by V. J. Deanes
Vern awoke slowly the next morning. Savagely growling Rottweilers in the night seemed like a vague memory. He could not explain why he was resting comfortably on his back in a strange bed.
A matronly woman, with long braided hair knocked on the door jamb before letting herself into the room.
“Where am I?” Vern asked.
“Rolling Meadows Farm,” the woman replied.
Vern sat up in the bed.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” she asked.
“It’s not bad. I should be on my way.”
“Hogan wants a few words with you before you leave,” she said. “You sure that doesn’t hurt?”
“I’ll be fine. How did I get here?” he asked.
“Beats me,” the woman replied. “The storm was whippin’ up all kinds of fury. Suddenly the dogs took off barking like maniacs. Next thing I knew, Hogan carried you upstairs and asked me to patch you up.”
“You some kind of doctor?” Gedder asked.
“My name is Millie, thank you for asking. I serve as the vet here on the farm.” She sat down at the bottom of the bed.
“Well Millie my name is...”
“I already know your name Vern. Hogan can get into that with you. Hold your arm up,” she said.
“I’ll be,” she remarked. “Straighten it out and then hold it up higher.”
Vern reached even higher.
“Holy Mother of... I ain’t never seen anything like it. You on medication?”
“No,” Vern replied, shaking his head.
“Someone took a shot at you that’s for sure. That biking jacket packed some serious protection. It deflected a lot of the damage. Perhaps more than I thought. You were a mess last night. Today you’re better than I expected.”
“Lucky for me,” Vern replied, not knowing what else to say.
“There’s a bathroom room across the hall. Come on downstairs for some breakfast when you’re ready.”
Vern emerged a few minutes later.
“Go ahead,” said Millie. “Take a seat.”
A hearty breakfast was laid out on the table. Suddenly a shot fired from a high power rifle. “Damn spy drones,” someone cussed. A second shot rang out from the porch at the front of the farm house.
An older man entered the kitchen. A long grey beard grew out of the wrinkles that were chiseled into his face. Thick woolly hair flowed down over his broad shoulders to his biceps, which were as big as small tree trunks.
“I like desperate men, Vern Gedder,” the man remarked. “I like desperate men because they will do desperate deeds.”
“Hogan, I take it?” Vern asked.
“That’s right,” the wily farmer replied. “Dig in. No point letting any of this wonderful grub get cold,” he said.
“How do you know my name?” Vern asked.
“You’re a popular man,” Hogan answered. “Just after daybreak one of the cops from Hadley’s Crossing showed up. Said he was going door to door looking for a young man. Then he pulled out your picture. About an hour after that the Emperor of Hadley’s Crossing himself showed up asking if I knew anything about a young man who had been shot last night.”
“Emperor? I don’t get it,” Vern remarked.
“I don’t like politics Mister Gedder,” Hogan remarked. “You’re not from around these parts, so you probably don’t care for a lengthy description of the social strata. This guy called the Guardian oversees the pecking order over there.”
“Is he the one who protects the clones?” Vern asked.
Hogan looked over at Millie. “Maybe you know more than I gave you credit for,” Hogan replied.
“Mister Gedder’s wounds are healing faster that I thought,” said Millie.
“Wonderful news,” Hogan declared.
“Thank you for taking me in last night,” Vern said, trying to read the intentions of his hosts.
“No, no,” Hogan replied. “Thank you for choosing us to be the ones to help you in your time of need.”
Vern looked perplexed. “What do you farm here?” he asked Hogan.
“Sanity,” Hogan replied. He started to laugh at the confused look on Gedder’s face.
“We pride ourselves on our dairy cows,” Millie added. “We keep a small herd of hogs. Some chickens as well.”
“One thing about these parts Mister Gedder is that more people are dying or moving away than are being born or moving in,” Hogan remarked. “People don’t usually take much notice of what happens around here. That’s the sanity part. Makes it easy to live off the land and avoid the chaos that is called modern society, where everybody is watching everybody. People got no respect for anyone else’s point of view. No privacy at all, not to mention these damn spy drones that have shown up this morning.”
“You said something about desperate deeds.”
“Seems like you know a little about Hadley’s Crossing. Smart folks can keep secrets in these remote parts if you put a little effort into it,” said Hogan. “We’ve got a little secret here at Rolling Meadows. Ever seen this before?” Hogan asked as he produced a small packet of tiny purple pills.
Vern shook his head. “What is that?”
“Escape,” Hogan replied. “Except the locals are lazy so they call it “Scape” for short.”
“What is it?”
“Mind alteration candy that gives you a trip like nothing else,” Hogan boasted.
“So this is your secret?” Vern asked.
“Technically, it’s Millie’s secret. She invented it,” Hogan replied. “Haven’t been able to get decent medicine for the animals around here for ages, so she concocted her own painkiller. Then we got a little more creative. You can buy cheap copies, but she still is the only person who really knows how to make it.”
Vern sat back in his chair. “What’s the deal?”
“You got no place to go. Powerful people are looking for you. Did I mention the reward they’re offering?” Hogan teased. “It’s just business. I can turn you in and make a small amount of money. Or, you can make a delivery for me and I’ll make way more money. You can either be their captive or take a shot at remaining free. That sound like a deal to you?”
“What’s the catch?” Vern asked solemnly.
“There ain’t no catch,” he replied.
“Hogan,” Millie said, raising her eyebrows.
“Well there’s no real catch,” Hogan qualified. “Think of it as your chance to set a personal best. I need you to go a small town called Brawer. It’s about forty miles due north from Hadley’s Crossing. Last time one of my regular couriers rode up there he never came back.”
“So, my personal best will be making this delivery alive,” Vern said.
“Precisely,” Hogan replied.
Vern sat quietly for a moment.
“There’s something else that might interest you,” Millie added. “I heard that people started gathering around Brawer a couple of days ago. I can’t say that I know why, but I have a hunch that it has something to do with what’s going on in Hadley’s Crossing.”
“The cop who stopped by this morning mentioned that a resident of Hadley’s Crossing named Don Mars shot an intruder last night,” said Hogan. “The Guardian informed us that Don was killed early this morning. I figure that you’re the guy who paid Mister Mars a visit. The people you will be delivering this to might turn out to be kindred spirits.”
Vern was intrigued. He looked over at the package that Millie had put down on the table. The small box covered in brown paper had a small tracking device taped firmly to one side, with a tiny flashing blue light.
“What’s that worth?” he asked Hogan.
“A fiver,” Hogan replied with a smile.
“Thousand?”
“Hundred thousand,” Hogan clarified.
“I ain’t got much choice, do I?”
“Not really,” said Hogan. “When you make the drop some of that scratch will be yours. I’ll fix you up with a map that bypasses the place where the last runner disappea
red. You’ll depart through the woods just behind the shed where your bike is. The route will avoid the areas where the cops fly those damn drones. You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t the bandits in these parts just figure out the frequency of your tracking signal then jack whoever has the package?” Vern asked. “Turn off the tracker,” Vern remarked. “Then I’ll do it.”
Hogan stared at him, looking perturbed. “I’m not going to let you walk out of here carrying that kind of stash without...”
Vern interrupted. “How do I know that you won’t have someone hijack me right before the drop just to avoid paying up?”
“I could call the officer who was here earlier,” Hogan remarked.
“Hogan, you need to back down a little,” Millie insisted.
“Here’s what I’ll do,” Hogan said, after thinking for a moment. “I’ll disable the tracker, but not the timer.”
“How will that protect your stash?” Vern asked.
“The guy you give this to will answer that,” Hogan replied.
Millie sat down. She reached out and took one of Vern’s hands then held one of Hogan’s hands. “Let us pray.”
Chapter 10
Vern walked his motorcycle the short distance over to the edge of the trees on Hogan’s land. Staying upright on dusty trails, navigating swamps and weaving through forests over rolling countryside were not recommended for a Renegade Alien. was not designed for this type of riding. The race against time began, but the motorcycle struggled to maintain balance and slowed down. Vern had no choice. He had a destination to reach. Kalan Mars did not.
XXXX
Kalan travelled north late that morning towards Hadley’s Crossing. He leaned against the window in a drowsy state, lost in thought about. He plugged his Silent Destroyer into one of the outlets, then dozed off. The robot car braked hard to a full stop as it came out of a sharp bend at the base of a steep slope. Three men stood boldly in the middle of the open road. Two of them brandished rusty metal pipes the size of baseball bats. The man in the middle had a long knife. He motioned for Kalan to get out.
“I want to look inside your car,” the man said as the others laughed ghoulishly.
Kalan calmly stepped away from the car onto the shoulder beside the road. “It’s not my car,” he remarked.
Bandits, who trolled the desolate countryside, were common in Red Zones, like this one. This group ventured away from their small collection of makeshift cabins in the woods to hijack whatever they could from traffic on this back road. Leaving the safety of the forest to commit robbery in broad daylight was a risk they had to take. Times were tough. Their faces had a rugged appearance that was as menacing as it was desperate.
“There’s nothin’ here,” the man with the knife hollered. His scraggly beard and unwashed look accompanied a foul stench that was overbearing. “Make it easy,” he said to Kalan, as he stepped closer. “Give us whatever you can. We’re just looking for something to help us get by.”
“I don’t have anything to give you,” Kalan said as he sized up the two men who brandished the pipes. “I’m as desperate as you guys are.”
“I know you,” the man said in a gruff voice as he pointed his knife towards Kalan.
Kalan looked into his eyes. Gerald Huff looked much older and more gaunt than he should have. The abrasive bully who once tormented Kalan as a teenager was reprised as a poor man.
“You made it out,” Gerald said enviously noting that Kalan seemed to have made a life in the world outside of Hadley’s Crossing.
“Huff, you’re still just a punk. If I need to humiliate you one more time in front of your fellow losers then let’s get it over with. I’ve got more pressing business to deal with.”
“Let’s take it to him boys,” Huff said as his gang moved in.
Branches at the tops of the trees suddenly swayed vigorously, despite the stillness in the air. Huff’s gang looked up perplexed by a buzzing sound that grew louder. A prototype of the new Civilian Menace drone emerged from an invisibility shroud as it tuned to the distress signal that it was receiving from the car.
Huff’s gang feigned calmness in the face of this robot officer of the peace. Nothing about the drone gave any indication that it was empowered to make decisions about how to deliver justice. The machine quickly determined who the perpetrators were. Three smaller drones fell away from the main body, then swooped down to within a couple of feet of the men in Huff’s gang. Each one darted and dashed with ease as they circled the men, taking pictures at will. Small canisters of pepper spray and nine millimeter guns were locked onto Huff’s gang all the while.
“You are free to go,” a robot voice told Kalan.
He wasted no time returning to the car.
The men in the gang backed away slowly hoping to return to the forest. One of the small drones got too close for comfort to Huff’s lieutenant. He swung at it with his pipe, but the agile drone swerved, barely avoiding the shattering blow. It shot a burst of pepper spray to fend the man off. Then the small drones flew back and reintegrated with the main body for safety.
Huff and his men took advantage of the momentary break. They bolted frantically toward the cover of the forest.
The drone slowly descended further. One twelve millimeter gun deployed from the bottom. The men made it the edge of the woods. Just before they disappeared into the foliage three laser guided shots broke the tense silence. The drone slipped back into invisibility mode to move on to the next distress call. Kalan was long gone.
Lost Ridge Lodge dated back to well before Kalan’s time. This majestic old hotel had drawn people to the remote serenity of Blue Opal Lake for years. He came here as young boy with his parents. Kalan stepped out of the car. He stood still for a few moments and relived his happier memories of this place, when he explored the trails, fished in the lake and roasted marshmallows over campfires at sunset. The lodge looked very different now.
Shutters hung precariously from some of the windows. Rot had crept along the wood railing on the spacious balcony on the second floor. Many of the cabins looked like they had been taken over by forest people. The front steps were cracked, covered in weeds. Kalan stepped inside, into a run down version of the ornate lobby he had grown fond of as a boy. Stones that made up the giant fireplace were covered in soot. Oak planks in the floors were warped and loose. Initials had been hacked into the mighty cedar beams. Stuffing crept out of rips in the grand leather couches. Particle board covered the openings where skylights in the cathedral ceiling used to brighten the whole room. A gamey odor hung in the air. The main restaurant was still in service.
“You look hungry,” the man behind the counter remarked.
“What’s good today?” Kalan asked.
“Burgers,” the man replied.
“Sure,” Kalan remarked. “What’s in them?”
“Mostly deer. Some ground hog. A few other critters as well.”
“That’s all you got?”
“That’s all we got,” the man replied. “Do you want one or two?”
“One will be enough.”
“How you gonna pay?”
Kalan pulled an electronic token out of his pocket.
“You want to use money?” the man asked, looking disappointed.
“What did you expect?”
The man leaned forward. “I was hoping that you had some Scape,” he whispered.
“Afraid not,” Kalan replied.
“Then it’s gonna cost you a little more.”
Kalan sighed.
“The hotel business here isn’t what it used to be. A woman bought the rest of my supply a couple of days ago,” the man said as he passed Kalan’s order to the cook. “Demand seems to be up. I’m just trying to make a living.”
“Sure.”
“Been here before?” the man asked.
“Must be at least fifteen years ago,” Kalan remarked.
The man thought for a moment. “Those were the good days,” he said. “It wasn’t long after w
hen people started moving out of the towns and into the forest in these parts.”
“Looks like they’ve taken over.”
“Everybody around here adjusted their expectations,” the man replied. “Permanent work that used be found nearby is mostly gone. Living as a prepper ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.
Kalan couldn’t get that phrase out of his head as he closed in on Hadley’s Crossing. He decided against calling in advance. Better to show up unannounced and deal with Don spontaneously. Kalan pulled the dead man’s finger out of his pocket, then brushed it across the scanner to pay for the ride.
He stepped out of the car. It disappeared down a side street while Kalan walked down the road to the house he grew up in, preparing for the inevitable conflict. The lights were out. The front door was locked. Kalan stood on the landing wondering what to do next.
“No one is home,” an old woman called from across the street. “The gathering is at the inn.”
Kalan walked through the old neighborhood. He climbed the small hill that led to the inn wondering what gathering the woman was referring to.
Older people slowly filed into the inn. They looked forlorn. Kalan wondered what tragedy had struck the community. He recognized many of them as the parents of the families that came to see Don from time to time when he was a boy. They didn’t know what to say to Kalan when he appeared to be unaware of the situation.
The Guardian stood solemnly beside the entrance. Jane Mars stood off to one side at front of the old central hall. Kalan made his way through the small crowd. Once he grew closer he could tell that she was stricken with grief. When Jane first saw Kalan she was in disbelief. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes then hugged him.
“What is this all about?” Kalan asked.
A tall slender man dressed in a black suit walked into the main hall from a side door. He asked the visitors for their attention. His associate slowly pushed the open casket into the main hall. Don Mars looked as stern in death as he looked in life.
