Lerah nodded. “Your will, Lord Marshal.”
“Good, you leave tomorrow morning. Make sure to visit Vincent in requisitions for your gear.”
5
Doctor Blake Scroggins sat on the edge of a rickety, hand woven chair. He was watching his daughter, Judith, push a makeshift wooden car across the warped planks of the living room floor. The car didn’t look like much. The little plastic wheels squeaked like a trapped mouse and with every push and pull they only got louder. Judith didn’t mind and it was worth the racket to see her happy.
“Have you given it a name yet?” Blake asked as he bent down and wrapped his hand across hers. They lifted the car into the air together and brought it back down on to its front wheels. Blake let go and Judith sent it crashing end over end across the floor. She sent spit flying as she simulated vehicular destruction with pursed lips.
She watched the car teetering back and forth on its roof, “Buggy, I’ll name him Buggy,” she squealed with laughter, flipped the car upright, and continued its journey across the floor.
Blake smiled and sat back, watching as she scooted away from him on her knees. He removed his glasses and wiped away the streams of moisture that blurred the lenses. Even with the sun sleeping beyond the horizon, temperatures still soared. It caused sweat to bead on his forehead, collect in his eyebrows, and fall like raindrops across his glasses. It was a perpetual battle, day in and day out.
“Hon, the stew is almost at a simmer. Can you start setting up the table?” His wife, Riley, was in the corner tending to a fire as it ravenously licked at a cast iron pot of gravy, rabbit, and crow.
“One set table, coming right up.” Blake wavered as he stood from the chair. The hike to and from the Scar, beneath the angry eye of the sweltering sun, had really taken it out of him. The muscles in his thighs cramped, his knees shook beneath him, and his lower back seized up like a rusty hinge. Still, he clenched his jaw and fought through it. His daughter was watching him over her shoulder with a face full of nonjudgmental curiosity, the kind that only children were capable of. He granted her a wink. She smiled before turning her attention back to the misshapen block of wood with wheels.
Blake turned, walked a few steps, and pealed back the doors on the kitchen cabinet. The dishware was the tidiest thing in an already tidy house. Each piece was meticulously stacked and situated, side by side, from back to front, all straight lines. He grabbed a stack of dishes and began spreading them across the bare tabletop. A candle burned at the center, a chandelier of wax sliding downward and flattening against a small copper dish, where it would dry and be reused. Blake was grateful for such a menial task. It stood in stark contrast to the duties he’d been called upon to perform at the Scar. The horrors he’d witnessed—the man clawing at the parched earth, searching for mercy beneath the boot heels of his accusers, the woman, her eyes rolled back in her head, her guts sagging from her slit stomach like a length of discarded garden hose—they ran circles in his head, like demons dancing around a boneyard fire. The thought of Mother and her slack jawed sons soured his stomach. He just wanted to be a husband and a father. He didn’t even care about being a doctor anymore. There was no purity left in it. The waters had been bloodied. Hands that once gave life were now stained with death. But alas, there was no hanging up the title. Not so long as he remained in Reeman; Mother wouldn’t allow it.
Reeman was the second settlement Blake had resided in. The first one had been swallowed up by the war. It’d been a small affair, surrounded by a tiny wooden fence meant to keep the harvests safe from wandering wildlife. Reeman, on the other hand, was triple the size of his old settlement and surrounded by a spiked wooden wall lined with armed guards. By all accounts, Blake should have felt safer than ever. But he’d never been more frightened.
“Sweetheart, do you need some help?” Riley appeared beside him.
“Oh, no, sorry, I was just drifting.” He kissed her on the cheek and set the plate down. She never asked about the Fall. She knew better than to stir the darkness. Instead, after each one, she greeted him with open arms, a kiss, and guided him to his chair. Riley had witnessed the Fall twice. She’d kept her head buried in her hands for the duration of each ceremony, cringing at the cries of pain and the sounds of broken flesh. Judith’s birth had granted her a reprieve. Children didn’t attend their first Fall until they reached the age of sixteen. So, while Blake was away fulfilling his duties as the only doctor in all of Reeman, Riley stayed behind and tended to their daughter.
“My sweet husband,” she took his face in her hands, running her thumbs just below his eyes, “where are you right now?”
“I’m here.” He drew her in close and nuzzled her neck, tickling her with the five days of stubble on his chin.
She laughed and squirmed in his grasp. “No, babe, stop!”
Judith ran over and wrapped her arms around their knees, mimicking the breathless laughter of her mother.
And, just for a moment, the demons in his head were still.
But that moment ended with a powerful knock at the door.
“Who is calling at this hour?”
Blake slid from his wife’s grasp and left Judith behind with a reassuring pat on the head. He moved cautiously through the living room. “Just stay back, I’m sure it’s nothing.” He was already bracing himself for the worst. “Who is it?”
“Open up, we ain’t got all night.”
It was Zach. Blake had no doubt that Toby was standing right beside him.
Blake propped open the door and stuck his face through the crack, leaving his foot jammed behind it so they couldn’t force it open. There was Toby, just as he’d predicted, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother. They weren’t carrying their rifles, but they did have black handguns strapped to their hips. “It’s kind of late and I’m about to sit down to eat with my family.”
“We need a word, Doc. Open up.” Zach took a forceful step forward, as if he expected Blake to just slink back and make way for him.
“I’m actually… I’m a little uncomfortable with you guys coming inside. I’ve got my little girl in here.”
Toby slapped a hand against the door and shoved. Blake shoved back. “I don’t give a shit what you’re—”
“Hang on,” Zach said, grabbing his brother’s arm and forcing it down. “If you don’t want us to come inside, then you need to come on out here and shut the door.”
Blake looked back over his shoulder. His wife was on the other side of the table rocking Judith in her arms. “I’ll be right back.”
“Mother is concerned, Doc.” Zach said as Blake stepped outside on to the front stoop, pulling the door shut.
“She’s got a settlement to run. I imagine that’s not an unfamiliar feeling for her.”
“Nah, it’s you, Doc. The way you acted at the ceremony, hiding in the back, ducking your head; it’s got people talking; it don’t send a good message.” Zach had his hands on his hips and his chin turned down.
Blake’s palms were sweating. All he could think about was the pungent soup rolling in the pot. The warmth of his wife’s skin. The smell of Judith’s hair as he dried her off after a bath. He had the sudden urge to fling himself backwards through the door and hope for the best. Many men had disappeared in the night after a visit from Zach and Toby. How many had put up a fight? At least he’d be giving himself a chance. He swallowed his nerves and attempted to speak. “Well… I’m not really trying to send any sort of message.”
“But you are sending one, ever since we found out about those traitors you’ve been acting weird. One might almost make the mistake of thinking you feel sorry for them,” Zach said.
“I told you, I knew nothing about that.”
“They were under your care for eight months, in your home, and you didn’t know they were Union?” Zach plopped a heavy hand down on his shoulder, digging his fingers deep into the muscle. “It’s bullshit. We both know it. Come clean, for the sake of that little girl in there. You’re the only D
oc we got. What you think we’re gonna do, kill you?”
That’s exactly what they’re gonna do. “It was as much a surprise for me as it was for you. I knew nothing about them being Union. Their betrayal makes me as sick as it does you. Hell, it makes me sicker. They sat in my home. Ate my food. Looked me in the eyes and claimed to be something they weren’t. They lied to me. They said they were trying to conceive. It’s… well, it’s unforgivable. They got what was coming to them.” The pain was working its way down his spine.
“He’s a hell of an actor.”
“That he is.” Toby licked his front teeth.
“You’re really gonna stick with that story?” Zach dug in deeper.
Bolts of pain flashed up behind his eyeballs. Slapping Zach away, ducking out of his grip, that wasn’t in the cards. They’d beat him lifeless right outside his front door. “That’s the truth.”
Zach released his hold. “Alright. Mother wants to see you tomorrow. Bright and early.”
“But—”
“Bright and early. Be there. Or next time, we ain’t knocking. Clear?” Toby backed Blake up against the door with his considerable belly.
“Got it, okay, got it. Bright and early.”
“Good boy.” Zach rustled his hair.
“You make sure to tell your ladies hello for us,” Toby called back, as he and his brother disappeared into the darkness.
Blake stood there, dabbing at his eyes, trying to collect himself before walking back inside.
6
At the bottom of the Tower 2 stairwell were two doors watched over by a pair of tired looking freshman soldiers. The doors lead to the lobby. By day the caravans occupied one side of the room, trading their wares out of broken down mule carts. On the other side of the room was a nondescript bar, with a few lopsided tables and chairs, where they drank their fill at night before stumbling back out into the wastes with their unsold goods. Lerah, in all her years, hadn’t found a reason to visit the place. The thought of mingling with the Outlanders made her sick. All she could think about was their broken teeth, the smell of their sweat, their red ringed eyes, their calloused hands and their dirt caked nails trying to paw her ass. She could hear their sand scratched baritones penetrating the metal door as she moved closer and it twisted her stomach.
“You going in there?” the guard’s tone carried slight concern.
Lerah sighed, “Yeah, unfortunately. There’s an asshole in there that I need to have a few words with.”
“Oh, the big guy in the jacket?”
“That’s the asshole.”
“Didn’t he shoot up Pepper’s?
“Yep.”
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, why isn’t he locked up?”
“It’s a hell of a thing, that’s all I can say.”
“Well, be careful. If you need something, just holler for us.”
“I think I’ve got it.” She winked and gave the arsenal on her hips a gentle pat.
“Yes ma’am.”
She pushed through the doors, with all the hesitancy of an investigator rolling back the curtain on a crime scene. The air was choked with dirt and sweat and slurred profanities. It was an ugly, brown room, with walls of bare plaster and a few haphazardly strung light bulbs. The tables sat lopsided, missing legs and absent chairs. The bar was an overturned dais. There were no shelves for displaying whiskey. No ice chests for storing beer. Just a stack of brown cardboard boxes, with unlabeled black bottles, watched over by a troll of a man; spiky white hair, overdeveloped ears, and nostrils that appeared as if they were wrapped around a pair of lumpy boulders. There were no residents in the crowd. This party was strictly meant for the caravan riders, one meant to soak the coin from their pockets before casting them back out into the sand.
A place for men like Dominic.
Lerah stood at the top of a small set of stairs, looking out over the crowd. She spotted him quickly. He towered over the rest of them. He was by the bar, as still and serene as pond ice, but much uglier, acting as if he were the only man in the room, not turning his head for anyone, pouring warm beer down his throat.
She started down the stairs with her shoulders back and her chin up. Her hands rested comfortably at her sides, her fingers grazing the butt of her pistol. As she came off the bottom step she was absorbed by the jabbering crowd.
“Come on, move, get out of the way!” She shoved and elbowed her way through. The men turned, drunk, and began taking her in through beer fogged glasses; legs and ass, forbidden fruit. The jeers and the lewd invitations began. Someone attempted to slide a hand down the back of her pants. Her blade came up as she yanked the groper down by the hair of his head. She pressed the tip to one of his jugulars. “Move back!” Word traveled fast after that and a path cleared straight to the bar. She sent her hostage rolling across the floor. He whimpered and curled into a ball, as if he were expecting an offensive of kicks and punches.
Pussy…
“Making friends?”
“Always.” Lerah slapped the top of the hollow bar, rattling a line of empty bottles. “Give me a beer, make it fast.” She turned and stared up at Dominic. He was a brutish figure. The muscles in his arms and chest strained against the fabric of the duster. The erratic lighting overhead framed one side of his face and it wasn’t the good side. A long scar creviced his cheek, cutting into, what was otherwise, a perfect patch of bristly beard. “I figured I’d find you here.”
“I heard it’s the last joint in this place to get a decent drink.”
“You call this swill decent?” Lerah pulled the bottle across the bar so quickly the little man on the other side barely had time to get the top off.
Dominic shrugged.
“Well, you can blame yourself and your trigger finger.”
“Aye, I suppose I can. This place seems to draw a different sort than your other watering hole.” Lerah watched him. His eyes were moving, shifting over the crowd, separating the faces.
“Rightfully so, it’s for the drifters. Those without residency papers. Caravan riders. Outlanders just like you. Which brings up the point, how’d you get up there without papers?”
Dominic rolled the bottle in his palms, his eyes still on the crowd. “Tricks of the trade.”
“Hell of a trick, it’s got us drinking horse piss.”
“I’ve had worse.”
Looking at him, she believed it. The path Lerah had walked to the bar slowly closed and the ramblings of the drunken nomads began to turn away from revenge, back to whatever bullshit they’d been going on about before she’d walked through the door. “I take it by the way you’re knocking those back that Hause already paid you for our little excursion north?”
“Not all of it, but enough to get drunk.” Dominic signaled for another bottle.
“How much is your undying loyalty going to cost the hard working people of Genesis?”
Dominic looked down at her with glossy question marks in his eyes. “Like you don’t know.”
“I’m not the Marshal’s secretary. We’re not bedmates. He doesn’t tell me of his personal dealings. I’m a gun in the hand of the Union, just like you. The difference is that I do it out of loyalty, rather than love of coin.”
“Well,” he sighed, “it’s enough to keep me in booze for a bit. Maybe even get me a few hot baths and a shave. But who knows, we may not survive long enough for me to spend it.”
Typical. “You get rich, and drunk, and fat, and what do I get?”
“Me,” he said, a mouthful of beer dribbling down his chin.
“Careful, I’m already having a hard time suppressing my excitement.” She felt like a prisoner standing at the gallows: baited breath, waiting for the floor to drop out from beneath her feet.
“Hey, you’re not exactly my type either, sister.” His eyes moved up and down the length of her body, causing her to shudder. “I tend to go for bigger tits, not much of an ass man. Though, yours is quite something, even if you’re not much up top.”
�
�Yeah, about that, let’s go ahead and lay some ground rules.”
He wiped his mouth. “Yeah, sure, but not right now. It’ll give us something to talk about in the field. Bartender, can I get some smokes?”
She wanted to bury her fist in his scarred up jaw. “Okay.” She gritted her teeth and forced down a swig of lukewarm horse piss. “So, our chances of dying are rather high, in your opinion?”
“Come again?” he lit a cigarette and shook the match out.
“Your money, you said something about us not living long enough for you to spend it?”
“Oh yeah, that. The road we’re taking north, it’s not exactly hospitable.”
“How so?”
“Lady—”
“I have a name!”
“Sorry, Lerah, it’s not like the Towers. It’s the Outland. Shit goes sideways real quick out there. You’ve gotta be ready to kill, because everyone else is. And you, being a female, you’re going to have it twice as hard. Crews I’ve come across, that little pop gun on your thigh, it means nothing to them when stacked against the possibility of getting at what’s between your legs.”
“I can handle myself.” While training to become a Shadeux she’d scored top in her class in marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat. There wasn’t a male recruit whose ass she couldn’t wipe the mat with. Every resident in Genesis knew better than to lay a finger on her without permission.
“I know you can, I saw you walk through the door.” He actually sounded sincere. “Out there, it’s not about your physical prowess. You could have the quickest hands and the steadiest aim, but if you don’t have the smarts to go with it, you’re as good as dead.”
She rolled her eyes. “And I suppose that’s where you come in?”
“Yep, I suppose it is.”
“So, if the road is so damn dangerous, why don’t we just go around?”
He shook his head. “We might be able to make a few detours, but we can’t avoid it entirely. That chasm Hause pointed out on the map, we’ve got to go over it. The ground opened up after the earthquakes. If you’re heading north, there’s only one way across. It’s a bridge and it’s hardly worth a damn. There’s always a new gang of assholes trying to set up a toll point there.”
The Fall of Man: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 1 Page 6
