* * *
“What I want to know is what Marie was doing talking to him in the first place?”
“Don’t be pinning it on Marie. Elmo’s been a lump ever since that mule kick.”
“Gertrude wouldn’t have kicked him, if Thomas had got Raxx to fix that axle back when it first started going funny…”
“Ai, it ain’t all on me!”
“You’re forgetting about that Wentworth fellow! What was he doing stepping in like that?”
“You should of seen how Elmo was acting this morning.”
“I want to know why Vince here can’t control his guards!”
“I think he’s right about that Wentworth… Elmo’s scared stiff.”
“Serve’s him right for being a lump!
“So? That don’t meant Wentworth’s the one to show him.”
“Maybe no, but your daughter’s out of line!”
“So’s your son!”
“Enough!” Vree slapped the table with the flats of her hands, silencing the Seniors. “You — stop looking at him like that — this ain’t about whose kid did what — this is about the entire town — ai?” The Seniors, some with their eyes downcast, others still looking defiant, nodded reluctantly. “You wanna talk about Elmo or Marie, well, that’s for next month — there ain’t nothing new there. What we’re here to talk about is Wentworth. So any of you got something to say about him — and not about Marie or Elmo?”
The farmers’ expressions downshifted to a kind of bitter sullenness. Vree panned her gaze from one to another… until she met someone who could meet her gaze.
“I’ve said what I got to say, Vree, but none of you want to hear it.”
“Say it again, Vince,” she glanced about the room, “I think everyone’s ready to listen now.”
Vince steepled his hands. Goddamnit, here he was playing diplomat in a town that needed his commerce more than they realized. Their paranoia over a derelict wasn’t just ridiculous, it was dangerous too. The man hadn’t hurt Elmo, and here they were talking about ganging up on him… “Listen, Vree — all of you — out West there are a lot of guys like him — guys that wander into town, got a funny look about them, and sometimes get into trouble. But here’s the thing — when they get left alone, they’re fine. They ain’t really wanting to start the trouble they get in — they just seem to be good at finding it. Now this Wentworth guy ain’t done nothing — sure, he helped out my boys when they were being dumb, but he didn’t hurt Elmo, and it turned out okay. Rankin — wasn’t Elmo helping you load water barrels this morning?”
“Ai…”
“Exactly!” Vince slammed his fist down, “and Wentworth never used that gun he had on him the whole time!”
Some of them shook their heads, others nodded, but no one spoke. Vree looked at him expectantly.
“The man’s dangerous — that’s without a doubt — but he ain’t done nothing, has he? You’d be best off forgetting about all this.” Vince shrugged, waiting for them to respond, to admit the logic of his arguments. But none of them did. “Raxx has almost got that motorcycle of his fixed… right? Let him go. The derelicts sort themselves out, all on their own.”
“Vince—” the Councilman’s face lifted, “You’re a maverick. I know what can be done to help all of us.”
* * *
Raxx stared at the midmorning sun with irritation. It was too damned bright, too damned early, and he’d screwed up the coffee this morning. It was weak, and he’d run out of cream. He really ought to be looking at the damned motorcycle.
“Raxx, good morning! How’s the day finding you?”
“Uh, Vree — Councilman — okay, I guess. What’s up?” Now he had to be polite to somebody; it was too early for that. “Something need fixing?”
“You could say that. I’m here because the Town Seniors wanted to see you. There’s a matter they’d like to discuss. If it wouldn’t be any trouble, would you mind coming with me?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess so. You got coffee?”
“Ai, of course, Raxx.”
* * *
Someone rapped on his door. Wentworth memorized the page he was reading and glanced up.
“Come in!”
Raxx grasped the knob, and opened the door. Like the rest of the building the room was decorated in a Victorian style — but the bed was worn, and the sheets were frayed, and the drapes were faded. The room suited its occupant — wearing black jeans and a grey t-shirt, his jacket and helmet tossed over the wicker chair beside him, Wentworth’s somber appearance seemed appropriate.
“Hey.” said Raxx.
“What’s up? You got my bike working?”
“No, not yet.” He chewed his lip-ring. “Listen, I’m going for a drive. My truck’s out front and I could use some company. Want to join me?”
Wentworth studied the Mechanic. “Yeah. Yeah, I could go for a drive.” He swung his feet off of the bed and began to pull his boots on. “Anywhere specific you’re thinking about?” He struggled into his jacket and clipped his pistol to his belt. His goggles were on the nightstand. He put them on, covering up the pale circles around his eyes.
“Nah, just around.”
Wentworth slid a magazine into his rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and picked up his helmet. “Let’s go.”
Raxx waited for him to lock the door to his room, and they walked out through the bar. The truck was idling out front. Wentworth tossed his rifle into the backseat, next to Raxx’s shotgun, then the two of them jumped in. Raxx manoeuvred the vehicle onto the highway.
The ride was smooth, but the steering wheel trembled in his hand. “Need to see about that CV joint,” he muttered, but aside from that neither man spoke. They let the silence to stretch out over the engine’s thrum.
Wentworth leaned back, watching the Mechanic drive, and waited for him to speak.
“So what are you thinking about doing when your bike’s fixed? Gonna keep heading west?”
“I don’t know,” replied Wentworth, “See where the road takes me… but I don’t know. Maybe Blackstock wouldn’t be such a bad place to rest the feet for a bit.” Raxx nodded but didn’t say anything. “That big guy — Elmo — came by and shook my hand this morning. Maybe… well, sometimes I can be a bit jumpy.” He paused to let in the scenery. It was so contained, encapsulated in a vehicle cab. He was insulated from the world as it flashed by. “The only thing is; I don’t really know what I’d do with myself. I’m not like you.” He struggled with the statement. “I don’t have any skills to sell to Blackstock… and being a farmhand doesn’t exactly make the spirit rise in me.”
“Yeah, when you’re a farmhand, that’s pretty much it. Hell, even if you’re the farmer you’re married to the land. But wandering’s rough, too.”
“You miss the road, though.”
“I guess… but it’s good to know where your next meal is coming from.”
Wentworth’s eyes narrowed. Next meal..?
Raxx’s tone was casual, but his face was tense. Suspicion rose like a sharp breeze. His pistol was on his left hip, the holster latched. It would take both hands to draw it quickly. Trying not to show it, he relaxed his muscles, and kept his expression blank.
“So what’s really going on? What’s your reason for heading out? This isn’t just a drive.”
Raxx frowned. “You’re right. The town’s Councilman spoke to me today. The Seniors know about you… about your reputation. Listen, Wentworth? I’m sorry. You’re wanted out East, aren’t you?”
He just stared at the Mechanic. So he hadn’t come far enough; two days travel without any settlements, but he hadn’t left it behind. He glanced down at the pistol on Raxx’s belt and noticed that the latch securing it in the holster was undone. Cold anger surged through him.
“…they know about the shit storm that’s following you. They know—” Raxx glanced over into depths of a drawn pistol.
“What do they know, Raxx? And what are they going to pay you?”
* * *
“Just be cool about it.”
“But I fucked up, man — that Wentworth guy—”
“Just shut up for now — it’s cool! — but we’re in the middle of things now. Don’t want the locals to get all upset.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He leaned back against the cargo, and tried to ignore the buzzing. Something made his head snap up. “Hey, what the hell was that?”
* * *
Falcon drove
The wheel trembled in his hands. Every divet, every gouge — the field spoke its language to him. A sudden rut, he jerked his wheel to the left. Next to him one of Sheik’s soldiers laughed merrily, the discharge of his rifle banged against his ears and washed over his skin.
Falcon just drove. Steady, in formation… witnessing every death.
The cattle screamed.
* * *
“What was what?”
The echo of distant rifle fire reached them, followed by the bellows of dying cattle.
“That!”
“Oh, shit—”
They darted away from the caravan, taking up firing positions. He found a rusted out hulk, while Verizon ducked behind a crumbled wall. They trained their weapons in the direction of the clamour — without looking he knew every movement of his partner.
“You see ’em?”
“All I see is shit!”
The western fields were a mess of shifting wheat stalks and soy, and the dark shadows cast by the locals. There was movement — running — but Billy couldn’t make out any targets.
A crack as Verizon’s weapon spat — Billy still couldn’t see anything — another shot — Verizon was being aggressive with his ammo.
“What the fuck do you see?”
No response. His partner couldn’t hear him over the rifle. Billy finally drew a bead on something moving fast — what the hell was it, a vehicle? — when Verzion shouted. “Shit, Billy! Rifle down! Rifle down!”
“Covering ya’ Veri!” Whatever it was, he started firing. Crack! Crack! He hoped it wasn’t one of the cattle. Either way it hadn’t stopped moving. Crack! Crack!
Focus, damnit, focus! He was a good shot — he just needed to relax.
The field in front of him was a mess. The automobile he took cover behind stank of rust, and the building across the street offered nothing but a pair of slits on either side looking to the field beyond. Dark figures shifted across both gaps — he didn’t know who to focus on.
Instinct pulled his finger off the trigger as an old woman darted across his field of vision.
His aim reasserted itself, with each squeeze a bullet tore downrange, and a round slid up the magazine. An approaching wave of black shapes was materializing. Ice gripped his heart — there were too many of them.
“Verizon — spent mag — cover me!” He rolled onto his side — all around him it seemed like people were screaming — he reached down to his belt — shit, no, other side — he grabbed a fresh magazine, while glancing over to his partner—
It took a second to recognize the shredded remains. A round had caught his partner in the eye — the dark lanky hair was spread open by a red cone of gristle, running all the way down the body. He took a breath; nothing to be done but remember the image. Magazine loaded, he rolled backwards, running behind City Hall. The smell of gasoline fumes had reached him.
* * *
With exact motions, Falcon stepped off of the quad, following in the wake of his ‘brothers.’
Where was the camaraderie? A pathetic slew of men, women, and children scattered in their wake. A large one — a giant with a blue face — darted out of one of the buildings. He landed a haymaker on one of the younger Hellhounds, but his partner was right behind him — he struck the giant with the butt of his rifle, then flipped the weapon around against the fallen foe. The giant jerked as the bullet tore through him.
Falcon trudged on.
A sudden instinct took over — there was a shadow in front of him — he dropped down to one knee, feeling the echo of a rifle round flying over his head. In front of him a dangerous man — no blue on his face. A shock of green hair, an enemy sliding around the corner of a building. Later he’d remember three sharp taps — his pistol disgorged, and his opponent fell.
“Hahaha! Good work, Falcon!”
Was that the camaraderie?
He rose slowly. The threat was gone. Ignoring the chaos, he popped open his revolver’s housing and reloaded the three spent rounds.
What was he doing here?
Chapter 8
Raxx finished processing in a split second; then he reacted.
He hit the brakes hard and jerked the wheel, skidding the truck to a halt at the side of the road. Behind his sunglasses he was seething. He killed the engine, got out, and slammed the door behind him. He walked to the front of the vehicle and lit a cigar, leaning back against the grill.
After a couple of seconds Wentworth lowered his pistol. He holstered the weapon and exited the vehicle. “Uh, Raxx—”
“You thought I was going to kill you? For a fucking bounty? And you pulled a gun on me? Jesus Christ! What do you think I am? I knew you were cold but — trick you into coming out here so that I could shoot you? What’s the matter with you?”
Wentworth’s head snapped, and he glared at the Mechanic while considering his response. The man didn’t seem to be lying. His arms were crossed, and he was glaring into the distance.
“You wouldn’t have been the first.”
“Hey, I don’t know what kind of storm’s been following you, but the way I see it you just called me a murdering piece of shit. Your history — your paranoia — ain’t my fucking problem!”
He needed time to think. “Paranoia’s the reason I’m still alive. Why the hell is your holster undone?”
“What? Look, the goddamned thing just came undone, alright? Here, I’m doing it up. And if you’d bothered to look the action’s not even cocked back, goddamnit!”
“And what about that speech you gave me? About how you’re out here to earn your next meal?”
“My next… fuck you!”
“Well fuck you, too!” Wentworth threw out his arms — in relief or anger, he wasn’t sure, it just exploded out of him. He lit his own cigarette and leaned against the truck, facing away.
They finished their smokes and flicked them to the ground. Then they each lit up another one.
The minutes began to drag. The tension was leaking out of his back and his cheeks began to cool. He took a deep breath and spoke.
“Listen — Raxx, I’m sorry. I misjudged.”
“Yeah, fine.”
He took in a deep breath. “Raxx — I mean it. I’ve had a lot of close calls. It makes a guy nervous. But I overreacted. I’m sorry.” He flicked at his cigarette’s filter, and sighed. “And that’s the weirdest response I’ve ever seen from a man with a gun in his face.” He reached out his hand. “Will you accept my apology?”
The Mechanic looked at him for a moment, doubtfully, then slowly took his hand and shook it, “Alright. I can’t say I understand; but I’ll try not to take it the wrong way.”
Wentworth nodded and looked up into the late-morning sun, “So if you’re not planning to kill me, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
Raxx stared at the ground, thinking for a second. “Let’s keep moving and I’ll tell you.” The two of them got back into the vehicle and Raxx turned over the engine. Once they were moving at a good clip he started speaking “Like I was saying, rumours about you have reached the people who run Blackstock, the Seniors and the Councilman. They’re nervous that trouble is going to follow you and show up on their doorstep. That sort of thing has happened before, I’ve heard. So they’ve enlisted me, since they know we’ve been talking, to try and get rid of you.
“What I’m supposed to do is get you to leave town as soon as your bike is fixed without pissing you off in the process,” he glanced over for a second. “You might be an asshole but you’re not the sort of monster that they’re scared of. I tried to talk to them, but,” he exhaled. “They wouldn’t listen. Man… that’s what I took you out to tell you. It pissed me off. They wanted me to lie to you. That’s why I wanted to drive.
“You say you’re sorry for pulling a gun on me? Well, I’m sorry to be saying this to you. But there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Wentworth looked out the window at the scenery passing by. He thought for a while before speaking. “I don’t blame them. You gotta take care of your own”
The old loneliness swept over him. He looked over at Raxx, “I enjoyed our conversations. Shame it had to end like this. I appreciate everything — especially getting my bike back in working order. Too bad we couldn’t have shared a few more pints. But it’s about time for me to be moving on, anyway.” He sighed, “Let’s turn back around so that you can get my bike fixed and I can get out of everybody’s hair. And you can tell the Town Seniors that I’ll be leaving quietly.”
“Sorry man.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Raxx jerked the truck around, gunning the ignition to lose traction in the back tires and drift through the U-turn. The sun had risen to its zenith during the ride, and there was nothing left to say between them. The friendship was a still birth.
Wentworth lit up another smoke. He was used to being the stranger in a city full of cold faces. The highway stretched on further for him than it did for Raxx. The faded lines ticked off the seconds of his life.
Where was he was going to go next? If he was still being followed — and if they’d heard of him in Blackstock then that was a definite possibility — then asking for directions to the nearest town would be a mistake. It would leave a trail for them to pick up on. Better to take Raxx’s comments about civilization ‘back west’ and head for the setting sun. Eventually he’d find it.
As I Walk These Broken Roads br-1 Page 7