by Craig Zerf
Nate and his two friends went straight to a cheap looking pub and ordered a jug of soya vodka. For them it had been a remarkably successful trip. Using the Calotype, Brett had snapped proof of thirty four kills. She had shamelessly included the mutants that had been taken out by the merchants and the Shieldmen as well as their own. But she reckoned that, as most of them were down to Nate and Leon, then she was well within her remit.
Needless to say both the marine and the lion man agreed.
As they waited for their vodka, Nate came to realize a new problem that now faced them. To put it bluntly, they were broke. They could only claim for the kills at a citadel controlled by the Highmen. So, although on paper they were now richer by seventeen gold units, in actuality they had a handful of steels, their weapons, their mounts and a couple of days worth of food. Not enough to either get back to the citadel of Sanfrisco or onwards to any other one.
He explained the quandary to his compatriots.
‘Well that sucks,’ observed Leon.
‘Moderately,’ agreed the marine.
‘Oh stop being so negative,’ quipped Brett. ‘All we need to do is find some work that pays up front and we’re in.’
‘Easier said than done,’ countered Nate.
The barman walked over to their table and placed a jug and three mugs down. Nate pulled a handful of steels from his pocket but the barman waved the payment away.
‘No way, sirs and lady,’ he stated. ‘No charge for the heroes that saved the caravan. I had family in that there wagon train and it be told that without you three, the whole caravan would have been exterminated.’
Nate nodded his thanks. ‘Much appreciated,’ he murmured.
‘I couldn’t help but overhear,’ continued the barman. ‘But it appears that you are currently a little cash strapped, as it were.’
Again Nate nodded.
‘If you’re looking for work, the mayor needs some protection for the latest Dissolvers. They be heading to the town of Brushy Peaks tomorrow and the Shieldmen who came with the caravan were meant to escort them. But obviously they can’t do that on account of all being dead.’
‘What the hell are Dissolvers when they’re at home?’ Asked Nate, a puzzled look on his face.
‘Teenagers that have reached the age of Dissolvement,’ answered Leon. ‘Due to the small populations of the outlander towns, it is forbidden to marry or procreate with anyone in your town of birth. You have to move to the next town to seek a mate, so as to avoid any chance of inbreeding. This movement is called, Dissolving. It takes place any time between sixteen and nineteen. Normally takes place ever two years or so. A group of teenagers gather together and move, en mass, to the next town. It’s not hugely scientific but it seems to work.’
The barman nodded. ‘Yep, what he said.’
‘Technically, Hammermen aren’t supposed to charge for protection,’ noted Nathaniel. ‘We’re meant to make our money from dispatching Untouchables.’
‘What about Marines?’ Asked Brett.
Nate laughed. ‘Now that I cannot remember. Maybe.’
‘Okay then,’ continued Brett. ‘We hire ourselves out as marines then.’
‘Works for me,’ confirmed Leon.
‘Fine,’ acceded Nate. ‘Let’s do it. Barkeep, where do we find the mayor?’
‘Easy, turn right when you get outside. First road to the left. Big red roof house half way down the street. You can’t miss it.’
After thanking the barman once more and finishing off the foul tasting liquor, the three headed for the mayor’s residence.
The mayor was a middle age woman of upright appearance, ice blue eyes and a demeanor to match. But she was swift and efficient and fair. Within half an hour Nathaniel had tied up the deal and he and his team were on their way to a local inn, his pockets three gold units heavier. He also had a promise of another three golds on the safe delivery of the Dissolvers to the town of Brushy Peaks, some six days travel away.
The next morning they woke with the sun and, before the hour was out, they were escorting three wagonloads of teenagers, nine male and ten female, from the town gates and into the badlands.
It had snowed the night before and the fine layer of pristine snow reflected the myriad colors of the solar flares that washed the skies in a kaleidoscope, turning the vista into a renaissance canvas.
Breath steamed from the mouths of humans and horses alike and the only sound was the creaking of the wagons and the crunch of hooves on snow.
But Nathaniel looked past the ethereal beauty of the moment, pushing it aside to concentrate on pinch points in the trail, places that could conceal an ambush and likely spots for scouts to spy out the land. There was space for neither beauty nor contemplation. Only for awareness. Alertness. Driven by the need to protect and, in turn, to stay alive.
They called a brief halt around mid day and ate a cold meal of pre-made soya flour flatbread and fermented bean paste. After they had eaten, Nate sent Leon ahead to scout out the land as they were approaching an area of small folds and ridges in the landscape, rife with ambush opportunity.
But the small group continued on unmolested for that day and the next and the next. On the night of the fourth day, after they had set up camp and eaten, Nathaniel called first watch for himself and he sat by the fire, staring at the stars and trying unsuccessfully to once again recall some of his lost memories.
He closed his eyes and concentrated, willing himself to remember, striving to recollect his past.
The Agamid is a furred, lizard-like creature about the size of a large dog. Although not strictly bi-pedal it often does walk on two legs and can run at phenomenal speeds. The creature roams in packs of up to twenty or thirty in number. Their main diet is the bitter flesh of the Grazers, the small herds of antelope that live in the badlands and survive on the sparse leaves of the various scrub bushes and sour grasses. But they are creatures of opportunity and they will attack groups of humans when hungry or threatened. Their six inch claws and venomous bite make them formidable enemies and, as such, they are widely feared by all.
The pack that attacked Nathaniel did so because they had not come across any Grazers for a while and their hunger had driven them to a point of desperation.
They came ravening out of the dark, sprinting on their hind legs, their clawed feet almost silent in the snow.
At the last moment Nate’s sixth sense dragged him from his personal reverie and slipped him into overdrive. As the lead Agamid launched himself through the air, the marine whipped his axe up in a smooth underhand strike. The blade struck the springing attacker under the chin and clove his head in two, smashing through his jawbone and skull with savage force.
But before the first attacker had even hit the ground the next was onto the marine, clawing and biting, its razor sharp claws and brutal fangs ripping and tearing into Nate’s flesh. He jabbed the points of his axe into the creature, forcing it back so that he could wield it once again, shouting a warning to the camp as he did so. The axe struck flesh and then the marine was buried under a writhing mass of bodies.
One of the Agamids bit him on the shoulder. Another on his thigh. Their teeth sank deep and Nate felt as if a fire was spreading through his body as their venom assaulted his system. He tried to swing his axe again but was hemmed in so he punched and kicked instead. Claws racked down his back, shredding his flesh to the bone. Blood gouted from the wounds and he rolled on the ground in a frantic effort to escape.
But he had been taken by surprise and was vastly outnumbered.
The last thing that he heard before he blacked out was the mighty roar of a male lion.
And then all went dark.
Chapter 13
The sun rose, bringing with it the mixed pallet of color that is the pulse light, creating a stained glass patchwork over the blighted land.
Nathaniel’s eyes fluttered opened and he glanced around to see that he was in the back of one of the wagons.
Brett sat next to the bed. She
was quietly weeping.
‘Hey,’ grunted the marine. ‘What’s up? Why the tears?’
Brett squeaked and did a double take.
Nate raised an eyebrow. ‘Got any water,’ he continued. ‘And food. I’m starving here.’
The young woman laughed and lent forward to hug the injured marine. Nate flinched as she did, his body still felt wracked with pain.
‘Sorry,’ apologized Brett. Then she pulled the blanket down to his chest and checked his shoulder, peeling off the dressing and staring at the wound.
Nate peered down to see a semi-circle of ridged pink bite marks.
‘Oh yeah,’ he recollected. ‘I had an altercation with some real ugly things last night. I see that they bit me a few times.’
The canvas at the entrance to the wagon twitched open and Leon stepped in. He stared at Nate with a look of utter amazement on his leonine features.
‘Yo,’ greeted Nate. ‘If memory serves, I think that you came to my rescue last night. I was taking a bit of a beating from the alligator dude things.’
Leon knelt beside Nathaniel and looked at the wound on his shoulder, then without asking he grabbed the marine’s right arm and stripped the dressing off. The limb was encircled with a row of shiny pink scars.
‘That’s not possible,’ mumbled Leon under his breath.
‘What’s not possible?’ Asked Nate.
Leon took a deep breath. ‘Those things that attacked you last night are called Agamids. They’re a large reptile. Fairly intelligent and really vicious.’ He paused for a while. ‘Look, I’m not sure how else to say this,’ he continued. ‘Their bite is lethal. I mean one hundred percent fatal. Their saliva carries a virulent cytotoxic venom. One bite and necrosis starts to occur. Within twelve hours gangrene sets in and then death follows within the next ten hours, often sooner.’
Nate prodded the scars on his arm. They were tender but almost completely healed.
‘Maybe the one that bit me wasn’t poisonous,’ he suggested.
‘You were bitten by three separate Agamids,’ contradicted Leon.
‘Well then I must be immune or something,’ continued Nathaniel. ‘Because, apart from a deadly thirst and hunger, I feel fine.’
Leon shook his head. ‘Whatever,’ he grunted. ‘You’d better take it easy for as while, we don’t want some sort of relapse.’
‘I’ll get you some grub and water,’ said Brett, as she left the wagon, her face a picture of relief.
‘I wonder if the Highmen pay a bounty on these Agamid things?’ Questioned Nate.
Leon shook his head. ‘I doubt it. They don’t attack humans as a rule.’
‘Could have fooled me. They went for both of us.’
Leon shook his head again. ‘They ran when I pitched up. And as for you,’ he stared at the marine for a few seconds before he continued. ‘I am beginning to seriously doubt that you are human. Well, not in the usual accepted way at any rate.’
Nate grinned. ‘Look who’s talking.’
‘Hey,’ objected the lion man. ‘Be nice.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ laughed the marine. ‘I’ll try.’
Chapter 14
Sparks flew from the mouth of the furnace as the man threw in another shovel full of coal. Heat boiled off the forge, scorching the man’s leather apron and crisping his eyelashes. But he barely noticed as the agony from his arthritis, his twisted back and his hacking cough overrode the pain incurred from the blisteringly hot air.
He knew what the pain meant, especially the cough. He had seen it happen to stokers before. The coal dust got trapped in the lungs, congealing and hardening over time until no amount of coughing could clear it.
He was dying.
But he simply did not have the courage to wander off into the night and let the Agamids or Mutants finish it all.
He shoveled again and remembered a time before he was old. Not so long ago. In a different town.
He had been no mere stoker then. He had been the actual blacksmith. A man respected by all. With a house that had two rooms, a living area where his son and daughter slept, and a separate room for his wife and himself.
He had been a man of substance.
And then had come, The Scouring.
Every three months a representative of the citadel of Sanfrisco had come to his old town of Carthage to collect the Highman taxes. The taxes were high to the point of extortion and they were not negotiable. As a skilled worker, his taxes were placed at half of his turnover, to be paid in either gold units or goods to an equal value. He had hidden as much of his turnover as possible, resulting in his only paying over less than a quarter of the expected amount. As such, he had been able to build himself a two roomed home. And he was not the only one who did his best to hide his revenue; it was a practice that many of the leading merchants and craftsmen followed.
Then, at the end of one month, instead of a single tax man, an entire squad of officials had arrived at the town gates. A tax general, one hundred and twenty soldiers, four heavily armed battle wagons and three Inquisitors.
They had lined up the people of the town up in the main square and then the inquisitors had randomly selected ten merchants. These merchants were taken for questioning.
After over five hours of aggressive interrogation involving whips and heated iron bars, the inquisitors declared that the town of Carthage had been found to be delinquent payers and they declared that the town would undergo The Scouring.
The battle wagons surrounded the town while all of the townsfolk were kept assembled in the town square and forbidden to leave. Then the population was decimated.
Every tenth person, regardless of either age or sex was taken from the assemblage and, in front of the townsfolk, they were executed with a single shot to the back of the head. Anyone who resisted or showed resistance was also summarily put to death.
Afterwards the survivors were given one hour to remove whatever they could carry and then they were driven out of the town and into the badlands.
At that moment the battle wagons opened up, pouring shot into the walls and buildings. When the town had been reduced to rubble and splinters, the soldiers set fire to the remains and watched it burn to the ground.
Highman law.
The survivors of the Scouring trudged towards Brushy Peak, the next closest town of any note. But the weather was harsh and they had to carry all that they had as well as support the sickly, the elderly and the young.
That night the mutants came.
Of the three hundred people that had left the Scoured town of Carthage, only seven made it to Brushy Peak. Two of those died the next day of their wounds.
And now, four years later, he was the only one left.
He bent and shoveled another load of coal into the furnace.
Maybe tonight, he thought. Maybe tonight I will find the strength to end it all.
Chapter 15
By the next day, Nathaniel had almost completely recovered from his wounds, the scars having faded to mere suggestion and his muscles limber and pain free.
He rode easy in his saddle as Leon ran on ahead of the wagons, taking point. Brett rode alongside the wagons, chatting to one of the girls that sat up front, guiding the horses. As the marine cast his eye about the land he saw, in the distance and off to the side of the trail, what looked to be the ruins of a small town. He trotted up next to the second wagon and asked the dissolvers what the ruins were. But they all looked away and ignored his question as if he wasn’t there. The marine assumed that they were either intimidated or simply did not want to admit that they didn’t know. So instead he heeled his horse and galloped over to the site, reining in when he got closer.
What he saw was obviously the remains of a town but it had been razed to the ground. He had seen similar ruins before when he had been a stoker for the mallet gun on the Landship, “Gwendolyn” and had assumed that they were the results of savage attacks by the Untouchables.
However, now that he was up close, it was easy to
see that some sort of ordnance had been used; the splintered logs and chipped stones bearing mute evidence to the fact. Mutants mainly used crude clubs or hand guns, so would have been unable to deliver the damage that Nathaniel was looking at. He trotted his horse around the perimeter of the ruins and then headed back to the wagons, his mind brimming with questions.
When he arrived he rode over to Leon and questioned him about the ruins, remarking that the young Dissolvers didn’t seem to know anything about it.
‘Oh, they know,’ answered Leon. ‘They know only too well.’
‘Why won’t they talk to me about it?’
‘Taboo,’ said Leon. ‘It is customary not to talk about any town that has been Scoured. It is considered to be unseemly. Brings bad luck, especially if the Interrogators hear you. Then it brings a terminal case of bad luck.’
‘Scoured?’ Questioned Nate.
‘It’s a punishment. If you don’t pay your taxes, cause dissent, insurrection. Actually, you piss the Highmen off in any kinda meaningful way, you could get Scoured. The Highmen send an army to your gates, they line up the local population, take out every tenth person and execute them. Call it decimation. Then they cast the rest of the unfortunates out into the badlands with only what they can carry. After that the army destroys the town. Levels it to the point that you see over there. Then its name is scoured from the history books and it is never mentioned again. To talk about a scoured town is punishable by death.’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ countered Nate. ‘If it’s a punishment, then wouldn’t they want people to talk about it? You know, spread the word. Don’t do this or that or your town will be scoured.’
Leon shook his head. ‘Don’t be naive, boss,’ he remarked. ‘Everybody knows about scouring. The fact that you can’t talk about it makes it even scarier. Fear always works best in the shadows. Anyway, it’s kinda like telling someone not to think of pink elephants. Once said. the first thing that you think about is a huge pink pachyderm.’