by K E Lanning
“Jesus Christ!” John yelled, swerving away, narrowly missing the smoking vehicle as they passed.
The jalopy burst into a fireball. The face of the driver melted against the glass, in mid-scream.
With a shriek, Ginnie clutched John’s shoulder. The women’s jalopy crashed into a boulder and a second explosion finished the job. John clenched his jaw. If they had been any closer, they would have been in the roast as well.
Ginnie was crying, but there was no time to console her. If there was any silver lining to the madness, at least they were first into the gap.
The sandstorm struck with a vengeance. Like shards of glass, blowing sand pummeled his face. “Get your head down, Ginnie.”
Ginnie crouched in the buggy, holding her hands over her ears as the rat-tat-tat of the pellets beat the fiberglass body. Dust swirled in front of them, and he wiped the dirt from his goggles with his sleeve, then aimed for the pass.
The effect of the storm died as the walls rose on either side of them. The buggy bounced from side to side over piles of loose rocks, every jolt threatening to crash them into the side of the gorge.
The passage widened as they left the pass.
He smiled. “I smell water!”
Ginnie pointed to a stream of water gushing from a crevice in the rocks.
Shouting, he punched the air with his fist. This was on the land he wanted to claim.
John and Ginnie burst onto the valley floor. No one in sight. They flew across the ground as he searched for the stake.
A small object moved vertically down the ridge in front of them. As they came nearer, the horse and rider reached the valley floor, galloping across the flat surface toward the west. Lowry and her blasted horse.
“Bloody hell! If she claims our fucking parcel, I’ll shoot that nag of hers,” he mumbled under his breath.
He stomped the pedal flat and the buggy flew, bouncing across uneven ground and skirting clumps of low brush.
Lowry’s horse sprinted past and kept going west. John let out a sigh of relief.
Ginnie pointed to the east. “Dad, on our right.”
He squinted. Dust rose from a vehicle clipping along toward the northwest corner—of their land. John maxed out the buggy. “Hold on, Ginnie!”
The key around his neck bounced against his chest as they catapulted over rocks. A hundred meters to go, and a Jeep was closing in. A reflection hit his eye. A gun pointing directly at them.
“Get down on the floorboards!” he shouted to Ginnie. She crouched, then edged up with a small pistol.
John’s eyebrows shot up. “Where the hell did you get that?”
“Mother gave it to me for my protection, before she died. She didn’t want to tell you. She knew you’d worry.” Her face was determined, her pistol cocked. “I’m not letting those bastards get our land, Dad.”
John saw the stake, then a bullet whistled overhead. The Jeep barreled toward them. Sergei was bent over the wheel and Buck was pointing the gun.
“I thought those son of a bitches were on their way back to the U.S.” John said under his breath. He turned to Ginnie. “It looks like some old friends are calling on us.”
A pop-pop-pop of gunfire ripped across the side of the buggy.
“Get down!” he screamed to Ginnie.
John jerked the wheel to dodge the line of fire, but the buggy lost traction and slid across the glacial till. Ginnie screamed as they careened sideways into a berm of rocks. The buggy flipped, rolling over the berm and down a slope, the fiberglass fender tearing off with a ripping sound.
Showered in dust, they came to a stop, swaying upside down in the harnesses. John snarled at the sound of Buck’s laughter. He released his harness and crashed against the seats. Then he unbuckled Ginnie’s harness and caught her in his arms.
They crawled out and John yelled to Ginnie, “Stay behind the buggy.” He ran toward the stake, fumbling to get his key ready. A bullet burrowed into the sand in front of him.
Sergei jumped out of the Jeep. John saw the flash of the metal key clenched in his hand as he raced toward the stake.
John’s heart thundered in his ears. This was it—the moment he had envisioned for so long. And it all boiled down to a simple footrace. John sprinted up the hill, his heart pumping and his lungs ready to explode. Everything seemed to be in slow motion.
Sergei cut toward John and tackled him to the ground. John’s key flew into the rocks. Sergei jumped up, kicked John in the stomach, then scrambled toward the stake. John lunged, caught Sergei by the ankle and dragged him to the ground. They rolled back down the hill.
Sergei yelled at Buck, “Take the key!” and tossed it toward him.
Buck grabbed the key in mid-air, shoved the pistol in his pants, and started toward the stake at a full run. Almost to the stake, he halted in his tracks.
“Why are you stopping?” Sergei screamed.
They all heard the click of the key as Ginnie locked it in place, pistol aimed at Buck with the other hand. “The land is ours. Back off!”
Staggering up, John shouted, “That’s my girl!”
Sergei punched John in the mouth and started toward Ginnie.
John reeled backward, then grabbed Sergei by the back of his collar, and jerked him around to face him. He slugged him in the stomach, followed by an upward punch to the face. It felt so good to beat this man. The anger of all that John hated in the world surfaced. Every punch was a catharsis as he battered Sergei into unconsciousness. His knuckles ached when he finally let the thug’s body sink into the dirt.
John bolted upright at the crack of a shot. Ginnie stood by the stake, her hands trembling as she aimed the pistol at Buck.
Buck knelt on the ground, clutching his arm. Blood streamed down his useless limb.
“The little bitch shot me!”
“You pointed your gun at Dad,” Ginnie retorted. “I couldn’t let you do that.”
John ran to Ginnie and eased the pistol from her. He stood over Buck, shoving the barrel into his face. “I’ll finish the job, if you don’t get your ass—and your little lump over there—off our land.” He waved the gun. “Pronto!”
Buck clambered over to Sergei. With his good arm, he dragged him to the Jeep and grunting, shoved him into the back seat. He jumped in the front and sped off, showering them with dust.
John coughed, waving the cloud of dust away as he joined his daughter beside the stake.
He sat with a huff and wrapped his arm around her. Plumes of dust rose around them as a crazy circus of cars, hovers, jalopies, and miscellany passed by, all still racing toward their dreams. Distant sounds of gunfire intermingled with the beeping horns and shouting warriors, battling for their land.
He quoted Shakespeare in a tired voice:
“O brave new world,
That has such people in’t!”
***
A trail of dust came closer from the same direction that Buck and Sergei had left. John stood shielding his eyes—a small 4x4 truck approached them.
Ginnie waved. “It’s Debora and her family!”
“Who?”
“Don’t you remember the Ramos family from Argentina? We ate dinner with them a couple of times? Debora did the Orientation Day with me.”
The dust covered truck came closer, with Ginnie’s friend and her family. “Sure, I remember. A nice family.”
“Yeah, she’s really fun.”
They stopped and John noticed the dents in the truck. “Did you get a tract?”
Debora’s father grinned. “Si!” Shrugging, he said. “If we hadn’t gotten into the dust storm, we might have gotten our first choice, but we won our second choice, by the width of the truck.” He waved to the large dent in the side bed. “We drove up just in time to block a hoverbike, who slammed into our truck. I jumped out and locked my key in before he did.” He chuckled. “He shot us the finger and then took off for another tract.”
The younger boy in the backseat pointed at a glittering black object on th
e top of the ridge. “What’s that, Papa?”
With systematic precision, the horse and rider descended the steep slope.
“Now what?” John said. There was something odd about the way the horse moved. As it came closer, he saw the sun glint on the face of the “animal.” It was a robotic horse.
The robo-horse and rider reached the bottom of the hillside and cut across the flat of the valley, the horse’s stride even and fast. The entire “skin” of the horse had a black, iridescent sheen to it. A type of flexible solar panel? The horse had no mane, but the tail had long bristles, perhaps some type of telecommunication link. A robotic horse was the perfect conveyance for a continent with only one road.
His blood ran cold as he recognized the rider’s profile—Durant. “God help us.”
“What’s wrong?” Ginnie asked.
“I guess this is garbage day.” His hand went to the pistol. John breathed easier as they faded into the distance. Then he swallowed hard. Durant was following Lowry’s track. “Damn.”
John turned to Ginnie. “Durant may be after Lowry.” He looked at the family, crammed together in the truck. “Would you mind if Ginnie rides back to camp with you?”
Mr. Ramos nodded. “Si, Si.”
Ginnie reached up and hugged her father, whispering, “You keep the pistol.”
“Okay. I’ll try not to shoot myself.” He looked at Ginnie’s dirty face. “I love you, Ginnie, and I’m very proud of you.”
“Back ’atcha.” She ruffled his hair. “Be careful, Dad. I love you very much.” She poked him in the chest. “Don’t stub your toe.” She climbed in, squeezed herself between the two kids in the backseat, and they drove away.
John shoved the pistol into his belt and ran to the front of the overturned buggy. He reeled out the winch on the front bumper, wrapped the cable around a craggy boulder nearby, and hooked it into place. He leapt back to the front of the buggy and started the winch. Humming, the motor pulled the cable taut, then with a creaking sound, the buggy slowly rotated, and flipped upright, bouncing on the tires. John unhooked the cable and reeled it back into the winch.
He jumped in and started the engine. “I promise, after this, you can rest. Just keep it together a little longer, please?” He jammed the buggy into gear and headed toward the west, accelerating the vehicle as fast as it would go. “Go, you piece of crap!”
John followed the two sets of tracks across the valley and started up the next ridge. The buggy protested the ascent, grinding and lurching up the slope as it snaked toward the ridge where Durant had disappeared. The muscles in his arms burned from holding the wheels in line.
He reached the crest at last and got out, shading his eyes from the sun, and surveyed the valley below. His heart went to his throat at the crack of a gunshot.
He searched the landscape for any sign of Lowry and her horse. Where was she?
There! Lowry was on her mare, at a dead run across the valley floor, with Durant right behind her, the robot gaining on his living cousin. His arm raised and a glint of metal reflected in the sunlight—Durant’s pistol, aimed straight at Lowry.
John leapt back into the buggy, and with a Hail Mary, descended into the valley. His teeth rattled as his speed increased. Like a deer, the buggy jumped down the face of the incline. No stopping now. He held the bucking demon in line, every rock ahead presenting an opportunity to turn them over. His arms and shoulders cramped as the jarring pace quickened. With the valley floor fast approaching, he struggled to keep the wheels straight ahead.
Another crack from Durant’s pistol and Lowry’s mare faltered. She fell to her knees as the bullet hit her body. With a shriek, Lowry sailed over her head, then hit the ground with a thud, and tumbled into a boulder. Her body went limp.
John screamed as he hit the bottom of the slope, turned the wheel, and accelerated straight for Durant. As he caught up to the robotic horse, Durant’s shocked face jerked around, and then with a snarl, he aimed the pistol at him. John whipped the buggy in front of the robo-horse’s front legs.
The robo-horse slammed into the hood with a crunch. John flinched as Durant’s pistol hit the windshield of the buggy, then bounced over his head. The robo-horse somersaulted into a tangled pile. Durant flew through the air and landed hard on the rocky ground. He lurched forward for a second, then collapsed in the dirt and lay still.
John killed the engine, and with Ginnie’s pistol in hand, ran toward Lowry’s inert body.
Half-way to Lowry, he felt someone upon him. His face smacked the hard-packed earth and dust filled his mouth. Durant was on top of him, knocking the pistol out of his hand and behind the rocks.
John twisted beneath him, jerking his head to the side as Durant hurled a large rock past his ear. John slugged him in the mouth and Durant’s blood splattered into his face. John pivoted his body and with a hard kick in the chest, knocked Durant onto his back.
Gasping for breath, Durant scrambled up onto one knee.
John staggered to his feet and faced him. With a grin, Durant pitched sand into John’s face.
Blinded for a second, John stumbled backwards, his hands frantically clearing the sand from his eyes. Durant leapt forward and punched John in the mouth. John’s head snapped back with the blow, but he pivoted around, and clipped Durant full in the face with his elbow. Durant grunted and backed up, blood flowing down his face.
The two faced each other. John licked his lips, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
Durant spit onto the ground, and with red-streaked teeth, he sneered. “You picked the wrong answer the other day, my friend. I can give you everything you want. You’re not one of the fool homesteaders, scratching out a living like pigs, half of them going back after they’ve failed.” He spread his hands wide. “They’re too witless to lead themselves. They need a strong leader. They don’t understand the game that’s about to be played here.”
John grimaced. “And you’ve decided that great leader is you. What about the novel concept of democracy?”
Durant’s smile faded. “There hasn’t been an opportunity like this since the opening of the American West, and it may be centuries before there’s another.” Durant tilted his head, his face softening as he changed tactics. “If you pick the right side, you’ll have the power, influence, and riches that you were denied in the Old World.”
John sighed. He had spent his life turning over the stones that made him who he was. He’d felt every rough spot, every hidden crevice. Durant knew how to tempt him, knew the words to say, like all great con men. But John knew that nothing was worth the collar Durant would give him.
John shook his head. “It wasn’t the wrong answer. You asked the wrong man. Men like you raped the American West. I won’t be a part of that sacrilege. You want to set yourself up as dictator of an entire continent.”
Durant opened his mouth, but John lifted his hand, stopping any further appeal. “I’ve fought too hard and too long to throw my soul away.” With a sigh, he shook his head. In an odd way, he pitied Durant. “The truth is, you’re just chasing the wind.”
Durant snapped. “You’re wrong—I am the wind.”
Lowry’s voice rose behind them. “Or an arrogant blowhard who wants to be the self-anointed King of Antarctica.” She stood beside the property stake, her key glinting in the lock box.
She pointed Ginnie’s pistol at Durant’s chest. “No matter what you try, Durant, we won’t let you and your Kremlin cronies take over Antarctica.”
His lip curled. “And you think your Uncle Nick is going to lead this new nation?”
“Yes.”
Durant threw back his head with a laugh. “He couldn’t lead a hog to its trough.”
Lowry gestured with the pistol. “Durant, I want you off my property, or you’re as dead as my horse.”
Durant smiled, then whistled. The robo-horse struggled up and straightened its legs. Durant stepped behind John as a shield, keeping him between Lowry and himself. Creaking like an old jalopy, the r
obo-horse raced toward Durant. He sprang to its back, and they lurched away.
Lowry lowered the pistol. “Good riddance.” She turned to John. “Are you all right?”
John wiped the blood from his mouth and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He looked at her. “You took a hard fall—are you okay?”
With a sigh, she rubbed her head. “I’ve been better, but I’ll live.” Lowry turned and walked to Hadeel. The beautiful mare lay in the dirt, her white coat streaked with dried blood. Lowry collapsed by her side and stroked the neck of the animal, tears rolling down her face.
John stumbled over and stood next to Lowry. “I’m sorry about Hadeel.”
Lowry arranged Hadeel’s mane. “She was my best mare.” Her mouth trembled as she glanced toward Durant’s trail. “Someday, I’ll kill that son of a bitch!”
He squeezed her shoulder and said, “I have a feeling you’ll get another chance. I can almost guarantee we’ll see Mr. Durant again.”
Lowry blinked through her tears. “John, you saved my life.”
He held out his hand and helped her up. A gust blew strands of her hair across her face and John gently smoothed them back into place. They held onto each other, ragged and dirty, so tired they could hardly stand. With a weary smile, he wiped the tears from her grimy face.
CHAPTER 12
Laughter rang out behind him. John glanced over his shoulder at the happy group surrounding a campfire. He raised a glass of beer to them and they shouted, “Cheers!” Not everyone captured their top choices, but the land was theirs.
Officially over, the Land Rush settlers had gathered at the starting line to celebrate their victories. Unofficially, the rumble of vehicles echoed across the plains as the race for land continued under the setting sun.
He scanned the crowd, shaking his head at the numerous white bandages, similar to his, of the walking wounded around the campfires. The list of injuries from brawls and vehicle run-ins reminded one of an ER ward after a riot: gunshot and knife wounds, broken bones, lacerations, and contusions. Luckily, the Brazilians, whose three-wheeler had fallen into a sinkhole, had only incurred a few broken bones. With a grin, John looked at his bandaged knuckles. The last time he’d been in a fistfight was in middle school.
