Shattered Roads

by ALICE HENDERSON

  They could hear the ship moving off.

  “It’s searching for the other Badlanders,” Rowan whispered. “I hope they made it to the mines.”

  “Are there more openings like this one?”

  He gave a grim nod.

  She hoped Byron and the others were safe.

  The timbers at the entrance continued to burn. Rowan walked toward it, stopping a few feet away. “If we go out there, we’re dead.” He slumped down, exhausted. “We’ll have to wait it out.”

  “Won’t they send more troopers?”

  “Not immediately. They’ll have to regroup, figure out their losses.” His shoulders slumped. “I can’t believe this. We lost so many.” He collapsed down against the wall, and looked up at her. “Come sit by me. Tell me where you’ve been.”

  She walked over, staring at the sealed entrance, then sat down next to him.

  “Did you like the weather shelters?”

  She nodded.

  “And the Rovers? Any leads?”

  “Only that they were last seen about a thousand miles from here.” She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  “Did you get a sense of them in the weather shelters, at least? Did you look at the books?”

  Again she nodded. “I can’t believe all the things in those books. All the animals!”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” He turned to face her, cross-legged. The light from the fires illuminated half his face, casting the other half in shadow. His eyes were soft and blue and deep. He looked toward the mine entrance, his gaze now far away, a frown on his face.

  She felt the desire to reach out and take his hand, but didn’t. “I’m sorry about your people.”

  He picked at a patch of caked mud on his pants and bit his lip. “So am I.”

  She watched as his body shook. He quickly wiped his palm across his eyes and turned away. Now she did reach out, touching his shoulder. He kept averting his gaze, but he brought a hand up, lacing his fingers through hers.

  Her stomach flip-flopped at his touch. When he faced her again, his eyes flared with such intensity that she could barely hold his gaze. She didn’t know what to do or what this feeling was. Then he leaned in. She could feel his warm breath on her skin, as well as an intense pull, a desire to melt into one. His lips brushed against her cheek. She closed her eyes at the pleasant roughness of his whiskers, and when she caught the scent of his skin, the primal urge overtook her. Finally his lips joined with hers, and her whole body trembled with desire. She leaned into him, giving into the sensation. He moved closer, pulling her to him as he kissed her.

  Sparks jolted through her as their bodies touched, her stomach against his. She kissed him deeply, arms wrapped around his back, pulling him even closer. Fire consumed her. Time ceased, and the world stopped. Only his warmth, his touch, his scent existed. She ran her fingers through his short hair, and she felt the contours of his back. She was breathless.

  Gently he leaned her back, laying her on the ground. He lowered himself onto her, and a delicious sensation surged through every part of her being. He kissed her neck, hips against hers; she’d never felt anything so exquisite. She gripped his back once more, feeling his muscles move sinuously. Their eyes met, and she felt a powerful connection with him, something that reached right down into her soul and met his head-on.

  He blinked at her, then pulled away suddenly. “Holy hell.”

  She sat up too. “Are you okay?”

  “What was that?”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant. The whole thing had been amazing and new for her.

  “That whole . . . thing . . . that . . .” He swept his hands through the air, indicating back and forth between them.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her body ached in a way she’d never felt before.

  “You’re . . .” His intense blue eyes bore through her, doing nothing to help her breathe any easier.

  All she wanted was to feel him again. She sat up. “I . . .”

  He rose to his feet and straightened his jacket. “Wow.” He paced away, then stopped and looked down at her. “Have you ever been . . .?” He shook his head, pacing again. “Of course not. Of course you haven’t been. You’re a worker.”

  “Haven’t been what?” Her whole body was trembling now, in a pleasant way. She wanted him to come back.

  He stopped. “I don’t think I’m the person who should . . .” He resumed his pacing. “I mean, I’m just a no-good Badlander and you’re so . . . otherwise.”

  “I don’t think I’m following you.”

  “I just can’t be your first . . . not in good conscience.”

  She waited for him to clarify. “My first what?”

  He ran a hand over his face. “I think you should have more time in your new, free life to choose exactly who you want . . .”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant. “Who I want?”

  He sat back down next to her. “Never mind. I’m okay now. Sorry about that.” His eyes met hers, and she could feel the same visceral link pass between them. Her lips ached to feel his again. He snapped his gaze away, staring out. Taking a few deep breaths, he flexed his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers. Then he bent his head forward, exhaling. “Listen,” he said. “If you’re going to catch up with the Rovers, and if they really are a thousand miles away, you’re going to need something much faster than a car.” He met her eyes. “You need to fly.”

  “Fly? Like in an airship?” She thought of the massive ship that had rained fire down on them.

  “Not exactly. There’s an old airfield not far from here. It used to be a gathering place for pilots, but there aren’t many left now. Though I’ve heard that one landed there a few days ago. He might still be there. And he might help you. It’ll be a hell of a lot easier to fly over Delta City than to try to cross it on foot. You can’t skirt around it. It reaches south into the gulf, and all the way up to the Great Lakes. You’d have to go through the city itself to make it out west, or journey either very far south or north to get a boat. Flying is your best bet.”

  She didn’t relish the thought of going back into Murder City. “Can you tell me where the airfield is?”

  “Better yet, I’ll take you there.”

  He stood up to open up the door and peer outside. She followed him. Parts of the terrain around them still burned. Rowan stepped out carefully, gazing up at the sky. “Looks clear. We need to leave before they come back with more troopers.”

  He moved back to the car, H124 at his rear. Climbing in the passenger seat, she looked across at him. “What about the others?”

  “They’ll have moved on to the other camps by now, scattered, as we’re about to do.” He pulled out his PRD, checking their secret channel. “No chatter. No one needing help.”

  She leaned over, looking at the display. “Anything about Byron?”

  He scrolled through a few pages. “Taking refuge in Rusted Knife Camp with Dirk and Astoria. All is well.”

  “Where’s Rusted Knife Camp?”

  “South of here.”

  “And this airfield?”

  “North.”

  She sighed, glad they were okay. She leaned back in the seat. Flying. She was going to fly.

  Rowan backed the car through the mine entrance and flipped around, starting down a steep embankment. He left the headlights off. In the distance, a faint light glowed in the east. Her eyes stung with fatigue.

  “Why don’t you try to catch some Z’s?” he asked her.

  “Catch some Z’s?”

  “Sleep.”

  She didn’t understand the connection, but settled into her seat all the same. Rowan took off his jacket and bundled it up, making a pillow, then handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, propping the jacket up against the glass. She let her eyes
close.

  Two hours later she struggled to wake, feeling stiff and cramped. “Aren’t you tired?” she asked. The sun had risen, revealing a bleak landscape of broken cement and burned-out buildings.

  “Just a bit. But I need to get you to the airfield and then regroup with everyone at Rusted Knife Camp.”

  “How far are we?”

  He slowed the car. “This is it now.”

  She peered out at a vast flatland with a few small rusted buildings that lacked walls and, in some places, roofs. Two paved roads stretched parallel into the horizon, pitted and potholed.

  “This is an airfield?”

  “Not much to look at, I know. Hardly anyone flies anymore. Not many planes left.”

  “What’s a plane?”

  “An airship of sorts. With wings.” Rowan scanned the airfield. “Hopefully, the pilot is still there. Hard to tell. He usually stashes his plane out of sight in that building.” He pointed at a shed with several pieces of rusted metal propped against it, covering an ingress.

  “Should we go see?”

  He looked at her regretfully. “This is as far as I better go.”

  She contorted her face.

  “I think you’ll have better luck convincing him to take you if I’m not there.”

  “Why?” She found herself reluctant to go alone, yet chastised herself for it. She’d been alone since Rowan left her outside New Atlantic until the Badlanders had picked her up outside Delta City. But now she felt the pang of not wanting to leave him. She’d never needed anyone before, so she shoved the feeling away. She was out to save the world, wasn’t she? Not take comfort in people she met along the way, however different they might be from those she’d been raised among.

  “The Badlanders haven’t always been kind to this place. He might shoot me on sight.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “I don’t think he’ll shoot you. No one would mistake you for a Badlander. Don’t worry. He can be trusted.”

  “So he can be trusted as long as he doesn’t shoot me?” She started to get out of the car. Then he took her hand. She felt the heat of his fingers as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Take care out there, H.” Their eyes locked. Then he pulled her back into the car and brushed her face. His lips met hers, and that familiar shock zinged through her. She kissed him back. Then he let her go. “I expect to see you again,” he said. “Somewhere. I’ll stay here until you’re safely off.”

  A painful lump formed in her throat. Then she grabbed her bag and got out of the car. “Take care of my car, okay?” she asked. She wanted to say something else, something more, but couldn’t find words for her feelings. Instead she leaned into the window and gripped his shoulder affectionately.

  She set off toward the long rows of steel buildings. He remained idle as she walked toward them, and a couple times she stole glances back over her shoulder. Dust drifted in hypnotizing patterns across the dry ground, and each step kicked up fine brown dirt. She was almost to the first building, a shed that had once been painted red, when she heard the unmistakable cocking of a gun, a sound she’d become all too familiar with.

  “Stay right there,” came a gruff voice from around the corner. She came to a halt, and a man walked into view holding a huge firearm with a double barrel.

  He was the oldest person she’d ever seen. He walked slightly bent, and wore dusty overalls over a blue button-down shirt so worn she could see his bony elbows through the fabric. The knees had also worn through, and he wore some kind of red thermal layer underneath. A tuft of white hair stood up atop his head, while his red-rimmed blue eyes blinked at her in the bright sun. He stared at her with a face so pale it looked like parchment stretched over bone. She held out her hands, showing she was unarmed.

  “I need your help.”

  “Is that so?” He took her in, cocking his head to the side.

  “I was told you might be able to fly me somewhere.”

  “Firehawk told you that?” He looked toward the solar car, where Rowan waited.

  “You know him?”

  “In a way. Know his kind.”

  She remembered what Rowan had said about the rough history with the Badlanders. “I really need your help.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m trying to save the world.”

  He cracked a smirk, and lowered his gun a bit. “The world, eh?”

  She nodded. “That’s right.”

  “No small task.”

  Now she cracked a slight smile. “No, sir.”

  “Sir!” He lowered the gun some more. “Haven’t been called that in well . . . ever.”

  He surveyed her tool bag and dirty clothes. “What do you want to save the world from?”

  She looked up at the sky, a cloudless blue slate overhead, from which the sun beat down on them. “An asteroid.”

  He lowered the gun all the way. “How’s that?”

  “A giant space rock is headed this way.”

  “And how do you propose to save the world from a giant space rock?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m trying to find the people who might. “

  He arched his eyebrows. “The Rovers?”

  Hope blossomed within her. “Yes.”

  “Don’t know where they are.”

  “I’ve got a lead,” she said, “if you’d be kind enough to take me. They’re leaving in a couple days, and I won’t make it by car.”

  He lifted his gun, this time resting the barrel on his shoulder, holding the stock in the crook of his arm. “Well, I guess I’ve flown for less.”

  She beamed, “So you’ll help me?”

  He scratched his head. “Oh, hell. I don’t see why not. Bored out of my mind. Where they at?”

  She pulled out her PRD and approached. He eyed her suspiciously but didn’t back away. She brought up the map, the arrow blinking where Willoughby had said the Rovers would be.

  He ran his hand over the rough stubble on his cheek. “That’s a fair distance. Have to refuel. More than once, at that.”

  “But you can do it?”

  He took the PRD into his arthritic hands, waving his finger over the floating display to see more of the map. “I think so.”

  Her hope was now a garden. She might actually have a chance at meeting with the Rovers before they moved to some unknown destination. They’d know what to do about the asteroid, and her journey would be complete. She couldn’t believe it. It felt like another life, another her, who had crawled down into that dark basement and discovered the ancient lab down there.

  He handed back the PRD. “How long we got?”

  “Until what?”

  He looked up. “Until it hits?”

  The thought brought her back to the present. “Two months before the first fragment hits, followed by two more. A year until the big one arrives, and it’s a planet killer.”

  “Not much time.”

  “The Rovers will know what to do.”

  “How do even you know about this?”

  “I found an old building laden with ancient information. The data predicted when it would hit. Pieces of it already have.”

  “And did they stop it back then?”

  She shook her head. “No. It did a lot of damage. But the imminent chunks are much bigger. They’ll wipe out everything.”

  “And you think the Rovers can do now what people back then couldn’t?”

  “I have to believe that.”

  He licked his finger and held it up in the wind. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he gazed to the end of the runway. “Storm’s coming. I think we can beat it if you’re ready to go now.”

  “I am.” She looked back to where Rowan had parked. He was still there. Her stomach gnawed on itself.

  “Let me do some preflight stuff. Got some hot chocol
ate if you want.”

  “Hot chocolate?” She’d never heard of it.

  “Best kind east of the Mississippi.” He held out his hand. “I’m Gordon, by the way.”

  She shook it, thinking of Rowan’s nickname for her. “H.”

  He eyed her. “Just H?”

  She nodded.

  Then he turned and approached the shed. She followed. She was so close to the Rovers that every molecule in her being thrummed. She had to reach them. Everything depended on it.

  Inside the shed she saw a big, beautiful red machine resting in its center. Two wings reached out from either side, and a long blade was mounted on its nose. Gordon walked over to a small cabinet above a workbench and pulled down two chipped ceramic mugs. He spooned some dark brown powder into each.

  A pot of water boiled on a small hot plate. He poured some into each cup. Reaching in with a spoon, he stirred both, then smiled. “Here you go. Hot chocolate.”

  She walked over and took the proffered cup, smelling it first. It was hands-down the best thing she’d smelled in her entire life. She smiled. “Wow.”

  “Tastes even better.” He sipped his, then set his cup down and walked over to the plane. “Have a seat,” he called over his shoulder, pointing to a worn stool near her. “Can I have a look at those coordinates again?”

  She handed him her PRD, and he pulled out a white plastic-and-aluminum dial with varying increments of measurement on it. The thing looked ancient. “Gotta run this by the old whiz wheel,” he said.

  “Whiz wheel?”

  “The E6B. It’s a flight computer. Helps me plot the course we’ll take.”

  She stared at it. “Computer? But it doesn’t even have power.”

  He smiled and pointed to his head. “It’s all up here.” He started moving the dial around.

  She sipped the hot chocolate and watched him work, relishing both. While she perched on the stool, he finished his calculations and checked over his plane, holding up his own PRD, which projected a checklist. After she finished her drink, he came back and drank his down in three long gulps. “We’re about ready.” He pointed at her tool bag. “That all your gear?” He gave her back her PRD.

  She nodded.

  “Well, welcome aboard.” He walked her over to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She hoisted herself up using a grab bar and settled down into the seat.