DustRoad

by Tom Huddleston

  “It’s only Fizzy Fango,” she said. “Found a whole case last week. Drink up.” She placed a hand on Joe’s chest and pressed the bottle to his lips again, forcing him to swallow. Immediately he felt stronger, the sugar in the drink setting his nerves alight.

  “Where am I?” he asked. “And who are you?”

  The stranger put the bottle down, taking a step back. He heard floorboards creak and saw that metal foot again, gleaming dully in the slanting light.

  “Made that myself,” she told him. “First year here. Got a cut, got infected, had to lop the old one off. Perils of living in a junkyard.”

  Joe inched back, eyeing her nervously. The woman was big – broad across the shoulders and heavy with muscle. And she hadn’t smiled once – that wasn’t a good sign.

  “Why did you bring me here?” he asked, looking around. They were in a shack with no windows and a sloping clapboard roof. He assumed the walls were wood too but he couldn’t say for sure because they were plastered with pictures – pages from books and magazines, posters and billboards and advertisements. Most of them seemed to feature faces, and as he looked around Joe felt like he was in a weird sort of theatre, an audience of motionless people grinning down at him.

  “Those are all my favourites,” the woman said. “That’s Marilyn, and there’s Freddie, and this is Franklin Del Rio, the biggest star of them all.”

  Joe squinted. “But who are they?”

  The woman shook her head. “Who were they, that’s the question. They were great, but now they’re gone. Here, listen to this. I only just dug it up and I can’t get enough of it.”

  She reached for a small plastic device and ran her finger over it, her tattooed face lit by a beam of artificial light. Then she hit a button and Joe jumped in surprise as music blasted through the shack, a jagged, rhythmic sound with wailing voices over the top.

  The woman closed her eyes and swayed, her face relaxing as she listened. Joe glanced past her to the half-open door, sunlight slanting through. If he ran he might make it, be gone before she opened her eyes. But then what? This place was a maze and he had no idea how to navigate it.

  “Do you like it?” the woman asked loudly. “It’s good, right? Powerful.”

  Joe nodded. “It’s … interesting,” he managed.

  “They’re called Cyclical Puppy,” she told him. “This was recorded in 2062, right before the second big crash. You know, people today think of Tech-Age folks as either gods or idiots – they invented computers and went to the moon but at the same time they ruined the world for everyone who came after. But it’s so much more complicated than that. If you watch their movies and hear their music you find out that most of them dreamed of a very different future than this one, and they kept on creating, despite all the wars and the famines and everything else.”

  The song faded and Joe stared up at her, wondering what was going on. Had she brought him here to eat him, or lecture him, or what?

  “And that’s what you do?” he asked politely. “Dig up stuff from the olden days?”

  The woman shrugged. “It passes the time. If you dig far enough, you can find artefacts going back hundreds of years, and so much of it is just … beautiful. I guess a lot of it just got forgotten about over the years, and the world’s sadder for it.”

  “It’s a sad and beautiful world,” Joe said, remembering the message he’d seen from above. “You made those signs, didn’t you? The pictures and the words.”

  The woman blushed. “I made them. That one’s from an old movie. But how did you see them?”

  Joe told her about the flying machine, how he’d crashed into the junk. “I’m trying to reach the Mariners,” he said. “Do you know where I can find them?”

  The woman’s eyes darkened. “I know where they are. But you should rest – you’re weak.”

  Joe struggled to his feet. “You can’t keep me here, you know. I’m small but I can still fight.”

  “Hey,” the woman said, taking a step back. “Who said anything about keeping you here?”

  “Well, you’re a lot bigger than me,” Joe said. “And you don’t exactly live in a normal sort of place. I know there’s bandits round here, and cannibals. And your tattoos and your leg are quite scary.”

  The woman stared at him, then her face cracked and for the first time she smiled. She put out a hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t get a lot of visitors. It’s been months since I had an actual conversation and I’ve obviously forgotten how. My name’s Lenny and I’m not a bandit or a cannibal, I promise.”

  Joe hesitated, then he reached up and shook. “I’m Joe,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you. But I meant it before – I really, really have to get to the Mariners as soon as possible.”

  The woman shrugged. “All right then,” she said. “Have another drink and let’s go.”

  They climbed a steep rise between heaps of corrugated metal and the rusted shells of cars, Lenny’s metal leg thumping the ground as they walked. The going was sometimes hard, sometimes swampy, and Joe wondered how far down the rubbish went and what the valley had looked like before people started using it as a junkyard. Occasionally they saw other figures in the labyrinth, shadowy forms darting beneath heaps of scrap or watching them from a distance. But no one came near or spoke to them, and Joe was glad of Lenny’s solid presence at his side.

  As they walked he told her about the Shanties, which she’d heard of but never seen, and about The Five, who for Lenny were just a vague rumour.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” Joe said. “But where I come from most folks are out for themselves. People only help each other if there’s something in it for them.”

  Lenny laughed. “Well, maybe there is something in it for me – did you think of that? If I help you get where you need to go, it makes me feel better about myself. I remember that even though I live in a heap of junk I’m still a decent person. So by helping you, I’m still helping me.”

  Joe smiled at her. “That’s a nice way of looking at it.”

  They stopped at the top of the slope to catch their breath and behind them he saw the huge pictures and messages spread out under the fading sky.

  “Is that why you make those?” he asked. “Because they make you feel better about things?”

  Lenny shrugged. “I think I just wanted to bring some beauty back into the world. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do. Now look, over there.”

  Joe followed her finger. Ahead of them the junk kept going, down into a rocky ravine then up another steep slope. But on its peak, running north to south, a solid metal structure rose from the rubbish. “That fence marks the Mariner border,” Lenny said. “And we’re right on time – they usually make a drop around sunset.”

  “What do you mean, a drop?” Joe asked. “You mean the Mariners leave their junk here too?”

  Lenny nodded. “Every day, like clockwork. Why are you so surprised?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe said. “I just thought they were different.”

  They scrambled down into the gully then up the other side, climbing over heaps of fresh trash: food waste, rusted metal and broken nets. Above them the fence rose, twenty feet high and made from plates of grey steel. “It’s not that tall,” Joe said as they approached. “Not compared to the Wall at home. They can’t be very serious about keeping people out.”

  “I think it’s more of a statement,” Lenny told him. “This is ours, so stay away.”

  There was a sudden electric whine and Joe heard cogs grinding. A section of the fence began to rise, sliding up like a panel. Lenny tugged him aside as something came tumbling through the gap – more refuse, some of it bagged but most just rolling loose. He saw old clothes and smashed glass and pieces of a motor, and there was a strong stench of rotten fish.

  Then the rubbish slide abated and Joe peered through. Beyond the fence he could see a cluttered yard and a yellow vehicle, squat and blocky with a steel plate fixed to the front. The plate dropped down and the vehicle a
dvanced, pushing another heap of refuse through the gap. There were two figures inside: a red-faced man at the wheel and a girl in uniform at his side. Joe waved but they didn’t spot him; the girl was engrossed in a book and the man was too intent on his work. But as the vehicle retreated again Joe stepped out, waving. The man saw him and rolled his eyes, nudging the girl.

  “No junk-roaches today,” he said, sticking his head out of the window. “The refugee centre’s about sixty miles that way.” And he jerked a thumb towards the south.

  “I’m not a refugee,” Joe shouted back. “I’ve come to warn you.”

  The junkman frowned. “About what, poor life choices?”

  “Not just you, all the Mariners,” Joe said. “There’s an army coming to wipe you out.”

  The junkman laughed. “An army? Of what, grimy little trash-pickers like you?”

  “Of men,” Joe said. “In big trucks. Look, I was on the Neptune. We were attacked by pirates and—”

  “The Neptune? I suppose you’re best friends with John Cortez too?”

  “No,” Joe snapped. “I was one of the ones who stopped him.”

  The junkman snorted. “You’re creative, I’ll give you that. But now you need to back up before you end up under the tracks of my ’dozer.” He flicked a switch and the engine started up again.

  Joe looked back at Lenny. “They won’t listen. They think I’m just some poor scavenger kid.”

  “You are some poor scavenger kid,” she said. “But that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Now get out there and tell ’em.”

  Joe looked at the dozer as it rumbled forward, the trash piling up against the blade. Then he took a deep breath and stepped directly in its path. The junkman’s eyes widened as the rubbish rolled higher, looming over Joe, ready to topple down and swamp him. Joe braced himself, but at the last minute the girl reached over and switched off the engine.

  “Look, we really can’t help you,” she said. “He’s just a junkman and I’m just his escort, and neither of us has the authority to allow you across the border. So get lost, before you force me to do something I’ll regret.” She placed a hand on the pistol at her waist.

  Joe faced her and felt a surge of anger. “I came a long way,” he said bitterly. “I got attacked by pirates and stole a plane and ran from some dogs, and I didn’t do it all just to be … to be … insulted. I heard the Mariners were decent people, at least most of them. Nate told us John Cortez was a bad example, that most of you were good, and I believed h—”

  “Wait, back up,” the girl said. “You say you were on the Neptune with a kid called Nate? What did he look like?”

  “About this tall,” Joe told her. “Sort of roundish, though not as much as he used to be. His Aunt Sedna’s on the Council, but he’s back in the desert with this army I told you about.”

  “There was a boy called Nate a couple of years below me at Junior Academy,” the girl said, turning excitedly to the driver. “We used to bunk off and draw Aquaboy comics together. But just last week I read a report that he’d been lost at sea, after…”

  She looked at Joe and her eyes were filled with amazement.

  “After a pirate attack. Kid, you’d better start talking.”

  15

  The Calm

  Shapes rose from the rolling dunes, statues and towers and fountains, all smoothed by time and the ever-shifting sand. Some were several stories high, ancient buildings with shattered glass in the windows and drifts piling against their crumbling walls. A sign read HOTEL PARADISE WEDDINGS PERFORMED 24/7, and although Kara understood most of the words, they didn’t seem to make sense put together like that. Tattered curtains lifted in the breeze and she caught a glimpse of one of the rooms within – a red carpet, a mouldering bed, flowers on the walls, all drowning in waves and ripples and streams and rivers of drifting, ceaseless, all-consuming sand.

  But the desert wasn’t the only intruder in this dead place. The Five’s army had descended that afternoon, hurtling along the concrete highway that pierced the city like the shaft of an arrow. Now the trucks stood in smoking rows between the buildings, ticking like insects as their engines cooled. It was the last gathering before they reached Mariner country. The last chance to make a difference.

  Kara stood in the doorway of the school bus, watching as a crowd began to form, soldiers leaving their vehicles and making their way down the sandy street. She’d barely slept last night, going over and over what Redeye had told her. It all made so much sense, this idea that The Five were one person, their individual personalities just fragments of the whole. She wondered how they’d come to be that way – was it part of their parents’ plan? Or was it inevitable?

  Grey was their centre, she knew, their voice of reason. Scar was their spite, their cruelty, their anger. Knuckles was their humour, and Boxer their aggression. And Dash was their kindness, their decency. But now he had gone against his brothers, he had saved Kara’s life. Which meant that this person – this divided individual that called itself The Five – was capable of changing its mind.

  Hearing a groan, she turned back. Nate lay unconscious on the bus’s front bench, his face red with blisters. The doctor had brought him back that morning along with a pack of sleeping syringes, instructing Kara to use them if the boy was in a lot of pain.

  “Just a little, at first,” he’d cautioned. “It’s strong stuff.”

  There was no sign of Lynx, but Kara wasn’t surprised. Their jailer had barely spoken on the drive down here, not even bothering to lock Kara’s cuffs. Perhaps Lynx figured it was too late for Kara to affect anything now. Perhaps it was.

  She sat on the bench beside Nate, touching him gently on the cheek. “Wake up.”

  The boy’s eyes fluttered and he smiled blearily. “I was having such a good dream,” he said. “Me and you and Joe were in Frisco, we were safe. We went swimming and Cane was there. She seemed terribly sad about something. But then Joe showed us all how to turn ourselves into penguins by sticking our thumbs in our mouths and blowing, and that cheered her up.”

  “I have to go out,” Kara said quickly, before he could keep rambling. “Just for a little while.”

  Nate’s face darkened. “Go where? What are you going to do?”

  Kara bit her lip. “I need to talk to Dash. And to his brothers, if they’ll listen.”

  Nate tried to rise. “No, Kara, that’s not a good idea. They’ll—”

  “The attack is tomorrow,” she said bluntly. “If I don’t act now, it’ll be too late.”

  Nate started to protest then he stopped himself, shaking his head. “I should know better by now, shouldn’t I? I nearly got us all killed, twice. Meanwhile you got The Five to trust you and one of them ended up saving us. You’re amazing, Kara. Whatever you need to do, you should do it.”

  Kara blushed, shaking her head, but before she could speak Nate had reached up, gripping her shoulder with a blistered hand and pulling her down towards him. Kara felt her balance go as her face smacked into his, their lips bumping together, their foreheads colliding with a clunk. Nate whimpered in pain and Kara pulled back, looking at him in astonishment.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Nate blushed, his red face turning even redder. “I’m sorry, I just… Maybe it’s that stuff the doctor gave me.”

  Kara could feel her pulse throbbing where their heads had smacked together; she knew she’d have a bruise. “Honestly,” she said. “I think we’ve got enough to worry about, don’t you?”

  She’d meant it as a joke, something to lighten the painfully awkward mood. But looking into Nate’s eyes she could see how much it hurt.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered again. “I only meant…”

  “It’s OK,” Kara told him. “Forget it. Try and sleep.”

  “But…” Nate protested as Kara pushed him down.

  “I mean it. I really have to go.”

  Avoiding his gaze, she backed down the steps and into the sandswept street. The sun was sinking, paintin
g the horizon in bronze and blue. At the end of the palm-fringed boulevard The Five’s stage truck stood ready, searchlights sweeping the sky. Beyond it Kara could make out the two huge vehicles the Arizona Brigade had brought with them – their contents remained a mystery, and she’d never seen anyone going in or out. But she didn’t have time to worry about it now.

  She followed the flow of people, feeling that awful, wrongheaded kiss still on her lips. Had it been a surprise? Or had she been expecting this – bracing for it almost? Her whole life she’d been so busy finding food and shelter for herself and Joe that she’d never even had time for friends, let alone … anything else. It just seemed like more trouble than it was worth – she could look after herself and she could just about manage to keep an eye on Joe, but anyone else would be a burden. She knew that was a tough way of looking at it but it also happened to be true.

  Soldiers pressed in around her, just like that night in the showground eight days and half a lifetime ago. But there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before, a sense of urgency in every muttered word, every upturned eye. Music pulsated, growing in volume until it hammered on Kara’s ears. A flock of crows spiralled into the air as the wall of a building collapsed into the sand.

  Then the side of the stage-truck dropped and white beams blazed out, brighter than the setting sun. Soldiers cheered, the sound rolling back in waves. The Five took the stage, their suits gleaming, their teeth polished, not a hair out of place.

  “It is time,” Scar began, the last word falling like a stone.

  “Time to step up,” Grey continued.

  “Time to fight back.” That was Knuckles.

  “Time to fight hard.” Boxer braced his fists.

  “Time to fight for everything you b—” Something caught in Dash’s throat and he coughed, punching his chest. “Believe in.”

  Scar shot him a look, his eyes flashing.

  “Our weather experts say there’s a storm coming,” Grey went on.