“It’s good for security too,” she had said. “Everybody here knows their connection with us. No one around these parts is going to fuck with the Holtzers.”
From his own experience, Brogan had no doubt about that.
“They’re good people,” Roja had added. “It’s nice to help good people.”
After ten minutes of aimless ambling, Brogan decided to seek out the chief. Over the past couple days, he hadn’t seen much of him. Since the night he’d rescued Brogan, Bear had come to the tent only once, for a few minutes, to check up on his progress. Roja had been there, and the body language between the two seemed tense and awkward. Brogan figured there must be some history between them. What that was exactly, he could only guess.
He stopped a passing brave, a young man barely out of his teens, and asked him to take him to the chief. The warrior led him through to the back of the sprawled-out campsite to a large canvas tent with an in-built porch at the front. It was considerably bigger than any of the others in the camp—certainly larger than Roja’s little nylon tent. Brogan recognized Bear’s custom dirt-track, black and silver Harley parked to one side, and a few hundred yards behind it he could make out the lake. The chief had chosen a nice spot to pitch his tent.
Just outside the porch area, a small wood fire had been started. A blackened old metal pot sat on a grill perched between two bricks, and he could smell the inviting aroma of freshly made coffee.
The brave called out discreetly, and soon a young woman appeared from inside the tent, a pretty cafe-colored girl with long braided hair wearing a dark wool sweater, tight-fitting jeans and a pair of old trainers. Brogan recognized her immediately as the girl who had ridden on the back of Bear’s motorbike that first day they’d met.
She saw Brogan and smiled. “I heard you were better,” she said. “Wait here.”
Reaching inside the porch, she picked up a camp stool and placed it by the fire.
“Sit down. I’ll make you some coffee while Josh fetches my husband,” she said, indicating to the brave.
“Thank you, miss. Where is your husband?” Brogan asked, remaining standing. He put a hand on the brave’s shoulder before he could take off.
She turned and pointed toward the lake. “He’s back there somewhere, fishing.”
“I’ll just get Josh to take me to him, if you don’t mind.”
The chief’s young wife looked disappointed. Brogan guessed she was curious to listen in on his conversation with the chief.
“If you prefer. I’ll have some coffee waiting for you when you get back.”
Brogan thanked her, then headed off accompanied by the young brave.
A few minutes later they reached the banks of the lake, where a thick mist lay over its waters, the bright morning sun shimmering through, giving it the appearance of pink cotton candy. Somewhere off in the distance, he could hear the sound of ducks.
When this is all over, I’m going back to the West Valley, to my farm, Brogan thought to himself. I’m tired of city living.
Fifteen minutes later they found the chief over at the far side of a hilly promontory that jutted out into the lake.
Held over the big man’s head was a fishing rod. He was about to cast it when he spotted Brogan and the brave marching through the thick grasses when they came over the brow of the hill. The chief paused a moment then, expertly flicking his wrist forward, cast the line out into the lake. As soon as it hit the water, he began to reel it back in again.
The young warrior came to a halt. He patted Brogan on the arm, then turned back toward the camp.
“Nice way to spend the morning,” Brogan said a couple of minutes later when he reached the chief. “Especially on a day like this.”
“This is work,” Bear said. He stared at the hat on Brogan’s head a moment, but made no comment. “I’m catching lunch.”
The chief indicated to a plastic bucket on the ground beside his tackle box. Inside was a green and gray colored fish about ten inches long.
“That’s not even breakfast for a guy your size,” Brogan said peering down at it. “Looks like you got more work to do. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“It’s fine. Plenty of time till lunch.”
The chief reeled in his line then, flipping the bail, he locked the reel and stuck the hook into the rod’s cork grip so that the line held taut. Bending over, he rested the rod carefully down on the grass beside his bucket.
“Come on,” he said, standing up. “Let’s take a stroll.”
The two men walked back from the promontory to the main shoreline, then turned southward along a narrow overgrown path. A soft breeze blew in off the lake, its waters lapping gently onto the shore. With each step Brogan felt better as the last of the cobwebs cleared from his head.
He was keen to know if there had been any news of Ritter. The chief told Brogan he had sent men into Two Jacks at different times of the day to look for him. Yesterday evening, Bear himself had gone into town with a party of braves and gone to the Paradise Lounge to find the place all boarded up. There was no sign or word of Ritter anywhere.
“I’m pretty sure he’s left town,” the chief said. “That’s what I’d do in his position. Find somewhere to hang low for a few weeks until everything blows over.”
Brogan knew the chief was right. To pick up Ritter’s trail again, he would need to get back to Winter’s Edge and see if John Cole had managed to track him down. Now that Holmes had left Two Jacks, there was no other way for him to contact his friend.
“You say he’s a hunter and trapper,” the chief continued, looking thoughtful. “He could have a cabin out here somewhere. Most do.”
Brogan thought about this. “Good idea,” he said. Maybe that was something he could work on before going all the way back to Winter’s Edge. “I’ll look into that.”
After they walked a little farther, the chief asked him, “How are you getting on with Roja. She looking after you good?”
“Real good. I’m lucky to have someone like her take care of me.”
“Well, now that you’re better, maybe you can do something for her in return.”
Brogan stared across at the chief. “Like what exactly?”
The chief smiled. “I’m sure you can think of something. She likes you, you know. A man could do a lot worse than to have a woman like that.”
“I wouldn’t argue with you there.” Brogan hesitated a moment before going on. “Chief, seems to me, like you two aren’t exactly on the best of terms. Is there anything I need to know?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“Nope. Nothing.”
Bear spent the next few minutes spelling out their history together as Brogan listened carefully. Soon the awkwardness he’d observed between the two of them the other day made sense.
“I don’t feel good about how things ended between us,” Bear finished up. “Roja’s a good person. What happened to her wasn’t right. It’s just the way the thing went down.”
Brogan mulled this over. It seemed strange to him that Bear would give up Roja on the request of a dying chief. But this was the Outzone, a crazy world where a multitude of different cults and societies made up their own rules. After only a few weeks here, he was already beyond judging any of it.
“Well, Chief, sometimes life is like that. Things slip out of your control and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. I know a little bit about that myself.”
***
When Brogan got back to the tent, Roja had returned. She was preparing them a breakfast of oatmeal mixed with nuts, milk, and honey, and had a mug of strong coffee waiting for him.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“I went to see the chief.”
She looked at him inquiringly.
Brogan shook his head. “Still no sign of the weasel,” he said, taking a long sip from his mug.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Whatever it takes.”
While she poured out the porridge into two large bo
wls, Brogan stared over at her with an ever-growing respect.
After breakfast, Roja did the eye test again.
“That’s better,” she said, dropping her hand. “You still getting headaches?”
“Nope, they’re gone.” Brogan looked across at her. “So I was thinking, now that I’m better, maybe you could drop me into Two Jacks later this morning.”
“You planning on leaving?” Roja asked in a surprised voice. She didn’t sound happy about it.
“No. I’m still running up a bill at the hotel, and I better pick up my gear and motorbike too. Before someone gets the bright idea it belongs to them.”
“Okay, I’ll drop you in. I’ll wait for you to settle up, then we can ride back together.” Apparently Roja had no intention of letting him out of her sight.
“Checkout’s not till noon,” Brogan said, grinning at her. “If we leave soon, we can rest up in the room a couple of hours. It’s a big comfortable bed.”
A wide smile came over her face. “Okay. Time to find out if you’ve made a full recovery.”
An hour later, Brogan climbed onto the back of Roja’s fifteen year-old Suzuki 250cc and they made the twenty minute run into the city.
Riding in pairs—two at the front, two behind them—four heavily-armed Black Eagle warriors escorted them all the way in. Bear had insisted on it. Though there had been no sign of him, Ritter could return to Two Jacks at any moment, and the chief wasn’t taking any chances.
After catching up with Ralph, who was relieved to find his friend still in one piece, Brogan set the four braves up at the counter of the Quiver’s bar to drink beer and whiskey on his dime. It was two full hours before he and Roja emerged from his room and checked out, pleased to be told that he had indeed made a full recovery.
Chapter 35
The following day, Brogan departed from the Black Eagles camp, taking Roja with him. In his hotel room the previous afternoon, the two had talked at length between several bouts of lovemaking. Brogan had told her he planned to leave soon, that he needed to find Ritter before the trail ran cold.
“Take me with you,” Roja had said. “I can help you. I’ll watch your back.”
Lying on his side, Brogan swept a hand up the inside of her smooth brown thigh, resting it over the taut muscles of her stomach.
“Things could get ugly,” he said, like this was the first time he had considered it. “Ritter may have lost his men, but he’s still dangerous. You know that, don’t you?”
“All the more reason to take me,” she replied.
And that had been that.
Back at the camp that evening, Brogan told Bear of his plans, and asked for his permission to take Roja.
The chief had looked pleased. “It’s a good move. For both of you. You won’t find a more loyal woman in the Outzone. Just watch out for that temper,” he warned Brogan. “It’ll bite you on the ass when you least expect it.”
The next day after lunch, the two packed up their gear. With a practiced ease, Roja dismantled the tent, stuffing the poles into one of her packs, followed by the tent itself rolled up inside the groundsheet. When everything was ready, she and Brogan strapped their laden packs onto the tanks and fenders of their machines and they were ready to go.
Their farewell was brief. Brogan thanked the chief for all his help, and told him they should return in a couple of weeks. Bear shook Brogan’s hand, then took Roja’s offered hand, telling Brogan the tribe would keep an eye out for Ritter. Then the pair got on their motorbikes, started their engines, and rode out of the camp.
Their first stop was Two Jacks once more. There was a certain person Brogan needed to find. Someone who worked the night shift. Someone who might just know where Ritter had holed up. That morning he had run his idea past Roja. After a moment’s consideration, she’d shrugged and told him she had no problem with his plan.
There was a look of surprise on Ralph’s face when the two came in through the lobby door of the Quiver.
“Back so soon?” he said, raising an eyebrow quizzically. The clerk reached back to the board behind him and took down the key to 211. “I guess you two lovebirds will be wanting the same room.”
Brogan was about to take the key when Roja stepped forward.
“No,” she said. “We’ll take a different room. Something farther up the hall.”
Ralph gave Brogan a questioning look.
“Whatever the lady says,” Brogan said. He took out his wallet and slapped three dollars on the counter.
“That’s always been my advice too,” Ralph said in his laconic drawl. He took the money and scrawled the details for room 217 into the ledger. “Especially when it comes to sleeping arrangements. Women can be kinda tricky about them, ya know?”
Once back outside the hotel, Roja and Brogan mounted their machines.
“In case you didn’t get that, I’m not sleeping again in the same bed you fucked that treacherous whore,” she said. “Once is enough.”
Brogan nodded. He got it alright. Circumstances had changed. Yesterday they were getting it on for the first time and a bed was just a bed. Today they were a couple. Women were like that.
The two drove their motorcycles around to the side entrance, where a young man let them in.
“Where’s Harold?” Brogan asked him as they drove in through the gates.
“It’s his day off,” the young man told him. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”
The two spent the rest of the afternoon making the most of the comforts of their hotel room, Roja’s hard athletic body demanding even more from him than the previous day. Early evening while the two dozed, Brogan realized that this was the first time since Sarah’s death he had felt this close to a woman. And not just physically. The hour he’d spent with Marlee had been no more than a roll in the sack, one that had an ulterior purpose. With Roja, an emotional connection was growing between them, a bond they had both become aware of. The glances, the sense of ease that had developed between them.
Both were wise enough to understand there was no way of telling where it might lead. For now, they would enjoy the moment. This was the Outzone. It was how things worked here.
At seven p.m. the two got up, showered, and dressed. When he came out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, Brogan stared over at Roja by the dresser mirror. She had let down the ponytail she’d worn all day and brushed her hair out, putting on a tight-fitting crimson top, blue jeans, and a pair of high-heeled black boots. She caught him staring at her.
“Just admiring the view,” he said grinning. “If you don’t button that blouse up some more, they’re going to pop out.”
Roja’s lips parted into a shy smile, showing off her perfect white teeth. “That’s how it’s done in this town,” she said. “I don’t want to look out of place.”
She dropped her nine-millimeter Herstal into the rig under her bottle-green leather jacket. Then, crouching down on one knee, she slid her hunting knife inside the strap of her left boot. When she was done she stood up and looked over at him. “Ready?”
Brogan nodded. “Expecting trouble?”
“Always.” A serious look had come over Roja’s face. “Let’s go.”
Brogan slid one of his Glocks into his waist holster, picked up his hat from off the bed, and they left the room. In the hall, he locked the door, threaded his padlock through the latch, and snapped it closed.
The two were hungry from their exertions. Leaving the hotel, they headed for the burrito joint at the corner of the block. The weather had held up, and outside it was a cloudless night.
Brogan tipped his hat back over his head, held in place by its strap. He still felt a little self-conscious wearing it, and wondered whether John Cole was watching him at that very moment. As they strolled up the street, Roja slipped her arm through his. It felt the most natural thing in the world.
After eating, they walked back to the hotel and entered the Quiver Bar. It was just after nine p.m. and though it was a weekday night, the bar was
already busy. In all the times Brogan had been there, it had never been less than half full at this time of the evening.
He led Roja to the counter where she took the last available stool, while he stood beside her. A barman came over, one Brogan recognized.
“Bourbon and coke for the gentleman,” said the barman, pointing a finger at Brogan. He turned to Roja. “How about for the lady?”
“Same.”
The barman nodded and went off to get their drinks.
They spent the next hour at the counter sipping their drinks slowly. The mood in the bar was boisterous as usual, but neither of the two talked much. Brogan felt tense, and though he would have liked to loosen up with a few drinks, he didn’t order anything more. He needed to remain clear-headed. Roja seemed out of sorts as well, and he wondered what exactly was going through her mind.
Around ten o’clock, a familiar face came in through the door of the saloon. Standing by the side of Roja’s stool, Brogan spotted her right away.
When Marlee stepped inside, her eyes prowled the room while she unbuttoned her coat. Underneath it she wore a frilly cream colored blouse with the obligatory first set of buttons undone, a pair of tight-fitting jeans, and bright-red high heels.
She spotted Brogan. Her eyebrows arched, and her heavily-lipsticked mouth opened into a small O. After a second’s hesitation, she hurried over to him.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. She gazed up at the bruises on his face with a look of concern. “Honey, I thought you were dead.”
Brogan stared at her coldly. “Who told you that?” he said tightly. There were only two bodies dragged out of the Paradise. Neither of them looked like me.”
Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) Page 25
