Authors: Andrew Macrae
This time the look she gave came over the tops of the glasses and she said, ‘I think it’s unlikely you’ll ever find peace.’
I left that silence hanging there and she kept looking, looking through me like she knew me secret, seen me thoughts for Isa and the blood behind me eyes with Crow moving me hand against Smoov. Me face flushed up, I couldn’t help it.
Then I said, ‘At least gimme some idea as to where the brumby mob is hidin out.’
‘Keep east, rider. And keep your eyes out to learn out more about what’s goin on in the world before passin your judgements on others.’
She reached over to take the typewriter and I was gunna open me mouth to say fair enough, but then I saw a crow out of the corner of me eye. He hopped up on the shoulder of one of the dirteaters, and I took the typewriter and scampered. Her shotgun spat fire and smoke. Sting of rock salt bruised me arse and zipped past me ears and I ran from that white shed that was full of death, not healing.
By the time I got back to Sinnerman it was dark and we roaded out of the dump and on through the night, shapes shifting white fog under the bright lights of the pumping rig, sticking to the east road still, towards where I thought the brumby mob would be travelling. That doctor knew something and the stink of brumbies was all around the Midden Dump but the trail dried up there. There were branching pathways and I had to take me best bet with the mountains up ahead and the easterling road towards the coast of the dead seas.
Grinding up a mountain range the next day. So many back tracks and dead ends, beating ahead to find a downed tree over the road and Sinnerman trying to push logs off the path. One thing about going that way, I could see there had not been no one through for a long time. I dunno what that meant exactly, whether it was good or bad. Good that we were not on any well travelled road, bad that we had no one to follow, just had to work it out from whatever fragments of maps I could piece together from the geogrid patchfiles I’d found in the desert truckstop. Make sure to keep the morning sun up in me face, even though the sun skirted a low track in the sky this time of year.
We kept on towards the coast, burning to get to the end. We had to find more trails of the Brumby King and I thought of Isa who was keeping me moving through that treacherous land of mist and tangled green trees growing all over everything. Last stretch over the top of the mountain, one more hump to go and the weather closed in, the wind blowed so cold and so fast off the cliffs. Sinnerman growled and yammered for a clear stretch of road but it was closed in on all sides and thundering coming from on high and lightening flashing. Another truck came barrelling round the bend towards us and we swerved over the road trying to find some grip but there was none, just mud. That truck was a half track, diesel, not even sentient, droved by a bloke with a baldy head and a red beard. I looked right into his eyes as he passed and seen through to the other side of him as if there wasn’t nothing there against that black backdrop and the cold mountain air running in through the vents on me face. And then he was gone, but that vehicle had cut a track for us, so we followed it even though we didn’t know where it was going. Comparing it with the geotags, there were sure signs it would take us to the other side of the mountain at least and soon enough we came across a track and then another and we followed it down to the wood cutters camp on the side of the mountain where maybe we could get something to eat and maybe some fuel juice for Sinnerman to top up its cells and swap some true lies road stories for word of the Brumby King.
We pulled in to a safe spot to stop and there was blokes all around, wherever I looked you seen them. They came out from the camp and crowded around Sinnerman. I didn’t wanna let the fear stop me so I unjacked and climbed down. Maybe they’d have word of brumbies because far as I could know the trail had gone cold.
They were dressed in animal skins, no tech among them from their looks and they were looking at the truck in wonderment. Well it was no surprise, it was a wonderful thing to behold. One old bloke reached out to touch it.
‘Bonza truck you got there, mate,’ he said.
‘Hands off,’ I said.
He looked down on the ground. A young bloke came up, eyes full of stars.
‘What kind of truck is it? Got any haze on yer?’
Ah so that was what was gunna get me in with them.
‘I doubt youse would of ever seen a fine indie truck like this one, or had the quality of haze it’ll ooze for a rider with the right patches.’
His eyes wide. ‘Would you swap some haze for a place to sleep and some roady for the night?’
‘That sounds all right. I need a place to rest as well. Now tell, you seen any wild brumbies up this way?’
‘There’s a brumby mob passes through on the way to the caves at Warby Ranges. A couple of them trucks from the mob come through, but mostly they is on the road for tradin parts or for some folks to help em mech.’
‘You ever seen a girl with em? She might of got a crippled arm, scaled up like a lizard.’
‘Na, I never seen that,’ he said.
I gave him his haze and then later that evening the bloke with the baldy head and red beard showed up in his half track and he was curious about what we were doing there. He had a light about him, a way of being that I’d not seen before then nor again, so I stayed and talked to him some more.
‘That’s a nice half track ya got. Howdya keep it runnin with diesel?’ I said.
‘It’s a secret, mate. We know a few things, a few ways of the mountains and secret stashes of things and there’s folks who still got the knowin of refinin fuel oil and machinin parts. I can do it a bit me self and I know how to fix a engine.’
I was sort of in awe of him because I didn’t know nothing, only wrangling and the ways of haze. Here was someone not tied in to a system with a truck or camp or Wotcher show, he was free.
‘I’m Jon Ra, what’s yer name?’
‘I’m called Bushy. Short for the Bushy Ranga on a count of me ruddy beard.’
‘Do ya got any commerce with the brumby mob for fuel or parts or such?’
‘They come through here but they don’t run on no diesel that’s for sure. Who knows what their program is. Sometimes they stop for fixes that they can’t mech themselves with robo droans. I done some tough weld fixin on one of em just a few days back.’
‘They raided a backroads shanty town right about then, lookin for parts and other truckbodies to mech. Maybe one of them was busted in the raid. They stole me sis. I’m roadin after them to get her back.’
He went all quiet then, looked away.
I said, ‘Yer know somethin bout that? A girl, maybe sixteen, who’s been roadin with the Brumby King?’
‘Yair, I seen her. Black hair, black eyes. She’s been took in by the Brumby King, I only seen just her face in the cab when I was right up close with me welder.’
Me heart flew. She was alive, at least. And Bushy’d been right up close enough to the Brumby King to see her.
‘How long ago?’
‘Wasn’t more than four days.’
‘Wherebouts?’
‘Well, there’s several lairs they got scattered through out. Some is in the Warby Ranges, others high up in the mountins in the snow. But where I seen the girl, it were in the gigacity.’
‘But it’s poisoned ground and deadly there.’
‘It’s not as deadly as most folks think. It’s a place where all the roads end, but there’s nothin there no more. The Wotcher’s signal is strong there and the trucks go to get together and try to find out about themselfs in the Wotcher’s image.’
‘Wotcher’s the cause of all me problems. If there wasn’t no Wotcher I wouldn’t of lost Isa.’
‘Yeah well if you want to get with brumby trucks you’ve gotta understand a bit more bout em. They think they come from the Wotcher, and there’s somethin in the Wotcher that can help them code right and make better hybrids with other trucks when they do their truckruttin.’
‘Trucks can rut all they want. It’s nothin to me. I just wanna find Isa and get back on to the right road.’
‘Well you should check out the gigacity if ya wanna find some clues to where yer sis is at. Careful though, there’s all sorts of strangeness comin outta the ground there, it’s zero ground for the changes. And for the brumbies it’s special ground where they gather for daisychainin and birthin babby trucks.’
‘But gigacity’s poisoned ground.’
‘Yeah, but maybe that’s not all there is to it, neither. It was the place where those who come before buried all their secrets. Look out for a place called the Lie Bury, if you wanna find out some answers.’
‘How’m I gunna get there?’
‘You’ll find it if ya look.’
‘I don't even know where to start.’
‘The brumbies got their own secret passages into the gigacity. Keep on the trail.’
He left and I went back to the campfire with the other mountain folks who were high on haze and I was high on the news of Isa. I sat by the fire and thought on things while the people had a fine old time. Later on in the night there was some ugliness, some fighting, and in the morning when I clambered out of me swag pulling up me trucksuit I nearly trod right on a stiffening blue body. It was the youngster I gave the haze to. I climbed into Sinnerman and we roaded out of that place. It pulled on me soul with a sadness, though I should have been happy because I’d found someone who had seen Isa. I couldn’t account for me feelings, except to say being around folks who have lost all hope of themselves breeds hopelessness. So I took my toll from them and gave what they wanted, what does that make me? I didn’t want to think on it as I roaded through the mountain towards the gigacity and the Brumby King that I knew now was up ahead on this very same road. There was nothing I could do, just had to deal with the stain on the world so on I rolled with Sinnerman. It was a blessing to be back inside that cab.
Coming out of the ranges there was a body twisting in the branches of a tree as we ran for the pass between the mountains and the sea of the east. Sign of the dead man’s hand on the road to the gigacity and the secrets that were buried there. And the scrub was a blur of grey and green and the road was a line of black light out in front of us. The sun shined high in the sky and the far off white clouds were whispers of fine hair on the head of an old woman looking down on the earth below with grief in her yeller eyes.
We were moving fast through the last of the mountains’ small feet before the flat in front of the coast, dust clouded up behind us. Truck action blipped on the screen. It came up faster and faster behind as we rolled. I tossed through the freeks looking for a tag but there was none. I thought: brumby for sure, running dark. It brought a smile to me face because it meant we were on the right track. And Sinnerman reckonised it too, there was a hearty thump in the system as the truck felt the loss of its partner and a rush of vengance flushed through the IV into me arm and pulled me tight and alert and ready for the chase. A spurt of blood and a spinning head through the link as me and Sinner both saw the shapes of the Brumby King and its Left Tenant looming in the glooming dust behind us in the viewscreen. The Brumby King, a hulking black monster of dusty dented panels and scratched paintwork, next to its Left Tenant, a white bastard with blue trim and a toothy grin in its grill. The Left Tenant was lighter and fast, it didn’t carry no load and so it come up sweet and fast right behind us. The King following at a distance. I hit Sinnerman with some more juice through the link and it picked up the pace, swaying a bit on the road as I blinked the patch home to its truckstream.
Them two brumbies were testing us out, and Sinnerman was showing off as well. The Left Tenant matched speeds and they peacocked their flashy decals and painted glyphs to each other. The Left’s grinning chrome grill was up in the rear viewscreen. It was proud as, kicking up a dust storm behind and coming on up beside us then, out gunning Sinnerman for sure in pure speed. Sinnerman’s paintwork glowed blinding white and sharp red in the sun. The pair of them sped up and slowed down, and in the shadow of the Brumby King, they did the dance of the highway driving rig, one following the other in front, and pretty soon they wanted to take things to the next level. So with Sinnerman leading, they slowed up and pulled in to a flat spot where they could move to the rocking stage. Sinnerman circled around and faced off. The Left Tenant was ready for it though, it slotted a tasty groove in its sound system that I could feel through the link but not with me earshot, lazy bassline and rattling snare back behind the kick. The Brumby King pulled in as well and sat off a distance, listening to the trucksong and waiting. Left Tenant was vain and headstrong with its groove, it weren’t going to let Sinnerman best it but it needed to keep control of itself in front of the King, it couldn’t blow its whole load at once. It pumped out a thumping riddim as it skanked and rocked on its shocks in the desert sands.
After the first shots were still echoing around in me ears, Sinner blasted back with some of its own wavvy tunes and this time I felt the sound through me whole body. It was a tide rolling through me, breaking over the top of me head and rinsing me blood through with molten lava bass and a cool watery wash of reverb and soaking wet squelch in the high end. I blinked a new patch through the link, wanting to give Sinnerman a boost in this contest. I felt it shift and waver through the sound system as it found a change from four four to two four and sped things up. It was a rare treat listening to them two trucks battle on the highway, but it was gunna end in tears. There would soon come a finish to the rocking, and they’d be getting down to tin tacks.
The sounds flowed smooth through the air and trucktalk chatter in the link as Sinnerman and the Left Tenant sat head to head and tried to best each other with their sound systems and their skills. Putting on a flashy show, pulling samples from their memories and trying to call each other with the best take on a old tune or the freshest new vox that they’d found chattering in their stacks from the data mines. The battle went on and on, deep bass booming through me bones and me head ringing with the echo of high freek sound wash. All watched by the grim Brumby King. Sinnerman shook on its shocks under the onslaught and I kept it fed with patches to mod the waves of sound, learning as I went what made a good effect and saving up the knowing for it would come in handy for tweaking Sinner’s rein, I was sure. The Left Tenant revved up hard and cranked the wattage. I could feel it in me guts, the whole cab was shaking, the noise was frightening, louder and louder and then it stopped and both trucks clunked in to gear and started their dance. Sinner spun its wheels in a mighty show of blue smoke blowing over the truck parking. Its eight rear weels were burning out and its tail came flicking around to match the Left Tenant’s own circling movement as it started to shift its energy from sound to motion. The next phase in the battle was coming. Though they didn’t like to scratch up their paint, once the dancing was done there weren’t gunna be no worries about doing the business when it come to it. Sinnerman would ram its steel spike, it’d break out some of the fifty cal rounds it’d been hoarding. The Left Tenant would make its mark in its own way, with whatever weapons it had got stashed, hard pellets of bone or teeth or scavenged lead to sink in through shiny truckskin and rip at steel armour.