Reggie’s head was ringing as he sat up on the rig’s ramp. He was scraped up pretty bad and the left side of his body felt like someone had gone to work on it with a lead pipe, but he didn’t think anything was broken. Arnie rolled the blue car to a stop beside him and jumped out. “All right?” he asked.
Reggie, his eyes still foggy, gave a thumb’s up and felt the stab through his wrist. A light sprain maybe.
“What about Quey?” Dusty asked, hopping from the passenger’s side.
The big man looked over his shoulder at the massive blue flame roaring up from what used to be the Pickens and Zaul trailer and said nothing. Something inside the wreckage beeped loudly and then the whirr of a motor came to life and Geo rolled from the flames and down the ramp.
Inside the cab of the truck Quey could feel the heat from the raging fire behind him and saw the blaze in his mirrors. He sat back in his seat and sighed. Then a thought occurred to him, ‘Reggie,’ and he opened the door with a trembling hand.
From the dashboard his screen beeped loudly and he snatched it on his way out. Stumbling on shaky legs he moved around to the rear of the truck and met Reggie—limping—Dusty, and Arnie as they came to check on him.
“All right?” Dusty asked.
Quey nodded. “You?”
“Been better,” Reggie replied, “But been worse too.”
Quey’s computer began sounding off again and this time he looked at it. It was the Geo app. He touched it and read the warning. ‘Optimal operating temperatures exceeded, moving to new location.’
Quey saw the machine parked at the end of the truck’s bent ramp and nodded thoughtfully. It saved itself.
“What now?” Arnie asked.
Up the road there were gunshots and all of them turned to look. In the distance they could see a car parked beside the road. A moment later they saw the men come out of the brush and swarm the vehicle. Quey’s face gaped. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“Come on,” Reggie barked. “Move.”
The four men scrambled for the car. Reggie took the passengers seat, Arnie returned to his place behind the wheel and Quey and Dusty shared the back, with Rachel between them, lying across Dusty’s lap.
To their right the brush rustled and a group of Once Men, ten at least, rushed toward the road. Reggie spotted the rifle Dusty had been using propped on the floorboard beside him and brought it up to his shoulder. He didn’t take but a tick to aim before firing a shot that took the lead savage down. Some of the other Once Men raised revolvers as they made it to the shoulder of the road and fired as Arnie slammed his foot on the accelerator. The car leapt forward with a screeching of tires and the hollow pings of bullets penetrating metal.
As the car raced away from the burning wreck that used to be Quey’s he accessed the Geo app on his sheet and started a study sequence. Behind them the rest of the brood was catching up to the wreckage and finding themselves amidst a swarm of Once Men.
“Where to?” Arnie asked.
“Somewhere with a bank and a doctor,” Quey replied.
“A bank?” Reggie asked.
Quey nodded. “Cal always taught me it never hurt to have a bit of fundage stowed away you could get at from anywhere. Gunna need some for Rachel and some for a new truck.”
“You know brother, I think this shine run might be at an end,” Reggie told him.
“It’s not for shine,” Quey replied. “We need to get that robot.”
“It’s really that important?” Arnie asked and Quey nodded.
“I don’t mean to be…” Dusty trailed off. “I just mean… getting that thing back is going to be dangerous. We know there’s Once Men, and what if the Angels-”
“One thing at a time,” Quey snapped. “Right now that thing is find a town.”
Dusty nodded and the car rolled along in silence until Arnie spotted a sign up ahead. There was a town, Bravett, coming up. “We could be there in an hour,” he told them.
“Good,” Quey answered and no more words came until they pulled through the city limits.
Patched Up and Boxed In
If Fen Quada was a one horse town then Bravette didn’t even have a stable. It was a fact Quey figured might actually play to their favor. It was unlikely that the Angels of the Brood would know of it, which would buy them at least a little time. Also playing into their hands was the existence of both a bank and a doctor in the small town.
Dr. Garland was examining Rachel in one of the two rooms of his private practice. The whole of the offices weren’t much bigger than a two-bedroom apartment might be. The floors were polished wood and the walls were a calming shade of light blue. There was a woman behind a desk wearing scrubs covered with little chicks hatching from eggshells who’d gaped at them as they burst through the door and demanded the doc.
Garland had emerged from the back, tall and thin and somewhere in his late thirties, with a sheet device in his hand. Though he didn’t like the looks of his new patrons, they promised payment in hard currency and it was plain the woman did need a doctor. So he instructed them to bring her into the back.
Dusty had lain her gently on the bed before the doc set to looking her over. A device about the size of a pen flashed in the doctor’s hand as he held it over Rachel’s forehead. He tapped some buttons on a terminal attached to the side of the bed and looked over the images the holoscreen displayed.
“She really should get to a hospital,” he finally said, removing his glasses.
“Rather you just handled it yourself,” Quey insisted.
“The damage to her skull doesn’t seem to be too bad, a small crack, no pieces missing, which is good because if one of those gets lodged in the brain all manner of things can go wrong.”
“Anyone else smell a but coming?” Reggie asked.
“But,” the doctor went on as if he were admitting to something. “I’ve scanned her brain and there seems to be a bit of swelling. She needs a few days rest at least-”
“She’ll be fine then?” Dusty asked, his face as caked in worry as his voice.
“You have to understand,” the man began, “I can’t foresee every complication. Brain injuries are delicate and require-”
“But as far as you can tell she’ll be fine,” Quey interrupted.
The doctor sighed and nodded as he folded his glasses and stuffed them into his breast pocket. “Should be.”
Dusty went to her and took her hand. “When will she wake up?”
The doc shrugged, “Few hours, though she might not really come around for a day or so. I’ve done all I can with what I have here. It’s in times hands now.”
Quey nodded. “You’ll have your fee plus some for the kindness of keeping discrete.”
The doctor looked at him, his eyes suspicious. “You’re criminals.” His gaze shifted to Dusty.
“No,” Quey assured him. “Just some people not looking to be found.”
The doc backed away from the bed Rachel was lying on.
Quey could tell he was getting cold feet so he stepped toward him. “Listen, we’re not criminals, not a one of us. I’m a roader and these are just folks I picked up along the way.” Quey sighed as if he was conceding something and looked the doc in the eye. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” he began. It was an old street con’s trick, act like you’re bringing the mark into your circle of confidence and they’re more likely to trust you in return. “Fen Quada’s been sacked by raiders.”
The doctor’s face shrunk and Quey nodded.
“Just a few hours ago. Angels of the Brood rolled through and stripped it and we got caught in the carnage. Now, we just want to get our friend patched and be on our merry without getting bogged down by security. Like I said, I’m a roader,” Quey confessed, “and that means I’m off the grid. They lived in Fen Quada which, as you must know from living in a town like this, means they’re on the edge as well. We just want to keep it that way. We didn’t do nor do we mean any harm. Copy?”
The doctor took a
moment to look Quey, Dusty and the woman on his bed over, sizing them up and deciding on them.
Quey was betting on the idea that people who lived in small settlements on the outskirts did so, at least in part, to be away from the corporate governed restraints one tends to find in the larger settlements. He could tell by the way the doctor was looking at Rachel and nodding, he’d been at least partially correct.
The Doc looked at him and nodded. He looked over at the young woman lying on the bed with the bandage around her head and breathed long and deep. “I’ll help her,” he said dryly.
Quey thanked the man with a nod and the doctor returned to his patient.
“I’ll be back,” Quey informed his crew and turned for the door.
“Wait!” Dusty scrambled around the bed and stopped in front of Quey. “What are you doing, you can’t just go off on your own. Arnie, Regg,” he said, “You two go with him.”
“No,” Quey answered. He looked at his friend. “We need them to get to the hotel and park the car somewhere curious eyes’ll have a tough time spotting it.” He clapped Dusty on the shoulder and assured him, “I’ll be fine.” He turned and looked to Reggie, standing near the door, and Arnie, who’d been like a ghost hovering quietly in the corner. “You two good with that?”
“Sure,” Reggie replied, then he popped Arnie’s shoulder with the back of his hand and said, “We can get a room. And after that I mean to see about setting my teeth on something.”
Quey nodded, “Not a bad idea.”
“What are you going to do?” Arnie asked.
“I gotta get a truck.”
“You really mean to go back for that thing?” Reggie asked.
He looked at the big man and answered, “I do at that.”
Dusty had been watching Rachel but he stopped long enough to say, “And we’ll help you.” Reggie was all ready nodding.
Quey looked at Dusty and said, “You got a big enough plate of shit to eat already on account of me. Make sure she knows you’re still here to wake up to, and then maybe we can come up with something to do about the rest.”
Dusty nodded solemnly and the others headed out the door.
Quey was sitting in the bank lobby, a simple room of wood and tile in a small building with only one person working, waiting for them to process his transaction and give him his twenty one thousand four hundred and eighty seven in hard currency. He preferred the coins tradesmen often used but beggars couldn’t be picky about their scraps. He leaned back in the dull brown chair with the strait back and fake wood armrests and accessed the contacts list on his computer. He touched Ryla’s name and sighed. He wasn’t sure how she was going to take him leaving one of her babies on the side of the road but he had to tell her things were going to shit.
Nerves mustered, he tapped her name again and the spiral appeared along with the word “Connecting.” She answered before the first ring had time to finish and looked at him with all of her focus. “What happened?” She swallowed hard.
Quey shook his head. “Got my dick in a shark’s mouth is all.” Her brow furrowed and he chuckled. “Bad things,” he clarified and she nodded. “Ryla,” he began solemn, then finished, “I lost Geo.”
“Oh,” she said, sitting back slightly.
“They blew up my truck and,” he saw her eyes widen and he assured her, “don’t worry, its okay. It managed to get out.”
“Oh. Geo. Sure. Good,” she answered.
“I think I can get it back it’s just… it’s going to take a while. I’m waiting to get some cash and a new truck. I ran its program where I left him,” he added optimistically. It isn’t really that far from the last place it ran but I didn’t know what else to do.”
Ryla nodded. “Who blew up your truck?” she asked hollowly.
“A group called the Angels of the Brood. Nasty bunch.”
“I’m aware of them. Quey…” she trailed off and sat for a moment looking at him.
“What?” he finally asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, brow furrowed. “Be careful, I guess.”
He nodded with a slight smile. “Thanks.” The bank teller signaled for him and he told her, “Time to go, but I’ll keep you informed.”
Ryla nodded and Quey ended the transmission before going to meet the teller.
Hundreds of miles away, sitting on her bed on the third floor of her robotics compound, Ryla felt something she rarely experienced and never with this intensity. She felt nervous. Barefoot, wearing only her black nightdress that was thin in every way and gently hugged her body, she climbed off the bed and walked though her elaborately painted halls until she was standing in the room he’d slept in when he’d stayed with her for those two short days. After a thoughtful sigh she laid down on the unmade bed, on the sheets she hadn’t bothered to have changed and stared up at the ceiling.
In the bank Quey checked his cash and, satisfied, walked out to the street and started for a used car lot they’d spotted near the edge of town on the way in.
Dusty was sitting beside Rachel, holding her hand tenderly. “Guess I should just go ahead and tell you, I got us reservations at Viani’s for your birthday.” His fingers danced over the back of her hand, caressing the skin softly. “No point keeping it a secret I suppose as it’s most likely a smoldering mess just about now.” He chuckled, “Hope the thought counts for something.”
“Could just be making it up,” she said and his eyes snapped to hers, open and looking at him. He laughed heartily, perhaps with a touch of hysteria, and gripped her hand in both of his.
“Could be,” was all he could think to say before kissing the back of her hand. Tears poured freely from his eyes releasing the swell of emotion his body could no longer contain.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You fell,” he replied.
She nodded slightly. “Missed the jump…” she trailed off.
“I’m sorry baby,” he said gripping her hand and then caressing her arm. “I shouldn’t have made you,” he couldn’t finish so he turned to another regret. “I should have caught you.”
She was watching him and something in her eyes unnerved him, like maybe she was going to agree with him. He realized then he’d been looking for absolution. What she said took him off guard. “Why did you have a gun?”
He looked at her, puzzled and asked, “What?”
“The gun. Why did you have it?”
He shrugged. “Because. I don’t know. In case.”
“In case of what?”
He sat back from her a bit, his eyes no longer leaking. “In case a gang of raiders decided to attack the city. What’s it matter, you’ve never said you hated guns or-”
“It’s not the gun I have a problem with.” She chuckled lightly, “Hell I’m glad you had it. Its why were alive. I’m just curious why you didn’t tell me you had it.”
He shrugged. “I’ve had it for years. Stowed it away when I moved in and generally forgot about it till the raid.”
“Had it for years? Since your days with Quey, you mean?”
Dusty nodded. Then it occurred to him. “Is that what this is about?”
“I saw you out there-”
He interrupted her this time, “I told you that part of my life is over. Told you long ago.”
She nodded. “I know what you told me and I also know you kept the gun.” He was about to defend himself when she continued. “I also saw you out there. Running through the alleys, Fuck Dustin you shot a man, murdered him in the street and you didn’t even blink.”
Dusty swallowed hard. He had no words.
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. I’m glad you were there. I’m glad you had the gun and I’m glad you could… get us out. But I also know what that gun represents, the part of you it appeals to, the part that’s still in you no matter how much you don’t want to admit it, and that’s what I.” She took a moment then finished, “That’s what I don’t know anything about. It may have saved us but to be truthful I’m not sur
e about it.”
Dusty nodded. “Me either babe,” he told her. When she looked up at him he could see the doubt in her eyes. “I mean it,” he assured her, adjusting her hand in his. “Come on, why do you think I left that life behind, ran from it actually? I’ll tell you it wasn’t the money. Fuck, do you have any idea how much we used to make, how much Quey and Cal were pulling in with that fucking moonshine he makes?”
“So then what happened? If it was so great why’d you leave? What’s to keep you from going back?”
He sat back in his chair, releasing her hand and his eyes drifted.
“This won’t last,” she said mostly to herself. “You’re restless and its not going to change its just going to grow and fester and then one day,” she couldn’t say the words so she gestured with her hands, a movement that suggested something had vanished.
“I saw what it took,” he said, slouched in his chair. He wasn’t looking at her, but somewhere far away from that room. “What it really took to survive out there in the world away from the cities and off the beaten paths.” She watched his eyes and felt the fear behind them mix bitterly with regret. “Out where civilization is ragged at best and maybe all you have to protect you is a Sherriff or two. I’d been through raids before, duck your head and keep low. This time there was a waitress in the bar I was frequenting—oh hell we were friends.” He stopped for a moment. He looked at Rachel. “They came through, engines roaring, popping off rounds, not unlike what happened in Fen.” His eyes swam and after a long breath he confessed, “I could have helped her. If I had just stopped for two seconds. I remember her screams as they took her, that look in her eyes as I looked back. I knew, all the things they were going to do to her before they got weary and killed her, and I knew they were all going to be my fault. Because I was a coward. I was too scared of not surviving.”
Rachel watched him with wide eyes.
“You know what the worst part is?” Rachel couldn’t respond, watching from the bed but Dusty hadn’t really expected her too. He sat shaking his head. “It’s what I saw in her eyes, just before I ducked out the window. Just before I got away clean. The way she looked at me, there wasn’t any blame. It was like she expected it from someone like me.” He looked at her. “There weren’t but a few of them, just the scouts. I could have helped her. Instead I ran out into the night, soon as my feet hit ground I was dashing fast as my legs could manage and it wasn’t fear of being chased that had me moving like that. I ran till my legs burned and my heart felt like it was going to burst and I did it so I didn’t have to listen to her scream. After that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to do it.” Silence fell over them for a handful of ticks. Finally Dusty met her eyes and asked, “Understand?”
The Saffron Malformation Page 23
