by Rohan Healy
“Nobody talks about my family like that you disgusting fat fuck,” Maxen barked into his ear. The fat man gargled and spluttered as the life was slowly squeezed out of him, his windpipe being crushed under the immense pressure of Maxen’s powerful left hand. The fat man’s arms flailed impotently, firing off a number of aimless shots that ricocheted off the inside of the bar, one of which smashed a beer glass. His other arm bashed at Maxen’s chest weakly. The two other cowboys shook nervously not knowing what to do, totally immobilised with fear. Maxen grinned nastily and raised his right arm, which was now fully charged, firing the beam weapon over the shoulder of the fat man toward one of his lackeys slicing the poor man in half at the waist. At this point the music stopped and everyone in the bar looked on in shock at the violent scene playing out before them.
The remaining man then began to scream loudly and fire his revolver at Maxen, hitting the fat man who Maxen used as a human shield. Four, five, six and then click, click, click as the man emptied his gun into his former boss. He dropped the gun and Maxen dropped the now lifeless body of the fat man with a loud thud as his heavy corpse slapped the floor of The Rusty Anchor. Maxen laughed menacingly and brought his recharged arm up once again to fire. The patrons of the bar ducked under the tables as the terrified cowboy made a run for the door, preferring to risk death in the storm than face Maxen’s beam. But as he reached the door and grabbed the handle Maxen’s weapon fired ripping the man to shreds as well as blasting a large hole in the steel door itself. Suddenly the bar filled with sand as the storm whipped inside. People shouted and screamed as chairs and tables were sent flying across the room, glasses flew dangerously smashing on the metal walls and Maxen’s family portrait was sucked out into the killer tempest never to be seen again. The noise was deafening as Miles jumped over the bar and covered his head.
“What the bloody hell is going on down here,” shouted a familiar gruff and angry voice. Miles poked his head up to see the Captain running down the stairs, shotgun in hand.
“Who did this? Who messed up me Rusty Anchor?” the Captain surveyed the scene and quickly deduced what had occurred. Maxen stood there, his hands raised in surrender with the bloody body of the fat man at his feet.
“You! You unnatural scallywag comin’ into me pub, killing me customers and blasting a hole in me hull. Aye ye should have te dance the hempen jig for what ye did. Cur like you never learn. I’m afraid it’s the end for you me bucko.”
The Captain raised his shotgun to Maxen who had begun slowly backing toward the stormy door. Miles’ eyes widened in fear, ‘no, please no, Maxen!’ Miles watched on with anticipation as did everyone else in the bar as Maxen and the Captain faced each other unflinching. Maxen turned to make eye contact with Miles, he shook his head sorrowfully and mouthed the words ‘I’m sorry’. Then, suddenly, the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot. A puff of smoke blew out of the Captain’s weapon and travelled across the room to Maxen who turned to shield himself. But there was nothing he could do. The shot hit Maxen with a mixture of metallic pings and fleshy thuds as he was blasted out through the hole in the door into the violent storm, disappearing into the thick cloudy sand.
The bar was silent, save for the sound of the savage wind, as everyone began to slowly collect themselves and block off the opening with a makeshift barricade, using a table top to stop the wind. Everyone except for Miles that is. Miles shook uncontrollably on the floor behind the bar. ‘Maxen is gone, dead. I’m alone, all alone, on Gyaros, with no one. My only chance at survival just got shot out into a killer dust storm. This can’t be happening,’ but no matter how hard Miles wished this wasn’t happening, the fact is that it was. Miles spent a good fifteen minutes lying in the foetal position unable to move, then he noticed the storm die down significantly. The bar staff and patrons had been so busy clearing the dead and blocking the door that they’d forgotten about Miles. But now that those jobs were done the Captain poked his head over the bar and began to speak
“Now as fer you ye little rascal,” he said pulling Miles up by his hair, “you’re not welcome here no more, not after you and yer partner shunned me hospitality.”
Still holding his hair as Miles winced and shrieked, the Captain walked him out the back of the bar to another exit. He opened the back entrance and with a hefty kick, pushed Miles out into the back alley.
“And don’t come back!” shouted the Captain, slamming the door behind him. Miles stumbled and fell into a pile of garbage bags and sat there motionless. The storm had calmed down and was now no wilder than a regular windy day and the sky was pitch black as hours had passed in the bar and it was now the middle of the night. Miles covered his eyes to protect them from the dust that was still flying about, and painfully picked himself up. Dazed and confused he stumble along the narrow back alley until he found a stack of flat cardboard. He created a small makeshift bed for himself and laid his exhausted body down on the cardboard, his mind nothing more than a numb mess, and took some more cardboard that was leaning against a dumpster, placing it over himself like a blanket.
Miles had survived his first day on Gyaros. At least he had proved Candice wrong, he thought to himself deliriously as he passed out from sheer exhaustion.
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Chapter 12
Miles awoke the next morning to the scolding heat of The Dustbowl beating down on his sand covered face. He found himself laying on the hard red dirt of Gyaros in the narrow alley behind The Rusty Anchor where he had taken shelter for the night. With Maxen gone, Miles was on his own with no food and no money. He stood up, dusted the dirt from his clothes and began to think. If he was to have any chance at all of surviving another day, he needed to focus. His stomach rumbled. Having only eaten rat meat and a few savoury dough snacks since arriving - and that was after spending nine hours on a shuttle - food was once again the top priority. Miles recalled seeing rubbish bags and dumpsters in the back alley the night before and that, as repulsive an idea as it seemed, was beginning to look like the best option in terms of locating something to eat. ‘I need to eat, let’s get this over with.’ After a moment of hesitation Miles threw open the lid of the large steel dumpster which he had slept behind, the strong smell of waste hit him hard and he turned his head in an attempt to escape the stench. Taking a deep breath of clean air, Miles began to search for anything edible amongst the garbage. After rummaging for a minute or two through an assortment of used napkins, animal bones and some undetermined yellow rancid liquid, he found nothing fit for human consumption and decided to look for another dumpster. Miles cautiously made his way through the streets of The Dustbowl, which was busy and lively under the mid-morning sun, trying to avoid any interaction with the locals as he searched for something to eat. Before long, he came across what looked like a diner which he spied from across the street.
“Ransom's Fresh Meat,” read a large sign with letters made of rusted metal. Miles peered down the narrow lane beside the diner to find several black garbage bags, all of which looked quite full. 'If I'm going to find food anywhere, that is the place,' he thought and he walked as calmly as he could across the street towards the lane. He ducked into the narrow alley and, after checking that no one was looking, began opening one of the bags and rummaging through its contents. Miles shrieked and jumped back in horror upon uncovering a severed human hand amongst the trash. The arm was cut off just below the elbow and the pinky and ring finger were missing. ‘What the fuck? Why is there a hand in a garbage bag?!’ Miles thought to himself as he held the back of his hand over his mouth, trying not to be sick at the sight and smell. He quickly turned to run away but was confronted by a large, overweight man in a dirty grey vest, torn jeans and large brown work boots wielding a shotgun, his hair was thin and grey and he appeared to have several missing teeth.
“I-I didn't see anything,” Miles lied unconvincingly, his heart beating out of his chest.
“Yup you did,” said the man, pointing his weapon at Miles and looking down at the severed han
d. His pockmarked face winced as flies buzzed around his head.
“P-please, don't kill me,” Miles begged, thinking desperately for any words that might save his life, “there has to be something I can do for you!” The man stared at Miles for a moment before responding.
“Hmm, now that you mention it we could use an extra pair of hands 'round the diner,” he said, lowering his gun and shooing the flies, “Can ya scrub dishes?”
“Y-yes,” Miles stuttered, “of course.”
“Well then, here's the deal,” said the man, taking a few steps towards Miles and staring him straight in the eyes, “You keep yer mouth shut about what you seen here today, don't ask no questions and do as yer told, understand?”
“I-I understand,” Miles said nervously.
“Good!” said the large man, his big round face lighting up with a broad smile and his voice changing to a much friendlier tone, “I'll give ya food and a place to sleep, now get yer ass in here.” The man began walking back to the front of the diner and Miles followed. “I'm Gideon Ransom by the way,” he said as they walked.
“Miles Stanton,” Miles replied upon reaching the front door and the two men shook hands. ‘What the hell have I gotten myself into?!’
Gideon pushed open the large two way door and stepped inside. Like most structures of The Dustbowl, Ransom's Fresh Meat was built out of Talos shuttles and other salvaged materials, the main dining area was nothing more than a hollowed out husk of a shuttle with tables accompanied by two to four chairs by each window and a small counter at the back. The diner was quite busy with only a few vacant tables on either side. Behind the counter stood a skinny, pale skinned young man in his early twenties with dark brown hair protruding from a faded white cap complemented by thick sideburns, he was wearing a pair of dirty looking overalls with no shirt and looked a little like a younger, thinner version of Gideon.
“Jasper!” shouted Gideon as he and Miles entered the building, “this here's Miles, he's gonna be washin' dishes for us, show him 'round.”
“Sure thing, Pa!” Jasper yelled back as he leapt over the counter top energetically and made his way towards Miles.
“Now, my son Jasper here will help you get started,” Gideon said, patting Miles on the back before adding, sternly, “just remember, do what yer told and there won't be no trouble.” Miles nodded nervously before introducing himself to Gideon's son, Jasper, who proceeded to show him to the small scullery which was located in a second Talos shuttle along with the kitchen, some storage rooms and Gideon’s personal quarters. To Miles’ left as he walked into the scullery was a thick steel wall and a sturdy door that appeared to separate the scullery from where the food was prepared, and a freezer beyond that. To his right was Gideon’s office and personal quarters. Gideon went on ahead into the kitchen as Jasper showed Miles the ropes.
“This here’s the scullery, it’s where you’ll be workin,’” said Jasper scratching his chest.
At the sink stood a short man with a shaved head who looked to be about the same age as Jasper, cleaning a round steel plate with a wet rag. Miles noticed that his left index finger was missing and that by the looks of it he was a little simple. ‘Oh man, this is getting really weird, I just want to go home!’
“That's my brother Emmet, he don’t talk much so he ain’t gonna bother ya,” said Jasper, pointing to the young man who didn't even seem to acknowledge his presence, instead remaining entirely focused on the plate.
“You look like you ain’t eaten in a week man, here I’ll get Pa to fix you up something real quick. Can’t wash dishes on an empty stomach,” said Jasper and he ducked into the kitchen. Miles pulled up a large barrel with ‘pickles’ written on the side and took a seat.
“Hi Emmet, my name’s Miles. How are you doing buddy?” said Miles with a forced smile. Emmet just scrubbed away on the same clean plate, humming to himself and completely ignoring Miles’ attempt to start a conversation. ‘I could probably make a run for it now. But no, I should see how this turns out, they haven’t killed me yet. If this Gideon guy is telling the truth about giving me a job and feeding me I’ll just play it by ear. It’s not like I have any better options right now.’ An uncomfortable few minutes passed before Jasper came back into the scullery carrying a plate on which sat a big juicy burger in one hand, and a tall glass of fresh water in the other. Miles’ eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the mouth watering sight. This would be the first real meal he’d have consumed since his self-made lunch in the Yellow Districts a full two days earlier.
“Here ya go buddy, straight off the grill, this is Pa’s special,” said Jasper handing Miles the plate. The burger felt like it weighed a ton and smelled like nothing he’d ever smelt before, the aroma was intoxicating and Miles began salivating heavily. He could see lettuce, onion, a thick mincemeat patty, cheese, a pinkish sauce and tomato all squeezed between a soft bread bun. Miles bit into the burger and almost fainted, it tasted so good, and his poor hungry body literally growled in celebration.
“So listen up,” said Jasper, “ya take the dirty ones from here and put the clean ones over there,” Jasper explained as he pointed to either side of the sink, and as Miles took another bite of burger. He lied before to Gideon, he’d never washed dished by hand in his life, no one in the Green Districts did. They of course had machines for that so he carefully studied Jasper’s instructions.
“I'll let ya get to it then, when you’ve finished yer food that is. Enjoy!” he said, returning to his post at the counter. Miles nodded politely, his mouth full of food, and began rolling up his sleeves. He took the last bites of the delicious burger and swallowed down the large glass of water in a single gulp. He then took a small wash cloth from the side of the sink and started scrubbing the plates, bowls and cutlery. Meanwhile Emmet simply scrubbed that same white plate and hummed merrily next to him.
As he worked, Miles carefully thought about his next move. For the time being he had food and shelter, which is more than most new arrivals on Gyaros could say for themselves, but he knew that he'd have to stay alert. After all Miles did find a severed hand in the trash outside the diner. Was the rest of the body hidden in garbage bags too? Did Gideon kill whoever the hand belonged to? And if so, why? Maybe someone was causing trouble at the diner, maybe someone owed him some money or maybe he just felt like it! Whatever the case Miles could tell that Gideon wasn't the kind of man that could be easily trusted. But he wasn't going to ask questions, he knew that there wasn't much he could do at this point except work and keep his mouth shut, there was no time to even think about New Fortune or the possibility of returning to Carthage right now. He had food, water, and somewhere to sleep, he wasn't in a position to complain. All that mattered was surviving another day. Miles thought of Maxen, he felt a deep pain in his heart for the friend he’d lost the night before. ‘God damn it Maxen, why’d you have to go and lose your fuckin’ temper, what the hell am I going to do without you?’ He felt tears welling up as he thought about Jenny and how she would never know how her father passed away, or where, or when. Or indeed that he did so defending her honour. ‘Poor Maxen, if anyone should still be alive today it should be you. You were my ticket to New Fortune, but more than that you were my friend. I didn’t know you long but I’m glad we met, you’re the reason I still have a pulse and I won’t let that go to waste. I promise you that Maxen,’ Miles thought, scrubbing ever harder.
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Chapter 13
As Gyaros' artificial night began to fall and the diner closed for the day, Gideon met Miles in the scullery and handed him an old blue, worn out sleeping bag.
“That was a good day’s work Miles. Keep that up and there’ll be plenty more food and even a little money for ya. Make yerself comfortable, any spot’ll do,” he chuckled before heading into his quarters for the night. Jasper and Emmet had already retired to the small shack out the back of the diner. Miles was tired after a day of work and was still severely shuttle lagged from the trip to Gyaros, h
e laid his sleeping bag down on the steel floor of the scullery and climbed inside, it wasn't a pleasant way to sleep by any means but it was certainly a step up from the shoddy cardboard mattress he slept on the night before. He was inside, he was warm and he was safe. Miles closed his eyes and fell asleep almost instantly.
“Time to get to work boy,” Miles opened his eyes to see Gideon standing over him, he didn't know what time it was but it felt as if he'd slept longer than necessary.
Miles forced himself out of the sleeping bag and up onto his feet. Noticing that there were already dishes that needed cleaning he examined the old digital clock above the sink. 11:56. Miles wasted no time getting started as Gideon left him in peace. He quickly rolled up the old sleeping bag and stowed it under the sink before taking the first of the dirty dishes in his hand. Miles could see Jasper through a little window between the scullery and the front counter. He was tending to customers and Miles assumed that Gideon must be the only one who prepared the food as Emmet didn't seem capable. ‘Speaking of which, where is Emmet. Hmm, probably still in the shack.’ The day continued relatively calmly as Miles kept himself focused on his work. Frequent shouting and the occasional gunshot could be heard from the diner which seemed to be quite normal in The Dustbowl but was definitely not something that Miles was accustomed to. A few hours into the day there appeared to be some trouble in the front area of the diner as Miles heard what sounded like a heated argument. Carefully placing the large plate which he was currently cleaning onto the side of the sink he moved closer to the small window just in time to see a heavy glass bottle brought down forcefully upon the head of a customer, smashing to pieces on impact. The attacker, an intimidating, muscular man bearing several scars across his body as well as a colourful array of intricate tattoos, then thrust the remaining half of the bottle into his victim's throat before calmly walking away. As blood poured rapidly from the neck of the unfortunate customer, covering the table and floor, no one in the diner seemed too shaken up by the event, they merely continued chatting and eating. An elderly man sitting in the corner even began laughing as if he had just been told a hilarious joke. Apparently, this kind of incident was no rare occurrence on Gyaros. ‘How could anyone get used to this?! These people are sick! Oh Hellen, how I took you for granted all those years. How insignificant our problems seem now.’ Miles returned his attention to work, the colour now drained from his face after witnessing the violent attack, he had a feeling that if he were to survive in this dangerous and unfamiliar world, he would have to somehow get used to shocking sights such as these and what he saw two nights ago at The Rusty Anchor. The dirty dished clattered loudly in the basin as Miles tried to control his shaking hands.