Coal nodded and grinned, “Well I guess it’s for the best, I didn’t want to have to rough up a fellow Mormon anyways.”
As Coal and Kyle slowly made their way through the canyon, nearly a hundred feet above them, The Seeker watched intently. Having traveled through the area many times before he had recognized the signs and taken shelter before the storm struck. He had hoped to come across his prey unaware and hopelessly stuck in a sand drift this morning. Instead, he found them on the move and worse yet, down in the canyons. For a moment The Seeker considered finding a way down and ending the hunt here and now, but finally, he shook his head rejecting the idea. Finding a way down would take time, the men in the buggy could be miles away by the time he climbed down there. Also, the third man, the one supposedly wounded was nowhere to be seen. He may be dead, but the Seeker would have to know for sure before he struck. He dared not return to the Masters shy even one head.
The Seeker stood and smiled, he would continue to play the game his way, he decided. He would choose the ground, and his prey would come to him. Thankfully, he knew from here there was only one place the men could be headed and only one road that would take them there. Traveling inside the Protectorate was always a risk, but in this case, it was one that the Seeker was willing to take.
Little Bird peered inside at what remained of the ruined RV and complained, “This idea is starting to seem a little more ridiculous with each passing hour.”
“That’s what you said at the last place,” Laughing dog reminded her.
“Well it was true then, and it’s even truer now.”
The elders meandering tour of the desert had taken them to half a dozen forgotten places over the length of the day. An abandoned mine, a burned down ranch just to name a few and now finally to this add assortment of vehicles rusting in the sun. Most of the place appeared long abandoned even before the collapse.
“What were these cars doing out here in the middle of nowhere anyway?” Little Bird asked.
“From all the broken glassware inside that RV, my guess would be cooking meth.”
The old woman wrinkled her nose and stepping back out into the fading light, she slammed the door of the RV behind her. “I think we’ve seen enough.”
Without another word, the pair remounted their horses and began riding south east again at a steady trot. Ride out for half an hour and then mark a slow circle of the Res, looking for a place that could shelter 50 warriors and their horses. Sitting around her kitchen table the plan made sense, but after riding across this god awful terrain for half a day with an aching backside, she was starting to realize just how idiotic an idea it was. The land that encompassed the Indian Nation wasn’t just flat, featureless wasteland, though there was plenty of that. That half hour ride could include canyons, washes, scrubland, and cliffs. While much of it looked flat from a distance, it was actually very uneven terrain. A skilled warrior like Two-Steps could hide a thousand Braves in terrain like this, let alone 50. If you didn’t know where to look you would never find them, until you rode over a small rise that you didn’t realize was even there, and you found yourself surrounded.
“There are some canyons up ahead on our left. It’s been years since I’ve been down there and that place can be a real maze. I say we give it a quick once over and then head back. I don’t want to be caught out here alone at night,” Laughing Dog said.
“You wouldn’t be alone,” Little bird pointed out.
“I know, that’s the part that scares me. I don’t want people getting the wrong idea that I’m out here having a tryst with an awnry old bitch like you.”
The old woman smiled, “Don’t worry Laughing Dog, no one would think that. Everyone knows you haven’t been able to get it up in years.”
The old man chuckled, and the pair rode towards the rocky outcroppings that marked the entrance to canyons. The pair slowed their mounts to a walk and then rounding the first bend in the canyon immediately froze. There kneeling in the shade of the rock wall sat Chief Two-Steps. He was adorned in war paint, one half of his face painted red and the other white. On his head, he wore a traditional war bonnet with a tail of eagle feathers that reached down the entire length of his back. The chief held a large hunting knife in his hand and was casually whittling away at a bit of wood. The chief looked up and gave them what could only be described as a sad smile.
“Run!” Little Bird shouted.
The old woman pulled the head of her horse around ready to flee but found the canyon behind them blocked. Four mounted Braves were slowly riding up the canyon, they were all older warriors, all men that Little Bird recognized. While each held a spear, for the moment at least, none of them were pointed at her.
“I have to admit, I underestimated you, both you. I apologize for that,” Two-Steps said.
Little Bird wheeled her horse back around to face the Chief, while Laughing Dog sat motionless on his horse. Though he didn’t say a word, Little Bird could almost sense that famous anger welling up inside the old man.
“I never expected any of you to come out here and look for yourselves, though really there isn’t that much to see. I did however set out sentries, just in case anyone happened by. They spotted the two of you a few hours ago. We had to hurry things along, but once again, it seems you’re a step behind Little Bird.”
Two-Steps tossed away the bit of wood and climbing to his feet he said, “Well, come on then. You came this far you may as well have a look.”
The Chief mounted his horse and began to slowly ride deeper into the canyon. With the group of Braves riding behind them, Little Bird and Laughing Dog were left with little choice but to follow. After only a few minutes the little party turned and entered into a narrow gorge that was barely wide enough for a single rider. After a dozen feet the gorge opened up into a wide box canyon, and immediately Little Bird knew this is where Two-Steps must have been hiding his new warriors.
All along one wall of the canyon a makeshift series of sunshades had been erected, made from bits of rusting metal and other desert scraps. A large fire pit, though now cold, sat nearby. Against the back wall of the canyon, she could see the water glistening in the sunlight as it trickled from a crack in the wall. The area all around it was surrounded by a two-foot-high mudbrick wall, designed to catch the water and give the horses a place to drink. With that in mind, Little Bird looked around and realize that she could only see about a half a dozen horses and warriors wandering about the canyon.
Unable to contain herself any longer Little Bird asked, “And where are all your newly minted Braves?”
“They are out fulfilling the will of their Chief.”
“But you’re not with them?” Laughing Dog asked.
“Sadly no.”
“Then why are you all dressed up?”
“Because a little inspiration goes a long way, especially with the youth Laughing Dog.”
Two-Steps reached the fire-pit and stepped down off of his horse. The warriors that remained in the canyon slowly began to gather around the Chief and their unexpected visitors. As Little Bird looked around at their faces, she began to realize something, just like the riders in the canyon these were all men, all experienced warriors. Many of them she had known since childhood before they had even lifted a spear. Two-Steps saw the old woman’s gaze and turned to look at the gathering of Braves himself.
“What do you see Little Bird?” he asked.
Without hesitation, the old woman replied, “I see men. Each of them proud warriors of the Indian Nation.”
“Yes,” Two-Steps said, smiling with pride. “Perhaps the greatest warriors on earth, on foot or mounted. But that’s part of the problem you see.”
“That only sounds like a problem if you’re an enemy of the Nation,” Laughing Dog pointed out.
“It’s a problem because learning all of the skills necessary to become a great warrior takes years to master. Using a spear, a bow, a knife is hard enough, but then you have to learn to do all of those things from horseback,
while only using your thighs to guide the animal. Then there is everything else, tracking, concealment, tactics, it’s really no wonder the nation has never had more than about 30 warriors at any given time. They have to master all of this and then inevitably some will die in combat, others in accidents, sometimes they will quarrel and kill each other, and eventually, like you, they’ll grow old,” Two-Steps explained.
“It’s always been enough to protect our people and our territory before,” Little Bird pointed out.
“It has,” the Chief admitted. “And that is why our people will never be more than they are right now. We stopped expanding, stopped growing as a people, but you see, our enemies have not.”
“What enemies?”
“Out here, an enemy is anyone that takes up resources that our people could use. The raiders out in the wastes, the whites in their town and even those cannibals out west.”
“Your father didn’t see it that way, and neither did your brother,” Laughing Dog said.
“They didn’t, but they are dead now, and I’m the Chief, and that’s the way I see it.”
“Two-Steps, in God's name, what did you do?” Little Bird demanded.
“Like I said, it takes years to turn a man into a real warrior. But the young men of our people are unique in other ways. By the time they reach their teens they are trustworthy, self-reliant and usually skilled with a blade. That may not amount to much out here in the open desert, but under the right circumstances, they can be fierce fighters indeed.”
“I’m telling you, Jasper is going to be lucky if the Chief just kicks the living shit out of him and busts him down to patrol for that little stunt,” the first Black Jacket said.
“That fucking mutey kid is nothing but trouble. He had it coming,” the second replied.
The two Black Jackets stood their post a block down from the tower, next to a burn barrel that marked the end of Main St.
“The kid is like 110lbs soaking wet, and you’re telling me….”
The guard’s words were cut off by the sound of running feet coming out of the darkness. On sheer reflex, both men reached for their batons. Out of the shadows, a boy came into view, he was running hard, and upon seeing the two Black Jackets, he slowed. In his fist, the boy gripped a white piece of paper, “I have a message from Chief Rincone, and it’s urgent!”
“Well then bring it here kid,” the first guard said stepping forward.
The dark-haired boy was dressed in rags, and as he stepped into the light, he held out the crumpled piece of paper for the guard to take. Without a second thought the guard reached out for the note, but just before he touched it, the paper slipped from the boy’s hand. The Black Jacket reached for it on instinct and never saw the boy’s other hand drive the knife up into his stomach. The second guard tried to draw his nightstick and managed half of a curse before a second boy stepped out of the darkness behind him and stabbed him in the back. A moment later a third appeared with a knife in hand, and the darkness was filled with the sounds of knives stabbing onto flesh and the choking of dying men.
A block away Anna sat bolt upright in Miles’ bed. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Then Juan jumped down from the top bunk, and she nearly screamed. The boy moved across the room in the darkness and lit a lamp sitting on the workbench. Recognizing Juan and the inside of the Miles’ shack brought it all back to her. The riot, Juan’s sham trial and her determination to help him run the pump at least one more day. Anna opened her mouth to speak, but the mute raised a hand to silence her. It seemed whatever had awakened her Juan had heard as well.
The doctor went quiet her eyes turning towards the door as she strained to hear anything unusual. The minutes drug on until Anna had nearly convinced herself that she had imagined the sound, whatever it was. All she could hear now was the pounding of her own heart and the occasional creak of the old shack. She was about to say as much when Juan slowly reached over and turned the knob on the lamp until the flame sputtered and died.
The boy padded barefoot across the darkened room and knelt beside the door. Picking up a wooden wedge he slid it firmly beneath the door as quietly as he could. Turning the boy found Anna crawling out of her bunk, “Juan,” she whispered, “What is it?”
The boy held a finger up to his lips, though in the darkness he wasn’t sure just how much good it did. Juan found her hand and led her across the room to stand just in front of the workbench and what little light the window above provided. Juan pointed to himself and then to the window.
“You can’t be serious?” Anna whispered.
Juan nodded again and then he pointed at Anna before pointing at the floor sharply.
“Why do I have to stay here?” she demanded.
Juan pointed at her and then to her swollen belly, before gesturing towards the floor again.
“What is with all of you fucking men? I'm pregnant not an invalid!” she hissed.
The boy turned and then carefully climbed up on to the cluttered workbench, doing his best to avoiding stepping on or bumping into any of the tools scattered across its surface. Juan’s fingers found the window’s rusty latch in the darkness and as quietly as he could he pushed it outward and slipped out. The boy landed in crouch wincing, suddenly missing his shoes as several small stones cut into the soles of his feet. The boy began to creep down the length of the shack, trying to keep to the shadows and move as quietly as he could.
Reaching the edge of the shack, Juan carefully peered around the corner and looked toward the gates on the other side of the compound. He could see the two burn barrel’s there, each crackling away and casting the base of the tower in a shifting light. For a moment the sight of the burning barrels gave Juan a glimmer of hope and made him ask himself if perhaps he was just overacting, perhaps he had imagined the odd noises that had awoken him. Those hopes were dashed a moment later when Juan realized something was missing, where were the Black Jackets? There should be four men on that gate day or night.
Then for a moment, caught in the flicker of the barrels light Juan saw movement at the base of the tower. He stared for a moment and then realized he could see not just one, but several men moving underneath the tower, between the steel legs, and towards the tower’s far side. He couldn’t see the men very clearly, but he could tell they were doing their best to move quietly, and they were all wearing dark clothing. Anger suddenly flared to life in Juan’s chest. Those Black Jacket bastards! That’s why the men at the gate were gone, they were too busy trying to steal water from the tower. Juan shook his head in disbelief, this could only be the council’s idea. They knew they weren't going to get any more water from him, he had told them as much, so they were going to come in at night and take what they wanted.
Juan was on his feet in a heartbeat and went trudging across the compound in the darkness, now more angry than frightened. He knew he couldn’t do much to stop a dozen men if they wanted to take the water by force, but perhaps he could shame them into reconsidering the council’s orders. He was a dozen paces from the base of the tower when something struck him as out of place. Juan took two more hesitant steps before his bare foot stepped on something in the darkness and he bent down to pick it up. To his surprise, he found a length of thick rope. One end was cut cleanly while the other seemed to still be tied to the tower.
Juan’s eyes went wide, he turned a half circle in the dark and realized what was missing. The spider web of cables and lines they had attached just the day before were gone, all of them. Why would the Black Jackets cut them? Were Rincone’s men intentionally trying to destroy the water tower? Was Jasper behind this? Could he hate Juan enough to endanger the whole town? The boy reached down in the darkness again, blindly feeling around for any other cut lines. Then his hand discovered something larger in the darkness. He couldn’t tell exactly what it was at first until his hand brushed across smooth leather and came away coated in warm blood.
The boy leaped backward dropping the length of rope and trying to scream. Juan t
urned ready to flee, but a figure was standing there in the darkness. In shock, the boy took a few halting steps backward and in the shifting light of the burn barrels, he could just make out other figures as well. They were swarming around the base of the tower. The man standing in front of him took another step forward, and in the shadows, he realized it wasn’t a man, but a boy.
“You should have stayed in bed Juan,” Allen said.
Juan’s jaw dropped open in surprise only to snap shut a split second later as Allen’s fist connected with his face. The mute staggered backward and tripped over the body of the dead Black Jacket in the darkness. Juan scrambled to try and get up and run, but Allen was ready and sent a kick into the smaller boy’s midsection knocking the air from him.
“I told them it would be easier if we just left you alone in your little shack. That if we killed all the guards but left you alive that maybe your own people would think you had something to do with it.”
Juan got back up to his knees, and for his trouble, Allen punched him across the face again sending the boy spinning.
“But If I was being honest with myself, I would have realized that I was just trying to spare your life. Do you know what thinking like that is Juan? It's a weakness, and it’s just like a disease. Your people are filled with it, infected by it and you spread it to anyone that gets too close to you.”
Allen took a step forward and kicked out at Juan again, but this time the boy was ready, and he rolled to the side. Allen stumbled, nearly collapsing in the darkness. He spun around with his knife in hand but in the shadows saw Juan running towards the shack. The young brave let out a fierce war cry and chased after Juan. From out of the darkness a dozen or more cries echoed Allen’s call, and even though he was running for his life, Juan had the peace of mind to realize that the shout was a signal of some kind. But the thought was short lived as a heartbeat later Allen tackled into him from behind smashing him face first up against the wall of the shack. Juan gasped for breath and wanted nothing more than to collapse to the ground and pass out, but Allen held him upright.
The Road North Page 32
