I jerk at the sound of my name.
“How do you know who I am?” I ask, trying to hide how much it rattles me to hear my name from his mouth. I never thought the raider king himself would know about me. I thought he’d have his goons worry about things like bounty hunters, while he stayed holed up in this pretty little room.
“Oh, please,” Jedediah says. His eyes slide across the burnt half of my face, his gaze so penetrating I can practically feel its touch. His eyes reach the twisted corner of my mouth, pause, and shift up to meet my stare. “You’re prettier than I thought you’d be.”
I stuff my handkerchief into his mouth to make sure he’s thoroughly silenced. He waggles his eyebrows at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.
I have yet to decide if he’s utterly insane or just ridiculously confident, but either way, I need to keep this job professional. Clean. The way I always do things. It doesn’t matter that this is goddamn Jedediah Johnson I’m dealing with, and it doesn’t matter that I’ve been dreaming of taking him down for years, and it doesn’t matter that this could change my entire life. For now, all that matters is getting the job done, and getting it done right.
Collecting a mark usually means a lot of struggling and fighting and yelling, at least until I knock them out. I certainly wouldn’t mind landing a couple of good punches on this bastard, but he’s behaving himself remarkably well, and I’d rather avoid dragging him all the way to my truck if I can help it. Still, I’m not gentle as I shove him into the tunnel, my gun aimed at the back of his head. I jump down and pull the trapdoor shut behind us. When it closes, it’s just him and me and the darkness of the tunnel. I can barely make out his shape ahead.
“Move,” I say. Jedediah balks, hesitant for the first time. I wonder if it’s the sudden realization of his own helplessness, or that he’s leaving the safety of his headquarters, or maybe just the fact that his secret escape tunnel smells like something died in it a while ago and was never discovered. Regardless, a sharp jab with the barrel of my gun gets him moving again.
I move slowly, quietly, listening for any sound of a disturbance above or company joining us in the cramped tunnel. But I hear nothing; no one approaching, no sign that anyone has noticed my presence or Jedediah’s absence. I’m listening so carefully that a sudden noise makes me jump. It takes me a few moments to realize what it is. Jedediah is … humming. Humming cheerfully under his breath like this is a pleasant stroll.
“Stop that,” I hiss once I’ve shaken off my surprise, poking him in the back of the neck with my gun. He shuts up, but I swear I hear muffled chuckling.
At the end of the tunnel, I make him wait behind. I pause, my hands on the trapdoor, listening for any voices or footsteps outside. When I hear nothing, I push it open—first just a few inches so I can peer around, and fully when the area appears deserted.
The trapdoor scrapes against the bottom of the car above as I open it. I climb out and reach back to help Jedediah up. Thankfully he’s a scrawny bastard, and easy enough to pull upward. I move on my hands and knees to the other side of the vehicle, and glance around once more before dragging Jedediah out and pulling him to his feet. He coughs on dust, frowning, unable to wipe himself off after the drag through the dirt. I almost smile at the look on his face, but stifle it, reminding myself I’m still not in the clear.
Outside of Jedediah’s mansion, which towers like a lone giant among the other buildings, Wormwood is much like every other town—dreary, dusty, on the verge of falling apart. It’s quiet, perhaps a little too quiet, the doors all shut and the people sealed away. I guess Jedediah’s crew keeps a tight watch over this place. I’m careful to keep quiet myself, creeping along with Jedediah ahead of me. He trips over a discarded car door, and a loud clang echoes through the scrapyard. I pull him back and freeze, but the town remains silent around us.
My truck is parked a few minutes’ walk away, hidden behind a decrepit building on the outskirts of town. I’m careful to stay behind crumbling walls and old buildings that seem unoccupied. The goal is to secure Jedediah and be out of Wormwood before his crew notices anything is wrong. But if I fail, I’ll have dozens of angry, heavily armed raiders hot on my trail.
Thankfully Jedediah is quiet at the moment, and still cooperating. Probably a smart move, because right now I’m so jumpy that I very well might shoot him, intentionally or not, if he startled me. The night is still and calm, no sound other than our footsteps and my own heartbeat in my ears. I push Jedediah forward, gun never leaving his head. I know better than to underestimate him, despite how accommodating he’s being about his own kidnapping.
Voices ahead.
I grab Jedediah’s arm, yanking him back and dropping to a crouch. He lands on his ass beside me with a thump, a burst of dust, and a muffled groan of complaint. When he notices the voices, he turns sharply in that direction. There are at least two men, and they’re moving this way.
Pulling Jedediah with me, I straighten up and move to a nearby building, pressing myself against it. I wait, holding my breath, wondering if the men heard us. But their conversation sounds casual, their pace leisurely. They don’t seem to suspect that anything is wrong; they’re just patrolling the area.
Ordinarily I wouldn’t hesitate to take down two unsuspecting men, but I can’t afford to raise a ruckus. And if I try to sneak by, I don’t trust that Jedediah’s compliant attitude will hold up with help just a shout away. Is this why he’s been so smug and unconcerned? Did he know we would run into one of his patrols on the way out? I turn to him, my lips pressed into a firm line. He’s staring in the direction of his men, his eyes narrowed as if carefully considering something, his muscles tense. He looks ready … for something. To run, to fight, to make a sound to attract their attention.
He looks over at me as he notices I’m staring, and his eyes widen, as if he can see my intention. He tries to say something, his words unintelligible through the gag.
I deck him with one good punch.
VI
The Sale of Jedediah Johnson
Halfway through the process of dragging an unconscious Jedediah to my truck, I almost regret my decision to knock him out. But, if I’m being honest, the satisfaction of my fist hitting his face was more than enough to make up for the annoyance. I really do try my best not to be overly sadistic while working, but this is Jedediah Johnson. Even setting the personal vendetta aside, I’ve heard more than enough stories about the things he’s done. If I hadn’t personally witnessed the results of his dictatorship, I would’ve thought he was an urban legend. But portions of hard-earned goods disappearing every month, people stolen in the middle of the night, rebellious towns burned to the ground—those are real, and they all have one name whispered in their wake: Jedediah Johnson.
I have about a thousand reasons to put a bullet in this man’s head. Luckily for him, there’s one very important reason not to. Like the informant said, no one will believe me if I lug in a body and claim it’s Jedediah Johnson, considering no one knows his face. His men could easily cover up the death, since he spends his time holed up here anyway—and even if the information did eventually get out, by that time my name would be long forgotten. I’m staking everything on this. I need people to know it was me. I need to be the woman who freed the eastern wastes.
And with Jedediah unconscious, there’s no one to stop me from getting away with it. The patrol is relaxed, noisy, and easy to avoid even when I’m weighed down by a body. I make it to my truck without trouble, tie Jedediah up, and throw him in the backseat.
“Damn easy job,” I mutter to myself with a smile, and start up my truck.
With that done, I ride toward freedom. First slow and steady, so I don’t attract unwanted attention from the residents of Wormwood. But as soon as I pass the outskirts of town, I pick up speed, gradually and then suddenly, and grin at the roar of my truck’s engine and the thought of what’s to come. Soon, very soon, everything is going to change for me.
I’d be hard-p
ressed to find someone that doesn’t want Jedediah’s head, but Alex the Collector is where I started this journey, so I show up at his door. It’s the middle of the night, and his guard seems wary about seeing me again so soon, but they let me in when I show them I’m bringing in a mark.
Alex holds a lantern up to the crack in the door, providing a sliver of flickering light in the darkness. His thinning hair is in disarray, his eyes bloodshot.
“Well, well, Clementine. Back so soon?” He eyes me, and then the unconscious man I’m dragging behind me, raising his lantern to get a better look. “Who’s this?”
“Open up and I’ll tell you,” I say. He licks his lips, peers around for any sign of someone following me, and lets me inside.
I drag Jedediah into the room, past the shelves of souvenirs. I note Beau the Butcher’s knife already displayed in all its rusty glory. Next to it is another new souvenir, a freshly severed hand from a raider named Left-Hand. It makes me wonder what he’ll take from Jedediah. I smile slightly at the thought.
I drop Jedediah and continue to the far wall. This one doesn’t have collectibles, but is instead covered in current wanted posters. The lantern light flickers across names and sketched faces.
“So, who have you brought me?” Alex asks as he locks the door behind us. “I don’t recognize him.”
“Few people would,” I say. I can feel his questioning eyes on the back of my head. I find the poster I’m looking for, the one that has nothing but a silhouette and a question mark where a sketch would normally be. I’m not the best reader, but this name is so imprinted in my brain that I recognize it immediately. I rip the poster off the wall and turn around, holding it up for Alex, a broad grin on my face.
Alex raises the lantern to get a better look. He stares at the poster for a long few moments, and then at me, and then at the unconscious, dusty man sprawled out on his floor.
“Jedediah Johnson?” he asks. He takes several hasty steps away from the man, and shakes his head so violently I swear I hear his jowls flapping. “No,” he says. “No way.”
“It’s him, all right,” I say. “Your informant’s tip sent me right to him.”
Jedediah stirs. The timing is so convenient that it occurs to me maybe he wasn’t actually unconscious, but just waiting for the proper moment to step into the conversation. Alex jumps back like the man is a snake uncoiling on his floor. Jedediah’s eyes open slowly. They land first on Alex, who stares back in utter terror. One eyebrow rises. When his gaze sweeps over the shelves of souvenirs, the other eyebrow rises to join it. Then he sees me, and both eyebrows lower again.
“Mmmpfff,” he says, wiggling.
“What’s he saying?” Alex asks in a loud whisper, refusing to take his eyes off him. His usual excitement over a bounty has shifted into the deep fear he normally reserves for the world outside. It seems I’ve brought a piece of the wastes a little too big for him to handle. “Was that … a threat?”
“I don’t know or care,” I say. Jedediah shoots me an offended look, which I ignore. “Look, do we have a deal or not?”
Alex chews his fingernails, finally tearing his eyes away from Jedediah and turning to me. He sizes me up and makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.
“I want to hear what he has to say,” Alex says.
“I doubt that,” I say.
“Gag off, or no deal. I want to know what I’m getting myself into.”
I know this is a bad idea, but I can’t do much when my customer is making a demand. I sigh, step closer to Jedediah, and yank my handkerchief out of his mouth, letting it fall to the ground. He sighs contentedly and leans his head back to look up at me.
“Wow,” he says, his voice earnestly impressed. “You throw a hell of a punch.”
“More where that came from,” I say, eyeing him in case he decides to try something. But he seems as mellow as before, apparently unconcerned by where he is and what’s happening. He grins at me, but as he turns toward Alex, the smile disappears. The Collector takes a step back. Jedediah stares silently.
“What’s he doing?” Alex whispers, looking to me for answers. I shrug.
“I’m deciding how I’ll kill you when I’m free,” Jedediah says brightly. “Alex the Collector. I’ve heard of you. And now I’ll know exactly how to find—” I step forward and give him a swift kick to the gut to stop him from saying anything else, but the damage is done. Alex lets out a sound like a wounded animal, his hand-wringing accelerating to light speed. I sigh and brush hair out of my face.
“Alex, he’s—”
“No,” he says. “No, no, no. I can’t do it. He’s too dangerous.”
“You’re the one who sent me to the informant,” I remind him. “Now you’re saying you’re not going to pay out?”
“I didn’t know she would send you to Jedediah fucking Johnson! I was just the middleman!”
“You—”
“I can’t, Clementine.” He throws up a hand to stop me from continuing, his voice growing firm. “Think about what you’re asking me. You’re asking me to take Jedediah Johnson off your hands, in an area ruled by the crew of Jedediah Johnson. Do you see the problem?”
“Yes,” I say, grudgingly. “I’m not an idiot.” I take a long look at Jedediah, who is still groaning after my kick, and back at Alex. “What if I only take half the bounty, to make up for potential trouble?”
“Not happening.”
“A third.”
“I’m not getting anywhere near this, Clementine,” he says. “I wouldn’t do it if you paid me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. My dreams of adoration for this catch are quickly slipping out from between my fingers.
“Why offer a bounty if I can’t cash it in?” I ask.
“No one thought it was possible to just waltz in and take him!” Alex says, throwing his hands up. “I thought the only way this would happen was if his whole crew was taken out, or he lost his position, or … I … I don’t know. But I didn’t expect …this.”
My heart sinks. Alex is right to be concerned about Jedediah’s crew showing up on his doorstep, whether it be before or after we deal with Jedediah for good. Still, I never thought a collector would be so afraid that they’d turn him down. I think back to the way the townies stared at me when I asked if they wanted to kill Beau the Butcher, and shake my head. Every time I start to think I understand people, they surprise me with new depths of cowardice.
I look down at Jedediah, who has recovered from the kick and is now humming under his breath while waiting for us to finish talking. I sigh, shift from foot to foot, put my hand on the gun at my hip. The feel of it beneath my hand is reassuring. But I see Alex eyeing me nervously as he notices me gripping it, and force myself to remove my hand and place it on my hip instead.
“So what am I supposed to do with him, then?” I ask, finally admitting to him as well as to myself that I have absolutely no idea where to go from here. I doubt I’ll have luck with any other collectors. With anyone other than Alex, it’d be a real pain in the ass just to prove that this is the man I claim it is—and even if they believed me, they could turn me away. I can’t just keep dragging Jedediah around. His crew will catch up to me eventually. Do I kill him, cut my losses, and be done with it? It would be satisfying, sure, but … I’d get nothing out of it. I’m not sure I could live with the knowledge I was so close to everything I’d ever wanted, and let it slip away.
Alex looks like he wants to throw me out in the dust here and now. But maybe he sees the desperation in my expression, because a few moments later his face softens.
“Look, Clementine,” he says. “It’s suicide for me to get involved in this, and you’re not gonna have any more luck with anyone else in the area. But maybe you could reach a little further, past where people are so afraid of this guy.”
I drum my fingers on the butt of my gun.
“Turn in his bounty somewhere else?” I ask. “All my contacts are here.”
Alex licks his lips,
looking at Jedediah and back at me. I wait silently. After a few moments, he sighs and nods.
“Follow me,” he says, and walks into the back room. I make sure Jedediah’s bonds are secure before following.
The back room is small, musty, and windowless. I’ve never been allowed back here before, but there’s not much to look at. Just a ratty cot in the corner, where the Collector must sleep, and a wooden, half-broken desk and chair. The desk is piled with outdated wanted posters and other papers. I’m not a strong enough reader to get any information out of them at a glance, and a glance is all I get before Alex steps between me and the desk. He sets the lantern down on it, leans over, and rummages through one of the drawers. He plucks something out and places it atop the mess on the desk.
“A radio?” I ask, glancing over at him. “Didn’t know anyone used these anymore.”
“They usually don’t,” he says. “I’d just fiddle with it occasionally, for fun. But then I started picking up something.” He scrounges around on his desk until he finds a particular piece of paper, and holds it up. “A broadcast. A real one, a nightly one, always the same guy, who calls himself ‘Saint.’ It was a long spiel, mostly a lot of blah-blah-blah about justice and taking the wastes back. He’s got a radio tower, and the towns love him. He’s been gaining a lot of power off to the west of us.”
“The western wastes?” I ask incredulously. “He wants to take back the western wastes?” I doubt that’s even possible, but more importantly …“What the hell does this have to do with me?” Alex can go over-the-top with the theatrics sometimes, and I’m painfully aware of every passing minute, another minute that Jedediah’s crew could be coming for me.
“Well,” Alex says. “His whole deal is that he’s capturing sharks. Er, getting other people to capture them, really—the townies and such bring them to him, and he gives out rewards in return. The idea is to clean up his area of the wastes, but I’m sure he wouldn’t complain about getting a famous raider from over here either.”
The Wastelanders Page 31
