Bounty Hunter: Dig Two Graves

by Rachel Aukes

  Joe glared at the door. “He’s not very nice.”

  “Nope. I think I would’ve preferred the sheriff to this deputy schmuck, but she got herself killed a few days back when the tanks passed through town.”

  “Let me guess. She didn’t die of natural causes,” Joe said.

  The other man chuckled. “No. You could say she went out with a boom.”

  Joe forced a smile. “One less sheriff is a good thing in my book. My name’s Marco, by the way.”

  “I’m Tote.” He stood, causing the chains to rattle. His crooked smile did nothing to improve his naturally bulging eyes and hollow cheeks. “You’re wearing a uniform, but I can’t say I recognize you. Where’re you from?”

  Joe took a seat on the bench. “I was stationed at Cavil during that whole mess with Gabriel Sloan. Things got messy for a bit, and my entire squad skipped out. We went our separate ways, and I decided to take a break and hang around town for a while. Once I wore out my welcome in Cavil, I wandered around until I ended up in Clearwater. But my funds went dry, so maybe I’ll reconnect with the MRC up this way.”

  Tote’s brows rose. “Do you realize that you could get shot for desertion if you don’t report in for duty? If we get out of here, you can come with me back to the Sloan farm. I can give them a story about how you were left behind when your squad was holding back the riots, and you’ve been trying to catch up with them ever since. Boris is always trying to build numbers, so I know they’ll plug you somewhere in the ranks. Shoot, you might even end up on my squad. We’ve been a couple short for several months now.”

  Joe allowed a moment to pass before replying. “Yeah, sure, I think I could handle that. The Sloan farm, you say? From what I hear, Roderick Sloan has damn near every murc squad in the Midlands up there by now.”

  Tote nodded. “Yeah. Sloan’s got a pretty big setup. Some guys think he’s gonna make a run against Darville for the presidency, but since she sent the tanks here instead of some other zone for her wargames, then she’s not worried about him. I can’t say that for every other administrator in the Midlands—they seem to be scared to death of Roderick Sloan.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  He nodded again. “I worked for Meho in Brighton when Roderick Sloan and a few of his guys showed up one night. I don’t know what they talked about, but my entire squad was sent off with Sloan the next morning. We’ve been stationed at the farm ever since.” He shrugged. “But it’s not so bad. Any work we get is easy stuff. Most of the time, all we do is train and hang around the barracks.”

  “Until you ended up here,” Joe said.

  Tote grumbled, “Yeah. Sheriff Vane busted me for fighting with a local. I might have had a bit too much to drink, but she shouldn’t have arrested me. It’s not like I killed the guy. Besides, I’m with the MRC. Everyone knows that regular laws don’t apply to us.”

  Joe never had a good poker face, so he changed the subject before he accidentally gave away his true feelings about the MRC. He put his left foot on the bench, ran his fingers around the edge, and pulled out three metal pins. “Those sheriff types are all high and mighty, thinking they’re better than us guys who are just trying to work for a living. It’s not like most of us had a choice about joining the MRC.”

  “Let me guess, you broke some lame law and was given the option of getting shipped off to either a labor camp or to a boot camp,” Tote said.

  Joe nodded.

  “That’s how they got me to join up, too. You’re right. It’s not even a choice, not really.”

  “No, it’s sure not. Go to a labor camp and get worked to death, or get free room and board for following some other guy’s orders. They assigned me twenty years’ duty for a petty breaking-and-entering.” He shot the other prisoner a crooked smile. “But you know those old skills sure come in handy every now and then.”

  The chain clinked, and Joe raised his hands, free of the restraints and the chain holding him in the makeshift jail.

  Tote’s eyes bugged out even more, then he grinned.

  Joe held up the pins. “What do you say, how about us getting out of here?”

  “I’d say, hell yeah!”

  Joe knelt behind Tote. While he knew how to pick a lock, he hadn’t done it in years, and he certainly couldn’t have picked a lock in ten minutes, let alone ten seconds. So he held the pins as props and used Val’s unlock code programmed in his armlet to release the locks.

  When Tote’s restraints clinked open, the prisoner giggled. “Ah, sweet freedom.”

  “We’d better get out of here before that deputy shows back up,” Joe said.

  They slipped outside to where Joe’s clunky cutter was parked. A smarter person might have suspected their escape was too easy, but Tote wasn’t a smart man. Plus, after sitting alone in that jail for a full week, he was desperate to be free. Desperate people were rarely skeptics, and that played perfectly into Joe’s needs.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kit found consciousness with every part of his body throbbing. He opened his eyes, but everything was doubled and foggy.

  A gruff voice said, “It’s about time. I was beginning to worry that I was going to have to kiss you to wake you up, Sleeping Beauty.”

  Kit groaned. “Stop that…racket,” he slurred with a thick tongue.

  “I see your personality is as shiny as ever,” the gruff voice spoke again.

  This time, Kit managed to pair the voice with its owner. “That you, Rex?”

  “Of course it’s me, numbnuts. Maybe I should’ve gone easier on the painkillers. Here, this’ll help.”

  A needle pierced Kit’s neck, and his world zoomed into focus. A man’s face was only a few inches from his own. He shuddered. “You haven’t gotten any prettier.”

  Rex backed up and took a seat in a chair near the bed. “You ought to have a look in the mirror.”

  He brought a hand to his face and found his skin was hypersensitive. “Why does everything hurt?”

  “Because a mountain fell on you.”

  “What?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Rex asked.

  Kit tried to untangle his memories. They were thick with cobwebs, and it took many long seconds to sort out a coherent recollection. “Joe and I went to the Iron Guild to get my things back.”

  “Yeah, and you did it without me. Broke my heart, Kitty baby,” Rex inserted.

  Kit frowned. “How did I end up here?”

  “Joe called me for help. You were pretty bad off. I would’ve left you, but Joe schmoozed me like he always does, and we brought you back to my place. It’s not much to look at, but you’re safe here. Anyway, you were in pretty rough shape; so rough that I used up my entire nano-med stash on you—which you’re paying me back for, by the way.”

  He waved that off. “Thanks for not leaving me. I’ll pay you back. I’m good for it.”

  Rex chortled. “You’re a fugitive. I think that’s easier said than done.”

  “I’ll earn what I need. Where’s my sword?”

  Rex lifted the sword, still safely tucked inside its sheath. “It’s here, all ready for you. I don’t see why you use it, though. Swords are a hassle to carry and not nearly as efficient as a blaster or a grenade.”

  “It’s a family heirloom. It’s been passed down through seven generations,” Kit replied.

  “Well, I’m sure your dearly departed ancestors will be relieved to know that it’s still in the family,” Rex said drily, and put the sword down.

  As Kit’s memories cleared, he remembered the chase and Joe throwing the grenades, but everything was blank after that. “Where’s Joe?”

  “You asked about your sword before you asked about your buddy. Ouch,” Rex said. “He headed out to Clearwater a couple of days back. That pretty sheriff friend of his called and said the last living Sloan brother is fixing to start some problems, so Joe went to see if they couldn’t start some problems of their own.”

  “Val called?” Kit asked.

 
; “Yep. She sure is a pretty lady, that one.”

  Kit ignored the comment, though, to himself, he admitted he found her prettier than just about any woman he’d ever met. “We should go. They might need our help.”

  Rex smirked. “They? Or do you mean she?”

  Kit ignored that as well. “We already freed the Midlands from one Sloan. We may as well free them of the other.”

  “What’s in it for me?” Rex asked. “Because unlike you, I’m not a fugitive. I work for a living rather than enjoying the easy life, living off the generosity of my buddies.”

  “Easy life?” Every muscle ached. “Sloan’s loaded. He has to have at least a couple of safes tucked in that mansion of his. When we take him down, you can take whatever you want. How about that?”

  “Sounds acceptable. I would’ve gone anyway, for another shot at that sheriff.” Rex winked. “The way I see it, if I keep wearing wear her down, she’ll eventually give in to my wiles. I have it on good authority my wiles are irresistible.”

  “Enough,” Kit snapped. “We’ll go as soon as you give me a booster.”

  “I just did.”

  “Oh.” Kit tried to sit up, but his strength failed him. He collapsed onto the bed. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Roderick Sloan placed the call to MRC Central, and President Darville was patched through right away. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun, doing nothing for her hawkish features.

  As usual, she cut straight to the point. “Tell me how the training exercises are progressing in the Midlands, Roderick.”

  He gave her a gracious smile. “Things are proceeding nicely, thanks to your support. Per your guidance, I have sent a tank to each of the twelve largest towns, which should have the added benefit of deterring these gangs of hoodlums from causing any more problems for my fellow administrators. I don’t anticipate any more issues in the Midlands, now that these gangs understand that the MRC is still in power.”

  “Good. Hopefully, by week’s end, the tanks and ground troops can be recalled, and we’ll consider this training exercise a success.”

  “Well,” Sloan drawled, “maybe it’s better if we leave the units in place a while longer.”

  “No. It’s expensive to conduct widespread training exercises. While the exercises are good for morale and keep our soldiers primed, I expect all the tanks and ground support to be on their way back to MRC Central no later than six days from now. This is a training exercise with the added benefit of showing the people in the Midlands that they’re protected. If we leave the tanks in place any longer, it will be perceived as a threat. We cannot have them intimidating the population. We’re the people’s protectors, not their oppressors. We’re not Zenith State.”

  Sloan tried not to pout. The whole reason he wanted the tanks and ground troops was for intimidation—not for the people, but for his fellow administrators. So far, Darville’s laissez-faire approach to leadership—leaving the local administrators to handle all MRC business—had made it easy for him to spin his own story. If Darville learned the truth, she’d be sending the tanks and troops against him instead.

  He forced a smile. “Of course, Madame President. You can count on me.”

  “Have you distributed notices of the training exercises yet?”

  “I’m in the process of distributing them as we speak.”

  “Good. It’s important that the people know we are conducting training exercises and that their safety is not in danger.”

  She disconnected the call, and he switched to a different tablet, one that had mysteriously appeared on his desk a year ago. Since then, he’d received periodic calls from the person whose number was the only one listed in the tablet’s directory.

  His call was accepted within three seconds. The silhouette of a shrouded person appeared on the screen.

  “Hello, Mr. Sloan. I see the tanks and troops have been deployed across the Midlands.” The voice was so electronically distorted Sloan couldn’t tell if his contact was male or female.

  “They have, but Darville’s only loaned them to me for a week. Let’s hope that’s long enough to collect my prizes.”

  “You don’t have to send them back.”

  “I’ve considered that, but I don’t have any other option. If I don’t send them back, Darville will come after me, and I risk losing everything.”

  “Ah, but the greatest rewards come with the greatest risk. Darville is spineless. I would be surprised if she sent her army after you for at least a month. That gives you more time to milk the Midlands dry.”

  Sloan eyed the figure for a moment. “You must not live in the Midlands; it seems you don’t care about it much.”

  “On the contrary, I care about the Midlands very much. Your success is my success. In fact, I’m sending you another ten thousand credits to distribute to your troops to make them more amenable to your leadership over Darville’s.”

  Sloan didn’t understand how his scheme to centralize the wealth of the Midland zone in his own coffers helped his faceless friend, but he was never one to turn down free money. He gave a genuine smile. “Thank you. You can count on me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nick and Romy spent their entire afternoon searching for Sheriff Vane. They would have to give up and head home for dinner soon. They’d used the computer panels built into the walls on every floor, but the sheriff hadn’t checked in anywhere. They checked her residence, every common room except Common Room F, the control center, and everywhere in between. Champ had even sniffed every nook and cranny to help their search (or to simply smell everything). So far, they’d come up empty.

  They were now walking through the upper levels a final time, checking the hodgepodge of computer rooms along with a second look in the control center. No sheriff.

  When they finally gave up, they found Grundy Campo making his slow way down the walkway. His back had a permanent bend like he’d slouched for too many years, and it had stuck that way. A blaster hung by a strap off of his shoulder.

  “Hi, Mr. Campo. How are you doing today?” Nick exclaimed, not quite shouting.

  “As good as can be expected for an old man,” Grundy replied. “And you two?”

  “We’re doing good. Hey, have you seen Sheriff Vane by any chance?”

  Grundy cupped a hand behind his ear. “Who’s that, you say?”

  Louder and slower, Nick said, “Sheriff. Vane.”

  “Goodness, boy. I’m hard of hearing, not dimwitted. The sheriff got back not too long ago. I think I saw her going into Computer Room B.”

  Nick’s face fell. “But that’s a secure room.”

  “Is it important?” Grundy asked.

  “Yes, it’s very important,” Nick replied.

  Grundy pulled out a keycard with shaky fingers. “Use my card, then. Knock so she knows you’re coming in. And I’ll need that card back by morning.”

  Nick grabbed the keycard. “Thanks, Mr. Campo!” he shouted and took off running, buzzing with anticipation, Romy and Champ on his heels.

  At the secure room, they shot gaping grins at each other, then Nick held the keycard up to the panel on the wall, and the door opened. As soon as the door opened, they jumped inside. Champ bounded in with them.

  The room was almost dark. Sheriff Vane sat in front of the single screen that was powered up. The man’s face on the screen caused Nick to hesitate. A scar puckered his face, beginning an inch above his eyebrow, cutting it in two, skipping a silver ball where an eye should be, and down his pale cheek to his chin. The fake eye gave Nick the creeps…especially since it seemed to be staring at him.

  Sheriff Vane stood up, blocking the screen. “You’re not supposed to be in here, kids.”

  “Sorry,” Romy said.

  “We wanted to ask you something,” Nick said.

  She eyed them for a moment, then nodded to the door. “Wait for me outside. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  Nick and Romy scampered out of the ro
om, tugging Champ with them.

  The door closed behind them.

  The pair stared at each other, wide-eyed.

  “Did you see that guy’s face?” Nick asked.

  Romy nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t look like a nice man.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Val exhaled before she turned back to the screen.

  “I apologize for the interruption, Commander. I’ll ensure that it never happens again.”

  Renzo narrowed his eyes, though his artificial eye—the one that saw far more than his natural eye—remained slightly more open, making him look like he was about to wink at her. Supreme Commander Renzo never winked.

  “Make sure you do. If my current status became common knowledge, the great work we’re doing could be for nothing. It’s too soon. Those children saw me. Get rid of them.”

  Val’s blood turned to ice. “They’re just children.”

  “Children talk. Those two are no different. Get rid of them. Tonight.”

  “But—”

  “This is not up for debate. This is a direct order from your superior, Commander. Get rid of them, or I’ll send someone else to do it. Whomever I send, may not be so gentle with them.”

  Her heart sank. “I’ll take care of it.”

  His lips curled up, but the cruel curve could never be mistaken for a smile. “Good. Is that all?”

  “Not quite. I didn’t get Zenith’s answer about Roderick Sloan’s aggression. Will you send forces to take him down?”

  “We’re monitoring him. We do not perceive him as a threat at this time,” Renzo replied.

  “He has tanks and an army…”

  “He can have anything he desires, as long as he doesn’t pose a threat to Zenith resources. He can play all the wargames he wants. Zenith will not intervene.” He held up a finger. “And don’t forget that you’re Zenith. Your job is to take care of the local population. Leave Sloan to the MRC.” With that, the call disconnected.