were still clear, scything through the rubble and the few surviving structures, a latticework of asphalt and concrete. There had obviously been a lot of very tall buildings lining the wider streets and some were still impressive, though most were in varying degrees of collapse, their glass and cladding fallen away, leaving rusting steel skeletons clawing at the yellow sky.
The smaller buildings seemed to have fared better. From what Sam could see at this distance, some were almost complete and pockets even seemed to have electric light, though in the fading afternoon there were more small fires pock-marking the landscape than actual streetlamps.
“Wow,” he whispered. “It’s huge!”
“It used to be one of the biggest,” said Nathan. “Los Angeles.”
“Unbelievable. But…it doesn’t look very…I mean, it’s big, but it doesn’t look much better off than most of the small towns in the Wilds.”
“That’s because it’s not the city any more,” said Nathan. “That is.”
He pointed north of the sprawling conurbation and there, glistening against the sky, was Century City, one of the last of the great cities of the west coast, its gleaming black spires stretching upwards while rings of thick grey walls and razor wire ensured the security of all within.
“So the rest of it’s just outlands?”
“Pretty grim, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” muttered Sam. “Windows up.”
He drove down the hill and into the squalid outskirts of the city. The roads, which had seemed the lone remaining sign of order when viewed from a distance, turned out to be little more than rough pathways through a rabbit-warren of ruins and ramshackle shelters where the downtrodden, the angry, and the hopeless clustered together in the sleek shadow of the great walled city.
Sam felt as though all his instincts were in overdrive as he piloted the old red car toward the grey walls. His main focus was on reaching the city before nightfall, but the resentful glares of the people in the streets made his eyes flick from side to side, half expecting someone to suddenly lunge for the vehicle. He found himself wishing he’d repaired the lock on the passenger door. It hadn’t worked for months and he’d been meaning to get it done but just hadn’t got around to it. Of course, there was no way anyone could know that, but all it would take was someone willing to try.
Still, at least he could take some comfort from the fact that Nathan didn’t know about it either. He’d already had a pretty bad day—if he knew his door wouldn’t lock he’d probably just go right ahead and have a coronary where he sat.
“Can’t you go any faster?” Nathan squirmed in his seat, one hand gripping the dash.
“Have you seen these roads? If we go any faster we’ll lose an axle.”
“Are you sure this is the right way?”
“Will you calm down? This was your idea—remember?”
“Yeah, well, I was kind of imagining we’d go somewhere smaller. Like Bakersfield City. These outlands are creeping me out.”
Sam had to agree. All cities had outlands—it was the nature of the beast. There was never enough room inside for all the people who wanted to be there, so those who were too poor or had no desirable skills were condemned to a lifetime in the desolate shanty-towns outside—unable to access the life they wanted yet unwilling to risk an existence in the Wilds. But the sheer size of Century City’s outlands was mind-boggling. They stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, halted only by the ocean to the west and the mountains to the east. The sheer numbers of people on the outside had to present some sort of threat to those on the inside, yet they just sat in their shacks and waited out their lives. Sam couldn’t understand why they didn’t rise up and storm the gates.
They drove on in silence and slowly the road surface improved and the dwellings looked less likely to fall down while they watched. There was something new, though, something that Sam hadn’t seen before: clusters of sallow, thin people on street corners near brightly painted boxes about the size of an old mailbox. They seemed totally focused on the boxes.
“What are those?”
“Digivends,” said Nathan, matter-of-factly. “Awful things.”
Sam stopped the car so a woman carrying a baby could cross the street, and as he moved slowly forward again he noticed a boy walking up to the nearest box. Sam watched with interest as he dropped some coins in a slot on the side.
“What’s a—”
He never finished the question.
It hit him like a blow from a hammer. His foot slammed down on the accelerator, he couldn’t see and his hands dropped to his lap, leaving the wheel spinning to the right and the car careening out of control.
“Sam!”
Nathan grabbed the wheel, kicked Sam’s foot off the pedal and hauled on the handbrake. The car rolled to a stop.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Sam couldn’t speak. The pain had been so instant, so searing. He felt as if someone had grabbed his head and torn it open. He just sat there, shaking, slowly reaching up and putting his hands to his head as the nausea receded.
“Is there something I can do? Would you like me to drive?”
“Yes,” he whispered, finally.
Nathan got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side as Sam slid over and started scrabbling at the glove compartment. Why wouldn’t it open? It always opened!
“What do you need?”
“Black box. Small.”
“Okay. Sit back.”
Sam leaned back as Nathan released the latch and searched for the box.
“There’s nothing here.”
“In the back. It’ll be in the back.”
He listened to the sound of Nathan pulling the contents of the glove box out and onto the floor, and tried to ignore the knife like thrusts of pain in his head. It was like Chicago City all over again.
“Got it!”
Sam opened his eyes and grabbed the box with still-shaking hands. He opened it, removed a
green tablet, swallowed it and leaned back again, waiting for it to work.
“Sam…” Nathan was really worried. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Migraine,” lied Sam.
“You’ve never had one before.”
“They come and go. I used to have them all the time. I’ll be okay. Just get us out of here.”
Nathan put the car into gear and continued the slow progress toward the great city while Sam sat with his eyes closed and waited for the pain to subside.
He hadn’t been to a city since Chicago and while his memory was of a terrible headache, there’s something about the nature of pain that makes it almost impossible to recall accurately. So he knew it would be hard. That the headache and the nausea would be back. But not like this, and not on the outside.
“What…” he whispered, still hardly able to form sentences. “What is a digivend?”
“Another winner from Hermes Industries,” said Nathan. “A few coins and you get a hit of the plex.”
“The plex? They’re accessing the hyperspatial plex? Why?”
“Feels good, I guess.”
“They don’t look like they feel good.”
“No, well, it kinda fries the brain after a while. Leaves a craving, though.”
Sam opened his eyes and watched the sad-eyed clusters near every brightly painted digivend. Of course. This was why the people of the outlands didn’t rise up. It was all about control. It was always about control.
Nathan turned a corner and the old GTO rolled up to a metal gate. There was no one near, just a rusting green squawk box and a red button. Nathan rolled down the window and pressed the button.
“Have you cleared customs and immigration?” asked a raspy recording.
“Yes.”
“ID, please.”
Nathan stretched his hand out of the window and the gates creaked open.
“You may park anywhere. Be sure to make a note of your vehicle’s location. Have a nice day.”
“Too late,” muttered Sam.
Nathan smiled as he pulled into the huge parking structure. “Feeling better?”
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