First Family

by Patrick Tilley

  But not slow to react.

  Sensing a hostile presence, Yellow-Cap spun around with his rifle aimed at Steve’s chest and backed away from the raised knife. ‘Freeze, soldier!’

  Steve froze but held on to the knife.

  ‘I’m not looking for trouble,’ said Kelso. ‘So ease off, set that blade down, and everything’ll be just dandy.’

  Jodi Kazan came crashing down the steps. She, too, was short of breath. When she glimpsed Steve she sagged against the wall and let the butt of her rifle fall to the floor. ‘Christo! There you are!’ Her words were punctuated by a racking laugh. ‘At least it wasn’t a – a totally – wasted journey –’ She broke off again to gulp down more air and turned to Yellow-Cap. ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘Gimme a chance. Your pal here was about to stick it to me.’

  Jodi eyed Steve. ‘Not surprising, considering what you guys did to him.’

  ‘Just following orders, Kaz. Call him off.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ She waved them both down. ‘Cool it, Brickman. This is no time to start fighting amongst ourselves.’ Jodi held out her hand for the knife. ‘Trust me.’

  Steve gave her the knife.

  ‘Cover the stairs,’ said Yellow-Cap. He laid his rifle across his forearm and jerked a thumb towards Jodi as she moved into position. ‘This guy here’s a real good friend of yours. I don’t know what it was she said to the boss-man but he decided to give you a second chance. Guess he didn’t figure on you getting away on your own.’ He gave Steve an admiring nod. ‘Ain’t never heard anyone ever do that before. Yep… you are one real slippery sonofabitch.’ He offered Steve his hand. ‘Kelso’s the name. Dave Kelso. Welcome aboard.’

  ‘Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse,’ said Steve. Kelso’s vice-like grip made him aware just how painfully stiff his hands were.

  ‘Ungrateful bastard, ain’t he?’ said Kelso. ‘We risk our necks so as he can join the best bunch of breakers this side of the Rockies and he comes on like someone who’s been handed a plate of lumpshit.’

  ‘Give him a chance, Kelso. He needs time to get adjusted.’ Jodi turned to Steve. ‘Malone agreed to let you join us provided I was willing to come and fetch you,’ she explained. ‘Kelso and a couple of other guys offered to backtrack with me in case I needed some help.’

  ‘Worse decision I ever made,’ grumbled Kelso.

  ‘Why?’asked Steve.

  ‘Because we’re up to our asses in trouble, good buddy! Didn’t you hear ’em? We got a big posse of Mutes on our tail!’

  Before Steve could reply, the door flap was pushed roughly aside for a third time. Kelso and Jodi whirled round to cover the stairway, then lowered their rifles as two more renegades leapt down the steps and promptly sank to their knees. The younger of the two looked a few years older than Steve, the other had a weathered face framed by a short, iron-grey beard and was wearing a green command cap with a red cross on the front. The white circle, framing the cross had been darkened down with mud.

  Jodi introduced the elder renegade first. ‘This is Medicine-Hat, and that’s Jankowski – Jinx for short. Steve Brickman.’

  Both renegades answered with a nod.

  ‘How does it look?’ asked Kelso.

  ‘Not too good,’ said Medicine-Hat. He paused to catch his breath. ‘They’re coming along both sides of the valley.’

  ‘They see you come in here?’

  ‘Can’t say,’ gasped Jinx. ‘Nearest one I saw was down by the stream.’

  ‘Well, it’s not gonna take ’em long to workout where we are,’grunted Kelso. He turned to Steve. ‘This is your neck of the woods. You got any bright ideas?’

  ‘We could always try the back way out.’ Steve scraped the dirt from the centre of the plug to expose the piece of wood that served as a handle and opened up the bolt-hole.

  Kelso hunkered down and peered inside. He gave a low whistle. ‘How far does this go?’

  ‘It runs about eighty yards into the ridge. Comes up amongst a pile of rocks in the middle of some thick scrub. The other end is covered by a rock slab laid on a log frame. You just lever it up.’

  Kelso looked at the others. ‘What d’you think?’

  Medicine-Hat turned to Steve. ‘Have you used this?’

  ‘No, but I have checked the exit. I was planning to climb inside when I heard you guys coming – only I didn’t have time.’

  Medicine-Hat exchanged glances with Kelso then said. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘Okay, on your way, Brickman.’

  ‘I need a torch.’

  Medicine-Hat handed one over. Kelso produced a ball of twine and tossed it to Jodi. ‘Go with him. Tie that on you. I’ll reel it out as you go. When you get there, give two tugs. I’ll acknowledge with one. If the route is clear, reply with another three then tie the torch on the end so that we can pull it back down. Mutes, or no Mutes, I ain’t goin’ in there without a light.’

  Steve paused by the entrance. ‘Anybody have a spare pair of boots?’

  ‘You can have your own,’ said Jodi. ‘I brought ’em with me.’

  ‘Later,’ said Kelso. ‘We ain’t got time to frig around with that now. He’s caused enough trouble. Oh, and Brickman –’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’ll take care of that crossbow…’

  Steve showed Kelso how the last person through could close the bolt-hole behind him, then began to work his way along the tunnel. It was just high and wide enough for an average size person to move forward in a ground-hugging tiger crawl. The place was swarming with bug-uglies and the air inside felt stale and clammy on the tongue. The tunnel came up at an angle into the side of a small pit some four feet wide and six feet deep covered with logs and woven branches onto which earth and boulders had been laid.

  Packed around the edges were smaller, supporting stones with narrow, sometimes hairline, apertures between them. These let in a glimmer of daylight and afforded a valuable glimpse of the surrounding terrain. Anybody escaping via the tunnel could thus hear, and to some extent see, what was going on outside and chose the most opportune moment to emerge.

  Pushing her back-pack ahead of her, Jodi hauled herself halfway out of the access tunnel and turned her dirt-streaked face towards Steve. ‘Christo!’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I never want to do that again. See anything?’

  ‘Not so far.’ Steve passed the torch down to her. ‘Get back inside the tunnel. I’m going to open up.’

  He crawled into a small recess cut into the side of the shallow pit, pushed up the flat-bottomed cover-stone and poked his head out cautiously. A few shrill, bird-like cries – which he recognised as signals between M’Call warriors – reached his ears but they came from a long way off. He clambered out, took a quick look round then stuck his head back inside. ‘Jodi!’

  Her head slid into view.

  ‘There’s nobody up here but the birds,’ he whispered. ‘But I’m gonna take another look round to make absolutely sure. Stay there. When I rap three-two-three on this cover stone, bring the others through.’

  ‘Okay!’

  Steve lowered the rock slab back into place then rose to his feet, turned and stopped dead in his tracks. Mr Snow, the white-haired wordsmith, sat cross-legged on a nearby boulder, flanked by two M’Call Bears – Doctor-Hook and Kid-Creole – two warriors who had attended Steve’s quarterstaff classes.

  Steve was momentarily speechless. The wily old Mute must have been hiding close by all the time but the way he had appeared made it look as if he had stepped out of thin air. ‘Wha-what are you doing here?’ he stammered.

  Mr Snow replied with an enigmatic smile. ‘Cadillac said we’d meet again. He saw it in the stones. Aren’t you glad to see me?’

  Steve felt the blood rush to his cheeks. ‘Yes – of course – but…’ His voice faltered again. Why did he feel so uneasy whenever Mr Snow’s piercing glance fell upon him? He wanted to ask for news of Clearwater but suddenly found himself tongue-tied, unable to speak her name.

  Mr Sno
w, as if sensing this, said, ‘I know. So many questions. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. Why don’t you ask your freinds to come out.’

  ‘There is just me, Old One. I don’t have any friends.’

  Mr Snow sighed. ‘Oh, Brickman, Brickman… I thought we always told each other the truth.’

  Steve said nothing.

  Mr Snow threw up his hands. ‘Look, we know there are at least four other people in there. No one is going to harm them, so please – don’t let’s have any unpleasantness.’

  Steve didn’t move.

  Mr Snow turned to Kid-Creole. ‘Pile some brushwood in front of the door. We’ll try smoking them out.’

  The others didn’t take long to come through.

  Thirteen

  Jodi’s desire to rescue Steve may have contributed to their capture but they were not alone in their misfortune. The clan had spread its net wide. As they marched towards the north-west, other groups of M’Call Bears and She-Wolves joined them, each with its own haul of renegades. The final count, including Steve, was thirty-three. Malone and his closest lieutenants had, apparently, evaded capture but, from the snippets of conversation he managed to overhear, Steve got the impression that Malone had lost about a third of his force.

  From the way the M’Call warriors strutted around, Steve could see they were delighted to have captured so many. Steve guessed he owed his life – yet again – to Mr Snow but he could not understand why the renegades had been spared. It also surprised him to learn that no one, on either side, had been killed during the chase.

  To prevent their escape, the renegades were split into pairs and tied, side by side, by the wrists and throat, to a length of sapling placed across their shoulders. Only Steve, on Mr Snow’s orders, was allowed to walk unbound. This preferential treatment did nothing to increase his popularity with the other captives. Most of them, following Malone’s initial reaction, still harboured lingering suspicions about him and now that he was seen to be on familiar terms with their captors they responded to his approaches with sullen hostility, calling him a ‘beaver-lickin’ bastard’ and ‘a lumpsucker’ – the two most insulting epithets in the Trail-Blazer vocabulary, reserved for those who consorted with Mutes.

  Following Mr Snow’s lead, the warriors treated him with polite reserve. Steve saw many familiar faces among the Bears and She-Wolves but they showed no sign of recognising him. As far as they were concerned, he was just another renegade. Which was fine with Steve. He had viewed his run-in with Malone as an extremely unwelcome hiccup in his game-plan but his capture, along with Jodi and her three companions had provided him with a new cover story that was even better than the one he started out with. The mysterious entity known as Talisman had got him off the hook yet again. Whatever fate was in store for the grim-faced bunch of breakers, Steven Roosevelt Brickman, would be okay. Mr Snow had not said as much, in so many words, but he had let Steve know, with a nod and a wink, that their previous relationship still held good.

  As if to confirm this, the old wordsmith had allowed him to recover his boots from Jodi’s back-pack and had even handed over Naylor’s doctored combat knife that had been found amongst Kelso’s possessions during a general share-out of the spoils. Kelso also lost his prized yellow command cap to one of the She-Wolves. Medicine-Hat, on the other hand, still had his. For some reason, Mutes did not appear to find green a desirable colour.

  On the long journey back to the M’Call settlement, Steve was given the task of tending to the captive renegades. Distributing water, flat bread and dried meat twists was not a problem but some of the renegades had been injured and their wounds needed expert attention. Steve pleaded with Mr Snow and secured the release of Jodi and Medicine-Hat to help look after the others.

  Despite being fed and watered, Kelso continued to eye Steve with simmering resentment and made it clear on several occasions that he viewed his capture as being entirely Steve’s fault and something for which, if he ever had the opportunity, he would make him (Steve) pay dearly.

  During a brief rest period, whilst sipping his ration of water from a flask held by Steve, Kelso spied the She-Wolf wearing his prized cap. He gave her a hate-filled glance as she walked past. ‘Friggin dick-eater,’ he snarled.

  ‘Hey, hey, hey, keep it down!’ muttered Steve. ‘What’re you trying to do – get yourself killed?’

  ‘Some chance,’ growled the renegade who sat cross-legged beside Kelso, his wrists and neck tied to the same pole. ‘If they was goin’ to do that none of us’d be sittin’ here.’

  ‘Right,’ said Kelso. He raised his voice and addressed a nearby group of Bears. ‘Look at ’em! D’ya ever see a bigger bunch of dumb-assed shit-heads?!’

  ‘Christo!’ hissed Steve. ‘What the eff-effs got into you?!’

  Kelso eyed him and laughed harshly. ‘Don’t worry, lumpsucker. These friends of yours may bend us a little but we ain’t about to go into the meat business.’

  ‘You mean because they didn’t kill me when I powered down last year? Listen – these are the guys that almost took The Lady apart.’

  ‘That’s different,’ said the other renegade.

  ‘They won’t kill us because we’re too valuable.’ Kelso noted Steve’s puzzled reaction. ‘I forgot. You’re a new boy. April and May are open season for breakers. That’s why we were heading west. Malone was aiming to get clear before the head-hunting season started. We didn’t expect these lumps to be so quick off the mark.’

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ said Steve. ‘I thought the Mutes and you guys left each other alone.’

  ‘That’s right. Most of the time they do. But not when the wheel-boats come.’

  ‘The wheel-boats?’ Steve’s interest quickened. He tried to keep his tone casual. ‘Oh, yeah, I heard about them last year. Something to do with the Iron Masters – whoever they are. All I know is the Mutes trade food, skins and stuff in return for their crossbows. What they call “long sharp iron”.’

  Kelso nodded. ‘They also trade us.’

  ‘To the Iron Masters? What for?’

  Kelso exploded. ‘I don’t know what for! They’re your friends – why don’t you ask ’em?! Dick head…’

  Steve ignored Kelso’s abusive language and looked at them both with evident concern. ‘Columbus… the Fire-Pits of Beth-Lem…’

  It was Kelso’s turn to look puzzled.

  ‘That’s what the Mutes call the place where the Iron Masters come from.’

  ‘Terrific. Sounds great. I can’t wait to get there.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Steve, ‘I know you guys don’t trust me but if there is anyway to help you I will.’

  Kelso responded with a sneering laugh.

  ‘You can help me right now,’ said his companion. ‘Unzip my pants. I’m dying for a leak.’

  Steve recognised him as one of the two renegades who had tied him to the post. He stood up and stepped back. ‘You left me zipped up for two days, compadre. Call me the day after tomorrow.’

  * * *

  Medicine-Hat, who had done such a good salvage job on Jodi was a skilful doctor who, like many of the captured renegades, had gone adrift during a Trail-Blazer operation. In his case, it had been three years ago, during the last fire-sweeps that had culminated in the ‘pacification’ of the pre-Holocaust state of Oklahoma – one of the three New Territories.

  Sent out from The Fighting Kentuckian with a combat-squad to effect the rescue of some badly-wounded Trackers, Medicine-Hat and his companions had found their line of retreat cut off. The terrain had prevented the wagon-train from reaching them, bad weather had denied them air support and their radio had malfunctioned. When he and the surviving Trackers had finally reached the original rendezvous point the wagon-train had left the area, having posted them as ‘missing, believe killed in action’.

  As was usually the case, several of the survivors had become disorientated, sinking into a catatonic state from which they had not recovered. Medicine-Hat was one of three who, despite their li
neman grading, had managed to live through that first critical two-week period. He could not explain why he had been spared but there was, apparently, a simple rule. If your group numbered four or less and you were still on your feet and moving after three days of being out of contact with the wagon-train it meant you probably wouldn’t go ‘ground-sick’. Whether or not you regarded this discovery as good news was another matter entirely.

  As the trek continued, Steve had an opportunity to talk with Medicine-Hat and Jodi about what it was like to live as renegades, or breakers, as they preferred to call themselves. Medicine-Hat explained that not every breaker had gone adrift. Some were straightforward deserters – mainly from way-stations. Usually they were cee-bees seeking to avoid punishment. Sometimes it was a low-level code violation but there were other, more serious cases of indiscipline, assault on an Exec, blackjacking, smoking grass, or, worse still, cowardice in the face of the enemy. There was also the catch-all charge of ‘operational failure’. Rather than face a Board of Assessors and possible execution for dereliction of duty, many otherwise loyal and competent Trail-Blazers had chosen to go over the side.

  To hold such unruly and disparate elements together demanded an iron fist allied to a keen intelligence. Unfortunately, said Medicine-Hat, there weren’t enough honchos with Malone’s mixture of toughness and vision. As a consequence, many groups of breakers perished through fratricidal disputes over leadership and the consequent failure to agree on a coherent strategy that would ensure their survival. When pressed by Steve to say whether the renegades were numbered in hundreds or thousands, All Medicine-Hat would say was – ‘Ask the First Family’.

  In a subsequent conversation, Medicine-Hat revealed there was a third group of breakers. Small groups who had succeeded in escaping from the Federation’s underground bases, usually through illegally constructed tunnels. The phrase ‘tunnelling-out’ had quickly entered the unofficial Tracker vocabulary as a synonym for any emotional high but was now used almost exclusively by reafers to describe the extended moment of euphoria that came from smoking rainbow grass.