Badlands: A Post-Apocalyptic Journey

by Nathan Jones

  She hadn't outright spoken of the mountain man to Simon yet, and when she saw how his face immediately darkened angrily she was glad she hadn't. “I suppose now's as good a time as any to talk about that,” he growled.

  Kristy blinked. “Um, what?”

  The redheaded man glared at her, catching her arm before she could escape. “About why you've been cold and distant all day. About why you're always checking to see where Trapper is, looking for him. Trying to go to him. Just what happened between the two of you while I was gone?”

  She gave him an indignant look, unable to believe he was accusing her of this. “What happened was he saved my life and my son's life, and led us safely to Newpost. Then he saved you and got us the means to get safely back to Grand Junction.”

  Simon's scowl deepened. “Yeah yeah, he's a real hero. That's why you gave him a big old hug the moment you saw him.” He shook her arm slightly, looking on the verge of losing it. “Or did this thing with him start even before the bandits attacked us? Was that why you followed his signal and ran away instead of coming to me?”

  She stared at him in shock, wondering where this was coming from. What had happened to the kind, understanding man she'd grown close to before the attack? She knew he'd been through a lot these past few weeks, but even so this seemed completely unlike him.

  Or had he been this way all along, and she'd just refused to see it? Her shock quickly gave way to anger. “I ran away because he warned us that danger was coming that we couldn't handle.” She yanked free of his grip. “And he was right. Meanwhile you called me a stupid woman for listening to him and herded everyone together like cattle at a slaughterhouse.”

  Simon gave her a stricken look, although she noticed more than a bit of sullenness as well. “I was trying to protect you!” he protested.

  Kristy wanted to relent in the face of such obvious pain, but then she thought of the others he had tried to protect. Poor Bob beaten half to death, and Vicky and Val and the other women. And the children forced to witness who knew what horrors.

  It might not have changed things if Simon had listened to Tom's warning instead of trying to fight, but then again it might've changed everything. Especially for any of the others who managed to flee in time.

  “I know you were, Simon,” she said quietly. She opened her mouth to continue, to let him know just how he'd failed her and the rest of the convoy.

  But before she could he smiled in relief and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened in his arms, but either he didn't notice or pretended not to. “Oh Kristy, I'm so glad you understand.”

  Kristy tried to pull away, but when he refused to let go she was forced to yank free of his grip again. Which wasn't hard with all his formerly impressive muscles wasted away to almost nothing. “Is it true you attacked Tom earlier, tried to blame him for the attack after he saved you?” she demanded.

  The redheaded man's expression twisted from relief back to anger. “Trapper again! What're you so interested in him for? You still haven't told me what's between you.”

  She did her best to keep calm, but the roller coaster emotions of the past couple days overwhelmed her and at last she lost her cool at the redheaded man. “After all he's done for me, for all of us, why shouldn't I be interested in the fact that you attacked him like a petulant child?”

  The hurt returned, as if she'd confirmed some suspicion of his. “What about what we had?” he asked quietly. “I felt like we really belonged together. I still do.”

  Kristy hesitated. She didn't want to pile anything on the man when he'd already suffered so much. And she knew she wasn't being entirely fair to him, either. But whatever spark she'd felt with him before the attack had faded in the time since.

  And then been practically stamped out by the way he'd been acting today, honestly. “I'm sorry,” she said again. She knew it was cowardly but she turned away, eager to escape this unpleasant conversation and get to Tom while she could still catch him alone.

  It seemed like Simon had other ideas. He caught her arm again, obviously also having lost his cool. “Is that the kind of woman you are, then?” he nearly shouted. “A couple months after your husband of ten years dies you're ready to jump into my arms. And three weeks after I'm out of the picture you've already spread your legs for that-”

  Kristy slapped him, hard.

  In his weakened state it was enough to make him stagger, forced to use his grip on her elbow just to stay on his feet. For a few seconds he swayed clumsily, looking at her with wide eyes. During that time she yanked free of him and stepped backwards. She was well aware they'd probably drawn every eye by now, but at the moment she didn't care.

  “We did have something,” she snapped, sounding less composed than she would've liked. “I suppose I didn't see it back then, or maybe it took real hardship to bring it out of you. But either way I don't like what you're showing me, Simon. I think it's best we end it now, with no more unpleasantness.”

  She continued to walk away, and this time he let her go. But he had other ideas about how to end things, too, shouting obscenities and outrageous accusations after her and calling her all sorts of vile names. Kristy wanted to go back and slap him again, but she forced herself to ignore him and kept walking, trying to keep her head high under the torrent of abuse as members of the convoy stared between them with wide eyes.

  Maybe this was uncharacteristic for Simon, just the horror of what he'd experienced surfacing in a less than flattering way. But even so Kristy couldn't help but feel like she'd dodged a bullet calling things off with him.

  Although what she really thought was that after all his outward charm and supposed kindness, he was finally showing her his true self. A self she hadn't seen back during her travels, like when he'd given her some of Tom's hunted meat as if it was his own present. Or when he'd given her and her friends the horse when it could've been put to other uses to help the entire convoy. Or how quick he was to get handsy, how he always tried to push for more than she was ready to give.

  Maybe the complaints back then were true, and he really had shown her special treatment just to get in her pants. It was easier to imagine that now.

  To Kristy's disappointment she saw that Tom was already back behind the wheel of the first truck. He was studiously avoiding looking in her and Simon's direction, and as the redheaded man continued to rant and curse behind her he abruptly began honking the truck's horn.

  Then he leaned out, still avoiding looking her way. “Break's over, folks! Let's get into the mountains before we stop again!” He waved at a young man lounging against the front of the truck. “Brandon, our second driver seems indisposed. Take the wheel of the other truck, will you?”

  Brandon gave the mountain man an amused look. “I was nine when the nukes flew, Trapper! I don't know how to drive one of these.”

  Tom waved irritably at the ripple of laughter from the onlookers, most of which probably came more from a desire to relieve the tension caused by Simon's outburst than because of amusement. “Someone who at some point had a driver's license, then,” he called dryly. He leaned down past the steering wheel and a moment later the truck rumbled to life.

  Kristy was disappointed she'd missed her chance to talk to him, but given her current mental state after her fight with Simon maybe that was for the best. She hurried back to the second truck and made her way back to her seat next to Vicky, who was still asleep with Lisa in her arms, and gently lifted her friend enough to settle in beside her.

  Then she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, letting the roiling emotions flow out of her as the truck rumbled to life and started forward.

  * * * * *

  It was well after dark by the time the flickering lights of Grand Junction, less than half of them electric from the town's improvised wind turbines, came into view.

  Tom breathed a silent sigh of relief that the grueling drive was finally over. Sure, compared to the poor folks crammed in back being one of the drivers was practically luxurious. But aft
er a night with no sleep followed by a tense drive, constantly on the lookout for enemy patrols, and holding his back in a position it wasn't familiar with for over sixteen hours, he felt like he'd been beaten with paddles all day.

  But it was finally over, and they had to count their blessings: they'd completed a trip that had taken them months on foot in less than a day.

  The arrival of two trucks to the trading hub caused more than a little stir. The residents of Grand Junction acted shocked, even alarmed, when Tom drove down Main Street, all disappearing into homes and shops or even fleeing down side streets where flickering gas lamps and electric lights hadn't yet been installed.

  An armed group quickly came out to meet them, blocking off the road a hundred or so feet ahead. They were led by Sheriff Gray Tucker, who was carrying what looked like a .50 caliber pistol; the man had trotted out a weapon that could punch through reinforced glass if necessary.

  Tom knew Gray well enough that he would've expected to be recognized when the man came up to the driver's side window, weapon held ready and his men all looking wary and trigger happy. But the sheriff just gave him a suspicious glare as Tom rolled down the window. “Business?” he snapped.

  “It hasn't been that long, Sheriff,” he said with a smile. “It's me, Tom.”

  The man did a double take. “Holy cow, it is!” He visibly relaxed, even chuckled as he motioned for his men to lower their weapons. “Tom Miller with a shave and a haircut. That's as big a surprise as you showing up in honest to goodness working trucks. You look twenty years younger!”

  “Yeah, people keep telling me the mountain man look doesn't work for me.” He started to open the door, and the sheriff backed away to give him space so he could hop down to the ground. He offered the man his hand. “Good to see you, Gray.”

  “And you.” As they shook the sheriff turned to look at the trucks. “Where the blazes did you get these?”

  “It's a long story, and it comes with bad news,” Tom replied grimly.

  “Wouldn't have something to do with these bandits in vehicles that the few surviving convoys to make it here in the last few weeks have been telling me about?” Gray asked in an equally grim voice.

  “I'm afraid it's much worse than just bandits,” Tom replied. There was the slam of a door as Brandon hopped down from the passenger's seat to join them, and he nodded the young man's way. “But first things first I've got close to sixty people in these trucks who need help, probably medical assistance as well. I freed them from the enemy soldiers who'd taken Newpost before they could be carted south as slaves.”

  Gray gaped at him. “Sounds like a story I can't wait to hear.” He obligingly turned to his men, barking orders for them to fetch the nearest doctor and gather blankets and water for the new arrivals.

  Over the next hour there was a flurry of activity as the exhausted convoy members were led to a couple big warehouses the sheriff and Grand Junction's Mayor generously repurposed for their temporary use. There they were provided clean clothes, blankets, and bedding, and water to wash up with. Soon after that a hot meal was whipped up by a hastily organized group of the city's residents to feed them all, and as they ate doctors checked everyone over and made recommendations for recovery from their ordeal.

  Tom, Gray, the Mayor, and several others from the convoy and Grand Junction took their meal outside one of the warehouses, gathered around the light of a propane lantern on one of the trucks' hoods. As they ate Tom recounted his side of the story, and Brandon and a few others told them what things had been like in captivity in Newpost.

  Unfortunately they hadn't learned much about the enemy soldiers. None of them spoke Spanish or Portuguese, and if any of their captors spoke English they hadn't bothered to communicate more than to bark orders at them or taunt them with insults. Mostly their life had been toil, deprivation, and unspeakable abuse.

  After some discussion most agreed that Tom's initial assumption that they were the remnants of a BRICKS nation that had either survived the Ultimatum or had rebuilt quickly was most likely. Either way it was obvious they'd been spreading north through South and Central America and were now invading into the territory formerly held by the United States.

  The question remained what to do about it, if they even could do anything about it. “So we either fight people a hundred years ahead of us in technology, or we give in and live short, miserable lives as slaves,” the Mayor said grimly.

  Gray nodded, expression sour. “A BRICKS nation somehow still kicking and invading us from the south. I'd have trouble believing it if you hadn't shown up in working trucks, bringing along a bunch of freed slaves.”

  “They're going to get here eventually,” Tom warned. “If they're raiding convoys in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico and southern Colorado then Grand Junction won't be safe for long.”

  “Hard to argue with that.” The Mayor stared off towards the south, expression steely. “I'll get the word out and we'll do what we can to prepare. When they do show up here they won't catch us by surprise, or find us easy pickings.”

  Tom nodded, although he had to wonder just how big a force they were facing. It could be that once the invaders faced determined resistance a few hundred soldiers with trucks and four wheelers might turn into a few thousand or even more, likely with tanks and other military vehicles.

  Either way it wasn't his concern; he wished the best for the folks in Grand Junction and everywhere else that faced attack by these enemy soldiers, but his road took him back to the Manti-La Sal mountains.

  He somehow doubted an invading force would be rolling around up there anytime soon.

  The conversation petered out after that, and people either drifted away or got back to helping the freed convoy prisoners. Tom was about to check to make sure everyone was comfortable and then find someplace to crash when Gray pulled him aside.

  “What's your plan for the trucks?” he asked in a low voice.

  Tom blinked. “They're running low on fuel, but I figure one will still get me back to Emery, along with any of the others who want to go back to Utah. I suppose the people from the convoy who decide to stay here will find something to do with the other one.”

  The sheriff chuckled dryly. “Trapper, you have any idea how valuable well maintained military trucks, with fuel to spare to boot, are? Especially when we're facing a likely invasion from enemies who already have such a huge advantage over us.”

  He had to admit he genuinely hadn't considered it, aside from in the sense that he realized how amazing it was to have working vehicles. He leaned against the nearest truck's bumper, folding his arms. “No, why don't you tell me?”

  Gray leaned on the vehicle beside him and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Well you're in luck, because the boss is so eager to have them he's not in the mood to haggle much. And as you might've guessed, Grand Junction has been doing pretty well for itself up to this point. We've got some gold to toss around.”

  Tom had to admit he didn't hate what he was hearing; a truck wouldn't be worth much once it ran out of fuel, and he'd been doing all this to get a horse anyway. He could always hoof it back to Emery. “I'm listening.”

  * * * * *

  It was probably 2 or 3 in the morning by the time everyone in the convoy had settled down to bed, all the arrangements for their immediate needs had been taken care of, Tom's business with the city was concluded, and he was able to get away.

  He planned to bed down in the cab of one of the trucks that night, just in case anyone got any stupid ideas about taking them. Brandon was already snoring peacefully in the other vehicle, and after being up for two days straight Tom should've been overjoyed finally be able to crash as well. But he'd hit that point where he'd been relying on adrenaline to stay awake, and exhausted as he was he also felt jittery.

  For a moment he was tempted to find the nearest bar and get his customary two doubles, with the plan to down them fast instead of taking his time like usual; that would certainly help him pass out. But the thou
ght didn't appeal to him at the moment on multiple levels, mostly because he'd probably spent more time as the center of attention in a crowd in the past day than in the last ten years combined.

  News of him arriving with trucks and where he'd just come from had likely spread throughout the city like wildfire, and the last thing he wanted was to get swamped by barflies wanting the story.

  So instead Tom found a bench running along the wall of the warehouse near the smaller front entrance and slumped down on it, head in his hands as he tried to process everything he'd been through since, well, since leaving Emery.

  He wasn't sure how long he'd been there when a soft creak drew his attention to the nearby door. He looked up and was surprised to see Kristy standing there, pale face and flaxen hair ghostly in the dim glow of city lights several streets over. The woman looked around blindly, eyes obviously not adjusted to the dark and unable to see him in the shadow of the wall.

  For an absurd moment Tom was tempted to stay quiet until she went away, then he decided that would be petty. So he cleared his throat, making her silhouette jump slightly. “Up awfully late, Mrs. Graham,” he said mildly.

  “I could say the same for you,” Kristy shot back somewhat awkwardly after she'd gotten over her surprise. She started forward hesitantly, and judging by her previous tone Tom thought it might not've been entirely because she couldn't see where she was going. Although that was at least some of it; the young woman yelped softly when she hit the end of the bench, then fumbled around until she could work out what it was.

  “Mind if I sit?” she asked, voice uncertain.

  He just shrugged in response, then realized she couldn't see him. “Knock yourself out.”

  “I wouldn't discount that possibility, walking around out here,” Kristy replied wryly. After a bit more fumbling she settled down next to him so they were only inches apart. Tom didn't know if that was intentional, since the bench had more room than that, but she didn't scoot away.