by Fore, Jon
He turned right, still leading Big Guy, even though Amelia was showing such promise with handling the horse. She had certainly showed herself to be responsible by taking care of both horses and the dog last night. But, until the need arose he thought it would be best to keep control of her horse, even one as docile as Big Guy. The smell of old manure, and then the high pitched stench of something more ominous reached them as they drew close to the stables. He knew there was dead horse flesh in there, and felt the rage rising in him again. A race horse, thrown away like a Marine Recon Sniper.
He found the gate, a wide rolling segment on wheels, and dismounted. There was a chain wrapped around the two fence poles, lengths of metal piping seated deep in the ground. He lifted the lock, a massive Master lock, and found it open. It was not snapped shut, as if whoever locked this part of the raceway had either forgotten or never actually locked it. However, the tang was lined up with the hole, and Gabriel wondered if maybe the last one out was in a hurry and only thought it was locked. But Gabriel didn't care. It was his luck, and that was all.
He unthreaded the chain and let it fall to the ground, then wheeled the gate open wide enough to allow them to pass on horseback. He returned to Lance and mounted. "I’m going to take us in to the side of the stables, then I want you to stay with the horses, okay?"
"Why?"
"I think there might be a dead horse in there, and you don't need to see that. I just want to grab some grain, if there is any good grain in there, and a better saddle for you if I can find one."
"Okay.” She said simply.
Gabriel wondered if the girl would ever have the confidence again to raise an objection, more less argue her opinion. He hoped so, but wasn't sure why. If the world had been spoiled to its end, why should he care? All that would come of it is they would both be dead, and no one could argue with that. The rage rose a little further in his throat and it began to take on a bile-like flavor.
He stopped the horses at the side of the stable, and Fug immediately began smelling around for the droppings he knew were there but couldn't find. Big Guy began ripping the scrubby brown grass growing around the edges of the building and the sandy walkway.
Gabriel dismounted and turned to Amelia, "Now, I need to know exactly where you are. As long as you don't come off that horse, I will. If you get down, I might think you are a monster moving around and try and shoot you. Do you understand?"
Amelia looked sad, but nodded her head.
"I'll be back in just a bit.” He said, feeling a strange mixture of annoyance and sadness for upsetting the girl, but there was nothing that could be done for that now. She had to come to grips with the world after all. It just sucked being the guy that threw it in her face.
Get over it, Marine.
The stable doors, looking much like any barn door, were open. Gabriel approached them slowly, listening for any sound of movement over that of the horses just a few feet away. He drew both revolvers, and held them low, near his hip and he angled himself on the doorway, searching the shadows. At the extent of the light, he could see a number of stalls lining both sides, their doors closed and creating a deeper darkness beyond. The stench of rotting flesh emanated like slow moving vomit. Gabriel couldn't smell that rotten potato odor, but then again, the rotting stench would probably have masked just about any other smell.
He stepped into the shadow, leaning into them, trying to become one of them as he searched for any movement. He froze there for long minutes, waiting for his eyes to adjust to even darker things. The walls, the stalls, even the straw scattered on the floor came into slow focus. The stench was nearly overwhelming, flooding his mouth in anticipation of throwing up the baked beans he shared with Amelia. He was not unfamiliar with the smell, just not close friends. That, and it had been a long while since they'd met.
He turned to find the door of the tack room. Hung in the center was an old decorative stirrup advertising this fact. He approached it walking backwards, keeping his guns towards the stalls. Only when he bumped into the door did he turn. Stepping to one side, he opened the door and swung it wide, whipping his gun back into position. There, in the center of the room, a man hung by the neck. It was obviously a suicide, because the corpse was still whole, but he was also the source of the fetid odor.
The man was no jockey. He was too tall, too round in the middle to be a jockey. Although, Gabriel was pretty certain some of that roundness came from the body’s decomposition. The man's face was prune like, black with a grey tongue peeked between Spanish olive lips. One shoe, a leather loafer, had fallen free and lay on the ground beneath the corpse, next to a step ladder that had fallen on its side. Just beyond the man were three saddles, all sized for smaller carriages and not western, but French. Any one of them would be perfect for the girl, but not carry much in the way of luggage.
He thought through the items in the pack saddle trying not to look at the hung man and decided he would have to leave too much. He gave the hanging man a wide birth and collected a saddle anyway, hoping he could put it on top of the pack saddle. Give the girl stirrups if anything, and something to hold her to Big Guy. It was light, which was good, and had a pad attached to the bottom. He took this to the open doors and tossed it outside trying to spare his vision.
Back in the tack room, he smacked and smelled bag after bag of oats until finding one that didn't smell too bad, even with the stench of rotting suicide. He hefted this, fifty pounds of grains, and carried this to the horses. He dropped it flat, then using his knife cut a neat 'H' into the side and splayed it open for the animals.
Smelling the grain, they came immediately and ate hungrily. Gabriel didn't know if it was bad to over feed a horse when it had been starved, but he would be damned before taking the food away. Both animals nuzzled and munched the grain, each ignoring the other.
Gabriel helped Amelia down, and put the saddle on top. He threw the belts over and using the last hole was able to cinch the saddle tight. It looked stupid, but who was going to give him shit for that? He tightened the stirrups to the highest setting and help Amelia mount again. She fit perfectly, and was able to lift her bottom from the saddle if they had to go at a trot. In the end, that was what he really wanted.
Then he caught movement, just a flutter out of the corner of his eye. He spun, drawing his weapons and stared at the stable's door. Amelia gasped shortly, then covered her ears with cupped hands. Gabriel kept staring. He knew there was motion, movement, but couldn't see what moved. He stared for so long he had almost convinced himself it had been nothing when the eye opened slowly, then closed again. He saw only the one eye, but knew right where the thing was. One of those damn lizard monsters that liked to report, somehow, where he was.
He took his shot, one to the left of the eye, the other to the right. It was the one on the left that hit living tissue, and the thing fell from the doorway, striking the ground in a sandy puff. Gabriel fired two more times, striking the thing with two more lethal shots. He spun, scanning the area around them. They had been sighted again, and if they weren't here now, they were coming.
After a few long moments he decided they weren't, yet, and mounted.
He counted heads; two horses, two riders, one butt ugly dog. "We are going to have to move a little faster now. We will head north a bit, then cut back south."
"What was that?” Amelia asked, pointing at the slender form still slithering in its death throes.
"It's a scout. It looks for things and then calls other monsters to come. We have to get out of here before they get here."
He turned and headed Lance off at a trot. Big Guy kept pace, but he wouldn't be able to for long. The horses had eaten most of the grain, but now they were trotting. Exhausted and worn, starved and now over fed, and Gabriel was making them trot. But there was nothing else he could do. They had to get out of there... fast.
Exiting the parking lot, they took a loop of roadway, not having anything soft to run the horses on, and up Route 9 North. He would go up about a m
ile or so, then swing east, then south again. Make a loop of his escape and hopefully lose whatever might be chasing them.
With as much skill as he could muster, Gabriel reloaded each revolver using one hand, and at nearly a full trot.
Chapter 26
The Kerosene only lasted a couple of hours, and after some consideration, they decided to move on. The heater wasn't exactly portable, but even with his backpack, Jackson refused to leave it behind. In his left hand he carried the remaining fuel, in the right he carried the heater by its recessed handle. It was still warm--hot in some places--but he didn't give a flying 'gosh darn' about that. There was no way he was leaving the heater behind.
None of them looked forward to walking whatever number of miles had to be walked between here and Freehold, where Jackson's junkyard waited. More importantly, where the other motorcycle waited, and perhaps another of the medallions. So they decided to 'borrow' another car. This time, Vega didn't bring up much resistance, and Jackson didn't seem to care either way. As long as he could bring his heater, he didn't care if he had to walk or not.
Maria selected an ancient, faded Chevy Nova, not for its speed or comfort, but entirely for its ease of hot wiring. It smelled of dry rotted grass and plastic, the back seat nearly worn to bare metal springs. The roof lining hung as if pregnant, the dashboard surface cracked like desert canyons, but on the right of the instrument panel was a fuel gauge pointing at the letter 'F'.
The old straight six engine bent to Maria's deft fingers, and rolled over with an old man's cough. When it started, it idled rough, but had enough room for everyone. This time, Jackson drove and Maria rode shotgun. Vega put the bags down on the back seat and sat on them. The glass and metal heater filled the floorboard on one side, which was nearly rusted through. Rusted enough to let Vega glimpse some of the blacktop rushing by whenever the light reflected just right. It was disconcerting to see the rough surface flash in the random reflection of light, speeding under her that way, so she tried not to look. On the other hand, she wasn't sleepy at all, in fact she was excited to be so close to the next step. It had been about a month, after all, and Jackson said they were only an hour away.
Vega filled her time by staring out the window, catching glimpses of ruined buildings, burned buildings, warped and uprooted street signs, and cars. Lots of abandoned cars. No people, though. It wasn't just the cars that were abandoned, but the entire town, if not the state. Beyond that, there were no stray cats, dogs, or even birds in the air. The trees had let go their leaves in what Vega was sure had to be their death. Not a false fall, nothing as hopeful as that. The trees were just... dead.
Everything, dead.
Out the right window, a yellow cement wall began to rush by. It was tall, maybe fifteen feet high with rebar hooks lining the top. The first thing to come to Vega's mind was a prison. It had to be a state prison, one this size. Then she realized the rebar hooks were pointed outward, as if to keep people out. "What's that?"
"What's what?” Jackson asked.
Maria seemed to have dozed off, something humming radials tended to do to Vega.
"This wall to the right? Is that a prison?"
"No, it’s some military base. Don't know what it is, and I ain't never been in there."
Vega wondered if that might not be a safe haven, a place they could go to when they collected the amulet, and this books somewhere further north. If the base held, they might even have setup facilities for refugees. It would be a butt ton safer than sleeping under the stars, that's for sure. But then again, she was an AWOL soldier in uniform. If they did go there, she would have to change cloths at least. They would ask her for ID, and she would have to lie and say she didn't have any, give a false name or whatever. She was, after all, currently a felon. A felon cop on top of that. Go figure.
The yellowish wall gave way to more trees and a set of ancient railroad tracks, rusted even in this muted light. These gave way to more trees and a chain link fence.
"Over there, I seen people doing war games once," Jackson said as if to himself.
"Yeah, looks like a good place to train forest combat."
"You been to them types of things? War games?"
"Yes. Even though women aren't allowed to fill combat roles, we train just as hard as everyone else." Vega lifted a cheek and slid over a bit to avoid what she was sure was a clip of ammunition under her.
"Funny they don't let you fight, ain't it?"
"Yeah, I guess so. One Sergeant explained it to me once as men aren't ready to see women wounded on the battlefield. That and a man might become reckless to save a girlfriend or maybe even a wife. That would be bad for everyone. Not that I agree, but I had trouble arguing that one." She thought she could argue it now, though, after all that happened.
"Yeah, I suppose that's true, boy-howdy. I know I would do anything to keep Maria safe. You too. Anything." He sniffed and cleared his throat.
Vega was sure he was running scenarios through his head where he had to do anything to keep Maria safe. Not her, but Maria, and it was bringing him to a sad place. Sad or scared.
"Why don't they just put you all in a group, so no men with the women and stuff?"
"I don't know. Someone would complain about that, I'm sure.” She said.
"Can't make'm all happy, can you?"
Jackson fell silent as the trees fell away to farm fields, young plants gone brown swaying as if a breeze was blowing. The fields eased into the blackness giving the place a rather spooky feel. Not like a ghost story that would scare kids, but the adult spooky where everyone was dead. That, or she was dead and it seemed everyone else wasn't. One or the other; didn't matter, the scene was spooky as hell.
With the headlights on high-beams, Vega could see for about a hundred yards in front of the car, and the road was barren. Ahead she could see the trees got close again, but she couldn't tell for how far. The denuded branches grasping and clutching at the sky, at the road, at the dead fields. They gave the impression of hunger, starvation, death grasping for some form of life saving nutrition, and even though Vega knew it was just her mind, a chill walked a slow stroll down the back of her neck. Then Vega wondered if she would ever see a time again where they weren't constantly afraid.
Then they were in the trees, and the darkness became nearly complete. It was not nighttime, but coming towards late afternoon. The trees made it feel as though night had come, come suddenly, and had come just for them. Vega was a little relieved when she heard Jackson make a muted sound, as if stifling a fearful moan. She was not the only one. It was a good thing Maria was asleep.
The trees broke as suddenly as they had appeared. More fields, more dead grasses or perhaps corn, and a crossroad with a single useless light. It swayed on its cable, but was entirely dark. Vega knew by the single lens that at some point, it used to flash yellow. On the right was some form of family owned restaurant, the darkness concealing the red lettered sign. Beyond the cross road was a mechanics shop. Solely because of the number of older tractors parked around the barn styled building, Vega decided they specialized in heavy farming equipment. On the left was nothing but fields, but ahead were more buildings.
These buildings were in some state of unmarred to obliterated, and everything in between. From perfect paint and trim and landscaping to a smeared debris field of house guts. Furniture, cupboards, clothing, pictures, paper among many other bits were just left to the elements with complete disregard. Then the next house would be burned down to its foundation, while another was simply marred with some scar in its facade. To Vega, it looked like a psychopathic tornado had ripped through here, but left the trees, which had just shed and died all on their own. The air smelled of the ruin.
"What a shame.” Jackson said, and made a clucking sound from his teeth. "This used to be a real nice town, Freehold was."
Vega didn't know what to say to this. It was ruined, after all. What remained looked as though it had been pretty, but there was no way she could actually tell. Still, she fe
lt for the big man and his ruined home.
"I grew up here. Long before the place got itself all busy. Used to be farms and small neighborhoods and that was about it. People came through on the weekends, on their way to the beach and such. Then one day people started moving in, and houses starting going up everywhere. Then came them strip malls. And cars, all the cars of the world came here to fill the streets. Now it's just all tore up and burned and all."
"A lot has changed, Jackson. Everywhere though, not just here."
"Looks like Newark to me," Maria said, not lifting her head from the car's seat. "Least the parts I knew, for sure."
Vega felt as though something was about to happen, like pressure building in a boiling pot. She wasn't sure if it was going to be bad or not, and perhaps it was just because they were close to the other amulet. It manifested as a vague anticipation, like she was about to go camping with her Pa again. This thought hurt a little, and when she saw Jackson's eyes in the rear view mirror, she knew immediately he was feeling her emotions again.
Three weeks ago, maybe two, this would have made her uncomfortable. Now, it was almost common place. It still surprised her. She still forgot they both could do it at any moment, but it didn't make her feel... violated any longer. She smiled her plastic smile at him and he stared for a moment longer before he returned his eyes to the road that was quickly becoming a town.
"It'll be alright, Vega. You'll see. I know this town better than anyone."
"So you feel it too?” She asked.