Paradigm

by Helen Stringer

  He glanced back. Vincent was on the ground, gasping for breath with Alma standing over him, repelling all comers with her usual efficiency. Once Vincent’s immediate attackers were taken care of, she turned toward the crowd, which had started moving in.

  “Beat it, girly-girl!” hissed one of the men. “We ain’t got no beef with you.”

  “Well, I’ve got one with you, so if you’ve got any brains at all, you’ll go home.”

  She stood there, magnificent and blazing mad.

  “We’re not warning you again!” shouted a fat woman near the front. “We don’t allow no stinking Rovers inside city limits!”

  “Nor their friends neither!” added a skinny man in a dirty feed cap.

  “You really don’t want to do this,” said Alma, calmly. “Now go on your way and leave these people alone.”

  Cherry coughed and rolled over, spewing black spittle on the dusty ground.

  “Go help her,” she gasped.

  “I don’t think she really needs my help,” said Sam, smiling.

  “Rovers ain’t people!” hissed the first man, to universal cheers. “We’re all good church-going folks in these parts. Rovers ain’t nothing but bastard heathens!”

  “Hey!” said the fat woman, fixing a gimlet eye on the girl with the strange tattoo. “You talk funny. Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?”

  “Uh oh,” muttered Sam, standing up.

  “I have not,” said Alma. “And neither have you, if you think he’d approve of beating defenseless people and burning their homes to a cinder!”

  There was a gasp from the crowd and then a cheer as three burly men rushed at Alma. She sighed, then dropped down and swung her legs out and under them, scything them to the ground.

  “Just go home,” she said.

  Sam didn’t see the fat woman pick up the rock, but he saw her go into her wind-up, just as another man rushed Alma from her right. He started to run towards her, but it was too late. Alma easily dispatched the guy charging her, but took the rock full to the left temple as she turned around. She looked vaguely surprised as the blood started to trickle down the side of her face, then dropped to her knees and crumpled to the ground.

  The crowd lunged forward, blood in their voices and on their minds. Vincent scrambled to his feet just as Sam arrived and the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder trying to push the crowd back.

  It was a hopeless cause. A bunch of people piled onto the already battered Vincent, just as Sam took a punch to the stomach and dropped, gasping. He scrabbled over to Alma’s unconscious body, yanked one of her guns out of its holster and fired two shots into the air.

  The mob fell silent and shrank back. Sam stood up, gasping.

  “The next one’s gonna hit flesh!” he yelled, teeth gritted, and meaning every word.

  There was a pause while the crowd seemed to consider developments, then the man in the feed cap stepped forward, sneering.

  “I don’t think you’ve got it in you, kid. Get the rope, Hank! I reckon we should have us a hangin’.”

  Sam raised the gun again and fired a shot into the man’s knee. The guy screamed in agony as he fell and Sam glared at the rest of the crowd.

  “You’d be surprised what I’ve got in me,” he growled. “Now go! And take the asshole with you.”

  The mob hesitated for a moment before melting away, back to whatever hovels they’d come from. Vincent struggled to his feet again and tried to speak.

  “Later,” said Sam. “Uncouple the truck. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  The Rover nodded, limped over to the truck and released the still-burning trailer from the towbar before helping Cherry into the cab. He and Sam hauled Alma’s bike onto the flatbed and laid her carefully next to it. Sam jumped in and covered her with his coat.

  Vincent slid the back window open.

  “Where to, boss?”

  “Anywhere,” said Sam.

  Vincent nodded, started the engine and pulled out of town and toward Highway 99. It couldn’t be more than midday, but the air was cold and a sharp breeze had picked up and whipped around the bed of the truck.

  Sam didn’t feel it. All his attention was on Alma.

  He lifted her head into his lap and tried to wipe some of the blood from her face. Her skin was like ice. He tucked the coat tighter around her body and tried to remember the name of the god that she’d mentioned back in her room at DETH, Inc. It seemed that any prayers should be offered to him, the Maori god of war.

  Vincent turned off before they reached the highway, and took a back road into Chowchilla and out to a campground on the far side of town where the rest of the Rovers were staying.

  There was a moment of trepidation as the other Rovers gathered around the truck. Sam recognized a few of them from before and it was clear that they remembered him. But before anyone could say anything, Vincent jumped down from the cab.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” he said. “Sam here just saved Cherry’s life, and most likely mine as well. He and his friend are our guests. You got that? Guests.”

  “But—” began one of the girls.

  “I know,” said Vincent, cutting her off. “I know. But there’s no time for side-trips anyhow. And we have to get Mario home before the snows.”

  Sam’s fingers closed around Alma’s gun as he braced for the worst, but the Rovers all nodded and turned away.

  Vincent helped Cherry out of the truck and into a nearby trailer, then emerged deep in conversation with the owner.

  Sam stayed put. The bed of the truck offered at least a little protection and gave him some height in the event the Rovers changed their minds.

  “Hey, Sam!” yelled Vincent, smiling. “Louis says you can put the chick in his trailer.”

  Sam glanced at Alma. It was a good job she was still out. Vincent would be missing even more teeth if she’d heard him call her a “chick.”

  He jumped down from the truck and scooped her up. She weighed almost nothing, like a wild animal, just muscle and bone.

  “In here,” said Vincent, as he carried her over. “The bed on the right. Frieda here will help.”

  Frieda was short and a little overweight, and Sam was relieved to see that her eyes were kind and her smile easy. He followed her into the trailer and laid Alma on the bed, removing most of her weaponry and setting it aside. Frieda unbuckled her jacket and was going to go further when Sam stopped her.

  “That’s enough,” he said. “Trust me, you don’t want her to wake up pissed off.”

  “But she’s just a girl,” said Frieda, amused.

  “No. She’s not “just” anything. She’s a Maori warrior and she could take your head off with her little finger and not break a sweat.”

  Frieda looked dubious and Cherry laughed before dissolving in coughs again.

  “Oh, man,” she said. “This sucks. Those bastards.”

  Alma moved slightly and groaned. Frieda pulled a grubby blanket over her and started to wash the blood from her face. She glanced up at Sam and smiled.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “She’ll be fine. You go on now, and let her rest.”

  Sam hesitated, but Cherry leaned forward and patted him on the back.

  “You saved our lives, Sam. Vinnie won’t let anyone hurt her, or you. And thanks, by the way. Those people were seriously wacko.”

  Sam nodded and inched his way out of the small trailer and back outside. There was no sign of Vincent, but the smell of wood smoke drew him through the knot of trucks and trailers to the far side of the encampment and a large fire with a spit and several pots hanging over it.

  “Hey, Sam!” yelled Vinnie, beckoning him over. “Have a seat. How’s she doing?”

  “Still out,” said Sam. “But I think she’ll be okay.”

  “’Course she will. It’ll take more than some stray rock to take out a girl like that. I was just telling everyone about her. Seriously fucking skilled. Smoke?”

  He held out a hand-rolled cigarette.
>
  “No thanks. Those things’ll kill you.”

  “They’ll have to hurry,” said Vincent, grinning.

  “What are you smoking, anyway?”

  “Anything we can find.” Vincent took a long drag, then exhaled an acrid cloud of something that smelled like old socks.

  Sam winced and coughed.

  “So, Sam,” said Vincent. “Some coincidence, huh? How’d you get away?”

  Sam told him about the Hermes Industries clinic, his impending surgery, and Rob’s band of would-be subversives.

  “They’re after your brain?” said Vincent. “Wow. I’m really sorry, man. I mean, it wasn’t personal or nothing. The bounty was just too good to pass up.”

  “That’s okay,” said Sam. “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. You do what you have to. Everyone has to get by.”

  “So how do you get by?”

  “Gambling, mostly. Though since Nathan came along it’s been more sales. You know, small appliances, that kind of thing.”

  Vincent stubbed out the cigarette and looked at him.

  “And what about the car?”

  “It’s mine.”

  “You plan on getting it back?”

  “Yeah,” sighed Sam. “Except it’s probably long gone by now. Nathan could be anywhere.”

  “Could be,” said Vincent. “But I happen to know it’s been sitting in the parking lot in Century City for over a month.”

  “What?” Sam’s heart leapt.

  “Fourth floor. By the door to the stairs.”

  Sam could feel the smile spreading, unbidden, across his face. Vincent slapped him on the back.

  “Thought that might cheer you up. C’mon, let’s go catch some dinner.”

  He picked up a crossbow and led the way out of the camp and down to the river. At first, Sam was reluctant and hung back, ready to run if the crossbow selected a target with fewer than four legs, but he soon relaxed as it became clear that Vincent meant what he said. His pursuit was all about food…and some relaxation.

  After about an hour, they’d got three rabbit-things and a small wild hog, which Sam slung over his shoulder.

  “Let’s rest here a while,” said Vincent, rubbing his ribs where he’d received the worst of the kicking. “I’m not getting over stuff the way I used to.”

  They sat on a fallen tree trunk under the branches of a scrub oak and watched the slow-moving river gurgle by.

  “That’s some girl you got there,” said Vincent.

  “She’s not mine,” said Sam.

  “No?”

  “No. The guy I told you about. Rob.”

  “Really? He sounded like an idiot.”

  “No. He’s got himself a cause. He’s obsessed, but basically pretty decent.”

  “Huh,” said Vincent, pulling out a small bag and rolling himself a cigarette. “There’s just no accounting for the people other people go for.”

  Sam smiled and tossed a stone into the river. Vincent was turning out to be a kind of backwoods philosopher and an okay guy, considering he’d tried to sell Sam up the river.

  “So, you heading to Century City?”

  “Yeah,” said Sam. “As soon as I can get a ride. I reckon I’ll hitch to the nearest big town then win myself enough to buy some wheels.”

  “Why don’t you just take the bike?”

  “Yeah, right,” said Sam. “She’d hunt me down like a dog.”

  “At least she’d be coming after you and not that other guy.”

  Sam laughed—there was something tempting in the idea, even if the only outcome he could foresee involved him being killed, slowly and painfully.

  “No,” he said. “I know what it’s like to have someone you trust steal your ride.”

  “Yeah, or blow the whole engine,” said Vincent.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “I really loved that truck. The new one ain’t worth shit. That’s how come we got stuck in podunksville with the retards. Stupid clutch wouldn’t go into gear. Then once it did find first, it stalled. Piece of shit.”

  He stared at the ground miserably.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Sam. “You get me to the nearest town with some decent gambling and I’ll win enough for both of us to snag new rides.”

  “If you win.”

  “Oh, I’ll win,” said Sam, smiling. “It’s remembering to lose occasionally that’s the problem.”

  Vincent looked at him and shook his head.

  “If it was anyone else, I’d say that was a crock. But after what you did to my truck…”

  “So we have a deal?”

  “I guess. What about the girl?”

  “She was headed back up north. She’ll probably go once she’s fit.”

  “If you say so,” said Vincent, standing up.

  They trekked back to the camp where the hog was on the spit and the rabbit things in the pots in the blink of an eye. Sam went back to the trailer to check on Alma and was relieved to see that she was awake.

  “Ow,” she muttered, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

  “Yeah,” said Sam. “It was a big rock.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Chowchilla. Rovers camp.”

  “Rovers?!” She made an attempt to sit up, then sank back. “Ooh. Whoa.”

  “It’s okay,” said Sam. “We saved their lives. They’re kind of grateful.”

  She smiled thinly and closed her eyes, only to open them again a few moments later.

  “You were pretty good,” she said. “Running into that trailer. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “I’ll have you know I can be just as stupid as the next guy,” said Sam, grinning. “Though probably not the next girl. Did you really think you could take on all those people by yourself?”

  “They usually run away after I deal with the first few.”

  “And…how many guns do you wear? You didn’t think it might be a good idea to at least draw one?”

  “It’s usually more fun without,” she murmured, closing her eyes again.

  Sam shook his head as she drifted off to sleep.

  “She’ll be okay,” said Frieda, climbing into the trailer. “Just concussion. Happens all the time.”

  Sam smiled, though he doubted it had ever happened to Alma.

  “Where’s Cherry?”

  “Oh, she left. She felt fine.”

  “Wow. You guys bounce back.”

  “We have to,” said Frieda, cheerily. “You can go if you like. I’ll keep an eye on her. Just let me know when dinner’s ready.”

  Sam glanced at Alma. She was asleep and breathing evenly, so he stood up and made his way out of the trailer as quietly as he could, which was no easy feat, considering how much junk was scattered around the floor.

  Outside, the aroma of slowly cooking pork was insinuating itself between every truck and trailer, and into every open window, luring the scattered inhabitants of the camp back to the central fire. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten pig. Drake’s bacon back at the observatory was the closest he’d come in years, but fresh pork was something else entirely.

  He strode across the campsite to the fire and watched as a young boy carefully turned the spit, his eyes like saucers as the small pig went round and round.

  “Hey, Sam,” said Vincent, leaving the fire and drawing Sam aside. “Were you serious about the truck?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok. We’ll go tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Mario’s not doing well and we have to get him to Tahoe before he goes. We can’t spare another day. Besides, there’s bound to be more people out looking to lose money at night, right?”

  “Well…”

  “Great! Fresno’s the nearest place of any size without walls and all that crap. We’ll leave at sundown. No! Slower, Ollie, slower!”

  Vincent ran back to the fire to teach the kid the finer points of spit roasting pork, leaving Sam alone, sudden
ly realizing that this was it. He walked over to the fire, sat on an upturned can and thought about Alma.

  They had been going their separate ways before any of this. Before the explosion. He was going to go to Century City and she was going back to Rob.

  It was only a few hours ago, but it felt like weeks.

  The rock had changed everything.

  He ran his hands through his hair and breathed deeply. That feeling. The feeling he’d had when the rock hit her. The fear and anger and sorrow and… He’d shot somebody! On purpose. And he would have shot more. Anything to keep her safe.

  “You okay?”

  It was Frieda, her knot of hair bobbing as she spoke.

  “Yeah,” said Sam, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Is…um…?”

  “She’s fine. She started trying to get out of bed, so I gave her something to help her sleep. She should be out till morning.”

  He hadn’t thought of that—that he might not be able to say goodbye. But maybe it was for the best. She would wake up and he’d be gone and she could just go back to her old life.

  And he could go back to his.

  Except that he didn’t think he could.

  Not that it mattered, of course. If he failed to get the box Carolyn Bast would either kill him or give him to the plex.

  He was still considering his inevitable demise when Vincent came back to announce that the pig was ready, so he shook off his gloom and loped over to the fire where everyone was helping themselves to strips of pork. Vincent handed him a knife and urged him to join in.

  Sam cut off a sliver of flesh and put it in his mouth. It was incredible—succulent and delicious. Between Carolyn Bast’s dinner and the Rovers’ roast he began to doubt he would ever be able to eat regular food again.

  The Rovers clustered around the fire, faces glowing and hands shiny with fat. They didn’t concern themselves with plates or any utensils other than knives, and an outsider could be forgiven for thinking that it was a free-for-all, but Sam noticed that the older ones made sure that the younger ones got plenty to eat and everyone was smiling and happy. They were like a single living organism, a family in every sense of the word.

  By the time they’d finished eating, it was nearly dark and the Rovers retired into the warm shadows to drink and talk while a girl picked out a tune on an old guitar, beaten and cracked and with only three strings. Sam wondered if she was the same girl he’d heard singing when he was their prisoner. The music then had seemed raucous, but now it sounded wistful and sad.