Refugees from the Righteous Horde (Toxic World Book 2)

by Sean McLachlan

  Roy, the owner of $87,953, raised his hands in the air, a big smile spreading across his dark brown face. His voice boomed out over the crowd. “Quiet everyone, quiet! The votes are tallied. Will the candidates line up in front of the bar, please?”

  Annette came around the bar and stood next to Charley Shibell and Frank Edgerton. Frank was $87,953’s other bouncer, a bear of a man who worked alternate shifts from Annette. He was a good friend and had gone on the ballot to make sure she wasn’t running unchallenged. That would have looked bad. Charley was a scavenger who had settled in the Burbs after the Righteous Horde had ravaged the countryside. He’d put his name in at the last minute.

  Another scavenger named Milos Artur, who had announced his candidacy the previous week by standing on the bar, dropping his pants and declaring he was from the planet Sedna and had arrived on a spaceship to bring illumination to the human race, wasn’t present. He’d been last seen outside of town talking to a large boulder. The wildlands brought forth all sorts.

  Roy produced a piece of paper, put on his reading glasses, and read aloud from a tally sheet.

  “The official count for the election of sheriff of the Burbs is in. I and three other observers, Ahmed Abd-al-Karim of the Burb Council, Assistant Mayor Marcus Callahan, and scavenger Yoon Iseul have checked and rechecked the figures. From order of least votes to greatest, the results are. . .”

  A snare drum tapped out a rapid tattoo. Annette looked around and saw the drummer was one of the regulars, a red-nosed man who owned a chicken farm a couple of miles away. Annette rolled her eyes. This was Roy’s doing. He had a cheesy sense of the dramatic.

  “. . . Milos Artur, zero votes.”

  Snickers from the crowd. The guy had forgotten to vote for himself.

  Another drum roll.

  “Frank Edgerton, 287 votes.”

  Frank shrugged and gave Annette a sidelong smile. Another drum roll.

  “Charley Shibell, 598 votes.”

  Annette looked at the scavenger with surprise. She thought Charley’s candidacy was just a protest or a way to get some attention. Apparently he had people behind him.

  “And the winner with the most votes, the candidate who will be our first sheriff of the Burbs is. . .”

  Another drum roll.

  Oh get on with it! Annette thought.

  “Annette Cruz with 1,670 votes!”

  The crowd cheered. Pablo jumped up and down beside her. She gave him a hug, and then shook Frank and Charley’s hands.

  “Speech! Speech!” the crowd called.

  “All right, all right,” Annette said. “First off, thanks for electing me.”

  “Thanks for calling an election,” someone in the crowd called out. “Even though I voted for you I didn’t want you shoved down our throats like those snobs in New City tried to do.”

  “None of that, please,” Annette said. “This marks a new chapter in the relations between the Burbs and New City. When the Righteous Horde attacked it changed everything. We all had to fight together to survive. . .”

  “Except for the Merchants Association, the selfish bastards!” someone else interrupted. An angry growl of agreement rumbled through the crowd.

  “Enough already!” Annette said. Yeah, they were right, but couldn’t they see she was walking a tightrope here? “There were plenty of mistakes made, but we have to move on. There’s a Burb Council now, and precedent for sheltering within the walls when there’s an attack. And now there’s a sheriff. For too long the Burbs have been a place where decent people can’t walk alone at night. Too many shootings, too many knife fights, too many rapes. That’s going to change.”

  The crowd applauded.

  “We’re going to be a city worthy of the name,” she went on. “So as my first act as sheriff, I’m calling on the Burb Council to raise money for a jailhouse. Before now we’ve banished or lynched the bad offenders and let the minor offenders go. No more. Even minor offenses will carry penalties. It used to be that if you stole an apple from the market you had to give two apples back. Now you’re going to have to do that and spend a day behind bars at your own expense. I’ll be writing up a list of offenses and punishments and posting it all around town.”

  She paused. Glancing at Ahmed and the other members of the Burb Council, she saw approval and worry in equal measure. She had just asked them to make their first municipal expense. They’d formed barely two weeks ago and had no funds and no means to raise them. Well, they’d just have to get more organized. She took a deep breath and made her second announcement, one she knew would further the rift between her and the citizens of New City.

  “As sheriff I’ve been granted to power to name two deputies, and any number of temporary deputies for emergencies. For my two permanent deputies I name Frank Edgerton. . .”

  There were murmurs of approval from the crowd. Annette tensed and continued.

  “And for my second deputy I name Jackson Andrews.”

  Silence.

  She glanced at Marcus and Clyde. The look on the two citizens’ faces wasn’t pretty. Many of the Burbs folk didn’t look too happy about her choice either.

  “Jackson?” someone asked. “You mean the Blamer?”

  Annette looked in the direction of the voice but couldn’t find the speaker.

  “Yeah,” she said, the word sounding limp.

  “He’s a convicted criminal!”

  “Who’s had his punishment. Under New City law, by the way, not Burb law.”

  “What, so you’re going to make Blaming legal now?” Marcus said. There was a threat in his tone that cut Annette deep. Marcus was a good man who had done her more than a few favors. Pablo called him “Uncle Marcus.”

  “No, but I want someone I can trust, and I can trust him. We went into the wildlands together, fought the cult together, and do I have to remind you of what he brought back for The Doctor?”

  That brought curious looks from the crowd. Clyde and Marcus didn’t reply. The medical pack Radio Hope had given Jackson had saved The Doctor’s life. That wasn’t general knowledge, though. The leaders of New City liked to pretend The Doctor wasn’t sick.

  Annette addressed the crowd. “I have two other reasons for naming him. First, he’s on the Burb Council, which guarantees he’ll be looking out for Burb rights. Also, he doesn’t buy into all this bullshit of one group being better than another. Citizens dump on associates who dump on scavengers who dump on the villagers in Toxic Bay.”

  A mocking voice came from the crowd.

  “Yeah, he likes them so much he even brought one into town. She stinks up the market every morning. Smells like an oil spill!”

  Jackson’s voice cracked through the air like a pistol shot.

  “Excuse me? Someone say something about my fiancée?”

  Jackson Andrews stalked to the center of the now-silent room. A lean man in his mid-twenties in a tattered gray overcoat still buttoned up from being out in the winter chill, his face was red with anger. The brand of a “B” stood out in livid white on his cheek, testament to his crime of placing Blame for the fall of civilization.

  “Who said that?” he demanded.

  Annette tensed.Great, his first act as deputy is to pick a fight.

  The room stayed silent. Jackson nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now if Annette’s done,” Jackson turned to Annette, who shrugged, “I have something of my own to say. You were all happy with this election because it showed we were independent from New City. Me being deputy ensures that. We’re not going to take orders from citizens.”

  “Aren’t they paying you?” a woman asked.

  “Good question. Now that I’m deputy, are you still going to pay us, Marcus?”

  The assistant mayor frowned at Jackson. “I’ll ask The Doctor.”

  “You do that. Now I think Sheriff Cruz has one more announcement.”

  Annette sighed.Oh yeah, that.

  She went behind the bar, took a rifle case down from a shelf and laid
it on the counter. Unzipping it, she pulled out a matte black sniper’s rifle.

  Annette paused a moment, running a hand along its lean, ergonomic lines. Then she turned to the crowd and raised the rifle above her head.

  “You’ve all heard about my gun. This is a Dakota T-76 Longbow. It fires .338 Lapua Magnum rounds that can punch through military-grade body armor at 1,500 meters.”

  Everyone looked at it with awe. It was the most advanced firearm in New City or the Burbs. She glanced at Clyde. The Head of the Watch was staring at it like most men stare at a naked woman.

  “When Jackson and I were out in the wildlands I took out three cultists with it. Jackson can back me up on that.”

  “It’s true,” he said. “She got one who was so far away I could only see him as a little dot.”

  Annette let out a quiet sigh of relief that he didn’t tell the whole story. She’d also killed a civilian, and Jackson was the only one who knew that. Well, except for maybe Radio Hope. Jackson’s knowledge was another reason she had named him deputy. She wanted to keep him close.

  “Part of my job as sheriff is to hunt down fugitives, and the cult leader who killed so many of our people and enslaved half the wildlands is a fugitive. Once I get a few things squared away here in the Burbs I’m going to set out with a posse and hunt that motherfucker down!”

  The roar that came from the crowd rang in her ears. Men and women, some still swathed in bandages from the recent battle, pumped their fists in the air and chanted her name. “Ann-ette! Ann-ette! Ann-ette!”

  Once the noise died down a bit, Clyde called over to her.

  “When it comes to that you got our full support. Equipment, weapons, whatever you need. Just ask. I know you can do it, Annette. One shot one kill!”

  The crowd roared again. Annette bit her lip.

  It will have to be one shot one kill,she thought.I only have one bullet left for this thing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jeb Buckley had weighed his options and decided his best chance for survival was to join a group of starving machete men as they fled the vengeance of New City. There were patrols out there, strong patrols of men and women with assault rifles and Kevlar, hunting down groups like his. Not that New City really needed to bother. The remnants of the Righteous Horde’s rank and file were all going to starve to death sooner or later. The group he was with hadn’t had any food for three days, and had been badly fed for months before that.

  All except for him, of course. He had been one of the Elect, a favored follower of The Pure One, proud bearer of a rifle and a full stomach, with captive women to warm his bed at night.

  No more. He had eaten the last of his food just before joining these losers, had hidden his rifle away under a rock after killing a lone machete man to grab his gear so he could play the part. Jeb had shaved his beard so they wouldn’t recognize him.

  Not that there was much danger of that. Nobody looked the Elect in the face.

  He knew this group wasn’t going to stay together. When he had joined them three days ago they’d numbered more than thirty. Infighting and pitched battles with other starving groups had whittled that number down to fifteen. So far they’d managed to dodge the patrols, but that wouldn’t last either.

  Still, it was the best option.

  What had his options been? He had made a list in his head.

  Option 1: Stay with the Elect and follow The Pure One on his mad crusade to wherever it took them next. Bad idea. Simmering resentments between the Elect and The Pure One’s bodyguard were bound to flare up sooner or later, and he didn’t want to be in that firefight. It would be worse than the assault on New City’s walls. Besides, even the Elect were running out of food and the only good source of it was the city that had just beaten them.

  Option 2: Become a turncoat and give New City some valuable information in exchange for his life. Tempting, except he had no idea what The Pure One’s plans were.

  Option 3: Surrender and throw himself on the mercy of the city they had just tried to pillage. Yeah, right.

  Option 4: Set off alone for the mountains and try to blend in with the scavengers. Hell no, not with so many hungry people roving through the countryside. It was only a matter of time before they started eating each other, and they’d kill him for his boots and coat long before that.

  He’d done the same with that lone machete man he’d come across. The guy didn’t have any food, but he did have clothes two sizes too big for Jeb. Those made Jeb look like he’d lost weight.

  So he’d joined this bunch of weaklings, a crowd of scrawny “warriors” who only managed to keep walking out of sheer terror of what would happen to them if they stopped.

  They’d accepted him with suspicion but no comment. His simple disguise didn’t do much to hide the fact that he was bigger than most of them and far healthier, but he was used to getting his way, one way or another. No one dared challenge him.

  Now they walked along a dry riverbed to keep out of sight of the open plains all around. They’d heard firing the night before. A New City patrol was close.

  Jeb stopped. He was walking in front and spotted the footprints of half a dozen people. The trail lead down from the side of the riverbed and went off in the direction in which they were headed.

  “Look,” he said, stopping and pointing.

  The others stared. It took them a moment to see what he saw. Hunger had made them careless.

  “We better turn around,” one said.

  “No, look,” Jeb said, crouching down. “Two of them are barefoot. They’re not New City. They’re Righteous Horde.”

  Everyone’s eyes lit up.

  “Maybe porters!” one said.

  “Hope so,” Jeb said. He was beginning to feel a bit dizzy from lack of food.

  They headed down the streambed, machetes and spears ready.

  They found them a mile further on, six ragged machete men resting in the sun. They leapt up when Jeb’s group came into view, fevered eyes startled, machetes raised. They had a large bag with them.

  The bag decided it. His companions charged forward, Jeb hanging back a little but not so much as to look like he wasn’t trying to help. Machetes swung down, spears thrust at thin faces and sunken bellies. The sickening sound of steel parting flesh filled the dry riverbed. Just as the last of the other group were falling Jeb lunged forward and cut down an already wounded man.

  He stopped, looked around as the blood dripped from his blade. His own group had lost only two, so that made thirteen surviving besides him. Two more had slight wounds. The loss of blood combined with their hunger would probably make them keel over soon enough.

  In the meantime, they had fourteen people to divide up whatever was in the backpack.

  They tore it open, desperate for whatever was inside.

  Blankets. Nothing but blankets. Everyone took one but that wouldn’t make any difference. Cold won’t kill you if you’re in a group. You can always huddle up at night and keep warm with the body heat of the people around you. But no amount of warmth would ease the ache in your belly.

  Jeb took the bag, now practically weightless for lack of anything in it. A canvas bag from the Old Times was worth trading for, and while none of these starving fools thought they’d ever make a trade again, Jeb was going to survive. He was going to make it to a hundred, and to survive in this world for seventy more years he was going to have to be resourceful.

  “Now what?” someone asked. He seemed to be asking Jeb.

  Jeb sighed, looked around. “This is the third fight we’ve been in with other groups and we haven’t found shit to eat. We need a new plan.”

  “What?” the man asked. His eyes were pleading, almost like a child’s. They seemed to say,Tell me what to do, I’m scared and I need to be told what to do.

  Weakling, Jeb thought.

  “It’s been almost two weeks since the attack. I bet New City’s farmers have gone out to their land by now,” Jeb said. “You got to maintain a farm.”

&
nbsp; “You suggesting we raid one?” Leonard asked. Leonard was the biggest of the group, nearly a head taller than Jeb with a broad chest, massive arms and a spray of brilliant red beard barely dimmed by a crust of dirt. He was the only one besides him with a bit of spirit left, and the only one who might cause Jeb some trouble.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Jeb replied.

  “They have guns, blockhouses!” another of the machete men whined.

  One of the men they had cut down moaned and rolled onto his side. Leonard pulled a clasp knife from his pocket and went over to him.

  “Yeah, it’s dangerous. We’ll have to take them by surprise,” Jeb said.

  “They’ll be on the watch. There will be patrols,” another complained.

  Leonard looked up from his work, his pants wet with fresh blood. “If we can dodge the patrols we can get in to one of the farms closer to New City. I bet everyone else has been running away from that area, so they won’t be expecting us.”

  The machete men looked doubtful. Jeb looked at Leonard.

  “I’m up for it if you are,” Jeb said. “Too risky to do alone.”

  “I’m in,” the big man said.

  “Let’s go then,” Jeb said. “Anyone want to go a different way, feel free.”

  Everyone followed him as he headed back down the dry riverbed in the direction from which they had come.

  Jeb had been a scavenger most of his life. When times got bad he’d stay in a settlement or hire out to one farmer or another, but he preferred his freedom and mostly lived out in the wildlands. His sense of direction was flawless. While all the meanderings and nighttime rushes away from patrols and larger groups of machete men had left the rest of his group hopelessly disoriented, he knew exactly where New City stood.

  The mountains to the east made a perfect guide. Judging from that jagged spire to the left of the broad triangular peak, they had about a day’s march due south to get in line with the furthest farms away from New City. Then they’d have to walk another half day toward the sea. Of course the outlying farms would probably still be vacant. Call it two days march in total, assuming these idiots could keep up. A couple of them were already lagging behind.