Lone Gunfighter of the Wastelands

by Rachel Aukes

  Cat continued, “I extend an open invitation to all Haft Agency hunters. Join the Iron Guild, and you will receive more opportunities than you received working for Reuben Tally. In fact, you’ll find that the Iron Guildsmen get the best payouts and the highest-profile tickets. You will be the most respected bounty hunters around. But that offer is good for only the next sixty seconds. After that, my Guildsmen are coming into that bar and cutting you down.”

  Joe chortled. Cat lied so well folks would be fools not to believe her. “And if we don’t want to be respectable?” he shouted out.

  “Then you’ll be my enemy, and I’ll put out a ticket for your head,” she replied. “You would be wise to consider this a company buyout. Or a hostile takeover, if you must.”

  “Sweet lady,” Joe muttered.

  Flash went to stand. “She’s not giving us any choice. I have a loan on the books with Artie Law. If I don’t pay him back, I’ll have a lot more to worry about than the Iron Guild.”

  Joe heard a noise, and he held a hand to stop her. “Hold up for a second.”

  The noise grew. It was the rumble of a cutter running at full power. Joe crawled out from the safety of the bar to seek out the source of the sound; he turned to follow the attention of the Iron Guildsmen, who suddenly were firing nonstop at a cutter racing toward them from their right.

  Joe let out a whoop at the sight of T-Rex’s cutter, Beatrice, barreling down the road. It was pulling a large cylindrical trailer that looked to be made of old steel. Joe thought Rex was going to drive straight into the two rows of cutters lined up and facing him, but he cranked the wheel at the last second and detached the tanker. The cylinder, propelled by forward momentum, tumbled onto its side and scraped gouges in the road as it barreled into the first cutters in each row.

  Liquid poured out from an opening in the cylinder and splashed onto several cutters. Joe could smell the gasoline from his place. Cat and her hunters scrambled to get into their vehicles.

  Joe smiled, stood, walked over to the opening, raised his rifle at the liquid—and fired.

  Gasoline was a relic from the old world and wasn’t good for anything except feeding fires anymore; it’d been a popular kindling starter during the Shiprock War. The laser from his blaster instantly lit the flammable liquid. A blue flash spread over the spill and climbed into the gas running from the tanker. The fuel outside erupted into tall red flames, covering at least four cutters in the firestorm. The tank still had gas in it, and it exploded with such force that Joe was knocked onto his back, dizzy once again.

  When he pushed to his feet, though, he could feel the heat of the fire through his shield. Several cutters had been destroyed, and the remainder were trying to reverse out of the jam they’d created. Joe lifted his rifle and began firing at the cutters, focusing on the windows, which were the least shielded zones. The cutter nearest the devastation blew up in a commotion of white and blue sparks when its solar array batteries exploded under the intense heat.

  Joe kept firing, and Flash joined his side.

  “Take that, assholes!” she yelled and laid down a barrage.

  A large blaster shot whizzed by Joe’s right ear, and he spun around to see Reuben holding a rifle that looked to weigh as much as him.

  “Careful with that,” Joe said and took a step to the left.

  Reuben fired again. The windshield on a cutter cracked, and Joe could see the surprised faces inside. The Iron Guildsmen didn’t shoot back—they were too busy trying to get away from the intense heat.

  “They’re running. We won,” Flash said with an excited whoop.

  Joe could hear the smile in her voice. He looked at the demolished bar around him and the hunter’s body on the floor, and shook his head. “Nobody won.”

  Flash seemed to see what he had a moment later. She took her finger off the trigger and lowered her head. “I saw the convoy on my way to work. I hurried here to tell Reuben, but I was too late.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. None of us saw this coming,” Joe said, then resumed shooting. A benefit of blasters was that they were far quieter than projectile-based guns. Blasters weren’t silent, but they were quiet enough to allow for commands to be given—or a conversation to be had—in the middle of a battle.

  After several more rounds of shooting at the retreating cutters, the remaining Iron Guild had backed away from Harry Haft’s and torn out of Cavil. Joe slung his rifle over his shoulder, and Reuben struggled to set his weapon down on the bar without dropping it. Somehow, he managed.

  Joe looked around the room again. “Where’d Bolt and Tumbler go?”

  “They’re spies. They’ve been playing us. They’ve probably run off to Cat to find out what to do next,” Rex said as he stepped through the giant hole in the front wall. “I saw them hanging with Cat in Copper Gulch. They’re working for her.”

  Reuben stumbled to take a seat. “But I vetted them. Their background checks were clear.”

  “Obviously not clear enough,” Rex said.

  “I never trusted them,” Joe grumbled.

  “I didn’t think you trusted anyone,” Rex noted.

  “Well, I trusted them less than most,” Joe clarified.

  “I can’t believe Cat would stoop to that level,” Reuben said, raising his head from his hands.

  Rex laughed. “What? That’s exactly the kind of thing Cat would do. She’s as mean as they come. She’d steal a fly from a blind spider just for kicks.”

  “From what I remember, you’ve never been a fan of hers,” Reuben muttered.

  Rex shrugged. “We had a mutual friend, and I didn’t like how Cat treated my friend.”

  “Who was your friend?” Reuben asked.

  Rex chuckled but didn’t answer.

  After a moment, Reuben stiffened and pointed at Rex. “I thought you were dead. Why didn’t you answer your calls?”

  “Oh. My comm’s off.” He tapped his armlet. “There. Fixed.”

  Joe stepped in. “While it hurts me to say this, I’m glad you’re alive.”

  Rex lifted his chin. “Ah, but it feels so nice to hear it. Your pain is my salve.”

  “I’m glad because you brought in that gas tanker, even though you could’ve killed all of us with that rescue,” Joe said.

  “Rescue? Who said anything about a rescue? I didn’t know if any of you were even still alive. I just wanted to watch Cat’s cutters burn,” Rex said with a contented smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gabriel Sloan was in a bad mood already. When Cat didn’t answer his first two calls, he became furious.

  “Mr. Sloan,” Cat said when she answered his third call.

  Half of her face was covered in white gauze, and her hair was singed.

  He scrunched his nose. “You look awful.”

  She pursed her lips. “I lost eight of my people today. My guild is the laughing stock of the wastelands right now. I look like how I feel.”

  “You should feel awful. You screwed up. I told you to go in at sunset, precisely, not before, not after. And so what did you do? You went in nearly an hour early.”

  She scowled. “I was forced to launch the attack early. We were seen by a Haft hunter. If we didn’t attack when we did, we would’ve lost the element of surprise. They would’ve had time to prepare.”

  “And what? Do something more dramatic than dropping a gas tanker on you?”

  “They got lucky,” she gritted out.

  “No. You got lucky. I wanted you to go in at sunset because I was going to have several of my murcs there to retrieve someone. If you’d attacked five minutes later, they would’ve been caught inside with the rest of those Haft riffraff. I thought that with you leading the job, you’d ensure it succeeded. But I see that you stay in the office for good reason.”

  She took time to breathe before speaking again. He could tell she was struggling to hold back rage.

  “Perhaps it’s time for us to part ways,” she said, her jaw set square.

  “We’re not
done until I say we’re done.”

  Her brow—the one he could see—rose. “I may work for you, Mr. Sloan, but you don’t own me or my guild.”

  “In the near future, those who aren’t on my side will find they have a very tough go of it. Trust me, you want to be on my side.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “My apologies, Mr. Sloan. What can I do for you today?”

  He sneered. “Get ready to take any remaining Haft hunters.”

  “But the agency is still operating,” she said.

  He snorted. “Not after tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Joe’s comms chimed, and he looked down at his armlet to see an incoming call from Sara. He downed his drink and pushed back from the table he’d been sitting at with Rex and Reuben. He slid on his helmet and walked to an area of the room where he had more privacy.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I heard about the attack. I could see the smoke from my house. Are you okay?” Sara’s panicked voice came through his helmet.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. That’s better than I can say for Harry Haft’s. The bar got beaten up pretty bad.”

  “Places can be rebuilt. Not people.”

  He didn’t mention the soldiers in his life that he’d seen be “rebuilt.” One woman he’d met had over sixty percent of her body replaced by bionic parts after she’d been hit by a bomb blast.

  “How about you come by for dinner? Nick would feel a lot better to see that you’re okay.”

  He knew he’d be leaving town tomorrow, if not tonight, returning to Clearwater to wrap up the mess he’d left there. He couldn’t risk waiting any longer than that, not with him being on the Sloan brothers’ hit list. But he knew MRC administrators. They were politicians through and through and incapable of moving fast. Even if the Sloans were different, they’d never be able to track Joe to Sara Swinton’s house within one night. He smiled. “You know me, I’m never one to turn down a warm meal or a cold drink. I’ll head that way. How’s Romy doing?”

  “She’s settling in nicely, but we’ll see how her first night in a new place goes.”

  Joe disconnected the call, gave one final glance back at the table. Reuben and Rex were in a conversation, so he turned and headed out through the bar. Rather than using the broken door, he stepped through the hole in the wall.

  Outside, scavengers were picking through the wreckage, taking anything that could be of value. Scavengers reminded Joe of insects on a dead body, eating away everything until nothing remained except bones. Except, human scavengers were even more thorough. Often, nothing remained after they were through. Already, all the steel from the tanker had been taken away, and two scrawny teenagers were using laser cutters to get through the axles. Other crews worked over the Iron Guild cutters that had been too badly destroyed for Reuben to claim. The bodies inside, even the weapons, would’ve been burned to ash. The scavengers were more optimistic as they rushed to complete their work before sunset when the true dregs of society came out to play.

  The Haft parking lot was across the road from the bar, and Monster showed signs of char on its front grill from proximity to the explosion. Even a full block away, the heat had warped the solar array built into the cutter’s front hood.

  Joe didn’t have the energy to stop by the butcher shop, so he drove straight to Sara’s. He pulled up behind her house and stepped out of his vehicle. He took several steps, then stopped. He saw boot prints in the ground, multiple pairs, and with a different tread than his. Neither Sara nor Nick wore boots. The prints could’ve been from anyone, most likely from the water delivery driver, but…He didn’t like it. He headed back to Monster and put it into lockdown mode before he turned and walked back to the house.

  He didn’t knock. Instead, he pulled out a blaster and opened the door to hear Champ barking. He scanned the room in a microsecond. Sara was standing near the edge of the domed ground-floor room, in front of her picture collage corkboard. A murc stood to her left, rifle aimed at her. Another murc stood to her right. Nick and Romy each had a soldier standing behind them, their blasters to the kids’ heads. A couple more murcs stood off to the side.

  Joe was outgunned, but that had never stopped him before.

  Joe didn’t think and took the easiest shot—the man to Sara’s left. The shot went right through the center mass of the man’s chest. He hadn’t yet hit the floor when Joe ducked inside and spun to fire at the other five murcs in the room. Joe was about to fire again when Sara yelled, “Joe, stop!”

  His finger froze on the trigger, and he turned to see Sara watching him, her eyes filled with fear. The murc standing off to her right spoke as he leveled his blaster on Sara. “Havoc, I have an order for your arrest, under the authority of the Monuments Republic Command. Put down your weapons, and we won’t harm the family.”

  Joe looked across at Nick, Romy, and then at Sara. All were terrified, and there was nothing he could do that wouldn’t cause their deaths. Well, there was one thing…

  “All right,” Joe said and made a careful movement to set his blaster on the floor. “I’m laying down my weapons. Don’t hurt them.”

  “Hands in the air. Keep them pointed at the ceiling. I know about the darts,” the murc in charge ordered and motioned to the two soldiers not holding the kids hostage.

  Champ continued to bark, and the man in charge yelled, “Shut up!”

  When the dog continued to bark, he swung his blaster and fired as the kids screamed at him to stop.

  Champ yelped and limped away, the light fur on her back hip singed.

  “I’m going to kill you for that,” Joe gritted out, even as he complied.

  “You should worry about yourself,” the murc said with a cruel grin.

  “Besides, it was just a stun blast,” another added in.

  The first one glared at his comrade. “Shut up, Gary.”

  Joe stood, muscles tight with fury, as the pair of murcs relieved him of his other blaster and began to peel off his exoshield.

  Joe turned to Sara. “I’m sorry.”

  She forced a small shake of her head. “It’s not your fault.”

  Guilt tightened his features. “Yeah. It is.” He glanced down at his exoshield, now piled up on the floor. The red banner was wadded up and stuck between the armor, and Joe felt soul-wrenching defeat. He closed his eyes as he stood in plain clothes and boots, his face open to the world.

  He was going to have to kill all these guys.

  The murc in charge called out over his shoulder, “It’s clear.”

  Joe heard multiple pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs at the edge of the domed building, and he looked to see Tumbler emerge, followed by Gabriel Sloan, and Bolt last. The middle-aged man had the same slicked-back hair as his brother, though this Sloan had a hooked nose and beady eyes that reminded Joe of a vulture’s.

  Joe glared at the pair of bounty hunters serving as Sloan’s bodyguards.

  Sloan remained between Tumbler and Bolt while he spoke to Joe. “You cost my brother thousands of credits with your and that sheriff’s shenanigans over in Clearwater. Your actions also hurt my brother’s reputation, which in turn hurts my reputation. And that’s something I will not tolerate.”

  Joe didn’t speak. He knew that silence was often the best answer when a smug MRC administrator with a superiority complex was in the room.

  “I’ll make an example of you and of the Haft Agency for not completing a Sloan ticket. In the future, anyone I choose to do business with will think twice before tarnishing my goodwill.” Sloan looked across the people in the small home. “As for these three…”

  “You have me. Let them go. They’re innocent,” Joe cut in.

  “I suppose I can put the kids to work on the cleaning crews.”

  “No,” Sara said.

  Sloan lifted his brows. “No? You think you can tell me what to do?”

  “I’ll work for you willingly. I’ll do anything you ask. Just let the children go free,” she spoke in a rush
.

  Joe turned to her. “Sara, no.”

  Sloan sneered. “Will you now?” He steepled his fingers. “You have a deal, Ms. Swinton. I don’t have much use for kids, anyway. But you, why yes, I think I can find some uses for you.” His sneer morphed into a straight face. “But if you do anything that displeases me, I’m coming back for your children.”

  “I won’t,” she said, and Joe noticed her chin wrinkled.

  Sloan nodded to the murc nearest her. “Take her to my cutter.”

  “Please let me say good-bye first,” she begged.

  Sloan waved his hand through the air. “Of course.”

  Sara walked over to the kids. Each step was heavy, as though her shoes were filled with lead. She knelt before Nick and Romy. “I need you two to stick together. Nick, do you remember what we practiced?”

  He nodded, and Joe saw the boy’s eyes had grown wet with tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

  “Good,” Sara said, forcing a smile.

  She pulled the two into a hug, and Joe knew she was whispering more instructions. He clenched his fists. He would kill Sloan and all his lackeys. All of them.

  Sara stood and faced Sloan. “Let them go. I’m ready.”

  Sloan gave a nod to the murcs, who released Nick and Romy. The kids ran toward the stairway. Nick paused long enough to throw a frightened glance at Joe before disappearing below ground to hide in the subterranean tunnels until Sloan was gone.

  Sara was far more trusting than Joe. He didn’t believe Sloan for a minute that he’d let the children go free. But he did trust Sara and Nick to know that, with a head start, Nick and Romy had a fighting chance to avoid Sloan’s labor camps.

  A murc grabbed Sara’s arm and led her to the door. As she was escorted past Joe, he whispered her name, not able to find any more words.

  She lifted her chin. “I’ll be okay.”

  The doubt in her eyes told him she didn’t believe that any more than he did.

  Once she was outside, Joe glared at Sloan. “You’ll pay for this.”