by Ric Beard
It’s a woman.
Charlie took a moment to enjoy that.
The slender figure shaded her eyes and peered down the wider street in the center of this place. Jerking his head back around the corner, he pressed his back into the filthy wall, just noticing his chest rising and falling with the excitement. There was a broken out, wide window on his side, so he used the wall for cover to get a better angle to see this new arrival. She wore tight, shiny black pants and had some sort of rifle slung onto her back. It was black with a yellow stripe bright enough he could see it from here. A glossy scope that seemed it would weigh a few stones sat atop the shaft of the weapon, and the dull stock was thick all the way to the end, instead of narrowing into a metal barrel, like he’d expect.
That’s one of them pulse weapons, I bet. Earl was right!
The woman bent and picked up a rock, hefting it in her hand for a moment as if to test its weight. Charlie’s first instinct was to hide again because maybe she saw him and was about to throw it, but then she reached up to the east-facing wall of the building across the street and scratched at it, her elbow working furiously in repetitive motions.
Stupid, if she seen you, she would’ve shot at you.
Though she wore a black glove on the right hand, the left seemed to be white. He squinted to get a better look, but from this distance he couldn’t tell what it was that bothered him about that strange glove. His eyes performed a double take at the black glove, the black rifle, the black boots and then the black glove.
Black Ghost!
When the woman turned and disappeared behind the wall, Charlie eased out of the shop so he could sneak around to the front of the car and acquire her again. He watched for a few minutes.
What are you doing all the way out here, little missy?
He jumped back and hid behind the car as she stood. The woman stared at the street again, and he was afraid she’d move his way, but she turned and paced away from town, working her way up the grassy hill across the way.
If she’s one of them Ghosts, Sampson would be real keen on her. One of them killed his lawkeeper. I bet I wouldn’t see an enforcer truck for a year if I gave her over! He might even give me a bushel of that new money!
Eyeing the weapon and the woman’s lovely, muscular rear quarters, Charlie saw marks. In her, he saw life-changing circumstances. Maybe he could get on one of them enforcer trucks and eat regular instead of scrounging! But he didn’t have a gun with him and that weapon on her back looked sinister. This wasn’t going to be a simple proposition. If only his luck would shine this once, he would never ask the universe for anything again!
Just once, let her doze off for a little nap, see. Just once, how I’d love…
Then the woman clutched her side, doubled over, and collapsed.
“Thank you, universe!” Charlie barked.
Chapter Eighteen
GOOD GIRL?
18
Shaw was down. Sasha had seen her body flailing through the air, only to curl at the last moment before impacting the earth. That was the last she’d seen of her new compatriot as she’d wheeled the hornet around and drawn these two assholes on her six away from the conflict—and into a new one. Their bikes’ engines rumbled and bellowed as they throttled up. Though Sasha could’ve swerved off the road and lost them on the plains, they’d just circle back to Lexi and cause more trouble for her.
She stole a quick look over her shoulder and checked the spacing between the two bikes as the men leaned over their handle bars with their long hair whipping in the wind behind them. The dog in the carrier on the back of her bike was hunched down in the cargo box, barking its understanding that the men behind were a threat.
Sasha waggled her handlebars a few times in an effort to give the impression it’d been hit, and threw a look backward to see the men throttle down in anticipation of a potential collision. Then the engines growled as they split further apart, as if to come up on either side of her. The one on the left reached into a bike holster and brought up a shotgun with a short, sawed-off barrel. Sasha yanked at the strap fastened over her lap until she felt her skin pinch with the violent jerk. Turning her fist around the accelerator handle, she eased the bike to the middle of the road, steadied her resolve by clenching her teeth, released the accelerator, and slammed on the air brakes.
Dirt and gravel shot out from beneath their tires as the men engaged their brakes and swerved wildly in the effort to avoid her and bring their bikes to a stop. As they zoomed past, Sasha twisted the handle, the bike jerked forward, and she nudged its nose to the left. Registering the look of horror in the eyes of the rider on the left as he peered back, Sasha bore the ramped nose of her bike into his back tire, flipping it into a violent side-over-side roll in the opposite direction. His head impacted the engine as his legs cracked grossly beneath him, and the machine twirled off into the rocks. A fireball erupted against the hillside.
Sasha allotted a short moment to cringe, and the dog barked at the flailing corpse as it settled to the rocky terrain by the road.
Before the man’s broken body came to a stop, Sasha ripped out her side arm, leveled it and shot at the back wheel of the other bike. The bike clipped forward in an inverse wheelie, but the man onboard managed to hold the saddle as the bike wheeled to a stop and, miraculously, settled upright.
Sasha swung the weapon to fire as the raider bastard jumped off the bike and turned, but a flurry of black and brown motion on her right caused her to hold. The dog’s feet pumped furiously as it galloped toward the rider. Before she knew it, the beast had launched into the air and tackled the skinny man before he could even dislodge his weapon from his bike. The back of the dog’s head shook back and forth in a furious blur accompanied by a violent growl. The man’s arms flailed around and tried to gain purchase on the dog’s mane as Sasha dismounted and hurried toward the struggle.
Then the flailing was over and the man’s arms dropped to the ground like meat. Teeth still clutching the man’s throat, the dog jerked its head a couple of times. Apparently convinced he was dead, the animal took a step or two backward, sniffed the man’s chest hesitantly, and tuned to trot back toward Sasha. It stopped and dropped a bloody chunk on the road in front of her. When it looked up, its tongue dangled out one side of its jowls, and its tail beat a rhythm on the dirt trail. Sasha gazed past the animal to find the man’s face and throat covered in a blanket of crimson, and she looked back down at the dog.
“Good girl?”
The dog closed its mouth, tilted its head to one side, and whined. Then it sat and slapped its tail on the dirt again.
Sasha stroked the animal’s head and jerked her own toward the bike. “Come on.”
The dog followed and jumped onto the seat. Then it stepped across the back and into the cargo box. When it turned, settled, and looked up at her, she saw blood had streaked the hair around the animal’s mouth.
She shook her head in derision. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
The dog’s head turned to look back up the road in the direction from which they’d come. It whined. Sasha’s chin ticked up.
Shaw.
Moss had been attached to her hip for the last six months. If she finally gained some freedom and managed to lose her charge on her first day away, he would not be pleased.
Chapter Nineteen
MY FATHER CALLED ME THAT
19
The tires were shredded, as if the murderers took machetes to them, but the boss pointed out how the plasma-burned rubber spun a yarn about special weaponry. The Black Ghosts used those kinds of weapons. One of the corpses the boys dragged off the truck had to be lifted off the side rails, and even though it was winter, Ruby cringed when she caught a whiff of the scent resulting from the corpse’s exposure to the day’s sun.
All the soldiers’ wounds, with the exception of the driver, were tributes to impressive marksmanship, each hole centered on the body parts in which they were shot. A pool of dried blood had encircled the driver�
�s head on one side of the truck, the victim of a violent execution.
Animals.
Ruby stood with her hands on her hips, occasionally raising one to brush loose strands of hair from her face and wrap them back, over her head. Her eyes ticked up to the enforcer staring at her from atop the truck bed, mirroring her posture with his hands on his hips. In a moment of self-consciousness, she set her face in a stony expression.
Sampson had finally made the move on their way to the scene. The mentorship was over, and Ruby was his number one in the north, finally Bradshaw’s equal. Now she could stop passively accepting all the looks Bradshaw shot her in judgement or to check out her tits. Now that she was the one, though, she had to show it.
“When did you find them, Ralph?”
“Two hours ago. Blood beneath Larry was dry when we rolled up.” Leaning on the rails, he craned his neck to the side to look down at the blood.
“Wind’s been blowing all day,” Ruby said. “Could’ve been dead since last night. When was their last check in?”
“Tower Seventeen, about fifteen miles north, says they radioed just before dawn.”
“Mm.”
The radio towers were remnants of the old civilization that Sampson repurposed within months of returning to the MidEast. The boss had apparently learned about radio components in OK City as a teenager from books and volunteering at what he called a ‘fire station.’ Ruby couldn’t imagine such a thing, people dedicated to riding around, putting out other peoples’ fires, but soon she would see it for herself. Fire squads were on Sampson’s list. Apparently, he worried the lumber mills and the textile plants could go up in flames and grow a wart on the progress they’d made. The boss said the fire people, or whatever the city folk called them, used dogs to rescue people.
Ruby’s eyebrow ticked up and glanced around.
Dogs…
Ruby turned and looked over at Sampson, who was chatting with one of the enforcers—Miller, she thought his name was—on a cracked sidewalk in front of a crumbling brick structure, as she paced past the truck on which she’d come. The enforcer nervously tapped his radio as he spoke.
At the end of the buildings on the edge of the ghost town, she turned left and came into view of the rest of the soldiers. They took turns shoveling muddy earth.
“Hold up, there,” Ruby said, extending a finger. Three heads swiveled and the instruments stopped chugging.
“What’s up, Rubes?”
Ruby shot the one who answered a stink-eye. “Don’t fucking call me that. My father called me that.”
“So? What’s wrong with Rubes? You can call me daddy.”
A sudden surge of rage caused Ruby to clench her teeth. She didn’t know if it was the dead men’s bodies or the episode with Jonesy, but before she considered her actions, she found herself ripping the knife out of her sheath and pressing the gleaming edge to his throat.
“My daddy did things to me, asshole. So, I cut his pecker off. You sure you want me to call you daddy?”
It wasn’t true, but if she’d divined anything from Sampson in the last six months, it was that impressions were everything. You could tell a man who you was—were, she corrected herself—and see if he believed you, or you could show him and remove all doubt. If Sampson wanted to see her take control of her region, then she had to steel her determination and make her reputation what she wanted it to be.
The man’s shoulder-length hair blew in his face, like Ruby’s, but he wisely made no effort to brush it away with a knife at his neck.
“Well, daddy?”
The man raised his free hand and shook his head. “Sorry, Ruby.”
She pressed the side of the blade against his skin so as not to cut him and let her eyes bear down on his.
“Sorry is for people who make mistakes.” She shoved the knife into the sheath without looking and counted herself lucky it went in easily. “Don’t make the same one again.” Turning to another of the enforcers, she thrust out a finger. “Unwrap that one. Show me his whole face.”
The man dropped the pickaxe and untied the tarp surrounding the corpse. Throwing it open, he stepped clear and, though he had to turn his head at the smell, he set his hands behind his back. Ruby admired his discipline and made a mental note.
“Nope. Show me the other one.” The man complied. Ruby leaned over the corpse and tilted her head to the side. “That’s Myers, ain’t it?”
“Um,” the man looked down and turned his head to the side so as to get a better look. “Yes, ma’am. I believe that’s correct.”
“Myers is a dog man, right?” Dogmen kept the constant company of the animals and trained them.
The enforcer’s eyes rolled to the sky for an instant, and then his chin bobbed up and down.
“Yes, ma’am! You’re right.” He pointed. “That’s him!”
Remembering how Sampson looked from face-to-face in Ripley just hours before as he delivered his message of unity, Ruby, too, peered at each man in turn as she spoke.
“Can you tell me what I’m thinking? What’s this tell us? Anyone know what my next question is?”
To her surprise, the answer came from the man holding a dirty pocket rag against the cut on his neck.
“Where’s the dog?”
Ruby snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Right!” She threw him a cursory up and down look. “There might be hope for you yet.” She strode off, back in the direction of Sampson and the ghost town. “Get a god damn haircut. You look like a woman.”
Ruby rejoined Sampson, and they moved back toward the truck. He opened the passenger door and motioned with an open hand.
“Hop in. Let’s talk where it’s quiet.”
Ruby did, and Sampson circled to the other side. His expressionless face as she watched him through the windshield made her wonder if he could be as calm as he looked. Though the boss had a penchant for self-control, she knew he had to be at least as pissed as she was.
He jumped in and slammed the heavy door. Leveling his eyes at the back of the disabled vehicle through the filthy glass, Sampson hooked his thumbs on the bottom of the wide steering wheel and hummed quietly.
Oh yeah, he’s pissed. Boss starts humming, somebody’s about to get an earful.
His voice caused her to jump, and she cursed herself inside her own head for the display.
“What do you think they want?”
“The killers?”
“Yes. The murderers.”
Ruby’s eyes traced the lines of his face. Sampson wasn’t necessarily a traditionally attractive man, with his wide jaw and slightly chubby face, but his gaze warmed her cheeks.
“They want us to give over the territory,” Ruby said. “They’re undermining us by killing our people. First Simms, now the enforcers.” She rapped a knuckle on the wide dashboard. “Then they walk around Blacksburg like they own that place.”
“No, that’s the one thing we have going our way.” He spoke clearly, but his eyes were distant as he continued to stare at the site of the massacre.
“What do you mean?”
“The Ghosts left Blacksburg and haven’t returned. Looks like killing Simms is catching up with them.”
Ruby smiled out of the side of her mouth at Sampson’s ability to remember the names of his men, especially those lost. His mood when he spoke of them was reverential.
“They got run out of town?”
“No, they saw the writing on the wall. The rumor mill in the MidEast, if anything, is reliable. I’m sure they heard the whisperings as they escorted that bitch around town.”
Proctor, the matron of Blacksburg Trading Post.
“I’m not certain, boss.”
“What aren’t you sure of, Ruby?”
“If that Jenna woman and her friends want to give the impression they’re trying to help the MidEast, what sense does it make to mow down our guys? Seems to me it makes more sense these Black Ghosts are a different group.”
Sampson smiled that special smile he reserved
for when she said something stupid. Ruby hated that sideways turn of his mouth.
“You said it yourself. They’re our guys. If they wanted to work with us, they would’ve come and found me. We would’ve talked it out. Obviously, they don’t get the impression from the people in the MidEast that I’m the kind to be dealt with fairly. I’ve only myself to blame, really. A man can send a message of peace and law all he wants, but if the people think he’s a violent psychopath because he enforces justice on one of his own…”
“You’re not a psychopath.”
“We’re all psychopaths, Rubes.” A muscle in Ruby’s face twitched at the use of the pet name. “Humans are capable of anything, if they want something badly enough. Make no mistake.” He jabbed a finger at his chest. “We’re on the side of right. Before us, citizens’ sons went off to foolhardy wars against The Horde and Triangle City. Now they work and feed their families. They can talk across long distances via radio. They wear warm clothes. Our people have lives. I think the Black Ghosts have been trying to hit us from multiple sides, pretending to be our friends with the blonde doctor, while murdering Simms and this crew on the other. They sent us a message today. They want us to come to them.”
“Where?”
“You tell me. Think about it.”
Ruby’s eyes traced the horizontal edge of the truck bed where her men were murdered.
“Only place we know they’ve been is Blacksburg.”
Sampson snapped his fingers, ending with a finger pointed at the floorboard. “That’s right!”
“Will we? Go to them, I mean.”
“We absolutely will not,” Sampson said. “If your enemy wants you to do something, you do the opposite. If you know your enemy, you know what not to do. I’m sewing a legacy of survival across these hills. We’re giving people security. This is our home, Ruby, not theirs!” He slapped the steering wheel. “So, we’ll make them come to us.” His hands dropped into his lap and Sampson pulled the door handle.