The Bar at the End of the World

by Tom Abrahams

  Zeke realized he hadn’t slept since waking up in the room above the cantina. How long had it been? A couple of days? Weeks? Time slipped for the dead. Of that, he was sure.

  “We don’t sleep, do we?” he asked Uriel. His voice was low enough so as not to disturb Li, but loud enough for her to hear him over the drone of the transport’s large engine.

  “We can sleep,” she said. “It’s just not needed. Neither is food, drink, whatever. I don’t even think we need air to breathe, though I’ve seen a Watcher strangled before, so maybe we do.”

  “What about time? Is it the same for us as it was when we were alive?”

  “It’s been so long since I was alive, I can’t tell. Others tell me it’s different. There’s slippage here and there. And of course, there’s our travel to and from the cantina. That’s completely outside the dimension of time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’ve never been to the same place at the same time more than once,” Uriel explained.

  Zeke swerved on the road, having nearly hit a gaping pothole in the middle of the highway. Li jostled in her seat, her harnesses pressing against her. She didn’t wake.

  Though traveled, the highways weren’t maintained. They were only moderately smoother on which to drive than the path they were about to take.

  “Like time travel?” asked Zeke.

  “Not exactly,” said Uriel. “More like time jumping.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Well, we can’t go from one point in time to another directly. We always have to go back to Pedro’s. Then he sends us to our next destination. Wherever we need to be, we go. Whatever the mission is, we do it. If we don’t succeed or get ‘killed’, we reappear at the cantina and wait for the next job.”

  “Balancing good and evil.”

  “Yep,” said Uriel. “And sometimes something we do in one time messes up the balance in another. So we jump forward or back, depending on what’s at stake.”

  “We’re here,” said Zeke, cutting the conversation short.

  “Where’s here?” asked Uriel. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Hold on. It’s about to get bumpy.”

  Uriel chuckled. “About to?”

  Zeke drifted from the road, taking his foot off the accelerator, and guided the transport onto the hard-packed soil at its shoulder. Heading west, he sped up and then jerked the wheel to the right.

  The transport bounced violently and sank on its suspension. It awoke the sleeping passenger, and a constant vibration that bordered on brain-shaking rumbled through the vehicle.

  “What just happened?” asked Li, snorting herself awake. “Are we—”

  “Yes,” answered Zeke, “we’re on a railroad track.”

  The tracks, some of which were in disrepair, were a great shortcut through the plains leading to the eastern edge of the mountains. Once in the tunnels, they connected with other various lines that sliced through the base of peaks and across valleys.

  “The fastest distance between two points is a straight line,” said Zeke, adjusting his grip on the wheel.

  His hold wasn’t as tight as it might be on a highway or salt flat. He wanted to give the transport room to react to the unsteady path of the tracks. Still in firm control of the heavy vehicle, he didn’t want tension to force and overcorrect at a high speed, flipping the transport from the tracks.

  He checked the mirrors. There was no sign of the transports chasing them. He’d lost them.

  “The tracks aren’t a straight line,” he told the others, “but they’re close enough to approximate it. And they’re sure enough a straighter shot west than the highways. The old United States used to use them to transport goods. Food, water, fuel, I guess. So much of them is gone that they’ve got to make turn after turn to get to where they’re going.”

  “So will they catch us?” asked Li. “If they don’t take the tracks?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Zeke. “There’s no direct path to the western protectorate. Like I said, the roads are spotty. They exist, they’re drivable, but there are a lot of detours that force you to turn, which adds time.”

  “What about avoiding the roads altogether?” asked Uriel. “Why not drive on the dirt like we did when we showed up at the protectorate? You know, when we were in your car and the transports were trying to stop us from hitting the tunnel?”

  “It’s safe to do that near the cities,” Zeke said. “Not out here. Too many variables. Buried land mines, Badlander booby traps, petrified stumps that’ll break an axle. You’ve gotta stay as close to the roads as you can, no matter how much of a pain they are. That’s why these tracks are so good.”

  “Other than knocking my skull loose from my spine?” Uriel asked rhetorically, her voice warbling from the rumble over the track’s prestressed concrete sleepers. Ballast kicked up under the tires, clanging and knocking against the undercarriage of the armored transport.

  Zeke shrugged and checked his digital dash. He was cruising at the top-end speed of the transport’s ability. The RPMs were under the red semicircle line reflected on the glass display. The tire pressure was good. The engine temperature was warm but within range.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon now. The deep blue of the post-dusk sky was hardening into black. Zeke found the switch for the headlamps and flipped it up. Bright white lights cast a wide arc in front of the transport that stretched twice the width of the tracks and their right of way. Another switch illuminated bars of roof-mounted LED lights atop the transport. They shone in all four directions, creating a bubble of light that traveled with the truck like a glowing cocoon.

  “How soon before we’re in the woods where they won’t find us?” asked Li. She’d been quiet until now. “Any guesses?”

  Zeke checked the digital gauges again. “I’m guessing, but maybe we’ll hit the mountains in an hour or so? Then we can jump the tracks and take old logging roads. They’ll never find us.”

  “One question,” said Uriel, “and just because I want to play the other side of this thing. Not because I want to piss on anyone’s cornflakes.”

  “What does that even mean?” asked Li.

  “It’s an ancient saying,” she said. “I’m older than I look.”

  Li smirked. “That’s what you think.”

  Uriel frowned but didn’t offer a retort. Instead, she finished her original thought. “What if they’re not only chasing us from behind?” she asked. “What if they’ve got someone headed straight for us too? You know, they try to sandwich us.”

  Li shook her head. “It’s really unlikely. The protectorates don’t really communicate all that often. They operate autonomously.”

  Uriel raised an eyebrow. “It’s unlikely,” she said, “but not impossible.”

  She turned to look at Zeke in the mirror. He saw the concern on her face. And she was right. He exhaled and stared into the fan of light ahead of him, illuminating the tracks.

  “No,” he said. “It’s not impossible.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Theo sat in the front passenger’s seat of a TMF transport and tugged at his cuffs. He was board straight, with the harness pressed against his chest.

  The tracks and loose ballast were unforgiving underneath the carriage of their vehicle. The ride was loud and uncomfortable. They were headed west. The spray of bright headlights revealed little else but the tracks ahead of them, the dried foliage on either side of the right of way, and the relentless, unending darkness that lay ahead.

  But it wasn’t the motion of the transport that made the ride unenjoyable. It was the constant sniping from the lieutenants in the back seat. They were like spoiled children sent to their rooms without supper. Theo, as calm as he’d remained, was at his wit’s end. They couldn’t push him much farther without suffering the repercussions.

  “We’ve lost them,” said Frederick. “They’re gone. The commander is going to kill all of us.”

  “Ye have little faith,
” said Theo. “They will not escape. We will surround them and stop them. You’ll have your spy. She’ll hang from the Fascio next to the others.”

  “How’s that?” asked Archibald.

  “The western protectorate sent a transport at the same time we left,” said Theo. “I saw to it. We will ensnare them at the foot of the mountains before they can disappear.”

  “What if they turn off the tracks before then?” asked Archibald. “Then what?”

  “They won’t,” said Theo. “There’s nowhere for them to go. The brush and woodlands are too dense. Especially with the deadfall on the ground and underneath the canopy, there’s no path for them to navigate. The track is it.”

  They rode in silence for several minutes. The loud rumble of the transport’s engines and the occasional thwack of a stray ballast rock bouncing off the underside of the truck were the only sounds.

  “Who are you?” asked Archibald.

  “I’m Theodore Pannopolis,” Theo said without turning around.

  “That’s not what I mean,” said the lieutenant. “You know that. Don’t be coy with me. Who are you, really?”

  Theo flattened his plucked eyebrows with his pinkie fingers. He narrowed his pinched eyes to slits.

  “I’m not sure I understand the question,” said Theo. “Are you asking for my job description? My family lineage? It’s such a broad question.”

  He didn’t turn around. Instead, he touched the sides of his head with his palm, checking the perfection of his expertly coiffed hair. He was unfazed by the line of attack. Theo had seen and heard much worse over the years. Archibald was nothing.

  “Why is it,” asked Archibald, “the commander holds you in such high regard? You’re a manservant. You’re a butler. You have no expertise in governance or the subtlety of management.”

  “That’s what you think?” asked Theo.

  “It’s what I think,” echoed Frederick. “I’m with Archibald. I don’t understand why you’re here at all, except to keep an eye on us. For some reason, beyond my understanding, the commander doesn’t trust us to do the job. You’re a babysitter.”

  “You said it,” answered Theo, “not me.”

  Frederick reached across the back of the transport and shoved Theo in the shoulder. That drew the servant’s attention and he checked back on the angry lieutenant.

  Theo’s eyes fell to the man’s jabbing fingers. He spoke softly. “Don’t touch me again,” he said. “Please.”

  Frederick scoffed. “Or what?”

  The child lieutenant then jabbed his fingers again, attempting to push Theo a second time. They didn’t get there.

  Before he could touch the servant, Theo had undone his harness, spun in his seat, taken Frederick by the wrist, and twisted his hand violently to one side. Bone snapped. Frederick cried out in pain. Theo wasn’t done.

  He released the broken arm and slammed the heel of his fist into Frederick’s restrained chest. That silenced the lieutenant’s wail as the man struggled to breathe. Theo then slapped one side of Frederick’s face with the back of his hand and returned with a harder, open-handed swat to the other side.

  That knocked the lieutenant unconscious. His body slumped against the restraint. His head dropped and his chin bounced against his chest.

  Without ever saying a word, Theo swung back into his seat and buckled the harness. He fixed his hair and adjusted his jacket.

  “So, you want to know who I am now?” he asked Archibald. “Or do you think you know enough?”

  Archibald said nothing at first. Then, after a lengthy silence, he asked sheepishly, “Is he dead?”

  Theo exhaled loudly. “Does it matter?”

  The lieutenant was about to answer when up ahead, the dim vision of oncoming lights twinkled in the distance. Then they disappeared.

  “We’re here,” said Theo. “Put on your big-boy pants.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The oncoming transports were heading directly at them. Coming from the western protectorate, Zeke saw them as the track neared the highway around a sharp curve on an initial ascent into the mountains. They stopped to avoid a collision, and he couldn’t jump the tracks quickly enough to avoid them.

  With only seconds of preparation for the skirmish awaiting them, Li and Uriel surprised him with how quickly they moved into action. They impressed him too.

  Li was the first out of the transport. She didn’t wait for Zeke to come to a complete stop. She swung open the wide armor-plated door and leveled her rifle at the vehicle in front, unleashing several volleys that shattered and extinguished its headlamps.

  Zeke saw her move swiftly and confidently toward the driver’s side of the first transport and then pivot to the trucks behind them. The instant the driver opened his door in front of them, she’d sprayed him with a burst of 5.56x45mm bullets.

  Uriel worked opposite her, as if they were in some sort of telepathic tandem. She balled her fists as she approached, and when the Marine in the passenger’s seat opened his door to exit, she bolted forward and punched it closed on his torso.

  The Marine’s wail matched the animalistic grunt Uriel unleashed with the blow. Her body was glowing already, and she used her Watcher powers to tear the Marine from the transport and toss him like a stuffed doll to the other side of the highway. His body crunched against the petrified trunk of a dead ponderosa.

  Zeke slid across the front of the cab to exit on the passenger’s side. Jumping to the highway, he locked the door and slammed it shut with a heave. He couldn’t see where Uriel or Li had gone, but could hear the cracks of gunfire up ahead. The flashes of bright light told him where some of the armed Marines might be.

  With his hands holding his revolver, Zeke moved carefully along the shoulder of the highway. They were stuck between a collection of transports. There was the one in front from the west. And now, because they’d stopped, the two chasing them from the city had caught up to them. All of them were engaged. In the dark, it was hard for Zeke to know exactly where everyone was and what was happening.

  He decided, with the front transport handled by the women, he’d move to the rear. When he passed the first transport, he saw the second vehicle and a Marine with his back turned. The man was yelling something at someone inside the transport.

  Zeke didn’t see Li.

  He glanced at a dead Marine on the shoulder. Zeke crouched near the body, sitting on his heels and tucking the revolver in the back of his waistband. As quietly as he could, which wasn’t difficult given the now sporadic sound of gunfire, he picked up the dead Marine’s M27. Once on his feet, he took one step forward toward the Marine at the second transport. In a single series of movements, Zeke drew the rifle to his shoulder, found the trigger, and applied pressure.

  The weapon kicked repeatedly against his body, but he held it steady and found his aim. The shouting Marine spasmed when a series of bullets bored into him. Arms flailing, his legs gave way, and he fell forward into the open door before the side of his head slapped and bounced on the highway.

  Zeke moved to the spot where the Marine fell and found the dark shape of a man in the back seat. He appeared to be alone.

  “Get out,” Zeke said. He didn’t know who the man was, but he could tell the passenger wasn’t armed. He motioned toward the open door with his newly acquired weapon. The man reached for something. In the darkness, Zeke didn’t know what it was. He applied pressure to the trigger of the M27. A burst of gunfire thumped into the back seat. The man’s body jerked. His head slumped.

  As he moved to the door, with his weapon leveled at the man he now recognized was wearing an Overseer’s lieutenant’s uniform, a bright blue glow on the opposite side of the vehicle caught his attention. It was brighter than he remembered seeing it when Uriel attacked the transport. And it pulsed oddly: two heartbeats.

  It throbbed in his peripheral vision. As he rounded the open door, he saw something else that stopped him in his tracks. On the opposite side of the transport, standing in the middle of
the tracks, were two people.

  One was a protectorate lieutenant. The other was Li. He had a pistol to her head. Its silver coating reflected the green glow from the digital display in the idling transport. It matched his short crew cut.

  “Drop the rifle,” spat the lieutenant. “Do it, or I’ll put a bullet in her.”

  The pistol shook with his anger. Li was unarmed and strapped in a harness. The lieutenant had her hands behind her and was pressed against her.

  “This traitor deserves more than a single shot,” he spat. “But I’ll do it. If you don’t drop that weapon, I’ll do it.”

  It was the promise of a desperate man. Zeke had no doubt the lieutenant would pull the trigger. He was the same man who’d stood on the steps and watched dispassionately as Commander Guilfoyle had strung up Zeke in front of the Fascio. There was no heart inside that man’s chest. If there was, the blood that pumped through it was ice cold.

  Zeke raised his arms but didn’t let go of the rifle. He was so focused on the lieutenant, he hadn’t noticed the gunfire had stopped and the blue, pulsing lights had moved out of his range of vision.

  Zeke locked eyes with Li. “Are you okay?”

  “She’s fine,” said the lieutenant, “unless you don’t drop that rifle.”

  The man lifted the weapon, his thick knuckles wrapped around its grip, and pressed it hard into Li’s temple. She clenched her jaw. From his position, Zeke saw the bottom of the weapon in the green light. He lowered the weapon, aiming it at the lieutenant.

  The lieutenant’s brow furrowed with a combination of confusion and anger. “That’s it,” he said. “Three. Two.”

  The lieutenant pulled the trigger without counting to one. Instead of the crack and kick of the pistol against Li’s head, the weapon clicked.

  Confused, the lieutenant pulled the trigger again. Nothing.