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

by Dean F. Wilson

  “Up!” he yelled to the open door, barely seeing Luke and Laura scrambling about inside. He heard them shouting that same word to Porridge. “Up! Up!”

  But shouting didn't help. The copter dipped down again, forcing Nox to pull up his legs as high as he could. Then it rose, and he straightened up again, just enough to scramble up the wire a little more, right before it dove again. Each time it dropped, it seemed like it went down further, as if that makeshift copter couldn't help but make the Rust Valley its bed.

  It got so bad that Nox had to kick at the mangled limbs that reached out for him, sometimes knocking the poorly-soldered arms off into the distance. Yet he couldn't kick at everything. The spinning blades of saws came ever closer by the second.

  Finally, he heard two new engines powering up, which set more propellers in motion. The copter ascended fast, leaving behind the constructs, who would have to wait for some other poor souls to wander into their rusty web.

  Nox climbed the remainder of the wire and hauled himself inside, aided by Luke and Laura's arms. He rolled onto his back, almost flinching at the metallic clang of his oxygen tank. He held up the satchel like a trophy.

  “Thanks,” Luke said, taking the bag.

  “Any time,” Nox replied. “Well. Just this time.” He took a deep breath. “Let's not come here again.”

  * * *

  Luke sat against one of the nets, holding his little journal open. Nox didn't need to look to know what page. Laura wandered over and sat down next to him, putting her arm around his shoulder. She stared at the pencil drawing of her and Luke, with their parents on either side.

  “I killed them,” Luke said softly.

  “No,” Laura replied. “I killed them too.”

  “They were dead a long time ago,” Nox said. “At least inside, where it counts. What you saw were just the empty shells.” That's what he told himself about so many people in the Wild North. He knew it'd make it easier, because it made it easier for him. The criminals of that region were just a kind of walking dead, biding their time till he prepared their grave.

  Luke looked up at the Coilhunter with that same look he'd seen in the eyes of most who'd just taken their first life. The problem with taking another's life is that it took a little part of you too.

  “The memories fade,” Nox said. And they did. Even the good ones.

  Laura pulled her brother closer and kissed him on the forehead. “We can make new ones,” she said. She didn't have that look of a first kill. She'd killed before, when the bandits came. She'd gotten it out of her system. Something about her love for her brother made up for all those little missing chips. They say a bit of love goes a long way. It stopped you becoming a shell of your own.

  Nox never told the boy the entire truth, that the memories might fade, but the dreams never really did. His old battles were over, but he kept reliving them every night. That's when he felt the fire burn again, hotter than it had ever been. But maybe, just maybe, there was a little bit of healing in what you did in the day.

  48 – BACK TO CIVILISATION

  The Coilhunter thanked Porridge for his help, and gave him a little gift for his troubles: those two little constructs, who'd feel right at home among the scrap of the trader's copter. Oddcopper had a mate, but she needed a name. So, Laura gave her one. She called her Bitnickel.

  Porridge dropped them off just outside of Lambert's Reach, due north of the Rust Valley. It was a small town, but they weren't looking for big. They were looking for something that wasn't surrounded by metal. Lambert's Reach was mostly wood.

  Yet, despite all they'd been through, it didn't take long for Nox to get that sour taste back in his mouth. He saw the locals eyeing him up something dirty. They were back in civilisation, though there wasn't much civilised about it. The Northfolk used that term derisively for the south, “the so-called Civilised South.” There wasn't much civilised about that either.

  Nox didn't have many coils on him, but the townsfolk recognised him, and knew he wouldn't have any problem getting more. They didn't so much as trust as fear him. Even now, when he looked bruised and bloodied. In fact, that only made them fear him more.

  “Where'd you come from?” Looselip Lambert asked. He was a man of gossip, looking for a new story more than a handful of coils. You see, the coils always ran out. But the stories stayed.

  “The Rust Valley,” Nox said.

  “You're kiddin'.”

  “Do I look like I'm kiddin'?”

  “You look like you barely got out.”

  “Barely's fine by me,” Nox said. “It's better than most.”

  “And the kids?” Lambert pointed to the duo behind him.

  “None of your business.”

  “Well, I'm puttin' my trust in you here. If you want the wagon, it'll cost double the normal rate.”

  “Let's make it triple. For your trouble. And your silence.”

  “Well, then. How can I say no to that?”

  Nox forced a smile with his eyes. “You can't.”

  * * *

  They stayed the night there, in a room above the bar, with Lambert's best hospitality. His daughter brought them food and drink, and helped them mend their wounds. Nox knew he'd receive a bill for that as well.

  Laura went out like a light, but Luke had trouble sleeping. Nox knew he was starting to have his own nightmares too. Exhaustion was no defence against them. They, like the land, would get you anywhere.

  “It gets better,” Nox told him between one of his own restless dozes.

  Luke handed him a piece of paper he'd torn out of his sacred journal. Nox held it up. It was the drawing of him, but now it was finished. He didn't draw all the cuts and bruises. He drew him all patched up and perfect. If only the reality matched.

  “It's yours,” the boy said.

  “You keep it,” Nox replied. “To remember me.”

  “I don't need it to remember you.”

  * * *

  They left just before dawn, before most of the townsfolk could gather. It was better to let Lambert tell them the story. Nox didn't want to tell it himself.

  As Nox loaded up the wagon, he passed a girl sticking her tongue out at a boy on the porch. Their mother was there too, sweeping the streets. They were the only ones out there, the early risers, just like him. They didn't take any notice, because the slivers of dawnlight hadn't yet shown Nox's distinctive mask.

  “No, you're a construct,” the girl said. They pushed and shoved, and giggled. The parents watched on, full of chuckles of their own.

  To them, to all of them, it was just a game. None of them really knew what was out there in the Rust Valley. Even the sun looked away. They looked to the here and now, and maybe that was how you stayed sane. None of them looked to what might be coming, what might be coming for all of them. But Nox did. And he thought he best prepare for it.

  49 – HOME

  The Coilhunter didn't so much have a home as a hideout, a place to recover between each chase and kill. It was his workshop, where he made his dangerous toys. But it wasn't home, and he knew it could never be a home to Luke and Laura. He was dangerous too. They'd be safer if they weren't associated with him, away from the vendettas of the Wild North's gangs.

  So he had to look somewhere else. He knew a lot of people, but few were good. One name came to mind.

  Sally Hays.

  She was better known as Handcart Sally. When he arrived at her new ranch up north, just bordering tribal territory, he couldn't quite believe his eyes. Boy, she was the same as she ever was. Her hair fell in perfect waves upon her shoulders, all gold and crisp. Though she hadn't touched a mine in years, she somehow still seemed to get soot on her face, or maybe she just couldn't get it out. She didn't bother with lipstick and eyeliner, and she didn't have to. She kept the sun at bay with her wide-brimmed straw hat.

  She stood there, not moving, linking her thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. The sun gave her a pleasant glow. It wasn't so kind to the rest of them. Beside her, mu
nching the few stray bits of grass, was a mighty stallion, with its golden mane made to rival Sally's.

  Nox left the kids in the wagon and strolled up. Even when he concentrated, he found it hard to hide that gunslinger's gait. He wasn't trying to be intimidating. The days of chasing Handcart Sally across the desert were over. Now, he always knew where to find her.

  “Well, look who it is,” Sally said. “Ain't that a sight for sore eyes.”

  Nox tipped his hat. “Been a while.”

  “So it has. Why, if I didn't keep seein' posters disappearin' off o' buildings, I'd have thought you were dead.”

  “You know me. Always trudging on.”

  “I do indeed.”

  Nox ran his hand down the horse's mane. “You finally did it.”

  She smirked. “A girl can dream.”

  “A girl can do anything she wants.”

  They both smiled in silence for a moment.

  “What's his name?” Nox asked, patting the horse again. He was a gentle animal, too tame for the Wild North. Nox wondered if it was Sally's influence that did that. She had a way of taming things.

  Sally combed her fingers through the horse's mane on the other side, bringing her hand up closer to Nox's each time, though never close enough. “Old-timer Bill.”

  “By the sounds of it, he ain't new.”

  “He's not, though you wouldn't think it by the looks of 'im. He's twenty-five now.”

  “That so? 'Bout the average lifespan of folk up here.”

  “Oh, I think it's less than that,” Sally said. “But Old-timer Bill should live to sixty, even with the heat. He's one of those shadow mustangs from the Losa Ariasa. Got 'im for a good price too.”

  “The Dust Riders? Why'd they part with him?”

  “I've got an Ootana friend.”

  Nox raised an eyebrow. “Don't we all?”

  “Well, they might say they're at peace with everyone, but for some of us, they really mean it.” She grasped the feather hanging from her necklace and rolled it between her fingers. Nox knew that symbol well. The feather of the tamba bird, a sign of peace.

  “And the other tribes didn't object?”

  “Hell if I know. But so what if they do? I've got the Ariasa license. It's as good as your posters. Better, even. But I think if they didn't like it, they'd have said so by now—probably with arrows. I've had Oldtimer Bill now for almost two years. I've put my stamp on 'im, so I have. He's got the old Sally spirit in 'im.”

  “So long as it ain't Handcart Sally spirit.”

  She frowned. “It ain't. You know those days are behind me now.”

  Nox said nothing. You could never really get a clean slate, even though many came to the Wild North for just that. She couldn't shake the name Handcart Sally any more than he could shake all those names the Northfolk had for him. Every so often he still saw her face on a poster for some old crime, but now things were different. Now he pulled those posters down.

  They stared at each other over the horse's mane. It was always easier when there was something between them. Most times it was the great expanse of the desert. It was easier that way—except on the lonely nights. The bodies of criminals weren't great company.

  “He's a good horse,” Nox said eventually, pulling away from her gaze.

  “You should get yourself one. I could put in a good word.”

  “I'll stick with the iron equivalent, I think. Suits me just fine.”

  “I heard you lost yours though. Monowheels ain't exactly easy to come by. I don't got any connections for that.”

  “I won't need them. I'll build a new one.”

  “It's good how you can do that.”

  “We all can, in our own way.”

  “Build a new life,” Sally mused. “Ain't no blueprint for that.”

  “I guess not.”

  “So, what brings you here?” She peered over his shoulder at the cart far off down the road. “I'd wager you didn't come in something that big if you were on your lonesome.”

  “You'd wager right,” Nox said.

  “What's the matter?”

  “I need a favour. A big one.”

  “Most favours are, in their own way.”

  “Well, this is bigger than most.”

  “Spill.”

  “You wanted a family, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said, “but I can't have one now. Not if I don't want no demon spawn.”

  “That's a myth.”

  “That's easy for a man to say.”

  “Well, what about if the kids are already born?”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, what if there were two orphans out there, lookin' for a home.”

  “I'd ask where your home is,” Sally said, “but I know you don't got one.”

  “I'm serious,” Nox said.

  “I know you are. When were you anything but?”

  “If you've got room, I've got two who could do with it.”

  Sally stared at the wagon, where Laura and Luke peered out.

  “That's askin' a lot.”

  “I know.”

  “Not just of me. Of them too.”

  “I know.”

  She rubbed her hand across her mouth. He thought he saw it tremor a little before she hid it with her fingers. She looked at him. “A family,” she said, her voice hushed. Nox knew that was something she always wanted, but never had. It was what he wanted too, though he'd already had it once. It was easier to be alone. That way you couldn't lose anyone but yourself.

  “I'll do it,” she said. “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “You visit.”

  “That's probably not wise.”

  “Maybe it's not, but that's my line in the sand.”

  “It'd have to be a big line,” Nox said, gesturing to the vastness of the desert.

  “It is.”

  He sighed. “Well, okay then. I'll visit.”

  “Or, y'know, you could stay.”

  They locked eyes for a moment, like they had so many times before, and then he looked away, back to the endless desert.

  “You could have your life back,” she told him, though it sounded like she only half believed it. “You could have … a family.”

  He stifled a sigh, hiding the jitter of his breath. He was glad the hot desert air dried up his eyes. Whatever words he was trying to find caught in his throat. He glanced at the girl and boy, staring out of the wagon. He turned away again, just as he had turned away from the memories of past glances at his own little Ambrose and Aaron. He'd already told Luke and Laura about Sally, and that he wasn't staying—that he couldn't stay. They got out now and stood close to the cart.

  Sally reached her delicate hand out, grasping the bottom of his mask, and turning his head back towards her.

  “Don't you want this?” she asked.

  “I want this,” he said, a shudder in his voice. “But I can't have it.”

  “Why can't you?”

  “Because if I take this, then they'll win.”

  Sally frowned. “Doesn't that mean then that you'll always lose?”

  “It ain't about me.”

  “But why ain't it? Don't you think you matter? Don't you think you deserve some happiness?”

  “Maybe I do, but so do a lot of people in these here parts. They'll never have it so long as the gangs get their way. What's one man's happiness compared to that of a hundred?”

  “Everything,” Sally said, “to the man.”

  “Well, we all got to make sacrifices.”

  “Seems like you're makin' 'em all.”

  “Why, that makes me sound more important than I am. There's other good men out there too. Not many of 'em, but they're out there. And for the rest, well, I make 'em take sacrifices too.”

  “You won't let this life o' yours go, will you?” Sally asked.

  “You've got it wrong,” he replied, shaking his head. “It won't let me go.”

  He turned to leave, but his heart made him look back.
He saw Sally there, then turned to see Laura far behind at the wagon, with her hands on Luke's shoulders. The boy waved slowly, sadly. This was why he didn't want to know their names.

  He turned back to the unmarked paths of the sand, and pulled a poster out of his pocket, rolled up next to the drawing Luke had made. The poster had a different name: Lawless Lyle. It'd help him forget the others. Just as much as his heart panged, his fingers itched. He felt the soft sand beneath his feet, and his pistols at his hips. He walked on, letting the sun hound him and the wind lead him. He knew he wouldn't have to walk far before he'd find his next destination, and yet another name for his list.

  THE END

  The Coilhunter Chronicles continue with Dustrunner, coming in February 2018.

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  A final message from Dean:

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this adventure. Before you go, I'd like to ask you a small favour: if you liked what you read, please write a review. Short and sweet is perfect. I really appreciate your feedback. Thanks! :)