Rustkiller - A Science Fiction Western Adventure (The Coilhunter Chronicles Book 2)

by Dean F. Wilson

  “It's not!”

  Nox knew it didn't matter. Two months was long enough. If their parents were missing that long, chances were they were dead. Often it only took a day. Sometimes, just an hour.

  “Where'd you last see 'em?” Nox asked.

  “At our home,” the girl said.

  “Where's that?”

  “Close to Dawn's Watch.”

  “Why, that's miles from here.”

  “I know.”

  “Why don't you go back? Wait for 'em there.”

  “We can't, it's—”

  “It's gone,” Luke said. “Raiders burned it down.”

  “Oh.”

  “So we started lookin' for our parents,” the girl explained.

  “She did.” The boy folded his arms. “I didn't want to.”

  “Why not?”

  “'Cause I know they're gone too.”

  “You don't know that!” the girl yelled, bashing her fist against the sand in frustration.

  “They went into the Rust Valley,” Luke said, as if that was all he needed to say. It was.

  Nox let out an involuntary sigh, which sent a plume of smoke out of his mask. The girl didn't want to believe it, but if their parents wandered into that scrapyard dungeon, there was no chance they'd be coming out alive.

  13 – WITHOUT A HOME

  The Coilhunter sent the other former slaves on their way, back to their homes, or to where they might find new ones. There was no end of free land in the Wild North, but not much of it was fertile. You had to make do with what you got, and pay a levy to the Dew Domers for a shipment of water to keep you going. Once you stopped paying, the shipments stopped—and so did you.

  But Nox found it difficult to send these children away. They weren't the first kids to lose their parents and home, and wouldn't be the last. Sometimes it was the other way around, and the parents wandered alone. Nox could make many people follow his rules, but Death was entirely outside of the law.

  He heard the kids arguing over where they’d go, and again the boy seemed on the verge of one of his attacks. It was a sorry sight to see, not just because of the strain it must've caused the child, but because if you didn't get used to dealing with the stresses of the Wild North, you tended not to live long at all.

  “Please, Laura,” the boy said, pawing at her arm.

  Laura. There was the second name. Nox couldn’t escape it now, couldn’t keep them in his mental vault of anonymous people. Most of the names he knew were the ones from posters, those names that had a lot of character to them, and a lot of crime. Laura and Luke just didn’t fit in.

  Laura tried not to look at her brother, staring out into the distance, at the vague silhouette of the Rust Valley. “They're out there,” she said. “I know it.”

  Luke's eyes watered up. It seemed like they'd had this argument many times before, and perhaps on every occasion it ended with those same words. Then they'd walked farther west, braving the wilds, seeking what might never be found—and what might kill them.

  Luke caught sight of Nox and quickly dried his eyes.

  “Everything okay?” the Coilhunter asked.

  “Yeah,” Laura said. She seemed unused to someone asking a question like that without an ulterior motive.

  Luke said everything wasn't okay, but he said it with his eyes.

  “You're not going that way, are you?” Nox asked, gesturing to the scrapyard desert.

  “We are,” Laura stated. She tied up the rest of her hair, as if she’d let nothing get in her way.

  “You know even I wouldn't go there.”

  “We're not you.”

  “No.” No, they weren't. They were two kids, without armour, and without guns. The Clockwork Commune would make short work of them. And no one'd even know. Except Nox.

  “It's been a big night,” Nox said. “Let's get some rest first.”

  If it wasn't for her fatigue, Laura might've protested the notion. Yet she knew they'd fare better after some sleep and food, and would travel farther under the spotlight of the sun. The desert air was growing quickly chill. Luke shivered from more than just the cold.

  Nox set up a camp, using some of the wooden walls of the Night Ranch to light a fire. At least that prison had some use now.

  Luke sat with his back against the monowheel, doodling in his journal. He didn't seem quite as agitated now. Nox had bought them another night. Maybe he didn't think about the day.

  “How old are you, boy?” Nox asked.

  Luke looked up from his journal, a little surprised. “I'll be ten in seven months.”

  “So, you're nine.”

  The boy scowled. “Yeah.”

  “He's been countin' down the days to ten since we started walkin',” Laura said.

  “What's so good about bein' ten?” Nox asked.

  Luke took a deep breath. “That's when I'll be a man.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. That's what papa said, anyhow.” He seemed to almost regret mentioning his father, and stuck his pencil into his mouth to shut himself up. He looked back and forth between Laura and Nox. “That's when you get to make your own rules.”

  Nox smirked, but the boy didn't see it. “Is that so?”

  “Uh-huh. Don't you?”

  “I don't make the rules. I just enforce them.”

  The boy looked at Nox's belt, where the pistols gleamed in the firelight. This child was almost an open book. You could tell what he was thinking by where his wandering eyes went. It was a rare thing in the Wild North, because it was the kind of thing that got you killed. You had to learn to lie quick. Didn't matter if you were good or bad. You lied or you were dead.

  “Do you like killin' people?” Luke asked eventually.

  “I don't hate it.”

  “But d'you like it?” The boy kicked at a rock disinterestedly.

  “No,” the Coilhunter said.

  “Then why d'you do it?”

  “Someone's gotta clean up this place.”

  “Does it have to be you?”

  “You ask a lotta questions, boy.”

  Luke shrugged. “Nothin' else to do.”

  The Coilhunter almost smiled. “Ever tried killin' people? Certainly passes the time.”

  The boy forced a smile.

  “He's good at drawin',” Laura said. “Show 'im your drawin's.”

  Luke blushed. “I'm not that good.”

  “Well, that'll make two of us then,” Nox replied.

  He moved over next to the kid, and was very surprised by the quality of the drawings. These weren't just the doodles of a child. These were the first intimations of an artist. In another time, he might've made good money on that.

  “Wow,” Nox said.

  “I told you they weren't very good.”

  “No. They're somethin’ else. Why, I ain’t even seen this good on Wanted posters.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Told ya,” Laura said. “He keeps sayin' he's no good, and I keep tellin' 'im he's talkin' nonsense.”

  “You should listen to your sister,” Nox said.

  The boy's worried eyes returned.

  Except when she's tellin' you to go into the Rust Valley, Nox thought. He decided it better not to say it, to let the night pass without mention of that tricky subject. Maybe by day, they'd forget all about it, like you forget your dreams.

  “He could be one of those famous people,” Laura said proudly. “Mama always said he could. Didn't mama always say it, Luke?”

  Luke nodded meekly.

  “You're lucky you're up here,” Nox said, which was about the only time he ever said that about the Wild North. “Folks say you ain't allowed to draw stuff down south.”

  “Unless it's of the Iron Emperor,” Laura added.

  And folks didn't just say it. They died for it. The Regime's culture ban spanned most of Altadas, everywhere bar the rule-less waste of the Wild North. Even Resistance territory had little artwork, for fear that a battle would pu
t it into enemy hands, and from there into the fire. Most of the great paintings of old were hidden away, locked in so-called “culture caches” at the bottom of the sea, or far up in the sky. One day, they might be seen again. Until then, any artist who wanted to live came up north. It wasn't just the criminals who fled from the law.

  “I did a drawin' of him too,” Luke said, flicking through his journal until he showed an image of a demonic being.

  “Is that the Iron Emperor?”

  “They say he's a demon.”

  “They do say that.”

  “I think he probably looks like this.”

  Nox knew better. The Bounty Booth was operated by the Regime, their small attempt to gain some input into the burgeoning bounty hunter business, and direct some of those bounties against Resistance targets. Nox had met plenty of Regime men—and they were men. But then, perhaps men and demons weren't so different after all.

  “You gotta draw somethin' for me some time,” Nox said. “The only pictures I've got are these Wanted posters, and I can't say I want one of them on my wall.”

  The boy tapped his pencil against his head, then chewed on the end again. It was an awful bad habit that reminded Nox too much of Strawman Sanders and his piece of straw. He didn't like the parallel, nor the possibility that the boy might be going to that same place where Sanders died.

  “You shouldn't chew on that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It'll poison you.”

  The boy looked at the pencil, then stuck it back in his mouth. “It hasn't yet.”

  “How do you know?”

  The kid shrugged.

  “Could explain those seizures of yours.”

  The boy looked away, embarrassed. Yet something in the look told Nox a little more. It was the same kind of look he'd seen many conmen give when he challenged them. It was the look of a liar.

  14 – WHY THE RUST VALLEY BECKONED

  The night lengthened, and Luke fell fast asleep, clutching his satchel. You'd think he'd have trouble sleeping out there, but it seemed he'd gotten used to it. If nothing else, exhaustion helped. Nox was still up, brooding, and he wasn't the only one. Laura couldn't sleep either. She stared at the fire.

  “Worried?” Nox asked, sitting down beside her. He didn't look at the flames. He had them etched into his memory—and etched into his skin.

  “Been worried since this all started.”

  “You know you could make it worse.”

  “I know,” she said, “but I can also make it better.”

  Rarely did things work out that way in the Wild North, but that didn't stop Nox from trying. He knew he'd be a hypocrite to tell her to stop. The difference was, he'd already gotten used to how things worked in the desert. He knew when to fight and when to hide. He knew when to accept that he couldn't change something, and focus on what he really could.

  Laura glanced at him. “Maybe you … can help us?”

  “I thought I already did.”

  “I mean—”

  “I know what you meant.”

  They were both silent for a moment, casting more stares into the flames. Nox hated those momentary glances. Even when he closed his eyes, the flames burrowed through his eyelids. He had to take a deep breath and let the black smoke from his mask dull the embers. He had to tell himself that it was all over, that he wasn't at that burning house, that he wasn't trying to save his family. It was over. They were dead. He'd had his vengeance, though it had taken far too long to get it. And it only helped a little. Here he was, still out in the desert, still seeing the flames, still looking for criminals, as if all of them were to blame.

  “There's certain lands ya just don't walk,” Nox said in time. “Like the lands of death, and that's what that scrapyard valley is. It ain't our territory. We're out here on the frontiers, but that land there, girl, is the frontier of life. D'ya understand?”

  She nodded solemnly. He knew that nod. He'd made it himself far too many times. It was knowing that the path ahead was difficult—maybe even doomed—but walking it anyway. You could understand something plain and clear, but it didn't mean you had to do what it said.

  “It's just,” the girl began, catching her breath. “I don't think I can do this.”

  “Do what?” He knew she didn't mean venturing into the Rust Valley. She had the gumption for that all right, even if the Coilhunter didn't.

  “Be what mama was.”

  “What was she?”

  “No. I mean, to Luke.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “You really care about him, huh?”

  “Yeah. I'm all he's got left.”

  “So why d'ya wanna go and risk that?”

  “'Cause we can get it all back. We can—”

  “You can't go back to the way things were.” Nox knew he was saying it to himself as much as her. You trudged on, step by step, until the desert took you too.

  “But we have a shot.”

  “A shot in the dark. And you ain't no gunslinger.”

  That same solemn nod. “But you are.”

  “You ain't the first to try to get me to fight their war,” Nox said. “And that's what it'd be, girl. If we enter Clockwork Commune territory, it'll be all guns blazin', and blazin' on all sides. Now, I ain't no army, and you ain't no soldier. And you can sure as hell bet that those constructs won't have no value in your brother's drawings. So why start a war you know you can't win?”

  She didn't respond. The silence just allowed the echoes of the question to play out in Nox's mind, reminding him of his own unwinnable war against the never-ending tide of conmen and criminals. He was trying to clean up these parts, but every time he rubbed away a stain, he found another layer of dirt beneath. So, you could give up—or you could keep on scrubbing.

  “Why'd they go in there anyhow?” Nox asked. He was curious, but he also just wanted to break the silence. The silence was like the flames, another reminder that they were gone.

  “They're scientists.”

  Mad scientists, Nox thought. They'd have to be mad to do their research in there.

  “Mama said she had a breakthrough.”

  Or a breakdown, Nox thought.

  “She was researchin' how to make unlimited energy or somethin'.”

  “Perpetual motion?” Nox asked. “That old chestnut?”

  “Somethin' like that. She said the constructs had the key.”

  The last Nox'd heard, those constructs relied on each other to keep themselves powered up. That was why they formed a commune, and why they kept to themselves. People would send their old vehicles in there to keep the peace, kind of like a sacrificial offering. The constructs used them to replace the broken bits of themselves. That way they could live forever. Perpetual motion of a different kind.

  “And what about your old man?”

  “Papa just does what mama tells him to do.”

  Nox smirked. “Guess he ain't ten yet, huh?”

  “He always tells us 'don't do this', and then he does it himself.”

  “The way of the world, girl.”

  “He told us never to put ourselves in dangerous situations.”

  “He mightn't have listened to himself, but maybe you should.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You're soundin' like my brother. We'd already be in the Rust Valley if it wasn't for his seizures slowin' us down. I think they're gettin' worse.”

  “How long's he had 'em?”

  “About the time our parents left.”

  About the time, Nox thought.

  “I'm worried about him,” Laura said. “I don't think I can help him. But maybe mama can.”

  If mama's still alive, Nox thought. You see, ghosts couldn't help with much.

  15 – DECISIONS

  Nox couldn't force Laura to abandon her quest, and he couldn't blame her either. If it were him, he'd probably have done the same. He told himself that in the grand scheme of things, none of this mattered. Those kids'd be just another faceless figure on the Wild North's death list. He cou
ldn't change peoples' minds, and he couldn't save everyone.

  But the problem with reason and logic was that it had little effect on the heart. He felt compelled to help them, just as he felt compelled to clean up the region. He knew, deep down, that a lot of it had to do with those little gravestones he visited once a week in the more fertile lands far west, and his desire not to see two more stone slabs added to the desert's graveyard.

  “Today's the day,” Laura said. “We're very close.”

  Luke packed his things silently—resignedly. Every so often Nox caught a glance from the boy, as if he was checking in to see if maybe the Coilhunter would stop them, hoping he might.

  They're not my kids, Nox thought to himself. It was supposed to help, make him feel like he could shirk some of the blame, but then so many of the people he saved were not his people—and he felt responsible for them all the same. This was what happened when you appointed yourself sheriff of the wastes. You couldn't hand in your badge whenever you felt like it. The desert was your domain, maybe even the scrapyard parts of it.

  “Have you thought about supplies?” Nox asked.

  Laura looked up. “Supplies?”

  “For where you're goin'.”

  “We've got our supplies.”

  Nox looked at their meagre belongings. She had a small backpack, from which hung a few pots and utensils, just enough for a quick campfire meal. Even Nox ate better than that, though he rarely ate in front of other people. He rarely did anything in front of other people, apart from cocking a gun.

  “What about weapons?”

  “We don't have any,” Luke said.

  “Mama said the constructs aren't aggressive if you're not.”

  Tell that to Strawman Sanders, Nox thought.

  “Plus,” Luke said solemnly, before pointing at his sister. “She used 'em all. Papa's rifle too.”

  “Still,” Nox said. “Maybe you should come with me to get better supplies.”

  Luke perked up, but Laura saw through the Coilhunter's ruse.

  “We're fine as we are.”

  Laura trotted westward, waiting for no one. Luke slumped his shoulders again and sauntered after her, kicking the sand as he went. The sun was unusually kind that morning, holding back its typical burn, as if even it was looking down with a sympathetic eye.