by M. R. Forbes
“Sorry,” Hero replied.
Hi-Top looked back at them. “Sorry about my boys’ manners, miss?”
“Rhonna.”
“Miss Rhonna. There ain’t many pretty women left around here. Ugly ones? We got plenty. Hah!”
Rhonna smiled, while Hayden kept his attention focused on the riders. All of them kept glancing over at the complex Hi-Top had called Crosston, as though an army of trife were going to burst out of it at any minute.
“Information,” Rhonna said again. She reached into her pocket and then held out the necklace she had found. “In exchange for this.”
“Ma’s necklace,” Ro said. “That’s mine.”
He moved as though he was going to jump down off the horse to grab for it.
“Ro, sit your ass back down!” Hi-Top snapped.
Rogan stopped and sat. His eyes moved between Rhonna’s face and the necklace.
“Finders keepers,” Hi-Top said. “But if all you want is words to get it back, I’ll tell you what I can.” He glanced out at the complex again, his voice lowering and becoming dead serious. “Not here, though. It isn’t safe here.”
“Who lives there?” Hayden asked.
He pointed at the long, low building, tracing a line down to the train cars Rhonna had pointed out with his finger.
“That’s Crosston. They’re bad people. They take what they want. Whatever they find.” He eyed Rogan angrily. “Which is why we don’t come around here. Filled with assholes, you ask me.”
“I heard you mention the Liberators,” Hayden said. “What about them?”
“Tinker’s army. Freak them too. Stay as far away from those assholes as you can, unless you want to lose your woman like I lost mine.”
“What do you mean?”
Hi-Top looked out at the complex again. “Not here, damn it. We stayed too long already. Necklace ain’t worth standing out here and dying with our lips flapping.”
Rhonna held it out. “Take it. We’re not your enemy.”
Rogan looked at Hi-Top, who nodded. The kid walked his horse over two steps, reaching out to take the jewelry.
Hayden wasn’t sure what happened next. Rogan was leaning over slightly, his hand touching Rhonna’s, the necklace transferring from her hand to his. Then his head snapped violently sideways, bone and flesh and blood and brain shooting out to the side and hitting the two men behind him.
The crack of the sniper rifle followed two seconds later, as Rogan slumped over and began to slide from the horse, and Hi-Top and the other two men started wheeling their mounts to flee.
Hayden reacted without thinking, diving for Hi-Top and grabbing his leg, dragging him down with his good hand. Hi-Top fell to the ground while a second round whipped past where his head had just been, and a third exploded into Hero, the force of the bullet hitting his chest enough to knock him backward off the horse.
The animals panicked at the rumbling echoes of the rifle fire, screaming and turning, rushing back the way they had come. The fourth man bent low over his mount, holding on tight to the suddenly wild stallion as it thundered away.
Hayden leopard crawled over toward Hi-Top, staying low to the ground and out of sight of Crosston. He glanced over at Rhonna, who had found her way back into the dark alcove with the motorcycle. He could hear an engine in the distance ahead. Whoever had been shooting was coming to finish the job.
Hi-Top didn’t notice him. The older man stumbled to where Rogan had fallen, leaning over the kid.
“Shit. I told you, Ro. I told you it wasn’t worth it. I told you we were too close.”
“Hi-Top,” Hayden said. “Come on. We have to move.” He caught up to the man, putting an arm around his shoulders. Hi-Top’s head whipped to the side, eyes furious.
“Freak you, man. You tricked us. You set us up. Piece of shit.”
Hi-Top threw himself at Hayden, taking a swing. Hayden pulled it easily aside. The car was getting closer. He heard it come to a stop, its brakes squealing.
Hayden got to his feet, turning toward the path. The car had stopped across it, and four men were climbing out. He could still hear an engine beyond it, another vehicle heading out to the junkyard.
He looked back at Hi-Top. The man was leaning over Rogan again, holding him in his arms and crying, sitting out in the open. He had tried to help him. There was only so much he could do. He scrambled to the left, angling toward Rhonna. The men saw him, but they didn’t seem to be in a hurry.
“Two cars at least,” he told Rhonna. “We can’t fight them all here.”
“Why do we have to fight?” Rhonna asked. “They haven’t done anything to us.”
The statement stopped Hayden short. “What?”
“We don’t know the men we were talking to any more than we know these people. They could have been lying to us. The Crosstons may have saved our lives.”
Hayden turned back as the men came around the stacks of junk at the end of the path. A single gunshot and Hi-Top slumped over, falling on top of his son.
“They were scared the whole time, like they knew they were going to be shot. How do we know they weren’t taking a chance to rob us?”
Hayden looked back at her. They were running out of time to try to escape. “Hi-Top thought we tricked him. That we’re with the Crosstons.”
“That doesn’t mean he was a good guy.”
Hayden didn’t know which group was good or bad. Maybe both were bad. It was the nature of Earth’s reality that the survivors tried to take advantage of one another. The ones who didn’t were the ones that died the most frequently.
“We’re better off not risking it with either group,” he said.
She couldn’t argue that. She followed him out of the small alcove, and he led her around one of the stacks just ahead of the Crosston soldiers.
“Eagle said there were six of them,” one of the men said.
“One got away on horseback,” another man replied.
“Three are dead. Fucking nomads. They should know to stay the hell away from us by now. It’s almost like they want to be shot.”
“They just can’t resist shaking down the transients, even if it means trespassing.”
Hayden glanced over at Rhonna, whose face turned in a wry smile. Had she been right about Hi-Top and his group?
“The other two have to be here somewhere,” the second man said. “They didn’t have a ride.”
Hayden moved to the corner of another stack of crushed metal parts, looking around the corner. There were men passing through the columns. He waited to dash across to the other side, with Rhonna right behind him. They cleared the path, turning left into a more narrow alley. They were surrounded by junk now, the world beyond the yard hidden behind the ancient trash. He scanned the old cars, the scraps of aluminum and sheet metal, the piles of random garbage, searching for a place to duck in, hide, and wait the Crosstons out.
They reached the end of the row, turning right. There was a car at the bottom of a pile there, its window open and inviting. Hayden hurried to it, crouching to look through. There was a space on the other side where someone had arranged a tarp over an old couch and a mattress, stacked on top of a few wooden pallets to keep them dry. Would the Crosstons find them there?
It was better than staying here.
“Come on,” Hayden said, pointing. “You first.”
Rhonna joined him, handing him her rifle so she could climb in through the window and crawl through to the other side.
She had just stuck her head in when an arrow thunked into the sheet metal beside her.
Hayden turned the rifle in the direction of the shooter, finding the bowman standing with two other men, both armed with guns of their own.
“Don’t,” one of them said. He was around Hayden’s age, with crows feet around his eyes and gray hair that gave him a wizened look. “Relax. Okay? Just relax.”
Hayden kept the rifle trained on them. The men had them boxed in and had caught them by surprise. If the Crosstons wanted the
m dead, they would be dead. He raised it toward the sky and then slung it over his shoulder.
“Good. Now, put your hands up,” the man said.
Hayden complied.
“You too,” he said to Rhonna. “Stand next to him.”
She joined Hayden, putting her hands up.
“Loki’s going to like you,” the man said, looking at her.
“Are we prisoners?” Hayden asked.
“We don’t take prisoners,” the man replied. “Food is scarce enough. We don’t waste it on people we can’t use. My name is Lane. You?”
“Hayden. And that’s Rhonna.”
“Rhonna. I like it. Since you weren’t running from the nomads, and you weren’t with them, I’m going to guess you’re new to this part of the world?”
“You could say that.”
Lane lowered his rifle. The other two men stood down as well, putting their weapons to their sides.
“You can put your hands down. Sorry about the poor hospitality, but those fucking horse clans should know better than to come out this way. You’re lucky we showed up when we did, especially since you have a woman.”
Hayden glanced at Rhonna. Have a woman?
“I’ll bring you to our bossman. His name is Loki. He’ll decide what to do with you.”
“What do you mean, what to do with us?” Hayden asked. “You just said we aren’t prisoners.”
“You aren’t. Look, Hayden. You know this world isn’t made for humans anymore. It belongs to the fucking trife. We’re just the insignificant remains. The descendants of the people who were too scared or too stupid to die. Whatever brought you out here, whatever reason you’re wandering, whatever you’re looking for; you aren’t going to find it because it doesn’t exist. The best thing you can do is settle in, make yourself useful, and hope you don’t have to suffer too long. Do you know what I mean?”
Hayden’s mind turned to Natalia and Hallia, and the men and women back west. What he wanted did exist. It was possible, and he was eager to get back to it. “Not exactly.”
“You’re going to be part of Crosston. I promise it’s the best option for you. There’s nothing out here, Hayden. Nothing but assholes on horses who would take everything you have. You’re safe with us, and we can put you to good use.”
“What if we don’t want to be part of Crosston?” Rhonna asked.
“Come on,” Lane said, ignoring the question. “You can ride back in the car with me.”
Hayden started reaching for the rifle. Lane immediately had a pistol in his hand, pointed at him. He hadn’t even seen the man going for it.
Lane smiled. “We don’t need to do things that way. You’re a lot more useful to both of us alive.”
Hayden smiled back. “I was just checking.”
“Of course. This way.”
Lane moved back through the stacks. Rhonna and Hayden followed him, with the other two Crosstons taking up the rear. It didn’t matter if Lane said they weren’t prisoners.
Hayden knew the definition, and he was pretty sure this was it.
“Out of the frying pan,” he muttered. “Three fucking days.”
Chapter 32
Hayden and Rhonna were loaded into the car, pressed together in the center between two of the Crosstons in the back seat. Lane rode shotgun, sliding in and pulling his door closed before looking back and smiling at them.
“It won’t be bad, Hayden. There’s a lot worse stuff out here.”
Hayden didn’t reply. His eyes were turned to the window. He could see Hi-Top and Rogan a dozen meters away, partially shrouded by the stacks of junk.
“You’re just going to leave them there like that?” he asked.
“Who?” Lane looked out the window. “Oh. The nomads? Yeah. Let that be a warning to anyone else that’s thinking about entering our territory. To be honest, Hayden, you’re lucky we didn’t kill you. We don’t take in travelers, as a rule.”
“Why not?”
“Most of them turn out to be a waste of resources. Too weak. Too old. Too scared. More trouble than they’re worth, really. They come too close to the complex, Eagle usually shoots them. He would have shot you too, but you managed to get out of the way.” He laughed. “But that’s the sign of someone worth getting to know. It isn’t enough to survive the trife. The trife won’t bother with you if you’re sterile. Did you know that?”
“I did,” Hayden said.
“Yeah. It isn’t enough to survive the trife. You need to survive humanity. Your own kind. And you did. You got down fast. Hell, you would have saved the nomad’s life too if he hadn’t been so sentimental. We aren’t good people, are we, Hayden? Our nature, I mean? It’s pretty lousy.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t think humans are violent by nature? Evil? Savages?”
“No. I’ve met a lot of good people.”
“Really?” He laughed again. “Not around here, I’m sure.”
The car started, and a few seconds later they were headed toward the large building, the other vehicle full of Crosstons in front of them.
“Where are you from, Hayden?” Lane asked. “How far have you traveled?” He motioned to the replacement hands. “I’d love to know how you got those, and what happened to that one. Our guy, Tomas, he works with the old tech. I’ve never seen augments like that.”
“You have a botter?” Hayden asked. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the organization of the group, but it wasn’t as though it was a high-demand occupation.
“We do,” Lane replied. “I don’t know if he can fix that one up for you, but he might be able to put something else on the ring, assuming it wasn’t damaged. Of course, that all depends on how useful you can be to us. Where did you say you were from again?”
“The west coast,” Hayden said. He could feel the eyes of all of the Crosstons in the car shift toward him.
“Bullshit,” Lane said. “That’s a long ways from here. There’s no way you walked that far and didn’t get killed or captured.”
“I’m from the west coast,” Hayden repeated. “I swear.”
Lane smiled. “Right. Okay. Whatever. It doesn’t matter that much anyway.” He looked at Rhonna. “What about you, sweetie? You walk all that way with your man, here?”
“He’s-“
Rhonna caught Hayden’s look and stopped talking. She smiled demurely, looking down.
“Not all the way. We met in the middle.”
“That makes sense. I can guess how you got so far, Hayden. Your daddy’s daddy’s daddy was a Marine, wasn’t he? One of the old war dogs that got left behind? We’ve got a few mongrels in Crosston. They inherited the augmentations. They cut off their own limbs to carry on the legacy. Is that you, Hayden? You a mongrel? You cut off your hands so you could be stronger and tougher?”
“What do you think?” Hayden asked.
“Yeah. I think you’re a mongrel. A bad-ass. Loki’s going to love you.”
The car navigated into a funnel of sorts, a stretch of pathway between a long line of truck trailers. He noticed there were cutouts in the sides, just big enough for someone to shoot through. It was set up as an obvious choke point.
For people or trife?
A heavy barbed-wire fence sat at the end of the line of trailers, and it swung open as they neared, letting them through. The complex was directly in front of them, looming over the car as they neared. The face of it was dirty, coated in dark swirls and faded colors, and covered in layers of ash and grime. A set of ramps led up to what had once been a row of roll-up doors but had been replaced with filled concrete and metal bars on all but two of the entrances. A pair of guards stood between those doors, guns on their hips and machetes in their hands.
The car came to a stop. Lane opened his door and slid out. “Don’t just stand there,” he snapped. “Open it up. I’ve got something for Loki.”
One of the guards retreated to one of the doors, which had the words ‘Fuck Trife’ spray paint
ed in big red letters across its face. He banged the handle of the machete against the door, three times in quick succession.
“You’re going to love Crosston, mongrel,” Lane said, opening the rear door. “Let’s go.”
The Crosston on his right climbed out, and he and Rhonna followed. The roll-up slid open, rattling loudly. Hayden tried to see through the gloom, but whatever was inside was invisible from their position.
“What about my satchel?” Hayden asked as Lane closed the doors to the car.
The Crosston kept smiling, opening the door again and reaching in to grab the bag. He handed it to Hayden. “We aren’t thieves.”
He walked up one of the ramps, leading them to the open door. Hayden glanced back at Rhonna one last time. Was she excited about this place?
He wasn’t excited. It didn’t matter who these people claimed to be, or what kind of people they claimed to be. It didn’t even matter if they were the type of community where a regular traveler could find a good home and a decent life.
If they were going to force him to stay, they were his enemy.
Plain and simple.
Chapter 33
Entering through the roll-up door, the first thing Hayden noticed was that the building looked much bigger on the inside than it had on the outside. It seemed to stretch on forever, a perfect example of chaotic organization that both intrigued and frightened him. It wasn’t a tall building, so it only had the ground floor and a second level that seemed to ring the perimeter, the floor of which was a metal grating and railing, placed in front of what appeared to be doorways into small offices with large windows on the sides to observe the activity below. An assortment of guards were positioned up there, doing exactly that.
The rooftop had been heavily modified over the years. Pieces of wood and metal shims were bolted to it. Parts of the roof that had collapsed had been haphazardly replaced with plastic tarps and aluminum siding likely taken from the sides of the trailers in the yard. Large lamps hung from wires suspended to the beams and shims, spread across the space and providing bright light beneath where they shined, and dim light across the rest of the floor. Old speakers hung there too, and further down, Hayden could make out what looked like cages and metal-grated platforms suspended near one another by chains. It was all connected to what looked like a winch system.
