"Do you like marriage?"
"Yeah, with her. If you want kids, you have to work out a marriage."
"I want kids," Ironcloud said. "But I want them to have a good home; not stuck in a slum on the rez. Maybe Flagstaff or Tucson will come back. Maybe I can get a farm by the river…"
"Yeah, I can picture that. I think you're going to do that. You'll do well, when this is all over."
They finished eating, put some more scrap wood on the fire, and tried to sleep some. They lay down off to the side of the empty road, with their buffs pulled over their faces.
At night, they heard in the far distance a train going west. Wade imagined it was the same one they saw, but this time emptied out.
CHAPTER 43
It had been nearly two weeks since he'd left the dam. It seemed like two months. The water had lasted and he had plenty of food, so he considered himself lucky. They were on the outskirts of the ruins of a town called Payson. The three camels had been able to graze, and they were approaching a river. He was glad to be out of the wasteland of the toppled forest and scorched canyons.
They were at most four days out of the Scottsdale area.
When they reached the river, they found the wagons they'd seen before, overturned in the sand. The mules and people were gone. He took two of the camels to the shoreline to drink. The water ran clear and shallow over speckled rocks; long yellowed grasses grew on its banks. He brought a couple of empty gallon jugs down and dipped their open tops into the running water.
Ironcloud had lingered behind; at that point, he was disgusted with riding the hump. He'd dismounted finally and led Larry along by the reins. They were a few hundred feet upstream of Wade.
When Wade came up the hill from the river, carrying the two jugs, a man with a rifle stepped from behind the wagons. He pointed the gun at Wade.
"Stop right there, pard. Put the bottles down and empty your pockets. I want to see the weapons." Wade put the bottles down, then reached into his pocket and carefully put his handgun on the ground, never taking his eyes off the man. The camels wandered up the hill and passively meandered among the grasses grazing. The only sounds were the water, wind, and the two men talking.
"Where's the rest of your crew?"
"I'm alone."
"Shit you are." The man looked around him. He was bulky and bearded with long, unkempt hair under a kind of bowler hat. He had a buttoned up shirt, a string tie, jeans, and muddy cowboy boots.
"Anybody else out there, come on out, or I'll shoot your man." He looked at the camels.
"Money bag over there?"
"I don't have any money." That was true; he'd spent all his gold on provisions. "I'm just like you; all I'm doing is migrating west."
"Shut up and get on your stomach." Wade did, then the man approached cautiously, bent down, patted down his clothes, took Wade's gun off the ground, and backed off. Wade was just glad the guy hadn't bushwhacked him from behind the wagon. This one seemed a little smarter; he had reasons for keeping Wade alive.
"How much food and water you have on those camels?"
"Some. Maybe a couple days worth."
"You're lyin' to me about the money." He walked over to Moe the camel and took a closer look. He hadn't seen Wade's crossbow yet; it was strapped to Curly, who'd wandered off a short distance.
"I could use one of these animals for food," the man muttered, mostly to himself.
"I'm all out," Wade reiterated, buying some time. "That's the truth. Spent it all on camels and food back in Page. I'm just looking for my daughter." It felt strange telling the truth and appealing to this highway thief's sensibilities, but he sensed that concocting a lie wouldn't be any more effective. Besides, the truth was easier to tell.
"Well, I'm going to take the camels. I might have to kill you. I'm sorry about that. You see, that guarantees that you don't shadow me and kill me back. It's a simple equation; one minus one equals zero."
"Where's the rest of your gang?" Wade said.
"I'm asking the questions here. But since you asked, I'm on my own. Things got a little rough down by Phoenix–that's putting it mildly. It's the badlands down there. They're all dead. Or most of them. It's rob or be robbed; a sad state of affairs. When I get to a place where it's not, I'll stop doin' it.
"I'll feel better about your future prospects, however, if you just show me where the gold is."
Just then, a voice came from behind the man. "Drop the rifle, on the dirt. Now!" Surprised, the man swiveled, with a pissed-off look, as at himself. "God dammit!" he exclaimed. He dropped the rifle.
Wade quickly got back on his feet and went and fetched the rifle. "Now you can get down on your stomach."
"I've got a few gold coin, and some ammo," the man said, pleading somewhat, as he got down on his knees. The wind blew off his bowler hat, exposing a scraggly, sun-burnt bald spot. "You can have it all, and the rifle. I'm used to this; I won't tell anyone about you, I promise. No one knows about you; I just came back here to check the wagon. Just don't shoot me."
"Shut up asshole!" Ironcloud said. "How many innocent people have you killed lately?"
"None, I tell you. If you shoot me, the others will hear the shot." He looked back at Wade, sheepish as he was exposing a lie. "They're a couple miles out in the desert with those mules and people. But you can take my gold pieces. I wish I had more, but I blew it all down at the fairgrounds they have in Pleasant Valley."
"Fairgrounds?" Wade said. "You just told me it was a killing fields down from here. What fairgrounds can there possibly be?"
"It's bad between here and old Phoenix. For sure. But if you take the Highway 188 south instead, they have the remnants of a town. I just call it a fairgrounds; that came out of my own memories. It's not too bad; the regime runs it. They want to keep the dam running on Lake Theodore Roosevelt; use the energy and the water. They have a kind of tent city built up there, for services and entertainment. They accept real money–it's all food, drink, music, circuses, strippers, and tents full of women they're selling."
"Selling? Did you say selling women?"
"I did, unfortunately. Poor souls. I'm not into that, believe me on that one. Find it kind of disgusting. They offer them by the hour, and longterm. Hundreds of 'em. It's just not right…"
Acid rose up to Wade's throat. "You bowl me over with your empathy. Where exactly is this? You said south? 188?"
"Keep going on 87. Then south on old 188. Less than a two-day ride on your camels, I reckon. Why, are you going there?"
"Maybe. But you just managed to delay us."
"Just don't get caught by the regime. They'll make you fight the fires in Phoenix, and that's like slavery itself. If you stay close to 188, you can't miss this tent city."
"The regime runs it, you say?"
"The regime, but they tolerate what the entrepreneurial gangs and syndicates do."
"Entrepreneurial…that's a fancy word for a highway man. Is it the Redboyz down there? Those low-lifes with scarves?"
"Yeah."
Ironcloud had come over to the man and was looking over his rifle, which Wade handed to him. "Give me the rest of your ammo," he said. He'd put a shirt on, but the oddly formal man eyed him like he was some kind of a savage. Wade got the impression that he was petrified of Ironcloud, what he might do to him. As in, hammer him into the ground and let the fire ants start in on his face; an old Apache special.
The man emptied his pockets and handed over some shells. It wasn't a great rifle, just a bolt action, but it was something, other than a handgun.
"What exactly is going on down on 87 that's got your panties in a tangle?" Ironcloud asked him.
"Nothin' good. I'd turn around; I could show you a better way out of here, through the mountain passes…"
"We don't need you," Ironcloud said, evenly.
The man looked at him with more suspicion and fear. "Don't kill me, ok? I've got a son, two daughters. Over in Texas. I'm tryin' to make it back to 'em. You seem like a family man," he li
ed. "We're all in the same boat, trying to escape back to our families. There's been enough killin'."
"There's been enough talking," Ironcloud said, strapping the rifle onto his back.
"We're not going to kill you," Wade declared. The man exhaled an audible sigh of relief. His eyes calmed.
"You should take a wide arc around the highway. Then connect up with 188, if you're headed down that way."
It was rough, hilly, and mountainous country around the highway.
"We need to go the fastest route. Who's controlling the highway toward Phoenix?" Wade asked. "The regime?"
"No. Crazy people, that's all. The regime haven't taken them down yet. Maybe they want people to think they're responsible for it, to keep everyone in line."
"Responsible for what?"
"You'll see," he said ambiguously.
"Take your clothes off," Wade said.
"What?"
"Down to your skivvies. Now…you can keep your money pieces. We're not criminals and robbers like you. But we're going to tie you up a bit so you can't alert your friends."
"Don't leave me here like that."
"You were going to kill me, pal."
"No I wasn't. I don't have it in me, if you want to know the truth. That was just tough talk. They've got coyotes and wart hogs and everything else here! It gets cold!"
"Yeah, only at night. You'll get loose by then. Clothes, off!"
Wade looked over his shoulder and saw the three camels calmly grazing in the grasses. They'd been down to the river to drink. Ironcloud was standing on a rock, scanning the horizon.
CHAPTER 44
They side-tracked about a quarter mile south of the highway and headed down, first west toward Phoenix. They would intersect with Highway 188, or what was left of it, eventually. Wade had gone through the wagons; he wanted to leave anything useful for the owners, in case they got away. But he tucked into his backpack an old bottle of liquor he found there.
Ironcloud walked behind the camels with the new rifle on his back. They figured they'd walk west-southwest, and thus avoid any trouble on Highway 87. Wade had a hunch about the tent city, the so-called "fairgrounds."
Dark curtains of rain drifted over the rolling, uncluttered landscape of painted desert. You could see the weather patterns approaching from 50 miles away. They took shawls and threw them over their shoulders. The rain swept over them, like someone spraying a hose into the air. The water dripped off the top of Wade's hat. A hush came over the desert as pattering rain flowed in graceful rivulets over the gravel and the rocks. A rainbow arched over a portion of the mountains in the distance, then the rain parted to a spectacular range of clouds on the horizon, like a foamy wave breaking. Everything had cooled off and been cleansed. They took a moment to stop at a rise.
Wade wanted to try and see if he could see the intersection of the two highways. They both dismounted from the camels, and stood looking out on the edge of a butte. The barren, vast country they'd wandered through looked huge and unwelcome; he couldn't believe they'd crossed it. Then he saw Highway 87; a long row of what looked like small telephone poles went down one of the road's sides. He could see shadowy forms fastened to the poles, of men.
"Holy shit!" Ironcloud said. "This is what the idiot back there was talking about."
At least two dozen people were crucified along the road. From a distance, Wade could just make out the heads hanging down. Birds of prey had settled on some of them. He wanted to get back on the camels and turn away from that benighted landscape, as if he'd dreamt the hideous images, and he could dismiss them as a figment of a stressed mind.
Ironcloud brushed the flies away from his face. "Damn insanity," he said. "These lands have gone over to the devil."
"What do you think we should do?" Wade said. He was completely at a loss; he wished he hadn't seen it, could turn the clock back and never stop and dismount on the butte. All of the frames of images over the intervening minutes could have stopped at the rainbow.
"I don't know," Ironcloud said. "What if there are women, or children? It's torture. We can't let 'em die like that, with the vultures. Dammit, I need a horse!"
Ironcloud seemed braver, less demoralized, and Wade wondered if it was because he'd been in desert wars across the world. He'd seen this kind of horror before.
"How much ammo do you have in the rifle?"
"About six shots."
Wade looked up at the vista; he saw that a short-cut could bring them close to the intersection of 87 and 188.
"Okay, let's go."
###
They made their way down to a flat dry plain below the butte, keeping their eye on Highway 87 for intruders. Wade's stomach growled; he reached into a bag hanging off the saddle, where he kept some of the cooked, leftover camel meat. He handed some to Ironcloud, then placed another piece into his mouth, chewing it to take his mind off everything else, and stop the growling.
"Are you coming?" Ironcloud said, nodding his head to 87, in the distance.
"No, I'm staying with the camels."
Ironcloud, the rifle slung over his shoulder, began at a fast hike towards the road. On his belt, he had a small canvas bag of intricate animal bones he'd found in the desert. Wade hadn't asked about them. He figured they'd go onto a necklace, or were simply good-luck talismans.
In the distance, he saw five people on horses. They halted about a mile from the first crucified victim, and formed a huddle. They shimmered in the heat off the desert floor. Wade watched as his partner raised his hand in a friendly signal. One of the horsemen waved back. Wade thought he saw two women and three men. Three of the people, including one of the women, drew pistols when Ironcloud approached them on foot. He pointed up to Wade, and they talked for a few minutes. Then he pointed to the people hung up above the road ahead. One of the women dismounted and gestured toward Highway 87. Ironcloud handed her his rifle. Then she handed him the reins to her horse.
Wade watched this standing next to the camels, with Moe by the reins.
Ironcloud mounted the horse, then quickly attained a speedy gallop down the highway. The posts, and the people nailed to them, were as still on the landscape as trees or cactus. The heat was unbearable; Wade's body was bathed in sweat. Ironcloud made his way slowly along the ghoulish scene until he'd reached the end. Only one or two of the birds flew off as he rode by. Then he rode at a gallop back to the woman, and he took the rifle back, having apparently won back her trust. He went back up the road.
He raised his rifle three times–Wade heard the reports crackle and echo across the desert. All the birds flew away except for one, which Ironcloud shot off of a man. Then he shot a fourth man from his horse; Wade wondered whether the gunshots would bring the crazies or the regime's foot-soldiers down on top of them.
The desert was silent; not even a bird cried, only the wind blowing through cracks in the rocks that lay like giant red tortoises on the desert floor. The camels shifted their feet on the ground; their ears twitched at the gunshots. Ironcloud returned to the horsemen at a full gallop. He got down off the horse, handed over the reins, shook the lady's hand and one of the man's, and began walking again.
CHAPTER 45
The bright moon that night cast long shadows amongst the rocks. They stopped and made a fire. They had continued south with the camels towards Theodore Roosevelt Lake and the makeshift, honky-tonk fairgrounds he was looking for. Wade didn't ask Ironcloud much about the prisoners, except that the young man had said that some of them had begged to be killed. It would have taken tools to actually bring the live ones down, or bury the bodies, and Ironcloud had wanted to burn the whole thing down anyways. Neither of them wanted to talk about it, especially him. One of the dying men had told Ironcloud that the Redboyz had done it.
Ironcloud took his sack of bones and made a circle around the fire with them, while humming a song softly to himself. Then he stood up straight and raised his hands to the moon, and spoke in the language Wade didn't understand. When he sat back down, he
rocked back and forth and continued the song. The flames cast their elongated, distorted shadows into the night.
Wade heard howling that night; he slept restlessly on the ground, turning over and over again on his hard bedroll. Partly what they burned was mesquite bush, the tart smell of which permeated his few dreams, which lay close to the surface of his mind. They both got up at roughly the same time, when the sun cracked brilliant orange on the horizon.
They were less than a day's ride to the current, ad hoc settlement in Tonto Basin. They were almost out of water and the camels needed to drink again. They'd reach Tonto Creek by early afternoon, then they could stop. They drank some of the remaining water, including some he made tea from by heating it over the fire, then they mounted the camels again and kept going.
Mountains rose on either side of them, the Mazatzals to the west, and the edge of the Mogollon Rim to the east. They looked like mountains on the moon, grayish brown and denuded of everything. You could see no snow on the peaks anymore. Wade heard thunder in the distance; black clouds careened across the southern horizon, below which he could see the large lake.
It was dark blue against the dun brown of the desert. The lake itself was the result of an old dam built years ago on the Salt River. The large river had hosted human settlements that included the Salado, farmers and hunters who made beautiful pottery, more than 700 years ago.
From higher up, they could look down on a ramshackle shanty town scattered along the parched lake's shoreline. Then the piecemeal town spread to the surrounding desert, the collapsed society's version of sprawl. He saw a few tiny vehicles, trucks and Jeeps, bumping slowly along 188. They raised small plumes of dust. The drying lake was pale blue and brown around the edges. That was their target, the tent city somewhere down there. Wade mused that the ancient Salado people were infinitely more civilized than what had only recently sprouted up in "Pleasant Valley."
Journey By Fire, Part 2: Escape From Tonto Basin Page 6