“So you like Daran, eh?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that,” she huffed.
“You ever filled ’em out?” he asked, looking at her sideways.
“What—forms for a marital pass?” She looked offended.
“Sure, why not? What’s the problem, no offers?” he teased.
“Exactly the opposite, my friend,” she said archly. “Too many to mention.”
“That’s what worries me.” He grinned wickedly and she tossed a wadded paper napkin at his face.
“You should be so lucky,” she huffed.
“I should,” he said, still smiling as he batted it away.
“Don’t worry, I turned them all down,” she told him.
“All of them?”
“Shut up!” She laughed. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
She wasn’t the only one being teased about it. Farouk was giving Daran a hard time in the back.
“It’s a miracle you passed the STD monitors—not with those girls from Ho Ho City!” he said, while Zedric chimed in from the front, “Yeah, bro, you’re so twisted I swear the last one was a freaking drau!” Daran pummeled Farouk and threatened his brother, and finally Wes yelled at the three of them to shut up, they were giving him a headache.
“Hold up! Hold up! What’s that?” Farouk suddenly yelled, underneath Daran’s fists.
“What’s what?” Wes asked, studying the black metal forest, looking through the tangle of vines. Then he saw it. There were shapes moving through the devastated landscape, and even the vines seemed to be moving. The figures multiplied in the distance.
“Thrillers,” he cursed. “Let’s hope we don’t come closer to any.” He took the binoculars for a closer look. The creatures were dressed in ragged clothing, stumbling and staggering with jerky, strange movements, some of them as small as children, and a few tall, wraith-like apparitions with hair the color of straw. And he wasn’t losing his mind—the vines were moving, swaying of their own volition.
“Thrillers?” asked Farouk.
Shakes began to hum a tune. “You know, that old song . . . ‘Thriller, thriller night.’” He began shaking his head and waving his arms while he sang. The Slaine brothers watched and laughed.
“All right, knock it off,” Wes grumbled.
“The lights that glow at night—are they from them?” Farouk asked.
Wes didn’t answer for a long time. “No one knows. Maybe.”
“But what made them that way?” Farouk asked, as the team stared at the strange, frightening creatures in the distance.
After a long silence, Wes finally answered. “Military does a bunch of chemical testing out here, could be they’re victims of the fallout, but the government won’t say or confirm any of the theories. I know one thing, though, they scare the hell out of anyone unlucky enough to run into them. Word is that’s why the army sent out nanobots in the first place; the thrillers were freaking out too many men. That’s why there’re very few seekers out here.”
He explained that the official explanation for the retreat from Garbage Country was toxin-induced schizophrenia. The chemicals that remained from the toxic floods were said to have driven the men to insanity. But there was no official mention of the shambling, horrific creatures roaming in the garbage. A few years later, the army developed the bot-based defense system. Exploding bombs and robots didn’t get nightmares and didn’t scream at the sight of a thriller.
“Bad news, boss,” Shakes said, looking up from the dashboard. “Looks like we’ve got a gas leak. Bullet must have grazed the tank. We’re not going to make it to the coast with what we’ve got left in the cans.”
They had been lucky to even get this far with what they had, Wes knew. “How much we got left?”
“A few miles at most.”
Wes sighed. “All right, I wasn’t planning to, but we’ll have to make a detour to one of the tent cities for supplies. K-Town isn’t too far, we’ll go there.”
“Whoop, whoop! K-Town!” Zedric yelled, throwing up his gun and catching it.
“What’s in K-Town?” Nat asked.
Wes smiled. So there were some places she hadn’t been. “You’ll see. You think New Vegas is the bomb, wait till you see the fireworks in K-Town.”
14
TO GET TO K-TOWN THEY WOULD HAVE TO CUT through what was once Los Angeles. The formerly sun-drenched city had been one of the hardest hit by the Flood, the waters submerging it almost completely. The truck had to make its way through the hilly, snowy terrain above the waterline. Zedric cranked up the stereo hooked to Daran’s player, and a loud dub-reggae hybrid, the Bob Marley Death-Metal Experience, throbbed inside the truck.
The music was angry and violent, in contrast to the gentle lyrics. Could you be loved?
It was a good question, Nat thought. Could you? Could she? Her gaze landed on Wes and she looked away. For a moment she had seen the two of them filling out day-pass forms, giggling, teasing each other, anticipating a night alone together. She shook the image from her head, annoyed that her thoughts kept turning back to him. Besides, she felt nothing for him, and never could. She’d only been flirting with him because maybe if he liked her he would think twice before tossing her overboard.
As the truck sped through the tundra, Nat looked out the window, relieving her anxiety by marveling at the relentless nature of the frozen environment: snow and more snow for miles around. In one of her old books she’d read that the Eskimos had a hundred words for it. She thought it was a shame they weren’t around to see this: so many different kinds. The white virgin powder on the rooftops contrasted with the hard ice on the ground. The snow rolled over roofs and cars with no interruption, just a white expanse, a visible blankness. Once in a while, she saw footprints, animal trails maybe, although there were some too big, their patterns too deliberate, to be anything but human. She thought of the thrillers they’d left back in the snow-covered desert and shuddered. Wes was right to hope they wouldn’t run into any.
When she was still in school, she’d learned about a town in Ukraine called Chernobyl, where a nuclear reactor had exploded. The place was so radioactive that it wouldn’t be fit for humans for hundreds of years and it was still off-limits now. The whole area was declared an exclusion zone, an evacuated land where no one was allowed to live. In reality, though, the Chernobyl exclusion zone teemed with life. With the absence of humanity, wildlife flourished and the toxic landscape became a kind of animal preserve. Looking at the trails in the snow, she wondered whether Garbage Country was the same. She wondered what kind of life was flourishing here.
Nat didn’t have to wonder for long, as a polar bear materialized from the snow, its burly white body moving with lightning speed. She gasped in surprise—she had never seen an animal up close before.
“What is it?” Wes asked, just as the truck swerved to a stop.
Shakes muttered curses as he turned off the engine, and he and Wes hopped out to see what had happened. Nat followed, watching as Shakes kicked away a mound of snow from the left front wheel to reveal a thick fork of rebar wedged into the front tire.
“’Rouk! Zed! Dar!” Wes called. “C’mon, we need help out here.”
As the boys pulled shovels from the trunk and began working to free the trapped tire, Nat stepped away. Where was the bear?
She scanned the horizon, but saw nothing.
Behind her, she heard curses mixed with the whine of crushing metal. She looked back at the tire. The entire crew had gathered around the trapped wheel. Farouk, Daran, and Zedric were shoveling snow while Shakes worked to free the metal rod that had ground its way into the tire.
Nat took the binoculars to scan for the bear. There it was! She smiled in delight as the polar bear bounded over a mountain of snow. It paused, looked around—twitched nervously. From behind, she heard Wes warn, “Best to stay in the truck.” Nat ignor
ed him.
“Just a moment, I’ve never seen one this close.” She walked closer to the bear.
Without warning, the mighty white animal turned and bounded forward. She stood stock-still, wide-eyed, staring at the creature until too late—she realized the bear was coming directly at her. Pushing a pile of snow ahead of it, the bear leapt forward, its mouth open, tongue out, and teeth bared. It roared. She stood transfixed, unable to move, staring death in the face.
“Nat!” Wes called, but it was too late. She heard a pop, like thunder, echo across the snow. The bear skidded toward her, it warm red nose colliding with her foot, a steady stream of red fluid pouring from its head, mottling its once pristine coat with thick clumps of blood.
Dead.
She was safe.
She turned to Wes, but saw that his gun was holstered; the rest of the crew were still working on the tire. None of them had fired the shot.
A pair of white hooded figures appeared in the far distance. They wore thick goggles—military grade, heat and low-light lenses. They were at least a quarter mile away. She saw one drop his rifle and wave his fist in the air. Was he cheering? What was going on?
She turned to Wes. “Seekers?”
“Nope, caravan hunters.” He knelt down to hide, and she did the same. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hit in the crossfire. We need to go; they’ll be coming for it.” He called out to Shakes, “Get that wheel free, now! We need to move.” The rebar had not moved from the tire.
She turned back to the hunters.
A second pop rang out in the distance. They’d shot a second bear, closer to them, nearly at their feet. The hunters ran eagerly to the fallen polar bear while a third began taking photos.
“Are they hunters or tourists?” she gaped.
“A little of both—a company runs garbage safaris here. It’s illegal, but you know how it is—some things are more illegal than others.”
He patted her shoulder. “I think you should get back in the truck now.”
The hunters finished dragging the second bear to their snow jeep. Nat went back to the LTV. She watched Shakes dig the shaft of a shovel beneath the rebar and heave. The rusted metal bent and sprang from the tire. The hunters turned toward the first fallen bear, the one that had nearly crashed into Nat. She saw those thick goggles trained on her.
She slid back into the truck, the boys followed. “Wes, they saw me—we should go.”
“What do you think we’re trying to do? Shakes, hit it!”
With the door still open, Shakes stepped on the gas as he flung himself into the driver’s seat. Wes had barely slammed his door when the LTV started moving. The big truck lurched forward, then ground to a stop.
Her head slammed into the back of the seat. Shakes swung sideways, nearly flew out of the truck, as the truck swung in a semicircle. “The tire’s still wedged.” Wes cursed. He was out of the truck before it stopped moving.
She looked for the hunters; the caravan hunters’ jeep was headed their way. What would they do? Would they report them to the seekers? Three shots rang through the air and she felt the truck lurch. Out front, Wes was firing down at the wheel. “It’s just some old wood; I’ll blast it out.” His voice was distant, barely audible through the truck’s armored exterior.
She heard two more pops and Wes was back in the truck. They lurched forward again. Shakes shook his head. “Still not free, boss.”
They wouldn’t be able to get away. The caravan had made its way to their first kill, and hunters were getting out of the jeeps and walking toward them.
Wes hung his head in frustration. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this,” he muttered. “Everyone out. Boys, try to look angry. Nat”—he turned to her—“don’t say a word, look annoyed.”
The caravan hunters were gathered around the bear; the tourists had pulled off their goggles and were posing alongside their fallen prey, taking more pictures. Wes walked up to the first and pushed him back hard. “What do you think you’re doing? That was her bear! We’ve been out here all day trying to get her a decent shot and you douche bags take it out right when she’s about to make her kill.” He looked back at Nat and smiled before turning back to the tourists. “I don’t get paid unless she gets a kill!”
The safari guide leapt out of the jeep, rifle in hand. Wes turned to face him. “This is the last bear in twenty clicks. What were you thinking? This one was ours! I’ve checked heat and satellite. There’s nothing else out here and you already shot one!”
She nearly laughed. Wes was so convincing, more of a con artist than she guessed. Would he pull it off? Would he convince the hunters they were just another safari out here looking for souvenirs? She watched as he poked his finger in the guide’s face. The guide was built like the truck, wide and stout, and there were several more, blank-faced, carrying nasty-looking guns, but Wes wouldn’t back down even if they were outnumbered.
“You’ve got your skin; take it, and get out of here! This one’s mine. She can hang the head on her wall and tell all her friends she popped a big white. You want this one, you’ve got to pay my fee, ’cause she sure won’t!” The guides studied Wes’s crew. The boys smiled broad grins. The tourists howled as their guides herded them back into the jeeps.
Wes turned. “You want the bear?”
She feigned a laugh, but the sight was too horrid. The creature had been truly beautiful. “You think they bought it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Who knows, I’ve run these cons so many times I’ve just quit worrying.” The boys shoveled snow over the fallen bear, a burial of sorts, then loaded back into the truck. Tire free and hunters gone, they started forward once more.
15
SHAKES HAD TO PARK THE TRUCK AGAIN to try to patch the hole in the gas tank. They weren’t far from what used to be called Korea-Town, a formerly jumbled neighborhood of barbecue restaurants and foreign embassies, but they might have to walk the rest of the way if he couldn’t coax out a few more miles. The team disbanded, and the boys wandered around snow-covered houses while Nat stayed close to the vehicle. It looked as if it would take awhile, so she took a book from her pack.
“You can read,” said Wes, noticing.
“Yes,” Nat replied with an embarrassed smile. “Mrs. A—the lady who raised me—taught me.” The book was one of the few possessions she had left, a poetry collection from the archives.
“Lucky duck,” he said.
“It passes the time,” she said, trying not to make a big deal out of it. Literacy was the lowest it had ever been. Truly, there was hardly any reason to read anymore—information was relayed through the net in videos and images, and if written communication was necessary, most people used an amalgam of symbols and acronyms that had replaced formal language instruction in schools. Supposedly textlish—which had been compared to Egyptian hieroglyphics by bygone intellectuals and academics—had been invented by a couple of kids with their handhelds before the Big Freeze. The latest RBEs, or “Reading-Based Entertainment,” were all composed in textlish, but Nat couldn’t quite get excited by a story called XLNT <3 LULZ.
The RBEs on the top download lists were all imports from Xian anyway—dull “work” novels about how to move up in the world, capitalist tracts about jerking the corporate chain. All the books Nat preferred to read were written by people who had lived long ago. No new songs, either—the current crop of pop stars were all cover bands, rehashing music from another era. It was as if even imagination had died when the ice came.
Wes peered over her shoulder at the cover. “Who’s William Morris?”
“He was a poet.”
“Read me something,” he said. Nat didn’t think he was the poetry type, but she flipped through the pages and cleared her throat before deciding on a passage.
“It’s a story—about a dragon—and a hero,” she told him.
“What happens in
it?” he asked.
“The usual.” She shrugged. “The hero slays the dragon.”
Wes smiled and left to help Shakes with the engine. All around the white snow, Nat swore she could see small white flowers popping up everywhere. It had to be some kind of illusion. Flowers couldn’t grow in the snow and the garbage. She walked closer to a snowbank, sure that the illusion would disperse, but it didn’t. She reached down to pick a few flowers.
“Look,” she said to Wes, who was standing nearby. She handed him one.
“How is that possible?” he said, marveling at the delicate bloom in his hand.
She shook her head and once again, they shared a quick, shy smile.
The sound of thunder booming across the valley caused them to drop the flowers they held and forget about it for the time being. In a flash, they were crouched behind the truck.
“What is it?” Nat asked. Had the patrols finally caught up to them somehow? She’d heard too many bombs in her lifetime and could immediately recognize the sound of an exploding shell when she heard one. “Think the seekers found us?”
“Let’s hope not,” he said as a second explosion rocked the truck. “Shakes would have picked up their signal on our scanner.”
They were parked on top of a winding road—MULHOLLAND DRIVE, an ancient street sign read. The houses were still intact here, except they were buried to the roofline in snow. At least they were away from the black vines now, and the air was fresher up here and a new coat of pristine white powder covered the ground.
A third thunderous blast rocked the hillside, loud as a cannon.
“Wait a minute,” said Wes. “That sounds like one of ours—”
“What are you doing?” Nat asked as Wes crept along the side of the truck, muttering Zedric’s name as another blast echoed across the hilltop.
She ducked as a shower of snow rained down from the trees.
Frozen: Heart of Dread, Book One Page 8