"Wait, can we do that?"
"Dunno," Will said.
"Fucking Gabriel," she said, kicking up some sand.
"Mhm."
"We should clean this up or something, shouldn't we?"
"Dunno."
"Okay, well," she took a deep breath. "Call Stuart and get him to send a team out here to pick them up. Have Branch incinerated, but not Demoreo. We'll hold a memorial service for him in the arena."
"Kinda weird, innit?"
"Just take care of it, please?"
"Alright, alright, fuckin' hell, woman."
Epilogue
There was a chill in the air unlike Bran had felt since before the fallout. A few of the more science-minded folk in the town had predicted that the chill would return, that all of that junk that wound up kicked up and into the sky would block out the sun for a while and leave them all cold, but that it'd fall and the warmth would return. The warmth returned, but now the cold of winter was returning and it felt obscene after all of that sun and heat. It wasn't like Bran didn't know the cold, growing up in the Rocky Mountains and all, but he never expected to feel that chill again and be struck with such fear. Lots of folk would die if the winter came. They weren't ready for that yet; they had just finally secured their own borders and built up a perimeter that they could manage.
Bran rubbed his gloved hands together over the barrel next to him, the fire simmering inside of it. Tonight was his watch shift and the first night in ages that he'd seen his own breath. No one had said much about it, just a few shrugs and groans. One thing at a time, Jeb had said. Jeb was a smug motherfucker, but he hadn't failed them yet since he took over from Valentina. She was still bitter about it. But what's fair is fair, he supposed. There was a vote, and most wanted to follow Jeb over her. Jeb wanted to stay put, to build something of their own, to start over. Valentina and her group wanted to keep moving, find somewhere more suitable.
There was a sense in that, no doubt, but most of 'em had lived in Colorado their entire lives and weren't keen on picking up and leaving, on letting the world win out and break their spirits. Bran understood the sense in rebuilding. He was born and raised in Grand Junction and wanted to see it alive again. They weren't hit hard by a bomb like Denver was, but the shock wave still decimated the city. What was left is where they were camped out, with makeshift walls built up around what was probably about a square mile of land right by old I-70.
He shook while staring out into the night. The haze still hung overhead, just like it had since the day the bombs dropped, but the moon and a few of the stars still broke through and were visible at times. So much for those dreams of space travel, there was no hope of seeing the universe now, it was all science fiction and the Earth would be humanity's tomb, that much made sense to Bran. The shakes died down a bit; he wasn't sure if it was from his diabetes or just the cold. Before everything went to shit, he suffered from diabetes, pricking himself and testing his blood all day to make sure his blood sugar was in order.
After the fall he couldn't find any supplies or insulin, just had to hope that everything would be alright. His doctor had always told him that his diet was shit and that he needed to drop some weight, but that all seemed like a bother at the time. He wasn't even recognizable now, losing what he reckoned was north of seventy pounds and was eating anything that they could get their hands on. They had been growing their own crops for the last few seasons, but the rocky soil wasn't exactly great for farming much. At least there were some peaches and cherries from the summer still left over. He liked them quite a bit, especially compared to the rest of what they had.
At least it was a quiet night. His last watch there was a group of raiders that tried to breach the west wall by climbing over it. There was a firefight that lasted for at least two hours before the shooting stopped. In the morning they went outside of the walls and found two men dead and a third bleeding out, Valentina putting a bullet into his skull, which upset Jeb something fierce. Jeb wanted to get something out of them, to find out where they were coming from and if they could make peace, but she was an ice cold bitch and just killed him in cold blood.
A shiver ran down his spine thinking about her. No one knew much about her, just that she was definitely Russian, with a thick accent and a cool demeanor. Definitely wasn't one of the folk from Grand Junction, maybe from Denver? She never said much about her past, though, which never bugged him much. A faint roar of an engine stirred Bran from his reverie, turning out towards the highway where he saw a faint light in the distance. Bran rummaged through his stuff for his set of old binoculars, looking out and seeing a lone motorcycle racing towards the west wall.
"God damnit," he muttered.
The bike came closer towards the wall, a sinking feeling in Bran's gut remembering the last assault on the wall from the raiders. This was supposed to be an easier night, one where he didn't have to shoot at anyone while avoiding being shot himself. The diesel generator next to him hummed louder when he flipped on the floodlight next to him, pointing it towards the road while the rider got closer and closer. Eventually he was right down in front of the wall, stopping and leaning against his left leg.
"Stop right there," Bran called out as loudly as he could, having to clear his throat. "Who goes there?"
"Just passing through," the rider said.
"Well, you can't come through here," Bran said, turning the light towards the man, who raised his gloved hand over his eyes. Entirely clad in leather, a few weapons visible on the bike and a tarp strapped onto the back of the bike. "This is our home."
"You built your home on the fucking freeway," he said. "Not sure how I'm supposed to get around you out here in the woods and hills."
"Oh, well... Fuck," Bran scratched his head. "Just turn around?"
"I'm headed east," the rider said. "I'd rather not."
"There's nothing out there, man."
"That's for me to see with my own eyes," he said.
"I mean, my hands are tied, I can't just let you in," Bran said. "Why not head over to Branch Tower? I hear there's plenty for everyone there."
"Can't," the man said. "I killed him."
"Yeah well..." Bran paused. "Wait, what? Who?"
"Branch."
"As in Jordan Branch?"
"The one and only."
"Bran," Valentina's voice came from behind him. He turned and saw her standing there, smoking a cigarette standing by the gate controls. "Let this man in."
"Well look, Val, I dunno if Jeb would want that and all after the last time..."
"Let him in," she said, staring coolly up at him.
"Well fuck," he said. "Alright. Hey, stranger, I'm opening up the gates, you just gotta promise to be gone by morning, alright?"
"Whatever it takes," he said.
Bran nodded down to Valentina, who flipped the switch on the gate controls to unlock it, while Bran walked over to the crank and started to turn it. Slowly at first, but picking up speed with each rotation as the gate slowly ascended. The gate clicked into place and the rider walked his bike in through the gate, favoring his right side while he walked, Bran unsure if that was him putting on a big show to lull them into thinking he wasn't gonna cause no problems or what, but he kept a watchful eye on the horizon just in case. Bran made sure to quickly close the gate behind the man before clambering down and flipping the lock switch. Valentina was standing in front of the rider, taking a drag from her cigarette.
"So this is the man that killed Jordan Branch."
"What about it?" He asked.
"I heard that he fell out of the window while drunk," she said.
"No."
"Innnnteresting," the word rolled off of her tongue. "So you were there?"
"Suppose so."
"What reason would you have to kill such a man?"
"He tried to execute me in his little coliseum thing," the rider was still favoring his side, slightly grimacing in pain, either at a memory or an old wound.
"Ah, so you are the
rock star?"
"Action hero," he said. "Big difference."
"My mistake," she said.
"Hey Val," Bran said to her. "Shouldn't we go get Jeb, you know, tell him 'bout this?"
"Do as you wish."
"It's just, this was my watch, and we weren't supposed to let no one in and—"
"I don't want any trouble," the rider interrupted. "I can trade some bullets for gas, maybe some food and be on my way."
"The great action hero of the wasteland simply on his way?" She let out a laugh.
"Like I told him," he nodded up towards Bran. "Heading east."
"Without finishing what you started?"
"What?"
"What would you say if I told you," she took a drag from her cigarette, "that he's not dead."
"Bullshit."
"What are you two goin' on about?" Bran asked, coughing from the smoke of Valentina's cigarette.
"Nothing," she said, flicking the cigarette to the ground and stomping the life out of it. "Just informing my new friend here that his work isn't done yet."
"My work?" The rider asked.
"You really didn't know about his neural network? About his backups?"
"Backups?" The rider's face was rife with disgust.
"Finish what you started, Mr. Gabriel."
About the Author
Kieran inhabits the desert wastelands of the southwestern United States, his fascination with Mad Max as a child turning into an obsession growing up.
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The real heroes are never the ones from the movies, always the people fighting for what they believe in and the people they love. Those are the stories he loves.
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The Endsmouth series.
Inferno on the Hill
The Tower
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The Tower Page 24