by Jim Heskett
“I don't know if we should go south," Tenney said.
"But that's the whole point," Yorick said.
Tenney put his hands on his hips. "And deliver ourselves right to the king’s men?"
Valentine leaned closer. So, they had seen the wanted poster on the information board at the west end of town. Valentine had to admit she was intrigued. While it would be easy to take out her pistol, shoot all four of them in the head, collect the Ramirez chips and then possibly even the bounty, she didn't want to. Not yet. Part of her wanted to know why they were going south. What could inspire them to kill Lord Wybert and even some of the soldados to flee the plantación?
Valentine didn't often feel intrigued like this. It was a strange sensation for her, and she felt an overpowering urge to see it through. Of course, she ran the risk someone else might discover them; the soldados, local law enforcement, maybe even a competing band of White Flames. But still, she wanted to know what they would do next.
“We had some trouble,” Tenney said.
Yorick ran a hand through his short brown hair. “What kind of trouble?”
“A couple of locals. Burned up, or a rash or some other skin thing.”
“I’ve seen those people,” Rosia said.
Valentine knew exactly who they were talking about. The sun worshippers. The way they spent all day in the blistering heat and sunlight baffled her, but whatever. If they thought it bought them seats on the boat of the afterlife, then that wasn’t her business. Valentine was too busy hustling to worry about what would happen to her after she stopped breathing.
“What was the trouble?” Yorick asked.
“They caught us in an alley,” Tenney said. “They harassed us.”
Rosia tugged on her lower lip. Valentine could see from all the way up the roof that her fingernails were dirty. Interesting. So, they were too busy doing something to bother to check into a hotel room to bathe. What was their aim in Pinedale?
“Did they know who you are?” Rosia asked.
Tenney shook his head. “I think they were starting to figure it out, though. They asked if we had escaped from somewhere. This is why it’s dangerous to stay here. We should move on while we still can.”
"No," Yorick said. "We stick to the plan. Someone in this town will transport us. We go south into Colorado, and then we can go wherever we want. It will be easier to move in Colorado than here."
The passion and intensity in Yorick's eyes and his tone of voice excited Valentine. Such fire. Most of the men Valentine knew were so boring. So predictable.
But, when he could see the hesitancy on their faces, Yorick sighed. “I don’t mean to order you around. But, if we do stay together, I think this is the best plan to get to Harmony.”
Harmony? The little town on the other side of the Cheyenne tunnel into Colorado. An interesting place, full of weird people and weirder local customs, like pet ownership. Such an outdated and barbaric practice, enslaving animals for companionship.
Galeno technically lived in Harmony. Valentine knew her way around the streets, but not all that much. She didn’t like to enter the dark and lengthy tunnel under the state border wall. It wasn’t the safest of places to be.
"You don't know it’ll be easier to move around down there for sure," Tenney said. "You don't know anything about Colorado."
Yorick seemed to fumble over his words for a few seconds, so Rosia stepped in and spoke for him. "You and Malina can go your own way, if you want. We are indebted to you for all of your help so far, but if this is where our paths should end, then we understand. You have yourselves to look out for. But, like he said, if we stick together, we need to all be looking in the same direction.”
Valentine bit her lip with excitement. What would they do? Would they split up? Would they stay together and commit to this asinine mission of crossing under the border wall?
Tenney and Malina took a long look at each other. Then, she leaned up and whispered in his ear. As she spoke, his face gradually softened. After thirty or forty full seconds of listening, Tenney finally nodded. "No, we will stay with you. We are stronger together. We go south, into Colorado. And we keep trying around Pinedale until we find someone who can give us a ride.”
Valentine grinned. Four together was more of a challenge than two sets of two. She liked a challenge.
Chapter Nine
Again, they split up. Tenney and Malina went off on their own, and Rosia and Yorick split up into solo missions to find transport. Rosia didn’t mind exploring the town on her own, but she understood why Tenney and Malina didn’t want to separate. Malina had been harassed in the street because she looked different. Tenney wouldn’t want to leave her side after that.
But what she didn’t understand was why Tenney and Malina had agreed to continue south with them. It’s not as if the four of them were lifelong friends. Their relationships had actually only formed a couple of weeks ago.
Could it be that out here, in the world outside the walls of Wybert’s plantación, they were holding on to the only thing they knew? Their link to that old life?
She did wish Hamon was still alive. The former leader of the Blue guerreros would know what to do to advise them. He would have given them all a rousing speech, and then they would have known whether to stay together or go their separate ways.
Hamon wasn’t the leader of the Blues now. There were no Blues any longer.
She worried about Yorick. Her rock. While he still seemed solid, he had changed. A rapid change. He used to crack jokes all the time. Sometimes, it infuriated her. But now, he wore a constant grave look, and it didn’t feel right. Nothing had felt right since leaving the plantación, though.
Rosia wandered up and down the dirt streets of the town, with a cloak covering her, despite the heat. They had broken down their rifles and then stashed them, but she’d kept a pistol with her. Hidden under the cloak, she could keep her finger on the trigger.
Whipping the cloak back and pointing the gun at anyone was an absolute last resort. But, it seemed clear they couldn’t trust a soul in this town.
As she meandered, she looked for anyone with a car. There didn’t seem to be many. On the side streets where the businesses gave way to residential housing, there were cars. Mostly old junkers that had few solar cells, and even fewer with solar cells that weren’t broken or rusted. Rosia didn’t know much about cars, but she knew that without functioning solar panels, you wouldn’t get far. There were tales of recharging stations along the highways, but the ones they’d seen no longer functioned.
Most of the houses on this current residential street were small, with boarded-up windows and heavy locks on the front doors. Why people were so concerned about safety in a town this small baffled Rosia. But, she certainly knew the art of being careful.
As she strolled down the street, a man sitting in his front yard moaned some sort of unintelligible chant. He was wearing only a pair of bright white underwear, seated in a lawn chair in the sun. His skin was red and already peeling from previous sunburns, but there he was, almost naked under the bright light.
Rosia tried not to stare, but she wanted to ask him what in the stars he was doing. Many of the field workers at the plantación got sun sickness, and she’d even heard of a few deaths after extended exposure to the sun poisoned them.
“What are you looking at?” the man said, sneering. He ogled her with one squinted eye.
Rosia gripped the pistol under her cloak and said nothing. She hurried past him. At the edge of his yard, she heard his chair creaking, and she whirled to face him. But, he’d settled back into it, eyes closed, face pointed upward into the light.
He was of the same type as the religious weirdos who had tried to buy Malina.
Then, something at the end of the block caught her eye. A bright red car sitting in the driveway of a blue house. Not only did the color of the car stand out but also the cleanliness. Most of the vehicles around here seemed caked with dirt, or the paint had been whittled down by rust.
But someone cared for this car. It was curvy like ripples in water, with a long nose, and it sat low to the ground.
Rosia counted the seats inside, wondering if it had space for four plus a driver. Fitting three in the back seat would be tight, but possible.
Finally, a step closer to transportation.
The front door of the house opened, and out walked a thick man in beige overalls, with a buzzed haircut and a beard half again as wide as his face. The visible parts of his face were dimpled like an avocado. He looked like the sort of person you would definitely notice in a crowd.
The man shut the door of the house behind him and had a seat on a porch swing. He plucked a small knife from his pocket and set to work digging dirt out from underneath his fingernails. He pushed off the porch floor with one foot, making the swing creak as it rocked back and forth. His girth bowed the seat in the middle.
Despite the knife, Rosia didn’t feel threatened. Still, no reason to be foolish. She approached his house, with her hand gripping the gun under the cloak. When she’d reached within three meters, the large man eyed her.
“A bit hot for that getup, doncha think?”
“I don’t mind.”
“You trying to hide what you got under there?”
“I’m not hiding anything, but what I’ve got under here isn’t anyone’s business.”
He cackled. “Well, look at you, young miss. Quite a mouth on you. If you need lighter clothes to hide your… whatever, there’s a Woolworth’s on 6th Street.”
“I’m fine with these clothes.”
The big guy shrugged as he smiled. “To each his own. Or, her own. Not my business to tell people how to dress.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I go by Xevon.”
“Rosia.”
“Well, Rosia, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. You new in town?”
Something about his innocent manner set her at ease. She returned the pistol to the back of her pants but did not take off the cloak. Rosia knew better than to let her guard down completely. She kept the car between him and her, just in case he decided to pull out a weapon.
“Just passing through.” She nodded at the car in the driveway. “That yours?”
“Sure is,” he said, bursting with pride. “Vintage Chevy Camaro, fully outfitted with Fuentes Solar Cells and homemade armor plating in the doors, trunk, and hood. It’s a one-of-a-kind. I towed this relic out of a wrecking yard in Laramie and rebuilt it from scratch, piece by piece. Would you believe that baby is pre-war? One of the last models they made.”
Rosia had no idea what sort of shelf life cars could have. This thing was apparently an antique, however, and he’d restored it to whatever glory it had before the war. Xevon clearly knew his way around a set of tools.
“I want to barter with you for a ride,” she said.
He tilted his head at her, folded his knife, and put it back in the pocket of his overalls. “Do you, now? Where are you looking to go?”
“South and east, toward the Colorado border.”
“Border’s quite a ways from here. And, I hear the tunnel is shutting off in about a week.”
“That’s why I’m in a hurry and am willing to offer favorable terms for trade. For me and my three traveling companions.”
Xevon chuckled. “You sure a border trip is a good idea?”
She held her ground and stared straight into his eyes, remaining mute. There wasn’t anything else he needed to know, as far as Rosia was concerned.
After a few seconds, he sighed. “Sure, okay, I suppose a young lady such as yourself can have her reasons. I don’t know if I can get you to the border, but I can get you part way, for sure.”
“How far to the next place where we could secure transport?”
“You sure do talk funny, young Miss Rosia.” He sucked in a large breath, contemplating. “I could get you to Rock Springs, for sure. That’s about a hundred miles from here.”
“Miles?”
“About a hundred and fifty K. But I gotta be honest with you. The road’s not safe, and I don’t take on passengers in my Camaro for peanuts.”
“What will it cost us?”
Xevon stroked his beard for a few seconds. “Half a kilo of gold. Quarter up front, plus a quarter when we get to the Springs.”
“What about ammunition? We have boxes of 9mm to trade.”
He shook his head. “I appreciate that, but it don’t interest me.”
“Food? Clothing? We have blankets and coats in good shape.”
“Sorry, miss. Gold is the only thing that tickles my fancy.” He flicked his chin at the car. “You want a ride? You know my price. I’m supposed to go up north tomorrow to pick up some parts for the Camaro, so if you want me to divert and go south instead, you know my terms.”
Chapter Ten
Yorick stood in the center of Main Street, a line of buildings running down either side. Cobblers, dressmakers, bakers, shops that sold household appliances and other curious items Yorick didn’t understand. All of his life, Yorick had never been to a shop before. All of his needs had been provided for, and in return, he fought in scheduled war simulations against other young people to train software to rise up against King Nichol of the First City of Denver. Yorick hadn’t known this at the time, of course. He hadn’t known much of anything true until recently.
So much in his life had changed over the last few weeks. If he stopped to think about it, his head vibrated. All the violence he had seen. All the violence he had himself cultivated.
“Move!” came a sharp cry from behind him.
Yorick angled to see a woman glaring at him while pushing a cart stacked with boxes. He stepped out of the way to allow her to pass. Now approaching mid-day, the town was much more active. People wandered up and down either side of the streets. Criers stood outside businesses, shouting about fresh meat and bread and quality goods inside.
All of his life, Yorick had seen few sorts of people. Serfs and guards, mostly. There were a total of four or five styles of dress he had ever encountered. Apart from Wybert, of course, whose flamboyant style meant he changed outfits multiple times per day.
But here in Pinedale, there were dozens of styles, like random chunks of meat and vegetables in a stew. Some colorful, some muted. People wore tiny hats that seemed to make no logical sense since they provided little protection from the sun. Others dressed in clothes so tight, they appeared to be part of their skin. And still others wore clothes so baggy, they could have hidden multiple people in each outfit. This was more akin to what Yorick was used to seeing the farm serfs wear. Loose rags, patched-together outfits made of conflicting materials.
He tried not to let the overwhelming qualities of newness dominate his thoughts, but that was a challenging task. He didn’t know where to go. They needed transportation south, and fast. With the border wall closing in six days, they couldn’t continue to hike along the mountains or roads. That much was clear. But no one wanted to barter ammunition for a ride. Yorick had asked a dozen people already.
Why were these people not in need of bullets? Did living inside these city walls make them totally safe? Gold was the main currency here, but no one seemed interested in trading bullets for gold coins or bars.
Maybe they had a fear of outsiders. Maybe after a day or two to meet people more than once, he and his companions would earn some trust. But, even that was risky. Every day they didn’t have transport was one fewer day until the Cheyenne tunnel closed.
Above his head, a door on a balcony of the second floor of a sturdy and clean building opened. All around him, conversations hushed. The criers stopped shouting. Pedestrians halted their journeys.
A tall and muscular man stepped out onto the balcony, his hands raised. He was wearing fine clothes, bright and loud, much in the same style as Lord Wybert. Spurs on his boots clinked as he crossed the wood of the balcony. He had a long mane of brown hair and a large-yet-scraggly mustache that ran an uneven course above his top lip.
/> As the stocky man approached the edge of his balcony, he smiled down at everyone below. He showed off a set of teeth, many of them capped with gold.
Most of the people in the street stopped what they were doing to raise their faces up at him. Yorick studied them, and they looked hopeful, or at least interested.
“Who is that?” Yorick whispered to the woman standing nearest to him in the street.
The woman looked at him as if he had asked her to name the color of the sky. “That’s the Jefe. Are you new here, or something?”
“No, I only meant I…”
The woman shushed him and then gave her full attention to this “Jefe” up on the balcony.
“People,” Jefe said. “Good day and kind weather to you all.”
The crowd murmured good day and kind weather back to him. Yorick looked around at their faces as they did so. Some staring up at Jefe with adulation and some with fear. But, no matter their expression, he had the attention of every single person in sight now. So, this man was an important figure in town. A politician or lord or something like that.
“First of all, I want to thank everyone for attending the final day of the summer market. It was a success, and we raised enough money to repair the clock tower. I know how much we’ve missed hearing those bells over the last many months.”
A few cheers went around the crowd. The woman standing next to Yorick leaned over to her companion and whispered something about the size of the watermelon she’d found at the market.
“Next, I should tell you that the theft of the statue in front of the drugstore is an ongoing investigation. The sheriff informs me he has suspects and will be making arrests soon.”
A few eyes darted around with anticipation. Yorick had found these announcements fascinating so far. Was this the normal method of dispersing information throughout a town?
“Finally, I have unpleasant news,” Jefe said. “Due to the attack yesterday from those horrible brigands from out of town, we will be closing the gates for the foreseeable future. A few days, at least.”
