by R. K. Gold
At least he was on the right path. He stood up and a blast of wind hit him in the chest. It wasn't hard enough to knock him off his feet, but he wished it were. All he could hear was the whistle of the raging winds. Just looking out the window brought the numb sensation back to his cheeks. His eyes watered and dried almost instantaneously, and a musty smell pierced his nostrils before they clogged from the fast current, creating a vacuum under his nose.
He wanted to give up and curl back into a ball, but it would do him no good. He couldn't turn back and didn't know any direction except forward. He walked his bike to the door, each step dragging more than the last. The closer he was to the entrance, the more the air felt like rocks pummeling his chest and stomach. He started the ignition, struggling to maintain his balance, and took off down the road once more. He couldn't go too fast. The ground was soaked, and his bike hydroplaned.
For a city devastated by extreme weather, the road was in relatively good condition. It wasn't flawless, but compared to some of the back roads by the dumping site, they were far from the worst Jakobe had ridden down. The further into the storm he went, the darker his surroundings became. The sky turned stark black, and the air around him matched its tone. Though from a distance it looked ominous, in the storm it was a blessing. The darker the sky became, the easier the next stepping stone was to spot.
Ahead he saw a gray circle spiraling over a brick building. It was the next clearing. Careful not to wipe out, he navigated his ride around the concrete rubble, broken telephone towers, and random debris that blew in his path.
15
The sky opened up. A mixture of thick rain and hail pelted him in the face and head. His goggles fogged, and his bike hydroplaned. He lost all control of his steering and fell to the side. He and his bike slid through an open doorway, crossing into the second stepping stone, then against a metal dumpster.
"Please don't be totaled," he said, not daring to look over at his bike. He clipped the door at the last second. He couldn't see it. All the dust in the air made a layer over the ground. It was impossible to see until he was right on top of it. "Please be okay" he said, finding the strength to look up.
His stomach sank when he saw the damage. He wouldn't be riding that bike to the third stone, and who knew how close Lyo and the others were getting.
He walked over to the door and looked out. Still no sign of them, but he couldn't be sure. For all he knew they were ten yards away under the cover of the storm. He pushed his bike in front of the door. If they were to find their way to him, they would crash into it.
He crouched low and raised his rifle. That was all he felt like he could do at the moment. He was exhausted and needed water. If he took the rest of his rations for the day, he couldn't risk leaving for the next stone. He could get lost and have to break into the next day's rations. So he waited silently, Myskin's warning replaying clearly in his mind. Hunted for the rest of his life. As long as Lyo still had the means to chase him, he would.
16
Lyo wanted nothing to do with the newcomer. He paced in front of the small fire and observed the strange child who ran from Clive's camp.
"He was a prisoner. He stole from them. What makes you think he won't steal from us too?" the largest of the group asked. Jakobe heard the others call him Forte.
"He stole from Clive, not us. We're all playing the same game of survival out here," the one they called Bronx said. He rested his hands on his enormous gut. "Besides, he distracted Clive when you made your move."
"Clive would've been distracted by his own reflection; we didn't need the kid's help," Lyo said and looked at Jakobe skeptically. "Be real with us. Why was Clive handing you over to the Hammers?"
"He said entire tribes are coming over, and he was going to negotiate with them the same way his father has," Jakobe replied.
"Hammers east of the storm?" the pale one they called Myskin asked and looked to Lyo. "Who you think welcomed them?"
"I don't think anyone did. Hammers don't come east of the storm for long. We have nothing to worry about unless we keep him," Lyo said and pointed at Jakobe.
"You really think Clive is gonna come searching for a runaway prisoner before he comes looking for the crew that burned his camp?" Myskin asked.
"I think if he promised the Hammers a trade, he's gonna hunt him down, and if the Hammers know who he is, they might join the hunt," Lyo said.
"No way Hammers join a prick like Clive. They'd sooner take him," Bronx argued.
"I think we're all straying from the main point that the Hammers have come east of the storm divide, and that could mean we're all dead," Myskin said.
"Why isn't Red Eye stopping them from using the stepping stones?" Bronx asked.
"Why do you think? He protects them in name alone," Lyo replied.
"The west must be getting bad if even the Hammers are running away," Myskin said.
"Or really good. If the rumors of the west are true, it was only a matter of time before they kicked the Hammers out," Bronx said.
"Still doesn't answer our Hammer question now. Are they a concern or do you think we're in the clear?" Myskin asked Lyo.
"We have to stay off the main roads, that's for sure," Forte chimed in. "Their only way to cross is through the stones, and they're cutting deals with Clive, which makes me think they're in bed with Red Eye."
"Maybe we should reconsider heading west," Bronx said.
"Absolutely not. Even if a tribe or two of Hammers crosses the storm divide, we're still safer over here. You think the west is becoming more of a haven without them? Hammers meant no army was large enough to conquer the west. Red Eye never eradicated them because he never had the force. If they're running scared, then we would be in just as much danger as they are from the new threat. That's assuming we survive the storm to begin with. Better to stay east and have a chance to survive than head west and abandon all hope," Lyo said. "What's your name?"
"Jakobe—I mean Kobe," he replied.
"Don't know your own name, huh? Or are you lying?" Lyo asked.
"He's already a thief; is lying that far of a stretch?" Forte questioned.
"We're all thieves and liars out here," Myskin said as he walked next to Jakobe. "We could use a better thief though."
"Myskin's right. I'd rather send the little one to steal for us than have to keep knocking our way through these cities," Bronx said.
"Didn't you hear what Forte said? We're not hitting cities anymore. Pissing off Clive is one thing, we expected that, but if he's making deals with Hammers, then Red Eye might be turning more focus east. We're staying off the main roads and heading south again," Lyo said.
"South? Back toward the dump?" Forte asked.
"It was your idea," Myskin said. Jakobe noticed Myskin was the only one who didn't shudder at the idea of heading south.
"We should've just killed Clive when we had the chance," Bronx said.
"Killing Clive wouldn't have changed anything. I like having the little prick in charge of his white liner posse. They have to follow his ego out of fear of his old man. If we were to kill him—and free them of their commitment, at best we would have hundreds of armed loners tearing their way through the north, taking out every encampment they can find, and at worst they would head back to Clive's dad, and he'd consolidate his armies," Lyo said.
"No one heads south except the truly desperate. In Clive's mind, he already owns it and wouldn't waste his time putting himself in danger around the dumping grounds. Lyo is right; we're safest there," Myskin agreed.
"I still don't trust the kid," Forte said.
"Well, he's got a bike and is gonna chase us no matter where we go so we gotta kill him or let him join," Myskin replied. All eyes turned to Lyo, who looked like he wanted to do anything except make that decision.
"You wanna follow us? I ain't stopping ya, but you ain't takin’ shit. You so much as sit too close to me and steal some of my air, I'll tie you up and leave you in a ditch like I found ya. Understand?" Lyo asked
.
Jakobe nodded and filed in. He rode second to last with Forte taking the rear.
17
Jakobe dozed off for only a few minutes when the rattling of the building shook him back to consciousness. He shivered, his body still soaked from the cold rain. His teeth chattered, and his lips were numb. He stumbled on his first attempt to stand up and caught himself on the wall. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he took a small sip from his canteen and strapped it to his side.
He could see the faintest outline of light gray in the distance. It looked like the very edge of a circle. The rest was blacked out by a combination of the storm and various buildings still standing.
Jakobe stepped out of the lobby and was struck in the chest by a heavy gust. It didn't let up, pushing him back to his heels. He would've fallen on his back if the building wasn't there to stop him. He took a deep breath and screamed as loud as he could, giving himself a burst of energy to take his next step. He had to plant his foot in the ground after each step and find his balance.
He lifted his leg a little too high and stood on one foot a little too long. The winds swiped at his ankle and knocked him off his feet. On the ground, the dust poured over him, filling his nostrils and mouth. He couldn't breathe. It scratched his throat and cheeks. He coughed it up, but more piled on. He rolled to his stomach and gagged.
He climbed to his knees, but before he could stand straight, the wind knocked him down again and a combination of dirt and sand flowed over his body, burying him alive. He swatted the air to create a bubble, even the slightest relief from the mounting pressure, but the storm was relentless.
A loud thunder rumbled in the sky and shook the ground. Jakobe felt his insides shake with the storm. The lightning overhead swirled like a carousel before striking the ground less than a block away. Jakobe fought to his feet and reached forward. His hands caught a metal handle on the side of the building. He shuffled his feet along, careful not to keep either foot off the ground for too long.
Another round of thunder shook the sky, and a blast of lightning landed even closer to Jakobe. The storm was targeting him. His heart raced, and his muscles tightened. He clenched his jaw and lowered his head before breaking into a sprint across the street. All he saw was black until he reached the other side and found relief from the storm under a balcony. Sticking his head out to look to the sky, he saw the next stepping stone nearby.
He moved from building to building, only taking sips of water when he was under cover. Each sip scratched his throat as it washed down the remnants of the particles he swallowed when the storm knocked him around.
He heard another round of thunder building up, but it never stopped. Something felt off about it. The way it lingered in the air and revved up. He recognized the sound as it approached. Lyo and the rest survived and were on their way to the next stone.
18
He could wait it out under cover. They wouldn't know he stopped advancing through the storm, but how long would it take for them to move on? He was running short on water and needed to get out as soon as possible. He couldn't afford to wait around to throw them off his trail. If they were heading to the next stepping stone, he had to beat them there.
Jakobe went back into the winds. He ducked at the last second as a chunk of concrete spiraled toward him, only to be struck in the back by another. The sky rumbled, and the lightning struck again and again, loading rounds in the chamber and firing at the ground relentlessly.
Something spiraled nearby, a darkness picking up rocks and scattered pavement. It moved in front of the gray halo marking the next stone. The sound of engines caught up to Jakobe. He could see lights penetrating the dust behind him, hear the howls of the riders trying to communicate with one another. When the light touched his foot he knew he was spotted.
"Shit!" he shouted and crawled off the street, holding on to a toppled lamp post for dear life. The first bike flew by him without a second glance. He was moving too fast for Jakobe to see who it was. The following three slowed down and one pulled in front. Despite the heavy winds, they looked strong, like nothing could knock them off course.
The lights made it impossible to see who anyone was. Jakobe saw a shadow figure dismount his bike and approach him. He struggled to his feet, still feeling the bruise from where the slab of concrete struck him in the back. He couldn't stand up straight and winced when he raised his hands into fists. Guns would do him no good in the storm. Even if he could see his targets clearly, there was no way he could properly aim.
The ground trembled, and the man stopped approaching. The gusts knocked Jakobe forward. He put his hands out to catch himself but was blown back before he fell. The cyclone moved closer, and the three men mounted their bikes then turned down a different street.
It was smart to leave Jakobe behind. They knew he wasn't going anywhere and had to reach the next stone. Exactly what he wanted to avoid. Not that it mattered. He limped forward, walking with his torso almost parallel to his knees.
The cyclone moved north, away from Jakobe. As long as he saw the stepping stones, he knew he was heading west. As violent as the winds were, the third stone was as quiet. It wasn't the eye of the storm. He took cover to plan his route.
The bruise on his back felt swollen, making it difficult to stand straight, but he felt a relief not having the pain of constantly being bombarded by gusts and debris. Four bikes were parked in the middle of the road, and Jakobe's old gang stood in front. Lyo pulled out his hunting knife and pointed it at Jakobe. They waited for him just inside the stone's boundary. Jakobe entered, knowing there was no way around; he had to break through.
"You finally got your wish; you finally got to enter the storm," he shouted. Though it was still in the calm pocket, all of their ears rang from the storm.
"And you finally got to face the one fear you had left, so you're welcome!" Jakobe shot back.
Lyo chewed the inside of his lip. Myskin stepped beside him and rested the flat end of an impressive blade on his shoulder. It looked about the size of his torso. "You understand why we gotta do this, right?"
"I don't understand all the warnings coming from you. You're trying to talk to me like there's a friendly way to kill someone," Jakobe said.
"Cause you're gonna be the first person I kill and feel bad about." Myskin shrugged and put the tip of his blade into the ground. Jakobe raised his rifle.
Myskin didn't flinch. "Gonna shoot all of us? We'll just risk the storm."
"Or even better—" Lyo added and pulled a pistol from under his cloak. Lyo always had a gun on him, but in all the time Jakobe spent with him, he never saw him fire a single shot.
"This is really about the purifier? I don't have it anymore. If it's about the principle, what's the point? I was heading west. You would never see me again. You said it yourself, the storm or the armies would probably kill me," Jakobe said.
A loud crash of thunder sounded just outside the pocket. Only Myskin seemed to care. He looked nervous. Jakobe couldn't put his finger on it, but the way his eyes shifted from Jakobe to the border of the pocket and the storm made Jakobe think they were acting on some invisible clock. The lightning zigzagged through the sky, forming webs just overhead. The next clearing wasn't far from where they were; they had to be getting close to the eye. Jakobe stepped toward a brick building. Lyo shot at the side. It struck under a window not far from the corner. Even in the calm, there was enough wind to throw off his aim.
"What, you're gonna toy with me now or something? It's four on one. You got bikes to get yourselves out of here, and my only advantage is meaningless in these conditions. Just get it over with," Jakobe said and rubbed his chest, anticipating the bullet to strike him in the heart. He felt something roll against his skin.
A cold metal sphere he had forgotten about. A blinding flash of lightning was followed by a loud clash of thunder. Another white web illuminated the sky. Jakobe reached in his pocket and ran his thumb through the slit like Myskin showed him then pressed the indentation on
top of the sphere. He lobbed it toward his old crew.
Myskin's eyes widened. It was the moment he had been waiting for. Myskin tackled Lyo away from the device. Bronx and Forte followed his action and ducked. Jakobe took the opportunity to open fire. He didn't even aim, just fired three of his rifle's five shots around them to keep them down as he sprinted out of the pocket and back into the storm. He saw the flash in his peripherals but didn't turn back.
No one screamed or sounded wounded. He wasn't sure if he was happy they were all okay or angry he still had to run from them. If only they let him go without a fight. He saw the next stone ahead, only it wasn't just a clearing. It was the eye. The gray halo was the outer border of a cloudless blue circle.
He strapped his rifle to his back and ran toward the eye. It didn't guarantee him safety. Even if he reached it, Lyo and the others would be hot on his trail. If he could reach it by foot, they could easily reach it. He stepped into a pothole and kicked something metal when he pulled his leg out. Even in the raging storm he could hear the bikes gaining on him. He pulled out his revolvers and put his back to the first wall he could find. They weren't going to sneak up on him. He raised his guns and looked back. The coast was clear, and the eye was only a block away.
The second he stepped back into the street, he was flashed by Myskin's headlight. Jakobe raised his guns, and Myskin charged toward him. Jakobe fired relentlessly. He just needed one to stick. The bike lost its grip and slid on its side. Myskin curled into a ball to protect himself as he bounced off the ground. He writhed in pain after the crash.
Jakobe started toward him to help bring him to safety when Lyo pulled up. Lyo looked at Jakobe, then Myskin. Jakobe didn't stick around to give him an easy target and ran toward the eye.
