Authors: Nick Cole
“Them bodies are smelling,” said Vaclav.
They had been for some time.
“Tough. We need ’em to get through the gates, smell or no smell,” replied Raleigh. “Only way them Chinese are gonna let us in, is if they think we’re bounty hunters. These are the bounty.”
The Hard Men, as the Boy thought of them, were held up in a ravine south of Auburn.
They were waiting for MacRaven.
“Those Chinese up in the outpost are gonna smell ’em out here first. Then where will we be?” continued Vaclav.
“Shut it,” replied Raleigh. They sat in silence, the wagon at the center of the perimeter, each man up on an edge of the sloping ravine, waiting.
When MacRaven did arrive, he was alone. His ashen-faced warriors absent.
For a while MacRaven and Raleigh talked in whispers a little way up the ravine, away from the wagon. Then Raleigh summoned the Boy. “Get over here, kid,” he whispered.
MacRaven rested a warm hand on the Boy’s shoulder.
Don’t show him you don’t trust him, Boy. Don’t even flinch in the slightest
.
“Raleigh tells me you done good in the ambush. All right then, I got a new mission for you. If you’re in? Good,” said MacRaven without waiting. He was dressed in the mishmash battle armor of the tribes. His breastplate was an old road sign covered in hide. His shoulders were padded and reinforced with bent hubcaps. He wore a skirt of metal chain across his pants. His smile, like some hungry beast’s, encompassed more than just the Boy, as if the whole world were a meal, waiting to be taken in and devoured between his long teeth.
In time, Raleigh and the Boy were on the wagon and on the old road into Auburn.
A foul odor rose from under the hide tarp as the last of the afternoon washed out the brown-and-yellow landscape.
“We do this right and there’ll be rifles aplenty for all of us,” said Raleigh as he drove the team forward, away from the other Hard Men.
A
S THE WAGON
full of bodies bumped its way along the track, the Boy watched Horse recede, his lead trailing to a stake, Vaclav smiling at him as they drove up the ravine and out onto the main road leading down to the gates of Auburn.
“Chinese got a rifle factory somewhere and the chief thinks it’s here. So we got to do this right,” said Raleigh between clicks and chucks of encouragement to the wagon team.
In the quiet, only the creak of the wagon could be heard beyond the clop of the team.
“Have you ever been to San Francisco?” asked the Boy.
“Nah. We came from up north, working in what used to be Canada. We rode together for years until MacRaven. Then, well, he was the man with the plan, know what I mean?”
“And what’s the plan?”
Raleigh cast a glance at the Boy over his drooping handlebar mustache.
Overplayed it, Boy
.
They rode on in silence.
But the voice of Sergeant Presley was there and the Boy thought about what he heard in it.
The mission for you, Boy, is still the same. Find I Corps. Give them the map. Whatever’s about to happen here ain’t your concern
.
But they’re going on to San Francisco. If the Army still exists there, then MacRaven and the tribes are going to come at the Army from behind.
This army won’t be any match for I Corps, Boy. We had guns, tanks, helicopters. We’d chew this bunch up and spit ’em out
.
He remembered the day Sergeant Presley had said that. They were hiding in the rocks, watching a village outside the dead lands of Oklahoma City—a village of salvagers being overrun by streaming bands of wild lunatics. The savagery had been brutal. They’d ridden three days just to get clear of that mess.
He remembered Sergeant Presley, his breath ragged in the cool night of that ride.
We had guns, tanks, helicopters. We’d chew this bunch up and spit ’em out.
But Sergeant Presley’s gun had run out of ammo long before he’d ever met the Boy.
They’d seen the wrecks of countless war machines in their travels across the country.
They’d seen the burned hulls of melted tanks.
Downed and twisted helicopters.
Jets scattered across wide fields, only the wings and tail sections remaining to tell nothing of what had happened.
Even guns used as clubs by lunatics who didn’t know any better.
He thought of the tribes on the march even now, closing the distance to this Chinese outpost.
Just like that village of salvagers outside Oklahoma City, Boy
.
Sergeant, if I Corps had been fighting the Chinese all those years ago, over two hundred miles to the west, how do the Chinese have a settlement here?
I don’t know, Boy. Stick to the mission
.
I heard you say that many times, all the times I ever asked you what happened to those tanks and helicopters and jets we passed. Each time you said the same thing.
I don’t know, Boy. Stick to the mission
.
We don’t know nothin’ and orders is orders, Boy. You find I Corps and report. Tell ’em
.
.
.
And yet there was the Chinese outpost, two hundred miles east of Oakland.
And there was Horse.
And there was drawing on cave walls.
And there is the mystery of what will become of me after I deliver the map.
Who will I be then?
And this voice was his alone.
The Chinese officer was wearing the spun clothing of the soldiers. The pants and well-made boots. The long crimson jacket. The helmet. The officer carried a sword. The Chinese troops that met their wagon in front of the gate pointed rifles, long like Escondido’s, at Raleigh and the Boy and the wagon full of corpses from atop the cut-log palisades.
What remained of an old overpass straddled the Eighty and served as the gateway to the Chinese colony of Auburn. High walls of cut forest pine screened the outpost along the southern side of the highway, surrounding the old historic district of the city from Before. Out of the center of the outpost, a domed county courthouse rose above the walls, and what lay within was beyond the Boy to see and to know.
Raleigh explained to the Chinese officers the character of the bodies and the Boy could not follow their wide-ranging discussion because it was in Chinese.
In time, more Chinese, older, fatter, dressed similarly to the officer, came out from behind the gate—even a few civilians. The Boy remained in the wagon.
All of his gear was gone.
His tomahawk.
His knife.
His bearskin cloak.
“If they see you’re weak, they won’t think much of us,” Raleigh said when he’d told the Boy to leave his gear with Horse and the other Hard Men.
So he’d left his bearskin and weapons and Horse.
“You can trust us,” said a smiling Dunn as he patted a jittery Horse, as if to reassure and unable to, all at once.
Raleigh turned back to the Boy in the middle of the conversation with the Chinese.
“They might make us sleep out here tonight.”
That would be bad for the plan.
“I told ’em, ain’t no way I was giving them the bodies without them paying me my bounty,” said Raleigh, more for show, as if they might just be gone in the morning.
I don’t know how this plays out for me, either way, Sergeant.
Be ready, Boy
.
The Boy affected disinterest, which he knew was what Raleigh wanted him to show—that he was stupid and nothing to be afraid of.
The Boy stared off at the high wall and was surprised to see Escondido watching him.
When Raleigh turned back to the heated negotiation, the Boy looked up again at Escondido and barely passed one finger in front of his lip, almost as if he hadn’t, but for anyone looking for such a message, the meaning was clear.
A moment later, the officers were retreating into the gate and Raleigh was climbing back aboard with a groan and a sly smile only the Boy could see.
“We’re in,” he whispered through the side of his mouth.
“They want a good look at them bodies. Chinese love their intel. Figure they’ll know who’s in charge this week and who they can bribe or play off against someone else next week. Won’t matter much after tomorrow morning anyhow.”
They drove through the gates and down the highway a bit before being directed up onto an off-ramp and into the center of the town.
They passed buildings.
A man worked at a forge, beating metal.
A shopkeeper with a patchwork lion skin in his front window nodded. Women crossed the street and entered the shop, talking loudly.
As they descended into the center of town from the highway, the soft glow of lights behind shop windows and houses came to life, blooming in the cool of the early spring evening.
A gang of children dashed down a side street, screaming in the twilight as they laughed and ran.
The Boy smelled spicy food.
But the hunger that had always been with him was dulled by what he saw.
The Chinese lived side by side with the people of other races. There were whites, browns, blacks, and Chinese.
The town murmured with life.
Like a city once must have.
The Boy thought of MacRaven’s lunatic army of savage tribes moving through the thick forest east of the outpost.
He thought of MacRaven in armor.
He thought of the skeletons that were once cities.
He thought of Sergeant Presley’s word. “Involved.”
He waited for Sergeant Presley to tell him what to do now.
But he sensed the voice, like himself, had been silenced by the unfolding of life within the pine walls of this outpost.
Civilization.
Like Before.
Am I involved now?
And then . . .
Who am I?
“They say they’ll pay the bounty in the morning, which is fine for our purposes,” said Raleigh as he chucked and clicked the wagon team to follow the Chinese guide up to the paddock.
They were being directed to the “Old School,” which was a wide field where they could camp for the night.
“MacRaven will start the attack at dawn. The Chinese will be real busy right about then, so we can get these bodies strung up in peace. After that, maybe we can join the fight.”
Raleigh looked at the Boy for a long moment; then, as if answering some unspoken question, he sighed.
“All right, I’ll tell you the plan. Once they breach the walls with MacRaven’s Space Crossbow, you’ll need to link up with the chief and lead him up here so the tribes can find the bodies all strung up like they got executed by the Chinese. Dunn’ll come up with our horses and gear. Then we can join the cleanup and start looting.”
Real careful now, Boy. You done all the work to gain his trust. Now, don’t overplay it
.
The Boy waited.
“I don’t get it,” said the Boy.
“Why do we have to string these bodies up? Seems like the point’s made if the tribes find ’em slaughtered already. They’ll think the Chinese did it anyways.”
Raleigh sighed. There was a moment of things weighed. Scales balancing.
“To the tribes one and all, dyin’ in battle is one thing. But strung up for crimes is another. They’ll be so angry and ready for all the Chinese blood they can spill, they won’t even realize they’re leaderless and under Mac’s total control. “
As an afterthought, as Raleigh turned to back the wagon, he added, “Brilliant, when you think about it.”
“My guess is,” continued Raleigh. “The Chinese will make their last stand down at that old courthouse. That’s probably where the work will take place. I bet that’s where the Chinese keep the guns and women, and that’s where we’ll want to get to, quick-like, once this tricky corpse business is done. First to fight, first to find, eh?”
Raleigh seemed happy, as if a fine breakfast had been announced for the morning and it would be something to look forward to throughout the long night.
They set to making a fire and then feeding the horses from the plentiful hay pile left on the Old School field.
In the early dark, they watched the fire as Raleigh heated strips of dried venison.
“I like it warmed even if it has been dried,” he mumbled.
The meat was tough.
They ate in silence.
They’ll slaughter these people, Boy. You know it and I know it
.
You said, Don’t get involved, Sergeant.
I know
.
These are Chinese.
I know, Boy. And they’re people too. Remember those salvagers outside Oklahoma City? Savages just like MacRaven’s army murdered those people. Are you gonna let that happen here, again, to people like your friend Escondido?
“Whatcha thinking so hard about?” asked Raleigh from the other side of the fire. Evening shadows made his sad brown eyes even gloomier as they stared out from his long face above the drooping mustache.
I know, Sergeant.
“Meat’s tough,” said the Boy.
“Good for the teeth,” mumbled Raleigh through a mouthful. “Unless you got bad teeth. You got bad teeth?”
The Boy nodded.
You know what you’ve got to do, Boy
.
I know, Sergeant.
“Can I see your knife?” asked the Boy.
Raleigh stood and pulled it from his belt. He handed it pommel first to the Boy and sat back down.
Raleigh was biting into the venison once more when a thought occurred to him.
In that moment of chewing, thinking about warfare and food and rifles, Raleigh understood he’d made a mistake. But he was tired and it had been a very long life. He had, he knew, no one to blame but himself. He had always known this.
The Boy was standing.
The Boy’s arm was back.
What the Boy lacked on one side, withered and bony, he had on the other—a powerful machine, just like MacRaven’s Space Crossbow thought Raleigh. I have no one to blame but myself.
His teeth close on their final chew.
The Boy hurls the knife straight into Raleigh’s chest.
All the air was driven from Raleigh at once as he fell backward from the impact. The darkness was already consuming him and the Boy. Raleigh thought, as he felt that one powerful hand about his throat, the Boy was like an animal.
T
HE
B
OY WAS
up from the body. Raleigh, eyes bulging, stared sightlessly up into the stars and the night beyond.
By dawn they’ll be all over these walls, Boy. Whatchu gonna do now?
He’d heard that question from Sergeant Presley before, many times in fact.
Whatchu gonna do now?
I can find Escondido, Sergeant.
Then what?
Tell him what I know.
Then what?
I . . . it’s up to them after that.
That’s right, Boy. Do all you can do. Then let it go
.
The Boy walked back toward the ancient courthouse down in the center of the outpost. Warm yellow light shone within the windows he passed.
Ahead he saw a Chinese guard at the intersection of two curving streets.
“Escondido?” he asked.
The guard mumbled in Chinese and shone a lantern into the Boy’s face.
“Escondido?”
The guard’s slurred Chinese seemed angry, and for a moment the Boy realized how much of his plan hinged on simply being understood. But after a pause the guard began to walk, lighting the way for the Boy and insisting he follow along. A moment later they turned down a side street and up a lane, almost reaching the outer pine-log wall.
The guard climbed the steps to an old shack and banged loudly on a thin door.
The racket and voice within belonged to Escondido.
When the old hunter opened the door, he hit the guard with a stream of Chinese, then, seeing the Boy he stopped. His tone was softer as he sent the guard off into the night.
The guard retreated down the steps and was down the winding lane, back toward the center of the outpost, his lantern bobbing in the darkness.
“Never thought I’d see you alive. What happened to your horse?”
“No time. There’s an army of tribes out to the east. They’re going to attack at dawn.”
Escondido reacted quickly.
He only asked questions that mattered. Strength. Numbers. Proof.
He didn’t waste time on disbelief.
‘I guess,’ thought the Boy as he followed after the old hunter, ‘when you’ve lived through the end of the world once, you’re willing to believe it can happen again.’
Shortly, they were standing on the steps of the old courthouse, their faces shining in the soft glow coming from within the old building. Chinese soldiers were speaking with Escondido. Every so often messengers left and returned. More and more of the soldiers were mustering in the old parking lot beneath the courthouse. As for the conversation, the Boy understood little of it.
Escondido turned away as the Chinese conferred among themselves.
“They believe you, all right. That patrol is well overdue. They seen your friend’s body and they’ve put two and two together. The question for them now is, what’re they gonna do? Yang, the garrison commander, wants to send the civilians and the Hillmen out tonight. He’s only got forty soldiers, but he thinks he can hold the courthouse.”
And how much is this, Boy?
asked Sergeant Presley long ago.
Five.
And this?
He holds up all ten fingers.
Ten.
And if each one of these fingers represents the total of all my fingers?
One hundred.
Good, Boy. Next you’ll make me take off my moccasins. But we’ll save that for another time
.
There were far more tribesmen than one hundred. Far more than forty.
“If they go, do you want to go with ’em?” asked Escondido.
The Boy shook his head.
“I’m half tempted to run myself.” Then, “The Hillmen are sending messengers out to their villages. That might even things up a bit. All right, you’ll fight with me. I’ll be on the eastern wall. You can reload my rifles. You know how to do that?”
The Boy shook his head.
“Well, we got all night to learn.”