The Glass Mountains: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 2

by J. V. Roberts

  “Is that…”

  “It’s exactly what you think it is.”

  A thermonuclear warhead: a large, silver cylinder with a numerical keypad, electronic display, and bundles of wires weaving in and out of the body.

  Caldwell fell to his knees, dropping the torch. “How long has this been here?”

  “Long before Genesis, as far as we know. It’s okay. I looked and sounded much like you when Hause showed me the device.” Hause had let him in on the secret shortly after he’d promoted him to Defense Minister.

  Caldwell skirted around the opening to where Dan was, his eyes never leaving the nuke. “Is it still active?”

  Dan’s fingers danced across the keypad to a chorus of sharp beeps. A string of four red zeroes appeared on the display.

  “I don’t believe it.” Caldwell was eyeing the device as if it were a coiled serpent, ready to strike at the first hint of movement. “This thing could destroy us.”

  Dan shook his head. “It’s a beast, but it’s been tamed. It doesn’t bite unless we tell it to.”

  Caldwell flopped to the ground, legs crossed, overcome with paralytic wonder. “I can’t believe I’ve never…” he shook his head. “Who knows about this?”

  “Two people,” Dan held up the fingers to match his words, “and now three.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I trust you,” Dan spoke as if the point should have been obvious. “If, for some reason, I go down, you need to know what cards we hold. This right here,” Dan slapped a firm hand against the metal body, “is how we’re going to win; it’s our ace. This is why Hause will never overrun us, so long as I’m still breathing. He knows I’ve got my finger on the button and he doesn’t know whether I’ll press it or not.”

  “Would you?”

  “You tell me.”

  Caldwell’s eyes met Dan’s for a fleeting moment and dropped away as if he were afraid of finding the answer. “So are you going to show me how to work this thing?”

  “This stays between us.”

  Caldwell gave a single nod.

  “This isn’t just a bluff. This is an active nuclear weapon. There may come a time that we’re being overrun, a time when you’re neck deep in the shit, and you have to make a tough call. Think you’re up to it?”

  Caldwell nodded. “But I won’t let it get to that point. We’re going to win this.”

  “Of course we are. Now let’s get back upstairs and try to get some rest.”

  13

  Dominic held firm to the horse as it cut across the Wastes, its hoofs pounding rhythmically against the scorched earth, following the prod of Dominic’s heels. The shells of cars, shattered rock formations, abandoned hovels, and small settlements streaked past him on either side as he raced east, towards the Glass Mountains. Once the Towers had vanished from sight, he halted the gallop and slid from the steed’s back. “Thanks for saving my ass.”

  The horse dipped its head.

  Dominic did a quick check of his chest, torso, and back, twisting his body from side-to-side, searching for something that felt like a bullet hole. But there was nothing beyond the usual stiffness and scars. “Union boys still can’t shoot for shit.” The hollow rattle of a bronze bell, whinnying, and the sound of wobbly cart wheels navigating the uneven ground, broke Dominic from his self-evaluation.

  A scrap merchant appeared from behind the horse, leading a skinny mule by the snout. The mule was pulling a shallow cart of goods, covered up by a tattered blue cloth. “I was wondering if I’d catch up to you.” The lanky, leathery man was short of breath as if he’d been running to keep up. “You don’t see too many of these around no more; this is a treat.” The merchant reached a bony hand towards the rounded belly of the horse, pausing halfway, looking to Dominic for permission.

  “Go on, suit yourself.”

  The merchant let loose a goofy little laugh and took to scrubbing the horse’s shallow curtain of hair, stopping every now and then to slap at the sheet of lean muscle beneath. “It’s something, man. Something magnificent. I mean, just look at them eyes. Smarter than me or you, I’d bet my ass on it.”

  “Not a bet I’m willing to take.” Dominic was watching the merchant close, still getting a read on him, keeping an eye out for any other signs of company. The pistol resting against the small of his back was of some comfort. He hadn’t had time to check the magazine; there was always a certain amount of faith involved in pulling the trigger.

  “It’s not like this stupid bastard,” the merchant said kicking his heel back towards the mule he’d been pulling. “It’d run my load straight over a cliff if I wasn’t guiding the reins.”

  “Pulls the cart at least.”

  “I suppose it does.” The merchant slid his hands from the horse, turning his attention to Dominic. “It yours?”

  “I borrowed it.”

  He gave a knowing smile. “I see. Explains why you were in such a hurry.”

  “The deal sort of fell through.”

  “And I can’t help but notice you’re absent a shirt.”

  “I’ve got the horse, the boots on my feet, the pants on my ass, and a gun.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he took a step back towards his cart. “You were a Saboteur?” the merchant asked, his voice a little shaky.

  Dominic raised a hand to the chain and anchor tattooed across his neck and chest. “I was, yes.”

  The merchant held up a finger. “I’ve got something for you, just wait right there.”

  Dominic put a hand behind his back and wrapped his fingers around the pistol as the man slipped his head beneath the cloth and began burrowing through the cart.

  “Ah, here we go.” The man came back up for air with a package wrapped in brown paper, held together with frayed twine. “For your courageous service to our land, good sir.” The merchant took a little bow as he offered up the gift.

  Dominic touched the wrapping paper with hesitancy as if it might burn or bite him. He wasn’t used to the kindness of strangers. Finally, after much hesitancy, Dominic accepted. “What is it?”

  “A deal that fell through, as you might say. Now it’s yours. Go ahead, open it up.”

  Dominic snapped the twine and let it freefall away. Beneath the wrapping, he found a shirt: pitch black, foggy white buttons, stiff collar. “This is a damn fine piece of craftsmanship.”

  “It was originally meant for this guy over in this little settlement northwest of here. He put in an order with me two months back, just said he wanted something nice, offered me a fat sack of coin to get it for him. Found it buried in an old shelter. Anyway, that town, they got run through a week or so back, bandits burned pretty much everything to the ground, guy that placed the order was killed.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any coin to give you.” The shirt fit tight around Dominic’s chest and biceps.

  “None would be accepted. I meant what I said. It’s my gift to you, for your service to our people.”

  Dominic dipped his head, feeling a bit bashful about accepting charity. “Well, it’s much appreciated,” he said as he worked on the final button.

  “Least I can do. The name’s Ronan; adventurer and merchant.”

  “Dominic. I’ve got no titles.”

  Ronan grasped his hand. “Once a Saboteur, always a Saboteur.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s not filling my belly.”

  Ronan moved back to the cart, taking control of the mule as the sun set over the horizon and shadows began creeping across their feet. “I only have the shirt to offer. But a man in my business comes across many places. These places are filled with people willing to pay good coin for a man with your particular skill set.”

  “I don’t need the coin. I need food, water, and guns.”

  “Going to war again?”

  “Something like that.”

  Ronan considered him with a sly smile. “These men have guns.”

  “It sounds like I need to meet these men. Would you mind pointing the way?”


  Ronan let loose a hearty laugh and yanked the reins. “You’ve caught me on a most fortunate day, my friend. It’s my very next stop. Care to share the road?”

  Dominic scaled the horse with some difficulty. “You lead and I’ll follow.”

  ***

  The sun had fallen from the sky and had been replaced with rivers of green and pink and purple. As Dominic and Ronan moved through the seedy settlement, men stumbled through the narrow streets, shouting slurred obscenities. Whores pulled their prey into the shadows between the buildings and hiked up their skirts, their moans of fabricated pleasure flowing out to meet them as they passed by.

  While other settlements across the Wastes were asleep, this one was still hammering away; the music, laughter, and frequent gunshots were all part of the charm. Fights broke out and ended just as quickly, the opponents often sharing overfilled cups of dark brew in the name of peace. Open air markets operated from street corners and porches of seemingly abandoned buildings, the prices of goods rising and falling as fast as the merchants could move their lips.

  Ronan knew everyone; clumsy hugs and uneven handshakes greeted his every step. “Evening, Mags.” He waved to a voluptuous, strawberry-haired whore. She responded by puckering her lips and rolling her skirt up, revealing the silver stiletto strapped around the top of her pale, meaty thigh. “That woman won’t rest until she gets a taste of my cock. One day, my friend, I will have the coin to grant her desires.”

  “Looks like she wants to keep it.” Dominic watched as her fingers caressed the thin blade.

  Ronan spit into the dirt, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “Nah, she just likes to show the thorns, it keeps the bad ones away, she’s all flower underneath.” Another handshake. Another friendly nod of recognition.

  “You the mayor of this place?”

  “This place? You don’t know what this is, do you?”

  “You’ve got me at a disadvantage.”

  “You won’t find any mayors here, or priests, or counsels, or ladies bouncing their babies, you won’t even find settlers. Hell, even the barkeep rotates out month-to-month.” Ronan led their two-man procession up to a well-lit hovel with an attached porch; a group of drunken men were leaning against the wobbly railing. “This here is a layover for caravan riders and merchants. This place goes day and night.”

  “Reminds me of this place I know, in the unknown settlements.”

  “I don’t get out there much.”

  “It’s called Skarwood. It’s a bit bigger, but it’s got the same spirit about it.”

  Dominic hopped down from the horse, looping the reins around a post in front of the porch. Ronan did the same with his mule. A couple of the drunkards had started to take notice of the horse and were making noises with their mouths to try to catch its attention.

  “If anyone has a line on some work, it’s these guys. And if anyone can get you the tools you need, it’s these guys.” Ronan was beginning to look a bit nervous about all of the attention Dominic and the horse were attracting. “Just stay cool and follow my lead, let me do the talking. These guys can get a bit rowdy, but they don’t mean nothing by it. Just give them some time to get warmed up to you.”

  “Like I said, you lead the way, I’ll follow.”

  The crowd at the top of the steps separated as Ronan and Dominic ascended. One of the drunkards that had watched them pull up was hanging over the side of the railing while his friends cackled and held onto his ankles to keep him from falling. He had one arm outstretched, his fingers straining for a feel of the horse’s snout.

  Keep your cool. Just keep your cool.

  There was no door separating the exterior from the interior of the establishment, just a tall, rectangle-shaped opening, outlined by a gleam of torchlight, which gave way to a smoke clogged room filled with the sounds of raucous laughter and breaking glass. The bar, a half circle of petrified wood, held together by rusty nails, was under siege by a crowd that went three deep and stretched from one side of the room to the other. They were all yelling their drink orders and waving their fists. Ronan broke through the back layer of bodies, his arms stretched out in front of his chest, hands pressed together as if he were praying, using the tips of his fingers to part the sweaty, fleshy sea.

  “Coming through guys, got important business!” Ronan announced, creating a space so narrow that Dominic had to turn sideways to fit.

  “We’ve all got important business, you little fuck!” A set of hairy knuckles closed around the back of Ronan’s collar.

  Dominic didn’t even bother checking who the hand belonged to. He grabbed the stranger’s wrist and twisted it backward as he pulled him from the crowd. He looked like a typical Wasteland cut-throat: unwashed and unmannered. He took a slow, inebriated swing at Dominic with his free hand. Dominic dodged right and slammed his left knee into the man’s soft belly, taking the air right out of him. The man was coughing and holding his gut as Dominic let him topple to the ground.

  “Whoa, hang on now, let’s just keep moving.” Ronan grabbed Dominic by the arm. “That’s not the kind of attention we need.”

  Dominic rounded on the mob, all of them now cracking their knuckles and weighing their chances. He followed Ronan close, turning circles, keeping his eyes peeled for incoming fists and feet.

  “Well, what do you know, it’s Ronan. I didn’t think I’d see you back here so soon. Who’s your friend?” the bartender asked.

  Dominic set his elbows on the counter. “Call me friend.”

  The bartender eyed Dominic from behind a husky beard. “Alright, friend, are you planning on fucking with any more of my patrons?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether they fuck with me.”

  “Next time you think of raising a hand in here, think about this first.” The bartender lifted his shirt up over his belly and revealed a high-caliber revolver in his waistband.

  “You should stick to slinging drinks; I’d hate to see you get hurt.” Dominic raised the black button down just enough to reveal the wood grain grip of Dan’s pistol.

  “Hang on now, guys,” Ronan sliced the air between them, “put your dicks away, no need to get piss everywhere.”

  They lowered their shirts, staring each other down like two wild dogs.

  “There we go, that’s better. Round of drinks on me. Set them up.” Ronan slapped a handful of coin down as the bartender lined up three shot glasses and poured. “Don’t be stingy with it.” He lingered over the glasses, ignoring the bartender’s scowl. Ronan shuffled the glasses around, jostling the liquor. “One for you, one for you, and one for me. Here’s to not shooting each other,” it was a lonely toast. Dominic and the bartender left their glasses untouched. Ronan shrugged, belched, and wiped his mouth.

  “So, Ronan,” the bartender finally emptied his glass, a few droplets of pale liquid were left dangling from his mustache, “where are my plates?”

  “Axel, my friend,” Ronan held out his arms as if he were about to go in for a hug, “day and night I search for them, and I’ll keep searching. I’ve fought off heat, rain, bandits, and hunger. I will not sleep until I have found your plates.”

  “You better not be fucking with me.” Axel jabbed the top of the bar, his finger thick with calluses. “My wife is all over me about those plates. I paid you good coin.”

  “Relax, my friend, you will have your plates and your wife will be very happy.”

  “So, Axel is your name?” Dominic raised his eyebrows over the top of his shot glass before downing the contents in a single swig.

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  “You got a pack of Blues, Axel?”

  “Oh,” Axel had been expecting another challenge. “Yeah, we got Blue’s. What else is there?” He collected the empty glasses and dropped them back beneath the bar, reemerging with a pack of cigarettes, with blue stripes drawn across the front of the cardboard, and a pack of matches.

  “Ronan, you mind?” Dominic tilt
ed his head towards Axel’s open palm.

  Ronan slid three coins across the bar. “You want a pork dinner too? Maybe a blowjob?”

  “Later, perhaps.” Dominic took one of the cigarettes between his lips and set a flame to it, releasing a contented sigh as he exhaled a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. “That tastes good.” He sucked some of the smoke back in before releasing it again. “It’s been too long.”

  The men behind them were growing louder and pressing in tighter, yelling orders for drinks and cigarettes, punctuated by threats of violence.

  “Alright, you boys need to get on; I’ve got a full house and a lot of empty glasses to fill.”

  “Wait, one second,” Ronan reached out as Axel began to move away. “My friend here is looking for work, thought you might have a line on something.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Anything that pays,” Dominic said, letting his cigarette fall to the floor, extinguishing it with the toe of his boot.

  “You willing to get your hands dirty?”

  “They’ve never been clean.”

  Axel gave Dominic a good once over, his fingers buried in his beard, scratching at the bugs that no doubt nested around his jaw line. “Okay, tough guy, go talk to Mr. Randall,” he pointed over their heads towards the back right corner of the room, “sure he’ll have something for you.”

  “Wait, Randall the Cannibal?” Ronan’s voice trembled.

  “That’d be him. Now I’ve got work, fuck off on out of here.”

  “We’ll have to find you something else,” Ronan said, shaking his head at Dominic.

  “No, I want to meet this Mr. Randall.” The crowd seemed to instinctually part for Dominic; one of the benefits of being the biggest guy in the room.

  Ronan ran after him, grabbing at his arms, tugging at his shirt, doing whatever he could to stop him; he may as well have been trying to uproot the Genesis Towers with his bare hands. “You don’t want to mix it up with this guy. He’s bad news, the baddest news in the Wastes.”