Hell Road Warriors

by James Axler

  “This is the 61!” Six shouted. “Cyrielle says we take it north for about five kilometers! It will take us to the Trans-Canada!”

  Ryan and Six maintained their sodden vigil. The 61 turned into the Trans-Canada. Since the hard freeze killed almost all plants except the trees, nothing had been able to take root and rip up the highway. The roadway was cracked and raddled. A few rusted-out hulks of ancient wags blocked the road here and there, but mostly the lanes of the highway were wide and clear.

  Ryan nearly went flying as Krysty slammed on the brakes. Six slipped down the side of the tarped pallet and sat hard on the trailer bed. “Merde! What’s wrong, lover!”

  Ryan stared.

  The ancient road sign sagged on its one remaining support. The green paint and white lettering had long ago faded. New lettering had been painted on it in letters three feet tall. A sentence ran from edge to edge in bright red that was running like blood in the rain: RYANS WOMAN IS A MUTIE.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Engineering LAV

  Seriah spoke quietly after the lovemaking. “Is it true?”

  Jak tensed. “Krysty?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.” Jak’s ruby-red eyes burned into Seriah’s brown ones in the light of the single candle. His voice turned ice cold. “Problem?”

  Seriah flinched. “No. I…I ain’t got no problem with muties, but a lot of people do. Val-d’Or prides itself on being rad free, mutie free …” The little wrench’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Clean.”

  Jak stared up at the steel ceiling. He had a congenital condition rather than a Deathlands-induced mutation, but he suspected he wouldn’t have seen five minutes of life if he had been born in Val-d’Or.

  The rain hadn’t stopped. The convoy was circled in the parking lot of a ruined mall, which had turned into a field. Krysty hadn’t left the sleeper cab of the semi. No one in the convoy had dared broach the subject to Ryan. The one-eyed man had silently taken his and Krysty’s supper from the chuck wagon and joined her. Jak was pretty sure Ryan considered the matter closed until someone was stupe enough to bring it up to his face. But both Ryan and the semi were getting a lot of long hard looks. The rainy weather hadn’t done Yoann any favors, and he had slumped back into fevered unconsciousness. Cyrielle hadn’t left his side. Six had taken de facto command to get the camp established. His orders had been obeyed, but he received sullen looks and muttered insults behind his back that no one would have ever dared before. Jak had been giving the big man some thought. “Six?”

  Seriah giggled, glad for the change of subject. She shifted her body in the two zipped-together sleeping bags to snuggle in closer. “Jak, I swear you talk less than Boo Blacktree.”

  “Like him,” Jak acknowledged. Blacktree had been as silent as a stone since the eagles had carried away Donnie Goosekiller.

  Seriah nuzzled the long line of an ancient knife wound that raddled Jak’s ribs and changed the subject. “You have a lot of scars.”

  “Some have more,” Jak said finally.

  “Bet they do,” Seriah admitted. “But I like kissing yours.”

  Jak’s muscles tightened involuntarily as Seriah began tracing battle lines old and new that crisscrossed Jak’s body with her tongue. He forced out the name at hand again. “Six?”

  Seriah stopped and was quiet for several moments. Her hand strayed south and gave Jak a squeeze. “You know I like you?”

  “Can tell,” Jak groaned.

  Seriah’s voice went deadly serious. “I’ll tell you. Old Vinny is about as bad as they come. He’d give you a nasty run for your jack. Your one-eyed, chilling friend Ryan don’t want to meet up with Six on a dark night in the woods. Mace Henning’s been offering shiny silver coins for one of Vincent’s ears to any and all for years now. Six ain’t nice but he’ll get you through. He was a wandering sec man like Mace Henning back in the day. But the day Baron Toulalan hired on Six, Val-d’Or just kept getting stronger and better organized, and Six found a home. Swore his allegiance. Six loves that old man, and that old man loves him.”

  “And betrayed him? His son? Convoy?” Jak asked.

  Seriah was quiet again. “I can’t imagine it.”

  “Someone did.”

  Seriah shuddered. “I know.”

  All Jak could do was hug her closer.

  “I’m scared,” she said.

  “Six wants Cyrielle.”

  “Everyone knows it.”

  “Wants Mildred.”

  “He wants Mildred because he can’t have Cyrielle, and he ain’t seen nothing that dark and pleasing in Canada in quite some time.”

  “He want you?” Jak asked.

  Seriah tensed slightly. “He made it known, a while back.”

  “And?”

  “He coulda took it. No one would’ve stopped him.”

  “And?”

  “I was saving it for someone special. He let me alone.”

  “Your special,” Jak asked. “Chilled?”

  “Yeah, during a raid. Few months back at the start of the thaw.”

  Jak slid a hand across Seriah’s belly. “Now you’re pregnant.”

  She flinched beneath the blankets. “You can’t tell anyone!”

  Jak shrugged. “No secret soon.”

  “Promise!”

  Jak pulled Seriah closer and breathed in her hair. “Promise.” He cradled her head closer to look at his chron. “My watch.”

  Seriah gave Jak another squeeze down low. “Stay.”

  Jak clicked his com. “Ryan.”

  Ryan came back instantly. By his tone of voice he wasn’t happy and hadn’t been sleeping. “Jak.”

  “Switch watches?”

  Seriah squeezed a little lower and elicited another groan out of Jak. Ryan made an amused noise. “No problem.”

  Jak clicked off. “Four hours.”

  Seriah kneeled up out of the sleeping bags and presented her hindquarters to the young warrior. “Make ’em count, Jak.”

  Jak rose and cracked his knuckles. Seriah giggled.

  RYAN APPROACHED SIX through the rain. The sec man was wearing a poncho against the downpour. He occasionally brought up a pair of the precious few night-vision goggles they had and examined the terrain around them. Ryan wore his long coat, and his scarf was draped over his head to form a voluminous hood. “Six.”

  The man didn’t turn. “Ryan.”

  The Deathlands warrior got to the point. “Do I have a problem?”

  Six tossed off a shrug. “You have brought mutie filth among us.”

  Ryan just managed to keep his panga in its sheath. “And?”

  Six shrugged again. “You are our war chief, upon the water and upon the land. All have seen your prowess in battle and know your wisdom.” Six sighed philosophically. “It will take a disaster or two more before the convoy starts to turn on you, and her. I would keep her out of sight.”

  “I won’t do that.”

  Six looked at Ryan for long moments and shrugged again.

  Ryan’s eye narrowed. “What’re you thinking?”

  “There is a creek on Cyrielle’s map, not far from here. It leads back to the Superior.” Six pointed north. “I think it would be best if I took a canoe and left.”

  Ryan felt the cold in the evening breeze and rain. “Doubt you could make Val-d’Or before winter without a wag.”

  “I could winter on Manitoulin. Baron Poncet is always looking for good men.” Six slowly shook his head. “Perhaps I would stay on come the spring.”

  “Stay here. Your people need you.”

  The massive shoulders sagged. Six’s voice almost broke. “I’m not trusted anymore.”

  “Well—” Ryan tosse
d a shrug of his own “—Doc trusts you.”

  Six almost smiled. “Yes.” He sighed and looked at Ryan frankly. “Is he truly mad?”

  “It comes and goes, less often in days gone by, but I wouldn’t call him crazy.”

  “Oh, and what would you call him?”

  “Loyal,” Ryan replied.

  Six turned his gaze back upon the darkness and slowly nodded. “Yes, indeed.”

  “But if you’re looking to hang a word on it, I’d call him damaged.”

  Six nodded and went back to staring out into the dark, wet night.

  “Who do you think betrayed us?” Ryan asked.

  “You do not think it was me?” Six countered.

  Ryan had considered his answer. “I’m betting it wasn’t you.”

  Six was silent for long moments. “Someone knew the Queen’s defenses and had the skill to sabotage them. That same person has been giving away our positions, and dispositions. I suspect they left a Diefenbunker radio for Mace to find with a secret frequency to use.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “I do not believe it was Yoann or Cyrielle. If they wished to cut a deal with Mace, they would just do it. If it were myself, I would simply give him the location of our prize, leave the convoy, receive the reward and take service with him. I’ll tell you that I have eliminated you and your friends as suspects. I don’t suspect young Hunk or any of his islanders.”

  “Anyone high on your list?”

  Six glowered balefully into the dark. “Sebastien is high on my list. As a sec man he is rash and quick to trigger. He resents the fact that I haven’t promoted or rewarded him as he thinks he deserves. I chose him for the convoy and put him on LAV duty because he is a good wag driver.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Six’s voice went low as if now he thought someone might be listening. “Boo Blacktree.”

  Ryan had to admit he was surprised. “Really?”

  “He and Goosekiller were issued a radio unit. He is a free-scout. I was a free-blaster once. Scouts and sec men need to find a home before they die alone in the cold. Goosekiller hadn’t a devious bone in his body. Blacktree is deep.”

  “He fought hard on the Queen.”

  “He killed stickie men, mutant filth, and rewards require risk. Listen, Ryan, whoever is betraying us doesn’t yet know our final destination or the prize. If they did, Mace would have jumped ahead of us for it, or the final battle would have been joined.”

  “Anyone else you want to point your finger at?”

  “Tamara.”

  “She fought awful hard at the Soo Locks.”

  “She has the requisite skills, and Mace needed Thorpe humbled before he could recruit him as an ally. Besides she was born in Mace’s territory, and why be the armorer of a ship when you can be an armorer for the baron of all of Canada.”

  “You don’t trust much, do you?”

  “I trust you, Ryan, to do whatever you have to for your people. Even if it means your life. I respect that, but it doesn’t mean I trust you to do what is in Val-d’Or’s best interest.”

  “And I trust you to do what is best for Val-d’Or, not necessarily what’s best for me and my people.”

  “Then we understand each other, Ryan.” Six shrugged. “However, if it makes you feel any better, I trust Doc implicitly.”

  Ryan smiled slightly. “You and me both.”

  “GO AWAY, DOC!” Krysty’s snarl from inside the sleeper cab was low and full of menace. Doc stood outside in the morning rain feeling foolish. He waved the trencher board he held at the tinted glass of the sleeper cab’s porthole.

  “It is the last of the pancakes. I have covered them with my kerchief, but if you do not open your door they will be cold and sodden in but moments.”

  No response came back.

  “Young Hunk Poncet has sent along a pot of hawberry jam with his compliments.”

  “That’s because he’s young, dumb and wants a piece of scarlet pussy.”

  Doc recoiled. He had seen and experienced more degradation than he cared to think about in this new world he found himself in. Women using uncultured language still shocked him. He sought about his mind for a response. “Well, who does not?”

  Doc blushed furiously, then was horrorstruck at the comment. Dread silence met his remark. He was surprised to see the passenger door open. Krysty had a smile that could light up an entire ville when it was genuine, and she favored Doc with one now. “Doc, that may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Even in these perilous times I think it best to let the truth be known though the heavens fall.” This elicited a smirk out of Krysty. Doc held up the steaming, kerchief-covered platter of food. “Please accept these pancakes in the spirit of love, respect and affection with which they are presented.”

  “I’ll accept your pancakes, Doc. With love, respect and affection.”

  “I am immensely gratified.”

  “Gratitude is all mine, Doc. Thanks.”

  Doc basked in happiness as Krysty took the food.

  “Doc?”

  “Yes, Krysty?”

  “You’re standing in the rain.”

  “Oh, well, yes, so it seems,” Doc blustered. “Thank you.”

  “Doc, get out of the rain or put on a poncho.”

  “Right you are! Bless you!” Doc spun on his heel and strode toward the tent in the middle of the wag circle. He followed the smell of coffee. That the Diefenbunker coffee bags were growing low and limp was of great concern to the whole convoy. Despite coffee’s lack of nutritional value, no one was in any hurry to go back to pine needle tea.

  Ryan, Six, Cyrielle, Hunk, J.B., Jak and Boo Blacktree were having a strategy session. Doc craned over the crouching council.

  Cyrielle didn’t like what she was hearing. “It sounds like suicide.”

  Ryan was adamant. “It has to be done.”

  “We have only two motorcycles left,” Six said.

  Jak had to agree. “Cycle noisy. Land open. Hard creep. Sentries’ll see.”

  “Then we go on foot,” Ryan said. “We’ve got to shake them off before we get to where we’re going. If we take their fuel, I bet Thorpe will call it quits. Even most of Mace’s men won’t want to keep heading west with no juice. They’ll head back for the Lakes on fumes and paddle back for the locks to beat the freeze.”

  “You and Six taught them to keep a loose tail,” J.B. cautioned. “On foot? What if you miss them? For that matter, how are you extracting without getting ridden down?”

  There was only one choice as far as Ryan could see. “Steal one of their wags, or cycles.”

  Six scowled at the map. “Many ifs.”

  Hunk shook his head. “Don’t like it.”

  “You need horses,” Doc suggested.

  Everyone around the council circle was silent.

  “Not many people keep horses,” Cyrielle said.

  “Mostly people just eat ’em,” Hunk added.

  “They are very expensive to keep during the winter,” Six agreed. “Most keep dogsleds, skates and skis for the freeze, using the waters during the summer.

  Doc peered around. “There are horses in Canada, I gather?”

  “Mostly wild herds.”

  Doc raised a quizzical eyebrow. “None are domesticated? Not even in the western prairies? Say Alberta, Saskatchewan, pray, perhaps even Manitoba in which we are about to enter?”

  Everyone looked at Boo Blacktree. He’d been farther west in the country than anyone else. The huge scout slowly nodded. “There’s horse barons, out on the plains. Don’t have villes as such. Nomads. They take their herds north in spring. Fatten ’em up on green grass, clean water and have �
�em breed where there’s no rads. Then they head south come the cold. On the way they trade with villes. Horse-powered labor for ville folk to get things done before the freeze and horseflesh for them to smoke and winter on. Do that till they get back to their winter pastures in the Deathlands.” Boo looked up into the rain. “They’ll be headin’ south now. We head west, we gotta run into them.”

  Everyone stared. It was more words than Boo had spoken the whole trip.

  Ryan nodded. “Good thinkin’, Doc.”

  “Oh, well, it is nothing. I am sure any one of you would have intuited it.”

  “I need four for the war party,” Ryan said. “Who here besides my people can ride?”

  Six smiled as Fate continued to rain on him. “It has been a long time, but in my youth, I was a sec man for a trio of allied villes. They were wag poor, and each kept a small herd for postal riders and to be able to send out ‘dragoons,’ as Doc has mentioned.”

  Ryan didn’t envy the horse that had to carry Six. “Blacktree?”

  “Nope.” Boo shook his head. It was the first time Ryan had seen the big man look leery. “Been kicked by one, though.”

  “I believe by now I am an accomplished equestrian,” Doc said. “It was not so once.”

  “We’ll take Jak,” Ryan said.

  Doc deflated.

  “I was chattin’ up Tamara…” Hunk said.

  Ryan cocked his head at the young man. “Oh?”

  “Well, she mostly prefers you,” Hunk admitted, “but she was braggin’ that no man could outshoot her, outpaddle her, or outride her. Not sure what kind of ridin’ she meant. Not really quite sure what kind of paddling neither, but—”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Ryan said.

  Six nodded. “This is something Mace won’t suspect.”

  Ryan rose. “I want to keep it that way. Cyrielle, you’re going to collect every com unit. J.B., I want you to disable every radio except the one in our LAV. From now on it’s mirrors, hand signals and smoke till I say different.”