Joe couldn’t take his eyes off the black horse as it pranced around in a circle. Its coat gleamed like oil and its muscles rippled. The man atop the horse was dressed a navy blue shirt and shiny black pants with a red stripe down the seam. A black leather gorget covered his neck, shoulders and chest. He had the same red insignia for the Guardian Party on both the side of his helmet and on one of his sleeves: a seven-pointed red star with a white circle in the middle and a red bull’s eye inside. It was the exact same one on the Arbyter they siphoned the diesel from. More importantly, it meant the city wasn’t far away now. But that hardly fazed Joe at the moment.
He was more focused on the man on the horse, who was obviously some kind of soldier. Joe paid close attention to the rifle the man held. It was like no other rifle Joe had seen, but it looked like the kind Frank described as a S1 Corrector Assault Rifle. Frank said it could “spray” bullets and blow holes in a metal wall. Joe didn’t know what to do. He was afraid that very “spray” of bullets would happen as soon as the soldier spotted them.
He grabbed Mary and pulled her across the bench beside him so he could shield her. As he did, he looked at the soldier, who stopped and stared at them as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Joe saw his face and was ready for the worst. When the soldier lifted his assault rifle, Joe closed his eyes. He twisted his body in front of Mary, but for some reason it seemed like he was moving incredibly slow, and by the time he covered Mary it would be too late.
“Move over! Move over!” the soldier shouted.
Joe opened his eyes and turned his head to see the soldier flicking his rifle tip toward the far side of the road.
“Move over! Move over!” he shouted again.
Joe quickly sat back, pulled the reins, and led the horses across the road into a shallow ditch away from the soldier. At the same time, gaunt-looking prisoners began to file out of the forest. They were all men, and they wore dirty yellow clothes, and against their shoulders they carried picks and shovels. A few of them glanced at the wagon, and Joe saw the hollowness in their eyes.
Several more soldiers, or more likely guards, emerged on horses leading more dreary prisoners. The prisoners marched in the ditch beside the road while the guards rode above them with rifles ready to fire.
Soon, the last prisoner came out of the forest, and behind him rode another guard who had a rope tied to the back of his saddle, which dragged something still hidden in the trees. The rope was taut and quivering. Seconds later, it yanked a naked man by the neck into the ditch.
“Don’t look,” Joe said to Mary.
He didn’t know why he said that since she’d already seen worse, like those hacked-up bodies in that abandoned building on the plains. He even went so far as to shelter her eyes by pushing down the floppy brim of her hat. She was having none of it, though. She knocked his hand away as if to say he had no business doing that.
They both watched the body lurch and twist as it was heaved onto the road. The man’s flesh was shredded with cuts and gashes. His arms and legs jerked and bounced.
Joe sat motionless in the wagon. What else was there to do? Mary still sat right next to him. He felt her arm against his thigh. While they waited for the horse to drag the shredded man out of sight, Joe wondered if that kind of gruesomeness was only an isolated incident or if it gave a clue as to what lay ahead in the city. Then he realized it was useless to speculate. It only caused doubt. He tamped down his meddling imagination in order to stay focused. No matter what, he was going to charge forward.
When the black horse was only a smudge in the distance, Joe flicked the reins. The wagon lurched and lumbered forward. Up ahead, through the tunnel of trees, he saw a slowly expanding hole of light, and through it was the city, Chikowa, the place they’d been traveling to all this time, the place they’d endured so much already to reach. He couldn’t help but believe he was on the verge of fulfilling his mission of selling the diesel and getting the money his family needed to survive. They were that close now, just a little further.
PART TWO
CITY
Chapter 22
When they reached the edge of the hole in the forest, Joe stopped. The open gate to Chikowa loomed like a gaping maw beside brick pillars capped with turrets that shot above the treetops. Huge walls extended in both directions as far as Joe could see. He thought he’d be happy to finally reach the city, but instead he couldn’t move. Even seeing the sky again didn’t affect him. He hardly noticed. He couldn’t shake the reins to get Lester and Sam to walk forward. It was as if he knew it was a mistake.
Ahead of them were rows of barbwire spiraling along both sides of the road. Joe pulled his pocketknife out and hid it beneath the bench. This could be it, he thought. The wagon limped out onto the road between the coils of barbwire. In the face of the towering walls, Joe felt like a tiny mouse creeping out into an open field where a giant hawk circled above.
Before they moved too far, an alarm wailed across the clearing. It startled Joe so much that he halted the wagon, which was the wrong thing to do. Several guards streamed out of the guardhouse bedside the open gate. And from the rear, an armored Arbyter rumbled onto the road and pivoted behind the barrier to face Joe and Mary. The gun mounted on top was pointed straight at them. The dark rectangle windows in the cab looked like the eyes of some kind of demonic beast. Even at a distance, Joe heard it make a low grumbling sound. The whole production seemed like a lot to put on for one tottering wagon and two spindly teenagers.
The alarm ceased wailing and a loudspeaker blared: “Proceed immediately!”
All the commotion made Joe even edgier. He shook the reins and they rolled ahead. The wagon hobbled to one side. Above the guardhouse door was a sign that read, “Security is Sacrifice,” and off to the side stood two guards who held dogs. At the red and white barrier, Joe stopped the wagon. He hoped that was close enough. A couple of guards headed toward the wagon, one toward Joe’s side and the other toward Mary’s.
Joe felt his hand tighten on the reins and his face turn red. He thought for sure they’d take one look at him and know what he was hiding. It was all over his face. Thankfully, Mary did something very perceptive. She must’ve sensed how Joe felt. He didn’t know how she knew, but she did, because the next thing he knew she kicked his ankle to distract him. At least that’s how he read it. Why else would she’ve done it? When he looked at her, though, she just sat there like nothing happened.
“Holy cow, something stinks,” the guard said.
Joe turned away from Mary. The guard crinkled up his nose and fanned his hand in front of his face. He stepped back a few feet. Joe was surprised to see how old the guard looked. The creases all over his face resembled an unfolded wad of crumpled paper. He wore a black helmet like the guards on the road and the same type of uniform, except his shirt was steel blue instead of navy and his gorget was brown. He also held an S1 Corrector Assault Rifle with a strap slung over his shoulder and the muzzle pointed at Joe’s rib cage.
“What’s your purpose?”
“My girl’s breech,” Joe said. “I need a hospital.”
“Breech, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Bullshit. You got to be no more than fifteen. Kids always want to be older until they’re old,” he added, as if speaking to himself.
He motioned with his free hand at the guards holding the dogs and waved them forward. The dogs yelped and strained at their leashes as the guards led them alongside the wagon to the wood gate in back.
This was the moment of truth. The biggest test. Nothing could distract Joe right now. What if they sniffed out the diesel in the bundle? Last night he had gotten worried and scooped up some fresh excrement that Lester had dropped and smeared it all over the bundle of diesel until it stank. He hoped that would throw off any smell, but now he wondered if that would only make them more suspicious.
While the old guard continued to talk, Joe listen
ed to the dogs’ claws scraping on the wagon bed as they sniffed and rummaged around in what little was left back there.
“How do you plan to pay for a hospital?” the old guard said.
Joe didn’t respond right away. He was too focused on the dogs behind him.
“I said, ‘How do you plan to pay for a hospital?’”
“I have some money,” Joe finally said.
Joe wished he hadn’t said that. He wasn’t thinking straight.
“Where’s your folks?”
“PB got them. They’re dead.”
“You need to be inoculated.”
A dog barked. Joe flinched. He thought for sure they were caught, especially when both dogs started barking. But then the guards seemed preoccupied. They looked toward the forest.
“Criminy,” said the other guard who stood by Mary’s window. He was much younger. It was the first time he spoke. “It’s Fester,” he said.
That’s when Joe heard the creak and clank and clatter of some kind of wagon that must’ve been filled with junk. He also heard the faint yip-yip of a smaller dog. He was reluctant to look behind him because he didn’t want to do anything to upset the guards.
“Is everything alright?” Joe said.
“It’s just Fester,” the old guard said. “A junk man. He comes through here about once a week. Thing is he has a disease that makes him shout insults at you, only—”
The young guard butted in. “Only I don’t buy it. I think he just made up that disease so he can get away with calling us nasty names.”
“Anyway,” the old guard continued. “He’s a pain in the ass.”
Then someone spoke in sort of a high-pitched drawl. It must’ve been Fester. “Hi-dee-ho, boys.” His greeting was friendly enough, but it was followed by a string of profanity. “Ass sniffing crap cans.”
“Stop there!” the young guard shouted. “Wait your turn.” He muttered something in disgust and stormed off. “I said, ‘Stop,’ you stupid scavvy.”
“Hi-dee-ho, you ninny shit.”
The clanging and clattering continued.
“Stop! I swear I’m going to shoot you one of these times.”
“Calm down,” the old guard said.
“But he’s not obeying my authority. I’m within my rights to shoot him.”
“Stand down, alright. You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”
Joe finally turned his head to the side and saw two mules plod past the old guard and stop. Sitting on the wagon seat was an old man who Joe assumed was Fester. He was dressed in mismatched colored clothes and had a muffler of matted fur around his neck. Perched on his head was a pointy hat with a droopy tip attached to a little bell. Next to him on the seat was a shaggy little dog that yipped uncontrollably like a deranged windup toy. The other dogs continued to bark just as madly in return.
“Get those dogs out of here!” the old guard shouted.
The handlers dragged the yelping dogs away to the guardhouse.
“Here to sell junk as usual,” Fester said, then added, “maggot-pated jingle brains.”
The young guard pointed his rifle at Fester.
“Get off of there,” he demanded. “We’re searching you and impounding that vehicle.”
“Would you knock it off?” the old guard said.
“We’ve been letting him off too easy for too long.”
Fester interjected. “Routine, routine, you manky wazzacks. It’s all routine.”
“I’ve had it with you,” the young guard said.
“That’s enough,” the old guard said. “Go to lunch. Get. I’ll take care of this. Go eat the pie your old lady made for you.”
The young guard finally lowered his rifle and huffed toward the guardhouse, presumably to eat his pie.
Meanwhile, the old guard pulled a small hand-held device out of a pocket on his belt. The device had a lighted screen. Joe thought it might be a mobicom (Mobile Universal Communication-Information Device) or some type of scanner, the kinds Frank told him about. Fester stuck his arms out and peeled back his sleeve to reveal his wrist. The old guard held the device up and then tapped something on the screen.
“You’re clear,” he said and waved his hand for the barrier to rise.
As Fester clanked and rattled away, he hollered, “Toodle-doo, clod-noggin nut bucket.”
The old guard turned back to Joe. “Now with that nonsense done, let’s get this over with. Speak loudly and clearly.”
He ran through a series of questions until he had all the information he needed. Joe tried to answer the questions as quickly as possible without sounding like he was in too much of a hurry. He didn’t want the old guard to get suspicious and call the dogs back to finish the search. Joe knew they’d caught a lucky break when Fester arrived, and he didn’t want that luck to run out too soon.
After the questions, the old guard pulled out a small box that he plugged into the scanner. A few seconds later, it spat out two silverish-black discs.
“Fasten these to your wrists,” the old guard said. “They’re temporary until you get to processing and get your permanent tags.”
Joe took the temp-tags and put one on his wrist and the other on Mary’s. He was so relieved that they’d made it through and so eager to get going that he didn’t say “Thank you” to the old guard as they pulled away.
They were finally going into the city.
Chapter 23
Inside the gate, the wagon plunged into a dirt street crammed with ragged-clothed people and mule-drawn wagons and carts pulled by stooped men or children. To Joe, it felt as if they had been dropped into a pit of insects crawling and bumbling in every direction. Only they weren’t insects, they were human beings. Barefoot children in rags and sacks scurried in between the congested traffic. Other children stared blankly into space. Scraggly women shouted and squatted and shuffled around. These people were all dregs.
A woman with the front of her dress torn open screamed at a group of men who were laughing at her. A legless man on a wooden cart propelled himself on his knuckles while children ran out and rapped him on his head with sticks. The man didn’t even seem to notice. Then a girl in a frayed dress dashed in front of the horses. She raced along the side of the wagon next to Joe, followed by a scrum of shouting boys. Despite her grubby appearance, the girl’s face beamed with joy. Her blonde hair fluttered behind her. Her skinny legs kicked up the hem of her dress. Above her head, she held a long squirming snake, as if taunting the boys with it, daring them to catch her and take it away.
For a moment, Joe couldn’t get the sight of the blonde girl out of his head. The sheer delight on her face was startling in contrast to everything else. It made him wonder if Mary had ever been that way. She must’ve been at one time. She must’ve run like that blonde girl when she was a little kid. He imagined he was chasing Mary along the path that spilled out of the woods back home and led to the farm. He could hear her laughing ahead of him as he whooped and hollered, close on her heels. The scene was so vivid that he thought maybe it had really happened. Of course that was impossible. He’d never seen Mary until a few months ago. But there she was in what seemed like a memory. He couldn’t get over how much she was laughing. When he was about to grab her and tumble into the dusty grass, he heard something crack. It puzzled him for a moment before he realized it was the crack of a horsewhip.
They passed a squeaky cart driven by a man with a shaggy mustache over his mouth. He snapped his whip as if he expected action, but dragging the cart was a single mule that plodded along slowly with its head down. Beneath the mule’s thick collar was a circle of raw flesh. Joe’s vision of Mary was long gone now.
Besides the swarm of filthy dregs, there was a wretched smell Joe couldn’t get out of his nose—a smell of rottenness and feces and urine. It made his nose wrinkle. The stench came from ditches along the roadside full of mucky brown water strewn with trash and gunk. At one point there was a pump trying to force the muck somewhere else, but there was too much of i
t. Packed alongside the ditches, one right after the other, were small hovels made of scrap wood, plastic, and rusty metal. The only difference between them was the color of the wood or plastic and whether or not a tattered sheet hung in the doorway.
Joe couldn’t help but think that this grim existence awaited his family if he couldn’t get money for the diesel. Even though Frank had described the slums many times, the reality never truly sank in until now, until he actually saw it with his own eyes. He’d never doubted Frank’s word. It was just hard to imagine such squalor without seeing it. Although he knew their life on the farm was difficult, it was still nothing like this. But without the money from the diesel, they wouldn’t be able to survive on their dying land, and the only option left would be the slums. It was better than starving. At least that’s what Frank would say.
The wagon continued to totter and weave along the crowded dirt road. A train heaped with coal emerged out of the ground and slowly chugged above the mess of jagged roofs. Joe wasn’t used to so much noise. Every sound seemed to ring right in his ears. They rode by a brick building that had a sign across it that read “Health & Rations.” Dregs were pouring into the building with empty buckets and then pouring back out with buckets filled with sloshing water and what looked like some kind of root vegetable. Another building said “Day Labor Permits.”
In the distance, beyond the chaotic slum, he saw black buildings and smokestacks cut against the sky like burnt tree trunks. Joe suddenly realized he could see the sky again. He hadn’t really noticed before because his senses were too busy trying to filter through the barrage of new sights and sounds and smells.
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