Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1)

by Mike Sheridan

  “Frank, we got riders coming at us!” Earl yelled out to him. “You want us to start shooting?”

  Jerking his head, Brogan saw a group of six motorbikes start to encircle Earl and Derschel. When they got into position, the riders pulled up and sat on their machines, their rifles pointing toward them.

  “No!” Brogan shouted back, keeping the tone of his voice calm. “Just keep your sights on them. Nice and easy, like I told you.”

  Oh brother, Brogan thought to himself. Let’s see, how the hell you get out of this one.

  Chapter 23

  Chief Stalking Bear, or Bear as he was known to his tribe, heard the roar of an engine coming up behind him and glanced back to see Clement speeding down the center of the highway, waving an arm and motioning for him to stop.

  “What’s up?” he asked, bringing his machine to a halt by the side of the road.

  Clement pulled up alongside him. “I’m not sure,” he said, a puzzled look on his face. “All I can tell you is our four prospects have all gone.”

  Bear gazed back down the highway while the rest of the pack caught up with them. There was no sign of the missing men. The last time he’d seen them had been when the group had stopped for lunch at a roadside bar outside the small plains-town of Boland. They had been riding since sunup, and after eating the braves had stayed awhile, drinking beer and shooting pool. Looking back, he remembered that one of the prospects, a man named Mitch, had done more drinking than eating, and had looked pretty heated by the time they’d left.

  This past week, Bear and a selection of his warriors had been riding the valleys and plains of the Outzone, seeking to recruit new prospects for the tribe. In Dawson, a town seventy miles north of Winter’s Edge, they’d come across four young men riding together who had jumped at the chance at joining one of the five warrior chapters of the Outzone. After a six month try-out, Bear and the council would decide whether or not to accept them as full members of the tribe.

  Since the death of Ironclaw several braves, including Nelsen, had left the Black Eagles. They had slunk out of the camp one moonless night, quietly pushing their machines several hundred yards away before starting them up and riding out of the valley. The sound of their engines had woken Bear and the rest of tribe. After checking nothing had been stolen from the camp, he’d let them go without giving chase. He wasn’t surprised. When a new chief got elected, it wasn’t unusual for disaffected warriors to leave, either to return to the city or perhaps find another tribe to join. It would be up to the new chief to rebuild his tribe.

  What had come as a surprise was that Roja had stayed, though Bear suspected she might disappear the moment they hit Two Jacks where he’d sent the rest of the tribe to set up their winter camp a few miles south of the city. As a sign of goodwill, Bear had brought her along in the traveling party, figuring if she was given a chance to get over her anger, she might decide to stay. And, of course, there was the fact that with her looks, Roja made recruiting male warriors just that little bit easier. Perhaps if the right one joined, that might change things.

  He glanced quickly over at her now. She sat on her machine at the back of the pack, a few yards distance from everyone else. In the past five days, the two hadn’t exchanged so much as a word.

  “So where the hell’d they go?” Bear said, after waiting a little longer for the missing riders to show up. “There’s been no turnoff for the past twenty miles. Don’t tell me they just rode off into the brush?”

  “Damned if I know,” Clement said. “Only thing I can think of is that group of riders we passed awhile back might have something to do with it. Maybe one of them knew them or something.”

  “I gave them no permission to stop,” Bear said irritably. That was the trouble with new prospects: they didn’t understand the rules of the tribe. The Black Eagles had enemies. It was never a good idea for his riders to become separated like this.

  He gave the signal for the pack to turn around.

  “Come on,” he said to Clement. “Let’s find out what the fuck these guys are playing at.”

  With Daniela’s arms around his waist, Bear used his long legs to paddle his motorcycle around on the road. The rest of the braves followed suit. With Bear leading, the pack took off and raced back down the highway again.

  It only took a few minutes to get back to where they’d passed the three riders earlier. When the pack came around a long bend in the road, Bear kept his eyes peeled. Ahead in the distance, he could make out a group of figures several hundred yards away. At that moment, two shots rang out in quick succession. Bringing his machine to a stop, he ordered Daniela off the bike, grimacing as he dismounted it himself, the stitches in his side pulling. It had only been a week since the challenge with Ironclaw, and the wound hadn’t fully healed yet. Ushering Clement and Chico to follow him, he headed over to the side of the road in a low crouch to get a better view.

  A few hundred yards ahead, about fifty feet away from the roadside, Bear saw a man hunched behind a low-lying outcrop of rocks, a rifle in his hands. Over at the far side of the rocks, he caught some movement. Looking closer, he made out a second man, also armed with a rifle.

  A little farther back, between the roadside and where the two men stood crouched, Bear spotted the four missing motorbikes. Sitting astride them were three of his men.

  Standing in front of them, his rifle pointed at them, stood the other stranger. He was a big man. Bear took him to be about six three, wearing a black jacket and a pair of dark camo fatigues. Behind him, sprawled on the ground with his face in the dirt, Bear recognized the dark red jacket of the fourth recruit, Mitch.

  Clement gave out a low whistle. “Holy shit, am I seeing this right? Did this mofo just take down our men?”

  “That’s how it’s looks,” Bear said, a grim look on his face. Turning to Chico, he pointed to the two strangers hunched behind the rocks.

  “Take five braves and get over there,” he said. “Skirt around the back so you come up behind their position, then wait for my signal.”

  Chico nodded and turned to go. As he left, Bear reached out a hand and clasped him on the shoulder. “Don’t shoot unless you have to,” he said. “I want to find out what the hell these crazy sonofabitches think they’re up to.”

  “Got it, Chief,” his lieutenant replied. He ran back toward his motorbike, barking out orders to the waiting braves. Moments later, accompanied by five riders, he drove down off the highway and wove his way through the thick scrub brush.

  Keeping his distance, Chico and his men approached the two strangers’ position in a wide circle, sweeping around at the last minute to encircle them from behind. Moments later, he heard one of the strangers shout out from behind the rocks.

  “Frank, we got riders coming at us. You want us to start shooting?”

  “No,” came the reply, in a strong steady voice. “Just keep your sights on them—nice and easy, like I told you.”

  That was the smart thing to do—if the three strangers were to stand any chance of staying alive.

  Bear turned to Clement. “Come on,” he said. “Time to find out what this is all about.”

  The two got back on their bikes and, with the remainder of the pack following, drove down the bank. At the bottom, they rode alongside the highway until they were about a hundred feet away from where the three recruits sat motionless on their motorcycles.

  Bear cut his engine and waited for Daniela to dismount, while his riders got off their machines and unslung their rifles.

  The lone stranger stared across at them, his rifle still pointing at the three prospects.

  “Hey!” he shouted over. “We’re not looking for trouble. We didn’t start this.”

  Clement cupped his hands. “Then drop your rifle and get your ass over here!” he hollered back.

  The man shook his head. “Can’t do that. Send someone over here and we’ll talk.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, the stranger’s body language looked surprisingly r
elaxed.

  Clement turned to Bear. “You know, Mitch was pretty fired up when we left Boland. I’m guessing too much whiskey is at the bottom of all this. How about I go over and talk to the guy, see if I can find out what happened—or you want we just start shooting and take them down?”

  Bear could feel his anger rising. It seemed like his new recruits might be the cause of this confrontation, a needless and dangerous drama that could easily get somebody killed. If he wanted to, they could easily kill the strangers with little or no casualties, save for perhaps a couple of the prospects. But if Mitch and his men had started this, that wasn’t something he wanted to do.

  One thing he knew for sure. However this went down, someone was going to pay. He just had to figure out who.

  “No, get over there. I want to find out how this started,” he said.

  “Okay, Chief, got it.”

  Clement was about to set off when there was a tap on Bear’s shoulder.

  “Let me go talk to him,” said a familiar voice. “Might be better if it’s a woman.”

  Bear turned around. His eyes widened when he saw Roja standing behind him, her field glasses in one hand. She had obviously been taking a good look at the situation. On the entire trip, the girl had barely said a word to him nor anyone else, sullenly hanging at the fringes of the group. Now she wanted to get involved in the drama. As he thought about it, he realized it might be a good sign.

  “Alright,” he said to her. “Be careful.”

  Roja chucked her rifle across to Clement, who stared at her, a surprised look on his face. Still keeping her nine-mil Herstal FNX-12 pistol tucked inside the holster by her waist, she walked back to her motorbike and started the engine.

  “Now there’s a surprise,” Clement said softly as Roja rode across the plain toward the stranger.

  When she got to within a few yards of him, Roja’s engine revved loudly and the stranger stepped back quickly as the front wheel of the motorcycle lifted up off the ground, rising several feet in the air. The next moment, Roja sat up off her saddle, standing up on the pegs and towering over the stranger.

  “What the hell!” Bear exclaimed, then saw a large smile come over the stranger’s face as Roja began to circle the man, executing a perfect clutch wheelie around him.

  Clement slapped his thigh, laughing hard. “Oh man, that must be Roja’s mating dance. She ever do that for you, Chief?”

  “Can’t say she ever did,” Bear said, unable to prevent himself from laughing too. “Guess she must really like him.”

  From around the group came hoots and whistles. Chico and his men watched too, and even the two other strangers had stood up and craned their necks over the rocks to see what was going on.

  After making a full circle, the front wheel of Roja’s machine came down again. She came to a stop a few feet away from the stranger, got off her bike, and coolly sauntered over to him. Bear couldn’t help but notice how good she looked in her tight blue jeans and boots, her long black hair flowing down the back of her bottle-green leather jacket.

  He watched patiently while the two spoke for a couple of minutes, then Roja walked over to the three prospects and talked briefly to them too. After heading back to the stranger for a final word, Roja got back on her motorcycle and headed back to the group.

  “Dumb sonofabitch,” she said, rolling up beside Bear, ignoring the loud cheers from her fellow warriors. “That fool Mitch started all this. He pulled off the road and got all cocky with this guy for no good reason.”

  “You sure about that? What did the others say—Johnny or whatever his name is?” Bear couldn’t remember the names of the other prospects.

  “Same thing. That’s how it went down.”

  “So how does a guy get from being all cocky to lying face first in the mud?”

  “When the dude saw us riding back, he told Mitch to leave,” Roja explained. “Mitch got mad and swung at him. That’s when he got put down.”

  Bear cursed out loud. He was sure the stranger’s account was truthful. It was the only thing that made sense.

  “The other three pussies sitting on their bikes?” he said between clenched teeth. “What the hell happened there?”

  “The dude reckoned he’d better disarm them before we arrived. Didn’t want to be completely outnumbered. He’s a cool customer.” Bear could hear the admiration in her voice.

  “You’re pretty cool yourself, Roja,” Clement said, grinning at her. “Did the dude enjoy your trick show? I know we sure did.”

  Roja ignored the comment while Bear digested everything she’d just told him.

  “So what does he want?” he said finally.

  “He wants for him and his buddies to be left alone. Says he’ll release our men soon as Chico gets over here and we turn around and leave.”

  “Where are they headed? Two Jacks?”

  Roja nodded. “That’s what he said.”

  Bear’s frustration was rising. His four prospects had been made fools of, and now this stranger was dictating terms to a dozen Black Eagles warriors. What made it worse was Bear knew he would do exactly the same in his position.

  Behind the stranger, Mitch began to stir. He raised his head, then started to struggle to his feet. Clownishly, he staggered around in almost a complete circle, then fell to the ground again.

  “Drunken fool,” Bear snarled. “I’ll shoot that boy myself.”

  “Too brain dead to ride with us, that’s for sure,” Clement said. “What you going to do, Chief?”

  Bear put his finger and thumb to his mouth and whistled loudly. Waving over to Chico, he gestured for him to come back. A few moments later, there was the sound of engines coming to life and the six riders made their way over, giving the stranger a wide birth as they rode past him.

  When they arrived, Bear passed Chico his rifle. The warrior took it, raising a single eyebrow questioningly. Bear pulled out both pistols from his holster, his Beretta and Sig Sauer, and handed them to Daniela.

  “What are you doing?” his wife asked, a worried look on her face.

  “Before we leave, I want to take a look at this guy,” Bear replied. “He’s got balls.”

  This was how the chief of the Black Eagles, one of the five warrior chapters of the Outzone, behaved in a situation like this. This man had acted bravely and intelligently. Bear would give him the respect he deserved.

  “The dude…he got a name?” he asked Roja.

  “He said his name was Frank Brogan.”

  “Any problems, Chico,” Bear said, “you shoot Brogan first.”

  Impassively, the gruff Latino warrior dipped his head a fraction in acknowledgment of the order.

  Bear strode through the dark brown brush while, ahead of him, Brogan eyed him warily. He said something in a low voice to his two companions, who had remained squatting behind the rocks. Bear guessed he was telling them not to come out from their position yet.

  When he got close enough to see Bear was unarmed, the stranger lowered his rifle, placing the butt on the ground, barrel gripped in one hand.

  “Howdy,” the man said when Bear stopped a few feet in front of him. “I’m Brogan.”

  Bear took a good look at the stranger. He had got the height right. He was about six three. A big man, just not in Bear’s league. He was well-built, yet lean, with dark black hair cut in a short crop, and shrewd gray eyes speckled with green that seemed to hint at the humor of the situation he’d found himself in. He had the look of a man who’d found trouble before and was comfortable with it.

  “I’m Stalking Bear, Chief of the Black Eagles.” Bear looked over at Mitch who, on a second attempt, had managed to get to his feet and was rubbing the side of his head tenderly. “I’m told this fool here caused you trouble. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “That’s okay, Chief. The kid was drunk, that’s all. Sorry for knocking him out. I didn’t feel I had a choice.”

  “Understood. But see, that leaves me with a problem.” Bear looked over at the three men
sitting meekly on their machines. “These men are prospects of ours, new recruits to the tribe. We just picked them up in Dawson a few days back.”

  “So I heard.”

  “What this one, Mitch, did was dangerous. It’s how people get killed for no good reason, and that’s not how I run this tribe. Fool needs a lesson. As chief, it’s up to me to do that…” Bear stared pensively at Mitch, who cut a sorry figure now, head lowered, staring at his feet. “Problem is, seeing as you’ve already given him one—means I’m going to have to come up with something even harder.”

  Brogan nodded. He seemed to understand the situation. “Sure, I can see that.”

  “So the question is…what exactly should that be?”

  Bear looked down at Brogan’s rifle, the barrel resting against his hip. “What make of rifle is that?”

  Brogan looked down at the weapon. This is a HK419. A marksman rifle, but it’s good for close combat too.”

  “Where did you come by it? I’ve not seen one like it for quite a while.”

  “I bought it in New Haven. A couple of weeks ago.”

  Bear motioned with his hand. “Let me take a look?”

  Brogan hesitated a moment. Then he picked up the rifle and handed it to the chief.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll give it back. I’m a big target for your two friends back there.”

  Brogan smiled. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

  Bear examined the rifle, admiring the fine workmanship. Then he found the safety and flipped it off. Raising it, he swung it in a slow arc until it pointed at Mitch’s chest.

  A look of alarm came over the young man’s face. “Chief, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, raising both hands. Other than the ugly red weal where Brogan had hit him, his face had turned the color of ash. “I don’t know what got into me.”

  “Too much drink is what got into you.” Bear tightened his finger on the trigger. He glanced over at Brogan. “How much pressure does it take to fire off a round?”