By the Feet of Men

by Grant Price

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Ghazi looked up at the sky and thanked Cassady’s guardian. ‘The drone went down. You got knocked out.’

  ‘My head.’ A pale hand went to test the wound, but Ghazi snatched it away.

  ‘Don’t touch it.’

  ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘It could be worse. Can you walk?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then let’s go. We’re not out of this yet.’

  He lifted Cassady to his feet and together they staggered back through the gate. The Old Lady waited patiently next to the guardhouse. Victor and Tagawa were nowhere to be seen. Ghazi glanced at the cable as they passed it. Cassady had tied it off in three places. He hoped it would hold.

  When they passed the guardhouse, Cassady fell to his knees and muttered something unintelligible. Ghazi hauled him upright once more and half-dragged, half-carried him to Warspite. He pushed him up the steps into the cab and then took his seat behind the wheel.

  ‘Take it slow,’ Cassady managed to whisper. His fingers grasped a scrap of cloth under the seat and he pressed it to his head. ‘Slow and steady.’

  ‘Sit back and be quiet. Put the harness on.’

  The bursts of assault rifle fire had stopped, replaced by the dull roar of Tagawa’s old bolt-action rifle. Ghazi dragged the stick back. The cable rose and levelled out. The steering wheel resisted him as best it could. He kept his eyes on the gate, willing it to give way. He pushed the pedal down further. Warspite rumbled and snorted and the cable quivered. There was a squeal as the gate swung wide open on its rusted hinges.

  The road to the south was clear.

  For a moment he sat with his arms locked against the wheel, not believing it. He switched off the engine. The Old Lady became quiet.

  ‘Stay here. I’m going to get that cable off. Then we’re leaving.’ Cassady slumped in his seat with his eyes closed.

  Outside, the last of the three drones strafed the streets with its heavy-calibre weapon. Tyres squealed on the blacktop. Ghazi jogged to the wall. Victor and Tagawa only had to hang on for another minute and then they could make a run for it. The drone couldn’t have much ammunition left. His throat was parched, but he didn’t have enough saliva to spit out the sour taste of brick dust and sweat. At the wall, clumsy fingers worked to remove the cable. The braided wire refused to come free easily. His fingernails bent back and broke against the last of the knots and he cried out in pain and frustration. From somewhere in the town came the sound of metal crunching against metal. Then a horn, unbroken, like the call of an animal in pain. Angrily, Ghazi pawed at the sweat that dripped into his eyes and nostrils and mouth and stared at the final knot that was preventing him from getting out.

  ‘Use this.’ He whirled around. A groggy Cassady, face a mask of pain, held out his machete. Ghazi took it and plunged it into the knot. He levered the blade back and forth and the cable jerked upward and he pulled on it until it twisted free from the gate’s clutches. He clapped Cassady on the back.

  The Silkworm’s horn continued to blare. Back at the truck, Ghazi reeled in the cable and ignored the darkness that swirled at the edges of his mind. Bound metal strands snaked through the dirt and wound themselves around the spool. Cassady shuffled to the rear of the vehicle, a hand held against his head, and looked to the corner at the end of the road. No more gunfire echoed between the buildings. The sky was blue and clear.

  Ghazi wound the winch handle a final time and joined Cassady by the tailgate. ‘She’s ready,’ he said quietly.

  The horn stopped. The two men stood side by side, the nascent silence pulling their nerves taut. They waited for a glimpse of blonde hair, a dark uniform, a pair of hollow faces wearing conquering grins.

  Ghazi’s eyes burned. He had to be the one to say it. ‘We’ve got to go.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ muttered Cassady.

  ‘They’re not coming.’

  ‘Give them a chance. The one you never gave her.’

  The seconds ticked by. A breeze bent the column of grey smoke. Ghazi walked a few paces further along the road, straining to hear footsteps or voices. Something dark shimmered in the distance, emerging between the tips of the mountains with purpose. More drones. He turned away.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘We could go back,’ said Cassady weakly. ‘At least see what happened to them.’

  He shook his head. ‘More drones are coming. We have to leave.’

  The wounded man allowed himself to be led to the cab. At the gate, Ghazi stopped and blasted the horn three times. He opened his door and leaned out, his gaze sweeping the road. But there was no movement.

  The truck passed the smoking wreck of the flying machine, weaved through ancient hulks and joined the tyre tracks engraved in the dirt. The wall and the smoke and the smudges in the sky receded in Warspite’s mirrors until they became part of the horizon and were no more.

  9

  Flames scorched his back. The remains of his truck were strewn across the road. He staggered along the asphalt, gripping the wound in his side that belched hot, sticky blood over his hands. Overhead, drones circled like vultures, waiting for his legs to buckle. His foot had been crushed, but he felt no pain. He followed the faded white line that dissected the road. A rig, blue and silver, idled a few metres away with its front facing him. Without warning, the headlights flashed and it jolted into life. He waved to the driver. It would save him. The rig picked up speed. He waved again. It was coming in too fast. He tried to drag himself out of the way, but stumbled and fell to the floor. He had no breath to cry out. The grille was a metal fist preparing to strike. Hysterical eyes sought the face of the driver, but the windshield was crowded with the faces of the dead. He flung his arms out to protect himself.

  Cassady groaned. Burning red light filtered through his half-open eyelids. He was soaked. The stinking rag he’d used to bind his head stuck to him like wet mud. Aching fingers probed the tender area around the wound. It was swollen, but at least the bleeding had stopped. When the light stopped hurting, he peered out of the window. The Old Lady followed a set of tyre tracks that ran to the end of the world. The desert lay all around them with no vegetation in sight. The sun blazed on the horizon, probing, taunting, irritating and always out of reach.

  It was only when he checked the mirror for a glimpse of the Silkworm that he remembered. Three wrecks had charted their progress through Novus and now the convoy was no more. Yet somehow he and Ghazi still lived. They didn’t deserve to. Losing Tagawa and Victor hurt him even more than Hearst. At least the others had been on the road long enough to live a life; the boys hadn’t. They were just starting out. Not only that, but they’d sacrificed themselves to give Warspite the chance to get away. And he and Ghazi had left them on the road for the worms.

  Most of the mechanic’s face was hidden behind a makeshift keffiyeh and a pair of sun goggles. Had he been tormented by the same thoughts? Did he care at all? He’d been the one to turn his back on the Silkworm first, just as he’d left Hearst to bleed out. He didn’t know the man anymore. Perhaps he’d never known him at all. It didn’t matter now. He coughed.

  ‘Awake?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Been better. Where are we?’

  ‘En route.’ Ghazi’s voice was dull and rasping.

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  ‘No. Lupo’s instructions say to follow the trail until it hits a crossroad and then take the eastern fork. Still haven’t reached the crossroad.’

  ‘Anything in pursuit?’

  ‘No. We passed a settlement a couple of hours ago. I saw it from a distance.’

  ‘A city?’

  ‘Tents. Thrown together. Looked like it could be broken down in a hurry. If they spotted us, they didn’t do anything about it. I haven’t seen a soul out here since.’

  Cassady pulled on a pair of goggles. His dull gaze rested on the golden sea. He wasn’t surprised by the lack of activity. He
reached for a canteen lodged between the seats and washed out the dust and clammy heat from his mouth. It hurt to breathe.

  ‘Better take it easy with that. It’s all we have left.’

  ‘What happened to the rest?’

  ‘We drank it, Cass.’

  He frowned. He shook the canteen. The water sloshed freely around the insides. Another groan escaped his parched lips. He was being boiled alive. ‘You got a plan?’

  ‘We should continue through the night. If you can drive.’

  ‘What about the juice?’

  ‘I took a break for an hour. I figured it was safe enough and I was getting dizzy. It didn’t take long to charge the battery with the PVs in this sunlight.’

  Cassady stared at the tyre tracks again. He was still in a stupor, but Ghazi sounded as though he was on the verge of collapse. He had to take over. All he had to do was keep the rig in a straight line until they hit the crossroads.

  ‘You don’t want to pull up here and start out in the morning?’ he asked. ‘We can both rest some more.’

  ‘Tomorrow will be hell in here. If we still haven’t reached La Talpa by midday, we’ll have to stop anyway and wait for a few hours until it’s cool enough to get going again. Better to drive through the night while we still have the strength.’

  That was true, realised Cassady. The air would be thicker than axle grease tomorrow. His hand sought the canteen, but he forced himself to put it back between the seats. There wasn’t even enough for him to wash out the head wound again. He tried not to think about how quickly it could become infected.

  ‘Okay. I’ll take her now. You can rest.’

  ‘Only if you’re up to it.’

  ‘I am.’

  They switched places. The headrest was saturated and the steering wheel dripped. Cassady adjusted the goggles that pressed into the top of his cheeks. Sitting upright in the driver’s seat was painful, but he wasn’t about to complain. Slowly, Warspite got underway again. He kept his foot steady on the pedal.

  ‘The tracks disappear under the sand sometimes. Watch out for that.’

  He grunted. He didn’t need the advice.

  Ghazi placed his elbows on the dash and rested his chin on his knuckles. ‘Strange to think this land was green, once upon a time,’ he muttered. ‘I read about lakes and cities and rich soil. A land where people could grow all the crops they needed to survive and thrive. Now everything’s been buried.’

  ‘Same as almost everywhere else.’

  ‘Not Novus.’

  ‘Desperate to go back?’

  ‘No. Not yet, anyway. But it’s an option, like I said before. It could be the start of something.’

  Cassady sighed. The words meant nothing to him. It was something he could never be part of, not even if he’d wanted to. The light in some of the corridors of his mind was failing. His body was begging to be laid to rest, yet Ghazi was talking about the future, a joint future, as though one could exist.

  Almost on cue, the coughing started and his body fell against the wheel. Fire scorched the inside of his chest. The Old Lady swerved, kicking up sand against the windows. Ghazi made to grab the wheel, but Cassady pushed him away. He regained control and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The phlegm was streaked with brown.

  ‘Again?’ asked Ghazi.

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. More blood than last time.’ He spoke in a monotone. He wasn’t scared. Fear no longer controlled him. It was all inevitable, like the death of the Earth itself.

  ‘Let me take over again.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I can do it. I’m not that weak yet.’

  ‘When we get to La Talpa, their doctors will take a look at you. They’ll find out what’s wrong. And you can rest for as long as you need to.’

  ‘It isn’t as simple as that. I’m sick, Ghazi. I can feel it. It’s not something any amount of rest will cure.’ He rubbed his chest. It still burned.

  ‘Their doctors will help you,’ the other man insisted, not looking at him.

  He hit the wheel with the heel of his hand. ‘If La Talpa even exists. You really think there’s going to be a community of scientists living underground, waiting for us to arrive? Goddamn it, wake up.’ He spat the words out.

  Ghazi’s voice was quiet. ‘If you didn’t believe in the place, you’d never have left in the first place.’

  ‘I went because something told me this would be my last run. And that something was right. It had nothing to do with the cargo. And it had nothing to do with belief.’

  ‘Your nihilism has no place here. Not after all of this. They trusted you. Hearst, Brandt and the others.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘They followed us and now they’re dead. That can’t be for nothing.’

  ‘They all had their own reasons to go. We don’t owe them anything.’

  ‘Yes we do. We owe it to them to believe we’re going to make it.’

  ‘How do you do it? We’re in the middle of the desert, we have no water left and we don’t know where the hell we’re going. How can you tell me to believe?’

  ‘Because I have to. These are trials of the body, that’s all. As long as I keep pushing towards the light, I’m confident I’ll find what I seek. It’s been the same all my life. La Talpa will be there. And its people will help you.’

  The challenge hung in the air. Cassady bit his lip. He had no response. Whatever it was Ghazi believed in was too strong for it to ever be shaken.

  The silence stretched. Eventually, the mechanic fell asleep and his head nodded in time with the vibrations of the vehicle. Cassady flexed his arms and twisted his neck and ignored the pain in his head and chest. His body was on tenterhooks, waiting for another coughing fit to shake him. After the sun melted away below the horizon, he stripped off the goggles and rubbed his eyes. The light faded from indigo to grey to black. He switched all of the headlights on, and yellow beams built a wall of light that separated Warspite from the darkness and gave him peace of mind. The tyre tracks slithered through the hard sand. As the timepiece ticked over, he imagined the others watching him. He did owe them, of course he did. But whether he had the strength to make it over the line was another matter.

  A chill settled on his skin. With one hand on the wheel, he scrabbled around under the seat until his fingers brushed coarse fabric. He pulled it out. It was a blanket. Dark stains covered the surface. He’d wrapped it around Hearst before she’d died. A different coldness spread through him. He wanted to throw it out of the window, but he draped it over his shoulders. A sour smell rose from the fibres.

  The crossroad appeared some time later, a wooden cross marking the point where two sets of tracks intersected. He slowed down, peering out of the window to see whether there was a cache next to or under the stake, but the ground was unmarked and undisturbed. He eased Warspite onto the eastern fork. Lodged next to the speedometer was a slip of paper with instructions scrawled on it. He held them up to his eyes and muttered to himself. They had to follow the eastern trail for several hours. When it broke to the right by a ruined cluster of buildings, they had to leave the trail and keep going, straight as an arrow, until they hit a bank of rock. Once there, they had to pray somebody was still breathing at La Talpa.

  He stretched his arms again and slapped himself around the cheek to banish the fog seeping into his brain. The creaks and murmurs of the Old Lady reassured him. She’d emerged from Novus with little more than a few scratches. He drew new strength from the five tons of metal under his command. She would outlast him, just as she had outlasted his father. Perhaps she would outlast Ghazi, too.

  Near dawn, his resolve faltered together with the engine. The heart of the Old Lady skipped a beat and she wheezed. The headlights winked out. There was a clank, and then she freewheeled along the sand for fifty metres before drifting to a gentle halt. Hot metal ticked under his feet. The only other sound came from Ghazi breathing into his keffiyeh.
/>   Cassady sat stock still, hands still on the wheel. He blinked rapidly, battling the exhaustion that was determined to overwhelm him. What did he need to do? Try the engine again. He held the locking key up to his face. The long piece of twine which he usually slipped over his neck tickled his skin. Slot it home, turn it, hit the starter and drive on.

  The key found the access point and he twisted it. He pushed the starter button. Nothing happened.

  He tried three more times and gave up. He leaned over the wheel and rested his cheek against the sweat-streaked plastic. An invisible hand was holding a match to the wound on the side of his head. The world no longer existed outside the cab. There was only blackness. He could see his own reflection against the glass, distorted, ugly, fading. He closed his eyes. He would give Ghazi another five minutes and then wake him with the news.

  Something shook him and barked in his ear. The steering wheel cut into his forehead. He coughed and lifted himself off it. His shoulder was dead, his shirt soaked through. The side of his head throbbed in unison with his heartbeat. His watery eyes focused on a dark, bearded face.

  Ghazi spoke thickly, his dried-out tongue slapping against the insides of his mouth ‘What happened?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why are we sitting here?’

  He struggled to piece together his thoughts.

  ‘What time is it?’ The muscles in his throat were swollen and dry and lacerated, and he choked.

  ‘Late morning.’

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘Take a look outside. You can see where the sun is.’

  He rolled down the window and leaned out. The air came at him in boiling waves.

  ‘Christ. I only put my head down for five minutes.’

  ‘Why did you stop?’

  His useless struggle with the starter in the dawn came back to him. He forgot the heat. ‘The engine. It died while I was driving.’

  For the first time since he could remember, fear was plain to see in every line of Ghazi’s face, and he sat back in the co-seat, body curling inward like plastic in a fire. Cassady’s eyes watered at the pain in his throat. The engine could wait.