by Rachel Aukes
It had been a rough day. Thirty-eight innocent people, who’d survived years of misery and untold torture, had died in the silo. The ninety-seven people on the farm were managing for themselves, though Val said she’d go out there the next day to help Lupe and Paul oversee the grand exodus. Fortunately, President Darville had kept her word, and the tanks hadn’t descended on either the small group of hunters and their sheriff or those at the farm. Darville did, however, reclaim all MRC vehicles and equipment still at the farm. Evidently, she didn’t feel like helping the refugees get home.
Kit grabbed the flask and held it up. “To those lost today.” He took a drink, shuddered, and passed it to Val.
She took a small sip and handed it to Joe. “The Sloan brothers are no longer a plague on the wastelands. Thanks to you, there are no more slaves in Clearwater.”
“Hear, hear. Now maybe I can finally get back to cashing in tickets,” Rex said, taking the flask from Joe.
“Bounty hunting is a fine occupation, but can you go back to work knowing Renzo is out there, planning who knows what for the wastelands?”
“In a heartbeat.” Rex took another drink. “That hero stuff ain’t for me. I’d much rather die with a few coins in my pocket. Besides, bringing the Haft Agency back to life is going to drive Cat crazy.”
Kit chuckled. “Yes, it certainly will.”
Rex sobered. “Hey, why don’t you all join the agency? We’ll be the primo facto bounty hunter guild in the Midlands.
“Do you mean de facto?” Kit asked.
“I mean whatever I want it to mean,” Rex replied.
“Rex has a dictionary. He needs to read it a lot more,” Joe said.
Rex waved them off. “Whatever. Join the agency. We’ll all make some money, and maybe even have some fun along the way.”
“There’s a small problem with that,” Joe said. “Both Kit and I are fugitives, which means we’re going to have a heck of a time chasing targets with outstanding tickets on our own heads. Wherever we go, the Iron Guild’s going to be on our tails.”
Rex scowled. “Don’t make me pull my favor card. All right, I’m going to pull it. Both of you owe me big time for saving your skins out there in the Salt Flats. We’re a team, so you’re coming back with me to the Haft Agency. We’ll figure out the little things later.”
“Little things like being fugitives and Cat’s vendetta?” Kit asked.
Rex grinned. “Exactly.”
“You’re right. We owe you. We’re in,” Joe said.
“No, we’re not,” Kit said.
“Yes, we are,” Joe said.
Rex clapped his hands together. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? How about you, Val?”
She spun around, rummaged through the back, and pulled out a flattish gray orb. She twisted it, which brought it to life with dots of light and a persistent hum, and tossed it into the air, where it hung suspended about ten feet above the ground.
Then she turned back to the men. “It’s a blocker, for the drones Zenith no doubt has flying around this area. I don’t want him watching or listening in. Okay, here goes…
“Instead of bounty hunting, I offer another idea. We made a good team taking down the Sloan brothers. What if we look into protecting people across the Midlands?”
“You mean like Robin Hoods without the tights?” Kit asked.
“I mean something more like mercenaries, but instead of taking the highest bidder, we help those most in need.”
“That sounds like Robin Hoods,” Kit said.
“Robin Hoods might get laid, but they don’t get paid,” Rex inserted.
She frowned. “There are more people enslaved out there. MRC doesn’t care. Shoot, their people are the oppressors most of the time. Plus, Renzo’s nefarious schemes are hurting people. I think the Midlands—the entire wastelands, really—needs people who’ll do what it takes to make life better for everyone here.”
Joe considered Val’s idea. He was tired of bounty hunting, where he felt like he was serving only those with enough money to take out anyone they wanted out of the way. Over the past few months, he’d felt more alive than he had in years. He’d also nearly died more times than he had in years, and, worse, he owed Rex. “It’s an interesting concept…” he began.
“Don’t tell me you’re falling for her hero crap,” Rex said.
Joe held up a finger to silence him. “I’m not reneging. I’m just saying that Val’s idea has merit. Maybe we can do both. What Val’s saying is, there need to be bounty hunters for the people.”
She winced. “That’s not really what I was saying.”
“I know. I’m oversimplifying it,” Joe said. “Your idea has possibilities, but it’s missing the money and legitimacy to make it work.”
“I see where you’re going,” Kit said, a smile forming. “Bounty hunters by day, and a different kind of bounty hunters by night.”
“Exactly,” Joe said.
Rex frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“Oh… I get it,” Val said. “Interesting.”
“Hey guys, what are you talking about?” Rex asked.
Kit’s smile faded. “But we still have the problem of Joe and I being fugitives, not to mention Darville’s probably put Val here on a watchlist.”
“Hold on a minute,” Val said, and everyone turned to her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a keycard with the letter Z printed on it.
Joe leaned back. “Whatever that is, it looks like trouble.”
She held it up. “This could be a lot of trouble, and I believe Renzo destroyed the silo to make sure this was destroyed. It’s called a Z-key, and it’s able to access Zenith’s most secure systems. I found it in the locked room at the bottom of the silo.” She handed it to Joe. “That hacker friend of yours who helped me get into that room? Maybe she could expunge all our records in exchange for this card. It’s invaluable to the right people. But do you trust her to make sure this doesn’t fall into the wrong hands? I don’t want more people to die because of this.”
Joe waggled the card. “This key should be destroyed. If Renzo blew up a silo to make sure no one got it, imagine what he’d be willing to do if he found out you have it.”
She brushed her hair back. “I don’t care anymore. I’m done with Zenith.”
“Guys…” Rex drawled.
Joe sighed. “We’re saying that we want to write our own tickets. We’ve had enough of serving the wrong side. But writing our own tickets doesn’t pay the bills. So, we’ll all join the Haft Agency. That’ll legitimize us, and we’ll take some tickets for the money.”
Rex guffawed. “And what do you get for the tickets you write? Hero badges? Because you’re sure not going to make money off them.”
“They’ll be off the books. They don’t need to concern you if you don’t want to be involved. But you’re right, Rex. We all need to pay the bills, and being legal bounty hunters gets us into places we couldn’t otherwise get into,” Joe said.
A smile crept up Rex’s face. “I’m going to be your boss.”
Joe, Kit, and Val groaned in unison.
He slid off his tailgate and held out his arms and motioned for them to come in closer. “Come on, bring it in for a hug. We’re going to be one big, happy family.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Kit grumbled.
Rex waved him off. “Fine. We’ll hug later. Now, let’s figure out someone who needs killing.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The next day, when everyone went to help at the farm, Joe took off for Cavil. The long drive was made longer by his concern for the Swintons. It didn’t help that his cutter seemed to stink even worse. He’d have to take a look at it later.
When he reached Cavil, he drove alternate routes to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Cat had likely returned to Copper Gulch and assigned hunters to Joe, Kit, and Rex.
After checking the area for traps or cameras, he entered the code that unlocked the front door. He wore his exoshield,
as he did whenever he was in public, and especially when he had a warrant out for his arrest. Cautiously, he checked the interior. There were no signs that they’d been there since leaving for Clearwater nearly three months back, and that worried him. He’d assumed they would come home because it was the one place where they felt safe, despite the danger from Sloan, and now from Zenith.
At least one of those dangers had been removed. Joe would see to it that the second was eliminated as well, assuming they were still alive. Sara’s husband, Nick had been a Raven and Joe’s best friend. Joe had done his best to look after Sara and Little Nick, but his best hadn’t been good enough.
He went on to Grundy Campo’s house, since he believed Grundy had been the last person they saw. Hope tempered by trepidation filled him when he found Grundy’s cutter parked outside.
He jumped out and ran up to the door, to discover a large hole burned through it. He ran his fingers over the melted composite. Blaster fire. Shotgun shells littered the ground. He shoved the door open and gasped. Burn marks marred nearly every wall, and holes cratered the wall opposite the door. He found tiny silver balls embedded in each of the holes. The blaster fire seemed random, since it’d hit multiple places, while the shotgun’s trajectory was focused. The most likely scenario was that whoever had fired the shotgun had fired at the person holding the blaster.
He looked again at the door. Correction: the shotgun handler was firing at the thing that held the blaster. The hole was larger than any shooter needed to fit a barrel through but too small for a person. Also, its placement in the middle of the door made the angle too low for a shooter. It had to have been a drone, and Joe knew Zenith was using drones to spy; they could be using them for other tasks as well.
The Swintons had been here, and Zenith had sent a drone after them. Sara didn’t own a shotgun, but she could’ve found one in Grundy’s house. Whoever had the shotgun had gone up against the drone. He scanned the floor for signs of blood but found none, though a pail of water and a sponge still sat in the middle of the floor. He checked the water. It was cold and dirty, but not dark with old blood, so it hadn’t been used to wipe up the aftermath. More likely, Sara—who he remembered always kept her house cleaner than any hospital—had been scrubbing Grundy’s floors, since a portion of the floor was light and polished compared to the dull gray of the rest. She’d been interrupted by the drone attack. Then she—no, someone else, because she was inside—shot at the drone from outside.
One of the kids may have fired the shotgun, but the holes were more centered than he’d expect from someone with no experience firing a gun with significant recoil. Someone else had shot at the drone, then, but who? And what had happened to Sara and the kids?
He went through the house searching for clues and found no sign of them—not even of Champ. During his walk-through, he found a false wall left open in the back of Grundy’s closet. It was big enough for all the Swintons to hide in, but there was no one there now.
The Swintons had either left or been taken away. They’d taken their things with them too, which meant they’d had the time, but they’d left the cutter, which was suspicious. Without a vehicle, where would they go? In Far Town, no one traveled on foot unless they had to. If they’d been taken, why were they given time to collect their belongings? The more likely scenario was that they’d fled on foot, but he couldn’t find tracks on the hard ground outside. The trail was cold.
But just because Joe didn’t know where they’d gone didn’t mean that no one knew. This was Far Town, poverty-stricken and crime-riddled, and there were eyes everywhere. He climbed back into his smelly cutter and drove to see the one person who knew everything that happened in Far Town.
He parked outside the Redline Casino and Resort. He didn’t use the valet service because valets were as likely to steal someone’s cutter as a thug on the street. Though, and he found humor in the thought, no one in their right mind would steal his cutter.
He strode through the front entrance, and everyone turned to see the hunter in an exoshield. Half of them were likely worrying he was there for them. He went to the front desk.
“May I help you?” a well-dressed, attractive man standing behind a computer asked.
“I need to talk with Artie Law,” Joe said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“You need to schedule an appointment.”
“Listen, I’m not leaving until I speak with Artie. Do you really want a bounty hunter hanging around your casino all day long?”
The attendant bristled. “Please give me a moment.” He picked up a phone and placed a call. “This is Rory. There’s a gentleman here to see Mr. Law. He’s a bounty hunter.” He eyed Joe’s chest plate. “His name is Havoc… Okay, I’ll tell him.” He hung up the phone. “Mr. Law will see you. Go through that door to your left, and someone will guide you the rest of the way.”
“Thanks,” Joe said. He walked toward the door that read Employee Entrance, his fingers dancing on his holster. He preferred to have his blaster in his hand, but forced himself to play civil.
He opened the door to find a scraggly teenager aiming a shotgun at him. Joe rushed the kid, grabbed the barrel, and shoved it up and back, knocking the youth off his feet. Joe spun the shotgun around and aimed it at the kid, who held his hands out in fear.
“Don’t shoot, man. I’m just here to take you to Mr. Law,” the kid said.
Joe let the teen sweat for another second before he held out a hand and helped the youth to his feet. He handed the shotgun back. “Try not to point it at the people you’re supposed to be escorting.”
The kid gave Joe a wary look before slinging the shotgun over his shoulder. “This way.”
No more words were spoken during the walk to another receptionist, this one female and also attractive. “Thank you, Thor.” She turned to Joe. “Mr. Law will be with you shortly.”
The teen shot Joe one more glance, then walked away. Seeing the shotgun reaffirmed Joe’s suspicion that Artie Law knew what had happened to the Swintons, though he wondered how much the information would cost.
The door behind the receptionist opened, and Artie stepped out, smiling.
“Havoc, it’s been a while. I haven’t seen you since the Haft Agency was burned down. Nasty business, that was. That was one of my favorite places to play cards.”
“I would’ve thought you’d prefer your own casino,” Joe said.
Artie chuckled. “No. They always let me win here, and since I own the place, when I win here, I lose, if you know what I mean.”
Joe gave a small head tilt.
Artie motioned. “Here. Let’s go into my office so we can talk.”
Joe followed Cavil’s richest man into his office.
“I’m looking for some friends of mine,” Joe said without preamble.
“I know. I’ve already let Sara know that you’re here. She’ll be right down.”
Joe stiffened. “She’s here? She’s okay?”
Artie nodded. “Yes, and she’s fine. The kids are fine, too, though that dog is a bit rambunctious. It ran through my casino the other day; about scared one of my patrons half to death.”
Joe frowned. “How’d you know—? How’d she—?”
Artie held up a hand. “She can tell you about the drone attack. That lad who brought you here—Thor—he shot down the drone.”
“I guess I should thank him then.”
“Nah. He’s scared of bounty hunters. Safer for him to be scared than to humanize you bunch and get too confident around one sometime.” He pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. “Would you like a drink?”
“Not thirsty, thanks.” He was, in fact, thirsty, and his mouth watered as Artie poured himself a glass. But to drink meant removing his helmet, and he didn’t trust Artie enough to allow that level of comfort to be established between them.
Artie took a drink and leaned against his desk. “There’s something I should tell you. It’s about Sara…and me. We’r
e seeing each other.”
Joe was taken aback. As far as he knew, Sara hadn’t dated anyone since Nick’s death. He and she had never had that kind of relationship—their friendship, albeit very close, had always remained platonic. Her lifestyle hadn’t changed as long as he’d known her. To hear Artie’s words sent his perspective off-kilter. “Are you sure?”
He laughed. “Yes, I’m quite sure that we’re seeing each other.”
Joe glared, glad that Artie couldn’t see his expression. “But she’s not like you. She lives a simple life; she’s wholly focused on the kids. While you’re a gambler…among other things.”
“Yes, and I’ve always had a knack for gambling. But I’m more than a gambler and a businessman. We’ve found that we actually have quite a few things in common, and get along nicely. I know you don’t know me enough to trust me, but you trust Sara, so trust in her ability to make up her own mind about me. Sure you don’t want a drink?”
Joe’s upper lip curled into a snarl. The door behind him opened.
“Joe!”
He spun around to see Nick, Romy, and Champ barreling toward him. Well, the dog seemed to be barreling along with the kids. The pair tried to tackle Joe with their hugs, banging into his armor. Even though Artie was in the room, he pulled off his helmet because he knew the kids needed to see his face. Behind him, Artie sneezed.
“It’s so good to see you,” Joe said.
“Wait ’til we tell you about everything that’s happened. You’ll never believe it,” Nick said. Sara came in, breathing hard.
“And I want to hear all about it. But first, let me hug your mother,” Joe said.
Sara came to greet him. “They’re so excited to see you that they ran all the way down here.” She blew out a breath. “Man, they’re hard to keep up with.”
She held out her arms to Joe, and he embraced her.
“I was worried,” he whispered.
“I was worried about you,” she said.
He pulled back. “You don’t have to worry about the Sloans anymore.”
She smiled. “I heard. Thank you.”
