by R. K. Gold
The ground rumbled. The four of them ran to the edge of the cliff and looked down. In the distance they saw a smoke cloud rising from the ground. "What do they got, tanks?" Forte asked.
"Those aren't tanks," Myskin replied and pulled out his binoculars. "Lyo's coming!"
Forte ripped the binoculars away and looked where Myskin had. "What's he running from? Are those rhinos?"
Jakobe couldn't see through the cloud. He knew the old zoo wasn't too far from where the dust cloud started, but who would be stupid enough to wander in there? Most of the animals were contaminated, and the ones who survived mutated into murderous monsters.
"What was he doing over at Green Acres?" Jakobe asked.
"Not now, Kobe," Forte replied and handed the binoculars back to Myskin. He hopped on his bike and was about to ride down to save Lyo when Bronx stepped in front. "Get outta the way."
"You'll only slow him down."
"He's being chased."
"He's faster than them on the road; you'll get in the way and get you both killed." Bronx gripped the handles to prove he wasn't going anywhere.
"They split. He's in the clear," Myskin said and everyone returned to the ledge.
When he made it up the mountain, he didn't say a word, just crashed on his sleeping bag, covered his face and let out a sigh.
"What happened?" Forte asked, but Lyo remained silent.
"Give him a second," Bronx said and shoved Forte away.
"I've never seen him collapse; something's wrong. I like knowing what's up sooner rather than later," Forte said.
Myskin filled Lyo's plastic cup and kicked his foot. "Drink this."
Lyo didn't say a word but reached up for the water. After he drank it, he sat up and asked, "How much you fill today?"
"I got us an extra day and a half maybe, if we're disciplined."
"Good, good. We gotta go tonight."
"Tonight? You want us to hit the road at night; are you out of your mind?" Forte asked.
"I'm with Forte. Why would we leave the river?" Bronx asked. He slouched his shoulders, and a tension built in the air. No one wanted to know the answer to a question like that.
"If we stay here, we're dead. Turns out those people you let go yesterday weren't as helpless as you thought they were," he said to Jakobe.
"I told you to kill them," Forte said.
"How was I supposed to know—?"
"You don't know. You never know. That's why you kill everyone," Lyo said. His voice went stern, and his eyes narrowed. Jakobe's stomach tightened, and he stepped back. "We're now being hunted. Someone in there is pretty connected with your old buddy Clive, so now we have to move even further off the grid."
"What do you mean? Not like wasteland territory, right?" Forte asked.
"You got a better idea? And don't you dare say fight. We got a purifier and enough water to last us two weeks. No way Clive or Red Eye waste their time on us for that long or risk their lives that close to a dumping site," Lyo said.
"The dumping site? You mean we're heading further east?" Jakobe asked.
"Of course they won't go there; they won't go for the same reasons we shouldn't. There's nothing out there. I wouldn't even try purifying the water at the dump site—it's too spoiled. By now most of it’s evaporated and gone to the storm divide. You do realize heading further east puts us at risk of exposure right? Not just through consumption, but it's just been sitting there for a century. It's in the ground; it's in whatever plant life still exists, if any, and it's possibly in the air," Myskin said.
"That's the thing, though, we're dealing with a possible threat versus a definite one. Bottom line, we head east, we have a chance to survive. We stay here, we're dead by morning."
"What if we head west?" Jakobe asked.
"I know you didn't just suggest we fight them. I expect that sorta talk from Forte, but you?" Lyo quirked an eyebrow.
Jakobe couldn't tell if he was mad or curious, so he continued, "Not toward them. I mean true west. What if we pass the divide? They won't follow us."
"Not much sense in following a corpse," Bronx said.
"The only path west is through the stepping stones. Red Eye controls those," Lyo said.
"We have a better chance living off our rations at the dumping grounds than we do in the storm," Myskin added.
"Better chance of what? Surviving a little longer so we can maybe come back to this one day? They're still gonna hunt us the first chance they get," Jakobe argued.
"Death is way too common out here for grudges. Whoever wants us dead today will be too focused on staying alive to care a week from now."
"We'll be dead in a week if we head further east; can't you see that? Willingly riding toward the dumping site? You wanna talk about risks, what if it's in the air like Myskin said? We'll be chopping each other to bits in a blind rage until the cure or the wounds kill us."
"The risks are there, but the chances it's in the air are slim," Myskin said.
"And that's easy for you to say, Myskin. You're immune to the thing," Jakobe retorted.
"Are you trying to be an ass to everyone, or does it just come natural?" Myskin asked.
"No need for infighting. I made my decision; we're heading east," Lyo said.
Jakobe groaned. "Take a risk worth taking. Playing it safe is gonna get us killed."
"Playing it safe is how we've lasted as long as we have. I've been clear from the start, you don't like what we're doing, then go. Last thing we need is doubt right now."
"Sounds like someone needs to put Kobe in his place," Forte chimed in and cracked his knuckles.
"We get it, Forte; you're tough and can kick my ass. Unless you have a real suggestion, why don't you shut up and let the people with brains talk?" Jakobe held his palm out toward Forte's face. Forte smacked it away and stepped in front of Jakobe, his massive chest inches from Jakobe's nose.
"Keep talking; let's see what happens," Forte said.
"We know what happens: you beat me up, and we all follow Lyo to our deaths in the wastelands." Jakobe bumped past Forte to his stuff. "I'm not gonna do it. If Clive is really after us, I'm going where he won't follow, and where I can still have some semblance of a life." He tossed his bag over his shoulder and slipped the portable purifier inside. He had three C cells, enough for three charges—six rations of water, at only a half-ration a day. He could survive around two weeks, but it'd be tough.
"Don't do this, Kobe. We gotta stick together. It's the only way we'll all survive," Bronx said.
"Sticking together in a death pit doesn't sound like a good chance of survival to me. You wanna risk heading east, that's all on you. But we've all heard the same stories. It's a wasteland." Jakobe looked at Myskin and shrugged. "I guess you were right." He hopped on his bike and rode off.
6
Though he could always see the storm divide clearly, it was deceivingly far away. He stuck to the back roads Lyo liked to terrorize, knowing the worst he would come across was Lyo himself. Part of the reason they rode the dirt trails, and not the paved roads or the main highways, were the soft targets. Those who couldn't protect themselves wandered in the back country because they weren't likely to run into Red Eye or Clive, and those like Lyo stuck to them because the only people who wandered back roads were harmless or a minimal threat.
Unfortunately, the roads were shit, and Jakobe's bike struggled on the uneven terrain. He couldn't go as fast as he would've liked and ran the risk of totaling it at least once every mile. He had a full tank of gas, but he worried he didn't have enough to get through the storm, especially at the pace he was going. He couldn't afford to lose his bike either; without it he'd be lucky to have enough water to reach the storm divide, let alone get through it.
He settled into a routine, still alert of obstacles but mostly under control, slowing down for holes he had to leave the road to avoid and accelerating across the rare flat lands.
At his pace he figured he'd reach the storm by the evening then turn toward the mai
n roads. There was no threat of stray gangs or raids once he entered the divide, and worrying about the road would be an unnecessary added stress.
He didn't feel guilty for parting with his gang; he felt guilty for parting on such bad terms. Lyo was right; they were like a family, but he stole from them. He stole for his own survival, but they took a chance on him and welcomed him into their family.
Now all he would be remembered as was a thief. The kind of spineless rodent who stole from those who cared about him. Stealing from Clive didn't feel like a mistake, but stealing from Lyo, Forte, Bronx, and Myskin made his stomach turn. They were heading into the wasteland, and taking the portable purifier could possibly cause one of their deaths.
Jakobe tried to clear his mind; stressing about them was the last thing he needed to worry about. He made his decision to leave, and now he had to look forward. As the sun set, he needed to slow down. It added more time than he originally anticipated to his ride, but it was better to be cautious than stranded.
In the darkness he could hear the distant raids, the sounds of larger forces targeting those unlucky enough to be in their way. The constant lightning from the storm gave Jakobe a destination to aim for. However, as the horizon engulfed the sun, and complete darkness blanketed the land, Jakobe had to stop.
If Lyo noticed the missing purifier, he would come after him. He knew he couldn't afford to wait until morning. It would give his old gang too much time to catch up. His two options were either to continue with caution in close to absolute darkness, or head toward the main road and risk being caught by a larger enemy, or worse, Clive himself. He had the ability to fight back and the means to escape; besides, it was unlikely larger crews riding for Red Eye or Clive would take a risk chasing an individual target when there were larger treasures to score.
The lights from the main road and the relatively well-kept conditions compared to the outskirts he was on now would reduce his time to reach the storm divide. He would also eliminate any chance of Lyo pursuing him. Even if they discovered the water purifier was missing, they wouldn't risk chasing him into the heart of the territory they were running away from. Jakobe took out camps from a distance, but Lyo and the rest of the crew would be easy for Clive's forces to spot and hunt down.
Feeling more comfortable with the threat he didn't know, Jakobe turned his bike toward the main road.
7
He hadn't ridden down the main roads since his time with Clive. Myskin told him Lyo used to raid the main roads when they first met, but once Robe left, he stayed far away. How could something simultaneously be a ghost town and so full of life? The highway was lined with cars missing their tires. Families packed into vehicles without seats and huddled around an electric heat box. Those outside the cars gathered around fires in barrels.
A red station wagon had two adults sitting on the roof with rifles. They kept their eyes on Jakobe as he passed. The remains of a city were in the distance. Though it would be nothing but trouble, Jakobe had no choice but to ride through.
Riding on the off roads with his gang was one thing, but just on the outskirts of the main road at night would be suicide for a loner. Droves of gangs waited out there for someone foolish enough to wander into their grasps. Not just Red Eye's or Clive's men either. Scavengers, wannabes, and common crews hid in the shadows just out of the city's reach, eager to pick off the scraps Red Eye tossed to them.
The closer he rode to the city, the denser the road became. Cars didn't just line the sides but parked in the middle. Almost everyone Jakobe rode by carried a gun in plain sight. Some of them probably weren't loaded. Not everyone could afford ammo, but it was enough to scare off the occasional thief.
A man knocked on the window of what looked like an abandoned white van and was met with the barrel of a rifle. He put his hands up and backed away.
Jakobe sped down the highway toward the city. The upper floors of the skyscraper were illuminated by what looked like small fires. The streets were a disaster. Wires dangled to the ground. Old storefronts were long cleared out, their front windows smashed and their remains burned.
Those lucky enough to have nothing left to lose huddled around small fires. A woman with white tips on her brown hair and a white line painted on her forehead kept her eyes on Jakobe as he rode by, careful not to trip over anything. He recognized the mark and tried his best to keep his head down. Even if Clive wasn't here, it would be best not to be recognized by anyone.
She disappeared into the darkness, and he wasn't sure if he felt more or less comfortable without her in his sights. Even if she was just making him her mark, it would be a rough night. The first stumble or sign of weakness, and the entire city would rain down on him for all he was worth. That's the way Clive liked his army. Always hungry, always ready to take down those who were weaker. It wasn't wrong to overpower someone and take from them; it just meant you were meant to survive more than they were.
He pulled his revolver out and kept it at the ready as he slowed down to navigate the debris. The road was covered in bricks and various debris from a collapsed apartment building. A pregnant woman paced in front of a single-story wooden box with no windows, taking long sips of a concoction in a ceramic bowl.
The crowd in the street stared at Jakobe as he rode around the bricks. While most saw the revolver and stepped away, others looked on like a whole new opportunity opened up to them. The woman with the white horizontal line painted on her forehead stepped out into the center of the road. Jakobe accelerated by her.
It was the same mark as the camp they raided; she was probably one of the people he let go. It wasn't a good sign to see her. At the very least, she was connected enough to Clive to send a force to avenge her. Jakobe pulled into an abandoned parking garage and double-checked there was a second exit before he pulled into a corner to keep watch.
Sure enough, the woman pursued him, but she wasn't alone anymore. A group of four men followed her, each with the same mark on their forehead, and each armed. No way Jakobe would be able to take them all on. He rode out the second exit and sped back onto the main road. His two choices were to keep a low profile for the night then return back to the deep outskirts or speed through the city as quickly as possible that evening.
He went with the latter. Unfortunately, the further he moved into the downtown area, the quieter things became. It felt backwards, like he should've been riding into more activity, but the air felt heavy in the silence. He saw movement in the upper floors of the skyscrapers. Bodies swayed back and forth. He could see their silhouettes grinding against each other.
A blur flashed in his peripherals, but when he turned his head, nothing was there. The woman and her group were long gone, but that didn't mean they didn't contact others. Across the street he saw a large group of people moving in the lobby of what was once a hotel. He walked his bike around the corner and watched as the crowd gathered by the door.
His stomach dropped when a man who looked part giant came out with the same white horizontal line across his forehead. "Find the ant and squash him!" he shouted, raising what looked like a mini cannon in the air.
At least a dozen men flooded the streets, three of them where Jakobe was hiding. So much for keeping a low profile and waiting it out. He hopped on his bike and drew everyone's attention.
He put a bullet in the forehead of the nearest man and sped back onto the main road cutting through the city.
It gave him some relief to pass their stronghold. Though they were chasing him, the worst was behind him. Now as long as he was fast, he would survive. Ahead was just another encampment. Those unfortunate enough to live there poked their heads out, curious about the commotion.
Jakobe brought a small army upon them. He sped through without much resistance. The men chasing him slowed down when they reached the camp, unable to help themselves. Jakobe heard screams from the families living in the cars and trailers but didn't turn around to watch. Any chance to pillage was too tempting for those men. He glided over the hill and
reached the bridge exiting the city.
There was nothing but clear road between him and the storm. Or so he thought. He almost missed it, but caught the mouth of a fissure and came to an abrupt stop. A long opening, half the size of a football field, divided the street from the bridge. He couldn't stop for any reason. He turned to ride around it when something tackled him to the ground. While the rest of Clive's White Liners were back in the encampment, the woman with the white tipped hair never stopped following him.
The two rolled over one another on the concrete, but when they separated, she had Jakobe's bag. "Drop it," he ordered her and pulled out both his revolvers. The woman looked at his guns and dove behind the closest parked car.
"Dammit," Jakobe said and rolled to take cover.
She was armed and fired back just as he reached the hood of a pickup. No one was inside, at least no one he could see. He crawled toward the flat bed, keeping his eye on the car opposite him. Another shot hit the truck and forced Jakobe to keep his head down. She wasn't trying to hit him; she wanted to stall him. He needed that bag; he needed the map and the water purifier.
A rumble came from the distance. Jakobe looked back at the city, and a flood of lights sprawled down the streets, creeping toward him like a wave on wet sand.
He opened fire and came in from behind the car she hid behind. With his back to her allies, he didn't have much time. It was a risk, but it cut her off from an escape. She could only go to the sides or into the fissure.
Jakobe had an idea. She was a thief, and if she was anything like the rest of her gang, she couldn't help herself from stealing at any opportunity, even a gun fight. He stepped to the right of the hood, along the side of the car, away from the street. She mirrored his step behind the car. Jakobe knew she must've seen the unloaded rifle on the bike. He always kept it unloaded when he was at camp with the others; it was easier to trust them if he knew they weren't gonna use his gun against him.
He made a break toward the back of the car, popping off two more shots. She made a break for his bike. He knew it. No keys, but a gun. He saw her grab the rifle and flip the safety off. Jakobe jumped to his feet, both revolvers out, painfully aware that he only had three shots left in each of them. He needed to make this quick and get around the fissure before the rest of the white lines caught up to him—no way he could take them all on in a gun fight.
