Trucksong

by Andrew Macrae

  The Left Tenant had got itself into a tight place, it’d tried to get round for a better shot but now its backend was towards us and Sinner had the full of it in the gun sights and didn’t hold back. The barrels started to glow deep red and tracer rounds arced across the space between them. Smell of gunsmoke and melted lube. It wasn’t no sound system battling now, no more stances and dances. It was full on warfare between two beefy trucks that weren’t gunna give in till the last one was standing. I started to feel like I was safe inside Sinnerman, like we were getting the upper hand. The Left Tenant was being ripped to bits, its beautiful body blistering up and peeling like paint in the sun. It seemed like it was pinned down with the awful pinging of bone bullets and teeth biting at steel plates and the blooming of silver shredded petals around the flowering bullet holes. Shell casings and bits of link skittered around. The sound was terrible. Sinnerman grunted and let out a throaty groan, throwing everything into the attack as it moved in closer for the kill.

  Which seemed to be exactly what the Brumby King was after. Sinnerman drew in close by the Left Tenant, which must of been faking its fade, because now it sprung large and hulking in the viewscreen with Sinner in range of its flames. It turned them on big time. A wicked orange tongue of burning fuel and black smoke licked out from its jets that had swung around in their housings to face the enemy approaching from behind. The truckcab got hot. The viewscreen blacked over. Tyres were melting. Sinnerman hit reverse. The Left Tenant limped away backwards in the other direction while the Brumby King came on too, keeping pace. Through a little clear patch in the screen at the corner I could see Sinner’s bright red paint turning black and crinkling like orange peel flaked off to bare steel under the flame sprung from the Left Tenant. I felt Sinner’s scream burning through the link and into me own body like I was the one on fire. I opened me mouth but nothing come out except a dry croak. Me eyes were wired wide with the pain and the rush of adrenaline and truckjuices flushing through the system. Sinnerman wasn’t holding its own no more. It turned one eighty and fled the firey burst with the Brumby King close behind and burning fuel. We managed to break free of the flames and it turned out that Sinnerman could out run the bulky King, though it didn’t make much difference now we’d turned tail and run.

  The road bucked underneath and the sky so high above, we felt the sun hot on our burnt metal skin and it was a delicious feeling, sucking in gulps of fresh air through the manifold and squirting fuel to feel this power inside rising up from underneath and setting me teeth on edge with its hold. Through the spike I got a blast from the truckjuice synthfac as Sinner caught more clear air in its grill, a rushing dream and the bush roadside fell into a green haze blur and I was dreaming out loud, a riot of colour and movement all around. Me eyes were wide as with the thrill of doing battle. Roading with the Brumby King’s dust cloud disappearing behind, where we was gunna outrun it even though before all I’d wanted to do was catch up to it.

  That was my thinking that bright morning of smokey dealings and burnt up paint, my manifolded future coming on up straight ahead but of course things are never as straight ahead as you would like them to be. There’s always twists and one was waiting for me right there. Nerve toxin shook me outta my haze, the crippling pain of it shuddering through the spike into me arm. Some choking white innerference from the link that had been sent by an evil brumby truckmind to chock our shocks.

  Screaming.

  Sinnerman screaming too, wheels locked up, spinning outta control.

  The Brumby King slotting some wicked trucking magic through the link, grinning at us through the open rear hatch as it caught up.

  Dusty black paintwork and massive chunky snub nose filled up the hatch. It knew it’d gotten our number with the trump card, its one shot of system cripple fired through the link at just the right time and already working its way through Sinner and then through me.

  We were goners, at speed.

  Time slowed right down.

  I was looking out of me eyes as if I was someone else watching on a screen.

  I seen the way the sun light glinted off the tiny chips of minerals in the gravel at the side of the road and I felt the sway and shudder through Sinner’s body as it tried to right itself but got it all wrong, oversteered and then we were into the roll. I couldn’t believe we’d gone from so high one minute ago to this, running against the soft edges and rolling over into the scrubby dust. The noise of it was loud in me ringing ears, the smell of burning sharp in me nose. Straps pulled tight across me chest, me head snapping with the lurch.

  The sun whirled around us like a golden whip and blue sky swapped with black earth till time caught up again and we came to a stop and the noise ended. Then it was just the spinning of a wheel and the creaking of steel and the ping and tick of cooling metal.

  I was still strapped in all right but me head had snapped around in the jarring crash and me mouth was bleeding where I’d bit me lip. I hanged sideways down inside the cab. There was nothing from Sinner through the link. Dust blowed past outside, I could see the ground. I flipped the release on me harness. IV came out with a crusted pull of bright pain and along with it a lotta blood and some tendrils where the flesh had been grown into by the feed. I was more a part of Sinner than I realised and it shocked me how fast I’d got truck wise. I hit the deck and coughed up a lung. Already the dust and smoke were getting inside me head. I had to make a move.

  I kicked out the hatch and crept outta there into the bright sunshine. I tried to stand but I couldn’t. I was cold and sweating and me heart was still racing. A wave of sick rolled up from me stomach and I vomited. The blue sky above, red dusty earth under me back. I laid there a while and then it clicked what’d gone on but I couldn’t even roll over again before there was a swooshing from above and a flapple flew overhead. Flight of the death bird come to pick shreds from the corpse. The Brumby King grumbled closer, the Left Tenant limping behind. They knew Sinner were finished, lying on its side like that. A roll out here could kill off a truck quicker than bullets. But I thought I felt a burst on the link from the Brumby King as it rolled slow past, just a flash and then gone and I didn’t know what it could mean so I put it outta me head. I was sickened with the crash but I could still see out me eyes, though I was stricken roadside same as Sinner. As the King passed I thought I caught a look of a pale face framed with dark hair and dark eyes lit by a rectangle of light from the rear viewscreen. It was just a flash and it was gone but I knew it was her and I knew she must need me help more than ever, kidnapped by the Brumby King.

  Me sick heart quickened even more. I pulled the linkmaker with feverish fumbling, blinking for Sinner and there were signs of life. It was rebooting, but slow as. System crash. Damage to the body, though it’d only rolled the once. I couldn’t see no leaks or nothing. No smoke or fire, not yet anyway. Pretty soon there’d be roadcrew and all manner of scavengers turning up. I couldn’t even stand, let alone walk to run after Isa and the Brumby King. Best I could do was crawl away a bit further towards a patch of prickly pear where I could watch their tracks disappear into the dust.

  I sheltered there under wizened cactus till I got myself together. I kept on zoning in and out and me eyes were hard to keep open. I didn’t know what was going on, me arm started aching real bad from where I’d been pulled separate from that big truckbody lying on its side in the dust by the road. We were laid low and I couldn’t see no way out. Pretty soon the flapples and bigdogs would be along to ping Sinnerman’s skin and I thought that’d probably be the end of my tale, too.

  Chapter 13

  Sinnerman was ten tons of metal and gears and self-salvaged tech out in the sun there lying on its side in the rust coloured dust. A tawny flapple sat up high on the top, creaking as it folded its wings. It screeched like an old metal hinge and I heard the ping as it pecked at metal skin. I crawled back over and tried to push on Sinner but I couldn’t shift it. Even if I were hale and hearty I couldn’t of shifted it. I laid down in the dirt. I was gunna
need some help to make it through. Some help, and then some more. A pack of bigdog robos gathered and it reminded me of the time I sat beside me Mum after she died birthing a dead babby.

  Wasn’t long before Crow showed up, of course. Whenever there’s misery or misfortune, there’s always Crow come to pick the bones and see what he can find.

  ‘Looks like you’ve hit a snag,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, well me truck’s rolled over.’

  ‘That’s a real shame.’

  He eyed the wreckage and me crusted arm and reeking pale body, and his wet tongue licked dry lips.

  ‘Carn, don’t just stand there like a statue, gimme a hand tryin to right this truck,’ I said.

  ‘Mate, you know it don’t work like that. I’m here to see what’s of use in this wreck.’

  ‘It’s no wreck, it’s me truck Sinnerman and we’re gunna be back on the road before the likes of you can get yer claws in.’

  ‘I dunno about that, boy. Youse’ve got some serious problems. That truck’s on its side.’

  He looked at me sharpish through eyes so clear they were almost white inside, and nothing shining in the black.

  ‘I’m just gunna sit down and have a smoke,’ he said.

  He sat down under the shade of Sinners truck body and took out a little pipe, loaded it with ganja from a leather packet. Sparked up and blowed smoke in me face. Meanwhile Sinner was rebooted and trying to fire its engine to get things moving. Not that it would of done much good the way things were.

  I looked at Crow closer. He was changed since I last saw him. Looked almost younger in some ways, not so many creases round his eyes. Same trucktyre coat, but. Same hair down to his shoulders though it were turning back from white to black. I shivered inside, it wasn’t a homey feeling, being tied together with a creature like that on the roading through the country of the end times to truck knows where.

  There came a rumbling on the road just then, and I seen Crow’s eyes flicker, his face fallen downcast even at the same time as me own heart raced at the prospect of another truck on the horizon. I climbed to me feet and rested one arm on Sinner’s dusty under carriage and with the other I flicked me linkmaker on and scanned the freeks for the new comer. I was seasoned as a truck rider now, I’d gotten a good idea of what patches would entice an indie to stop and take a listen. I blinked a few and up popped a truck, coming fast but starting to slow at the sign of a rider on the road. Crow packed another cone and watched from the side. It was an indie coming all right, it came in to view shining in the sun like the promise of a new day. A second chance. Slowing up even further when it saw what I’d got to offer but it was wary too at the site of a freshrolled truck by the roadside.

  Yeller Mackdog, pulling a trailer full of parts from the Midden Dump. Liked the sounds of what me linkmaker was making, pumped a happy tune. Sinner too sick from the rollover to make a sound. I held the linkmaker and blinked through a new patch and the truck was a bright one, it knew right away what was required. Its signal went weak then strong as the patch worked its way through its system. Even in my sickened state I was able to fix a rope from Sinners tool box and tie it high up on to the Mackdog’s body. Crow just sat there the whole time, smoking up and silent now it looked like there weren’t gunna be nothing to pick from the wreck after all. I spent some time scouting for sticks and wedged them in under Sinner’s six wheels on the ground to give some leverage when the pull came on, so it wouldn’t just slide in the dust. When it was all ready, I gave the Mackdog another little taste of the patch it wanted and it went the old heave ho. Slowly, slowly till it reached the tipping point of balance where if you find it you can do magic, that place that’s there but not there. It’s still even though it’s moving. And then the fall and creaky crash as Sinner rocked on its shocks.

  Sinner was rebooted by then and hauled back on to its wheels. It flashed its lights groggily in silent thanks to the Mackdog which was happy it’d gotten its patches for hardly any work at all and it took off down the road as I climbed into the cab once more and hooked myself into Sinnerman. Leaving Crow by the roadside, we moved along through the slow day, sunlight flowing thick like golden syrup from a can but Sinner wasn’t the same truck. It was cruising with a limp, its heart wasn’t in it. It was all scratched up and scarred and blackened and while I thought the new wounds made it look tough, I knew that for a proud indie it was the worst thing that could happen ever so I pushed it gently along looking to find somewhere to get fixed up. Camp after camp we roaded until two days after the crash and off track from the gigacity we came on a truckstop that had a shop there for detailing. Them indies were mad for the truckskin art that the detailers marked out on metal. Marks made by the detailers who interpreted messages they saw from the Wotcher and etched on the indies that would come from miles around for the latest bit of flash. For their part, the detailers were happy to transact for truckdream haze and Wotcher clips from the wild indies.

  Pulled over and while our dust caught up with us I sat in the cab and checked the scene. There was a bloke with welding goggles pushed up on his white skull, looked like he knew what was what. Four indies crowded around him. I thought for sure he was chief truck detailer at this truckstop. Hustle bustle in the shop with detailers moving between the trucks cutting deals, lighting stencils, marking up trucks, leading them in for the enamel bin, those creatures, those amazing wild creatures made of steel and darkness and light. Just looking at them massing like that filled me with wonder. Who knew what they thought? The only way you could guess at what they wanted was by looking at their acts and most times what they did didn’t make any sense at all. Who could of guessed they’d be into the tricks of the skin, hooking themselves into the linked mirror cams set up around the spraybooth that gave them three-sixties over their bodies. Blasting out fat tunes between them when the mood took. Some of the designs were unreal and many I thought were just ugly mess but the trucks themselves didn’t, no way. They rolled around proud as punch. Smokestacks blarting and the smell of them, always the smell, it got me high and it got the detailers high, you could see it in their eyes, they were as hooked on the trucks as we riders were, hooked as the trucks were on them. Moving among them, making marks on the gentle metal skin, just to touch them, to feel them up close. It’s what I wanted too but I was a roader, I couldn’t make no artwork, and anyway I had me own path to tread. There were always new things coming through the pipeline between the trucks and the Wotcher, like one week it would be scrollwork and lace and the next fluro lights and bright shining things and then symbols that pattern and shift as how you look on them.

  I pulled out the IV feedline from me arm. It came with a sting and a pucking of flesh up around the spike. Didn’t much like being disconnected but it was the only way I could negotiate and anyway I’d have to leave Sinnerman while it was getting meched. Me boots clanged on the rungs as I climbed out of the cab. Shaky feet on the ground. It felt like I was still moving on the highway with Sinnerman rumbling underneath me but really it was just me and me meatsuit now. Wobbling through the detailers I found the bloke I’d seen at the start, with the goggs on his head, and I went to him and asked, ‘Can you fix me rig?’

  His eyes were spaced, the grin on his mouth was wide and careless.

  ‘What’s that, mate?’ he said.

  ‘Me rig, Sinnerman. We been messed up pretty bad in a rollover.’

  ‘Oh yeah? How’d that happen?’

  ‘It was brumbies.’

  ‘You know which mob?’

  ‘I call them the Brumby King mob, run by a big black barstid that don’t take no care for its appearances.’

  ‘I know em. They don’t come here for mechs, but I know em.’

  ‘Well they ran us off the road and left us for flapple snack in the backroads. Managed to get righted, but Sinner’s not feelin the best and I’m wonderin if you could fix it and make it right again, cuz we is both roadin after the mob and now we want revenge,’ I said.

  ‘Nah, mate. Not up to me.
You better aks the boss.’

  He pointed over to where there was a woman in overalls, round hips and pear chest. She sat quietly crosslegged and zoned out in the busy space, work happening around her but somehow also within her. Looking at her now, I couldn’t work out how come I’d missed her to start with. The other detailers bowed their heads to her as they passed and the trucks were ordered in deference to her, at the centre of her own daisychain of one and everyone.

  I went up to her but I was blocked by her offside, a hardbitten bloke with lead for eyes.

  ‘What do I have to do to get me rig looked at,’ I said.

  ‘Just wait your turn, mate. There’s no system or plan here except as what’s laid out by the boss.’

  I walked back to where Sinnerman was lowing, looking real down since the crash, all bashed and burnt, and grass and sticks caught up under the wheel arches and in between the panels.

  I went back to the bloke with the goggs. It looked like it were gunna take a while so I settled in by his side as he worked. He said his name was Lam. After a while I asked, ‘So waddya know of the Brumby King’s mob?’

  Lam’s face was greased in creasemarks when he smiled his brokentooth grin. He said, ‘Theyre causin all sorts of trubbil aroun the backroads. Our indies is all antsy coz they’re feared the brumbies will slave new trucks for their mob. The Brumby King is after breedin stock, tryin to build up its follerin.’