by James Davis
Harley leaned forward to peer at the little girl. “What kind of name is Raizor?”
“Mine.” She took another bite of steak and chewed quietly.
The deputy sat down on the log beside Harley. “Quinlan is looking for his wife and their mother and I am doing my best to be of assistance.”
“Course you are.” Harley said. “And why are you looking out here?”
“Because we believe Quinlan’s lovely wife Vania was taken by the Wrynd. The last time Quinlan saw her was two weeks ago, shortly before five zombies were spotted in the Spanish Fork Memorial Park, licking their lips at all the little ones running about. They left the Hub and she left with them, under her own free will or not is the only question.”
Harley looked at the young man who was dark haired, slim and had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “That right?”
“That’s right.” Quinlan nodded back and his voice held a hint of steel Harley hadn’t expected to find there.
“So you brought your children along to catch up with zombies who have either gobbled up their momma or made her into one of them?”
“We have no family. Was I supposed to leave them home alone?”
“Safer than out here.”
“Oh, I’ll keep them safe Harley. I’m a Deputy Marshal of the Founder Federation.” Victor put his massive hand over his heart. “It is my sworn duty.”
Harley finished his beer. “Are you serving in your official capacity right now Deputy Marshal Shelley?”
Victor laughed. “Well, no, I’d have to say that I’m not officially on the clock.”
Harley nodded. Victor Shelley was known to be something of a hunting enthusiast. When he wasn’t on duty, he liked to comb the countryside. While most people hated that the Rages had turned nature against humanity, Victor Shelley reveled in it. He felt the same about ink and what the drug had done to its addicts. He hunted Wrynd with equal glee.
“Bring a couple of kids on a zombie hunt. That’s brilliant.”
“You don’t like children, do you Harley?” Victor grinned.
“Like them fine. With Tabasco…and a side of fries.” He stared blankly at the two children huddled against their father. “Do yourself a favor and turn around and go home. Your wife is dead or much, much worse. Forget about her and keep your little ones safe.”
Quinlan shook his head softly, sadly. “Can’t do that. If she’s still alive, I can save her. I have to try.”
Victor stood up and offered Quinlan a beer he did not take. “He has to try Harley. You’d have to care about something to understand that. Probably a foreign concept to you.”
“Probably.”
Victor grinned and hooked a thumb toward Harley. “Harley here is a rare breed. An enigma in our modern world. On his right hip, he carries his sidearm low, like a gunslinger of ages old; on his left he carries a sword, steely and ready to tear flesh from limb. So is he a cowboy or is he a pirate? Does he even know? Does either belong in the New Age of Discovery?”
“May be I’m both.” Harley lit a cigarette.
“May be.” Victor raised his beer to him. “I know about the cowboy side, but enlighten me about the pirate side, Harley.”
Harley pulled the cutlass from its scabbard, it sang as he freed it. “This is a replica of the 1917 cutlass once used by sailors of the United States Navy.”
“Navy?” Victor grinned.
“The United States once had a navy, the greatest navy in the history of man.” Harley’s voice betrayed the slightest hint of respect, the slightest hint of remorse.
“And today it is a bureaucracy of the Founder Federation, just like every other nation on earth.”
Harley nodded. “May be. But once, it was an empire and we all owned a piece of it. This,” and he held the sword above his head, smiling softly, “was a weapon of honor. High-tempered steel, it is long enough to serve its purpose and short enough to serve it well.”
“With a blaster on one hip, why do you need a sword on the other?” Quinlan asked, picking at a deer steak he had no interest in eating.
“Because technology can fail you, but if you hone your skills and sharpen your blade, then your strength and your sword never will. As long as you have those you can fight on and in the end, that’s all that matters, being able to fight on.”
“You used to be a cowboy?” The boy asked between bites of deer steak. “I learned about cowboys. You used to ride horses?”
“Oh yes!” Victor crowed. “Harley used to be a cowboy. He used to ride a horse on the range, herd cattle, all that happy shit of days long gone. Your horse tried to eat you, didn’t he Harley, when the Rages came?”
Harley took the Stetson from his head, wiped away some of the dust on its brim and scowled at the big deputy. “He didn’t try to eat me. He tried to stomp me to death.”
Victor grinned. He had an aggravating grin. Harley motioned to his elongated arms. “I guess you’re still only sleeping with fillers with a body like that?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised how many want to be wrapped in these arms Harley.” Victor winked.
“Just fillers I’d reckon.” Harley smiled.
Fillers were simulations on the Link, background people who did not display real personalities, but would respond to whatever desires you happened to wish. They were particularly popular as love interests for those just looking for satisfaction in whatever form it might take or for those who were less than charming.
It was Victor’s turn to scowl. “Have you seen any zombies in your travels Harley?”
Harley almost lied but in the end did not. “There’s a tribe about 10 miles down the canyon on the other side of this slide. You’ll have to hike in.”
“Ten miles?” The big deputy grinned in the darkness. “Why would we need to hike? You mean to tell me you hiked all the way up the canyon from Price?”
Harley shook his head. “Didn’t say that I did. I have a truck.”
“Then we can hike over the slide and use your truck to get us there.”
“Don’t think so.”
Victor narrowed his formative brow. “And why not?”
“My truck. I’ll need it when I get back from the Hub.”
“And it’ll be there when we’re done with it.”
Harley considered for a moment. “You let me take your truck to the Hub and I’ll let you take mine to the Wrynd camp.”
“Not likely.”
“Then no deal.”
“I could just take it from you.”
Harley nodded, put his hat back on his head. “You could try.”
Victor took a large bite of his steak and laughed between chews. “Good enough. How long will you be at the Hub?”
“No longer than 48 hours.”
Victor nodded. “Link up and I’ll access you to the truck.”
Harley fished in his backpack for his eyeset and slipped them on his head. On the Link Victor granted him access to his truck and Harley slipped the eyeset back off his head and into his pack.”
“Wait a minute,” Victor said, pointing a large and long finger his way. “What about yours?”
Harley fished in his pocket and brought out the truck’s access tag. He tossed it at the deputy. “I’m old school. That’s the access tag.”
“You driving a brontosaurus?”
“It runs well enough.”
Victor eyed him for a moment and finally shrugged and looked at the younger man and his children. “We get up early and we’ll have those kidnapping Wrynd scum by early afternoon.”
“There’s quite a few of them.”
“Yes. But there’s quite a lot of me Harley.”
After they had eaten their venison, Victor put Quinlan and his children in the back of the truck and brought up the shell so they could sleep without the fear of any more Rages and then he came out to drink more beer with Harley.
“One of us should probably keep watch. Just because we’ve been through one Rage doesn’t
mean that’s the only one that will hit us tonight.”
“Pfft.” Victor looked up and the small glowing orb that had killed the deer and ran off the bear slowly approached the two men sitting by the fire. It hovered two feet above Victor’s head.
“I guess a scye does come in handy from time to time.” Harley said, eyeing the floating orb warily.
Victor flexed his massive biceps. “With these I don’t normally need it, but it does come in handy…from time to time.”
Harley rolled his eyes. The scye glowed brightly in the night and Harley could just make out a soft hum from its shielding. He tried not to let Victor see how interesting he found the little orb, but it was difficult.
“I’ve heard that if you hit someone with one of those hard enough it will pass right through their body. Any truth to that?”
“I don’t know.” Victor looked at Harley and the orb suddenly shot toward his head, only to stop two inches from his nose. It gave off no heat. “Shall we test it?”
“Are they difficult to control?” Harley’s hand was on his sidearm, something Victor had obviously noted, but chose to ignore.
“Takes some practice. They aren’t as user friendly as the original civilian models. It’s like having an extra arm or leg.” While Victor talked, he let the scye zip around the little camp area like an oversized firefly. “It takes a while to learn how to control it without giving it any thought, to make it just a physical reaction, like using your hand to scratch your nose or open a door. They still make the tourist model. Buy one and try it out.”
“Not much need for it.” Harley said. “Why do they call them scyes anyway?”
Victor crushed a beer can between one of his massively inhuman biceps. “Sensory control of your environment.” He belched, loudly. “Originally they were designed as a reality interface for the slugs who like to experience the real world through the Link. They were a way to interact with the world without having to step outside of your house. Through the Link and with the scye you could see, hear, taste, and feel everything just like you were physically present. When they first rolled them out a bunch of people died from sensory overload because they crashed them into the sides of a mountain or the ground or some other damned fixed object.” Victor slapped his leg, laughing and looked at Harley quizzically. “You don’t think that’s funny? That’s some funny shit Harley.”
Harley shrugged. “I suppose.”
Victor shook his head. “Later scyes were developed with sensory disabling safeguards to prevent that from happening, but you could still hurt yourself using a scye, even while sitting on your recliner. They were a pretty awesome piece of technology at first. You could watch a farting dog lick himself from 2,000 miles away, just like you were there. But once the Link and linktags evolved the thrill was gone. Why bother with watching a farting dog lick himself when you could be a farting dog licking himself on the Link?”
Harley smiled softly. “A farting dog licking himself? You’ve been a self-pleasuring farting dog then Victor?”
“Shut up.”
“You said it.”
“It was just an example.” Victor looked more defensive than Harley thought he should, but he didn’t say anything. “All I meant is that with the Link reality was, I don’t know, kind of a bore and scye sales died. But then the Federation Marshals found a use for them. Take the same technology, add a kick ass shielding system and you have something of serious potential. One-part personal drone, one-part protector and one-part weapon. It is the elite weapon of the chosen champions of the world.”
Victor grinned and Harley nodded. He wanted a scye badly.
“Stupid name though, scye,” Harley finished his own beer and handed the can to Victor so he could crush it with his bicep.
“Well, what the hell would you call it then?” Victor asked.
“I don’t know,” Harley popped another beer. “Kick ass glowing orb?”
Victor sat back, furrowed his brow and smiled. “Kick ass glowing orb? Kago? You want to call the chosen weapon of the Marshals of the Federation a kago?”
Harley nodded and lifted his beer.
Victor shrugged. “Does have a ring to it.”
With the fire slowly dying, Victor let the scye rise until it floated 20 feet above them. “It will wake me if anything comes within 200 yards. Get some sleep.”
Victor climbed behind the wheel of the truck and Harley took shotgun, reclining his seat and letting it form around his tired and aching body. Beside him, Victor quickly started snoring.
Harley could hear the young man and his children getting comfortable in the back of the truck.
“Dad?” It was the little girl; her voice was barely a whisper.
“What Raiz?”
“That man. Is he a zombie?”
“He’s not a zombie.” Quinlan said and Harley could hear the young father settle in by his children.
“I think he’s worse than a zombie,” the boy named Noah said. Harley smiled and closed his eyes. But he did not sleep for a long time.
In the darkness of the tree line, a man sat on his haunches, watching the truck as those inside drifted to sleep. A mouse danced across his battered boots and he reached down and offered it a sunflower seed. The mouse accepted it and scurried away.
The scye floating above the camp did not alert the deputy to the stranger’s presence, and the stranger watched it for some time with his gray, gray eyes before he turned and slipped into the night.
Chapter Six
Rotting
When Harley opened his eyes, the little girl named Raizor was staring at him. She had climbed through the back window of the truck and was standing on the back seat, leaning over him. Her eyebrows knotted tightly and her chubby cheeks flushed, she looked as if she had only recently awakened. He cursed and sat up.
“She doesn’t think you’re a very nice man.” The boy had also slipped through the window and was now sitting in the seat directly behind him. Harley grinned. A 6-year-old girl and an 8-year-old boy had gotten the drop on him.
“I’m not a very nice man.” Harley whispered back.
Dawn was beginning to push at the night and the cloudless sky slowly leeched from black to dark blue. The two children on a hopeless search for their mother stared at him and in the gray of the dying night their eyes were black sockets he could not read.
“Do you think she’s okay? Our mom?”
Harley looked at the boy lost within his own clothing and shook his head softly. “No. I don’t.”
The boy named Noah nodded and bit a quivering lip. A tear slid down Raizor’s face. “We don’t think so either. But Dad does.”
“Why does he?”
Noah scooted to the middle of the back seat and Raizor cuddled next to him. “He always thinks things are going to be okay.”
“Are they?”
Raizor shook her head and silently mouthed “no.”
Harley looked out the windshield. “Life’s intrestin that way.”
Victor moaned and stretched and finally opened his eyes. Harley shook his head. With senses that dull it was a wonder the big man was alive, even with a scye. When he looked back again, Quinlan was leaning through the back window. His eyes were wide and alert. He wasn’t smiling. Harley wondered how long he had been awake and imagined it had been since his children first opened their eyes. Perhaps he had misjudged the young man. They exchanged a nod.
“Who’s got breakfast?” Victor asked. His booming voice echoed in the truck and was obscene as morning kissed the mountains.
“Already ordered.” Quinlan raised his right hand and an eyeset dangled.
“Hope you ordered coffee, ‘cause I’ve got to have me some coffee.” Victor threw open the door of the truck and stepped out to relieve himself on the carcass of a deer. The scye dropped to hover over his shoulder and when he returned to the cab, it took its position above them.
A stork floated down to their campsite a few minutes later with breakfast. There was orange juice, cof
fee, milk, sausage, eggs, toast, pancakes, disposable plates, cups and utensils. Quinlan slipped on his eyeset long enough to accept delivery of the meal from the stork. He dished up a plate of food for the three of them and they sat on the back seat to eat their breakfast.
Victor helped himself to a huge helping of food, grumbling that there were no hash browns. As he sat in the driver’s seat of his truck, slurping his food and alternately farting and burping, Harley wondered how he had ever become a Deputy Marshal. Marshals were the elite of the Federation, the best, brightest and strongest. They were the vanguard of the Lord High Judge, the warrior champions of the new world and Victor Shelley didn’t seem to fit the bill.
Harley had to remind himself that he had seen Victor fight. With those medically altered arms, he was a force worthy of respect. But he was overconfident and far too loud to survive long in the Wilderness. If his truck on the other side of the slide had been stolen or destroyed he gave them a day or two at most before the Wrynd had them or the Rages. He was a Deputy Marshal so he could call for an airlift and it might arrive before it was too late, but he didn’t think Victor would ever do that. It was too bad really. The children didn’t deserve the fate rushing their way. But then, no children deserved the fate rushing their way.
Their father seemed forged of stronger mettle than Harley had originally given him credit for, but he could see in the softness of his eyes that there wasn’t a killer hiding in there. Outside of the Hubs and the Link you needed to be a killer if you wanted to survive.
As the light of morning finally found them there was no sign of wildlife outside the truck, at least not living wildlife. The carnage from the Rages the night before was everywhere. There were more than 20 deer carcasses scattered across the roadway and intermixed with their lifeless bodies were a half dozen raccoon, dozens of bats and three large owls. The wounded bear had fled. When Noah and Raizor went outside to relieve themselves, they had to pick their way through the wreckage of animal flesh to take care of their business at the tree line. While they did, Quinlan stood behind them, his body tense as he nervously gripped a baseball bat. Harley marveled.
