As I Walk These Broken Roads br-1

by Davis M. J. Aurini

  “Of course I will; I’ll need his shotgun.”

  “Don’t fuck with me Wentworth!”

  “Vince — we’ll be back. Just take it easy.”

  The merchant looked up him, and scratched his beard — then clasped the man’s hand.

  “Go do it, lads. Keep the wind at your backs.”

  Wentworth lowered his goggles, and looked over to Raxx. “We will.”

  Half-an-hour later he reached his hand over to his partner. “Take these.”

  “What? What are these, drugs?”

  “Sort of. They’ll protect us from the radiation.”

  “What radiation?”

  Wentworth shook his head. “These Hellhounds are real champs. Take the pills — we’ll both need them. I’m guessing we’re close now.”

  Chapter 10

  “ What radiation?”

  “We’re entering a fallout zone. The pills’ll protect you as long as it doesn’t get too bad.”

  “What? How?”

  He shrugged, “They’re potassium-iodide. They protect the lungs from airborne particles. As long as we don’t eat or drink anything we should be fine.”

  Raxx shook his head, “How would you know about any radiation? Don’t tell me you have a Geiger counter on you.”

  The ground crunched under his heels as he came to a halt. The grasses swayed quietly in the wind

  “Actually, yeah, I do.” He passed an olive-drab tablet to the Mechanic. “This right here — you feel the vibrations? That’s how it tells me about the fallout.”

  Raxx glared down at it. He’d never seen one that looked quite like it, let alone that was operational, but the glowing screen and key pad were unmistakeable.

  “This is a computer — isn’t it?”

  “More or less. It’s called a Datapad. And it has a Geiger counter installed. Take the damned pills.”

  Raxx handed it back with distaste.

  “And if I don’t?”

  Wentworth slid the Datapad into his belt. “I’m not moving until you do.”

  Raxx stared at him. Wentworth rocked back on his heels and stared back.

  “The pills — you know for sure that they’re potassium-iodide?”

  “Here, read the container — I think they’re diluted with chalk or something, but that’s the only active ingredient.”

  Raxx glanced down suspiciously at the tablet. “I’ll take your word for it. But you’d better be right.”

  Wentworth let out his breath. “I wish I was wrong. Let’s keep moving.”

  They walked on.

  Raxx’s stride was fractious but Wentworth was too focussed on following the trail to notice. The thick, torn-up shrubs had given way to light scrub, and it was fading. The dust in the wind stung their skin red, as shimmering waves rose over a cracked and broken earth.

  They walked on, their shadows tall across the barren land.

  The grasses gave way until there was nothing left but tiny lichens; coral-shapes, crunching under their feet. Their branches were a pale grey-green, only a few centimetres high, with red tips.

  They walked on. The evening’s long dark was hinted at in streaks along the earth. All signs of their path had vanished.

  Then a pile of cow manure came into sight, off to the left. The tension bled out of them. As they marched on the plain recovered, turning back into grasslands. The violence of the raiders’ passage was evident once more.

  The sun was closing with the earth, lighting up a murky haze of dust, and haloing the hills ahead with a red glare. Beyond these, flowing east on currents of air came the whiff of combustion fumes.

  Wentworth tightened his grip on the rifle.

  The contours had been concentrating rainwater in the valleys, leading to an explosion of plant growth. But the gaunt formations confirmed the Datapad’s vibrations. Half the trees were dead, their trunks black, while the living ones twisted strangely, sprouting mottled leafs. Wentworth imagined some other scent coming on the wind, a yellow-umber of dead particles, hidden behind the earthy dust and the heady exhaust. He tucked his rifle into his shoulder, and led them single file.

  Following the gullies, their ears played tricks on them; seeking out patterns in the crackling of the dry forest. But soon it was unmistakeable.

  Voices.

  They ascended the last hill warily, cresting on their bellies. Finally, their target: a forlorn rectangle chiselled out of the pink sky.

  The main building was two storeys of concrete with a tar roof. Its walls were intact but filthy streaks from acid rain marred the sides. The back, on their right, was a single storey; the administrative offices. The front was much larger, with only the occasional window; lines of rust dripped from the vents along the roof. Some sort of warehouse. In the middle, where the two halves of the building met, was an open garage door gaping into a shadowed interior.

  An asphalt courtyard surrounded the building, bordered by a chain-link fence, coiled with barbwire. The only opening was on the south side, their left, where a large rolling gate had fallen off its tracks and lay on the ground. The quads were parked in a row, blocking the gap. A single road stretched off to the South. This building was the end of the line.

  Inside the compound were piles of machine parts, a forklift, and dozens of yellow plastic barrels, coated in dust. There were several smaller fenced-in storage areas at the back of the compound — cages now, full of the townspeople. Their movements were broken and listless; like the cattle that huddled nearby they were exhausted and silent.

  A large bonfire had been lit outside of the garage door. There was an empty spit overtop of it, and a various makeshift benches had been set up around it. The raiders were celebrating their success with the liquor they’d stolen from Landfall’s. They shouted and cheered, shoulder to shoulder in shifting groups. None of them were on the lookout for danger.

  For a while nothing happened. Wentworth was calmly observing, as Raxx’s gut palpated in a knot of tension. They remained silent.

  One of the bigger Hellhounds broke from the pattern. He stood up, barking an announcement, and strode over to the cages in the back. Somebody tossed him a set of keys, and the boys he’d been sitting with began chortling. He opened the gate and grabbed a blonde girl by the upper arm. She didn’t resist, and none of the other citizens moved to stop him as he pulled her out of the cage. Holding her like a dufflebag, he locked the gate, and dragged her back towards the fire.

  Raxx’s breathing deepened.

  “Don’t.” Wentworth didn’t move, or even glance over, “Remember what Vince said — about getting those people killed, and us along with ’em? If we don’t do this right then that’s exactly what will happen. Doesn’t matter that you can see it. Tactically, we’re still a thousand klicks away.”

  A high pitched buzzing had started in Raxx’s ears, and his extremities felt numb. He tried to listen to what Wentworth said next, but the words were lost as a commotion started up in the compound. A Hellhound wearing a dark vest walked up to the one holding Connie and pushed him. She fell to the ground, and her abductor swung back at the other, striking him in the jaw. He staggered back but didn’t go down. The rest began to take notice.

  They formed a circle and started cheering. The shorter one returned with a swing that missed, and the two of them locked together in a struggle. More punches were thrown, but they were too close, and the blows were glancing. Before any real damage was done a squat figure broke through the circle and threw the two combatants apart — his age and bearing marked him as the Boss.

  Some sort of argument ensued, but Raxx’s eyes were on Connie. It would have been easier if she’d been crying. Her face was pale and dry-eyed as she dragged herself away, clutching at the fence. Raxx’s heart ached, and his joints felt weak.

  The shouting was resolved with several ejaculations from Mad Dog, and the vest-wearing raider stalked out of the encampment. The rest seemed nervous, quiet now, making only the occasional shout or laugh. Eventually one of them grabbed Connie
and shoved her back into the cage.

  When Wentworth spoke his voice seemed oblivious to the violence they’d just witnessed. “I count twenty-two, plus the guy that just left. Have you got a count yet?”

  Raxx’s throat was too dry for speech. He swallowed, and choked out a reply. “Give me a sec.”

  “No rush.” His thumb was stroking up and down his rifle’s fire selector, “I need to see what they’re going to do after dark. We’re going to be here a while.”

  As Raxx counted, the Hellhounds rediscovered their celebration. As his nervousness faded, a black anger squeezed his innards. He watched them with a clenched jaw, but no one else approached the cages. They seemed content to stay by the fire, bullshitting.

  As night descended the blaze seemed to grow bigger. It left traces in Wentworth’s vision; the Hellhounds would be completely night-blind. Confident in his obscurity, he pulled out his Datapad. The rad count had tripled since earlier, but there was nothing to do about that. He set it down and looked around the encampment.

  Movement, something by the front gate — at first he thought it was just a flickering reflection of the fire, but after a few moments observing he saw that it was a metal sign, stirring in the breeze. Three of the plastic clips affixing it had broken over the years, and now it hung upside down and facing inwards, reflecting the bonfire’s light. He used the scope on his rifle.

  OPG

  Pickering Plant Storage Facility #012

  Federal Government Property

  NO TRESPASSING

  He put them down, and began typing on his Datapad. Then he returned to his rifle scope, and examined some of the yellow barrels. Underneath the caked earth he could just barely make out the trefoil of a radiation warning label.

  Raxx’s face was frozen, almost skeletal in the flickering light. Wentworth broke his concentration with a hushed tone. “Bad news. I figured out the source of the rad count. Those yellow barrels that are all over the place? They contain the waste from one of the old reactors. Nuclear waste. They’re leaking.”

  Raxx’s response was an empty glare.

  Wentworth closed his eyes and shook his head. “I told you these Hellhounds were champs. What a place to set up kip…” he rolled onto his side so that he could put his Datapad away. “Right now we’re just dealing with secondary radiation. But if any of the barrels are punctured, those pills won’t do anything to help us,” he met Raxx’s gaze, “we need to get those people out of there. Let’s hope the bastards decide to rack out soon.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Wentworth looked back at the compound, “Before I’m ready, I’ve got to do a cloverleaf around the building. Check it out on the other three sides… shit, one of them’s out there, isn’t he? The one that stomped off?” He grimaced. “Whatever. I’ll deal with him if I have to. I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things — I shouldn’t be much more than an hour. You going to be okay with that?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  Wentworth stole off, and Raxx was alone.

  Chapter 11

  The stars rippled silently against their backdrop, while the bonfire glowed gently as it died. The earth ticked and chirped with the small noises of insects, while back down the hill a branch swayed in the breeze. Raxx had gone into a fugue, waiting so long, silently, as the Hellhounds retired one by one and he waited for Wentworth to return. The moon glowed eerily.

  Something began rising above the noise floor — rustling sounds.

  He jolted out of his reverie as Wentworth slid in beside him.

  “Yeah, I know, they’ve all gone to sleep — except for those two. Anything else? Any of them take off?” He put his rifle down on the grass, and rubbed his hands together.

  “Uh, no, I—”

  “Good. I took care of the one that left earlier; he was set up watching their Western arc for some reason. Never thought anyone would be coming from the East.”

  “I didn’t hear any shooting—”

  “One sec, it’s too open here. Back down the hill, then we talk.”

  Wentworth disappeared. Raxx rolled on his side. Pins and needles shot through his extremities, and a cool breeze washed over his chest as he backed down the hill. He smelled the tobacco before reaching the gulley. Wentworth was leaning back against the slope with a cigarette hidden in the palm of his hand.

  “Always try and smoke one before going in. You never know if it’ll be your last. If you’re going to light your own, just make sure to cover up the flame.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Raxx could hear the grin in his voice. “Used to know a guy that’d hide the cherry in the hollow of his rifle’s pistol-grip. Don’t think that’ll be necessary just now, though.” He took a heavy drag and blew the smoke upwards.

  “What happened with the guy that wandered off?”

  “He was busy watching his arcs. Never heard me coming. Slit his throat. He tussled for a bit, but that was it. I had his mouth covered. Anything new on your end? I saw them all heading in when they decided to crash — that’s why I took so long. I watched them to make sure.”

  “That was pretty much it. They left two guys on guard, and the rest went to sleep.”

  “Then all we’ve got to worry about is their relief — but that shouldn’t be for a few hours. Okay, here’s what I got: the other side of the building’s free and clear. They’re all concentrated on this end, just inside that rolling door. The front’s nothing but a bunch of loading-bays; four of ’em. Through ’em are some long parking stalls and equipment stations; good cover that the Hellhounds seem to be ignoring.

  “Now, just inside that rolling door you had your eyes on, is a pair of steel doors on the back wall. That’s where they were all going when they crashed. I think they’re sleeping just inside; it looked like a big room, and they seemed to be hanging out. You got that?”

  Raxx nodded.

  “They only put out the three guards, so they’re not expecting any trouble. The two who’re playing cards are just there to keep an eye on the prisoners. We got a major element of surprise. Think that C4 of yours will make it through steel?”

  Raxx took a second to catch up. “The double-doors are locked?”

  “Nah, probably not. I just want to give them a wake-up call.”

  “Uh, yeah — it should. I can form it so it’ll do that.”

  “Alright — here, I’ll tell you the specifics, but all you’ve really got to remember is to follow my lead, and keep that buckshot going downrange.”

  They hashed out the details for a few more minutes, then he crushed his cigarette under his heel. “Just remember: speed and aggression will get us through this. Let’s move.”

  He led them on a path that circled around to the southern road. They darted across it, and stayed in the shadows as they approached the front gate.

  The quads were lined up, blocking the entrance; enough to keep the cattle in, but easy for them to slip by. They rose from the roadside ditch and broke into a bent-kneed run. The gravel crunched under their feet as they moved towards the left-most bay door, harnesses and equipment jingling, hearts pounding.

  They reached it — out of the moonlight, into the black. Their footfalls slapped flatly against the concrete as they slid in and crouched behind one of the counters separating the bays.

  Wentworth indicated for Raxx to stay still. His mouth felt thirsty, and he was hyper-aware of his magazine’s weight. Laying down by the edge, he darted his head out for a moment, then pulling back. When there was no response, he popped out again, and examined it in detail.

  The warehouse was full of broken machinery. Trenches were cut out of the grease-stained floor, running under each parking stall, with steel walkways spanning them. Along the back — the wall with the sleeping quarter’s double-doors — were stacks upon stacks of yellow barrels. Wentworth had turned off his Datapad a while back, and was left wondering what his Geiger Counter would say about this. Through the western garage door came the sounds of the two
guards, laughing over their card game. He spent a few moments re-examining of his plans, then pulled back into a kneeling position. He gave Raxx a nod, and they started moving; weapons ready, with careful steps.

  His eyes were alive, scouring for booby traps, pitfalls, and obstacles. They made it to the double-door without incident. He looked sharply at the Mechanic then took a step forward, kneeling and putting a defensive bead on the eastern exit.

  Raxx placed his shotgun on the dusty floor, and unslung his bag. Searching through its contents he laid out the C4, Det cord, and timer. A mélange of caution and urgency left his movements ragged as he molded the explosive. He squeezed the clay-like substance with his fingers, applying a gentle pressure. His apprehension grew by the second. Ears straining as he imagined someone on the side, preparing to exit.

  He reached down, scrambling with his hand, until he found the Det cord. He pressed the knots deep into each block, and knotted the lines together. His fingers were cold, greasy with the plastic material. The primer next — then the timing cord; thirty seconds worth. Explosives set, he reshouldered his backpack and tapped Wentworth’s shoulder. The man looked back, and Raxx nodded.

  Raxx pulled out his lighter, flicking it on the end of the timer. A whiff of sulphur filled the air as it caught. He retrieved his shotgun and began counting. “One… Two…” Wentworth had taken up a new position by the Garage door, half kneeling. Raxx approached from behind and put a hand on his shoulder. “…Eighteen…Nineteen…Twenty!” He squeezed.

  Wentworth’s chest tightened, and he stepped outside. Cold moonlight washed over him as his weapon drew a bead. Behind him the heavy footfalls of the Mechanic. Moving forward, he squeezed down on the trigger.

  The crack shattered hours of silence. Shock registered on one card-player’s face as he lurched in pain. Raxx’s shotgun boomed and the other died instantly, as his collar bone exploded in gristle. A double crack from Wentworth put the other one down, jerking him back, then forward as blood and bone chips blew out the back of his head. The bodies collapsed into puddles, and the partners stopped moving.