Blood Runners: Box Set

by George S. Mahaffey Jr.

  Moses read the looks of the strangers. He could tell they had no earthly idea what he was talking about.

  “It’s like this,” Moses said, spreading his hands out so that Jessup and the others could see he was truly unarmed and posed no threat. “The man in charge on the other side of the wall, Longman, he makes us do things. Like if someone commits a crime, in order to make things right blood has to be shed. Blood will have blood, that’s the way it is in New Chicago.”

  “You’re a long way from your wall,” Jessup intoned.

  “They sent us out here to get that,” Moses said, pointing to the briefcase.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the keys to the kingdom, man” Moses replied. “It’s a clanker box that’s got codes from before that can start up some kinda weapon that can end it all.”

  “Nuclear codes?” Terry asked.

  Moses slowly nodded and replied, “This place, these buildings, my old lady worked here for a hot minute. This whole joint was some kind of top-secret government facility.”

  Silence as the others digested this, Moses taking the time to examine their faces and ascertain exactly what they might do to him. “So now you know. Question is, where did you come from?”

  Elias pointed back toward the water and a look of concern swept over Moses’s face.

  “Aw, Jesus,” he said, “Don’t tell me …”

  “Tell you what?”

  “That you came from the goddamn water. That you had a boat out there. Please do not tell me that.”

  Jessup and the others exchanged looks.

  “What’s it to you if we did?”

  Moses’s head hung.

  “There might be a problem, that’s all.”

  “Explain.”

  Moses looked up.

  “I wasn’t given all of the details, but I heard that Longman sent another group of his boys out. He found some place where people were hiding and sent out a war pack. Heard something about a boat, but I can’t be sure any of it is true.”

  Jessup and the others swapped looks.

  “We should get going,” Terry said.

  Jessup nodded and looked to Moses.

  “You’re coming with us.”

  Moses smiled and held up his hands. “Hey. I got nowhere better to go.”

  61

  The decision was quickly made to abandon the search for the vault they’d come for and immediately head back to the boat.

  Bennie and Jon stayed behind for an instant and strung a length of nearly invisible wire out and across the path they were taking in order to address any Thresher or other interlopers that might have thoughts about following them.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Less than ten minutes after they departed a few Thresher clambered up through the trees and bracken, talons parting brown tresses that dipped down to the ground, following the scent of Elias, Marisol, and the others. They never saw the tripwire, feeling only the searing heat as the detonation flashed, the air sucked out of the surrounding areas, the grass flattened and scorched, the Thresher turned to briquettes.

  A half mile beyond this, Elias and the others heard the explosion, but didn’t turn back. They were moving too quickly, retracing their steps through the underbrush, trekking past a water tower that looked as if it had been dynamited, Jessup out beyond the others, Moses back between Terry and Elias, the pack moving briskly (Jessup, Moses thought, would have made an excellent Runner).

  Moses hadn’t expected a rush of emotion upon seeing Elias, but that’s what had come over him. He was relieved that the boy was alive and in good spirits and, from what he could discern, surrounded by the first real-looking people he’d seen in a long time. The kind of people that used to be around the way in the days before. Neighbors, friends, the kind of folks you could turn your back on or unburden yourself to without the fear of duplicity or recrimination. The kind of people that had long been in short supply in New Chicago.

  Marisol wasn’t sure what to make of Moses. There was a hint of authority about him, the way he walked with his shoulders crimped back, his fists perpetually knotted. And his face: nearly expressionless, almost serene. As if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  It was an appearance she associated with those who had the power over life and death back behind the wall.

  And that’s what Moses was, wasn’t he? An arm of the State. A part of Absolution, a confidant of Longman, she surmised. And for that reason alone she didn’t trust him.

  They forded a creek and clawed their way up a short rise and spotted the boat, a blip floating out in the water. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as they ran across a switchback and down through the suburban trails, until suddenly, Jessup skidded to a stop.

  He’d seen them. The huge black cloud rotating up over the boat. The birds. The vultures and the crows and the others. God in heaven, Elias thought, there were so many. Jessup didn’t say anything, but Elias watched his hands go to his ears, as if he was fighting not to hear something.

  Nobody said a word as they launched their skiff and crossed the water. They saw the scalped bodies of Blake and Harry bobbing in the water, the birds feeding on them while small fish slurped in the blood and fluids that seeped from their bodies. They reached the boat and docked, then Jessup climbed aboard and Riley was the first thing he spotted.

  She was waiting to greet Jessup. Nailed up on the boat’s mast, half-crucified, her eyes propped open by wooden sticks that were jammed under the lids. Her arms dangled at an odd angle like a broken puppet.

  Jessup avoided the slick of red that had splashed the deck from her chest wound and whistled to Terry and the others. When they arrived seconds later, they cut her down and whispered prayers.

  Jessup was on the move again, searching the boat for any sign of the others. He spotted tracks in Riley’s blood, big boots that he knew belonged to the men who’d done this. The others helped, searching the hold and the water, but nobody could find a trace of them.

  Liza and Ava were gone.

  Cozzard, Lout, and the others slid their boats to shore and manhandled Liza and Ava through the surf and onto dry land, where they were kicked to the ground.

  Cozzard peered down at the fine-looking woman with the pleasing proportions who had a lip on her and muttered all sorts of curse words that fired up the other men.

  It was all he could do to keep his men in check, to stop them from doing some very bad things to the salty-tongued one. If only she knew, Cozzard thought to himself. If only she had an inkling of what the man had planned for her in the Codex Building.

  He grinned at the thought of what was to be and then bent and whispered to the woman.

  “You do as we say and don’t cause a fuss, and it’ll be easier on you,” he said to her.

  “That’s fine,” she said. Her lip quivered for a moment, but then something came over her face. She looked at Cozzard, steely-eyed. “But I need to tell you one thing too.”

  “Anything,” he replied with a grin.

  “If you or any of the other men try putting something in us, you will not be getting it back.”

  She bared her teeth and Cozzard nodded. Then he grabbed her arm and helped the younger one up, before marching the pair through the woods and back toward New Chicago.

  62

  Farrow kept to himself in the caged room, fighting his senses, trying not to breathe. The stench of death and decay was so thick it was downright gauze-like. He could count the time he’d been there in hours, and already he could discern there was, like all places, a natural order to things.

  Most of the prison populace were from the lower rungs of society, Mudders and Scrappers and the like who’d run afoul of Longman. There were others, however, members of better Guilds and other tribes, talker-types who’d most likely (and foolishly) called for political and social reform and been invited to the Codex Building only to be tossed into what amounted to Longman’s “Zetland,” his personal prison ship.

  Farrow could spot these men and wo
men by their fingernails and teeth. They weren’t black. Not yet. They also roamed the inner portions of the prison, never staying in one place, for to stay in one place made one vulnerable. Farrow watched a middle-aged man curl up in a corner in an effort to get some shut-eye, only to be quickly and ruthlessly set upon by a brace of demonic Mudders who robbed the man and nearly clubbed him to death.

  Nobody batted an eyelash at the violence save a thick-limbed man with a mop of black hair who waded into the Mudders and beat them back, allowing the middle-aged man a chance to rise and run off to another part of the floor.

  The dark-haired man turned and flexed sizable muscles and called for the Mudders to send forth their best to do battle with him.

  “Who wants some,” the dark-haired man said.

  When four such men stepped forward, Farrow had had enough. He took to the side of the dark-haired man and pointed a finger at the Mudders and told them it was time for a fair fight.

  “You heard the man,” Farrow growled, clenching his fists. “Who wants to take a spin at knuckle junction?”

  Seeing these two mountains of flesh before them, the Mudders turned tailed and slunk back into the masses and vanished from sight.

  The dark haired man nodded at Farrow, fighting to suppress a smirk. “‘Knuckle junction’? I love it.”

  “My old mentor used to say that.”

  “Reminds me of something mine might’ve said.”

  The dark-haired man extended a hand. “McLaughlin. My given name’s McLaughlin, but I go by ‘Locks.’”

  Farrow nodded and shook his hand. "Farrow."

  Locks scrunched his nose. “Hey. I know you, don’t I?”

  “Sorry, friend, but I’ve never peeped you before."

  Locks shook his head and smiled. “I worked in an armory for Longman. I helped build your armor and machines and weapons. You were an Ape weren’t you?”

  Farrow looked to see if any others were listening. When he sensed they were not, he quickly nodded as Locks grinned. “Relax, I’m not gonna say anything. But inquiring minds wanna know. What’d you do?”

  “I guess you could say I was suspected of assisting a fugitive. Somebody the man wants who escaped. You?”

  “Smuggled weapons to the resistance.”

  Farrow’s eyes widened. “There’s a resistance?”

  “Sort of,” Locks said with a grin and a wink, “although to me, it’s more like … a work in progress.”

  A slight smile blossomed on Farrow’s face. He’d heard this many times before over the years. Some group of underground people calling for hope and change, emboldened by an influx of interest and weapons and thinking they would light the fuse that would bring down Longman’s rule. Wishful thinking.

  Longman had spies everywhere, and it always ended the same. His goons would bring forth the collaborators who’d take turns in Room 101 and each would sign a confession in the public square and then be put to the torch or worse. There was no one who posed a real threat to Longman. His rule would last as long as he wanted it to.

  “What I mean,” Locks continued, “is that there’s a group, a big group this time that haven’t surrendered their good reason if you follow me.” Farrow took a few steps back and examined Locks, searching him for any hint of skullduggery. Paranoia was the national past-time in New Chicago, after all, and Farrow needed to ensure that he wasn’t being set up for a bigger fall.

  Locks read the narrowing in Farrow’s eyes and held his stony look.

  “I can assure you friend, I am not just flapping my gums. I’m no plant, no snitch, no snout. I been cast down in here just the same as you, and what I say is true. The folks I know on the outside have had enough.”

  “How many?” Farrow asked.

  “Maybe a hundred.”

  “And Longman? What does he have?”

  “Four, maybe five-hundred men and women under arms, attack dogs, barbed wire, but here’s what I really like—”

  “That the alleged resistance wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance against that?”

  Locks shook his head. “They’d never see us coming. I mean, when you got that much firepower who’d ever expect an inside job?”

  Farrow considered this. “Speaking of firepower, what do your boys have?”

  “The folks I know have guns, or what pass for ‘em, Farrow. Lots of guns and some things that go boom and they’re ready to rise up and strike a blow against the demon Longman when the time is right.”

  “And when might that be?” Farrow asked warily.

  “When the right man or woman comes along to lead them.”

  Farrow nodded and glanced at the surroundings.

  “Shame we won’t get to see the festivities.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Locks said. “I got a plan to be front and center when the band takes the stage. I know a secret.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Locks could barely contain his glee as he whispered, “I know a way, brother. A way out of here.”

  63

  Elias and Marisol had seen enough killing and depravity that their respective well of tears had long since run dry.

  The others on the boat cried, even Jessup, as they laid the bodies of their friends, Blake, Harry, and Riley to rest in the water after weighting them down with stones and a pair of old boat engines that were beyond repair.

  Someone said a prayer and another lit candles, three in all, that they held up and then tossed overboard. Jessup’s jaw locked and he looked to Terry who said it was time to decide what to do. Jessup roared in anger and Marisol wondered whether he was about to strike Terry dead.

  “Goddammit, this never would’ve happened if we’d done what I said!” Jessup screamed.

  Jessup advanced on Terry and jabbed a finger in his chest.

  “You wanted this!”

  “Oh, bullshit, Jessup!”

  Jessup pointed to the blood-slicked deck. “Their blood is on your fucking hands!”

  “We voted on it!” Terry screamed back.

  Jessup lunged at Terry, but Jon and Bennie grabbed and held him back.

  Marisol watched them whisper to Jessup that they’d voted, and that the decision had been the right one at the time.

  Jessup’s anger simmered, then seemed to cool.

  “We need to go after them,” Terry said.

  Jessup laughed. “Go where? Go inside the wall?”

  Terry nodded, then Bennie and Jon looked up.

  “We could go back to the vault,” Jon said.

  “We could snag the weapons and take one of those inlets we saw before. The ones that head into that thick grass,” Bennie added. “If there’s a wall, there’s gotta be a way around it.”

  Jessup’s hands covered his ears, his eyes closed, teeth bared. Marisol watched him take several breaths and then turn to her and Elias. “How many men are inside the wall? How big’s the army?”

  “More than we could count on all our hands and feet,” Marisol said.

  Elias nodded, “There are others too … the Mudders, the Scrappers, the Runners, they’re there, but I don’t know …”

  “They’re not part of his army,” Marisol added.

  “Inside the wall there’s five-hundred men under arms,” Moses said. “Maybe more. But only a hundred or so can cut ice, if you know what I mean.”

  Jessup looked back at Terry who clocked Elias.

  “What happens to people who are taken inside the wall, kid?” asked Terry.

  “Some of them are put down … or worse.”

  “We could send someone to the wall and ask for a meeting,” Jessup offered. “We could just hold tight and make it clear that we don’t want any goddamn trouble-”

  “And in the interim?” Terry asked, cutting him off. “In the meantime we leave them there and maybe, just maybe, the sonofabitch that put up the wall decides in his benevolence to come to some understanding with us even though, by all indications, he don’t exactly seem like the kinda guy who likes to make deals
.”

  “What about your people?” Marisol asked.

  Jessup looked at her.

  “You’ve got other people on the other side of the lake, right?”

  “Now is not the time to discuss that,” Jessup barked.

  “Seems like now is the perfect time,” Marisol said, standing her ground, eying Jessup up and down.

  “Okay, so let’s say there is a settlement,” Terry replied, sharing a quick look with Jessup. “Maybe a hundred families. Good, decent people. And maybe we’re part of that. Maybe we’re the ones they send out to find stuff.”

  “Enough about that,” Jessup muttered.

  Terry nodded. “The others ain’t equipped to handle guns anyway. They’re soft-handers mostly. Office folks back in the world.”

  Jessup’s eyes roamed to the stain on the deck from Riley’s bloody midsection and then hopped over to the metal briefcase. The clanker box.

  “What about that?” Jessup asked.

  Terry knelt and searched the exterior of the clanker box, but couldn’t find an easy way to open it.

  Using the dull blade on a multi-tool device withdrawn from a pocket, Terry pried open the edge of the box, and then inserted fingers and grunted until he managed to pry the thing partially open.

  “This is one of the older ones,” Terry said. “Back when they called it the ‘Football.’ Toward the end they had everything digital, uploaded instantaneously so the President could do what he needed to do to authorize a nuclear strike.”

  Elias and the others could see a black keypad inside along with a small screen and various knobs and buttons and a thick glass case hooked to a metal wire. Inside the glass case were laminated cards with numbers and letters.

  “Does the thing even work?” Jessup asked.

  Terry snapped up a shield on a red button and pressed it as some motor or motors inside the box hummed and then kicked to life. Terry quickly pressed the button again to end the sound and then withdrew his fingers as the box snapped shut.

  “The man inside that wall,” Jessup said, gesturing in Moses’s direction, “Longman, whatever the hell his name is, that’s the one who wants it, right?”