Bounty Hunter: Dig Two Graves

by Rachel Aukes

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joe and Tote wore fresh uniforms and carried blasters. They’d cleaned up, although Joe’s grime had been mostly for show. Tote, on the other hand, no longer stank like a half-rotted rodent. Now that they were clean, the cutter reeked even worse, like old socks left in a damp bag. Boris evidently thought it would be funny to make them drive Joe’s cutter instead of assigning them an MRC transport. Joe had decided he didn’t like the man much.

  Joe drove into Clearwater as Tote clutched a stack of public notices they were to hang in town. Joe nodded toward the stack. “So, what does it say?”

  Tote read the notice out loud, slowly, stumbling over words longer than two syllables.

  PUBLIC NOTICE:

  Due to an increased number of crimes disrupting the peace, including, but not limited to, murder, rape, theft, and destruction of property, President Darville has granted Roderick Sloan temporary authority to enact peacekeeping measures across the Midland Zone, which may include deploying peacekeeping personnel and equipment in licensed towns, instituting martial law, seizing assets from criminals, and redirecting any persons deemed essential to peacekeeping and/or other needs yet to be determined. These measures are being taken to prevent further deterioration of society and minimize potential violence or riots. Please follow all MRC directions during this time.

  Roderick Sloan, Interim Administrator of the Midland Zone and representative of the Monuments Republic Command

  “The people will love that. President Darville just gave Sloan carte blanche over the Midlands,” Joe said drily.

  “What’s ‘carte blanche’ mean?”

  “It means Sloan can do whatever he wants in the Midlands, and there isn’t anything anybody can do about it. I guess that explains how he got hold of the tanks. He spun some story to MRC Central, and they fell for it.”

  “Well, it’s true. Things are rough around here. There’s been a few administrators killed over the past couple of years. Even Roderick Sloan’s brother got killed not too long back. It’s nice to see an administrator stepping up to get the zone back under control.”

  Joe snickered.

  “What’s so funny?” Tote asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just my squad used to talk—and it wasn’t just my squad doing the talking—that it seemed awfully suspicious that administrators started suddenly reassigning their murcs to the Sloan brothers, leaving themselves unprotected, when things were supposedly so dangerous around here.”

  Tote shrugged. “Sure, it’s odd, but those administrators are politicians. They’re always cutting deals with each other. Whatever they worked out, it obviously benefited both sides. Otherwise, Meho wouldn’t have sent my squad to Clearwater.”

  Joe bit his tongue. Tote was naïve at best and an idiot at worst, both of which made him a poor source of information. “Well, we just thought it was more than a little suspicious that everything turns out in Sloan’s favor.”

  “He’s smart, probably a real good politician. Maybe he’ll even be president someday. He’s sure rich enough for it.”

  “That he is.” Joe parked the cutter at the end of Clearwater’s main road, lined with public buildings on each side. Several buildings down and on the right stood an open lot littered with charred debris. An explosion had blackened the sides of the buildings on either side. With a single photon blast, Sloan had vaporized the local law and sent a clear message to everyone in Clearwater: I do whatever I want.

  Joe really should’ve killed Roderick Sloan when he’d had the chance.

  Joe pointed to the buildings on the left. “I’ll take this side. You take the other side, and we meet back here.”

  Tote nodded. “All right.”

  He gave half of the stack to Joe and started walking away. Joe called out, “And Tote?”

  The murc turned around.

  “Don’t shoot anyone.”

  “I won’t.” Tote grinned. “Unless they get in my way.”

  “No. Don’t shoot anyone at all.”

  “You’re a funny man, Marco.” He waved Joe off, laughing, and crossed the road.

  Joe shook his head slowly at the murc, who whistled a tune as he posted the first notice on the door of the town’s inn. People cleared the walkways as soon as they saw the two murcs.

  Joe hung two notices, then skipped a few doors and strode into the tavern. Inside, he found several people drinking and playing cards. Though all noticed him, none made eye contact save for a pair of gruff men sitting at the bar. Joe ignored their glares—he didn’t blame them for disliking murcs.

  The MRC had started out as a group of rebels fighting against the oppressive Zenith State, only to become the thing they’d fought against within a few years of winning the Revolution. Joe disliked the MRC uniform as much as they did, though he—and likely a few of those in the bar—had been a murc during the Revolution.

  He walked through the bar without slowing, scanning for a bathroom. When he spotted it, he kept his eyes on the door and took in his surroundings through his peripheral vision.

  The bathroom was in use, and he waited impatiently. Hate-filled glares bored into him. He was used to it. Bounty hunters didn’t inspire warm, fuzzy feelings in the locals, and murcs inspired even less. He hated not wearing his exoshield, though. He hadn’t been in public without it in at least a decade, and he felt exposed. The armor was heavy, and sure, he moved faster and felt stronger without the extra heft, but he’d give up both in a heartbeat to have his suit back.

  The door opened and a man stepped out. When he noticed Joe’s uniform, he ducked out of the way as though the murc before him carried a deadly contagion. Joe stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. The room was dirty, so he remained standing. He dumped the notices in the garbage and hurriedly pulled up his sleeve to access his armlet and place a call.

  Rex’s visage appeared within the first two seconds. “Josey, my boy. You’re still alive.” His features crinkled. “Wait, is that a murc uniform you’re wearing? I have to tell you, blue is not your color. In fact, you’re a lot prettier when your face is covered by a helmet.”

  Joe ignored the comment. “How’s Kit doing?”

  “He’s awake, and as annoying as ever. I’m fine, too, thanks for asking. We’re heading to Clearwater as soon as our boy quits fainting when he tries to stand.”

  “I don’t faint.” Kit’s weak voice was nearly inaudible through Rex’s armlet.

  “Fine. He doesn’t faint. He just blacks out and collapses,” Rex said.

  “Stay in Cavil and stay out of sight. Sloan has sent out his tanks and most of his army, so whatever he’s planning, my guess is you don’t want to be caught on the roads when they come through—especially since he’s just announced that he’s administrator for all the Midlands now.”

  “What? How’s that possible?”

  Joe shrugged. “I’ve infiltrated Sloan’s ranks to find out what he’s up to. Once I do that, Val wants to expose him and end whatever he’s plotting. Right now, he has me posting notices that say he’s cracking down to bring peace to the Midlands. It’s the same rhetoric we heard from the MRC in Shiprock, so I can only imagine the kinds of trouble he’s planning to stir up here.”

  “We’re coming to Clearwater,” Kit said.

  Rex rolled his eyes. “I think Kit has a crush on the sheriff—not that I blame him. Where is she, by the way?”

  “She’s dead, if any murc is asking. But if you’re set on coming to Clearwater, reach out to her. I know she gave Kit her comm-link.”

  Rex turned away. “Val didn’t give me her comm-link. Why’d she give it to you?”

  “Because she likes me, and strongly dislikes you,” Kit replied.

  “I’ll let you two get back to enjoying each other’s company. I’ll be out of comms most of the time. Anything I learn, I’m passing her way, so stay in touch with her. I’ll see you both soon.” I hope.

  Joe disconnected the call. He then tried Val, but there was no answer. He left a quick updat
e and hoped that she was still okay. He left the bathroom to find Tote sitting at the bar, oblivious to the effect his presence was having on the locals. Most had left; those who remained had moved as far from him as possible.

  No one wanted him there, but a person could go anywhere and do anything they wanted if they carried a blaster.

  When Tote noticed Joe, he raised his glass. “Oh hey, Marco. I finished my side and I was thirsty, so thought I’d get a drink or two before we needed to reconnect.” He downed half the glass. That Tote had been arrested was no surprise; that Tote hadn’t yet been killed by a local was.

  “We should head back,” Joe said.

  “The booze is better here. Plus, it’s free. Back at the barracks, we’re only allowed two drinks per day.”

  Joe didn’t point out that the drinks were free because no one was stupid enough to ask a murc to pay for them. Murcs were known to shoot people for lesser insults, and he suspected Tote had used his blaster on an innocent more than once.

  Joe squeezed Tote’s shoulder. “Drink it and let’s go. I don’t want to know what the captain will do to us if we get detained again.”

  Tote winced, then chugged his drink. The pair left the bar, and Joe felt the tension blow out through the doorway behind them.

  They only made it ten feet before Tote stopped. “You missed a door. Wait, you missed two.” He shook his head. “You’re not very good at this. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

  “I ran out,” Joe lied. Good thing Tote hadn’t gone in the other direction, or else he would’ve noticed that Joe hadn’t hung any notices that way.

  They made it back to the Sloan farm in less than an hour and headed straight to the barracks to eat. Joe was famished and grabbed the first ration pack on the pile without reading the label.

  He was about to open the pack when a panel on the wall beeped. Joe looked up and read: Trooper Polo, report to Captain Stolichov in Courtyard.

  “Ooh, I hope you aren’t in trouble,” Tote said.

  Joe swallowed. “I hope not, too.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Joe opened the ration pack as he trudged to the courtyard. He figured the odds of dying in the next five minutes were pretty high. Boris had had enough time to run a background check and find that Marco Polo of Squad One-four—yes, the man had actually existed, and recently—had been killed in the Wilds Rising. Val had evidently known him. She’d said he hadn’t been a horrible man, that Joe reminded her somewhat of him.

  He took a bite from the ration pack and cringed. He checked the name on the package: meatloaf. The loaf inside the package contained no meat and had the texture of a wet sponge. He scarfed the rest down, so it didn’t sit in his mouth long. For being stationed on a farm, the food options for the troops were disappointing. Simple ration packs, nothing fresh, though he suspected Roderick Sloan ate nothing but the freshest of food.

  He finished his meal before he reached the courtyard, and tucked the empty pack into a pocket. He clicked off the safety on his blaster. If Boris intended to execute him, Joe planned to at least take a few murcs with him.

  Boris was near the center of the courtyard with several other murcs. Joe recognized Mutt, who’d been in the barracks when he’d first arrived.

  Mutt eyed Joe. “About time you joined us. Did we take you away from your massage?”

  “Yeah, but your sister said she’d finish me later,” Joe retorted.

  Mutt chuckled. With smooth features and thick, dark hair, he was an attractive man, so Joe didn’t know where the nickname had come from.

  “May I continue?” Boris asked.

  “Sorry, Captain,” Mutt replied.

  “All right,” Boris said. “Your squad leaves at dawn. You are to escort the prisoner to this supposed silo he claims is the hiding place of a local criminal group.”

  “There’s a silo around here?” Mutt asked.

  “That’s what the guy says. It’s your job to verify and report back. If you should run into opposition, don’t engage. You return here and report directly to me. Is that understood?”

  Everyone voiced their assent.

  “What do we do with the prisoner if we verify the silo?” Mutt asked.

  “Then he’s no longer needed,” Boris replied. “Any other questions?”

  There weren’t any, which surprised Joe. He had plenty, like what should they do if they didn’t find the silo? What if the opposition engaged them—should they call for reinforcements? And, if this assignment was so important, why wasn’t Boris going? But since Joe was playing a low-level soldier—an order-taker—he kept his mouth shut.

  “All right. I’ll see you off at dawn. Get a good night’s rest.” Boris left the squad and headed to the mansion.

  Mutt jutted his chin in Joe’s direction. “Welcome to Squad Four-seven, Marco. Stevie’s down with dysentery, so it’s your lucky day.”

  The squad went through introductions and returned to the barracks. Later that night, Joe tapped out a message to Val.

  HAVOC: Assigned to squad reconning silo location in morning. Leaving here at dawn.

  Her response came quickly.

  VV: We’ll be ready.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nick Swinton kept watch using a peephole he’d dug through the mortar in the hideout. It’d taken two incredibly long hours to widen an existing hole in the ancient wall, but he’d had nothing better to do. His mother was being too strict about Romy and him staying inside, but she let Champ go out all the time… Though that was likely because the energetic dog tended to drive her crazy.

  She was currently helping Romy with math. It was odd to see her teach with a blaster on her back, but knowing she could protect Romy and Champ made him feel better. As for school, Romy was struggling. Though Nick and Romy were the same age, Romy was behind in a lot of subjects, since she’d missed over a year of school when she was forced to work on Sloan’s farm.

  Nick didn’t like Sloan. He didn’t like anyone who made people do things they didn’t want to do. He’d asked his mother why people were like that, and she’d said that some people just weren’t very nice, and Sloan was one of them. When he asked why people put up with people like Sloan, she’d said that people like Sloan were bullies and could scare people into doing things for them. Nick figured Sloan scared people by threatening to hurt them or hurt the people they loved, like Romy’s parents. She said that he’d killed her parents because they wouldn’t do what he told them to do.

  Nick couldn’t imagine how he’d get by if Sloan killed his mother, but he had no doubt that he’d be really angry and really sad.

  The sound of an engine caught Nick’s attention, and he scanned the area outside their hideout until a familiar cutter pulled up and parked outside. He grinned and jumped to his feet. “It’s Mr. Campo!”

  “Wait up, Nicky,” his mother said, but he didn’t. Champ bounded outside with him.

  Grundy Campo waved as he stepped out of his vehicle. “Hello, Nick. You can help me carry things inside.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Campo.” Nick liked the old man’s accent—he sounded different from anyone else he knew. His mother called it a Scottish accent, but Nick didn’t know what an accent had to do with Joe’s favorite whiskey.

  He hustled to the back of the cutter. The cargo space was filled with crates, rusty tools, and even a couple of blasters.

  “You sure have a lot of stuff,” Nick said.

  Grundy scratched Champ’s head. “I’ve collected things here and there through the years,” he replied and handed a heavy crate to Nick. “That’s what happens when you get older—you get more stuff, most of which you don’t need.”

  Grundy grabbed the second crate. “This ought to get you all situated for a while. Let’s get inside and out of this sun.”

  Nick let Grundy lead the way. His mother, smiling, held the rickety door open. “How are you on this fine morning, Grundy?”

  “Better now that I’ve seen you,” he replied. She took the crate from him an
d set it on the floor.

  Nick put his crate down, and he and Romy dug through the ration packs, blankets, and other supplies.

  Grundy looked around and scowled. “This is no place to stay.”

  “It’s just for a little while,” Sara said.

  Grundy’s brow rose. “You sure about that?”

  Her features tightened. “No.”

  “From what I hear, Zenith is the ones who have it out for you.” He spat on the floor. “I knew better than to think those rats had been exterminated. Groups like that don’t just disappear. I always thought the MRC was behind their disappearance, but now it seems that Zenith just retreated to their sewers to lick their wounds.”

  “You don’t like them very much,” Sara said.

  “No, I do not,” he said. “I lost my wife and son to them.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He waved a hand. “Ancient history; happened before you were born. I’ve done my bit to get back at them, and I’ll do more if I get a chance. But I’d much rather make sure they don’t do the same to you and your kids here.”

  “They won’t find us, Mr. Campo,” Nick said. “We’ve been hiding really good in here. Mom never lets us go outside.”

  “That’s good. Listen to your mother. She’s a smart woman,” Grundy said. “But those Zenith types are sneaky buggers. They have fancy drones and things that you’ve never seen before.” He turned back to Sara. “This place is good, but it’s awfully close to the silo, and it’s out in the middle of nowhere—there aren’t a lot of places to hide if they come here. You’d be better off hiding in a city, especially a part of a city that’s low tech and not patrolled, like Far Town.”