"We're screwed. Fallback. Use ECM flares to cover our retreat."
He leaned so abruptly that the tire cast a wave of sand like ocean water, turning quickly around the opposite direction. Twin compartments flipped open from the rear of the inner frame, extending beyond the outer wheel and firing dozens of electronic countermeasures into the air behind him. The small orbs detonated, casting electromagnetic chaff into the wind, disrupting the train operator's targeting measures while he and the remaining members of his gang sped away to lick their wounds. The train's gunfire faded away as they escaped its range, but they kept going, racing across the broken desert, grit in their eyes and mouths, bodies bleeding and sweaty, the sting of their defeat hanging over them like a rain clouds.
Janey's voice crackled over the receiver in his ear. "What the hell happened, Waingrow? We never had a chance. I never seen a train armed like that before."
He spat a lob of dirty blood into the wind, sliding goggles over his eyes to protect them from the brutal wind. "Yeah. They were expecting us. How many did we lose?"
"About a third. Ol' Bart, Creole Dan, Henny, Dame Debbie, and some others. It was a crapshoot back there. I took a hit myself. Think I got a couple of ribs broke."
"Damnit. The Judge ain't gonna like this."
"What are you gonna tell him?"
Sweat slid down Waingrow's face from more than the heat. "The only thing I can: we got set up."
The package airdropped via drone onto the yard of the Baron's private warehouse. Marshal Wiley made sure to get it inside as quickly as possible. He was securing it inside the building when the Baron swaggered in, lean and dark as a shadow, tassels on her jacket swaying from side to side. She nodded at the crate.
"That from the crimsonium shipment?"
"Yeah. Down payment from the trading company. Said they'll deal with us if we can run the Judge and his hooligans outta town."
"Good. Shouldn't be too long, now. After a while, it'll be just him and Bane sitting lonely in his manor. We can take it all from him without ever firing a shot. That's what he never understood. Power isn't just pointing a gun and shooting who you please. It's about alliances. Developing strength through partnerships."
Wiley fought to hold back a sneer. "Like your partnership with this Gunner fella?"
She placed her hands on her narrow hips, tilting her head with a playful smile on her lips. "Exactly. You got a problem with him?"
"I don't trust him. You've heard the stories. A man like him ain't got no loyalties. He's an outlaw—one of the worst ever lived. Probably put more bodies in the ground than we got people in this Town."
"Which is exactly why we can use him. Sure, I don't trust him. I'm not a fool, Wiley. But look at what he's delivered so far."
She placed a hand on latches of the crate and lifted the top, exposing the glimmer of dark red crystals inside. Reaching in, she picked up a handful, holding the crimsonium up to the light, where it sparkled like a handful of frozen blood.
"The Judge won't be around for much longer. When he's gone, we'll take his fusion motor and upgrade the entire power station. With rail transport restored, we'll explode with growth. We'll become the biggest city in Nueva Esperanza. And the richest. Then all of this blood and dust will be a thing of the past."
"Well, you know I'm for law and order, Baron. That's why I chose to be on your side 'stead of that thug that calls himself a Judge. But so long as he has that Bane creature around, he still won't go out without a fight. We've seen what that thing can do firsthand. I don't consider myself a coward, but I wouldn't look forward to going up against Bane with nothing short of a tank."
An unpleasant smile thinned her lips. "That can be arranged."
"Not without taking out half the Town. Can't imagine anyone too pleased with that."
She clapped him on the back, raising a cloud of dust. "Not to worry, Marshal. I'm working on something to take care of the cyborg. Meanwhile, keep on working the townspeople. Once they have it in their minds that the Judge is toothless, they'll be glad to look the other way when we come for him."
"Right. And what about Gunner? He's bound to be trouble, now or later."
"We'll let him do his thing for right now. When he quits being useful, we cut our losses. If a halfwit like Waingrow can get the drop on him, I'm sure you'll have no problem finishing the job. Not to mention collecting the hefty reward for his head."
Wiley grinned. "Looking forward to it."
They turned and walked out together, neither noticing the small figure that crouched in the shadows. She scampered deeper into the darkness, and with a flash of yellow-tinted eyes, she vanished.
Chapter 7: Vale of Deep Shadow
The small shed fire outside the mines was just bad enough to warrant the attention of the man in the watchtower. He shouted down to the two guards by the mine entrance. They looked at each other, shrugged, and jogged over to see what they could do about dousing the flames before they spread. Gunner slid down the hilltop, skating across loose pebbles and dirt, landing at the entranceway. A few spare gray coveralls and caps were carelessly tossed in the corner. He slipped them on and rapped on the door with his knuckles.
The guard on the inside opened the gate, squinting as he looked outside. "That a fire out there? What happened?"
"Hell if I know," Gunner said, keeping his head down and steps quick as he passed by. "The Baron's gonna give someone hell over it, that's for sure."
He kept moving, rounding the corner and down a tunnel of hewn stone, boots kicking up glimmering dust from the mine floor. Piping and wires lined the walls and ceilings, stretching on into infinity. The tunnel was well-lit by LED lamps, but the atmosphere got hotter and more humid the further he walked. The clamor of conveyor belts, rumbling and grinding of rocks, and trams rattling on rails was nearly deafening. Fine dust hung in the air despite the ventilation system, which chugged and shook as if on its last legs. Everything about the mine looked ancient, pitted and rusty as if the equipment predated the Cataclysm and was reclaimed by its current inhabitants like everything else in the Town.
There wasn't a soul in the locker room. Gunner frowned, looking around. Picking up a helmet with a built-in lantern, he moved on and slipped into the elevator, mashing the DOWN button. The lift shuddered, rattling as it quickly descended into the bowels of the earth. It took almost five minutes before it came to a rumbling stop. The doors shuddered open. Gunner took a few uncertain steps, vision adjusting to the cavernous gloom illuminated only by a few LED lamps and the stream of light beaming from his helmet.
The miners carved the chamber in room-and-pillar fashion, where pillars were cut out in a grid pattern of parallel corridors, creating an underground network that looked like streets. Bundled cables lined the floors and hung from the ceiling along with air shafts that funneled fresh air from above and carried methane out. Everything looked as expected from a standard mining operation.
Except for the mineworkers.
They were humanoid creatures, gangly-limbed and half-starved, long, matted white hair hanging lank down to their shoulder blades, skin the color of slate, marked by patches of blackened epidermis in patterns similar to animals. Males and females, even young children working alongside their parents, all so similar to humans that in the dark they could easily be mistaken for dirty laborers. Each had a wide electronic collar clamped around their necks. Dressed in scraggly rags, yellow eyes flashing in the dark, they went about their work with manacles on their wrists and ankles. They manually operated massive drills, jaw crushers, excavators, loaded rail carts, stacked crib blocks to stabilize the tunnels, and performed endless other tasks, scrambling about like ants on the move, communicating through whistles and chirps that sounded like a blend of insect sounds and birdcalls.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, allowing him to make out an area alongside the tunnel walls, barricaded with electric fencing and razor wire. Inside were kennel cages, where more of the creatures were held captive with barely enough
room to move. Their cheeks were sunken, eyes hollow, skin sallow, ribs protruding from skin marked with sores and cuts. An unhealthy stink wafted from the area.
"Hey!"
Gunner turned around. An overweight, weak-chinned, slovenly man with thick mutton chops down the sides of his rounded cheeks ambled over, panting as if every step was one of especially painful labor. A large, heavy wrench hung from his wide belt, colored at the end as if spattered in old red paint. Grime covered his thick coveralls and smeared across his face so that his green eyes appeared to glow.
"Yer a new hire, aint'cha? Yeah, gotta be. They always make their way down here. Gotta see the beastly little critters in person. Ain't too many Ferals left in the wild. Quite the sight, ain't they? Ugly as hell, but they'll work when they learn who the boss is. They're like any other animal, they are. Just have to show 'em you're the alpha male." He grinned, showing off a mean set of dirty teeth.
Gunner paused to light a cheroot, gazing at the man with narrowed eyes. "I'm guessing that's you."
"You betcha. My name's Woody. Hey—check this out." He unhooked the large wrench and hoisted it in the air. The nearest Ferals drew back, cringing and whimpering, arms held protectively over their heads while he brandished the wrench, ugly laughter rippling from his throat.
"Look at 'em squirm! Ain't that a sight? Had to bash in a few of their heads before they got the message. But once they saw their friend's brains all over the ground, they fell in line right quick. Now all I gotta do is wave this thing around, and they get to whining. I tell ya, they're hardly the terrors everyone goes on about. More like whipped dogs than anything else."
"That's a nice trick," Gunner said. "Let me give it a try."
Woody gave his massive belly a luxurious rub. "Might not work fer you, seeing as yer new and all. They gotta get to learn ya, they do. Aw, what the hell. May as well break you in if yer gonna be working down here." He handed the wrench over. "Gotta show 'em you mean business, now. They won't take you seriously unless you do."
"Oh, I plan to." Gunner accepted the wrench and turned it in his hand, testing the weight. Then he swung it, bashing Woody in the face. It struck with a crunching sound, and Woody's hands flew to his bloodied head, sputtering as he slowly crumbled to the dusty floor. Gunner swung the wrench again, and Woody's body went limp and still. Gunner dropped the bloody tool beside him on the ground.
The Ferals stopped working, and the cavern went quiet save for the rattle of machinery. They gathered around, hesitantly at first, shuffling on two limbs or four, sniffing the air, jerking their heads about, whistling and twittering at one another. Gunner walked among them, looking at their upturned faces, seeing the recognition dawn in their amber-colored eyes.
"You know me," he said. "You remember."
They hissed and snarled, lips peeled back, white teeth clamped together, swaying back and forth as the shared memories spread across their linked consciousness. Fear flashed in their eyes and they howled, cries reverberating throughout the chamber. Finally, their shrieks diminished, fear replaced by calm acceptance. They approached him, chirping in their unique tongue, sinewy limbs outstretched, knotted fingers tugging his clothes, touching his face. His skin prickled, the hairs standing up as if charged by electricity. His mind tore open, memories discharged from the dark recesses like waters from flinty rock until they knew him better than he knew himself. It was like standing in the tall grasses with cool summer rain pouring down. It was like crawling through razor shards of broken glass deep in a cave with no light. He closed his eyes and exhaled, allowing the bond to strengthen between them—collective, one mind, one recollection.
"You remember."
They led him along, deeper into the tunnels until it was so dark that light seemed a distant memory. He walked without fear, buoyed by their steadying hands, guiding him so that their eyes served as his. Time ceased to exist, just movement, sound, and scent, a reversion to the primal, crawling through the earth miserable and pitiful and poor and blind and naked. But just as the feeling of disorientation set in, a speck of light appeared in the distance. The Ferals stayed behind, restrained by some invisible barrier as if trapped in Limbo, urging him forward with gestures and encouraging chirrups and whistles.
He continued forward, squinting as he approached the light. Seconds later, he stumbled out a fissure in the base of the stony hillside, blinking in the glare of the afternoon sunset. Looking back a half-mile or so, he saw the rusty, dust-covered buildings of the Town. He stood at the base of the mesa overlooking the town, the rock carved with deep grooves as if some giant beast had dragged its claws down the sides.
He dusted off his jeans, glancing at a large briar patch a few yards away. "You gonna show yourself or what? I know you're in there. I can feel you."
The thicket rustled, and a small figure emerged, hood covering her Feral features. Unlike the others, she wore a fringed cloak and canvas trousers stitched with decorative beads. Approaching him with quick, jerky motions, she sniffed the air, staying a safe distance away.
He sat on a large rounded stone, careful not to make any sudden movements. "You're the one from the Town, aren't you? I saw you a couple of times."
She tilted her head, throat and jaw working as if struggling to speak. When the words finally came, her voice was birdlike, musical in pitch.
"Agni…Chaya?"
"Fire Shadow." He nodded. "That's what your people call me. I know it's more than that, but I ain't got the words." Reaching inside his shirt, he withdrew a beaded leather thong, the bone pendant engraved with a spiral that looped back into itself. "This is what I was given when I became brother to the Mahinarah."
She scampered over, earlier caution forgotten, slender fingers tracing the symbol on the pendant. "Re…member."
"That's right. Memory. The dream that never ends. What's your name?"
Clamping her sharp white teeth together, she struggled to make the sounds. "Eeenyah."
"Enya? That's a beautiful name."
She reached up, clasped a hand on the back of his neck and pulled his head down so that his forehead touched her brow. A purring sound vibrated in her throat. "Re…member."
"I will."
Sitting back on her haunches, she pointed upward toward the summit of the mesa, chirping wistfully. "Garha."
"Home? That's where your people live?"
She nodded, making signs with her hands, forming words and phrases that he interpreted from past experience with the Mahinarah.
"They took many prisoners. Made them work in the mines. Why can't they come out the same way I did?"
She traced a circle around her neck, making a buzzing sound.
"Shock collars. Must have perimeters set so they can't pass beyond the boundary without being electrocuted. Not to worry, though. I'll just have to get them taken off."
She cooed, amber-colored eyes questioning.
He stood, glancing back toward the Town. "It's complicated, but I'm working on it. Look for me tomorrow, but be careful. I'll let you know when to be ready."
She reached into the inner lining of her cloak and withdrew something red and glimmering, holding it up for Gunner to see. He stared in surprise.
"A blood shard. Where in the world did you get that?"
It was afternoon when he walked back into the Town, the sun dipping behind the broken buildings and turning the horizon angry shades of red. He approached the tall, rusty towers of the enormous power station, where the spouting and latticework trembled from the vibrations of the generator, rumbling and rattling from somewhere in the bowels of the building as if about to explode. Chips of rust and dusty powder trickled from the overhangs, creating a constant haze in the air that piled on the floor. Men and women in dust masks and dingy labcoats ran back and forth, harried expressions on their faces as they threw switches, analyzed machinery, and shouted at one another over the thunderous din.
No one paid Gunner much attention as he passed through, so he made his way to the locker room and removing h
is hat and duster, exchanged it for a labcoat and safety helmet. Walking into a hallway, he tapped a janitor on the shoulder.
"Where's the main office?"
"Down the hall, then the first left. You don't wanna go in there, though. Mr. McArthur is having another one of those days."
Gunner nodded, following the directions anyway. He pushed the door open into a grimy office, where a short, stocky supervisor shouted up at his subordinate in front of an array of screens displaying readouts.
"No, this won't do at all. These readings have to be wrong."
Despite being nearly foot taller, the other man cringed as if fearful of being struck. "We triple-checked them, sir."
"Well, quadruple-check them, Johnson. This consumption rate will be impossible to maintain. We'll have blackouts again tonight for sure."
"I'll rerun the numbers, sir." Johnson left, bumping into Gunner in his haste to leave the office. McArthur thumped his fist against a control panel, grimacing as he turned toward Gunner.
"Who the hell are you—another one of the Baron's messenger boys? Why isn't she here in person? She needs to see the mess she's created with this lithium nonsense."
"The new fusion ain't operating right?"
"Of course it's not. You can't just go from blood shards to hectorite without major retrofitting and the ramifications that come along with it. It's a band-aid on a gushing wound. I'm dealing with a near-catastrophe every day, and she can't even take a minute to see me? This isn't worth the pay. Not for this kind of risk. You tell her if she can't get me the parts I need to do my job, then I'm finished. Let's see how she plans to run this piece of junk without my team."
"I'll let her know," Gunner said. "Meanwhile, she wants to know where to put the blood shards when they get here."
McArthur's eyebrows rose as if trying to climb up his forehead. "Blood shards? Don't talk about—blood shards? Are you kidding me? Blood shards? I just hope we run another day. Another day!"
The Gunner Chronicles Page 8
