by Dennis Yates
My guts turned to ice. “And why should that be of interest to you?”
“Because I plan on collecting the reward after you help me find him. Starting now you and your friends are working for me.”
I started to laugh and thought better of it. Looked the crazy horseman in the eye and immediately wished I hadn’t. Hell no, my brain bellowed. He was dead serious about this.
“You really think the Federation will be interested in making a deal with the likes of you?” I asked.
Sorenson smiled. “I imagine they’d have issues... And that’s precisely why you’re still breathing. You’re going to do this for me and make it work. Otherwise you and your ragtag crew are of no use to me and you don’t want that.”
He didn’t have to explain what he’d do to us if we failed to cooperate. I glanced over at the others, saw the desire to live still flickering in their eyes. My mind flooded with blood-filled nightmares of what lay ahead. I blinked and the visions scattered from my mind. But I knew they were still clinging somewhere close should I wish to summon them.
Sorenson looked amused as he walked back to his horse. He pulled Ramos’ bloody ear from a vest pocket and held it out. The horse’s lips peeled back and it made a low growling sound before its jaws snatched the flap of flesh from his fingertips and chewed it down. Sorenson then climbed on the horse and rode away, his figure becoming quickly distorted by the ungodly waves of heat rising from the ground. He thinks he has total control over us, I thought. And he might very well be right.
After Patch finished tending to Ramos, he opened the sack Sorenson had left and began examining the pile of steel bracelets. He picked one out and grabbed me by the arm before I had a chance to protest.
“Have you seen these before?” he asked.
I said nothing. Sweat dripped from my forehead as Patch clamped the thing around my wrist and activated a switch that caused the thing to hum.
“This some kind of transmitter?” I asked. “In case we try to make a run for it?”
Patch frowned. “Worse than that. If Sorenson wants to, he can blow your hand clean off and leave you out here to bleed. Can’t say I ever saw anyone bounce back from that.”
“Is there a way to take them off?” I asked.
Patch’s face darkened. “Do you think I’d still be here if I knew how?”
“What about the others who were taken prisoner? Any of them have an idea?”
“You act like we’re allowed to be human. We aren’t supposed to talk. I barely know anyone except for the man named Frank and his boy.”
“Why is that?” I asked. I could feel the circuitry inside the bracelet moving like a tightening snake around my wrist. Patch saw the rising panic in my face and shook his head.
“Don’t think about it,” Patch said. “The quicker you get it off your mind the sooner you will be any good to us. As for Frank and his son, I owe them my life for saving me out here.”
“How did it happen?” I asked.
Patch pushed the rim of his top hat up so he could scan around us. Sorenson and his team had vanished earlier in the haze. We had no idea what they were up to or when they would return.
“I was with a traveling show.”
“As in entertainment?” I asked.
Patch nodded sadly. “Storytelling, magic and hypnosis...we’d entertained audiences in Lazarus for nearly ten years before we got viciously robbed and left for dead. Later Frank and his boy found me. I was wandering around the desert, sunblind. They took me in and cared for me until I got better. It wasn’t but a week later that Sorenson and his other riders forced us into their gang.”
“This Frank person sounds like a good man,” I said.
Patch studied the heat-blurred horizon. “I’m worried about those two. Sorenson doesn’t trust them.”
“Then I’d like to talk to him as soon as I can,” I said.
“It’ll be damn near impossible,” Patch said. He rose to his feet and snatched up the medical case and the bag full of bracelets. “But I’ll try to see what I can do after Frank and his boy return.”
“Where are they?” I asked.
“Sorenson sent them out to find an old fort.”
Chapter 8
As hard as Sorenson drove us through the desert oven, it was a wonder we managed to survive. Ever since the leader had received reports from his men that the President’s son had been spotted, his obsession had worsened and he’d shown less mercy towards everyone.
How Sorenson intended to capture the son alive I had no idea. If rumors were true about the brutality of the gang the President’s boy traveled with, there’d most certainly be a bloody battle to be fought.
It wasn’t until two of Sorenson’s scouts returned that we got a taste of what dangers awaited us. We were resting in the shade of a canyon wall when out in the blinding sunlight we noticed the misshapen forms of two riders moving toward us across the lake of a shimmering mirage. When they got close enough to recognize, Sorenson seemed to relax. I assumed the riders were Frank and his boy, who’d left the night before in search of an old fort.
We hadn’t noticed anything wrong when the riders stopped just outside our oasis of shade. Yet once they dismounted from their horses, Sorenson raised his rifle and ordered the pair not to take another step closer.
“There’s no need,” the father said, waving his hand nervously. “We aren’t any danger to you.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Sorenson said. He turned to Patch and spoke quietly. “Go take a closer look. I think there’s something wrong with Frank’s son.”
“How do you know?” Patch asked.
“Look at the boy’s eyes. They’re not right.”
I had to agree with Sorenson’s assessment. The boy's eyes seemed as if they were covered with greenish film. I shuddered as I recalled how the eyes of fresh rotters had the same poisonous hue.
“Guess he could have heat stroke,” Patch offered hopefully.
“I’m not asking for you to guess,” Sorenson hissed. “I want you to examine the boy to see if he’s got the sickness or not.”
Patch shook his head fearfully. “You know I’m not a real doctor. You killed him, remember?”
Sorenson pointed his rifle at Patch. “Don’t force me to promote anyone new to doctor today.”
Patch lowered his eyes and nodded. His hands were shaking at his sides when he turned and walked out to the riders.
“There’s nothing wrong with him,” shouted the father, “I know my own son.”
“Take off your shirt, boy,” Sorenson called. “And let Patch have a look at you.”
When Frank stepped in front of Patch to stop him, the ground next to his feet exploded. Sorenson quickly chambered another round.
“Next one’s taking your goddamn head off,” the horseman said.
Frank nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. “Do what he says, Tim. Take off your shirt.”
Trembling, Tim reached down and pulled the ragged cloth over his head. Patch began to circle the grime-covered boy. When he saw Tim’s naked back his mouth fell open and he flicked a worried glance at Sorenson.
“Come,” Patch whispered gently as reached out and guided the boy around so his back now faced us.
The boy had suffered terribly. The crude bandages his father had applied were now soaked with dried blood. There were a lot of them too, the likes I’d never imagine possible on someone still alive.
“He had a bad fall,” the desperate father said. “Slid down a rock and got skinned up something terrible.”
“Is that the truth boy?” Sorenson demanded. The boy glanced over his shoulder and said nothing.
“Patch,” Sorenson growled. “Let’s see what’s under those damn bandages.”
Patch stared bug eyed at the boy’s back. “But I could catch something boss. It isn’t safe.”
“You’re a goddamn doctor,” Sorenson shouted. “Now do your job.”
Patch shook his head and stepped closer to the boy. When h
e reached out and pulled back a bandage, he was startled by a flood of foul smelling puss coming from an angry bite wound. Before he could back away some of the yolk-like substance splashed on his hand and he’d tried to wipe it on his shirt before he ran away screaming. Sorenson cackled.
If the boy hadn’t been in the process of turning into a rotter, the shock from his awful wounds would have certainly rendered him unconscious. There was no other way to explain it.
Sorenson stopped laughing and glared at the boy’s father. “And now we have the truth, Frank. How dare you lie to me.”
Frank was shaking with fright, but he hadn’t moved from where he stood. “He’s my boy. I couldn’t just...”
Tim turned back around, and this time I saw a brief glimmer of innocence in his changing eyes. Sorenson took aim at the boy’s forehead.
“Please don’t,” Frank begged.
“Then you know what you have to do,” the horseman said, lowering his rifle. “Better get it done before dark.”
“What is he talking about?” asked the boy, confused. “You told me everything would be okay. You said we’d find a cure.”
Frank nodded sullenly as he took the boy’s hand. “And there is one, son. Come with papa and he will show you.”
Sorenson grinned. “That’s it, Frank. Way to talk to your boy. If you come back, you better not infected. I’ll make sure you regret it.”
We watched as they walked back out into the sizzling haze. Not long after the pair melted into a distant silver mirage, we heard the bitter report of gunfire echoing throughout the canyon.
“I hope he doesn’t waste time burying the boy,” Sorenson said. “Nothing will stay in the ground very long if there’s desert wraiths about.”
Hearing him mention wraiths sent a cold whisper up the back of my neck. They were sly creatures who could infiltrate groups of humans by hiding their deformities. You had to know what to look for and be willing to kill the human imposter as soon as possible. Wraiths were without a doubt something to fear. But there were other things on Lazarus that scared me even more.
****
Keeping us spread apart to prevent us from talking to one another, our function was to walk ahead of the horses and clear hazards with sticks. Fat rattlers thrived in the McCarthy and were always a threat both to the riders and their horses. One bite was all you needed before you were hanging by your fingers on the precipice of an agonizing death.
And that was only the snakes. There were many other things in the McCarthy designed to kill you. Like the flying scorpions. Or the skull-head spiders who built steely webs inside trapdoor burrows deep enough to swallow a man up to his knee. The truth was that a terrible fate awaited anyone stupid enough to try to cross the McCarthy. The rule to survival here was simple: you had to keep moving and get out of the desert as fast as possible.
It wasn’t always the desert's heat and her loathsome creatures that played Reaper, however. Nights could become unbearably cold, and if you weren’t careful you could easily freeze to death in your sleep.
We were allowed to build small fires and cook the snakes and small mammals we’d collected while clearing the way for the horsemen. Patch, who rode a burro carrying leather bags of water and first aid supplies, let us refill our own water skins.
One night I was awakened by someone poking at my neck with a rifle barrel. I sat up fast and saw the legs of a horse standing next to me. I glanced up at the rider, wondering what he wanted at this hour.
“Get up,” Sorenson said, his eyes inkblots in the darkness. “And don’t wake the others.”
I stood and glanced around, saw the fires built earlier had burned down to ash. In some pits coals still pulsed faintly with life.
Sorenson reached down with a gloved hand for me to take. I looked up and realized he was no longer wearing a leather mask. The shock was quick and he could see it in my face before he grasped my hand and pulled me up into the saddle behind him.
We rode for several miles before stopping near the edge of a cliff and dismounting. I saw in the distance the forms of white sand dunes. Under the blue starlight they glowed like a pile of polished bones as far as the eye could see. In fact, people called it the boneyard, for it was usually the last place most travelers were ever be seen again –- at least with flesh, that is.
I turned and saw Sorenson had found a rock to lean against as he watched me, his rifle resting close at hand.
“We need to talk,” the horseman said. A silver flask had emerged from his jacket. He tipped it up and took a long drink before passing it over to me.
I couldn’t refuse. I was shivering with cold and the whiskey burned straight to where it needed to go. Maybe it wasn’t the chilly night making me shake. Perhaps it was the fear I would soon be killed and tossed over the precipice only steps away. I passed the flask back. After a few moments, I nearly felt whole again and the tremors seemed to settle. I still couldn’t shake the feeling that my new warden was planning to kill me.
“I’m listening,” I said, trying not to stare.
Sorenson waved a hand in front of his face and laughed. “What do you think? Do you pity what you see?”
I wouldn’t have called what he had an upper face, for it lacked any possibility of expression. It looked in fact like ground red meat with rudimentary holes for a nose and lidless eyes. The man’s mouth appeared untouched, as was his jaw and neck.
I clenched my hands to keep them from shaking. “What the hell happened to you?”
Sorenson drank some more from his flask and turned his head toward the dunes. I too was drawn back to the view stretched out before us, relieved by not having to look at that poor excuse for a face any longer than necessary.
“I regained consciousness one morning and found myself out there, deep inside the boneyard. Dusters had knocked me out and dropped me off with only the clothes on my back. Buzzards thought I was dead and started to make a meal of my face before I came out of it.”
“They ate you?”
Sorenson laughed bitterly. “I know what you’re thinking. People always say the damn birds won’t mess with you until you’ve passed on. I guess that was a lie they told themselves so they wouldn’t have something else to worry about.”
“How did you survive?”
“It was time for my luck to change, I guess. Couldn’t get worse than being mistaken for dead by a filthy bird. A horseman on the run discovered me. Judging by the things I later found in his satchel, he must have been wanted by Pilgrims for murdering young women. Sick son of a bitch too, you should have seen the trophies he’d kept of his victims. Anyway, he’d decided to check my pockets and see if I had anything of value but I waited and bit him in the wrist, felt my teeth part his veins before grabbing the other and doing the same. You should have seen the surprise on his face. Blood everywhere. I took his horse and his gear and left him staring at the sun.”
“Back in business,” I said. “And hell-bent on revenge. Can I assume you had a part in unleashing the rotter plague?”
Sorenson wiped his mouth and smiled. “No. It was the Federation who brought it here. They once collected the virus from Earth during a salvage mission and have kept it suspended in a lab for over 100 years. Until now, that is.
“The sons of bitches,” I said, my anger clawing inside. “Have they learned nothing from what happened on Earth? That bug knows how to spread fast.”
“I doubt if it was ever a concern since they wouldn’t actually be handling the virus themselves.”
Of course, I thought. They used robotic mercenaries to deal with their hazardous materials. Not only cost effective, but they could self-destruct if they fell into the wrong hands. I’d had plenty of run ins with them in the past. Watched the acid run from their pores until they were just a pool of toxic goo.
“Why would someone do this?” I asked.
“Money, of course. Some powerful investment firms wanted Lazarus free of Dusters or they wouldn’t put up the financing for new drilling. Only they di
dn’t know what they were playing with by releasing the virus. When we saw how rapidly it spread, we decided we could help keep it burning until everyone had paid.”
“And you didn’t care who you killed? That old man and his granddaughters didn’t deserve to die.”
“Why should I care? They were Dusters too. And it was Dusters who left me in the boneyard for the birds to peck over. Later I found out I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. I met others with revenge in their hearts, men who were willing to help me insure that every last Duster got what was due to them. The viral wind might be long past, but the rotters still continued to spread it through their bites. We’ve been herding the damn things across Lazarus so they can do their work.”
“And this is why you brought me here, to brag about killing innocent people?”
“There’s no such thing as an innocent Duster,” Sorenson mused. “Every last one of them has played a part in what happened to my face. All except you and your crew. You had nothing to do with it because you were on ice.”
“Then what the hell do you want from us?”
“I’ve been thinking it’s unfair for me to keep the bounty money all to myself. It might be a mistake not to cut you and your friends in.”
“You can spare me the suffering conscious bit,” I said. “I’ve seen what you’ve done to people. Nothing will ever clean your slate with me.”
“Look, I’m not sorry for what I did to Ramos. I understand if you disagree with my methods, but I had to find out what you were doing out here.”
“Go to hell.”
Sorenson grinned. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re in it right now. Go ahead and keep hating me if you want to. But do you think you can rise above the things you’ve done?”
“You don’t even know me,” I said.
“What’s there to know other than you have Duster blood running through your veins? We’re cut from the same cloth, Brand. We both like to take what doesn’t belong to us.”
“Hardly seems like the best thing to hang one’s trust on,” I said.
