Thunder Road

by James Axler

  Ryan stopped the wag. “We go on foot from here,” he said shortly. “Triple red.”

  Jak tethered the horses to a fence post on the perimeter of one of the fields, and they began to move in on foot, along the trail that led to the center of the ville.

  The smell hung over them like a pallid cloud, heavier than the smoke that rose to the skies, more oppressive. As oppressive as the quiet. The ville was only a small collection of residential dwellings. Some were cobbled together, and some were the remnants of predark adobe houses, patched badly over the years. Perhaps at some time this had been a small mall on the outskirts of a larger town. But it didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was that they were drawing close to the center, and the quiet was replaced by the faint noises of people moving, people talking and people in pain, the small whimpers of those who had no fight left in them, and were hovering close to buying the farm.

  The columns of smoke they had seen from a distance were now easily identifiable as coming from a small area in the center. The friends spotted scorch marks on some of the buildings, and debris that suggested some kind of explosion.

  More than that, there was an orange tinge that spread over some of the walls and impregnated the dust on the sidewalks and roads that were, in themselves, little more than dirt tracks.

  “What is that?” J.B. asked. His tone bespoke an almost professional curiosity. There was little about ordnance that he did not know, yet this was a new one.

  “I fear, my dear John Barrymore, that it may be a portent of terrible things,” Doc said with a quiet solemnity.

  Ryan stayed them with a raised hand as they drew close to the center of the ville. “Keep it frosty, people. Anyone who can handle a blaster is going to be trigger happy and jumpy as jackshit after what must have happened here.” He signaled for them to take whatever cover was possible as they approached.

  So far, they had seen no one. That was strange. First thing anyone with any sense did when under attack was secure defensive positions. Ryan had expected to encounter at least one defensive sec patrol or lone blaster as they advanced. The fact that there had been none did nothing but fuel a dread of what may have happened here. Whatever had attacked this ville, its consequences had to have been severe.

  But nothing could prepare them for what they saw as they entered the few streets that constituted the center of the ville.

  The buildings were blackened, with orange streaks that ran across the blasted surfaces. Gaping holes pitted the frontages, with rubble strewed across the streets. Some of the buildings were little more than smoking piles of rubble, and in a few there were fires that still burned in small patches of red and orange flame.

  Corpses littered the streets, bloated and gaseous in the heat. Some of them were burned and charred, which accounted for some of the smell. Others were beginning to stink of putrefaction, their sickly sweet odor adding to the olfactory overload. They were all male. And there were a lot of them. Ryan stopped counting at thirty, figuring that he now knew why there had been no sec or suspicious and paranoid ville dwellers to meet them. This was a small place. That many men had to have accounted for a good proportion of the ville’s population.

  The rest, he figured, if they were still alive, were in one of the burned-out shells, along with any other casualties. He could see from where he stood that this building, on the far side of the ville’s central block, was full of people. Probably everyone left standing. Mostly women and children. They were clustered on the ground floor of what may have been the infirmary before whatever had happened here, but if nothing else had been converted to that purpose now.

  “What happened here?” Mildred asked softly.

  “Swift, sudden and brutal,” Doc murmured, shaking his head sadly. “A veritable feast of carnage.”

  Ryan signaled to them to lower their weapons. Maybe not holster any blasters, in case someone over there got an itch to fire on them, but certainly at ease enough to avoid giving a hostile impression.

  It looked like these people had seen enough of hostile to last them for some while.

  Picking his way over the rubble, Ryan led the friends across the debris-strewed sidewalk and road. “Hey,” he yelled, “what happened here?”

  Some of the women and children looked up from their tasks, many with fear in their eyes.

  All the while the friends had been moving closer to the building, its front an open wound. At least it allowed easy access, which was probably necessary. Women moved in and out, intent on their tasks: water, rags, something that looked like medical equipment, or could at least pass for it…Looking past them, Ryan could see where the soft cries of pain had originated from, and also why. The ground floor of the building was littered with makeshift cots and beds, crammed in no order except that which would make use of available floor space. Some of the things that lay on the beds bore little resemblance to anything human. He guessed that these were probably corpses, and that they were there only because there had been no time to clear them when they had given up their tenuous hold on life. Those that more closely resembled human beings were the ones who made the noises, the mewling, whimpering or weak-throated screams changing in proportion to how human the figures on the cots looked.

  Some of them were women, most were men. Most were barely recognizable, at any rate, their hair burned off, skin either blackened or blistered a raw red. Some had wounds that were visibly weeping; bleeding that could not be completely stopped and that seeped through makeshift bandaging.

  One of the women spoke as they approached.

  “Mister, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. None of us do. If you want to chill us all, if you think there’s anything worth taking here, then just do it. But if not, then just leave us in peace to try and deal with what’s happened to our menfolk.”

  “Shit, if we coldhearts you be chilled for that,” Jak said, echoing the thoughts that ran through them all. For the woman to speak that way to armed strangers, for the rest of the women and children to ignore them, bespoke of a tragedy that had driven them beyond the bounds of normal caution.

  “We don’t have an argument with you, and we don’t want anything,” Ryan said simply. “We’re just passing through. Mebbe we can help a little.” All thoughts of bartering for water and supplies left him at that moment. That could come later. Right now, it was time to perhaps earn that favor. And perhaps just time to act with a little civilization, a rare enough thing in the Deathlands.

  Mildred and Krysty holstered their weapons and joined the women tending to the sick and dying. Each in her own way had skills that could help the ville women. Krysty’s upbringing in Harmony had supplied her with an extensive knowledge of herbal medicines, and the natural healing properties that may exist in anything to hand. She had an expertise that was hard to come by.

  Mildred’s training as a doctor in conventional medicine in predark days was on shakier ground in this environment. She could administer and prescribe only those medicines that were available. In a ville like this, that wasn’t exactly going to leave her with much in the way of options. It soon became clear that there was little medicine that she could use, but she had one invaluable skill: her diagnostic technique allowed her to prioritize the use of the medicines. As painful as it was to make some decisions, she assessed how bad each patient was, how much chance he or she had of pulling through, and how much of a waste or a benefit the administering of medicines would be. That enabled her to maximize the use of limited resources. Furthermore, she was able to work with Krysty in identifying the problems of each patient, so that the Titian-haired woman could also maximize her skills.

  It was long, arduous and tiring work. They kept going for longer than they could keep track of time, and only realized the passing of the hours when lamps lit their path around the makeshift infirmary, rather than the sun.

  While they worked, the others made themselves busy. The constant need for water had to be attended to. There was some rudimentary plumbing in the building
s, but all of this had been ruptured and rendered useless by what had gone on. Now, the water had to be carried in buckets, in anything that could be used as a container, from the more outlying buildings that were still serviced by the water system. A lot of the water was also going to waste, spilling out of ruptured and broken pipes, and it was vital to fix the ruptures and conserve as much as possible. J.B. and Jak set to this task with alacrity; Doc, being less practical in such matters, was only too glad to lend his strength to the constant relay of buckets and containers. He looked old and infirm, but as the women of the ville were soon to learn, that was deceptive. He may have been wrinkled and almost as whip-thin as Jak, but beneath his frock coat he was wiry, and the whipcord muscles that his occasional stoop served to disguise were soon brought into play. He felt, in some ways, useless. Mildred and Krysty had medicinal skills; J.B. and Jak were mechanically and practically minded; but Theophilus Tanner was, and would always be, an academic at heart. His skills lay in the mind, and were of little call in such a circumstance. He therefore determined to make himself of whatever use he could, working tirelessly.

  Which left Ryan a little space to ease up on his part in the chain. Not from any desire to avoid work, but rather because he wanted to take the time to find out what had happened here. He had an uneasy feeling in his gut that it was connected with the stranger on the motorcycle who had passed them the day before. They had followed his trail, and the coincidence was too much. But how, exactly, did the two connect? Had one man been able to do this much damage? How?

  It took him some time to gain the confidence of the woman who had initially spoken to him. She had shown them where they were to collect water, and formed part of the chain with them, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on them, lest they should prove to be an enemy. Not that there was much she would be able to do. Nonetheless, Ryan understood and appreciated her attitude.

  For some time, her answers to his questions were noncommittal, which made progress seem next to impossible, particularly as his questions had been less than direct. He figured from her attitude that an outright demand to know what had happened would not achieve any result. So he had been cautious. But he was starting to run short on patience.

  Eventually, he tired of it all and decided to go for broke.

  “Fuck this not asking what we need to know,” he said, taking her arm to stop her as they walked back from the water collection point. She looked down at his hand on her arm, then up into his eye, leveling her gaze with his. For a moment, he could see the fear in her eyes. Then it dissipated, replaced with acceptance.

  “Okay, I figure by now that you don’t mean us any harm, mister. So where do I begin?”

  “I’m figuring that a man on a big motorcycle has something to do with it.”

  “You know him?” For a second, the alarm flared up once more in her eyes.

  “Kind of,” Ryan replied quickly, then told her of their brief encounter with the mystery rider the previous day.

  When he finished, she laughed bitterly. “You got off lightly, mister. Shit, you don’t know how lucky you are.”

  “Was he on his own, or were there others?”

  She fixed him firmly with a stare. “You won’t think it right, mister, but there was no one but him. No one. I tell you, there’s no one left living here who’s ever seen anything like it. Or would want to again.”

  Ryan whistled softly. “Coldheart bastard must have one hell of an armory on that bike. Tell me everything you can, from the beginning.”

  “You sayin’ that you’re gonna get him for us?” she asked with what was a palpably sardonic tone.

  “No, I’m not saying that. I won’t lie to you. But mebbe he’s like a mad dog that needs chilling before it bites anyone else. We’ll see. Tell me everything, first.”

  She nodded firmly. “Fair enough. But bear in mind that no matter how hard it is to believe, I ain’t making any of it up. Or exaggerating, either.”

  And she began to tell him of the previous day.

  “DAYS AROUND HERE GO much the same, no matter what. Guess they change with the seasons, mebbe even with the weather, but other than that there ain’t much to disturb us. This ville’s been here since skydark, and we ain’t rich in jack, like some. Nor have we got much in the way of growing stuff. But we get by ’cause we can trade a little.

  “And we don’t get no trouble, either. A lot of these places, they got people buying the farm every day, people blasting each other for no reason. Now that’s their business, if they want to chill each other for no reason, but we’ve always kinda stuck together here. When there ain’t much to go around, you tend to look out for those next to you in case you need them to look out for you next.

  “We were all going about our business like usual. The sun had just hit its peak, and it was no better or worse than any other day. Then we get word that this wag is coming to the ville. Really eating up the dirt, great clouds behind it. Faster than anything we’d ever seen come through here before. No one on the edges could explain what it was. Guess that’s why we was all so curious. Nothing like something new to get you talking, right?” She gave a bitter cough of a laugh. “Shit, wish the coldheart bastard had just carried right on by.

  “Anyway, it was obvious that the wag was comin’ through here, and being as it was unlike anything we’d seen, mebbe we figured that it might have something on it for trade or jack. We get the same traders through here all the time, someone new, some fresh blood, would be more than welcome. Reason I tell you that is to explain why so many people were in the center of the ville when the wag came in…’Cept it was no wag, but a bike. Weird-looking fucker—wheels big, like wag wheels, but it moved like a bike. Rider guided it in and pulled it up quick with a turn that he shouldn’t have been able to do. Anyway, it was real impressive. Word had been spreading while it was approaching, so it was pretty full in the center, everyone crowding around to get a good look. There was stuff on the bike—lotta blasters, but also stuff that looked like packs, so mebbe he was some kinda solo trader. Dressed odd, threads like I ain’t seen before, kinda shiny. Not hide or skin, but not wool or cottons, either. And he had these big, dark goggles on, like the kind you see sec men wearing on trade convoys, but more, y’know? There was something going on with them, but I don’t know what. Only know that we had no idea what was about to happen.

  “He takes off the goggles and looks around at everyone. No one says anything as there’s this kinda weird feel about the whole thing. It’s not like he’s threatened us, so no one has gone for their blasters, but it’s not like he’s there to do us any favors. Y’know what it felt like? Felt like everyone breathed in and held it, waiting for him to speak. And then when he did, no one could understand what the fuck he was talking about.”

  Ryan stopped her with a gesture. “What do you mean? It was another language? What?”

  The woman shook her head, then spit on the ground. “It was the same language we speak, boy, but not how we speak it. The words we could recognize, but not what they meant. Y’know when someone gets sick in the head?”

  Ryan, thinking of Doc and starting to see what she meant, nodded.

  “Yeah, well, it was kinda like that. The words made a kinda sense, but not what you could make out straightaway…I dunno, it was just…”

  “Can you remember what he said?” Ryan asked.

  She looked at him. He could see in her eyes that she would never forget. She began to intone, as though dragging them wholesale from memory.

  “‘Good people, I am Thunder Rider. I have come to deliver justice and peace. For too long there has been lawlessness in the land. There have been crimes committed against the good people of this and many other villes that have gone unpunished. The good and true cower in the shadow of evil. No longer shall the criminal go unpunished for his crimes. I have come to be your protector. You know who these wrongdoers are, and you stand in fear of them as they have greater strength, greater callousness, greater evil. You may fear no more, as
I have a strength far greater than any they may possess. I carry with me the sword and shield of justice, and it is swift and sure. Vengeance will be yours, and I shall be the instrument. Turn your criminals over to me, and I shall deal with them, restoring peace and justice to your lands.’”

  She stopped and fixed Ryan with a gaze that was defiant and bemused at the same time. “C’mon, One-eye, what kinda crazy stupe shit is that? What the fuck is a ‘crime’?”

  Ryan knew from old books about the concept of crime, which went hand-in-hand with the idea of law and order. But they lived in a world where such ideas had no place, which made the idea of the man on the bike triple screwed. Where had he gotten such ideas, and how did he think they applied to this world? But the one-eyed man said nothing of this. Instead he merely prompted, “What happened then?”

  She shook her head. Now, she could not catch his eye, the memories too fresh and painful. In the past twenty-four hours there had been no time to think about it. Now she had to. Her voice cracked as she continued.

  “No one did anything. What was there to do? We were all confused, didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Everyone was looking at everyone else, not knowing whether we should just blast the fucker and be sure. But there was something about him. He just didn’t look like it’d be that easy to chill him, even though he was way, way outnumbered. Anyway, it must’ve been only a few moments before he spoke again. He said, ‘So, you choose to ignore me. You choose the ways of lawlessness. I offer you protection, and you spurn me. Very well, those who side with the lawless shall pay as those they condone.’ And then it started.”

  She stopped for a moment, gathering herself. Ryan waited, keeping down his impatience. He wanted to know every detail; she may not know herself what she was telling him, but he would be able to work it out. This was a chance to discover what weaponry Thunder Rider possessed, what kind of ordnance had wreaked such havoc.

  “He must have known that his words would make some of us fight. It was hard to understand most of what he said, but by the end it was pretty fucking well clear that he was gonna blast the shit out of us. He took a blaster out of a holster on his hip, a big long-barreled thing, and fired at the first man in his way. It was like the blood and shit that flew everywhere just shocked us more. Shoulda made us run, fight, something…Instead we stood there, triple stupe, slack-jawed like some buncha mutie inbreds. Easy meat, One-eye…” She stopped, gathering herself. Then, “Before any of us was smart and fast enough to react, he’d taken this big blaster rifle from the side of the bike.