Deadeye

by William C. Dietz

  Amanda was silent for a moment. Her voice wavered. “No, I don’t think he does.”

  It was a harsh assessment but one that neither one of the people in the front seat could argue with. “Hold on,” Lee said. “We’ll find you something to wear soon.”

  * * *

  The Roadhouse was spacious inside, with plenty of tables, and a stage surrounded by chicken wire. The girl with the blue hair didn’t need any protection, however. She had a rich, sultry voice, and knew how to use it. So as she sang a song called “Laura’s Eyes,” even the pool players paused to listen. And Lenny was no exception. He had tentacles rather than arms and used one to grab his beer. It was the fourteenth of the twelve he allowed himself to have each night. The ice-cold liquid felt good going down, and Lenny felt the tears begin to well up as the song came to a sad conclusion.

  But tears weren’t permissible in the Roadhouse. So Lenny fought them back and swore as his phone began to vibrate. He pulled the device out of his hip pocket and made used of a tentacle tip to turn it on. There was no message. Just a photo of his three-year-old son looking into the camera and laughing. That was Sally’s way of telling him to come home. No lectures, no threats, just a picture of Jimmy.

  Lenny felt a surge of guilt, put the cue stick down, and said good-bye to his friends. Except they weren’t his friends, not to Sally’s way of thinking, and he had a dim awareness that she was right.

  Lenny knew the way to the front door by heart—and that was a good thing since he was a bit wobbly by then. An elongated version of his shadow shot out onto the ground when he opened the door and disappeared as springs pulled it closed.

  Gravel crunched under Lenny’s cowboy boots as he crossed the parking lot to where Big Hoss was parked. The especiale was a thing of beauty, and next to his family, the thing he loved most in the world.

  Lenny paused at that point and was taking a pee, when the cop car came to life. It was parked next to his truck and Lenny raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light as the headlights came on. And that’s where he was, dick in hand, when the girl in the bikini appeared. She shook her head and waggled a finger at him. “Peeing in public is illegal,” she said. “And you’re drunk. Give me your car keys.”

  Lenny had experienced hallucinations before and learned to ignore them. So he was busy stuffing his penis back into his pants when Omo Tasered him. Lenny felt his muscles lock up as he toppled face forward onto the patch of wet gravel. Hands patted him down. “Here we go,” a female voice said. “I have his keys.”

  “Good,” a man said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  There were crunching sounds, followed by the roar of a very familiar engine, and the rattle of gravel. That was when the phone started to vibrate, and Lenny knew he was in trouble.

  FIFTEEN

  AFTER STEALING THE SUV, Lee, Omo, and Amanda drove south until they came to Highway 86. They sure as hell couldn’t go east, not with the entire Tucson police force searching for them, so they went west.

  After an hour of uneventful driving, they entered the town of Sells. It was obvious that the locals weren’t following the blackout regulations. Lights could be seen in some of the houses, and most of the vehicles had their headlights on.

  As they drove around town, it quickly became clear that only one business was open at that hour, and that was the brightly lit Crazy Coyote gas station and convenience store. So Omo pulled in, left the engine running so that Amanda could stay warm, and followed Lee inside.

  Like many stores of its type, the Coyote stocked a little bit of everything. So Omo shopped for food while Lee went back to examine a small collection of clothing. Most of it was the sort of stuff that truck drivers and construction workers might buy.

  When they arrived at the cash register, a man with a pointy head was there to serve them. Omo was no physician, but it looked as though pressure from the cranial deformity was pushing the man’s eyes forward and to the sides.

  The sight of that made Omo feel grateful regarding his own mutation. That was one of the realities in the red zone. No matter how bad your condition, was someone else was worse off. The clerk was curious and began to ask questions as he tallied their purchases. “So,” he said casually, “where are you folks headed?”

  “To Tucson,” Omo answered. “To visit my family.”

  “Yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing your mother,” Lee said sarcastically.

  * * *

  The clerk laughed. “Fifty worth of gas plus the merchandise comes to 127 eagles. Or eighty-five nubucks if you prefer.” It seemed that both customers were low on cash because they had to rummage through their pockets and combine what they had to come up with enough money. That didn’t surprise the clerk since half the people who came through Sells were short of cash. So he rang up the purchases, dispensed a small amount of change, and said good-bye.

  As the couple left, the clerk watched them go via a security camera, made use of a joystick to zoom in on the truck’s license plate, and wrote it down. The police were looking for a very similar couple . . . It was all over the news. Cop killers, that’s what the folks on Channel 7 said, and a large reward had been offered. Enough money to pay for the operation he needed. The clerk thumbed his phone and began to dial.

  * * *

  The sun was rising in the east as the Aztec army crossed the border at a point roughly halfway between San Luis and Nogales. Hundreds of vehicles were involved, and each of them sent a rooster tail of dust up into the cold air as they lurched through gullies and raced across the flat spots. But it was General Santiago Jocobo Contreras and the crew of his command car who entered the Republic of Texas first.

  That accomplishment would look good in his next report. But it was largely meaningless because the only thing that barred the way was a border post manned by eight Republicans and a mangy dog. The latter was the only member of the detachment who wasn’t taken by surprise.

  And that was the plan . . . To take the enemy by surprise, drive a wedge between the Republic of Texas and Pacifica, and put points on the board quickly. Besides, Contreras couldn’t attack cities like Tucson and Phoenix without cutting off the flow of protection money that was pouring in from more than a dozen wealthy “clients.” That stream of income would have to be sacrificed before too long, but why hurry?

  So rather than burden himself with prisoners Contreras told his men to kill the Republicans and spare the dog. He liked dogs and detested people who were cruel to them. One of the soldiers yelled “Remember the Alamo!” just before a quick rattle of gunfire took his life.

  Then, as airplanes arrived to support them, the vehicles took off again. Within minutes, they were inside of the Barry M. Goldwater Air Force Range. The huge reservation had once been an important military base. And soon, thanks to his leadership, the range would serve the Second Empire. The thought pleased Contreras as he waved his tanks forward. What was the saying the nortenos liked to use? “Payback is a bitch?” Yes . . . And the time had come.

  * * *

  After departing the town of Sells, Omo, Lee, and Amanda continued west until they found a likely-looking side road. Then they turned off. The deserted ranch was a quarter mile to the north and to the left of the dirt track. After parking the truck behind a decaying outbuilding, it was time to go through their purchases and divvy them up.

  Amanda hurried to put on some clothes and was grateful to be warm, even if she looked somewhat comical in a Minnie Mouse mask, voluminous gray hoodie, and men’s running shorts. They were baggy and cinched in at the waist. A pair of clunky work boots completed the outfit. Omo laughed when Lee pointed a flashlight at the girl.

  “Don’t forget this,” he said as he gave Amanda one of the pistol belts acquired from the cops at the garbage dump. It was too big, so she wore it bandito style across one shoulder and over her chest. Her Glock went into a black holster.

  “Now that’s scary,” Lee comme
nted. “Let’s eat.”

  The women sat down twenty feet away from Omo to eat their meal. The food consisted of desiccated corn dogs, cookies, and bottles of water. There were chips and candy bars for later on. “Okay,” Lee said, as they gathered around the truck’s tailgate, “we need a plan. I don’t know about you—but I’m fall-down tired. So let’s grab a nap. Then we’ll get up and head west. I wish we could call for help, but I forgot to search the guy at the bar for a phone, and the Tucson Police Department took ours.”

  “Not to mention our badges,” Omo said gloomily.

  Lee nodded. “Right, which means we’re going to run into trouble once we reach the border. But that’s then, and this is now. Amanda? What do you think?”

  “That sounds good,” the young woman said. “I’m in.”

  Lee knew they should post a lookout. But all of them were exhausted, and if they stood watch, that would leave them that much more tired. So she discussed it with Omo, who agreed.

  Lee thought she could sleep in the front passenger seat by lowering the back a bit. Amanda made a place behind her by getting rid of a kid seat, and Omo crawled into the cargo compartment, which he shared with a mishmash of guns and equipment.

  Though less than perfectly comfortable, Lee fell asleep right away and awoke what seemed like seconds later to find that the sun was up and her watch was buzzing. She got out of the truck, planning to find some privacy. Then she saw the contrails that crisscrossed the sky and knew that something was up. Planes, military planes, why? An exercise of some sort or . . . ?

  Omo was up by the time she returned to the truck. He pointed upward. “You saw the contrails?”

  “Yeah . . . They’re hard to miss.”

  “We’ve been listening to the radio,” Omo said. “It sounds like the Aztecs crossed the border west of here and are headed north. They’re making good time, and our troops, which is to say Republican troops, were concentrated around Nogales.”

  “Damn it,” Lee replied. “They could cut us off from Pacifica or force us to travel north. We need to haul ass.”

  “Roger that,” Omo agreed. “Let’s roll.”

  A few minutes later, they were on the highway and headed west toward Ajo, Arizona. From there, they planned to go north to Gila Bend—then west to the border crossing at Yuma. A route that should allow them to cross north of the advancing army.

  Lee was at the wheel. She was careful to obey the speed limit rather than get pulled over by a cop. And the plan seemed to be working until they neared Ajo. That was when Amanda glanced up through the moonroof. “Look! There’s a helicopter directly above us!”

  Lee swore as the low-flying aircraft passed over, sped away, and began to turn. By that time it was no more than ten feet off the ground and blocking the road. The Tucson PD markings were plain to see, as was the cop who stood in the open doorway. He aimed an assault weapon at the SUV and Lee saw it wink repeatedly as a series of pings were heard. She said, “Shit, shit, shit,” as she gritted her teeth and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

  The especiale leaped ahead as if to reach the helicopter and kill it. The seemingly suicidal move forced the pilot to pull up or die in a fiery collision. But something was wrong with the truck. Steam was pouring out from under the hood, which meant that a hose had been severed or there was damage to the radiator. They would have to bail out, but where? It had to be a place that offered some cover. Otherwise, they would be shot before they could mount any sort of defense.

  “They’re on our tail,” Omo warned. “Open the moon-roof!”

  “No way,” Lee answered. “Your pistol won’t bring it down—and I want you to stay strapped in.”

  Lee saw the bridge in the distance as the copter kept pace with the truck and bullets punched holes through the roof. One of them nipped her shoulder before burying itself in the seat. Then, as they approached the bridge, Lee swung the wheel to the right. The SUV left the pavement and slid through loose gravel. Lee stomped on the brakes as they nosed over an embankment and skidded down toward the dry riverbed below.

  A hard left caused the truck to lurch around and almost flip. But the wheels came down, and their luck held. They were under the bridge and protected from above. “Bail out!” Lee shouted. “Grab the food and weapons! We’re going to need them.”

  Omo ran around to open the tailgate and load stuff into Amanda’s arms. Lee leaned in to grab the grenade launcher Omo had used earlier. The chopper would land, then the cops would get off, and a firefight would ensue. That’s what Lee assumed—but she was wrong.

  There was a loud roar and the helicopter appeared off to her right and slid under the overarching bridge! Two cops stood framed in an open side door and were firing assault weapons.

  Lee had fired grenade launchers on previous occasions but only on the range. So she was no expert. But the target was extremely close so she pulled the trigger. The grenade entered the chopper head high, struck something, and exploded. The results were spectacular. The pilots lost control of their ship, a rotor blade sheared off as it hit a bridge support, and that caused the helicopter to corkscrew into the ground. There was a loud crash and a cloud of dust as the aircraft hit the dry riverbed. That was followed by a loud whump as the fuselage exploded into flames. Thick black smoke poured out of the wreckage, to be carried away by a light breeze. “Nice shot,” Omo observed. “But we’re in the extra deep doo-doo now.”

  Lee knew what he meant. The truck was inoperable, the Tucson Police Department would redouble its efforts to find them, and they were facing a wasteland. All they could do was take whatever they could carry and start walking.

  * * *

  The outlaw and two members of her gang lay sprawled on top of a rise where they could look south. Planes were dueling overhead as flyboys and girls from the Republic of Texas tried to stop the Tec air force. Then, if they managed to do so, they’d go after the vehicles on the ground.

  For her part, Jantha Sysco didn’t want to fight the Aztec army. No fucking way. That would be stupid. But she didn’t have a lot of choice. Not if she wanted to keep what she’d worked so hard to steal—which was a stash of gold, silver, and platinum worth well over 2 million nubucks. The totality of which was stored in an old bunker deep inside the Barry M. Goldwater Firing Range.

  Did the Tecs know about the treasure? No, that seemed unlikely, since Sysco had gone to great lengths to keep the exact location to herself. A life-insurance policy of sorts intended to keep members of her own gang from murdering her.

  But could the invading army stumble across the bunker? Yes, they could. And if the big cloud of dust was any indication, the Tecs were making good time. There was a bright flash as a distant plane exploded, and the one-winged fuselage cart wheeled out of the sky. “So, who’s winning?” a woman named Nevada wondered out loud. She’d been a stripper prior to joining the Grim Skull Gang and functioned as Sysco’s second-in-command.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” Sysco replied. “But right now, I’d put my money on the Tecs. Or, I’d put the Tecs on our money, since they’re so damned close to it.”

  The Monkey, or Monk for short, had a face that bore a striking resemblance to that of a chimp. He turned to look at Sysco. “Are you saying that they are going to overrun our stash?” he demanded.

  “Yes, I am,” Sysco replied although she thought of the loot as hers. Because in spite of previous promises to split the stash with the gang, it had always been her intention to keep it for herself. But now, with everything at risk, it looked as though she might have to keep her word. “So we need to go down there and get it.”

  “We’ll need a couple of trucks,” Monk suggested.

  “Indeed we will,” Sysco agreed. “And a plan. A good plan. Let’s head back to camp and talk to the gang. Then we’ll head south, get in position, and pull our stuff out. If we can avoid the Tecs, we will. But if we can’t, then they’re gonna get hurt.”


  * * *

  It was midafternoon, and the sun was like a malevolent presence as Lee climbed up out of a gully and paused to catch her breath. She was hot, sweaty, and dehydrated. Not to mention exhausted. Two hours’ sleep wasn’t enough, but what choice did they have? “March or die.” She’d heard that saying somewhere—now she understood what it meant.

  Artificial thunder rolled across the land as a plane broke the sound barrier. Lee looked up to see a contrail etch itself onto the sky. An Aztec plane? She thought so. But the occasional mutter of what might be artillery fire suggested that the Republicans had been able to rush some reinforcements to the area.

  That wasn’t Lee’s concern, however. According to the map taken from the truck, the Barry M. Goldwater Firing Range was about twenty miles wide. A car could cover that distance in less than thirty minutes on a highway. But they were traveling cross-country on foot. So assuming things went well, they might be able to cross the firing range in two days. If they could make the water last . . . And that was a mighty big if. Lee heard the crunch of gravel as Omo arrived next to her. “See anything?”

  “Nope. Just a whole lot of desert. How’s Amanda holding up?”

  “Very well all things considered . . . The girl has grit.”

  “That’s for sure. Okay, let’s get going . . . I think we should take a break and wait for nightfall if we can find some decent shade. Holler if you see anything.”

  But Omo didn’t see anything. Nor did the others. So all they could do was trudge across stretches of hardpan, skid down into dry riverbeds, and climb out of them. It was thirsty work. They had what remained of the water that Omo had purchased at the convenience store. Fourteen eight-ounce bottles of it. Would that be enough? It seemed doubtful, but they had to try.

  So they kept walking. And Lee made an effort to think about things other than the next sip of water. Every now and then, they passed old bomb craters, tanks that had been used for target practice, and signs warning them that live munitions might be lying around.