The Road North

by Phillip D Granath

  “Two means double, and I get paid if they live or die, right?”

  Across town Miles was awake and sitting at his desk in the small shack he shared with Juan. For a time the old engineer had sat and listened to the ringing of the bell, the list of scribbled figures in front of him momentarily forgotten. Then the bell stopped ringing, and the old man sighed and leaning back in his chair, tried to rub the weariness from his eyes. The move sent a quick shooting pain up the length of his ruined leg, and the old man sucked in a quick breath. In the corner of the room, Juan rolled over and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, looked up with concern.

  “It’s nothing my boy, now go back to bed.”

  Juan’s brow furrowed as he gave his adopted Father a firm look, and then the mute boy pointed to the old man’s cot across the room.

  “Yes, yes, I’m about to turn in, I just wanted to have a quick walk around outside first,” Miles replied.

  Using his crutch, the Engineer started to pull himself to his feet. Juan began to rise as well, but the old man waved him to lay back down.

  “Go back to sleep Juan, I’m not old enough to require a nursemaid, at least not yet.”

  The boy frowned in reply, but then rolled back over. Miles picked up the lamp and moved to the door, leaning heavily against his crutch. He paused for a moment, looking back at the boy, and then sat the lamp back down on the table, before stepping out into the darkness.

  Since the City Council’s return to power, many things changed in the small town, but one simple truth remained, water in the desert meant life. The old man walked out of his workshop turned home and into the darkness. A dozen torches burned along the fence line, but they did little more than throw shadows at odd angles across the compound. Their light was however just strong enough to outline the base of the town’s faded blue water tower and as he approached, seem to cast the ancient pump in an almost sinister light. Miles stopped in front of the steam-powered antique and placed a hand lovingly on the rusted mechanism.

  “Short day tomorrow old girl, and then we’ll give you a bit of a rest. How would you like that?” he said.

  “Talking to things, isn’t that a sign of old age?” a voice called.

  Miles turned to see Jasper walk out of the darkness towards him. The Black Jacket Sergeant, though a bit young by Miles’ taste, had proven himself competent enough in his new role as Chief of tower security. And in doing so, the young man had begrudgingly earned Miles' respect.

  “Old age is inevitable, talking to things is a sign of genius. Einstein said that I think,” Miles replied.”

  “Who’s that?” Jasper asked.

  Miles shook his head in disgust, “I’m surrounded by heathens.”

  Jasper grinned in reply, which only served to make him look even younger.

  “What us Black Jackets don’t know from books, we more than make up for in knowing how to kick ass,” Jasper said.

  Then the young sergeant pulled the steel studded billy club from his belt and gave it a few quick swings in front of him as if to prove the point.

  “Well everyone needs a skill I guess,” Miles said shaking his head. “How are things this evening?”

  “It’s quiet, I got two men on the gate, another two more walking the perimeter, and the mounted patrol comes by every half hour. You and your boy have got nothing to worry about with us around,” Jasper said proudly.

  Miles just nodded in reply, with the death of the city councilman turned crime lord Murphy almost six months ago things had definitely changed for the better. The City Council had taken back the tower and its precious pump. They now rationed water out equally every day, instead of just to those that could pay. The effect on the town had been dramatic. With one of the most basic needs of its people met, the streets had grown safer seemingly overnight. The Black Jackets, the council’s quasi-street gang/ police force, had enjoyed a resurgence as well. Backed by the council, the Black Jackets had more than doubled their force. Miles still wouldn’t call the streets safe, especially not at night, but they were definitely safer than they had been in a long time.

  “That’s good, excellent work,” Miles said, “Jasper, the next time the patrol comes by, I want you to have them change the times on all of the display boards across town. We’ll only be running the pump from 10am-4pm tomorrow.”

  “What the fuck? Why would we do that? You know people start lining up hours ahead of time, already right?” Jasper asked in surprise.

  “I do, that’s exactly why we will be opening later. Many of those people are crossing town early, in the dark. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that can be,” Miles lied smoothly.

  “Ok, I get that, but why are we just running the pump four hours, why not stay open later then?” Jasper replied.

  “Because I want to give the boiler enough time to cool, tomorrow we are going to tear her down.”

  “Again? Didn’t you just do that two weeks ago?”

  “I did, and I’m doing it again,” Miles said with a nod.

  “I don’t know about this man, I think I need to run this past the Chief before I can change the schedule or anything,” Jasper said lamely.

  Miles just shook his head; the young sergeant was quickly learning how to play the politics of his position. He had been appointed by the Chief of Policing, who was in turn employed by the City Council. Miles was also employed by the City Council, and his sole responsibility was to keep the antique steam pump working and supplying the town with water. The situation left Jasper with just enough wiggle room to play Miles, the Chief and City Council off of one another, in his attempts to get his own way. Just the idea of the political game made Miles feel suddenly immensely tired.

  “Run it past whomever you like. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be visiting the City Council myself to explain to them the situation. If necessary, I’ll have them send a message to the Chief. It’ll instruct him, in very specific detail, how this whole operation will be run from now on. I’m sure the Chief would like nothing more than to have them meddling…,” Miles stopped as Jasper held up his hands in surrender.

  “Whoa whoa whoa, you got me all wrong man. I just wanted to make sure, that you know, that you had it all thought through is all. I can see that you do, it’s no big deal, we’ll change the signs,” he said.

  “Ten to four,” Miles said again.

  “You got it, ten to four it is,” Jasper replied.

  “And one more thing, I have a note that I need to be delivered to the clinic. Please have one of your men drop it by there,” Miles instructed.

  The young sergeant accepted the folded note and nodded, “Will do, I’ll send it over with the next patrol. Now, how about you do us all a favor and go get yourself some sleep, you can be as cranky as an old woman when you’re tired.”

  With that, the sergeant retreated towards the gate to inform his fellow Black Jackets of the change, and to escape the old man. Miles watched him go and then shaking his head turned back to face the hulking piece of machinery. The City Council could pass all of the laws, hire all of the Black Jackets, or for that matter, old broken engineers as they wanted. But their real power lay right there in the pump and its ability to bring up the water. Murphy had recognized that fact and had used it to nearly enslave the whole town. Standing there in the darkness Miles tried to imagine what would happen if the pump failed, then he corrected himself, when the pump failed.

  Sometime later, Little Bird stepped out through the plastic curtain that acted as Anna and Kyle’s bedroom door. The old woman’s official duty was to act as The Indian Nation’s representative on the City Council, and while Kyle had found the woman to generally be a bitter pill, she and Anna had grown close. While Little Bird had no medical training, she had given birth to two children herself and assisted with the birth of two of her own Grandchildren. In the middle of the night with Anna unconscious and short on options, Kyle could think of no one else to send for.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “She was awake f
or a moment, but now she’s asleep,” the old woman said, uprighting Anna’s stool.

  “Did she ask for me?” Kyle asked.

  “No, no she didn’t, but she did ask about her patient.”

  Kyle nodded, that was typical Anna, “So what did you tell her?”

  “That the woman is sleeping peacefully and that we hooked her up to that loud mouth Gabriel, got some blood into her, and that her color improved.”

  Kyle nodded in understanding and then looked across the room to where the patient lay, her body covered in a sheet. Kyle had given her the infusion, but the woman had never regained consciousness and had quietly slipped away. He guessed the wild kicking and thrashing must have torn something open inside of her, finishing the work that the knife had started.

  “Thank you for not telling her,” he said.

  “She’ll find out soon enough, no use in her fretting over it tonight.”

  “How was she otherwise, her pulse? Her breathing?” Kyle asked, then suddenly realized that was the extent of his medical tutelage under Anna.

  “Both stronger and steadier than mine,” Little Bird replied.

  “And…the, the,” Kyle stammered.

  “The baby? “

  “Yes, the baby, how is the baby?” Kyle asked.

  “I think the baby is fine, I even felt it kick a few times,” she said.

  Kyle nodded, and then suddenly realized that he had never felt the baby kick or even touched Anna’s belly before today. She had never offered, never even brought it up that the baby was kicking. Kyle didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about that. He should want to feel his child kicking, shouldn’t he? But again, was it even his child? Kyle looked up and realized that Little Bird was staring at him, giving him that small arrogant smile of hers, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. Kyle took a breath to steady himself and then asked a question that he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer to.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

  “No idea,” Little Bird replied, “But if I had to guess, I think its plain old exhaustion. How much sleep is she getting?”

  Kyle shook his head, “Not much. She works the clinic all day, then deals with whatever comes through the doors at night. She also stays up a lot at night, doing things in here, pacing a lot I guess.”

  Little Bird nodded, and suddenly Kyle was unsure of how much Anna had confided in the old woman. Perhaps she knew more about what Anna was going through than even he did, and at that moment, Kyle found he disliked the old woman just a little bit more.

  “I’ll walk you out,” he said, perhaps a bit too abruptly.

  Little Bird stood without another word and walked towards the double doors, Kyle trailing in her wake. They stepped outside and were greeted by the warm glow of the compound’s cooking fire, set in the compound’s back corner. Coal crouched next to the fire but stood upon seeing them.

  “Evening Little Bird,” he called.

  The old woman made no response, and not even breaking stride, she walked out of the compound and out into the darkness of the street.

  “Bitch!” Coal called after her.

  Kyle shook his head and moved to stand next to the fire, “So she’s still not talking to you then?” he said.

  “Us Indian’s take things like exile pretty seriously,” he replied, then raising his voice shouted into the darkness. “Though some people are just naturally inclined to be bitchier than others!”

  Both men paused, as if waiting for a response but none came.

  “Damn it, I’ve been trying to get a rise out of the old girl. You know, just try and get her to slip up and acknowledge my existence,” Coal said.

  “Yeah? How’s that working out?”

  “It's not, but fuck her. How is Anna doing?” Coal asked.

  “Well it looks like she’ll be fine, she just needs to rest more and take a step back, from all of this,” Kyle said gesturing around at the clinic and improvised ambulance.

  “Good fucking luck with that,” Coal grinned.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “And the girl from earlier?” Coal asked.

  “She’s dead,” Kyle admitted.

  “Oh, well that’s too bad,” Coal said, then after a brief pause asked, “You want me to get rid of the body?”

  Kyle looked up at his friend suspiciously, a few months ago when the clinic had first started, Coal had done nothing but complain when it came time to dispose of a corpse. But these days he suddenly seemed a little too eager to accept the task.

  “So, these bodies, you’re taking them out to the city cemetery, right?” Kyle asked.

  “Don’t tell me we are still referring to that barren patch of desert as a fucking cemetery?”

  Not only had the City Council managed to stem the tide of violence in town, but they had also started dabbling in city services again. One of the first motions they made was to reinstate and enforce the burial of dead bodies. No longer would corpses be left in the street to rot, or in the ruined buildings across town. Anna was one of the most vocal advocates of the plan, insisting that burying the dead outside of town would help prevent a myriad of potential diseases. However, not everyone had agreed the move was for the best, there was one outspoken voice in opposition.

  “You’re selling them to Oliver, that rat farmer, aren’t you?” Kyle asked.

  Coal grinned in reply, “I’m not selling him shit. Since the council did away with the water chits and went to this Communist, equal rations for all bullshit, nobody is selling nothing!”

  Kyle just stared at the Indian for a moment longer. Coal met his eyes and then gave him his usual devil may care grin.

  “It’s more of a barter system.”

  With that Coal produced a small plastic flask and removing the cap offered it to Kyle. The scavenger looked at the bottle for a moment and then shaking his head accepted it, and took a quick swig. Kyle immediately broke into a coughing fit and pushed the bottle back towards the Indian. Coal grinned and took a swig of his own.

  “That shit is terrible! I can’t believe your trading dead bodies for alcohol,” Kyle choked out.

  “When I’m lucky, it’s getting harder and harder to find anything that passes for booze these days. It seems the City Council requisitions every drop they can find for, well you know,” Coal said nodding back towards the clinic.

  “We need it for disinfectant!” Kyle said defensively.

  “And I need it to drink, and bodies got to be disposed of, and rats got to eat, and people got to eat them rats! It’s the god damned circle of life Kyle, and who are we to stand in its way?” Coal raised the bottle to take another drink but then paused, pointing it in Kyle’s direction.

  “Remember, I’m an Indian, I know what the fuck I’m talking about here!”

  Kyle shook his head giving up and then reached over and took the bottle from Coal’s hand. He raised it to his lips, pausing for a moment, already regretting what he was about to do, and then took a swig.

  “That’s my Tonto!” Coal laughed.

  Kyle managed to keep the foul-tasting alcohol down, and then raising a hand, cut Coal off.

  “I’m not going to say anything, but I’m sure as hell not going to lie to Anna. We have enough problems on the home front right now. But if she asks, I’m dropping the dime on you bartering bodies in a heartbeat!”

  “Fair enough pale face!” Coal said, accepting the bottle back.

  The half-breed raised the bottle to his lips, but the sound of crunching gravel cut him off. Coal pulled his saber on reflex as Kyle leapt to his feet.

  “I have a message to deliver, it’s for Kyle and Coal,” a voice called.

  A Black Jacket stepped out of the darkness, moving towards the fire.

  “What in the fuck is wrong with you? That’s a good way to get your fucking head cut off, coming out of the darkness all of a sudden like that!” Coal shouted.

  The Black Jacket’s eyes grew wide as they fixed on the saber Coal still held at th
e ready.

  “I, I was just…” the man stammered.

  “Don’t listen to him, he’s just drunk,” Kyle said, reaching out and taking the note.

  “I’m not, in fact, I’m barely even buzzed,” Coal shouted defensively. Then looking down and realizing that he was still holding the bottle of booze, moved it behind his back and out of sight.

  “Thank you,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah thank you, now fuck off,” Coal added.

  The Black Jacket eyed the Indian warily and then turning, walked back out into the darkness. Kyle looked up from the folder paper and gave Coal a look.

  “What?” the half-breed asked, “Him showing up like that nearly killed my buzz!” Coal said, sheathing his saber and pulling the bottle back out.

  Kyle retook his seat by the fire now holding the paper up to read in the faint light.

  “What does it say?” Coal asked.

  “Not much, it’s from Miles, he’s going to be at the Council meeting tomorrow. He wants us to both be there.”

  “Why? What are they going to be bitching about tomorrow?”

  “No idea, it doesn’t say,” Kyle replied.

  “Fuck that, I’m off the clock when the sun comes up. You go, tell me if anything interesting happens.”

  “I seem to remember you used to like going to those meetings,” Kyle pointed out.

  “That was back when they was paying me to kill folks, now they are just boring.”

  “You mean boring because you can’t toss severed heads across the room anymore?” Kyle asked grinning.

  “Yeah, like I said, fucking boring.”

  Ulterior Motives

  Jackson stood just outside of the double doors leading into the city council’s chambers. As always, the councilman wore a set of city’s issued blue overalls. What was new was the length of dark steel pipe he wore on a loop at his belt.

  “Jackson,” Kyle said with a nod.

  Upon seeing the scavenger, Jackson’s whole body seemed to stiffen, and he quickly glanced down the hallway.