Deo slowed and came to a stop on the top of the low dune. Two tracks led east. One track turned and headed north, up into the hills.
Both Deo and Lecti got out. Deo looked up toward the Virginia City foothills, noting the winding road and railroad tracks leading into the canyon. Lecti was digging in her pack for her road atlas.
When Lecti first learned how to use a road atlas, her father taught her on a solar powered, GPS assisted unit. It automatically calculated their position and gave them several kinds of information and options to help them find what they required. It quit working when the satellite system feeding it information lost operating capability. Her father, having anticipated the eventuality, tossed it and produced an all-weather, spiral-bound replacement.
Pulling out the atlas, Lecti walked around to Deo’s side. She leafed through the atlas until she found Nevada.
Pointing, Lecti said, “Here’s Carson, here’s Highway 50, and this looks like the road to Virginia City.”
Deo looked at the map and then looked along the route taken by the single bike.
“Why would they split up?” He weighed the possibilities.
“The old guy, you know, the one in the leathers, he left before the others. The girl that helped me with Toshi told me.”
“You never told me about that, Lecti.” Deo glanced at her. “What all did you guys talk about? Before she showed up, I didn’t even know she was there.”
“Yea, I know. She kept pretty well hidden. I was surprised she came down to help. She was scared of Hal, bad scared. She told me that the young guys killed Toshi, and the old guy was sleeping upstairs when it happened. He left early in the morning and went south. This might not even be his track. Don’t know whose else it could be, though.”
“Well, hell, it isn’t far to Virginia City. We can investigate these tracks real fast and make sure it’s not Zip or Cotton, then double back and still catch them.”
Lecti was all for anything that delayed an encounter with the killers. She doubted that the single track would lead to either of them.
Climbing into the rig and once again buckling up, she replied, “Sounds good. Forward ho!”
The road wound up into the foothills. Right away they had a decision to make. On the map it showed a truck route to the right. The other side went straight through the intersection. Opting for the straight route simply because it was straight and therefore seemed more logical, they drove on.
Occasionally they saw railroad tracks on the western slopes, curving and hugging the hillsides. The tracks extended the old narrow gauge rail lines from Virginia City into Carson. They had finally been completed. The anticipated traffic, vacationing Canadians and sightseeing locals, were slow to show up. The first year was disappointing. Business grew slowly but never seemed as good as anticipated. The best year was followed by a year when there was no one to run the train much less ride on it. No one in Virginia City survived the plagues.
Cabins on either side grew out of the hillsides. A small hamlet with a few old, stone structures filled a wide spot in the canyon. A tight curve led through a narrow spot with high rock faces on either side.
The three-wheeler was getting slower. The steep grades and the light charge were taking a toll on the batteries, and the solar panels could not keep up.
Frustration was starting to build in Deo. He was ready to turn around once more.
“Look, Deo,” Lecti pointed across the trike to an entrance. “See the tracks? It looks like the bike went in there.”
Deo was relieved. “Yea, good eyes, Sis.”
The faint scuffs in the light dirt would have been easy to miss. Two large, iron gates lay twisted with just enough space for Lecti and Deo to drive through.
The railroad tracks lay along the road here, just inside the fence and the gates. They curved away, following the sweep of the slope and passing a faithfully reproduced eighteen hundreds era train station.
A larger gate lay shattered just ahead, beyond a large parking area. Above it a sign proclaimed the grand opening of an amusement park. A row of ticket booths graced both sides.
The large cut in the hillside was filled with interesting hardware. Some was so new looking that it appeared fully functional. Some, like the Ferris wheel collapsed on its side crushing everything under it, created a tangle more appropriate to a scrap yard.
Downhill from the park a security fence surrounded a surreal landscape. What looked like ancient monoliths and bomb-torn structures rose from the earth. Fantastic shapes in disintegrating concrete and rebar filled the lower valley. The locals had known the place as American Flats. The local government had known the place as a problem. Cleaning up the cyanide pools beneath the crumbling buildings was too expensive with a worsening economy being the norm as the population grew. The Flats were an interesting tourist attraction just for their scenery, however, so they fenced it when the amusement park was being built and repaired the fence frequently.
Beside a hole in the fence, a motorcycle sat parked, its solar panels unfolded to catch the sun.
By the sun’s position, Lecti judged it to be just before midday.
It was likely that anyone riding the bike would be investigating the ruins, but Lecti worried that she and Deo might have already been spotted. The three-wheeler did not make much noise other than the crunch of gravel under the wheels, so there was a reasonable chance that they were not given away. If the biker was not aware of them by being in line of sight, they could still surprise him.
Lecti motioned Deo over to a line of surviving shrubs. Jumping the curb to get behind them, Deo parked. He made sure that they were in full sun so the batteries had a chance to charge completely.
They checked their weapons.
Chapter 14
It had been a long night and a longer morning. One man trying to down a fifth of good hooch took a while, especially if he was not used to imbibing, but the wagon was getting crowded, so it was time to fall off once more. Vomiting occasionally helped. Part of a second bottle made the effects even uglier.
Early yesterday morning as he left the hospital, the older man in leathers drove into downtown Carson to see what had changed. Eleon Sandoval grew up in Carson City, at least through high school. Everything was different now. Buildings and businesses were gone with unfamiliar ones in their place. He took the turn and headed east on 50. An old haunt pulled at him.
American Flats was just off the road to VC. The Flats were a favorite hangout of all the high school kids. The fence was repaired every once in a while but was routinely broached again within a week. Every warm summer night saw kids with spray paint and alcohol, running through the creepy, historic structures. Between the spooky surroundings, the alcohol, and the raging hormones, the spot contributed to many high school pregnancies.
As Eleon left Carson he expected to find the flats leveled. He had read a long ago Internet posting that said the area was going to be used to build an amusement park. Knowing that anyone with money to buy out the mine that owned the flats would be unlikely to have enough imagination to preserve them, he expected them to be long gone. When he arrived he was pleasantly surprised. The flats looked like they had not been touched. Only the fence looked wrong. It was upright and intact. He unsheathed a tool from his belt and fixed that.
As he slept heavily under a cottonwood tree at the bottom of the flats, Eleon missed the approach of Lecti and Deo. The fire he managed to build last night lay smoldering next to the trickle from the spring upstream. An empty bottle lay across the small creek where he had tried to shatter it, unsuccessfully, on a rock. The other bottle, open but barely touched, stood upright close to where he lay.
Lecti waved Deo over to explain her thinking. Searching this bizarre landscape full of crevasses, nooks, crannies and hollows, and well, all manner of strange protuberances, could take some time.
“There’s no reason to think that this guy is hiding,” she said. “If he doesn’t know we’re here, he’s likely to be out in the open. Let’
s find a high place and scope the place out. If we don’t see him right away we can sit and wait for a while to see if he shows himself.”
Deo agreed. They determined the tallest structure to be the one built at the highest part of the terrain. That was easy enough to reach, and since it was just past the first group of tumbled ruins, they quickly entered. There was no skin on the structure, only a skeleton with internal staircases, chutes, and indefinable chunks of concrete with no clear purpose. With little effort they gained the second and then the third floor. Avoiding the holes in the loose debris on the floor surfaces, they moved to the side looking out over the unidentifiable remains. It was a landscape like none they had ever seen.
The man lying at the bottom of the valley, next to a thin wisp of dissipating smoke, was almost easy to overlook.
As they walked softly through the ruins they admired the graffiti. The surfaces were covered in grotesque and beautiful artwork. Both wished that they could explore and appreciate the parts they were missing, but now they had a target.
They split up as they approached the tree. Doing so was unnecessary. They walked up to the sleeping form with their weapons ready to blow him away. He snored lightly.
When Deo removed the shotgun from the sheath at his right calf, the man stirred slightly but didn’t open his eyes. There was a knife to remove, as well, but no other obvious weapons. Deo went back for their packs as Lecti stood guard.
Deo pulled his rope out and tied a good knot around the man’s ankle. The other end he made fast to a stout sapling growing beside the larger tree. When the sleeping man woke, he would not be able to move quickly to get to where they would be enjoying their meal by the fire.
Deo prepared one of the dried food packets as Lecti watched the biker from across the fire.
The guy looked older, mostly because he was weathered. His skin was wrinkled, and grey peppered his long hair. There was grey stubble under his mouth, but his moustache was nearly black. He had been good looking at one time and appeared athletic. Lecti had noticed that many older men developed a gut whether they were well fed or not. This guy had very little if any. He wore chaps with the shotgun sheath over new denim jeans. Worn but serviceable black cowboy boots with red waling covered his feet. A plaid shirt with the shirt tails out and the sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms completed his gear. A leather jacket was hanging on the bike in the parking lot.
Even the smell of freshly reconstituted, freeze-dried chow mein didn’t faze him. He slept right through as Deo and Lecti enjoyed lunch. It looked like he might sleep forever, and Deo was getting restless. He didn’t intend to spend all day watching a drunk sleep it off. Finally Deo decided to go check out the bike. There might be something interesting.
Deo did not want to disturb this man’s belongings since they had every intention of releasing him after they asked him some questions. He was just bored and curious. When he pawed lightly through the saddlebags and the pack on the sissy bar, he tried to do it so that there was no evidence of being disturbed. He found nothing interesting except for an easily accessed, hidden automatic pistol. He unloaded it, including the clip, and returned it to its place. An inner pocket in the jacket produced an old envelope, folded in half. Deo started to replace it, then changed his mind.
The drunk had rolled over onto his side, face to the fire, when Deo returned. Lecti dozed lightly and woke as Deo’s footstep snapped a twig. The warm day and lunch had made her eyelids too heavy to keep open.
Deo folded his arms and looked at their captive. He hesitated, and then waved a piece of paper in front of Lecti.
“You might want to read this. It’s about before.”
Both Lecti and Deo had listened with interest to their father’s stories. He avoided the ugliness of before as much as he could. Eventually they figured that out and started asking uncomfortable questions. Their father was always truthful but still managed to dodge the full story.
They gathered information from others they met as well. As they traveled, they searched their surroundings for information. This world of theirs held so many unanswered questions.
Lecti in particular was curious. The underlying sadness of every person that had lived before was so obvious. She wanted to know what had happened, but even more, she wanted to know why.
The paper was old and fragile, worn by many readings. It was a “letter to the editor” of a major newspaper in the pre-plague world.
She started to read aloud.
“Once upon a time, not so very long ago, there was a great and powerful country. It had vast forests, clean waters and skies, and people that didn’t realize how wonderful their days were. Their children went to schools where they were expected by their parents to sit, listen, and learn, to be courteous to others, and to dress appropriately. These children played outside safely and accepted candy from old men who had no more interest in them than to tell them stories and laugh with them. Locally owned small businesses manufactured and sold quality products, family farms raised and grew wonderful food. They did this because they wanted to protect their good reputations and retain their customers.’
“News organizations reported real news and left advertising to commercial industries. Churches were filled on Sabbath days with people who came to worship and learn about the Golden Rule, the Ten Commandments, and turning the other cheek. The Constitution and laws of this country were respected not only by the people, but also by politicians elected by the people. Elected officials and business leaders went to churches that taught morals and ethics, and they respected the people because they held and used the power of their votes and dollars based on reality and reason. The other countries of the world respected and envied this government of and by the people because it promoted freedom and liberty, and these were the principles that the citizens would not compromise.”
Deo broke in, “Remember how Dad used to tell us about that time? How he said that his grandfather lived in those kind of times? It must have been wonderful, living with all those people and everybody happy.”
“I don’t know about…everybody…being happy.” Lecti’s face was thoughtful. “But having a society that worked must have been better than what father told us about, what was going on before the plagues. That time was bad. Not like this. This must have been long ago, even before that time.” She looked back to the letter. “Listen, I’ll read the rest.”
“Opportunity flourished, and many that made an effort became successful, wealthy, and wise. Life wasn’t perfect, but people worked at making a better world.’
“Then a law was made. It gave women the right to choose. The law disappointed and disgusted many because it was perceived by them to deal with the ending of a life. To make it even more imperative, the ending of a child’s life. Others saw it as the government taking away the right of an individual to control their own choices, most especially what they could do with their own body.”
Again Deo interrupted. “Yeah, I remember dad talking about that, too.”
Lecti continued.
“The law became a hot button political issue. To many voters it became the only issue worthy of their vote. Worthy to the exclusion of easily solved issues regardless of their importance.’
“Now churches have become havens for political radicals, well intentioned people who have forgotten that to listen, discuss, think, reason, and compromise are stepping stones to their goal. Churches have driven off those that will not support fundamentalism that is not supported by reality.’
“When voters started to concentrate on this one issue, they gave away the power of their vote. Special interest groups became more important than reason. Powerful men are always ready to take advantage. They don’t care whether this law is in force. They can send their mistresses and daughters to Europe or Asia to take care of any inconvenience.”
Lecti couldn’t help thinking about the men in Roseburg that had come to power.
“Now these men with no moral or ethical compass have manipulated us to the
point that people defend their own financial rape, where rather than keeping promises to ease the burdens of the elderly, infirm, or even veterans, we accept the federally financed salvage of supposedly insolvent, publicly held commercial institutions. Businesses run by men that receive huge amounts of questionable compensation, keeping funds from the company to create insolvency, and then complain when they are expected to contribute by paying taxes. Men that treat consumers and laborers as livestock. We are here to satisfy their needs, increase their power, produce their wealth.’
“What are we leaving to the children we love? What are we displaying to the God we worship? What is our duty to the future? Surely it is not what we are delivering. Who is responsible? We all are. And all because we allow ourselves to be distracted and refuse to use our votes wisely.”
The letter ended with an apology about its length. It was dated roughly twenty-five years in the past.
Deo was quiet, thinking. Lecti, too, felt the weight of the letter and the thoughts that it brought. The world had become broken before the plagues. Maybe a government that was in working order would have been able to combat the epidemics. Maybe it could have saved some of humanity. Maybe there wouldn’t be so many bodies telling stories.
Looking up from the paper into Deo’s eyes, Lecti said thoughtfully. “If this was written by him, he would have been awfully young.”
They did not see the stranger turn to look at them, but they heard him speak.
“My father wrote it.”
Chapter 15
Startled, Lecti rose quickly. Deo stepped to the side, jerking his pistol from its holster.
Groaning, the old man rolled over on his back. He raised his hands to his head, covering his eyes and pressing in on them. Then he sat up, slowly shaking his head. He sat with his arms wrapped around his knees and looked up at them.
“He wrote it before the second Great Depression got really bad. Sent it to several newspapers, and no one would publish it. I think it was pretty well thought out. What do you think?”
Monster of the Apocalypse Page 9
