Standing at the Edge

by William Alan Webb

  The impact knocked him backward. Dropping his rifle, the soldier put both hands over his chest, where blood poured from ragged holes in his uniform. He staggered forward two steps. His face twisted until he seemed to be crying, as if he called for his mother. Tears ran down his cheeks and blood leaked through his fingers in a spreading stain on his shirt. Then he toppled over. The top of his head landed so close to Jingle Bob that he could smell the man’s sweat and see his dandruff.

  “I… I’ve never shot a man before,” Jingle Bob said. His hands trembled as he wiped sweat from his eyes.

  “It’s just like shooting dinner, except you don’t eat it.” Junker Jane pushed down the lever on her rifle and loaded another round. “I can’t believe you never had to shoot nobody before.”

  “I guess I’ve been lucky. Shouldn’t we get out of here? Whoever killed those men is likely coming to scrounge whatever they can.”

  “I know. I wanna see if it’s who I think it is.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  She smiled and turned his way. “Maybe I’ve found a new trading partner.”

  Minutes later, a few heads appeared down the slope, with flankers on either side, warily climbing upward. At a hundred yards’ range, Jane recognized one of them. She yelled without moving from her prone position. “Bam Bam Bear, it’s Junker Jane. Don’t shoot!”

  Her voice echoed down the ravine. The scattered group tensed and raised their weapons, searching for the voice’s source. The biggest man cupped hands around his mouth and yelled back. “If you’re really Jane, identify yourself.”

  “You want me to talk about that night at Mount Shasta?”

  Through her binoculars, she could see the man smile and motion for the others to lower their weapons. “Instead of talking about it, let’s do it again!”

  Bob raised an eyebrow.

  “Not that,” she said. “We got drunk.”

  #

  Bam Bam Bear moved with grace, considering his bulk. Two of his followers escorted him to the trees, just in case, while the others began looting the bodies of the dead. A single gunshot made Bob jump, but nobody else even looked up.

  Bam Bam Bear and Jingle Bob both stood an inch below six feet. But where Bob seemed molded from cured leather, lean and weatherworn, Bear resembled his namesake. Knotted muscles stretched over shoulders so wide only elephantine legs could support them. Florid cheeks reflected the exertion of climbing the rocky hillside. A reddish brown beard hung halfway to his chest. When he clapped hands on Jane’s shoulders and pulled her into him for a hug, she disappeared beneath his arms. Bob guessed his age as late twenties.

  “It is damned good to see you, girl! I was hoping you’d show up soon.”

  Jane laughed. “And I know why you were hoping I would, but that’s gonna have to wait. I didn’t bring any booze.” She put her hand out to indicate Bob. “Bear, this is Jingle Bob. He scrapes to the east and south, but sometimes comes around to share news. Bob, this is Bam Bam Bear. He’s the leader of a group called the Enclave.”

  After shaking hands, Bear asked him if he’d brought anything good to barter.

  “I wouldn’t come all this way if I didn’t. Guns and ammo, boots, high quality clothing, all kind of good stuff.”

  Bear whistled. “Sounds like you and me are gonna do some trading.”

  “Where did the Chinese come from?” Jane said.

  “Scouts.” Bear scowled.

  “What was that shot a minute ago?” Bob asked.

  “Somebody too wounded to save. We only shoot them if they can’t talk or there’s nothing we can do for them.”

  “You treat wounded Chinese?” Bob asked.

  “We do until they tell us what we want to know. Then we shoot them. The Chinese kill us; we kill them. That’s how it is.”

  “What are they doing here, Bear?” Jane asked.

  “Looking for ways through the forest. There’s a heavily armed column on the old highway, repairing bridges and broken sections, and scouts all over the mountains. We found one of them with his spine snapped and organs ripped out, so be careful at night.”

  “Mountain lion?” Bob asked.

  Bear shook his head. “No, there were plenty of clear prints. It was a mountain man.”

  Bob nodded in understanding. “There’s more than there used to be, at least around Tahoe and to the south.”

  “We hear them every night. I know an old Washoe chief claims to speak their language.”

  “Back to the Chinese,” Jane said. She’d never believed the Sasquatch stories.

  “Right, the Chinese. They’re definitely heading east, with heavy firepower.”

  “Bob thinks they’re after the old tanks at that army base east of here.”

  Bear nodded in agreement. “That makes sense, except why now? Both the tanks and the Chinese been around since before I was born. They could have come up here any time they wanted.”

  “Maybe I can answer that,” Jingle Bob said. “There was a big battle last year near a place called Prescott, in old Arizona. The Chinese got their asses kicked by some force claiming to be Americans. They lost a lot of tanks.”

  “Americans? You mean, like, American Americans?”

  Bob chuckled. “Don’t ask me who they are or how they got there, but yeah, American Americans. I talked to a few locals and some Apache, and those are the claims.”

  “I guess the Chinese had all the firepower they needed before, and now they need to replace their losses. It all makes sense. How far is this Prescott from here?”

  “Five weeks’ ride, four if you can switch horses and don’t meet anybody in the desert. But down north of Las Vegas, I saw a lot of riders in the desert of a kind I ain’t seen before. They wear red scarfs and have letters tattooed on their arms. Didn’t look too friendly, so with them around I’d say at least a five-week ride.”

  “Then whether they’re Americans or not, that’s too long,” Bear said, becoming serious. “The Cs will be at the depot long before then.”

  “Can we stop them?” Jane said.

  Bear cocked his head. “We?”

  “A girl’s got to protect her territory.”

  “I’m not sure we should even try. You’re talking about a lot of firepower down there.”

  “And if they get those tanks, how long do you think you’ll be safe up north in your mountains? Another year? If they’re trying to get those tanks, we’ve got to try and stop them.”

  Bear had already thought it through. “I know, I agree with you. But by ourselves, we can’t do more than slow them down a little. I’ll have to go back to the Enclave and gather everybody who can ride, but that still won’t be enough. We’re friends with another group near Mount Shasta; maybe they’ll help. We could use some bigger guns.” He cast a meaningful glance at Jingle Bob.

  “How about three RPGs?”

  “You’ve got three RPGs? What do you want for them?”

  “It’s a donation. I don’t want the Chinese anywhere near my scraping grounds. I’ve got some AK-47s, with ammo, if you need them.”

  “Oh, hell, yes.”

  “Listen, Bear,” Jane said, “I heard there’re still some people living on the base, and if that’s true we need to warn them. They could have a radio that works, or maybe some of those tanks.”

  “Either of you been there before?”

  “Once,” Jane said. “A long time ago.”

  Bear pointed at her. “You and Bob alert the army base. See if they can send us any help.”

  “I’d rather go with you,” she said.

  “There’ll be time for that later.” Bear turned and was gone down the slope, followed by the rest of his band.

  “Just got drunk?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  #

  Chapter 9

  My enemy struck me in the face, I turned my cheek to the foe,

  My enemy struck me once again, and this time broke my nose;

  If I’m bound for hell for fighting back,
this much you should know,

  My enemy died a vicious death and I left his corpse for the crows.

  Yasmine Carolista, Enough is Enough

  Herlong, CA

  1356 hours, April 11

  The Sierra Army Depot began life in 1942 as an ammunition storage facility. Situated far enough inland to be safe from Japanese attacks, the Army located it in the dry, isolated area north-northwest of Lake Tahoe.

  After World War Two, the facility underwent many changes over the decades. With the army taking advantage of the ideal conditions for storing military equipment, the area grew until it finally comprised 36,000 acres. The government stored tens of thousands of surplus vehicles there, including Abrams tanks and Bradley fighting vehicles. There were also acres of ammunition bunkers, parts warehouses, medical supplies, and chemical warfare agents. In other words, the depot had everything necessary to equip an army.

  #

  From the top of the ridge, Junker Jane scanned the desert to her east. At the bottom of the hill’s eastern slope ran old Highway 395. Across the road stood a small building that had once been a store, and beside it ran the road leading into the Sierra Army Depot. A sign with paint missing labeled it the Her__ng Acces___oad. Access Road, Jane guessed. Herling, Herlong? Close by on the north lay the southern tip of Honey Lake.

  A pile of sandbags by the junction of 395 and the access road leading into the base marked an abandoned guard post. Raising her binoculars, she searched for signs of life, focusing on the army base in the distance. The hazy shapes of a few low buildings shimmered in the waves of heat rising from the hot sands.

  “This isn’t good,” she said. “The last time I was here, there was a machine gun set up right there, behind those sandbags. Guards lived in that old food store and everybody was on their toes. Now it doesn’t look like there’s been anybody around for years.”

  “When were you here?”

  “I told Bear it was ten years ago, but the truth is it’s probably been closer to fifteen.”

  “A lot can change in fifteen years.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Jingle Bob had left his loaded-down sled with Bear’s people in exchange for a saddled horse. Together they steered their mounts down the bare slope toward the highway. At a shallow ditch beside the road they both halted, automatically scanning it for useable items. Several glass bottles lay half-buried in the dirt.

  Bob pointed to them. “When this is all over, you need to scrape this place. There’s some good stuff here.”

  “You’re right about that.” She indicated a metal hubcap lying in a ditch.

  They crossed the highway and followed the Herlong Access Road farther east. A bent and rusty sign read County Highway A25. A line of utility poles led off north, most of the wires still draped from one pole to the next. Junker Jane knew that electric current once ran through those wires, but without really understanding what that meant. It was all before her time.

  They passed a faded orange sign that read END OF ROAD WORK. Scrub bushes and leaning fence posts lined both sides of the highway. Weeds grew through cracks in the asphalt. After half a mile, they came to a stone and wood sculpture on the south side of the pavement.

  “Was that here—”

  “No,” Jane said. “It wasn’t.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m afraid to guess.”

  The shambling structure stood twenty feet high. Rock and boulders heaped into the shape of a crude Buddha made up its bulk, complete with top-knot. The seated figure held up a roundel of wood with a swastika carved into it, and four dots above the arms of the crooked shape. From behind the seated figure rose a tall wooden cross. At the juncture of its crossbeams was a circle, like a Celtic cross, except inside the circle was a Star of David.

  Shaking their heads, the pair moved off again. More utility poles rose on their right, paralleling a small unpaved road leading off that way. A gate had once blocked entry, but now it lay in the sand. Ahead they saw a line of trees turned dark green by spring growth. Neither said anything because they both knew what that meant: water.

  The road ran over a culvert with a ditch on either side. The ditch had shallow pools of water in the bottom, the dirt trampled by animal tracks. The culvert seemed none the worse for half a century’s neglect, which was a good thing because the ditch’s sides were steep and its breadth wide. Riding through it would have been difficult, jumping it with untrained horses impossible. A steel railing flanked either side of the highway to keep cars from plummeting to oblivion.

  The utility poles had moved to the opposite side of the highway now.

  “What’s that?” he said, pointing to their right.

  “That’s a house.”

  By pre-Collapse standards, it was more shack than house. The wood had grayed with age, although patches of flaky white paint remained. Farther away they could see other structures. Two larger cinder block storage buildings came up on their right and these appeared in better repair. A long shadow cast by the closer one promised some relief from the heat, so they rode over there and dismounted to give the horses a rest.

  “Hello!” Jane called. “Anybody around?”

  Nobody answered, so they walked back to the dilapidated house and went inside, calling out every few seconds. A large room came first, with a hallway leading to two small bedrooms and a bathroom, with a kitchen at the very back. Anything usable had been taken, except for a crude wooden table in the front room with something carved into the top plank.

  “Welcome to Heaven,” Bob read. “If this is Heaven, I wanna see Hell before I make a decision about staying.”

  Half an hour later, their horses refreshed, they remounted and rode on, passing a crossroads with a sign pointing to Honey Lake.

  “I caught a big catfish there,” Jane said. “Ten pounds or more, at least. I ate him for three days.”

  “I’m so hungry right now I’d eat him in one sitting.”

  “Good hunting up there, too. Not just deer, either. Ducks, geese, quail, all kinds of birds. I shouldn’t be giving you all my tips. You might like scraping this territory better than the one you’re in.”

  “Not me. I like the current scraper too much to butt into her range.”

  With the heat so strong, they rode on along the highway at a gentle walk. Half an hour later, a barking dog stood beside the first of a long row of houses close to the road. Fir and young juniper trees shaded most of them, with desert peach trees scattered here and there. The clucking of chickens came from a small coop in the back.

  A sagging porch on the first house showed signs of recent repair. Two rattlesnake skins hung over a railing. The dog barked some more, tail wagging so hard its butt moved side to side like a dance. It glanced over its shoulder as a young woman rounded the house’s back corner.

  “Well, hey there!” she called with a wave. “Where’d you two come from?”

  “Out west,” Jane yelled back.

  Small and lithe, the woman wore a loose white frock stained with dust. Stout sandals protected her feet. A yellow rope around her head held back her tangled brown hair. She walked up to them with a total lack of fear and stroked the mane of Jane’s horse. “Welcome to Heaven. My name is Sunshine.”

  “Sunshine?”

  She nodded, grinning. Jane thought the name fit, both her disposition and her body. Naturally brown hair had been bleached by the sun. Her skin was burned to a dark reddish brown.

  “My name is Junker Jane; this is Jingle Bob. We’re scrapers.”

  “Do you live here alone?” Bob asked.

  “No!” she said, giggling. “All of the prophet’s family lives here!”

  “Prophet?” he said.

  “Yes, Prophet James. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

  “We haven’t had the pleasure,” Jane said before Bob could respond. “But we’d certainly like to. We need to speak to him as soon as possible… it’s very important.”

  “He’ll be thrilled to meet yo
u. We don’t get many visitors. I’ll take you to him.”

  As Sunshine moved to get her own horse, Bob shook his head and chuckled. “We’ve got more prophets running around this country than hairs on a boar’s ass.”

  #

  Chapter 10

  Nothing worth learning can be taught.

  Oscar Wilde

  Herlong, CA

  1509 hours, April 11

  Jane expected Sunshine to lead them into the base itself, but she didn’t. Instead, they found Prophet James hoeing a garden beside a collapsed barn, surrounded by a field of half-grown vegetables and several dozen young people dressed in smocks. Ahead of them on the road, Jane saw gates and a guard shack that marked the restricted area for the Sierra Army Depot.

  At Sunshine’s call, Prophet James looked up, spotted the trio on horseback, and threw his arms wide open. He was of medium height, and a piece of rough rope held back his graying hair, still streaked with brown. Bushy eyebrows fell toward his eyes. His hands were like dried-out leather, but his smile looked genuine, even to scrapers used to the deception of bartering with false friends.

  “The sunshine of my day!” he said, throwing his arms wide again. It seemed to be his favorite gesture. Sunshine grinned. Jane thought his charisma made him appear taller than he really was. “And you have brought two more of God’s children out of the wilderness! Welcome to you both. I am James De Shén. What names are you known by, here in the Place of Trial?”

  “Swami,” Sunshine said, “this is Junker Jane and her mate, Jingle Bob.”

  At the word mate Jane started to say something, but couldn’t before James replied.