by E. R. Torre
“Money is my only religion.”
“If it’s OK with you, I'll supervise the dig personally,” Robert said.
Octi thought about that and nodded. It would be good to keep his son away from the pressures within the Big City.
“Do it,” he said. “But you need to keep this information completely locked up. If anyone gets any idea of what’s going on out there…”
“I know,” Robert said. “Nagel is overseeing all security details.”
“Good,” Octi said. He eyed his son with something close to pride. “Don't come back without the secrets of the Demon's base.”
Robert smiled.
“We’ll get it, Dad. We’ll get it all.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The daytime drive through the Desertlands proved almost unbearable.
Nox wiped the sweat from her forehead and reached to her side for the canteen. She took a deep swig of the warm water. Memories of her distant past flooded back. The air and heat felt the same. They were the same. All that was missing was the rubble. And the bodies.
Nox’s chopper sputtered as she followed the desert road. Those who traveled it frequently called her the path through hell. They were right. The Desertland road was a beat down stretch of hard sand that ran almost directly due west. It eventually led to the remains of the three very small central cities. If you wanted to keep traveling west, after another couple of thousand miles, give or take, you’d eventually reach the west coast and the other two major cities that hugged what was left of that coastline. Survey groups and suppliers used this route because it was the shortest and safest path acros the country. The flat land could be reasonably well defended from the desert rats that lurked only a few feet away from the roads and were holed up in the hills.
Nox didn’t worry about them, though. The desert rats tended to pick on slow moving, well stocked supply caravans. A lone rider on a beat up chopper was hardly worth their trouble. Or so she hoped
As evening approached, Nox reached the Devil’s Boulders, a series of rock formations sculpted smooth by years of environmental wear and tear. It was there, among the rocks that looked like they were dipped in blood many millennia before, that Nox first spotted a group of desert rats. They were dressed in ragged clothing and hid among the crevasses and silently watched Nox drive by. They did nothing to impede her journey.
Nox soon exited the rocky terrain and once again hit a patch of smooth desert plain. The sun was setting and she was growing bored. She reached into her saddle bag and pulled out a well-worn disk labeled “Heavy Metal.”
“My apologies, Miss Abbott,” Nox muttered. She popped the disk into her chopper’s stereo. The blare of heavy metal music filled the air. It was hardcore material, a wall of sonic mayhem that would send the members of Virgin Slayer running for cover. Nox hummed to the beat, until static and a high pitched squeal indicated the disk was fried.
“Shit,” Nox muttered. She ejected the disk and tossed it. She again reached into her saddle bag and pulled out another disk. This one was marked “Heavy Metal-Replacement.”
More heavy metal music blared, but after a few minutes it too died.
“Son of a bitch,” Nox cursed. She threw that disk away and tried another. Then another.
Finally, Nox reached into the saddle bag and pulled out the entire box of disks. She tossed them over her shoulder and onto the Desertland road.
Miss Abbot would be pleased.
Nox awoke to the first rays of the rising sun. She got to her feet and stretched. The desert surrounded her as it had the day before, and the cool evening temperatures were rapidly dissipating. Nox folded her sleeping bag and approached the chopper. She eyed the odometer. She had traveled a little more than two hundred miles before giving in to fatigue, but her destination was very close.
Nox tied the folded sleeping bag to the back of the chopper and reached into the saddle bag. From within she pulled out a map of the Desertlands and spread it out over the chopper’s seat. She ran her finger over a red line she drew on the map and then looked up at a large mesa in the distance. Nox’s gaze once again returned to the map.
A mesa was indicated on the map, near where her finger lay. Nox gave a satisfied nod and folded the map. She replaced it in the saddle bag before mounting up.
It took a few tries before the chopper started.
Three hours later the sun was near its apex. The sky was bloody red and the eastern winds picked up. The heat was, once again, unbearable.
Nox’s chopper stood parked against a boulder. A pair of footprints, Nox’s, led away, past a weathered sign that warned: "DANGER: RADIOACTIVITY. DO NOT ENTER."
The footprints continued into a small valley. Nox, with her bulging backpack draped over her left shoulder, cautiously walked the shifting sands. In her right hand was a small Geiger counter. It gave no indication of any radioactive material present.
After close to an hour of searching the sands, Nox spotted a curiously sunken patch of loose dirt. She shut the Geiger counter off and replaced it in her backpack. She then removed a folded shovel and walked to the center of the disturbed sand. She laid her backpack down and started digging.
It took only a few minutes of hard work to hit a solid surface. Encouraged, Nox doubled her efforts. She soon had the entire roof of a large buried vehicle exposed.
Nox then dug down, until she exposed the vehicle’s rear. When the van’s rear door was half-uncovered, Nox was hit with the smell of rot. While it made her nauseous, it also proved encouraging.
Nox worked quickly and efficiently, digging down until she fully uncovered the rear door. She then dug outward. Soon, there was a wide enough space for her to open the door.
By this time, Nox was sweaty and full of sand. She replaced the shovel into the backpack and carried it to the rear of the vehicle. She turned the door’s handle and tried to pull the door out, but it didn’t budge.
Nox shook her head and sighed. Only a corporation would be stupid enough to make a car door that opens inwardly.
Nox leaned back and kicked the door in. A wave of nauseous air drifted from inside the vehicle. Nox allowed the desert wind a few seconds to dissipate the smell of rot before venturing inside.
Nox removed a small flashlight from her back pocket and lit the interior of the van. She expected to find the rotting corpses of the survey crew but instead found a smooth, empty shell. All the seats, however many the van once held, were gone. The carpeting that covered the floor was ripped away, leaving only a few loose fibers swirling in the breeze. Compartments lining the walls were torn away. Left behind were shadows of darker paint and more emptiness. There were no papers, no notes, and no maps. Nothing.
Nox frowned. She followed the nauseous odor to the only item still left within the survey van, a small wall unit refrigerator. Within it were several packages of spoiled beef.
Nox closed the refrigerator door and walked the length of the vehicle. She leaned down to the floor and close to the walls in the hopes of finding something.
Anything.
After only a few minutes of searching she straightened up and rubbed her chin. Nox made her way to the rear of the van to exit, where she abruptly stopped.
A small hole near the back door caught her attention. Nox examined it with her flashlight while pulling out a small jack knife. She unfolded the knife and pushed the blade into the hole. She then worked the blade until a black object, a bullet, emerged. Nox held the bullet between her fingers. Though grotesquely deformed from penetrating the van’s wall, she calculated the bullet’s weight and considered its source.
“357,” she muttered.
More than enough to take care of a group of unwanted survey van employees.
Nox tossed the bullet aside. There was no way to link it to any particular gun. And, if by some miracle she did, so what? If she were to confront Octi Corp. with the bullet and gun, they could come up with any number of explanations for why someone shot a hole in this Octi van. The easiest explanation w
as that an employee cleaning his or her gun accidentally fired it. They could also say an over-excited employee took a shot at a snake or some other vermin that had somehow crawled into the van. Or they could say…
It didn’t matter. There was no one alive who could contradict any explanation they chose to use.
But to Nox the bullet was a revelation. Its existence, coupled with her Geiger counters’ non-readings and the continued radio transmissions after the survey crew was supposedly dead, proved beyond a shadow of doubt that they didn’t run into any radioactive hot zone.
Thomas Rose was right. They were murdered.
Why?
Nox headed back to the van’s exit. Her mind was so focused on these discoveries that it was only at the very last second she noticed the shadow flickering before the van’s exit.
Nox’s reaction was lighting quick. She shifted her weight and spun to the side, just as a bullet whizzed past where her head had just been and splattered into the van’s metal door.
Nox kept away from the van’s exit and swore. Her view of the outside was almost nonexistent. She could see a dune in the distance behind the wall of sand she dug up and nothing more. Nox looked at the van’s interior. It was just as empty as before, only now it felt a lot emptier.
She was trapped.
There was no way to know how many people were out there, but even if she had to contend with a single attacker, Nox still had only the one way out. Her hidden enemy had a clear shot at Nox whenever she tried to leave. Unless, of course, she could hold out until night.
Nox shook her head. There were a good seven or so hours left before the sun set. It was impossible to remain in this metal oven for that length of time. Her hidden enemy, on the other hand, had all the time in the world. And if they got impatient, there were plenty of ways to force her out. Of course, the more of them out there, the easier that would be.
Again the Mechanic swore.
Nox leaned closer to the van’s exit. She still couldn’t see anyone outside. However, the absolute silence was broken by a low hum. The hum grew louder, until Nox identified the sounds of a group of engines, from V-12’s to four-cylinder compacts. They all roared in the near distance.
“Desert rats,” Nox thought.
Her situation had gone from very bad to much, much worse.
The desert rats kept their distance. They circled the buried van with their patchwork machines. Most of their vehicles were rehabilitated from the corporation bases’ scrap heaps while the others were literally dug up out of the sand, much like this Octi Corp. survey van could be. The vehicles were shut off and the desert rats dismounted.
There were thirty of them. They converged on an emaciated fifty year old man who had a feral look on his face. His eyes were pale blue, like a faded memory. He examined the small opening Nox had dug, then scratched his bearded jaw and addressed one of his female disciples. She was his woman, a very skinny lady with closely cropped hair. She carried an ancient rifle and gave her man a toothless smile.
“She’s in there?” the man asked.
“Trapped,” she said.
“What of her vehicle?”
“A motorcycle. She left it a ways back there, by a boulder. The boys took a look. They say it’s junk. Can’t even get her started.”
“Then forget the motorcycle,” the man said. His face contorted into a wicked smile. “Let’s smoke our unwanted visitor out of her hole.”
The feral man faced his people. He was the alpha male, the leader of this pack. As his disciples converged around him, he felt his power grow. They would do anything for him, and he would do anything for them. The smile on his face widened.
“We eat well tonight,” he roared.
His pack roared right back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The desert rats wandered in and out of Nox’s limited field of view. She counted twenty separate people but couldn’t be sure exactly how many more, if any, there were. Based on the noise they made, Nox was inclined to think there were more. Plenty more. Nox kept her handgun aimed at the van’s rear door. If they rushed her, Nox could take down a few before being overwhelmed.
Of course, they had no reason to do anything that rash. So what were they up to?
After a few minutes, Nox had her answer. The desert rats threw pieces of wood and other debris near the van’s exit. When a large enough pile of flammable material was in place, they’d set it on fire and smoke her out.
Nox wouldn’t stand a chance.
The Mechanic backed further from the van’s exit and desperately searched it’s interior for anything she could use to defend herself. Other than the rot in the refrigerator, there was nothing. She turned her attention to the van’s controls, but realized that not only was the interior of the van stripped, but so too was its console. She doubted the van still had a motor.
The harsh truth, Nox knew, was that she was in a metal casket that had only one exit, and beyond that exit waited certain death.
Nox sat on the floor and faced the only way out. Since the desert rats had every advantage, there was only one thing left to do.
“Hello out there,” Nox yelled.
There was no answer.
“You can have the van,” she continued. “I don’t want it.”
Still no answer.
“If you don’t let me go, I’ll blow the whole thing up.”
To this Nox heard a few excited voices. She bit her upper lip. The only thing left for her to do was try to bluff her way free. The people outside had no way of knowing she carried no explosives.
“You’re willing to kill yourself?” a high, shrill voice replied.
“You’ll be left with nothing, and there’s plenty of good stuff here in the van.”
There was a pause, followed by a low laugh.
“Companies aren’t in the habit of burying vans loaded with goods, my friend,” the voice said. “If you’re gonna blow yourself up, better hurry. You don’t have much time.”
The fire was lit, and smoke soon rose from the debris. The wind turned favorable for the desert rats and very unfavorable for Nox. It didn’t take very long for the thick black smoke to filter inside.
“Son of a bitch,” Nox muttered. So much for bluffing her way out.
The smoke became a gloomy haze, and Nox let out several loud coughs. One of the desert rats peered into the van.
Nox aimed and fired.
The figure dropped to the ground, wounded but still alive. He crawled away, leaving several droplets of blood behind. There followed a series of loud yells and a single shrill scream. The desert rats learned their lesson and, from that moment on, kept their distance. They were content to let the fire do its job.
Nox let out another cough. The smoke within the van was overwhelming and the Mechanic couldn’t stay inside much longer. Nox stared at her handgun. It weighed heavy in her hands. A single bullet could end it all, painlessly.
Was there any other alternative?
Nox shook her head.
There were always alternatives.
Nox moved closer to the van’s exit. The smoke was so thick that it offered limited cover. Perhaps she could…
What?
Run out under the smoke’s cover and somehow shoot down twenty plus people with a handgun that carried nine rounds? Maybe the desert rats were that very rare breed of polite savage. Maybe they’d allow Nox time to reload her gun a few times before overwhelming her.
Despite the despair, Nox let out a laugh. It died quickly.
There was no way she could survive. None. All that was left was to make sure her death hurt them. Hurt them bad.
Nox crouched down low and took several deep breaths. She let out a cough and grimaced.
This is how it ends.
No regrets, Nox thought. It was fun while it lasted.
Nox rose to her feet and lurched toward the exit door. She stopped there. The desert rats spotted her. One of them fired, but his bullet went wide. Nox raised her handgun and fired back.
She couldn’t see them, but they could see her. More bullets followed. Several chewed into the van, but Nox held her ground.
She fired her full clip and reloaded. As she did, she heard another, more distant shot. The desert rats ceased firing at the Mechanic. There came another distant shot. Hushed voices were heard. The desert rats scattered.
Nox spun away from the van’s exit. A third distant shot filled the air.
“What the hell?” Nox muttered. Who was doing this shooting?
Outside, the desert rats were quiet no more. Their voices roared into a series of bloody screams. There was movement all around the buried van. An engine fired up, then another. One of the desert rat’s vehicles drove off as yet another distant gunshot was heard.
Nox leaned in closer to the van’s exit. She could tell several of the desert rats’ vehicles were moving off. Cautiously, Nox exited the van and stepped past the fire.
Whoever was firing did so with deadly accuracy. There were three desert rats lying dead still on the sand.
The last of their vehicles fired up and headed out. A final distant shot was followed by the sound of shattering glass. A desert rat that held on to the door of his fleeing vehicle fell off. Blood flowed from where his right eye used to be.
Nox kept low. She was free of her coffin, but feared exposing herself to the sniper. At this distance, the Mechanic could easily be confused for a desert rat.
Nox moved slowly along the edge of the burning debris. She spotted her chopper lying on the ground beside the boulder she originally left it parked. Though the desert rats had kicked it down, her vehicle looked to be intact.
If only she could reach it.
Nox spotted the dusty trails of the fleeing desert rat vehicles. They were converging on a mesa far off in the distance. No doubt that was where the sniper was holed up. If the man –or woman– was smart, they’d be on the run. Otherwise, the sniper had little chance against that savage group.
Nox ran in a zigzag pattern to her chopper. There were no gunshots, distant or otherwise, fired her way. She pulled the chopper up and turned on the ignition. The Mechanic was completely focused on starting the vehicle and getting the hell out of there.
